Ibuprofen, a half slice of bread, and a glass of water

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There's nothing like the smell of spring and the LoveSounds of Justin Timberlake in the morning: Vignettes of a crazy person.

I get very bored on my walks to work in the morning. It is the same broken sidewalk, the same lanky sweater-wearing dogs, the same Volvo for sale over and over again. So occasionally I mix it up with a soundtrack of songs not listened to frequently. I went through a period where I listened to Hanson and laughed the whole way, thinking, if today is the day I get hit by a car, will the paramedic look over my mangled body and notice my iPod beating with those delightful teenyboppers-turned-indie-poppers and laugh his ass off? Today, however, I rebelled against a Monday morning by listening to Justin Timberlake, which surprisingly inspired, along with hip gyrating, a healthy bout of laughter. The woman who walks the freak dogs must think I'm a lunatic.

Seldom but sometimes, I unwillingly run into a familiar face. If I catch Christopher, it's at the corner of Peachtree and Fifth, wearing the typical black t-shirt and headphones. He smiled at me today and pulled off his closest headphone, so I reciprocated the gesture. Out of curiosity, since I was still amused by my own music choice, I inquired as to his. U2. Of course, I could not hold my tongue, and shouted "Mine's embarrassing!" He was in full-fledged agreement with that. The thing I enjoy most about running into Christopher is that these encounters are always peppered with interjections of "it's too early" and so I have come to know that either he knows that I hate abhorrent morning small talk or that he too hates abhorrent morning small talk. It wasn't long before he saved both of us and ducked into the bookstore, only after a considerate parting of ways.

At work, I was faced with a loss of power. My least-favorite-person-turned-semihero trained the Chinese post doc how to use the demon machine. It took so long before I gained control over it, I even went through the process of naming it, and then I watched my glory vanish in minutes, very much like the infamous Surface. Not really. Despite my anxiety and jealousy of being ousted, shown most obviously through nail biting, I knew I was being utterly irrational. I don't even need Black Jack at the moment. Not to mention, I've been blithering on about my philosophy regarding jobs: A job is a job and it's going to suck no matter what so I might as well put my energy toward things non-job related, i.e. knitting. I remembered this mantra and went back to my nails. Everybody wants some sort of power.

Around lunchtime, I ran into another character, the Wacky Welshman. I call him so because his most endearing quality is a similar social awkwardness to my own. In a rush he was telling me about his missing money and his broken car and then he was gone. He later found me in the copy room, and apologized for being rude. "You alright?" Sure, I said, just bored. "Well you should think of ways to mix it up." Good thought. And yet how? I could go to the chiropractor on Tuesday instead of Monday. I could go with the default of dying my hair. I could get another tattoo. I could apply for a job in Bermuda. Maybe I'll just buy a hat. And listen to Hanson.

Where the lord split her

A secret about me: I was a fangirl. Am returning to fangirldom. Am a fangirl.

I haven't been a fangirl for nearly two years. I (stupidly) tried to grow up when I moved to Atlanta. Either that, or the lack of internet prevented the propagation of such a commitment. I moaned a bit here and there about how fun it was, how I missed it, but overall I thought my life was decent without it.

THAT WAS A LIE!

I spent the past few hours minutes, perusing through Firefly stuff and oh my gods, I am the biggest nerd! My previous fandom of choice was Lord of the Rings. But I have moved on. The world has moved on. I apologize Elijah Wood, but I am moving on. Like I said, to Firefly. If only Nathan Fillion was flicking ME off....

I am going to admit something else, and I can hear the groans already, but is there anyone out there wanting to go to Dragon Con? I was ignorant of the fact that Alan Tudyk was here five months ago. In my city. Steve the Pirate. That guy from A Knight's Tale who isn't the fat one or Paul Bettany or Jack Twist's lover. WASH. But I will be ignorant no more. Coming this year: Neville Longbottom, Fred and George Weasley, and Lee Odama and Starbuck from Battlestar Galactica. And dammit, I want to go.

You are reading this and thinking "...And she wonders why her life is so lonely..." But this is not the reason why, I tell you. Because something I've learned is that everyone has there little strange obsessions. Things they'd rather die than admit they not only like, but love love love. And then there's me, spouting it off for the whole world to read. I don't care, I tell you. I WANT TO GO TO DRAGON CON.

Sometimes I'm a bitch for absolutely no reason

I have come to terms with the fact that I am neurotic. Once a month. (The sole man who may or may not read this may want to avert his eyes now.)

There was this episode of Grey's Anatomy - not the one where Meredith turned an unnatural shade of blue or the one(s) where ten thousand different people slept with a McDoctor - but the one where there was this girl with extreme scoliosis who was a huge bitch, which I can relate to because she was in a lot of pain. Well, I can understand. After all, I still walk upright. Somewhat. My point is, however, that this girl finally gave Izzy a break and apologized. And Izzy said "It's okay, sometimes I'm a bitch for no reason at all."

There was something about that statement that rang true. I'll confess my bitchiness to just about anyone who doesn't avoid my eye contact. But I've discovered that there is an extra bitchiness associated with my period. ("Oh god, she's said it!" I told you to look away!) Last week, I was absolutely miserable. I was swearing at absolutely everything - the weather, the newest couple, my bed, my roommates, the weather again, the future, my lack of male attention, my job, everything everything everything. I was figuring that either, one, someone needed to admit me to a nice padded room, or two, it was just about that time again. That time when I move along down the road because I am just so goddamn bored with my life....

BUT I'M NOT. Of all days, today, a Monday, was quite delightful. Work was less than irritating. I went grocery shopping, and I cooked the best damn meatloaf dinner I've ever made myself, accompanied by some delicious wine. I held a perfectly civil conversation with my tight-panted roommate. I was only a few stitches away from finishing my knitted sock. Generally, the world was a grand place. And I realized what my problem was - hormones. Even outside of work, I cannot escape the wonders of chemical signaling.

I don't know what the solution is. I remember seeing an ad for some drug to help with some "terrible" form of PMS... and I remember laughing at the new condition the drug companies came up with to sell another pill. But maybe they weren't lying. Maybe I need some of those pills. Regardless, if you see me near a ledge or catch me with a sharp object, maybe you could just give me a simple reminder that in a week my life will go back to low-level hormone normalcy.

This Altar is For You

I'm conjuring up a story or two regarding my trip to New Mexico, but in the mean time, I leave you with my spiritual essence.

The sign says:

Fellow Travelers
This altar is for you
- here -
- now -
You are invited to offer blessing with a token of your own spiritual essence.

We came across this altar at the peak of a mountain (large hill, perhaps?). It is mostly made of rocks. But there was a hat and a shirt. I would have left Dunk (I didn't!), but he only popped out for a photo. What I did leave though, on the sign you can see it, was the photo of JD and Turk that had been living in my wallet. My Spiritual Essence: A Scrubs reference.

je ne veux pas travailler

My current mood can best be described by my French title, also the Pink Martini song "Sympathique". It says "I don't want to work." And very little work I did today. I am ashamed... a little... not really. My accomplishments include:

• I took the elevator down to the bottom floor in search of a new liquid nitrogen tank. Twice. The first time with the empty tank. Both times yielded no new tank. (Reminder: We transport the tank in the elevator, not on the stairs!)
• I went to the chiropractor. On my journey, I saw something of interest, but I will get to that later, as it does not fall under the category "accomplishments".
• I explained how it it possible to knit a sock where one side is longer than the other.
• I trimmed the extra six inches off the side of the poster I am presenting in New Mexico.
• I read through the conference program for New Mexico and came to the conclusion that I will be paying attention during two talks then knitting during a bunch of others learning lots of science.
• I searched the internet for more blogs and discovered My Boyfriend is a Twat, which I find amusing mostly because she refers to her boyfriend only ever as The Twat.
• I moved some papers about to make it look like I was working.
• I snickered to myself when I, for the first time in months, crossed paths with the dreamt-about male coworker previously mentioned.
• And finally and ironically, I typed up a task list for my undergrad to complete while I am not working on vacation learning lots of science in New Mexico.

So back to what I saw of interest...

Prior to this encounter I am about to elaborate on, there was a conversation about fashion. Apparently, flat boots with pants tucked inside the boots is in. If you are still playing the matchy-match game, you are out. So very out. Although none of the discussionists are terribly trendy people, the thought was to stay just enough aware of the trends as to not stick out terribly - no one likes a sore thumb.

I am now left wondering if I should not pay a bit more attention, where I should direct my attention, and even perhaps if I should try to go so far as to predict the next trend so that I can stay ahead of the game for once.

My question is, will the comb over be the next big fad? Because this is what I saw today. I am not talking here, people, about the old man, I am in denial about my balding comb over. I am talking about the full head of hair comb over. I rock the side part, but why not take it to the next level and actually part my hair on the side of my head. Because nothing says sexy like a full head of hair, parted one inch above your ear, gelled and locked in one beautiful comb over. I am hot just thinking about it.