In which I think I'm going to have to get a new overcoat

I worked today. I don't love working on Saturday, but it's ok for two reasons:

1) Overtime pay; and

2) Nobody bothers me and I can actually get things done.

But it is still work and after eight straight hours I was ready to go home. When I left the office it was drizzling a bit and I had left my umbrella at home but I thought I would be ok because I was wearing my green raincoat. Just when I'd almost forgotten the adventures I've had in that thing...

I was a few blocks out when I realized that I was supposed to pick up a prescription from the pharmacy by the office today, so I turned around and went back. It began to pour and I got drenched pretty quickly. I mean drenched. Soaked. Sopping wet. Rain dripping off my hair. I think it even rained into my purse. So I was happy to get my prescription and get to the subway.

I waited briefly for the 7 train and took it across to Times Square, where I waited for the uptown 1. Luckily the platform was pretty clear and I could sit down on one of the benches. I was still dripping wet from head to toe and desperate to get home. But no sooner had I sat down then I gentleman approached me. And when I say gentleman, I mean a weird looking guy wearing ...some sort of goggles. Sort of like a scuba mask, but maybe they were really racquetball or squash goggles. Remember how adorable Hugh Grant looked in Notting Hill when he wore his scuba mask to the movies?

Yeah, it was nothing like that.

He (the weird guy, not Hugh Grant) said "Do you want to come back to my place and party with me?"

"No, thank you," I replied

"Come on, come back to my place and we'll party."

"I don't think so."

"Just come to my place with me," he insisted.

"No, thank you," I said, firmly.

"My roommate's a faggot." I suppose that was intended to make me feel comfortable about going home with some random guy I met on a subway platform who was WEARING GOGGLES. It didn't work. I just got up and walked away from him and he went on to torment someone else, I suppose. By that time I had lost my seat on the bench, so I was waiting by a pillar.

Oh, but wait! He came back.

"I didn't mean to bother you, I just wanted to-" I walked over towards a group of men who were NOT wearing any sort of eyewear. He went away for good this time.

The train finally came and I got home fine. I just wonder what it is about me that attracts the wackos. I think it might have something to do with that damn green coat.

In which I might have had too much wine

I am house/cat/fish sitting this week for one of my bosses. She's actually one of my favorite people at work, because she's, well, awesome. She used to walk around the office saying "I LOVE ME!" and kissing herself on the arm. We should all have such good self-esteem. By her own account, she didn't have an easy young life, but she put herself through school and worked extremely hard and now is in a pretty high position at my workplace. She also has a husband and kids and cats and fish all in a nice apartment on the Upper East Side. She only left me the cats and fish for the week. And some wine.

Things are going well so far. One of the cats gets medicine and takes it very easily, so that's good. The other cat is supposedly one of the scared-y variety, but spent yesterday evening hanging around me and getting attention.

The only thing is - the fish. There are a number of them; saltwater, and they are beautiful. I am one of those people who is calmed by watching fish, and these are really lovely. They are all blue and purple and pink and yellow. Gorgeous. Except for I think they are plotting against me.

Look, I don't know what their plans are, but I know they are up to something. You know when you walk into a room and people stop talking in hushed tones and look at you? You know they are talking about you, right? Well, imagine walking into an apartment and looking at the saltwater fish tank when you come in and all the fish disperse. You can practically hear them say, "Cheese it! The Fuzz!" And then they swim around looking all innocent. Yeah, right. I know what's going on. I'm going to wake up one morning with a fish head on the pillow next to me, aren't I?

It's all the doing of that little stripey red fish. He always hides when I walk by the tank, swimming into the little caves, going under the coral, but I can tell he's the ring leader. It's always the innocent looking ones that are really out to get you. I SEE YOU, RED FISHY. I AM HERE FOR FOUR MORE DAYS. DON'T MAKE ME HAVE A FISH FRY.

In which I have an untapped ass-et

It's no secret that there's a lot of crazy around New York City.  Apparently it was out in full force today.   

I've taken to wearing my yoga pants to and from work, because I am either walking for exercise or I am all hot and sweaty from running to the subway because I'm late.  Usually it is the latter.  Anyway, I was coming home from work this evening and got off the bus at my usual stop.  I was struggling a little because I was carrying a small box of stuff and my pants were sliding down a little bit.  So I juggled a bit, pulled down my shirt and hiked up my pants, and about ten seconds later I heard a woman's voice say:

"If you want, I could represent your ass.  Very nice." 

Wait, what?

I looked back to see this tiny older woman behind me.  I thought for a second that she might be on the phone, but she wasn't.  And then, because I am sensitive about my size, I assumed she was being derogatory.  Don't acknowledge her, I thought.  Don't engage the crazy.  So about two nanoseconds later, I whipped around with, "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME??!"  

"I'm an agent,"  she said.  "I could represent you."

Another woman walked by and said "No, she's not.  She's..." as she made the international sign for wack-a-doodle-ding-dong-doo. 

The older woman kept walking, saying "Lovely.  Just lovely."

Creepy.  

But now that I think about it, could my butt make some money somehow?  I mean, of course there is always the obvious, I know, but I'm not desperate enough for that.  Could there be some sort of fully covered ass modeling that I could do?  Could I teach it to do tricks?  Sing songs?  Play the French horn?  I'll have to see what I can come up with.

In which I have a few things to say...confidentially

Confidential to Chuck Bass on Gossip Girl: 

You are a bad, bad boy.  With a heart of gold, though.  I am really pulling for you and Blair to get together in the long run, but in the meantime?  CALL ME.

Confidential to M:  

Please stop emailing me after work hours because I feel obligated to answer even though I am not on the clock and that really annoys me.

Confidential to Self: 

Stop checking your email after work hours.

Confidential to dooce.com: 

Congratulations on the new baby!  In the past, I have really enjoyed reading your blog.  I think you are a very clever, witty writer.  I even posted a link below in my blogroll (now removed).    I'm pretty peeved at you right now, though, considering you have been blogging about preparing for the baby, whom all of your readers have been anticipating meeting, and now you are holding off on photos and the baby's name.  

Now, listen: if you and your family want a little privacy,  I totally get that.  And I think even if you do blog about your life, you are entitled to keep an event like this private for a little while.  But don't tweet all through your labor, announce that the baby has arrived and that you are going to announce the name soon and then STILL don't post anything twenty four hours later.  Either post a photo and a name, or say "hey, we want to share this with you, but give us a little bit of privacy for a few days first."  You know we are waiting.  DON'T refuse to show the readers a photo of your baby and instead give us a pic of that shitty green jello and then post that everyone is "annoying".  Your behavior, Heather, is annoying.  You are being manipulative and incredibly disrespectful to your very loyal and supportive readers.  

Confidential to Jon:  CALL ME, YOU TALL DRINK OF TEQUILA.

In which I should have spoken up

I was watching an Oprah episode yesterday that had Suze Orman's guide to surviving the economy.  She talked about having an 8 month savings and contributing to your 401K and all that.  And she said that you should understand the difference between your needs and your wants and don't buy anything you don't need.

Turns out you don't need a lot of stuff.  Dangit.

I ran into one of my big bosses in the kitchen this afternoon.  He was looking for money.  Aren't we all, bub?  

"Do you have eighty-five cents?" he asked.

I patted myself down and said, "Not on me, sorry." 

"Well, usually I can only get what I want if I have exact change," he explained.  "I only have bills today.  Let's see what happens."  He put his dollar into the machine and successfully got his eighty-five cent Wheat Thins.  "You know," he said, as he began to make a cup of coffee, "you should just be able to forfeit your change."

"What?"

"You know, forfeit your change so that you can get what you want if you only have a dollar."

"Suze would not like that," I pointed out.

"Who?" he asked.

"Suze Orman.  She says you should save your change and put it in your savings account,"  I explained.  

He looked nonplussed.  "But I should be able to get what I want. "

  

"Ah ha!  Suze says that you have to figure out what it is you need and what you just want."

"Well, I could come to your house and take away a lot of things you have that you don't need.  I mean, you probably only need a couple of outfits-"

I wear the same pair of pants every day, so close enough, right?  I'm on board with that.

"-and probably only one pair of shoes-"

Check.  I wear tennis shoes every day, because otherwise I walk like Frankenstein.

 "-your makeup-"

Ok.  That'll save me some time in the morning.

"-jewelry..."

Whoa.  Wait a second, there.  "Jewelry?"  I asked.  "You want to take my jewelry?"  I hid my hand behind my back.  "You can't have my flower ring.  No."

"See?" He smiled.  "We all want something."

"Fine.  I said,  "You can have your Wheat Thins.  I'm keeping my ring."

"That's what I'm saying.  You should be able to have what you want."

That's when I left.  But now I realize I should've asked for a raise.  Or at least some nachos.

In which I play Nancy Drew

I have always been nosy.  In fact, I like to list it as one of my best character traits.  I can eavesdrop anyone under the table (even with the ringing in my ears), as well as read upside down.  That, coupled with the fact that I am good at reading people and my very active imagination make me a damn good detective.  My sister used to call me a busybody, like it was a flaw or something.  Of course, she was a teenager then and I was annoying.  Who can blame her?  She didn't know that I was training to be AWESOME in my future life. 

I'm so good, in fact, that I used to be able to tell my boss who would be getting fired next.  "How do you know?" he'd ask.  "I can smell it," I'd say, and I'd be right.  Really, all you have to do is pay attention to what's going on around you and what people are saying here and there and you can piece information together fairly easily.

The other day one of my colleagues looked at me and said "you keep your ears open and your mouth closed, don't you?"  She was right for the most part.  I do have a history of being verbose, as my mother will be happy to prove by telling stories about my behavior in church, but I know how to keep other people's secrets.  I think my ability to dig up a good story is equally valuable, though.

It is precisely this skill that got me a compliment at work the other day.  Part of my job is to do research on possible jobs to see if there is something scandalous lurking in the background.  My love of the internet and nose for news told me something was up with this one particular person.  So I snooped and snooped until I found it - a good old fashioned scurrilous scandal.  The information was so scandalous, though, that my bosses decided not to follow through with the deal.  This has not happened in all the time I have been involved in doing this research, so I was shocked when I got the email.  The phone rang a few minutes later.  "Who did that background research?" my old boss from LA asked.  "Was that you?"  

"Yes, " I admitted, figuring I might be in some kind of trouble.

"Good job.  Thanks," he said.

Wait, what?

"That was a really good catch and we wanted to thank you.  Good work." 

And for once I was kind of speechless.  But not for too long.

Oh, what's that?  You want to know what the scandal was?  Sorry.  See above.  I am a big talker, but an excellent secret-keeper.  Get on the interweb and dredge up your own scandal.

In which I issue a cry for help

Hey, 'member when I used to be funny?  Those were the days.

*********

I have been trying for well, years, literally, to get up early in the morning.  Like at 7.  Which is not really that early, compared to you know, when babies get up and stuff.  So you'd think I could do 7.  But I can't.  

Unless, of course, it happens to be the weekend.  For some reason, it is easier for me to get up early on the weekends.  Sure, if I can sit around and drink coffee and watch some bad movie or The Universe or something, THEN I can get up at 7.  But not if I actually have to be somewhere in a timely fashion.  No, then I can only wake up in a slobbering panic 30 minutes before I have to leave.  

Am I the only one who has this problem?  Any suggestions on how to fix it?

In which I tell you things you may not know

You may not know:

If you wash your Metrocard, it still works.  I don't know what happens if you dry it, too.

Smoked gouda with jalepenos on rosemary flatbread is not as good as it sounds.

When you forget to change your address on Netflix, they send your DVD three thousand miles away from where you live.

If you leave your home on a slightly cloudy New York morning and leave the window over your bed open, then you will be sleeping on a wet pillow that night.  Whoops.

No one cares about your Nip stories.

Or any of your other stories, for that matter.

If you wear anything other than that pair of pants you wear to work every day, people will notice and tell you you look good.  Even if it is only a belted nightgown.

When you listen to the same song over and over again because you are obsessed with it, and then you watch the video from DWTS over and over again, you can't get upset because that song is running through your head.  

If you don't update your blog more often, people will stop reading.  Sorry.  I'll try to do better.

In which there is fire, ice and probably too many "quotation" marks

(I started writing this post last Monday.  Let's pretend I finished it then and posted it, too, 'k?)

*************

"Is it possible to hate everyone all at the same time?" SK asked me at work this morning.

"Of course," I answered.  "It's called 'Monday'."

**********

It was exceptionally hot this weekend, so I broke down and bought a fan from the local hardware store.  I got the "Blizzard", which has three speeds, oscillates, has a timer and features two breeze modes.  I'm not really sure what that means, but if it makes it feel like a blizzard in my apartment it's worth it.   I spent the evening yesterday trying to stay as close to the fan as possible.  I took it to bed with me, setting it on the floor so that it would blow onto my face or on my back, depending on which side I was sleeping on.  I woke up this morning to an odd noise, and once I was mostly conscious, I attributed it to my blanket getting caught in my fan.  

"That's not good," I observed to the Blizzard, and easily pulled the blanket away from the fan. I heard the noise again snapped to the fact that it was coming from outside my window.  I peeked out to see what was going on.  I saw firemen (mmmm...firemen) tromping around on the roof of the building across the street, shining their flashlights everywhere, and when I looked down into the street, I saw three fire engines, paramedics and a couple of other support vehicles all with their lights flashing.  The sound that woke me was actually the firemen cutting the lock off the door of the mexican restaurant across the street. 

There were no flames, but there was the requisite smoke, firemen with hoses and evacuees from the building above the restaurant.  Two more fire engines showed up.  I deemed the situation 'under control' and went back to sleep.  

When I left for work this morning, I saw two Con Ed trucks outside the restaurant and therefore surmised that the fire must have been electrical.  Or, perhaps someone was just making some really hot nachos.  

Mmmmm...nachos.  And firemen.  A pretty good way to start the day.

In which I crave coffee with a side of horseradish

The office in New York is filled with artistic types.  We have actors, artists, writers and dancers.  And the really great thing is that we all support each other by attending each others' shows and reading each others' plays and looking at each others' websites.  The other night, several of us went to see one of our former colleagues in her dance concert.  We weren't able to sit together, though, so I ended up sitting next to several older women with some serious New York accents who apparently had some rather unfortunate friends.  During intermission they were talking to each other, and I was eavesdropping, as usual.  Eavesdropping is actually one of my best skills.  That and reading upside down.  I still think I'd make one hell of a spy. But as I was listening to their conversation, I couldn't figure out what the odd clicking sound was that I kept hearing in between sentences. 

"What about Pete?"

*click* [What is that noise?]

"Pete?"

*click*  

"You remember Pete?" 

*click*  [What IS that?]

"The one who makes his own horseradish?"  [Who makes horseradish?  How do you even make horseradish?]

"Yes!  I think we still have some in our fridge."

*click*  [Could it be ill-fitting dentures?]

"What happened to him?" 

*click*

"I think he died." 

"Oh."  [Wait, from the horseradish?]

*click* *cough* *choke*

"Are you ok?"

"Oh, yes...oh.  *cough*  What a way to go!  On a Nip.  Oh."

*click*  [Oh, good heavens.  Is that it?  She's sucking on coffee flavored candy?]

"Do you want one?"

*click*

"What?"

*click*

"A nip?"  [Because her clicking and choking are such a ringing endorsement for Nips.]

*click*

"No, thanks.  Oh, Sue.  Do you remember her?"

*click* 

"She used to come all the time."

*click*

"I wonder what happened to her."

*click*

"I think she died."  [No doubt by choking on a Nip.]

*click*

In which I may have lost my mind

Flink flink flink flink.

I know, I know.  I've been staring at you for an hour and a half.

Flink.

Yeah, I know.  But I just can't think of anything.

Flink.  Flinky flink flink.

Right, Cursor, that's true, but isn't it better not to write anything than just to write a bunch of nonsensical dreck?

Flink, flink flink flink flink flink.

Wait, what do you mean that would be a change?  I try to write posts that are somewhat entertaining, yes, but I also like them to be uplifting and informative.

Flink flink flink flink!

Oh really?  Have you ever tried to write a blog?  It's not as easy as it looks.

Flink flink flink flink!

That's not funny.

Fl-fl-fli-fli-fli!

Stop laughing at me!

FL-FL-FLI-FLI-FLI-FLI-FLI!!!!!!

Oh, come on!  Like YOU do anything important?  You just sit around flinking your flinker all the livelong day.  "Flink flink flink."  Very creative.

Flink flink flinker flink.  Flink flinking flink flink FLINK.

There is NO. NEED. to get personal.

Flink.  Flink flinky.

Hmpf.

Flinky flink.  Flink?

Ok.  Truce.  

Flink flink.  Flink flink flink flink!

I'll try to think of something for tomorrow night, ok?

Flink flink.

Good night.

Flink.

IN WHICH IN WHICH IN WHICH SOMETHING

MY SISTER IS HARASSING ME ABOUT POSTING SOMETHING PROBLEM IS I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING TO POST ALTHOUGH YOU'D THINK I COULD COME UP WITH SOMETHING BECAUSE I WENT TO THE PERSIAN PARADE AND THEN TO JERSEY FOR A MOVIE AND DINNER WHERE I HAD THREE GLASSES OF COKE/DIET COKE/CHERRY COKE/COKE ZERO AND SO NOW I AM ALL JACKED UP ON CAFFEINE AND SUGAR AND I CAN'T EVEN CONSIDER THE IDEA OF SLEEPING AND MY BRAIN CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING CLEVER TO WRITE ABOUT SO I GUESS PERSIAN PARADE IT IS SO I WENT TO THE PERSIAN PARADE WITH A COLLEAGUE WHO IS HALF PERSIAN AND WHEN I ASKED HER QUESTIONS SHE WOULD SAY "I DON'T KNOW I AM ONLY HALF PERSIAN" AND I SAID "DOES THAT MEAN YOUR ANSWERS ARE ONLY HALF RIGHT?" BUT SHE DID NOT THINK I WAS FUNNY AND I SAY TOO BAD FOR HER.  

THE PERSIAN PARADE HAD FLOATS AND HORSES AND FLAG BEARERS AND BELLY DANCERS AND TRADITIONAL DRESS AND DIFFERENT KINDS OF FLAGS AND FUN MUSIC AND ARMENIAN DANCERS AND PICK UP TRUCKS AND ONE GUY IN BLACK FACE WHICH WHAT WAS HE THINKING I STILL HAVEN'T FIGURED THAT OUT.

TOWARDS THE END OF THE PARADE WAS A FLOAT THAT SAID "THE CHILDREN OF ADAM ARE LIMBS TO EACH OTHER..."  WHICH WHAT A COOL THING TO SAY AND I THINK IS AN IMPORTANT STATEMENT ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING OUR CURRENT POLITICAL CLIMATE OH AND THE MOVIE WAS GOOD TOO I LAUGHED A LOT AND HAD BUTTER ON MY POPCORN AND THEN WE HAD FATBURGER FOR DINNER AND THAT WAS GREAT AND I HAD LOTS OF-

*CLUNK*

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

In which I give you too much information

I want you to know that I thought about this before I posted it.  It is incredibly embarrassing and a little gross, but ultimately I feel like it is too funny to pass up.  So I offer up myself and my flaws to you so that you may laugh.  

You're very welcome.  

I sold my couch finally on Sunday to a woman named Nancy.  When Nancy saw the couch in person for the first time, she proclaimed her undying love for its scarlet beauty.  She told me that she was buying it for her office and that the girls* she worked with loved the photo and that they would be excited to have a couch to sit on.  I have to say, it is oddly comforting to know that someone who is buying something that belonged to you loves it as much as you did.   Anyhoo, buy it she did and she and the guy she brought to help her carried the couch out my front door and down to their truck.   About 10 minutes after they left she called me to ask if she could come back up and use my bathroom.  Of course I said she could - far be it for me to withhold the ability to use a bathroom from someone else.  That's just mean.

I showed her where the bathroom was, she used it, politely said thanks and then left.   A little bit later I had to go, too, so I went into the bathroom.  That is when I discovered what I had done:

Yeah.  Pretty damn embarrassing.  Feel free to laugh, though.  Ok, that's enough.  I SAID, THAT'S ENOUGH.  Ok, fine.  I'll wait.

Finished?  Good.

Do you suppose Nancy and her girls* are laughing about this?  I have to admit, I would be if I were them.  I'd be calling me the "hemorrhoid girl" or the couch the "hemorrhoid couch".  Maybe the "H.C." for short.  I'd sit on it and then pretend my behind itched and then run away screaming "HEMORRHOID COUCH!! HEMORRHOID COUCH!!" or something equally ridiculous.  Of course, I do have a weird sense of humor.  And a bit of a wicked streak, too.  

I guess I can bear the embarrassment, though.  My hemorrhoids and I just deposited a nice chunk of cash money, courtesy of Nancy and her girls.*

* Do you suppose that Nancy runs an, er, escort service or something?  Just who are these girls?

In which I am outwitted by a German shiny thing

Yesterday was day one of a three to five day migraine headache.  This is bad enough to deal with, but at the same time, I needed to find and change the brake light bulbs in my car.  My neighbor offered her husband's help, but he sort of shrugged and told me that if I went to Auto Zone they would help me find the bulbs and then he would install them.  Off to Auto Zone I went, and one of the whopping two salespeople in a busy store gave me the wrong bulbs.  And how was I supposed to know?  I am a girl and I don't know anything about light bulbs, let alone cars.   

Now, I am a modern woman.  I take care of myself and I don't depend on anyone else.  Yes, I make mistakes and I do stuff wrong and I am a poor money manager, but I do pay my rent and buy my own meals and make my own bad financial decisions.  And a lot of the time I don't really mind being without a man that much.  But there are some things that make me hate being alone.  I don't like being sick and having to go to the pharmacy for medicine or the grocery store for soup myself.  I also absolutely cannot stand having to deal with car stuff. EVER.

Also, the spiders.  

I guess this week I am lucky, because Leopold is apparently long gone, so I just have to deal with feeling bad and stupid car nonsense all by myself.  So I bought the proffered bulbs, not knowing they weren't the right ones, and waited for my neighbor's husband to stop by and offer to install them.  Only he didn't stop by.  And here's where I get all confused, being a modern woman and all.  Do I go over and ask him to do it?  It can't be that hard, certainly I could do it myself if I wanted to, which, make no mistake, I DO NOT.  But he didn't really seem like he wanted to do it.  After all, his wife just volunteered him without asking him or anything.  He looked like a deer caught in headlights.  And I should be able to take care of myself.  What am I supposed to do?

Do you see my dilemma?  No wonder I have a damn headache.

So I waited, thinking he might come by.  He did not.  I was putting all my furniture for sale on craigslist so it was late when I gave up on him.  When I finally got around to changing the stupid bulbs, it was midnight and that's when I realized they were the wrong bulbs.  FABULOUS.  So last night I went back to Auto Zone, got what I thought were the right bulbs, because clearly I can't trust the guy at the store, got them home and then figured out that they were STILL THE WRONG BULBS.  Back to Auto Zone, where I finally got the right bulbs.  I came home, put them in, but still can't be certain that they work.  Who knows?  Turns out there are two different kinds of light bulbs in four different sockets on each side, and I don't know what goes where. The manual isn't very clear, because it is for several different models of the same car and this is the brake bulb for the M class, but I don't have the M class and which one is my brake bulb because all those panels are red and I am confuuuuuuuuuused!  Now it looks like maybe one brake light is working but not the other one.  I can't tell, AND I DON'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND TO STAND BEHIND THE CAR WHILE I PRESS ON THE BRAKE PEDAL AND TELL ME "THEY WORK" OR "NO DICE" AND MY HEAD HURTS!

In the meantime, whatever I did do in there changed the turn signals, because they used to go "click, click, click, click" all nice and steady, but now when I want to change lanes they are all "clikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclik" like they are jacked up on methamphetamines.  I don't know what I did in there, but it sure got them riled up.

Whatever. I guess it is a trip back to Auto Zone this weekend to get more lights. 

 And then maybe I should put a post on craigslist for someone to come install them for me.  "Wanted: male to come deal with changing my brake lights and also that door handle that kind of sticks.  No shirt necessary."  

What can I say?  I am a modern woman.  

In which you shoulda put a ring on it

I can't seem to get this song out of my head. 

You're welcome.

In which I digest the indigestibles

See what happens when I try to eat healthy?  I was about done with my salad today when I noticed that the second tine of my fork was broken.  And then my stomach hurt, so I naturally assumed I had swallowed the broken tine.  Surely I would have noticed it, right?

It reminds me of the time I dreamed that I was eating mini-marshmallows and woke up to find one of my earplugs missing.  It was rather distressing to think that I might have swallowed it in my sleep.  And I was really thirsty when I woke up, but I was afraid to drink anything in case the earplug soaked up all the liquid and expanded in my stomach and then I'd have to go to the hospital.  Luckily, after about twenty minutes' worth of worry, I found the earplug in my bedclothes.  No hospital stay necessary, thanks.

If I did swallow that broken plastic, I wonder what kind of damage it could do.  Of course, I have watched enough doctor shows on TV to make some assumptions.  Like it could get embedded in my stomach, or perforate my intestine, or...  hey!  I think there was a House episode about that.  So if I come down with some mysterious disease, make sure you tell the doctor about the broken fork.

In which I want to eat my lunch all by myself

The other day for lunch we went to Century City mall, where they have not a food court, but a dining terrace.  They have tons of great restaurants in there, but none of the classic food court stuff like McDonald's or Taco Bell.  There are also a few full service restaurants in the mall, so we decided to go to one.  We chose Houston's, which has been one of my favorites since I lived in Houston and ate there.  

I used to go with one of my friends who always got the same thing - filet mignon and a salad. She loved that salad, but she always wanted me to eat half of it. She was incredibly bossy.  So bossy, in fact, that I had to break up friends with her.  Sad, because I know that she was good hearted, but she used to not take no for an answer.  Literally.  If she wanted to do something and I said I didn't want to or couldn't afford it, she would call and call and call and bug me living daylights out of me until I would give in.  And I got tired of giving in.  But she was right about that salad this is what I was craving the other day.

We had several different servers, so when one came to take our order, I got the soup and salad.  They brought my yummy, yummy soup first and then my coworkers' food, and then some other girl walked towards us with my salad.  She didn't know I was watching her.  I saw her hand move from the top of my salad back under the plate.  When she set it down in front of me, I could see there was something brown in her hand.  It had to be either bacon or a crouton.  I watched her as she walked away and saw her hand go to her mouth and her jaw start working.

She was eating my salad.  My salad that she took from my plate, right in front of me!  MY SALAD.

I stared at my plate, and then told my coworkers that she had taken something from my plate and eaten it.  One of the servers came by and asked if everything was ok.  I told him what had happened and he was appropriately horrified.  He immediately took my salad away and said he'd get me a new one.  Then another of the servers came over and asked what happened.  When I told her, she laughed, and then apologized for the laughing and the snacking.  I laughed too and told her that when I waited tables, we only occasionally picked fries off of people's plates, and only in the kitchen, NEVER in front of the customer.  Then the server who delivered my food came over and told me she didn't eat any of my salad.  "I saw you put your hand in my food," I said.  "I didn't," she replied.  "I didn't eat your food."  But she apologized anyway.  

They did bring me a new salad, with LOTS of stuff on it and I was finally able to enjoy my whole salad without anyone's help.

In which I de-funk

GUESS WHAT?  I think I am out of my Funk, thanks in no small part to this song (this is the only video I could find of the original song, so sorry if the lights give you seizures), which I heard Friday night and spent all day Saturday trying to figure out the name of it.  It's "Christmas Wrapping".  By The Waitresses.  See?  I just needed a fun Christmas song.  

GUESS WHAT ELSE?  I changed my settings so now you can actually leave a comment if you like.   

In which I enact the plan

6:24 AM  I'll just lie here a few minutes and think before I get up.  Awareness of the global community, that's the plan.  It'll be so nice to do something that will really help people. Fighting for the rights of communities around the world.  Standing up for women who have been silenced all their lives.  Prosecuting people who take advantage of the environment.  This is gonna be great.  

7:51 AM NO! Overslept. Late.  DAMN IT.  

8:05 AM Race to work.  Do makeup in car.  Why can't anyone in LA move with any kind of speed or purpose? Why does everyone drive so slow ALL THE TIME?  Geez.  So pleased with my plan.  It's going to be really nice being all altruistic and stuff.  After all, everyone deserves to be treated with respect and I can be a part of that.  Oh my god, these people.  GET OUT OF MY WAY.  And the busses.  Every day with the slow busses.  I fail to see how public transportation helps traffic if it slows the rest of us down.  They should just get rid of it.  

8:35 AM Arrive at office.  The papers.  Where are the papers?  I look around the elevator lobby for them.  An employee from the office next door pokes her head around the corner "Oh, I'm really sorry," she tells me.  "I accidentally spilled my coffee on your papers.  Since they were mostly ruined, I threw them out."  She disappears back around the corner.  I need those papers for my FUTURE.  How am I supposed to be up on world events when you spilled coffee on my information source???  Ok, ok.  No matter.  I will read them on line during my lunch break.  That'll be fine.

10:20 AM  I wonder what it'll be like when I am a big, famous human rights attorney.  Maybe I'll get interviewed by the Times or Vanity Fair.  Maybe even Vogue!  They might put me on the cover, too, with some great title like "Human Rights are Sexy".  I wonder if I get to keep the clothes from the photoshoot....

1:00 PM  Lunchtime! Got my lunch, ready to read the news.  Oooh - Golden Globe nominations are out.  You know Heath Ledger's probably going to win.  Those poor guys in that category don't have a chance.  I'll just take a quick look and move on to the news.  Cholera epidemic, water shortage, nasty bribery case with that Blagojevich fellow.  That doesn't look good.  Looks like something's going on with that Casey Anthony case.  This is all very depressing.  Isn't there something happy to report about?

2:05 PM Hahaha!  I was just reading about this - wait - how did I end up on People.com?  Alright, well, I did read a little bit of news, so that's good.  A  productive lunch.  Got to get back to work.

7:00 PM  Alright, now, where is that Frontline episode on Darfur?  Where - no, oh no - shoot.  I must have deleted it.  Did I ever watch it?  Dang.  Oh! Oh, great.  I still have last night's Ghost Hunters to watch.  Excellent!

9:58 PM  Ok, now really time to buckle down and take a look at that LSAT study guide. 

"There is no penalty for guessing on the LSAT, meaning no points are deducted for wrong answers.  Therefore, you want to make sure you-"  

Oop!  I think its time for Celebrity Rehab!  I can finish the guide after.

1:00 AM  Huh.  Guess I must've fallen asleep on the couch.  Must be time for bed.  I might have done too much procrastinating today.  I'm going to have to figure out what to do about that tomorrow.

In which I come up with a plan

Well, in case you were wondering, the review went fine and I didn't cry.  I didn't get exceeds expectations in everything, but I got either meets or exceeds in every category, and all my reviewers gave me exceeds in the overall category.  So that's pretty ok.  My New York supervisor gave me meets in some categories.

Him: I can't give you exceeds in everything.  You know I can't do that.  Nobody gets that.

Me: Sure, yeah, I understand.  Nobody's perfect.

My Soul:  OF COURSE YOU CAN.  PLEASE.  I WANT TO BE PERFECT! WAHHHHH!

And then I ate four cookies.

As my cousin so kindly noted earlier today, if I were evaluated on my accessories, I would always exceed expectations.  I do have some great rings. There's nothing in my 401K, but at least I have some rings.

I've been feeling kind of bored and useless at work lately, so I've been pondering what I could do instead.  I'd like to work for some really worthwhile organization, like Amnesty International. The thing is, they're really not into hiring you because you're kinda funny and have a stunning collection of shoes.  You have to have some sort of experience in that field to prove that you are thoughtful, selfless and socially aware.  I was thinking maybe I could join the Peace Corps.  You know, really help people, build some bridges, teach some kids to read, get some experience so I can impress those folks.  But then, I don't think they let you shoe shop in the Peace Corps.  And wearing all my rings would probably get in the way of digging wells and things.  Also, I'm sure you can't successfully carry water from the river back to the village in an Yves Saint Laurent Downtown Tote, no matter how cute it might be.  

I think I'm going to need a different plan.  

Maybe what I'll do is go to law school.  Or better yet, get a combination law degree and a masters in global public policy.  Ha!  Got it.  Brilliant.

Except for I don't really know anything about public policy.  What if they ask me questions about that on my application?  I don't even really know what's going on in the world.  I can't see Russia from my house, so I'll have to think of something else.  Well, easily remedied.  I'll just read the papers we get at work.  The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal are very respectable papers.  I should be able to get some good stuff out of them. Ooh! We get The Economist, too.  That should be informative, if I read past the first paragraph of an article this time.  I'll try that.  I should probably also watch that Frontline on Darfur I've had saved on my DVR since August.  

It might be good if I worked on my foreign language skills, too.  No one will be impressed by my weird hybrid of Spanish and French. (I took the classes one semester after the other in college.  Big mistake. People don't take you seriously when you accidentally order chile con fromage or ask to try on the gauche zapato. Oh my god! I don't know how to say "ring" in either language!  Time to enroll in Berlitz.) I doubt I can make any headway with the sad little bit of Yiddish I picked up in New York.  They'd just think I was meshuga.

Naturally, I'll have to follow through with taking the LSAT.  I was going to take it last weekend, but I cancelled because I just...never studied.  But if I take it seriously this time, maybe even take a prep course, I could do ok.  And I might have to take the GRE again.  Well, no "might" about it, I definitely will, since I got like a 9 on the math part last time.  Of course, I wasn't really prepared for it either, seeing as how I took it approximately one month before I received my graduate degree.  I do know how to work the system sometimes.

Ok! Great! I have a plan in place and ready to go.  Starting first thing tomorrow, more focus on the global community.  I'll get to work before anyone else does so I can read the papers.  And I'll check out GRE classes instead of TMZ, watch serious news, not just The Daily Show, and crack open that LSAT study guide.  

Ahhhh.  It feels good to have a purpose in life.