One of those days...

I hit snooze twice. I got to work 10 minutes later than I wanted to. I was running around like a madwoman, quietly pissy, all frigging day. Building to building, carts and boxes and samples and what-have-you, editing this, and dealing with that. Walking to the bathroom to cry because I don't understand LOD and don't have the patience to ask someone. Running to the bathroom to cry when my officemate took her 11th personal call of the afternoon and I can't think straight when someone behind me is yelling at her kid on the phone. My feet and ears were fucking killing me. I FUCKING HATE WEARING HEELS!

I threw my hands in the air and packed up early. I had three VERY heavy grocery bags full of crap that I have to work on this weekend, plus another bag full of baby products I got for my sister, AND my wheeled laptop case, and I struggled with numb wrists and fingers dragging all that shit down the sidewalk, through several parking lots, down the hill, through the other parking lot, and realized I parked somewhere else today. I must have traipsed through the entire fucking campus and climbed two small mountains trying to find my car. I was in tears, 30 minutes later when I finally spotted it.

One of those days that so many things have gone wrong, you just know you're going to get into a car accident or something. Instead, I reached the train tracks in time to wait for, not one but, two trains to pass. And I'm all huffy and pissy, waiting for the trains and thinking about how sore my feet are from walking so far in heels.

And then I see this man limping very slowly on the sidewalk. Probably mid-80's, hunched over and sideways, in a collared shirt with one empty sleeve, swaying, and one arm clutched close to his body that doesn't move at all.

And I was done pitying myself for the day.

Today I was insulted by the garbage man.

I was in the supply room cutting 165 strips of paper with that paper-cutting machine thing, because I was volunteered to be on the planning committee for this luncheon next week. I was trying to mentally calculate how many hours of my precious weekend will be designated to putting together all this crap, half listening to one of the women from legal in the hallway politely ask the garbage collector to please empty the Restricted Paper bins every Tuesday as per their contract. He refused to empty the bins until they were at least half full, and if he was called to empty them on a day other than Tuesday, their department would be charged a fee. She reminded him that the legal department has a need for certain documents to be disposed of in a certain time frame, and that they are on a budget and would like to avoid those recurring fees.

He replied, "Well that contract is signed by lawyers, if you want to see it. And my wife works with lawyers, too, so I know how it is to work with you people."

Then he turned to me and said, "You must have a lot of time on your hands."

Indiana Jones and the Caribean Sea

On the walk back to the building after lunch yesterday, N and I were talking about movies we'd seen recently. She mentioned that her 6-year-old wanted to see the new Indiana Jones movie, so the entire family watched all the old Indiana Jones flicks so he could get an idea of the background. He decided he wanted to be Indiana. She bought him the hat and the outfit, and she told me that every day, she has to lay the outfit on his bed next to his school clothes so he can come home and put the costume on and play Indiana Jones.

I laughed so hard, and she told me she's trying to get him involved in some kind of acting group, but it's tough because he's only a kindergartener.

Today the topic of "motion sickness" came up at the lunch table, and N and I exchanged sea sickness stories from snorkeling trips we'd had.

She said, "You know, I bought my son a snorkel, and he's been snorkeling in the bathtub every night. He wanted to snorkel in the YMCA pool but they won't let him because he's not SCUBA certified yet, but when the neighborhood pool opens up he'll be able to snorkel in that pool."

Then she mentioned, "I'm not allowed to wash his Indiana outfit because he wants it to get beat up and dirty so it's more authentic."

I need to find myself a wife.

You know? Someone to pick out my clothes for the morning and feed me and clean up after me.

Wait a second... Maybe what I'm actually looking for is a stay-at-home-mom.

I realized that I spend half of my life at work. Yes, this includes my 30-minute round-trip commute and the 45 minutes I spend at the site gym after work. But still. 7:45am until 7:45pm and it will only get more depressing when it starts getting darker later and earlier.

I have a few precious hours to myself every evening, and for the past two evenings the time's been eaten up being on hold with Time Warner for screwing with my internet service.

I'm trying to figure out how my current situation feels different than when I was in grad school. I was working the same hours in grad school - I totally was! But I guess I didn't feel guilty about shopping online whilst taking mindless data, or making a personal phone call here or there. I could run to the bank over lunch, or schedule a Health Center visit during the day and just walk there and walk back to the lab. Plus, the MF was cooking dinner for me all the time.

One of the (several hundred) new hires sent out a new-hire-wide email on the server advertising that her 20-year-old kid sister was finished with college coursework for the summer and had come to live with her until August. She is willing to provide babysitting/housesitting services to any coworkers until then. I was tempted to reply. "Please, dear college student, be my personal nanny. Cook dinner for me and iron my school clothes... Please? I will pay you... a lot..."

On a somewhat satisfying note, I went to do some online banking this evening and noticed I got paid today. And I was all, "I'm rich, bitch!"

Hair and crap like that

I want to donate 10" to Locks of Love or whatever it's called. Only problem is that I have awful, awful, ugly, terrible split ends and the amount of hair I'm willing to get chopped is currently about 9 inches. Should I just deal with the ugliness of split ends for another few months or can someone recommend a good place to get a trim that's cheap? Also, do I need to cut a 10" braid off myself or do salons around here participate in the program?

Please help because my hairs are feeling ugly.

Happy Birthday! I'm so sorry!

Today was N's birthday and the Birthday Club organized a half hour to meet in her office, have some cake and juice, and wish her well.

When it was about time to light the candles and sing, about 5 people asked me where B was. He is musically inclined. I had no idea what I was about to experience without B in the room.

Someone started the song. I don't know who, but it started out as a complete non-melodic drone, almost like a slow, muffled chant, which grew increasingly quieter as the song progressed, and became nearly silent by the time we got to the part where we say her name, because no one knew if we'd be calling her by her whole name or her nickname.

It was about the most depressing birthday moment I've ever witnessed in my life, and to top it off, after we stopped singing/chanting, the British dude in the office got a couple words into the second verse, we all looked at him, and he quit. But you know, at least he sang those couple words because it gave us something to talk about, we 15 people in the office standing awkwardly and avoiding eye contact. We could talk for 2 minutes about how British people sing another verse.

Then like 3 people clapped when she blew out the candles. I wish I had a video camera, because it was so damn depressingly awkward that it could've been an episode of The Office.

American Gladiators

Does anyone think that one dude is hot? That one with the Ken-Doll face and those legs that are each the size of my entire body and boobs way bigger than mine? Is he hot? Or does he just freak people out?

Because he gives me the creeps.