I forgot how much I missed being needed

I got a new fish last week, his name is Tow Truck. Why Tow Truck? Because it's the first thing that came to mind, and it seems to fit him. He's pretty badass. He has an office.

I didn't realize how good it feels to have something so excited to see you. He was practically jumping OUT OF THE WATER this morning when I came into work. He kissed the glass and asked me kindly for some freeze dried blood worms. I fed him, and he showed his gratuity by building me a bubble nest. That's what Betas do.

It's so weird that something with a 7 second memory expresses his hapiness for your presence.

Also, my giant monogrammed cooler has arrived:

I am proud of my initials:

It Came!

My nerd-dom has reached a new level: 

introspective city!

For years I've told myself that I don't fear anything.   

Recently, I've found this notion to be false.  

Tongiht, in light of recent events, I took some time to write down everything I am afraid of. I gave myself one hour, and went at it; stream-of-consciousness style.  

I thought that opening my mind to my blog isnt a horrible idea.  This is my personal place to say ..what *I* want!  I do hope you understand.  So.  Here goes, as was jotted alongside the road \ in my moleskine notebook:

• losing my best friend
  
• my brother joining the army
  
• my brother going to afghanistan
  
• my brother dying 
  
• losing my job
  
• staying in the same job for another 5 years
  
• being broke
  
• being too alone
  
• gaining too much weight
  
• going too crazy
  
• crashing in a plane
  
• hitting a deer
  
• cancer, again
  
• the supernatural
  
• being stagnant and uncreative/boring
  
• lack of appropriate degree
  
• never being able to wear heels again
  
• not looking/being attractive
  
• compromising myself to give into my fears
  
• coming off as weak
  
• running out of money
  
• never learning how to grow up
  
• alcoholism/addiction
  
• disease/promiscuity
  
• being unwanted
  
• annoying the ones I love
  
• dying with no offspring
  
• finding someone
  
• not wanting children
  
• do I travel enough?
  
• seeing the world while I can
  
• being content where I am/wanderlust
  
• losing my family to something else
  
• losing my friends to something else
  
• my family making poor financial decisions
  
• investments
  
• opinions of my work supervisors
  
• not having a passion, not caring
  
• facial hair
  
• ebola
  
• biological warfare
  
• going to places alone
  
• math
  
• STD's
  
• the dark- why am I so afraid? 
  
• anxiety attacks in meetings/social situations
  
• being a disappointment to family
  
• bringing a man home to my parents
  
• meeting that man
  
• facing commitment
  
• making life mistakes in general
  
• becoming too comfortable
  
• becoming too comfortable alone
  
• being on medication
  
• babies
  
• infection
  
• no one wants to hear my fears
  
• and my worries
  
• sinning
  
• lack of religion
  
• not appearing to be happy
  
• not being happy
  

So, that's that. Pure from the heart. 

Video credit: CHUCK

Not The Energy Drink

I've finally decided what I want to do when I grow up. I want to be a rock star. Not just any rock star, but a gyspy punk rock star. It'd definitely help if I was Romani & angry... Can I fake it? I must admit that my motivation lies behind being particularly interested lately in Eugene Hutz, and my love for Gogol Bordello.


Today, I want to be something completely opposite. Today, this Good Friday of corporate office monotony that offers nothing but decaf coffee (with a li'l bit o'cream & 3 Splendas), annoying sounds and donut holes. Today, I should be consumed in sweaty, crazy dancing and lyrical wonderment of my (non?)struggle towards creative and social enlightenment. Alas, I'm not now nor have ever been musically talented... and I don't really like crowds or sweat. Ha.

Please, please don't misunderstand my message. I appreciate my life. I'm happy to have a job. An apartment lease. A car payment. Daily vitamins, and premium gasoline. I guess I never thought I'd spend 5 years of my life working for a corporation, much less in "HR". At this point, it could likely be qualified as a "career". GAH! I'm a Career-Woman?! Just because this isn't my dream, doesn't mean I don't enjoy it. ...Sometimes. Now that I think about it, I feel like what I really enjoy is the interaction with my coworkers, and not the work itself. I mean, I could make a hell of a lot more money if I just did contract design work 20 hours a week. But now is NOT the time for freelance designers. (Especially self-taughts like myself [yeah! Perhaps I AM a bit of a gypsy after all!].)

It doesn't seem as though rock stars are affected by economic crisis. Especially when they're currently squatting in Rio De Janeiro. Then again, most rock stars don't have health insurance or a 401K, or a convertible miata :) I just feel bored, despite being so busy and stressed that I'm having middle of the night anxiety fits. I think the trigger of my emotional wanderlust is from evolving into some beast creature I never thought I'd be. And being somewhat content with it. So now, I must punish my brain for being stuck in a normal and comfortable zone.

I should shut up and be grateful for what I've got. Maybe I could just date a gypsy punk instead? That'd be some excitement, and the prospect of it is motivating me to start scouring craigslist... If only gyspy punks could afford the internet.

I do love it, sometimes.

I owe you more than just screen shots, since I haven't posted in a while... But I have been miserable today and my coworker made me smile.  I had to share: 

Blood Gone Dry

This isn't the first time I've blogged about pickles.  This isn't the first time I've left the gym with a craving for dill pickles that would not be ignored.  So, with pickles being diet Friendly, I justified the trip to the grocery store (or "market", as LWin says), and headed right to the condiments row.  

I arrived in that beautiful zone of green jars and was presented with a conundrum:  1 quart for $2.49, or 1 GALLON of pickles for $4.39.  The thought of "wow, its kind of embarrassing to buy a gallon of pickles when you're still sweaty and in spandex, all by yourself..." went through my head.  As did "shit, I didn't get a basket and I still need tea and bags o'salad...".

So what do I do?  Decide that a gallon beats a quart, and so does the price, and go to the front of the store and snatch the first basket I peep out (the hand-carry kind, big mistake when we're talking a gallon of pickles.) and race back to claim my prize.  

I struggled with my sore post-workout-muscles to lug my new baby

 around the rest of the store, but did so and felt triumphant.  Until I got to the register. 

Don't get me wrong, Linda is probably the nicest late-night checker I've ever met.  She left the massive jar as the last thing to be scanned, and while I tried to ignore the act, Linda paused with it in her hands, lifted it to her face-level, and asked "Now what *I* wanna know is whos blood's goin' dry!?"  Now, I didn't know that when you crave pickles, it means your blood needs wettening, but I quickly smiled and replied "Me!  They're all mine!", and proceeded to say "...the worst part is, I live alone."  Linda suffered a coronary from laughter, and went on to criticize my bagging technique.  She argued that if I put everything in one paper bag, it'd all fall out the bottom and lose my pickles.  I begged her to trust me, and promised I'd hold it like a baby, and promised to let her approve my carrying style before i left her line.  

She did, I did, and she did. 

 

And I ate two pickles as soon as I got home.  Win. 

Catholic Guilt

What on earth did I ever do to make Facebook think that I am Mel Gibson??

In my line of work, you learn that the things you do on the internet directly relate to the ads you see, so this bothers me more than you know: 

Now I'm going to have to convert just so I feel better :(