You Have Cholera!

I have Cholera. Okay, not really. I have a stomach flu that resembles Cholera's wimpy kid sister. But it still packs a punch.

Is it morbid to count how many times you throw up?

Trevor had this flu two days ago, so I figured if he didn't have food poisoning, then I'd be getting it sooner or later.

Apparently there is a story behind this flu. One of Trevor's friends got married on Saturday. Trevor didn't go to the wedding, but he dropped in at the reception to wish the couple well. There were some kegs and Trevor had a drink. What no one else knew at the time was that earlier that evening, some asshole who had the flu had done a keg stand on the very keg Trevor drank from. Now, 35+ wedding guests and now everyone they come in contact with have a horrible stomach flu. One guest was hospitalized for a dangerously high fever. Luckily, the bride and groom were spared because they were too busy to drink, and the honeymoon has not been ruined.

My comment to Trevor: "That was a very expensive free drink, sweetie."

And now I am home at least for all of today, possibly for some or all of tomorrow. I am subsisting on crackers and water until further notice.

Serious Business

(E-mail convo with [Boss 1])



[Boss 1]: I need a good name for a donut store. I'd like to have a science fiction theme, but, you know, I'm open to other ideas too.

[Me]: Well, if it's a science fiction theme then definitely "Black Hole Donuts" or "A Hole Universe" or "Wormhole Donuts." The possibilities are endless!

[Boss 1]: Those are excellent suggestions. Maybe I'll just start by cooking some up in my basement.
[Boss 1]: You know, like a donut lab. A clandestine donut lab.

[Me]: Those are the best kind.
[Me]: P. S. Just name the shop "Donut Lab." I would say "Clandestine Donut Lab," but that sounds more like a name for your new rock band!

[Boss 1]: I think I probably won't have a name for it. That way, it'll be even more clandestine.

[Me:] Touché.

*(after a pause in e-mailing)*

[Boss 1]: I'm pretty hungry for a donut now. Or another form of baked good. Maybe someone's having a bake sale somewhere.

I Love Barack Obama

Barack Obama's comment after Michelle Obama addressed the Democratic National Convention:

"Now you know why I asked her out so many times even though she said no. You want a persistent President! *gleeful smug grin*"



Also, Joe Biden made this amazing face when Michelle Obama complimented him in her speech. I now have full confidence in him.

Pillow Talk

Trevor: "Hm. Now I think this is some deep-seated issue that's just surfacing."
Me: "Oh, yeah. This well runs keep. Keep drillin'. There's a gold mine. Of mixed metaphors."
Trevor: *cannot speak for laughing*

I am Not a Secretary

I just had the following conversation with my boss on the phone:

Me: "Hey, [Boss 2], Julie from [Law Firm] just called wanting to confirm your lunch date with [Julie's boss]. And she wants to know if you can meet at 11:30." *hoity-toity voice*
[Boss 2]: *groans* "Oh, good lord. You know, [Julie's boss] is just a regular lawyer with an assistant like me." *ahem, hoity-toity voice* "Well, can you please call back Julie and inform her that I am confirming my lunch appointment with [Julie's boss] and--" *drops to normal voice* "Okay, I'm just kidding, you don't have to call her back. I can make my own phone calls about lunch."
Me: "Oh, thank God. See you later!"

Birth Month Thingie

Stolen from LJ.

RULES:
_ Pick your birth month. (check)
_ Strike out anything that doesn't apply to you. (check)
_ Bold (or italicize) the five-ten that best apply to you. (check)
_ Copy to your own journal, with all twelve months under a lj-cut. I'll find you the other months if you want them.
_ Tag 5 people from your friends list.

(Red indicates what I hope people think about me).

DECEMBER: Loyal and generous. Sexy. Patriotic. Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations. Fun to be with. Loves to socialize. Loves praises. Loves attention. Loves to be loved. Honest and trustworthy. Not pretending. Short tempered. Changing personality. Not egotistic. Take high pride in oneself. Hates restrictions. Loves to joke. Good sense of humor. Logical.

Redefining "Me"

I need to figure out which parts of who I used to be were the Bipolar II or Cyclothymia or whatever and which parts were really me, so that I can tell whether the Lithium has taken away those parts and left me as the "correct" version of myself, or if it's not working. Part of me wants to blame all of my faults on the disorder, and if the Lithium really is working, then I can't do that. How do "normal" people feel? Explain to me the difference between happiness and mania; between being down and being depressed. I know that in the end it's just something I'll have to figure out. It's just hard on days when the only word I can use to describe how I feel is "weird."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26205933/

WHY?!

Argh!

Hate.

PA's Got the Right Idea

I foresee similar conversations with my friends about our children in the future. Maybe these kinds of discussions will help me get inspiration for my werewolf story.

Conflicted

I love living with Trevor.
I miss my housemates.
I love my bosses.
I miss my coworkers.
I like my job.
I miss school.
I like having enough money.
I miss being up after midnight and still getting enough sleep.
I like having a steady schedule.
I miss naps.
I like not having homework.
I miss reading all the time.
I love my apartment.
I miss Comic House.
I love Writers' Group and Coffee Night.
I miss Heroes Night and even Chore Days.
I love eating out.
I miss Wren's cooking and even the SUB.
I love having time to write and play video games.
I miss cramming an episode of a TV show between study sessions.
I like the present.
I miss the past.

Revelation

I have figured out the secret to every football strategy.

1. Win.
2. Don't Lose.
3. Repeat.

Everything is so clear now!

I Love Harry Potter Fanfiction

Quotes taken from hilarious fanfic:

*****
Voldemort = "He-Who-Was-Never-Hugged-As-A-Child" AKA "The Dark Fuck"
Harry = "The Boy Who Wouldn't Fucking Die"

Imagined convo if Volemort randomly went out to get some milk:
H: "Oi! What are you doing here, Voldemort?"
V: "I'm getting milk and eggs, Potter..."
H: "Oh... well... while you're here... do you think we should... you know... duel?"
V: "Hmm... I don't know, Potter... these eggs will go bad if I don't get them in the cooler..."

*****
Props to that fanfic author!

The Bicycle Project, Part 1

Date due: 8/3/08
Premise: Everyone writes a story or makes a piece of art, etc, that is somehow related (if only loosely) to the idea that a bicyclist gets hit by a car and is killed. Ongoing project.

Sentinel

I don’t think I’ll ever really understand why I chose to bike to work that day. At this point, even thinking about it seems pointless, but I can’t make myself stop. Would things have been different if I’d made Annabelle drop me off? Would I have lived another twenty, or even fifty years? Would there have been children? I don’t have to wonder what’s happened to her since I’ve been gone: we’re allowed to watch what goes on there. But they won’t ever show me what might have been. Brian says there’s no point, because everything that happened was planned from the Beginning and only He can know which choices lead us to our destinies.

I remember the screech of tires on asphalt, a sickening crunch, searing pain, blood everywhere. Fat lot of good that helmet did me. The internal bleeding was too severe. I heard them say that as I lay half-conscious on the operating table. For some reason what I was most upset about at the time was the fact that my favorite shirt was ruined, as torn and bloody as I was. I mourned the death of that shirt as the heart-rate monitor told me I was flat lining and the Light I’d always thought was a cliché lead me away. We both died that day, my shirt and I.

The clarity I have here allows me to summon the compassion to worry about what will happen to the man who killed me. I have never been angry with him. It’s very difficult to be angry here. Brian would tell me that what that man did was all part of the Plan. I know he didn’t mean to do it. His name is John, just like mine. For all I know, I was the one at fault and now poor John is on trial for vehicular homicide. I hope he has a good lawyer. I know he has a wife, just as beautiful and caring as Annabelle, and they have children and he’s a good father and he doesn’t deserve to go away for this. If I asked, they might tell me what will happen to him. I don’t want to know yet. I’m just going to watch, and pray. I’ll pray that somehow whatever happens to him will make him a better person, because that’s what the bad times are supposed to do to us. That’s how He designed it.

A selfish and very human part of me sometimes wishes that Annabelle were here with me. I’ve refused to let Brian show me what will happen to her. He says it would comfort me, but I’m not so sure. I hope she finds someone else, and that they get married, and have children, and grow old together just like she wanted us to. But I’m not sure I could handle seeing all of that at once. Or worse, knowing that it will never happen, while at this moment I can see her curled up on our bed sobbing so hard I’m afraid she’ll suffocate. I feel so blessed to be missed that much, but her pain is almost unbearable to watch even when I know that somehow this, too, shall pass for her.

Everything here is light and thought and love and feeling and waiting joyfully in the knowledge that everything is as it should be. Some part of me knows that it’s time to stop watching—to “let go and let God,” and then all of life’s mysteries, the past, present, and future would be revealed to me in an instant and I would be consumed by a Heavenly sense of true understanding. Brian says it’s more beautiful than I can ever imagine, but all I can see is Annabelle past and present, afraid of her future. Apparently even in Heaven, some things take time.

Brian says I have Eternity, so I watch and wait.

Stegosaurus, Continued.

Apparently, my stegosaurus lunchbox is infamous throughout the building I work in. We only have one lunch room with one minifridge, but there are four floors of offices, so everyone shares space a bit. The microwave is also inconveniently located right above the minifridge.

I just went to pick up my lunch, and a man I've never seen before was in there microwaving something.

Me: "Excuse me." *goes to open minifridge and grab stegolunchbox, forcing Guy to move away from microwave*
Guy: "No problem." *sees me grab lunchbox* "Ahh yes, the lunchbox." (as if he knows it well)
Me: "Yeah..." *nervous smile*
Guy: "Is that yours? Or for your little daughter or something?" *joking, I think. I hope. Agh!*
Me: "Ohh, no. It's mine." *shameface*
Guy: "Well thank you for brightening up the fridge every day." *smiles genially as if I genuinely provide a service to the building*
Me: "...You're welcome?" *mumbles something about having a nice lunch and flees*

Is my stegosaurus lunch box seriously a major topic of conversation in this building? Now I'm afraid someone's going to steal it! Oh, why couldn't I have an unobtrusive paper bag like everyone else? This is what conceit and ambition have wrought!