dissonance

Does Vegas have a Pyrex store?

Pyrex Container update:

My hesitation bit me in the ass.  Someone with more balls and less morals took it!

Operation Denial:

After giving it some thought, I've decided that the .1% chance that it was not my container is most likely.  After all, it was empty. Why would I leave an empty container in the fridge? Usually after I eat I leave the container at my desk so I don't forget it.

Unless... Unless whoever took it out of the fridge emptied it before placing it on the counter...

Bastards!

I think the word is "paranoid"

I need a word that describes the situation where you're totally faultless but you still have to make some show about it to prove your faultlessness but you're stuck because demonstrating the faultlessness only incriminates you further.

Case in point:

This morning I walk over to the break room to get the morning sludge, and on the counter I see a suspiciously familiar Pyrex container. I am 99.9% sure that it's mine that I forgot some ages ago in the fridge.  Ok, even though it's empty, let's ignore the fact that it's been in the fridge for God only knows how long.  The point being, my mom gave it to me, it's a nice container, and I want it back.

However, I hesitate just walking up and grabbing it.  Would it look like I'm stealing it?  I mean, it's not one of those plastic Glad tupperwares, it's Pyrex! I'm pretty sure employees at Nasa use this stuff to bring their lunch to work. 

On the other hand, loudly proclaiming "Oh *there's* my lunch container.  I've been wondering where it's been... Finally!... Reunited!  The one my mom gave me... I totally forgot!"  seems so obvious that I'd hate to look like I'm putting on a show, thus only strengthening the possibility that I'm yoinking the thing.

What to do, what to do.  I'm probably overthinking this and I can't help feeling like this was a Seinfeld episode.

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Randomness:  Pic of me and Johnny snowboarding some day gone by

(pre)Ode to Vegas

I had a bliss-tastic weekend, cramped with snowboarding and knitting.  No pictures in evidence of snowboarding and knitting so I'll just have to rely on my memories to escape to on crummier days.

This weekend is "Give It a Rest You're Not in College Anymore" Spring Break Tour 2006. 

Ok, not so much a "tour" since we're just going to Vegas.  But maybe calling it a tour is appropriate, considering that the spot provides not only Adventures in Space (everywhere from Paris to New York) but Travels in Time as well (Roman periods at Ceasar's to Arabian nights at Aladdin, not to mention the blackouts).

I'm not much of a gambler (losing 7 rounds of Pisoy in a row this weekend proved that) so the adoration that I hold for Vegas is more reliant on the delightful ability to buy a daquiri at the Venetian, drink it at the Bellagio, and leave the glass at MGM.  Buying the $1 margarita from that cheap casino and walking with it to grub on $5 steak never ceases to amaze me... probably because I've promptly forgotten all about it the next morning.

It's not a too-mah

After finishing what had become an arduous task at work, I leaned back and ran my fingers through my hair to relieve the stress.  I love that feeling.   It's better when someone else does it (preferably the $150+ hair stylist) but it's very relaxing nonetheless.

Anyway, so I'm running my fingers through my hair and wait, what's that?   A… a pimple??  Ew.

Why am I so disgusting?

I'm way past puberty, and I've come to terms with the occasional "third eye" pimple, the "hurts like hell inside the nose" pimple, and I'll even admit to the rare but vexing "cheek" pimple (ahem, the other cheek). But a scalp pimple?? Actually, I can't be sure it's a pimple unless I shaved my head but my tactile senses say that's the likely culprit.   But is there anything really wrong with a pimple other than cosmetically?   I mean, people don't die from pimples do they?   And since my hair covers it, do I even need to worry about looking for shampoo with salicylic acid in it?  (that actually might feel pretty good!) Which leads to the more disturbing question, if my scalp had a bit of an acne problem, would anyone know?

I think that with this post, I have just guaranteed myself to lead a life of lonesomeness where even cats refuse to keep me company because I let my thoughts go down roads they really ought not to.

(Have I used the title of this post before?   I thought I might but Google brings up nothing.   Oh well, it's too perfect not to recycle.  I love Kindergarten Cop!)

Bossy and superficial

Who needs therapy when I have the internet and its vast array of self-prescribed personality quizzes?

Mouse over the colors to see what makes Mi tick.

And I doubt anyone cares, but really for my own reference later here's the link to the whole report.

Sometimes it is hard for you to understand why others feel the way they do, but that doesn't stop you from trusting them or having faith that they are good people.

Ain't that the truth.

Actually, they rejected my application

It has come to my attention that there seems to be a growing concern for our nation's children and the evil that is My Space.

Now I personally have not perused My Space all that much.  I think it resembles the illegitimate spawning between Live Journal and Friendster with a LOT more not-as-pretty Jessica Simpson wannabes and emo whiners.  I live in San Diego, I run into them enough that I don't want to take up precious Internet Time with more of them.

Ok sure, there are probably evil predators lurking out there, but shit, didn't we learn that back the AOL chat room days?

And ok, fine, the social networking combined with the pressures of MTV is probably condoning inappropriately salacious and prurient behavior in minors.

But you know what I'm worried about?

(because I don't have kids of my own)

I am worried that My Space is producing a whole generation of ignorant UI designers!

The few times I've ventured onto the site, my eyes were attacked by blinking neon text, animated butterflies, and haphazardly placed content, and I spend the entirety of my stay trying to figure out how to turn off "My Humps" blaring over my speakers.

And don't even get me started on the grammar and spelling AND ALL CAPS BECAUSE THEY ARE SO EXCITED YOU STOPPED BY OMG.

ahem... So for everyone who asks me "Why do you hate myspace so much?" there you go.

It's because I'm an incurable dork.

Ranting feels good you know it

I love The Consumerist.  It's snarky and smart and everyday it helps me find something to be pissed off about.

Today there's a post on an essay by Michael Crichton (yes, Jurassic Park guy) about the future of science and coroporations.  More specifically, corporations putting science in a chokehold to make money.  Crichton focuses on Metabolite, who has patented the fact that elevated homocysteine is linked to B-12 deficiency.

I don't know what the fuck I just wrote, but the key point is that they are trying to patent a scientific fact.

This quote sums up the repercussions nicely:

"Do you want to be told by your doctor, "Oh, nobody studies your disease any more because the owner of the gene/enzyme/correlation has made it too expensive to do research?"

The case goes to the Supreme Court tomorrow.

I'm going to patent the correlation between falling down drunk and... drinking.  You all owe me money.

Shoot, I owe me money.

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PS - Korea, you are a bunch of chokers!!

Inspirvations

Dream big, for all things are possible

Reality SO does bite

Reality
At work, kinda cold, hungry, tired, frustrated.

Where I'd rather be
5 years down the line in my cozy Hampton estate

What I'd rather be doing
Sitting in a window seat with a fire in the fireplace, knitting and listening to Big Sonic Chill music, while my kitty and puppy nap by my feet.

What I'd rather be eating
Some really good tea, Brie, blue cheese, sharp chedder, sliced apples, grapes and crackers

How I'd rather feel
Completely content in the moment

If I'm too busy wishing I were somewhere else, I may not realize I'm already there.

Yeah no, I don't see any cheese anywhere so I know I'm not quite "there", but I should keep that in mind.

Break up the pity party

So this morning during my commute I thought about what I was going to post about today.  I was going to write about how my mood lately has been cycling between hypersensitive pissiness, unconsolable blueness, and drunken laughter and like how that's not very healthy, but the medium is out of my reach and boo hoo, shit like that.

But fuckit.  I know having a personal blog allows me to use this as my own sounding board, but tripe about unoriginal heartaches and cliche lessons is boring and monotonous to write and I can imagine it's just as boring to read.  And even if I'm drowning I don't like dragging the whole world down with me. (as if the whole world reads this dusty corner of the internet)

So see here, I've upated my music and my books, because books and music are good friends and we've not been speaking to each other much lately.  The general atmosphere of this place will be whipped into a lighthearted froth.  Now, you may say that this means I will not be genuine, that it's all an act, and what's the point of being fake.  But those who know me know that "lighthearted froth" is exactly who I am so if anything this blog will give me the solace of being my old self for five minutes a day.  Be grateful you aren't there for the other 1,435 minutes.