Enjablog

So, a few weeks ago when I was in Wisconsin, some dude at the company partnered with us decided to file a complaint about my “attitude problem.” This was interesting because I didn’t particularly know who he was. But I guess that doesn’t negate the possibility that I was assertive while dealing with people who wouldn’t listen to me.

In any case, their company’s program manager asked him if I was getting my job done. He said yes, so that was the end of the matter.

Until the results of our weight survey came in… and I noticed that there was something strange going on. It looked like there was a module hidden on board that was the culprit for some added weight.

That evening, I received a visit from the program manager and his thugs. (What is this, some kind of HBO show?) Suspecting that the discrepancy would be discovered, (how could it not..?) he thought it would be easier to bully me into keeping quiet than anyone else who would’ve been my replacement.

Um, dude… That guy told you I have an attitude problem. What makes you think I’ll be a pushover?

Apparently, he wasn’t very smart.

In any case, he left me with his thugs to “teach me a lesson.” Fortunately for me, they had a problem hitting a girl. Unfortunately for me, they didn’t have a problem harassing me. They were unprepared for me to not care about their advances though. While they were confused about what to do next, I walked out the door. Conveniently, there was a bike right outside, so I hopped on that and started heading for the airport. That was obviously the logical thing to do… what with it being 50 miles away. Sigh.

Soon enough, a van caught up to me with an angry program manager and some thugs inside. They were trying to run me off an on-ramp when it started raining. Somehow, they got confused by the rain and I was able to get away… and wake up from my nap in time to get to my Sunday afternoon meeting.

Last night I dreamt about mung beans and hybrid vegetables. What’s wrong with me?

I had a mondo bizzaro dream last night. I woke up from it gradually and then just realized that I was lying in bed and not actually doing anything. So, I lay there for a few minutes trying to decide if I should get up or wait for my alarm to go off. After I had waited what I thought was an appropriate amount of time replaying the dream in my head to figure out where I could have done things better and complimenting myself on being awesome, I decided it was imperative that I write this dream down.

I rolled over to grab my journal and felt around for the pen that I knew was there. Finally, I peeked one eye open before turning on the light. It was in that instant that I looked at my clock. Which said 2:35. Which is to say, it was 2:15 AM. That’s not morning. That’s not time to get up. I’m not waiting for my alarm to go off!

But I was past the point of no return. I had to write this dream down.

Five pages and an hour later, I had detailed out enough to satisfactorily go back to sleep.

To summarize: I was a little boy sharing cake with a homeless man until I turned into regular me. I was later tasered, abducted, and assaulted. My friends were replaced with impostors. My attacker’s friend attempted to “save” me by slipping me a roofie. The would-be rapist finally gave up when he realized that he couldn’t take his pants off without putting the taser gun down and he couldn’t trust me not to beat him senseless once he did. (My subconscious truly believes that I am a badass.) Special appearances by Stella (TLD’s car), House’s Corvette from the mobster, and the El Camino from My Name is Earl. It all made sense at the time…

Then, this morning on the bus… Remember how I don’t like kids? 7AM and this 4-year-old is sitting behind me testing out his vocal chords and impressing himself with all the new noises he’s making. Not just cool, weird sounds, but also trying out different volumes. Yes, so fun. Oh! And then legs! They’re so cool. You can kick things with them. Like my seat. I was so close to asking the mother if she wanted help disciplining her child. Because it was clear to me that she needed help. The little girl in front of me had no problems keeping quiet. She was sitting there playing and talking to her mother, but not being obnoxious about it. She was being a normal human being, just smaller.

Ian and I went to this swanky Washington Post gala last night. It was in this big mansion and while we were standing at the top of the spiral staircase, I happened to look out the French doors and saw Miss Manners standing outside on the patio.

Now, I read her column every week and think she’s fantastic, but I didn’t want to bother her. So the two of us stood there for like 15 minutes staring and pointing, trying to decide if that was really her and whether it would be rude to go over and say hello. Or gush, as I would have done.

The strange part was that my hair was all done up and fancy, which is very unusual in the first place, but it was much longer than my hair is now. And I was wearing a dress I didn’t remember buying. But that’s bound to happen every once in a while, right? Through all this, I also never figured out that I don’t have a clue as to what Miss Manners actually looks like.

My dream last night/this morning sucked. It was Friendmas, but the usual crew didn’t make it and Molegirl was hosting. I don’t even know why she was in my dream. I haven’t thought of her in ages. In any case, it ended up being more of a high school reunion type crowd than HOY and definitely not the reunion group that I would choose to hang out with were I awake. I stuck it out though. I should’ve had more to drink. Probably would have if I had known it was a dream…

Then, I fell asleep at my desk this afternoon. I’m not sure how long I was out, but no longer than 10 minutes between the last time I remember looking at the clock and when I woke up. Had another dream, but the details slipped away from me when I woke up because I was freaking out about falling asleep at work. I hate it when that happens. There are times when I wake up from a disturbing dream and I make a concerted effort not to think about it so I won’t fill in the details in my conscious memory. But other times, I wish I could just remember so I can move on and think about other things.

I woke up yesterday convinced that it was Sunday. I was very confused when my alarm clock went off, so I tried to remember what had happened on Saturday. Maybe I accidentally set my alarm? I didn’t even remember Saturday. What did I do? Did I have lunch with my family? Did I go out after work on Friday? I don’t remember the whole week!! The last thing I remember is Monday. I must have amnesia. Remember. Remember. What happened?

Ian explained to me very calmly that it was Tuesday.

QOTD:

Classmate1: Class is at 6, correct?
Classmate2: 6:30 I thought
Classmate1: well, that would explain why no one is speaking….thx!

S-M-R-T.

So, you know how I have really vivid dreams sometimes?

NewGirl and I were trying to explain to TLD a few weeks ago how most people don’t know while dreaming that they’re actually dreaming. He didn’t understand. “Things in dreams don’t make sense. How could they possibly be real?” he asks, while conscious.

After last night, it’s clear that my subconscious is on crack. And my conscious is just on vacation for not figuring out I was dreaming.

One of the VPs at work was Willy Wonka. NewGirl, SkunkNut, and I were Charlie. Not like, each of us were Charlie. Three individual human beings were one character. And yes, I recognize (now that I’m awake) that in real life, they’re not called characters, they’re just people. And as a person, only one person gets to be one, not three.

The chocolate factory was a cover for a sweat shop for naval architects. We (Charlie) were chased around the fake store by Willy Wonka and kept getting blocked by homeless people with shopping carts.

And, um, yeah, I just woke up confused. Not thinking, “That clearly was a dream.” The sad part? I couldn’t even figure out a way to write about this pretending like it actually happened. Right, sad. That’s the word.

You know how, sometimes, you will have a dream and not really remember it, but it gets tucked away in your mind as a memory? Well, that happened to me a few weeks ago. I was all ready for the day and on my way to work when I suddenly realized that my car was not the last model that Mazda made waterproof. My car was not approved for driving on the bottom of the ocean. My car was just a regular car, like the ones the rest of you chumps drive out there.

Shucks.

QOTD: “Why buy the sockmilk when the sockcow is free?”

Yesterday was… less than spectacular. It started off with a baking failure and then was followed up by a baking disaster. In any case, I wasn’t quite clear on how big a disaster it was until I brought it to a party I attended last night.

On the way to this party, I had to drive across a bridge. It was a pretty clear night. A little windy, but no rain or anything. There were also surprisingly few cars out too. Anyway, something happened and I don’t even know what, but as I was crossing this bridge, a piece of it fell down into the water behind me. Well, I probably should have stopped, but a few thoughts ran through my head.

1) There weren’t that many cars on the road, so nobody was likely to have been hurt or fallen in.
2) This bridge is falling, so hurry the [bleep] up and get across.
3) There are plenty of stanchions; there’s no way this entire bridge could collapse with just me driving on it… right? Right?

Yeah, that’s what I thought… until: I get across the bridge and the last section falls down behind me just seconds after I cross. What is going on?! I stop and look behind me and don’t see anyone stuck on the bridge. At least, I didn’t see any headlights shining through the dust and debris.

This couldn’t be my fault, could it? I just drove across a bridge. I try to calm my panic and proceed the rest of the way to the party. It’s only a few turns after crossing the bridge, so I arrive there without further incident.

I’m greeted by the hosts and meet several guests, but only about half of the invitees have arrived so far. Delayed, I’m sure, by the lack of bridge. I proceed to help the host in the kitchen and take some fresh cookies off a cookie sheet… and end up not getting a good grip with the oven mitt and knocking the entire tray on the floor. Fantastic. Baking disaster #3.

You would think that at this point I would realize the absurdity of being upset by dropped cookies when a bridge has collapsed behind me. But this is me. I love cookies. Anyway, I woke up this morning with this terrible feeling of dread and was so confused as to why I didn’t tell anyone about the bridge and upset that everything I baked was ruined. As it turned out, I didn’t even drive over a bridge yesterday. Cool.

LOTD: Spaghetti Ice Cream

Thursday — stayed in. Watched Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.

Friday — Was originally supposed to be movie day, but then Ian and I kept fixing things on my computer and ended up going grocery shopping instead. Went to get my free groceries from Wegman’s, stopped by my parents’ place to drop off some stuff, and got beer and chocolate from Whole Foods. Ended the evening at Dominion Brew Pub where Ian made friends with the bartenders and “waitress”/brewer.

Saturday — Family lunch day. Went over and hung out with the family. Then went over to Ian’s to laze around… at least that what I thought was planned.

Ian and I ended up in some apartment building with sniper rifles. We were shooting bad guys, though I’m not sure how we were certain that they were bad. After a while, the police came after us, but they let us have a 5 second head start. Well, a 5-second warning, actually. “Come out in 5 seconds with your hands up, or we’re coming in shooting.” Ian got away through some ordinary means. I, on the other hand, thought it was a good idea to jump out the window and scale down the wall, Spiderman-style. (It worked, of course.)

I ran across a field toward where they were evacuating the people from the rest of the building. They were getting housed in a hotel nearby and by the time I got there, they were rounding everyone up for dinner in a large cafeteria-style room. As I was nearing the perimeter of the apartment complex to get to the hotel, I noticed some officers eye me. They must have been watching everyone though, because they needed to capture the snipers.

I see them follow me into the hotel. This isn’t good… How will they be any good at detective work if they can’t even follow me so I won’t notice them? Oh well. I try to blend into the crowds of the cafeteria. I sit down at a table and start to eat. I see the police start from opposite ends of the tables and work their way systematically across the room. As they near me, I stealthily move down the table and avoid eye contact.

Not stealthy enough, I guess. An officer catches me as I make an attempt to move again. He grabs my wrist and I drop my tray. I use my knowledge obtained from childhood and scream bloody murder, “OWW!! That hurt! Why would you do that to me?”

He attempts to defend his action, “That’s her! She’s the one we’re looking for.”

I turn in toward him as he moves his hand and make a sound like he hit me. I fall to the ground, again crying out in pain. I start crying and yelling. “What kind of man are you? Please don’t hit me.” I cower away from him, looking around for help. I can’t tell if they’re buying it. The police officers close in…

They go for the other officer. “What kind of person does that?” “She’s an innocent little girl.” “That’s not the kind of reputation we want around here. What are you thinking? And in front of all these people…”

I sneak away while they reprimand the other officer. I wake up reassured of my abilities to exploit my powers of being a little girl.

Sunday — Watched Finding Neverland with Ian and then we hung out with Ian’s bro and his bro’s gf watching Rushmore. Went to Ian’s family dinner night and then listened to radio shows the rest of the evening.

Just got up from my afternoon nap and saw my brother’s latest update. He’s proposing 30-hour days to his superiors. I’m skeptical, but I also agree with him that this is a good idea. The problem being that humans are set to have their internal clocks reset every day by the sun to live by a 24-hour day. Without external cues, from my readings, have resulted in 27-28-hour days. Which is closer to what he wants.

I read that and was very interested, so I proceeded to do some research on Circadian rhythms, shift work, and poly-phasic sleep. I tried a brief experiment one summer when I was down at school with a 6-hour-wake, 2-hour-sleep cycle, which worked out pretty well for me. It only worked for my summer schedule though, so I had to ditch when I got new classes the next semester. I don’t know if that’d be any good for them though… You know, soldiers passing out for their 2-hour-nap whenever their internal clock was scheduled to.

Anyway, I think some of that may have stuck with me. Or maybe it’s just that the only times I actually get around to taking naps is when I’m REM-deprived, but every time I take a nap, I wake from some vivid dream. Like just now, I was going around a school looking for water and the only thing people would offer me were heart-shaped, red Mentos(TM). I’ve never even seen Mentos like that. There was this long line for the water fountain. Think: Women’s bathroom after a movie. So, I didn’t want to wait. I finally got so thirsty, I pulled myself out of my slumber to find that I had rolled over in my sleep and had started drooling. Yes, a gorgeous mental image of me, I know. I had drooled so much that one side of my tongue was dry.

In conclusion, sleep is good.

QOTD: “Aren’t you going to help me inspect my phlegm?”

LOTD: Cola across America

I went with Ian to Boston again, and, as usual, I had no idea where we were half the time. This was unfortunate because this time was not like the others. This time he got shot. Twice. In the chest. Why? I’m not quite sure. It was the middle of the day and there were people everywhere, but no one seemed to notice the small mob of guys come up to us, shoot him, and then run off.

I don’t know how, but Ian continued walking next to me as we tried to find a phone to call for help. For some reason, neither of us had signal. Not really unusual for me (Sprint), but he usually has pretty good coverage. In any case, we went into the nearest establishment, which was a pizza place. Someone was using one of the phones, but they said we could try the other. No luck. The line wasn’t functional.

Continued down the road and no one would help us. Finally got to a produce shop toward the end of the block. There was a woman inside looking at a list. Possibly a shopping list, possibly checking inventory. I asked her if she worked there or if she was just shopping. “A little of both,” she replied. I asked if she had a phone we could use. She looked hesitant, but seeing the state that Ian was in, she handed me her phone.

I dial 911.

Operator: Hey, this is Ricky. What’s up?
Me (confused): Is this 911? I have an emergency.
Operator: Yeah, what do you need?
Me: An ambulance. My boyfriend was shot twice in the chest.
Operator: Where are you?
Me: Uh… I don’t know.

I name the street we’re on. Can’t see the cross street. Don’t know how to get there from anywhere. We’re right at the edge of where the businesses and restaurants hit a residential area. Does that help?

They’ll have somewhere there soon. Stay on the line as Ian and I go outside to wait. While we’re out there, the guys who shot Ian show up again. We try to walk away from them, but they catch up to us pretty quickly.

They bully me into going back to work and kidnap Ian. Where’s the ambulance?

Somehow, I show up back at work, still with this woman’s phone with Ricky on the other end. This ambulance still hasn’t shown up. I don’t know where the people took Ian. I don’t know what happened to the woman or how to get her phone back to her. I don’t know how I got to work. Suddenly, everything clicks.

It was a setup.

I need to call 911 from a different phone without letting Ricky find out what I’m doing. They must have wanted me to go to work so they could keep an eye on me. My phone must be bugged. Try my cell phone. Finally, it works. I call and explain what happened and they say they’ll send an ambulance right away. Minutes later, I hear sirens. But I don’t need the ambulance. Ian got shot. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know where they need to send the ambulance.

*hit snooze*

Ambulance drives away with sirens turned off. I call 911 again. Explain to them the situation. I don’t need the ambulance, but I don’t know where they need to send it. I just need them to find Ian and see if he’s still alive. Ok, now they understand. Minutes later, more sirens.

*hit snooze*

I explain again. It’s like these people can’t understand me. How many times do I need to explain this?

Apparently 2 more snoozes. Oops…

So, the setup– I don’t know who the shooters were. The woman was part of that setup. They staged her location so she would be available to offer her phone. When I dialed on her phone, I got one of their guys, who obviously didn’t know how to answer for EMS, but I guess that didn’t register with me anyway. They kept me on the line to make sure I went to work, though I’m not sure why. Again, I think so they could keep an eye on me after they kidnapped Ian. And… I have no idea why they kidnapped him. So, a very elaborate scheme. To what end? I don’t have the faintest idea.

QOTD: “Because the–all which is on the table begins to address the big cost drivers. For example, how benefits are calculate, for example, is on the table; whether or not benefits rise based upon wage increases or price increases. There’s a series of parts of the formula that are being considered. And when you couple that, those different cost drivers, affecting those–changing those with personal accounts, the idea is to get what has been promised more likely to be–or closer delivered to what has been promised. Does that make any sense to you? It’s kind of muddled. Look, there’s a series of things that cause the–like, for example, benefits are calculated based upon the increase of wages, as opposed to the increase of prices. Some have suggested that we calculate–the benefits will rise based upon inflation, as opposed to wage increases. There is a reform that would help solve the red if that were put into effect. In other words, how fast benefits grow, how fast the promised benefits grow, if those–if that growth is affected, it will help on the red.” –President Bush explaining his plan to save Social Security, Tampa, Fla., Feb. 4, 2005

And I thought my parents were incomprehensible some days… at least they have an excuse. What other language does this guy know? Texan?

LOTD (If you’re my parents or don’t like vulgar language, take a pass on today’s link please. Thanks!): How to stay in my pants — Some tips for boys… and while, a lot of the things on this list have to do with being considerate, thoughtful, and respectful, this chick does not sound like any of those things. She’s full of herself and thinks she’s charitable for sleeping with nerds. Hey, try dating people you like instead of liking people who want you for sex and acting surprised when they don’t appreciate your other wonderful qualities. Still kept me entertained for a while though, so that’s something.

I took this cooking class once. It was one part Iron Chef, two parts regular cooking class. Basically, they give you a menu, teach you how to cook it, and then as the final, you can prepare that dish however you want. Somehow, partway through the semester I lost interest in the class. The final snuck up on me before I knew it and I had no clue how to prepare these dishes. I headed over to this Wegman’s-like mecca, that was a cross between Borders and a grocery store. I found the recipes that I needed, including instructions on where to find these ingredients, but I had never heard of half these things. Anyway, the timers during the final cook-off went off and the entire hour had elapsed before I figured out that it was my alarm clock that was beeping and not an oven timer.

My alarm clock continues to mess with my head. Wake up to the sound of my alarm clock. I roll over to look at it. There are little mushrooms on this level. How do I beat them? Well, you have to wait until Ian learns German. I don’t think he knows German. I better take a nap while I wait. After all, it takes a while to learn a language. Zzzz…

I woke up this morning to the sound of trickery. What does trickery sound like, you ask? *beep* *beep* *beep* Oh, wait… it was just my alarm clock. My brain has been getting better and better at tricking me lately when I’m trying to get up. I don’t know why it made sense, but somehow my alarm clock was trying to trick me into getting up. I sure showed it!

Also, on the dream front. I couple of nights ago, I had a dream and I left something by the phone in my dream. I don’t remember what. Something small, probably keys or something like that. Then I was looking for them in my dream last night and they were just where I left them. Very convenient. But I think my subconscious must be bored or something. It’s off living its own life while I’m doing my thing.

LOTD: Conversations about Famous People — This site cracks me up. Some chick (claiming to be famous and in the in-crowd) goes around collecting pictures of famous people and then makes fun of them: hair-styles, clothes, facial expressions, whatever. An excerpt:

“Pappy used to whittle wood in the garage behind the house where I would sit and let the curled wood slip between my fingers.

Somehow, Mary Hart got a hold of the wisps of wood from Pappys shop and glued them, piece by piece to her head. Mary, how could you?”

“Mary Kate…why? It appears you are wearing a sweater made for an eleven foot giant. Isnt that a bit large on your tiny frame? A knit sweater that goes down to your feet? Then I think its called a robe, in which case you are treading on Lindsay Lohan territory since she was photographed just the other day in her pajamas.”

“Jennifer Lopez…I see that marriage is really agreeing with you, if ‘agreeing’ means youre slowly turning orange.”