misanthropic miscellany

i ask you, 8 oz of coffee and 1 can of diet vanilla coke in 12 hours does not a full bladder make. how the hell can i have to pee?
rather than a swelling in volume causing activation of parasympathetic nervous system responses, i believe my bladder gnomes are clamoring for some water, like pot-bellied children swarming with flies in the sudan.

think i'm thirsty.

in other news, today i earned my job-quitting merit badge after days of anguish, guilt, fear, and a hodge-podge (or potpourri!) of other womanly emotions. management was superiorly cool about it and said i could stay till i found something else. it's hard when people go out of their way to do something nice for you when really, a week or two of being unemployed and eating fruit snacks watching on-demand sounded pretty sweet. there's a funny thing that happens in my brain when i expect people to take things badly and verbally or otherwise abuse me, and there they go being totally reasonable on me again. it almost makes it harder.

/gnomes of self-righteousness

ode to boy

honeybear...

i love your nose and big feet
i think you're cool and super sweet
your facial hair is the best
you're so much hotter than all the rest
your stunning intellect has no match
all in all, you're quite the catch
nothing's better than life with you
it's so great, all the things we do:

getting takeout from india palace
poking fun, but with no malice
spotting hot cars as we drive
seeing belle and sebastian or freezepop live
curling up on the couch, watching tv
taking a shower together, or two, or three...

helping each other install our shocks
rocking the casbah at weekly triviox!
talking about physics, any time of day
stopping at accidents, making sure everyone's ok
heading out to ice race, messing about in karts
our competition's friendly, to say nothing of our farts...

driving down to spend thanksgiving hanging with your fam
weekend mornings filled with cheesy eggs, coffee and some spam
discussing how we'll name our kids ayrton and elise
laying down the hurt at outback, ordering 12 oz apiece
following up our loads of steak with a stout or two
wreaking havoc in cahoots with tcitb crew

for any occasion, through any trial, no place i'd rather be
than at your side - we walk in stride - i love you, don't you see.

i'd like to spend all my nights sleeping with your hand in mine
and all my days with your smile and eyes like warm sunshine

i want to be with you forever, through every high and low
i know it's true, because i do, and even fred thinks so!

love,
your girliepie (GP)

by the way

JP, you owe me one bombay sapphire and tonic, fucker...:)

cuidado - el piso mojado

note to self: clenching your steering wheel in a white-knuckle fist of death does little to improve your tires' ability to grip the road surface.

as a side, i have long extolled the virtues of poop as a comedy device and conversation topic for the meeting of like minds. today, i add reason #936 of "why poop is great": in vast excess, it can get you out of work on a friday.

step 1: acceptance

yeah so, i completely hate my new job. it's the scientific equivalent of licking postage stamps all day.

i'll leave it at that. if you see me looking busy, it's because i'm trying to find a new job with less of the suck, while still maintaining my rosie the riveter hours at the current one in order to pay my bills (and things like the new north face jacket i just bought. now i qualify for welfare).

and it takes a lot of effort to lie about being sick when you have an interview too. i think my car is about to have a whole bunch of minor "problems", causing me to come in late now and then. take one for the team, steve.

sucks: (suk), adj. [stinks, blows. var: sucks ass].

1. when your fraction collector malfunctions in your 3rd week at a new job, spitting about 600ml of precious crude peptide all over your dusty collection tray and not in the neat rows of little tubes you painstakingly labelled all morning. in addition, when you have to recover said peptide, 10ml at a time, with an old-fashioned bulb pipetter from the days of the scopes monkey trial. and filter it, 10 ml at a time, into 50ml conicals. and start all over. with your boss watching.

2. when the following day, your car defroster/heater blower motor says "i quit." and you have to drive 50-some-odd miles to work with the windows open. and it's 20 degrees. and the rotting minivan you semi-cut off on 495, due to your fogged up rear windows, decides to order a fatwa on your bumper, testing your non-anti-lock brake mojo (sincere appreciation for recently acquired skills at the o'neil school).