Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

None of this would be necessary if I didn't have to follow a schedule.

I can't remember if I've blogged about this before, but I don't like getting up in the mornings. I love sleeping, and I love my bed. But it isn't always a conscious choice, sometimes I honestly don't remember hitting snooze. Other days it's a very deliberate decision. And I guess I'm not the only one out there, because some people have been getting very creative.

I may have mentioned before the clocky alarm clock that I want. When you hit snooze, it rolls away, and the next time the alarm goes off, you have to find it. Then I heard about the alarm clock that goes off when it senses when your body is at the optimal time to wake up. Today I read about a few more that I thought I'd share with you:

(1) But what if we aren't mentally awake until after the coffee? This alarm clock requires you to assemble a jigsaw puzzle to get it to stop. Pass.

(2) This one requires a small element of coordination, and all who know me can say, that's more than I have. It hangs from the ceiling, and everytime you hit snooze, it gets closer to the ceiling, making it harder and harder to turn off.

(3) How is this going to get me out of bed? Timex makes an alarm clock that will emit Glade scents. Why spend money on this? It might make waking up more pleasant, but it won't make it any more likely. Better would be, as this gizmodo suggests, to "just put your coffee maker on a $5 timer." Now if they could come up with one that rolls away and emits a really foul odor, I think we might have a winner.

Ideas? Anyone?

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Right, so . . . ok, then.

So I’m sitting here getting some work done, and I’m taking a sip of bottled water, good ol’ H20, and I notice the smell of dog. This alarms me, naturally, because there is no dog in my office. So my first thought was that is was my coffee, because it’s Starbucks, so you never know. But that wasn’t it. So then I thought, ‘oh, man, is it me?’ I sniffed my shirt, because, yes, I’m wearing clean clothes, but I’m around dogs a lot, so you just never know, and that scared me, because what do you do if your CLEAN clothes smell like dog? But that wasn’t it. My shirt has only the pleasant scent of Surf.


So that just left . . . yep, it’s my water.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

You say it’s your birthday . . . and I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.

My friend’s birthday is coming up. It’s on February 10th. We've been friends since 1995. When we first became friends, I knew when her birthday was. It wasn’t a problem. But then something happened. And that something was my brain. Never, never let my brain get involved in something.

First, she told me that her dad always got confused on what day her birthday was. But he didn’t confuse it with Valentine’s Day, which would make sense; he thought it was on February 9th. I took that and ran with it. From there my brain remembered that my dad’s birthday is in January, and when I was younger I remembered that by saying it was near Valentine’s day but a month earlier, and then I decided that my friend’s birthday must be in January, not February. Because if I was confusing my dad’s January birthday with a February birthday, then I must only think her birthday is in February because it’s really in January and I’m just confusing myself. Then I finally figured out that it was February, not January (after getting it wrong for forever), but decided it was February 9th, not 10th. And the other day when I looked at my calendars going back for the past 8 years, and they all said February 10th, I decided that they were all wrong and I was now, finally, getting it right, and it was really February 9th.

But it’s not. It’s February 10th.

So please don’t be offended if I don’t remember when your birthday is. Seriously, if I may quote, “it’s like a slot machine up there” in my brain, and so there’s no telling what the output will be. I’m lucky I can figure out how to put my pants on in the morning.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

See, that's the side of you that no one wants to see

I have this class at school that is basically a discussion class, and I don’t like it because That Guy is in it. Well, of course he is. There’s always That Guy.

Wait, I don’t know That Guy, you say.

Oh, yes, you do. That Guy, as in, “please, don’t be that guy.” That Guy is the one who always has something to say, and even though it’s not something anyone wants to listen to, That Guy cannot be deterred from saying it. That Guy prevents any group discussion from being an informative, interesting, helpful one and turns it into either a soliloquy, because no one wants to actually respond and therefore actually engage him in a conversation, or a smack down, because everyone wants to respond, and how.

This particular That Guy is married to a woman who is cute and intelligent, and I don’t understand what she sees in That Guy. I think less of her for it.

That Guy thinks that his definition of word is the right definition of a word. If it’s his opinion, it must be right. That Guy says things that are not pertinent to the discussion and make no sense, and yet he takes an extraordinarily long time to say it.

At the end of the first class, my friend turned to me and said “I see that you’ve made it your mission to challenge everything he says. . . .

And I support you in that.”

Well, of course she does! Because nobody likes That Guy! You should see the looks on the face of the guy who sits next to him. I find them highly amusing. Only, it makes me a little nervous, because it forces me to wonder what faces I’m making.

Yesterday, That Guy said that a legal tradition based on religion is more tolerant than a secular legal tradition. What the--? Ok, I’m a hardcore Christian, and I loves me some Jesus, but, in the words of a favorite movie, that don’t make no sense. Because if God tells me not to do something, I’m just not going to do that, and no amount of negotiating will cause me to change my position. If we’re negotiating a contract, and I want to give you a loan at 7% interest, and you want 5%, you might just talk me down to at least 6%. But if you are going to sell me a car, and my end of the deal would involve me violating a tenet of my religion, I just won’t do it.

So it’s stuff like that, all through class.

In retrospect, I may have been overzealous in my, um, respectful disagreement.

By the end of the class, my comments are on the sarcastic side. I began at least one sentence with the phrase, “So, what you’re saying is,” which, if you know me well, you know is the phrase I use before I nail your a-- to the wall. After using said expression I will then paraphrase your previous comment in a concise, clear way, so that you can agree that, yes, you did mean to say what I thought you just said. I just like to give you a chance to clarify that you are actually an idiot before I call you one, and then explain why.

And of course, that’s not exactly Christian-like behavior. So I’m working on it. But That Guy, THAT GUY, makes it so, so hard.

Does anyone have any suggestions for dealing with That Guy? Besides leaping across the table and throwing him out the window, because I'm way ahead of you on that one.