I haven't been on blogstream as of late. It's a wild story, a long and rambling ride. I don't expect many of you to believe me, but I'm sure the truth will set us all free. But, first, may I suggest that you put down that can of insecticide?

Last week began innocently enough. I was busy giving alms to the poor and singing Disney tunes to the random robins that perched atop my shoulders. Unfortunately, I stepped on a fire ant landmine and was soon coated from head to foot. Shortly afterward I was, indeed, abducted by a superior space traveling race and was subsequently taken to their planet of origin. (There is a connection, I swear).

You see, the aliens resembled our earthly ants. In fact, the ants that we know of today are alien emissaries and, thus far, relations have been strained considering we take their introductory and peaceful intergalatic greetings with a grimace and promptly spritz them with toxic chemicals.

Regardless, my faux paus was much worse. I accidentally sat on the queen. Their society was thrown into chaos and I was ejected from the planet via a rather uncomfortable capsule and, many hours later, landed in the Atlantic where I was tossed wily nily about like an oversized beach ball between two wayward killer whales. Finally, I washed ashore, popped free, and stumbled home.

Um, or I could possibly have become immersed in a veritable pool of caffeine and other such real life activities. But, really, how plausible is that?

I know, I know. I have been remiss in regard to posting messages as of late here. I apologize, but I have truly been busy (aside from that momentary lack of consciousness last week in which I may or may not have been either abducted by aliens or bludgeoned nearly to death with the evil twin of my devout lady and love Logic).

Here's the glorious news: I should be able to graduate this year as long as I successfully manage to pass my cleps and dantes (test out of the classes, essentially).

Cross your fingers, commit sacrifices (though in tofu shaped animalistic forms), and, above all, send me money. Lots of it. It's, uh, for the public good.

Really.

At least from me (I do tend to ramble, eh?):

Life is good.

I promise to post something more indepth and interesting this week as opposed to that simple sentence above.

It started innocently enough. Another day at work, a Monday to be exact, and I was still attempting to recuperate from the weekend. Perhaps that's why I didn't notice it at first.

Notice what, you ask?

David Hasselhoff.

He was giving me the thumbs up with Gary Coleman.

Stupified, I stared in shock at the two of them while blinking away sleep and wondering if someone had laced my coffee.

A few minutes went by and I peered blearily back at the wall.

Nope. Still there. David Hasselhoff and Gary Coleman were sitting above my monitor and giving me the thumbs up in tandem.

What's a girl to do? I went to work and left them alone in all of their tight jeans, cheesey smiles and 80's glory.

Another day dawned. Yup, you guessed it. With another day came another David Hasselhoff. He had regressed a few years and sat beside his future self with a "come hither" look. I'm not sure what Kitt thought about that - probably something uncomplimentary.

Upon my return from lunch, yet again, David had managed to clone himself. This time as a shirtless wonder that was attempting to smolder the camera man with a beady-eyed stare.

I am now surrounded by black and white prints of David Hasselhoff (and one Gary Coleman). I have no idea where they're coming from. Either David is attempting to communicate with me and reproduce simultaneously upon paper mediums or someone in the office is attempting to give me a complex.

I don't have the complex yet (but it's soon coming), but I definitely have gathered a reputation as "The David Hasselhoff Fan Club".

A sadistic part of me has left them hanging on the walls (despite becoming increasingly paranoid that he's actually watching me). I'm going to start winking conspiratorily to David in the middle of conversations with my fellow employees. Instead of saying "I" or "me" I'll begin my sentences with either "We" or "David and I".

For example: "David and I feel that this new process would be disastrous to the company. We think this would work best...Wait, excuse me. What, David? Oh, right. I almost forgot..."

*wink*

I noticed my beta fish (whom I have had for going on two years) wasn't moving. He was settled at the bottom of the tank, fins drooping.

I tapped the glass. Nothing happened.

I tapped again, more intensely. Still nothing.

Growing alarmed (I love my fishy!), I shook the tank a little. The live plants inside of it swished about. Still, no movement from my fish.

"Well, it's time to fish him out of there and give him a watery funeral." My roommate intoned.

I couldn't find my net, so I opened the lid and reached my hand in. Of all the crappy ways to end a weekend, I think to myself. And now I'm having to literally manhandle my dead fish because I can't find the damn net.

My fingers close gently on his fins and WHAM! - movement. Violent, jerking, rapid movement.

Having completely expected to be met with little resistance, I was caught quite unaware. In other words, I jerked backwards with a scream (and a squeaky yelp) in the process ripping the lid off the tank and sending it flying. Water is everywhere and there, swimming around with a look of indignation upon his fishy face, was my beta. Quite perturbed at my antics.



My roommate dies laughing. I'm stuck in a moment of shock. And, of course, the fish is swimming around in circles all the while, I am sure, mentally cursing at me for ruining his REM cycle.



Welcome to Sunday Night.