Monday was created to test my resolve and break the tenuous line of faith that I had in the inherent intelligence of humanity.

This morning I was able to witness physics in action. Objects in motion tend to stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force. Right? So, why would a man wheel his squeaky desk chair over to the Christmas tree, proceed to stand on it in an attempt to place the angel on top and then wonder why the chair continued wheeling away with him on top of it, wildly windmilling his arms and trying valiantly not to fall and make an even larger fool of himself?

Most importantly, why is this man my boss?

Come lunch I find myself digesting the remains of a very hearty and tasty calzone from N.Y. Pizza. As I sit in my car, windows rolled down and basking in a patch of sunlight with a book I am suddenly attacked by the most vicious of wind storms. Leaves rip through my car, twigs, small rocks and the roar of gasoline powered air currents ring in my ears.

It appears that the office park landscapers decided I was entirely too comfortable and smug in my car as opposed to them, toiling and drudging about their work day while slowly going deaf. They, two of them in tandem, stood outside my car and waved their hoses about in such a fashion as to create a small tornado inside my car. After I rolled up my windows, one of them turned around, saw me in the car and blasted the windows and hood with the air again. I can only assume he did so to remove the vestiges of earth's detritus from my vehicle that he had placed there moments earlier.

If looks could kill...

Luckily, I had other things to do after they left - such as roll down the windows (throw out the leaves and twigs from my lap and hair), settle back in my warm patch of sunlight and continue reading. I bite my thumb at you, sir!

Since I'm speaking of settling down...

Every time I sit down today, I get the following comment from fellow coworkers or passersby: "Did you know you're wearing bright purple socks?"

"No, really?" I should intone in mock horror.

Yes, I am aware of the clothing that I pulled onto my very body this morning. And, thank you very much, not only are they bright and purple, but they are also fuzzy.

If it were legal to smack people with rubber mallets for asking stupid questions, I would intentionally wear these garish and appalling socks every day.

Why am I wearing them someone may wonder?

Quite simply for the following two reasons:

1.) They are comfortable

2.) A small bubble of warmth (that may or may not be an ulcer developing in the pit of my bowels) flames into existence when I catch a glimpse of them. You see, I like my hideous purple socks almost as much as I like the rainbow socks that I have in my drawer with individual little toe holes in the tops.

Besides, I'm making an Unfashionable Statement (just like everyday) and the subtext of that statement is as follows: If I am not photographed in Vogue magazine then I do not have to follow your silly definitions of style [It feels like I should stick my tongue out at this point and give a raspberry and so I shall].

I was looking over my schedule for next year. With a cup of coffee at hand and my schedule pad in front of me, I came to a sleepy though fast conclusion.

I'm insane.

Not only am I insane, but I am the world's most mundane masochist.

I have my full time job to attend to during next year in addition to 16 credit hours at school for the spring semester (5 classes) and also a part time job that I am employed at (though only about four to five days a month).



I'm going to be buying a house next year as soon as I find "the one" (i.e. one that is in a relatively safe neighborhood, has a yard slightly larger than a postage stamp and can be sold again in two years when I have made enough money off of it to purchase a nicer home).

So, let's chalk up "home repairs and maintenance" to the list.



This is all in the sake of 'bettering myself'. I will, of course, have plenty of satisfaction in a job well done by the end of the year as I proudly become semi-competent at driving my bleeding self to the hospital emergency room after attempting home repair jobs on my own, lose the ability to answer my personal telephone without some type of corporate jargon in attendence ("Hi, this is Bug, how may I help you today and would you like to hear about my ten percent friendship discount card for $12.99 a year?"), and, finally, I will be able to reflect on my perseverence and strong drive as I am wheeled, in my hospital bed/casket, across the graduation stage.



At least I'll have plenty to occupy my mind and time.

A few questions and realizations about hospitals comes to mind now that I have spent the majority of my week living in one.

Why is it that when you are placed in a small, strangely smelling and horrifically decorated waiting room and are expected to wait (hence the original naming convention, eh?) for more than three hours...you are served beverages that all contain caffeine?



I always wondered what a lot of the blind did for a living. Apparently, they have a sideline career in hospice decorating.

After staring at the blue carpet with upraised dark blue swirls, red plaid chairs, flat pastel paintings and lined wallpaper for four and a half hours I successfully willed myself into a psychosomatic coma.

Finally, coming close to devouring my fellow waiting room strangers, I made my way to the cafeteria. From a distance, the food both looked and smelled appetizing. There's a key word in that sentence. Did you catch it?

Did you ever know that you can pick up a hospital omelet from one end and have it wiggle and dance like a slab of rubber? It's practically indestructible. I could have used it as a cudgel on some unsuspecting doctor, rifled through his pockets and stolen his Porsche keys.

I was charged for each individual sausage link on my plate.

I had two.

They were each 0.97 cents.



My coffee cost two and a half dollars.

After leaving the cafeteria, I walked two feet down the hallway and found the room where they give you free coffee and snacks.



Strangely enough, I didn't see any children the entire time. I suspect they were auctioned off to work in the gift shop as mascots. They either get stuffed in the back sewing plush toys together or have the job of giving everyone puppy eyes and making them feel guilty for not purchasing balloons, flowers and hand stitched child labor teddy bears.

Mom is doing well after her surgery. She's still in ICU and sedated. I don't blame her for sleeping the entire time. The nurses put her television on a channel that plays nothing except day time talk shows.

Come tomorrow morning at 8:30, my mother will be checking into the hospital for her surgery to remove the cancerous tumor in her esophagus.

The surgery will be for two and half hours. I have every confidence in the surgeon. He has performed these surgeries countless times before and has never lost a patient. I know that last part sounds a bit morbid to focus on, but (quite frankly) it's reassuring.

If all goes well, the doctor says Mom should be cured. The cancer has not spread from this one tumor. Once removed, God willing, nothing else will crop up afterward.

I won't be posting for the next couple of days. Have fun on the 'Stream, guys!

Until I'm back, enjoy this adorable picture of Wee Sam (before he decided to grow 5 feet in length and weigh more than me).

A round of applause for... Wee Sam!!!!

I'm surrounded by women at work. I hate to say this, but (sometimes) I think a good portion of stereotypes hold true about 65% of my sex.

Yes, that's a random statistic.

From the early wee hours in the morning until the afternoon when I finally manage to run screaming out to my car seeking sweet release from this chattering nest of hens, I hear the following:

Female Co-Worker #1: "Girlfriend, did you hear about Flav and {insert girl's name here}? Mmhmm, she is SO not looking good."

*twitch*

Female Co-Worker #2: "Do you think if I started doing squats my butt would look bigger because every time I exercise I just don't have a butt!"

*spasm*

Female Co-Worker #2: "Justin Timberlake is sooooo cute!"
Female Co-Worker #1: "No, girl, he was cuter when he was a little boy in that little band."

*begins to cry*

Female Co-Worker #3: "Okay, so, like, my best friend begged me to go see her on her birthday and, like, she didn't come and visit me on my birthday. I am, like, sooo mad at her!"



These are all quotes from yesterday that are permanently seared into my brain. And people wonder why I just read all day.



Now, of course, we must even things out with a few of the quotes from the men.

Male Co-Worker #1: "What is that you're reading? A book?"



Male Co-Worker #2: "So, I really miss my ex-girlfriend. She came by yesterday so that we could talk things out."

Me: "Well, did you?"

Male Co-Worker #2: "No, I kicked her out of the house."

Me: "WHY?!"

Male Co-Worker #2: "Because I can't have her treating me like that!"



Male Co-Worker #3: "I'm not here to work. I'm here to give you work."

Yes, valued viewers, this is further proof of the poor system of public education being distributed amongst our peers and children. But, you can make a difference. Pick up your phones and dial 1-888-$4ME and donate as generously as you can."
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