Eek. I have an exam tomorrow. I'm not ready!

"Radioactive Death Pizza" - can good news really come after that title?

We could also title this: Lunch-time Fun with Nightbug!

Microwaveable pizza should not contain even the remotest of possibilities of any of the following:

1.) Explosions
2.) Melting
3.) DNA resequencing

Step 1.) Remove pizza from box.
Success!
Step 2.) Remove pizza from plastic wrapper.
Success!
Step 3.) Place pizza on microwaveable safe plate.
Success!
Step 4.) Set microwave to "high" and timer to five minutes.
Success!
Step 5.) Enjoy your meal!
Epic FAIL!

Should one open the microwave to find a crispy and blackened hunk of bread and what was once possibly cheese permanently adhered to a plate?

Should smoke follow the opening of said microwave?

Should one feel compelled to throw the plate into the trash, leap about in horror after large waves of smoke erupt from said trash and feel the sudden desire to pour a gallon of water on top of it to prevent said pizza from combusting?

Say "goodbye" to pizza, my friends. Say "hello" to popcorn.

Mmmm. Nutritious!

The Scene

My office. Several desks. Lots of computer equipment. A giant tub of free gourmet coffee.

The Main Character

Mild mannered and innocent corporate, law-abiding Nightbug.

The Resulting Mayhem

I know possess the ability to see through walls. Time is a meaningless concept. I have, in a mere two hours, evolved past the pale and pitiful limitations of mere humanity. Thought - faster than the speed of light. Reflexes - faster than...oops.



Did I just spill coffee on the wall? Surely that stain will come out with a little bit of elbow grease.



It's a good thing to remove paint, right? Paint isn't environmentally friendly. I'm doing a service to society, right?



Oh, look at the time. Look at the time. Gotta run.

Sometimes, I suspect that I might be a little odd. Shocking, right?

As I'm stuck at work tonight until midnight, I shall ramble aimlessly below:

Commence rambling transmission:

For the first portion of my day at work I sometimes have to help out the filing department. I was pushing a cart loaded down with paperwork when I ran over something that was lodged under the carpet. The cart jolted and made an overwhelmingly loud "Ka-thump!" noise. My brain immediately tossed up the image that I had just ran over some poor, helpless office gnome or brownie that was sneaking about the office under the carpet. I've ran over him several times now and can't help but wince and cringe upon each impact. I suspect my co-workers are beginning to grow wary of me.

[Insert moment of contemplation here, cup chin thoughtfully]

Um, actually, I'm pretty positive that my co-workers are already wary of me. Is it normal for co-workers to make the sign of the evil eye in your general direction and then ensconce themselves beneath a pile of paperwork, garlic and crosses?

Okay, okay. I might be exaggerating a little bit.

Just a wee bit.

Wee...There's just something about that word.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Wasn't that fun?

Luckily, I work the second shift and, thus, a large portion of my time is spent by myself.

I like to have the lights off as much as possible in the office. I despise flourescent lighting. I would like to state that I specifically despise standing directly underneath ten searing hot flourescent bulbs in front of a wavy mirror in any ladies restroom. The last thing I need when I trudge into the office is to stare at an alternative dimension NightBug that has, based upon appearance, simultaneously experienced a high velocity impact from a runaway train, a morphine overdose, and been subjected to the neurotic machinations of a demented makeup artist.

I would also like to point out that the trash cans here have an annoying tendency to crinkle randomly throughout the night. I really, really shouldn't have brought that horror novel to work the other day. I ended up reading a paragraph and then staring with intent mind-numbing terror at the trash can as it rattled, burbled and attempted to devour the remains of my discarded popcorn bag.

[Warning: Segue]*

*[[Warning: Improper Use of Word Segue]]**

**A segue is a smooth transition from one topic to another which, I can assure you, is definitely not happening right now.

I have a tendency to dance and sing-a-long to the music at grocery stores when I'm in a good mood - which I always am at a grocery store. Yes, I admit it, one of my favorite ways to spend money is by purchasing large quantities of food. Immediately upon return to the house, I attempt to cook it. For some reason now, every time I turn on my oven the house fills with smoke and the smell is distinctly reminiscent of charred flesh (which is incredibly odd when one also factors in that I'm vegetarian).

I knew I shouldn't have started drinking coffee again. Sigh.

End rambling transmission.

[Update]
Oh...gees. Why isn't it midnight yet? When I can escape?

The following are some realizations and silent commentary (that I can't voice for fear of being fired) that have come to me randomly throughout the course of my work weeks:

1. I am continually reminded of the amazing depth of stupidity in humanity every time I answer my phone.

2. Much like a trapped animal, there are times when I come close to chewing my own leg off in an attempt to escape from certain co-workers.

3. As I sit in dress shoes that pinch my toes, slacks that are incapable of keeping out any type of adverse temperatures, and a blouse that itches, I am reminded that by dressing business casual my productivity increases exponentially with my discomfort.

4. I have developed a phobia of telephones. As soon as one rings at work, I instinctively twitch and find myself choking down my fight or flight response.

5. No, no, no. Do not mail me your monitor. You may see your documents on your monitor, but I can assure you (absolutely, positively assure you) that your computer does not save them there.

6. In order to connect with an ethernet cable it is not necessary to go into the control panel and uninstall every thing that mentions or could possibly be affiliated with your wireless connection. I hate you.



In other news: I have become the bane of one of my biology classes. The last exam only had two A's in the entire class. The teacher felt it necessary to tell the class who those two individuals were. My lab partners are not as nice to me anymore. But I still got an 'A'.