Is it bad that I stood in the aisle of the grocery store and sprayed my skirt with static guard? I mean, the skirt was really driving me batty and I could not take it a second longer. Also, is it bad that I put the can of static guard back on the shelf?

This weekend, I will be embarking on a dangerous and daring quest. It is the same quest I undertake every year at about this time, but it never gets any easier. This weekend, I will be braving the malls in search of the perfect pair of jeans. Among the many challenges facing me will be my stumpy little legs. Normal pants are usually 5 inches too long, but petites tend to hit me attractively right above the ankle bone. (I have finally mostly gotten over wishing I had boobs, but I am still pretty bitter about the stumpy legs. Do you think I can get silicone leg implants?) My next adventure will be confronting my stunningly long torso. Low rise pants on me leave nothing whatsoever to the imagination and make my stomach look 14 yards long. Pants that reach my actual waist make me look like I forgot to properly secure my butt and it has slipped about 6 inches lower than it should be. I do have a small waist and a relatively flat stomach, which would be excellent if not for the fact that it serves to emphasize the amount of junk in my trunk. Yes, friends, baby got back, and a motor in the back of her Honda (unlike Fonda), and I can't believe I'm quoting Sir Mix-A-Lot but it just seemed so appropriate. I have to buy pants two sizes larger than I buy dresses just to accommodate my over-abundance of booty, which usually results in a waistband so loose that I could smuggle a small rhinoceros in the front of my pants. If I do finally find a pair of jeans that fits, I will have to confront my color demons. You see, I grew up at a time when acid washed denim was the epitome of hotness (along with ten button shirts and wearing your sweaters inside out) and I have never quite recovered. I cannot ever for the life of me figure out what color jeans I am supposed to be wearing to look like one of the cool kids instead of the 7th grade class dork. (Yes, I was, you wanna make something of it?) So if any of you are in the Northern Virginia area this weekend and hear a woman in a dressing room quietly sobbing and verbally abusing her ass, would you please help me out by throwing me a color swatch so that at least my ill-fitting pants will be an appropriate color? Or else, you could just buy me a cookie.

I went to have blood drawn this morning, because apparently that's my new hobby. I have the best veins ever for drawing blood. You know how on maps the big interstates are shown as thick, dark blue lines? That is pretty much what the insides of my elbows look like. I am also not at all bothered by needles or blood. Really, I am a dream patient; people have contests to see who is going to get to draw my blood.

Today, however, the woman who won had never even seen a needle before. After taking 10 minutes to set up, she finally got around to sticking me. She got blood, but unfortunately it was all pouring out of my arm rather than going into the needle. The solution to that is apparently to dig around trying to find the vein until the patient screams. When I finally mentioned that it was starting to hurt a fucking lot, she gave up, pulled out the needle, and flung my very own blood all the way down the leg of my khakis. My favorite part of the whole experience was when she handed me half of a balled-up paper towel to staunch the bleeding and then used a sterile wet wipe to try to clean my pants. I guess it's the thought that counts, right?

She then recruited the runner-up in the "who gets to stick Beth" contest and it was smooth sailing from there on out. I got a few strange looks when I returned to work with both arms bandaged and covered in bloodstains, but it is far from the strangest thing I have ever shown up wearing, so mostly people just took it in stride.

The moral of the story? The next time you are in this situation, be sure to ask a few questions first. For example, "Excuse me, but did my doctor happen to grab you off the street this morning and ask if you would like to make a few bucks by abusing her patients?"

So here she is.

I met a good friend's new(ish) girlfriend for the first time. I don't think she hated me. This is huge! I am not good at that whole first impression thing and basically, to meet me is to hate me. My friend never introduced me to his last girlfriend because the girlfriend before that hated me so much he was afraid, very afraid.

I got into an argument with my husband in the grocery store parking lot. We were arguing about Latin. Well actually, we were arguing about whether "nontuplets" is the correct word for nine babies born in a single birth, but it turned in to fighting about Latin. That is the correct word, I won, and I clearly know lots more Latin than my husband so pppbbbbbttttt.

I bought pretty new running shoes to replace my old ugly dirty falling apart running shoes. I do not, as a rule, run, but I bought the fancy just for running shoes so I can pretend that the elliptical trainer is like running. I wore my old nasty shoes to the gym this morning though, because I don't want to get my pretty new shoes all dirty. I think I will wear them only in my house and then only on thick carpets so I don't wear the treads down on the hard floors.

Pixel has fallen in love with my knitting. I'm just hoping he doesn't start peeing on it.

And also, everybody needs a bowl full of kitten.

Here is a list of things I have been offered today:
Extra kidney beans
The finger
A quickie in the supply closet
Extra added bonus work
A large or small towel
Two peanut butter cookies
A new job

Here is the list of things I accepted:
Everything but the quickie

You guys are going to be so jealous when I tell you what I did last night.

We have a cat who has decided that he doesn't care to pee in his litter box and would rather pee on the rug 6 feet away from his litter box. Our vet asked us to, well, bring in a sample for testing so she can make sure there isn't a health issue. So last night found me down in the basement sucking up cat pee with a syringe. I was concerned that I didn't get enough, so I decided to check again this morning and try to get some more. However, since I am very absent-minded I figured I should leave myself a note so I wouldn't forget. Had you stopped by my house this morning, you would have found the following helpful note on the island in the kitchen.

Remember the pee!
And the Alamo!

My husband added the Alamo bit this morning, but the really sad thing is that I nearly added the same thing myself last night. As I always say, we're nuts, but at least we are nuts together.

When I went down to the old corporate cafeteria today to buy my lunch, the man in line ahead of me had a plastic bottle of Perrier on his tray. Written in large, exciting, exclamatory text on the side of the bottle it said "Now portable!"

1. When was it exactly that a bottle of Perrier was not portable?
2. At first, I thought it said "Now potable!" and that cracked me up. Ha ha, good to know they finally made that crap potable. Like I said, it was only funny to me.

People! Oh my gosh, that was so much fun! Thanks to everyone who commented and especially to those who came out of the woodwork to say hello. You are all a great big bunch of freaks, but I mean that in the nicest possible sense.

Since a lot of people chose to comment about their. shall we say "quirks," I thought I would post one of mine, just to be fair. The problem is that there are so many to choose from. You have to promise not to tease me though, because if you do tease me there will be sadness and crying like a kicked puppy dog and whatnot. Anyway, here goes: I count letters in words. Stay with me, it gets better. I count letters in words with my toes. I do this by moving my toes (as a group, not individually) up or down for each letter in the word. For example, take the word whore (since we have established that I am a comments whore). Whore has five letters, so you start with the right foot (you always start with the right foot) and move your toes like this: W = right toes up, h = left toes up, o = right toes down, r = left toes down, e = right toes up. It is best to have words with five letters so that you run through the whole process and wind up with your right toes up. Other odd numbers are also acceptable. Even numbers are bad. Once you finish a word, you are free to start with another word, but you pick up where you left off in the process and move on from there. I do this all day every day for as long as I can remember. It is probably a cry for help and also prozac, but as compulsions go it is pretty harmless.

Also, I live with a constant sneaking suspicion that people are making fun of my hair. Are you making fun of my hair? It usually looks better than this, really.

As an aside, I just totally cracked myself in the forehead with the bathroom stall door. I am such a loser.

I am very excited about all the new sites I have to check out now. I'm trying to save it as a reward for actually doing my job. You know, I will work for 30 minutes straight and as a reward I will go check out a new blog. I have yet to make it an entire 30 minutes, but I promise I will buckle down this afternoon. Maybe. I did try to answer everyone who commented on my last post, but gmail is evil and also on crack and combines emails from different people totally at random so sometimes it looks like I responded when I really did not. If I haven't responded to you please don't hate me, hate my gmail. Speaking of, I have 6 gmail invites that I have had sitting around for weeks. Anybody want one?

I am also very excited that I got a comment from Jennifer, who I have been cyber-stalking for months. Really, ask me something about Jennifer. Anything, I'm prepared. Hold on, that was creepy, wasn't it? I'm not really cyber-stalking, but you know how there are some sites that you are too shy to comment on because you are worried the blogger will think you're not cool? Yeah, I have a lot of those. Quick, everybody go check out Jennifer's site and then come back and tell me something witty and clever I can leave in her comments. (And yes, this will totally make her think I'm cool, right?)

Also, Jenny is pregnant! And you heard it here first! And she had better watch out or I will totally steal her baby! Because you know, she already has one baby and I have zero babies and that is not fair and also she has pretty blond hair so her's will be a good baby to steal. Do you think she'll notice?

Ok gang, that's enough random babbling. I have to go fix my hair.

Ok guys, humor me for a minute, would you? I promise I'm not just whoring for comments. Really. Well, maybe just a little, but that isn't my main goal. See the thing is, I'm wondering who all you people are? So I thought we would all play a game, and everyone can play even if you and I are already engaged or planning to run off to Canada together, but also maybe some of you who have never said hello will decide to humor me and play too. Please? Or else I will whimper and cry like a sad sad little puppy dog?

Here are the rules:
- You do not have to leave a url or email address if you don't want to. If you don't want to leave an email address, you can use mine (beth at thisdomain).

- You may not be nasty or rude or call me a comments slut. If you do I will cry and then I will delete your comment and then I will cry some more. I'm sensitive.

- You have to tell me one totally random and utterly useless fact about you. Bonus points for bringing the funny, but not required.

I will go first.

One totally random and utterly useless fact about Beth:
I have, right this very minute, cotton balls stuffed in the toes of my shoes. I accidentally bought the shoes half a size too big so they fall off when I walk. I hit upon the cotton ball idea last night and it seems to be helping. There are three cotton balls in my left shoe and five cotton balls in my right shoe. Once I develop and large a loyal cult following I plan to auction the cotton balls on eBay.

Extra added bonus random and utterly useless fact about Beth:
When I was a kid, my friend and I formed a secret club called Guiding Light which met in her closet and required tying a flashlight to the clothesrod and turning it on. No, I have no idea what the point was.

Hey - don't tell anybody about the cotton ball thing, ok? That is just between you and me.

(BTW, I rocked the interview.)

Interview. Today. In three minutes. Help?

There were about eleventy million tornados around here last night, and I would just like to state for the record that I was not scared. I just really enjoy hanging out in the basement. In the bathtub. With the cats and the fish.

Yesterday I was thoroughly irradiated and also forced to walk down several long hallways wearing no pants and one of those hospital gowns that open in the back. Therefore, I have selected the superhero name suggested by Pam, The Pantless Wonder!

The most annoying part of the experience was that, having made me wander the halls carrying my clothes and with my nether regions hanging out, after the test they pointed out that there was a lovely private bathroom attached to the exam room where I was free to change back into my clothes. Um, hello? Would it have killed you people to let me change in there to begin with? And avoid the creepy looking lab assistant guy who kept eyeing me like he was about to grab me and lick my neck? Also, since you people answer your phone saying "Big Scary Hospital, may I help you?" do you think you could maybe mention to new patients that you are not actually in the, you know, hospital? Whatever.

Today, sadly, not only do I not glow in the dark, but I find myself entirely unable to fly. I also cannot bend steal or talk to dolphins or turn myself into a bucket of water or deflect bullets. I did develop x-ray vision for a few minutes yesterday, but unfortunately it only allowed me to see various bits of my own internal organs and therefore I am still entirely in the dark as to the precise form and style of Clive's butt. I would not be so upset about this, only I already bought the cape and the go-go boots and now I am going to have a harder time finding places to wear them.

First of all, I love all of you people with the bad jokes! Let's be honest with ourselves and admit that all of the jokes you left me on my last post were very, very bad. However, there are few things in life that I enjoy more than a really good really bad joke. Thanks!

Second, I still hate my stupid insurance company and my incompetent doctor's office, but I love Lisa at the incompetent doctor's office who spent hours on the phone yesterday to get the whole mess fixed for me and she did it! She got it fixed! Yay!

Also, Boo! Because now I have to go to the big scary hospital to be injected with radioactive somethingorother which is then going to make me feel like crap for the rest of the day. However, I'm thinking that the radioactive whosiewhatsits may also give me superpowers. I'm looking forward to that part of it and have been trying to think up a good superhero name. Sadly, all the good ones are already taken. Here's what I've come up with so far:

Attitude Girl
Intolerant Woman
Great Ass Without Exercise Chick (I admit this one is a little far-fetched)
Superbitch

I'm still open to suggestions. In fact, I promise that anyone who comes up with a really good superhero name will be the first person to benefit from my new-found superpowers. Well, after I get done flying around and using my ex-ray vision to check out Clive's butt.

So anyway, if anyone is looking for me I'll be the one that glows in the dark.

Yeah, so I'm having a bad day because my insurance company is stupid and my doctor's office is incompetent.

Anybody want to tell me jokes to cheer me up? Either that, or you can tell my how your insurance company is stupid and your doctor's office is incompetent. I would write something myself, but I'm too busy seething.

So, what do you do when you find yourself with nothing to write? You post IM conversations, of course! Not only does it save you from coming up with new material, but it can be used to prove that you are occasionally slightly amusing when you aren't even trying to entertain an audience. Or something. Anyway, my husband made me a cd to bribe me into not telling everyone exactly how many cds he owns, and here's the conversation we had about it.

1. Do not stretch in the locker room. There is an entire gym full of mats and other professionally designed stretching devices for your stretching pleasure. You do not need to sit on the floor of the dirty old locker room to stretch. You especially do not need to do toe touches or deep knee bends in the locker room.

2. If you choose to ignore the previous rule and go ahead and stretch in the locker room, and especially if you are doing toe touches or deep knee bends, please for the love of god wear some pants.

(Frankly people, I feel a little violated.)

I have an interview this morning and I am wearing an extra-cute but very professional top that I bought yesterday just for the occasion. The only problem is that my interview is over the phone. So here's my dilemma: should I mention my extra-cute but very professional top to the interviewer, or just let me natural talents and self-confidence carry me through so at the end she thinks "I'll bet she's wearing an extra-cute but very professional top. And also lip gloss."

Quite a quandary, really.

My Dad always used to let me win at ping pong and wrestling. He taught me how to bait a hook, build a bookshelf, speak my mind and stand up for myself. He once bought me an aquarium because I was upset that my best friend couldn't come spend the night and he hated to see me cry. I'll take the blame for the bad stuff about me, but credit for most of the good stuff goes to my dad.

Happy Birthday Dad.

But sung to the tune of "Someone's in the Kitchen with Dinah." Try it, it works.

People, how can you let me forget to tell you these things? We got tickets for some shows for when we go to NYC next month last weekend. (That does make sense, just takes a minute.) We are going to see Stomp (and you can shut up because I think it's fun and also it does not cost $300 per ticket) and Wicked and Avenue Q.

Also, the train tickets came today, proving once and for all that one month from today I will be in NYC and having dinner at Becco and eating until I pop. Oh yes, also, one month from today I will have been married for 5 years. (Do you think he's going to give me jewelry? Jewelry is good for the fifth anniversary, right?) (Would somebody please remind me to make the reservation at Becco? Thanks!)

I have been looking at this spreadsheet for way too long and it has taken my mental capacity down to the level of a 12 year old. How do I know that? Because I thought "All Erection & Crane Rental" was really, really funny.

Did you know that today is National Preparedness Day in the U.S.? Did you know that National Preparedness Day is part of National Preparedness Month? Me neither. Do you want to know how I found out? I heard it on BBC World Update this morning.

I'm not entirely sure what emergency I'm supposed to be getting prepared for, but I think maybe I am supposed to be stockpiling food and packing the car so I can beat a hasty retreat to Canada in case Dubya gets re-elected.

My wasabi peas are past their sell-by date. Well past their sell-by date. So far past that even I did not eat them, and I usually figure if it doesn't smell rotten it's ok to eat.

I got some baked sour cream and onion potato chips to console myself. Baked potato chips taste like ass.

I am sad. Also hungry.

I am back at work after my four day weekend and not at all happy about it. Don't you all feel sorry for me? I didn't think so.

First of all, I feel I have to come clean and admit that the only reason I have the remarkably clear skin and small pores that the aesthetician so admired is that I have promised my first born child to my dermatologist in exchange for magical potions that cleared up the adult acne that had been hounding me for the last several years. Also I feel I should mention that while the aesthetician noted my clear skin and small pores, she also pointed out to me that my hair looked like shit and that I really ought to try to do something about it. She was one of those tough-love spa technicians. She did not tell me that my thighs are too flabby to be seen in public, but she did tell me in detail about the time a big and burly professional football player came in to have his armpits waxed. She also told all the failings and foibles of the spa owner, because, you know, that's what I was there for. She had this habit of laughing at everything I said (clearly, since I am really just that funny) and then waiting 10 seconds or so and laughing about it again. Not sure what that was about, I think either it was overkill sucking up to the client or else she laughed the first time to be polite and then laughed the second time when she got the joke. All in all, too chatty but very nice and she made me all pretty and glowy and nice, so I guess we are even.

I was going to do this whole post about how life is like the Showcase Showdown on Price is Right, but the metaphor kinda fell apart while I was drying my hair this morning and so I gave it up. However, I would like to give all of you the opportunity to step in and take over where I have so clearly failed. If anyone has any brilliant ideas about how life is like the Showcase Showdown on Price is Right please let me know, although if you do have ideas I will probably steal them because I am really dedicated to this idea and want to make it work.

Finally, I watched Gosford Park this weekend. I was not that impressed by Clive's performance. I'm going to give him another chance, but if he doesn't shape up I might have to trade him in on a newer model.

So today, while most of you were working for the man, I had a facial. The aesthetician complimented me on my remarkably clear skin and small pores. Then she picked out my blackheads, but whatever. Then I had lunch consisting of McDonald's fries and a Snickers bar. And then I sat my butt on the couch all afternoon and read. Since my husband refuses to let me quit my job and stay home all day eating candy while he supports me in the manner to which I have become accustomed, I will be returning to work tomorrow, a fact about which I am deeply depressed.

Guys, I'm really sorry to do this here, but if I do it at home my husband is going to get really annoyed with me and may take steps to get even, such as telling people how I very nearly knocked myself out cold yesterday by slamming my forehead into the countertop. But I have to get this out of my system, and sadly that means taking it out on you lovely people. Anyway, here goes.

I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going to work tomorrow.

You will have to imagine the sing-song effect for yourselves.

Thanks, I feel much better now. Four day weekend - woot!

Saturday night, after sitting through a really bad movie, we went to one of our favorite restaurants, Big Mango, for dinner. We were nearly the only people there, only one other table was occupied. The waitress was so bored she practically spent the entire meal in my lap, asking for something, anything she could do for us. She also offered to clear the table while we were still eating, but actually she had improved from the first time she waited on us, so no hard feelings.

About halfway through our meal, a group of four teenage boys came into the restaurant. I guessed they were about 15, but I am so bad at judging ages they could easily have been 9 or 19. They acted about 15 though. They ordered a single order of sticky rice to go. I'm stumped. I've been trying for two days and I cannot for the life of me figure out why four teenage boys would want sticky rice. If they had the munchies, they were right across the street from a 7-Eleven. If they were planning minor acts of vandalism I think that toilet paper and plastic forks would give them a far more satisfying result. I can't come up with any hot new drugs of choice which require the use of a single order of sticky rice.

Clearly, they had a nefarious plan and I am just too old and out of it to figure out what it was.

It started badly, but today turned out to be the first happy day I've had in a while. I had sort of forgotten what that was like. Turns out, it's really the little things that make the difference. Nothing very remarkable happened today, just a string of little things that made me think yes, ok, I can do this. There is a shiny happy place at the other end of this road and I can make it there. I still have a long way to go, and I'm sure there will be many more bad days on the way, but my god, hope is an amazing thing.

Ok guys, act casual. See, I have this new officemate. She just joined the team, but I have worked with her before so I knew her before she just showed up and moved into my office, which is nice. She's sitting right behind me now. No! Don't all look at once! God people, I said to act casual.

Anyway, like I said I know her from before and I like her and have a lot of respect for her. She's a manager, and her team does a lot of the stuff that I used to do before I got stuck looking up bullshit data and sticking it on fucking spreadsheets all damn day long! Whew, sorry. I'm a little bitter about that. So, she has a team that does a lot of what I do - the things that I'm good at, the things that I enjoy. I think that maybe she would not mind so much if I worked for her instead of for my current, useless, so-called manager. I think that because she recommended it. Working for her would Not Suck. I know that's not really a ringing endorsement, but considering that everything else lately is some degree of The Suck, having a job that did Not Suck would be huge. Major. Might even get me to lower my shoulders to somewhere around my chin instead of the ear level position they have occupied for the last few weeks.

Now yes, this may never happen because there is nobody to do the crap I'm doing now if I don't do it and also it would be a political disaster because my so-called manager is a grabby little bitch who would try to keep me from moving even if she hated me just on principle. But then I think that maybe if I let my senior manager know that I hate my job and that I am not going to keep doing it no matter what he might decide to move me to keep me in his group. Or else he would tell me not to let the door hit me in the ass on the way out. Could go either way.

My rather late-in-coming point is that the person I want to convince to hire me now shares a room with me 8 to 10 hours a day and I need to look impressive and capable and, you know, not like all I do all day is blog. This has really cut down on the time I can spend visiting all you wonderful people, and I'm very sorry about that. So if I haven't stopped by your place please don't take it personally, just remember that I am busy brown-nosing like my life depended on it.

I just got off the phone with my Mom. She's having a very happy b-day and loved the flowers we sent her at work. Somehow, we wound up talking about my husband. Now, Mom didn't think too much of him when we first started dating. Well actually, Mom didn't think too much of him for the first few (several) years that we were dating. She has come to think highly of him of course and agrees that I made the best possible choice, but at first I just don't think he was what she had pictured for me.

On March 1st, Mom had a hysterectomy, thanks to a cancer scare that praise be turned out to be just a scare. The day after her surgery, Chris happened to be near the hospital for a meeting and he went to visit her and walked with her around the floor, pushing her IV pole. Now, Chris still avoids addressing my parents in any situation which would require him to call them by name, so that was kind of a big step for him. I think it was also the thing that convinced Mom once and for all that he was a good guy who would treat her girl right. I think that was the day she went from liking him well enough to loving him.

We've had our problems like everyone else, but when it comes down to it I made the right and the only choice in marrying the man I married. It's nice to know that Mom finally agrees with me.

Hey!

You should all tell my Mom Happy Birthday! Because today is her birthday!

No, my Mom doesn't read my site and god willing she never, ever will. But she still totally rocks and so I think the internet should tell her Happy Birthday.

Also, I just got an IM from a co-worker that said "you always did remind me of a ninja." I'm not entirely sure how to take that. The clarification was "cool, calm, quiet, way smaller than me but I still kind of fear you kind of vibe." Apparently people fear me. That's awesome!

Does it make me really immature that I just spent an entire conference call biting my tongue to resist the urge to shout out "I'm not wearing pants"?

Oh by the way, I'm working from home today.

Don't worry, I'm the dumper not the dumpee.

I just broke up with Ralph. I told him I didn't want to talk to him and not to call me anymore. There was just no other choice, this had been coming for a while and it really best for both of us that it end now.

But I'm still a little sad.

Goodbye Ralph.

I have my wires crossed today. All morning, I have been singing this little song in my head. This is a real song, not a made up song like the time I was sick and sang about snot all day. Actually, it is two songs which I have some how mushed together in my head. The songs are "Santa Baby" which has been done by tons of people and "I'm the Only One" by Melissa Etheridge. The result is something like this:

Santa baby, I'll walk across the fire for you
Santa baby, I'll drown in my desire for you

I'm hoping this just means that I need more sleep, rather than being an indication of a previously undiscovered crush on Santa Claus.