Where's Jim?



I adore The Office, especially the American version. I show my devotion at work with an editorial-spread pic of the cast torn from an old Entertainment Weekly thumb-tacked to my cube wall, right next to my monitor. Since everyone congregates in my cube at one time or another, and no one in my office had ever commented on it, I assumed I was the only Office fan around.



Until today, when it was announced in our weekly staff meeting that I was being moved to the Copy Cube "to make room for the new people."



"The Copy Cube?" I said, incredulously. "Where will the printers go?"



"Oh, they'll still be there. We'll just scoot them over and make room for you."



(Please keep in mind that this is your average-sized cube, which is pretty much crammed full of various machines that everyone in the office uses constantly, such as a black-and-white printer, a color printer, the fax machine, and, the quietest of them all, the shredder.)



I just sort of sat there, my mouth agape, as the meeting ended and everyone dispersed. My coworker M, who I'd suspected was a lot hipper than he let on, came up to me and said, "Feels kind of like a bad episode of The Office, huh?"



"Yeah," I said. "At least they didn't move me into the men's room."



Thankfully, my boss came to me soon afterwards and apologized, since she had no idea they were planning on moving me, and especially not to the Copy Cube. She vowed to be the champion of my cause, and swore to keep me out of the Copy Cube, come what may. So at least I'm safe for now.



I'm telling you, this is why I plan to be at work at least a few hours every day next semester. You only come in a few days a week and next thing you know you're working out of the break room mini-fridge.

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Yeah



I was bored last night, waiting for Bonnie & Robert to pick me up for a show at Dad's Garage, so I decided to check out the dating sites and see what kind of hottness awaits me in the ATL dating pool.



Let me just say the pool's chlorination factor is totally questionable. For one thing, I knew half the guys aged 21-35 already. Of the guys I already knew, the majority myself or one of my friends had dated at some point or another. The rest of the guys I knew were seriously undatable. Which leaves the dudes I don't know, who all seem to like Adam Sandler movies, Murakami novels, or touring with their band. (FYI, things I am totally not into: Adam Sandler, Japanophiles, dudes in bands.)



Oh well, I don't have time for dudes anyway.

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Vertigo




No, my life hasn't turned into a Hitchcock film (yet). Remember that beer stein to the head from the previous post? Well, my hangover from hell never disappeared this week, and I got woozier and woozier, and finally the vertigo was so bad last night that I called up my dad and made him take me to the emergency room. I figured the blow-to-the-head-with-a-blunt-object and I-can-see-the-world-spinning might be related.



The last time I'd been to the emergency room was when I took a certain Ms. E in when she cracked her elbow. The last time I'd been to the emergency room for myself was when I cracked my elbow on a certain junkyard found object in a certain someone-and-someone-else's dorm room in a certain C-ton, Ga. That was my freshman year of college, and my second trip to the emergency room that year (and ever), although there was no way I could compete for most-trips-to-the-emergency-room with all the other drama queens out-dramaing me all over the place.




Anyway, I go to the emergency room. I retell the beer-stein-to-the-head story to about 5 different people before being placed in my very own exam room, which is bigger and nicer than any other exam room I'd ever seen in my various visits to the emergency room. This is my first inkling that head trauma patients get slightly better treatment than the rest of the masses.




I wait a while for my doctor, filling out my intake forms and trying not to fall over. When the doctor finally enters the room, I nearly do fall over, for it is not the old, worn-out ER doctor I was expecting, but a young, energetic McDoc. (He looked like Noah Wylie and T.R. Knight's love child.)



I was a little embarrassed having to explain my how-I-got-injured story to him, but thankfully he had a sense of humor and gave me a little good-natured hell about it. Not only was he a McDoc, he was a witty McDoc. When he was peering in my ears, trying to determine if I'd done something to my ear drums (he didn't see anything), I was trying to figure out how one picked up their ER doctor. I mean, you hear these stories all the time, right? Patients and doctors falling madly in love, meeting over broken legs and ruptured appendicts. It even happened to Doctor Jack on Lost. But what I don't get is how does it happen?? Who asks who out? Clearly the doctor can't, since it would be unprofessional and all, so I guess it's up to the patient? But doesn't the patient feel like shit, and probably look like shit, and wouldn't it be kind of creepy to ask your doctor out anyway?



I wondered about this further after McDoc left the room, and came to the conclusion that there was no way to ask McDoc out, and besides, McDocs spend all there time working and I'm a demanding bitch who needs lots and lots of attention, so it would probably never work anyway.



Oh, you probably want to know how I'm doing. Well, there was a CAT scan, and it looked fine, so no internal bleeding or anything. I have a post-concussion something or other, which basically means I was hit in the head, I feel bad, and I will feel better eventually. I was also prescribed anti-vertigo meds, which are essentially prescription-strength Dramamine. I'm not able to drive until I go see my primary care doctor tomorrow and he clears me for it...but since I'm still dizzy, I have a feeling he won't.



So that's my little drama of the week. Good times, good times. Ok, not really.

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Long post about lots of things



I know I'm a handful, I know I'm difficult, but really, this girl can't help it. I'm basically a 5'4" bundle of nervous energy. Like, all the goddamn time. I'm always in a mad rush to DO THINGS and ACCOMPLISH THINGS and MOVE FORWARD.


Great example:This past weekend, which was basically two weeks worth of shit rolled into 3 1/2 days.



Thursday started out badly. I got back a paper I wrote for a class I hate and (dear god, this is so humiliating) I made a goddamn B+ on it. I know, I know, I'm a total brat for freaking out about this, and I didn't even put any time or effort into the thing because I have zero respect for the class or the professor, but this is the first time in my college career that I've ever made less than an 'A' on a paper. I was pretty pissed about that, and worried that it might be a bad omen for the speech I had to give in my next class. But I actually did really well and felt great giving the speech, so hopefully it was an 'A.'



After I got done with classes I met up with CV. We were going to go to a scotch tasting that evening, but when we arrived at the venue we discovered that the crowd was...not what we were hoping for. Dejected, we were walking back to CV's loft when we passed the Westin.



"Omigod, let's go up to the top and have drinks."



And so we did. That's right, we went to the top of the freakin' Westin in downtown Atlanta to have drinks in the Sundial Lounge on a Thursday night. We even ordered doofy frozen drinks in souvenir glasses. But the doofiest moment of all came when, after descending in the Great Glass Elevator 73 floors, we walk outside into the rain and I suddenly realize I've left my jacket. In the Sundial Lounge. 73 stories up.



We ended the night with our weekly viewing of The Office (did you see how Ryan downed that Jager bomb??) and Grey's Anatomy (uh...not the best episode ever, seeing how I can't even remember anything worth noting.)



Friday afternoon CV and I headed up to Helen, Georgia for the World's Longest Oktoberfest! We had a great hotel room, in that it was on the river, walking distance to the Festhalle, and not as expensive as every other room in town. We did meet a cool couple we ended up hanging out with for most of the evening, I ended up in the damn congo line while they were playing "Dixie" in my attempts to return to our table after going to the ladies room, and much beer was consumed. I think the highlight(?) of the evening was when I was knocked in the head by a commemorative beer stein on the dance floor. (I am so not making this up...I don't need to make things like this up. It is totally real. Ask CV.) Unfortunately, the Festhalle and town shut down just before midnight, so our "party all night!" attitude had to be readjusted to "Let's watch Along Came Polly in the hotel room until we fall asleep!"



Saturday there was much hangover moaning as we returned to the city. I went and saw Marie Antoinette that night, which was a total let down, just so you know.



Sunday there was a photo shoot in a train yard, dinner, and a hot tub.



And those are just the highlights of everything I did this past weekend. This post would be much, much longer if I included everything.

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Your mom stays at the Effenhaus



I have to get out of this town....is it 2008 yet?



I've been doing something EVERY SINGLE WEEKEND for the past forever, and my Mondays-thru-Thursdays are of course jam-packed. Thank god Thanksgiving break is only a month away.



I have lots and lots and lots of pictures of me doing all sorts of things that I haven't posted...if I ever get a spare moment I promise to, definitely. Maybe. Possibly.



Look, it just might happen, ok?



And the title is totally for CV. We'll always have Oktoberfest 2006.

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Neglectful




I've neglected this blog, because my busyness has caught up with me the past week or so. Unfortunately, in the hierarchy of personal importance this blog ranks extremely low. So you'll just have to amuse yourselves for a while.

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Inappropriate




Yes, I can be quite inappropriate at times. Especially after a few drinks. HOWEVER! I am doing better. I no longer set things on fire, try to sell Tylenol I found in the host's medicine cabinet, or take my top off. See, I'm practically a completely respectable adult now.




I say this because I went to a party last night where, other than for the two people I went with, I knew no one. I had a great time, made a few new friends, and (mostly) behaved like a sane person. Super ostentatious casetheplace has perhaps morphed into slightly ostentatious casetheplace. I think this is a great step in the personal growth process. Go me! Rah rah rah!



I did, however, wake up this morning with an earache, and it hasn't gone away as of now. So I may have to go to the doctor Monday to make sure I don't have an ear infection...yuck. Stupid frailty of the human body and all that.



I'm really feeling ok with life overall. It's pretty good. I have my whiney things, but really, that's just me being my sometimes-slightly-bitchy self. Pay it no mind.

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More weekend




My favorite moment occurred when, at one point, Patrick and I were sitting at the bar talking about the important things in life.



"But what really matters," I said, "is that my hair looks really good tonight."




"Well," replied Patrick, "you are in a gay bar."



I mean, that conversation works on so many levels. I'm pretty vain about my hair, so it works on that level. And having great hair in a gay bar...well, duh. But the best part is it works on that ironic level too, because while I do have great hair in a gay bar, I am a (mostly) straight woman in a gay bar. And by gay bar I mean 99% populated by gay men (don't get it twisted). So even though it totally rocks that I have great hair in a gay bar, where it totally matters, at a fundamental level it totally doesn't matter because I'm not about to attract anyone in that setting regardless of how my hair looks.



And speaking of my hair, I'm getting it cut and colored this Friday, so expect pics of the new do sometime next week.

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Complaints + Weekend Recap


I was so excited about the cooler weather and even bought a few new sweaters in commemoration. Then it had to go all Indian Summer (do I look like I care that that is not really an acceptable term anymore? DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE??) on me and now it's back to 85 during the day and me in flip flops. Goddamnit. I want fall and I want it now!



This week is kicking my ass, what with all the tests and papers due and stuff. I still haven't finished my piracy paper due tomorrow morning...and no, it's not about the swashbuckling kind of piracy but the intellectual property rights/copyright infringement kind. Yeah, that's what I get for being a Journalism major. Stupid me. If I'd stuck with History I might actually be writing about walk-the-plank pirates. Speaking of pirates, you hear what the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie is rated? That's right, it's rated "Arrr!"



Moving on.



Visiting Patrick in Statesboro (affectionately known to the locals as "the Boro") this weekend was great. He showed me the Georgia Southern campus and where he worked, we hit up the local Wal-Mart (Welcome to the New South! Thank you, Sam Walton!), and by late afternoon we were walking the sands of Tybee Island. That night we did some good ol' fashioned partying in Savannah, including watching the drag show at Club One (made famous by Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" which is really good, by the by, and you should totally read). Patrick and I also spent a great deal of time trash-talking Paula Deen, who's face is fucking everywhere in that town. I woke up the next day feeling like someone had beaten me with a tire iron, so the weekend was a success.



I guess I should go to class now, but I promise more exciting tales of mischief and adventure later!

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Overkill


(examples courtesy of our heroine's current existence)




1) Requiring eight sources for a five-page paper.



2) Having next Monday off from work because it's COLUMBUS DAY. Yea to killin' Injuns as an excuse to keep civil servants at home! Or something.



3) Communicating with roomates via Myspace and Facebook.

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Back in the game (maybe)



I am now "Here for" dating on myspace. Let the skeevy-dudes-with-Honda-Civics messaging begin.

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