The Grotto for Feminine Rumination

Check out my lunchtime find: Mommy's Time Out Pinot Grigio. Brilliant! I don't care if it tastes like mud, that label makes me happy. I don't even know if the bottle will fit into the she-cave's mini-fridge, but I bought it anyway. (Don't question why I was at the liquor store over lunch, mkay?)

I love my she-cave (otherwise known as the loft above the master bedroom). It's what I imagine most of you had as a college dorm, but more mature. In which case, maybe I should refer to it as the Grotto for Feminine Rumination. The GFR, if you will. It contains within three walls and a railing, nearly everything that makes me happy. The mini-fridge stocked with Amstel Light and/or Sam Adams Seasonal. The life sized cardboard cutout of Forrest Griffin. The collection of concert memorabilia and albums. The comfy oversized chair positioned at just the right angle to the television so as to avoid window glare. The [dusty] exercise equipment. The bookshelf lined with biology textbooks. The laptop/second monitor setup that allows me to be social and work.

Did I say more mature?

It is unfortunate that in recent weeks I've been forced to abandon the GFR. By the end of a typical weekday, I have only enough energy to make it up the first flight of stairs and into my bed. It is in light of my lunchtime discovery, however, that I've penciled into the pocket calendar some weekend GFR time. Well, that and Netflix may soon send Guido to repossess the unwatched discs I've had sitting on my desk for the past month.

I'm neurotic today because...
...in lieu of quality GFR time, I've created a makeshift lunchtime she-cave in the back of my Murano. Please note: the upside to never cleaning out the back of your SUV is that you have everything you need to make yourself comfortable in emergencies and/or moments of Please-Just-Leave-Me-The-Hell-Alone. Don't worry about the odd stares of passersby. They're just jealous they didn't think of it. Or so I tell myself. (Don't judge--I breathe toenail dust for a living.)

Sunny Day, Chasing the Clouds Away

Today's blog is brought to you by the letters I S F and E.

I'm so friggin' exhausted. My schedule was not meant to be done by one person. Or three, for that matter. However, I can't in good conscience complain. We all know by now that I function better at the speed of chaos. There are times, though, when I suspect my mission to out-wonder Wonder Woman will bite me in the arse.

What to do? I've been afflicted with SARs my entire adult life. No, not Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome. I wish. I Suck At Relationships. I'd like to have a successful relationship. I'd also like to have a money tree, but that doesn't seem likely either.

While I'm at it, I'd also like to come up with a smashing segue into my theory on online dating...but I can't seem to get anything I want today. Instead, I'm just gonna run my neuroses up the flag pole and see who salutes them.

If someone posts pictures on a dating website and they don't show teeth in any of them, there is a high probability they have jacked up teeth. Or possibly missing teeth. If they list themselves as 5'10", they are most definitely 5'7". The rule of three inches applies whenever measurements and men are concerned, so keep that in mind. If all their pictures are taken from across the room, be concerned. Be very concerned. If they IM you and almost immediately make reference to their nymphomaniac ex-girlfriend, they are a definite 'no'. Nymphomania should never be discussed within five minutes of 'Hi, I liked your profile'. If they list their last book read as 'The Last Song' by Nicholas Sparks, they are lying. No man has read that book. At least no single-man-looking-for-single-woman man.

I'm neurotic today because...
...I mistakenly thought I'd have time to sit and eat dinner tonight, and as a result, I was ten minutes late picking up Jacob from soccer practice. Which led to tears. Which led to guilt. Which led to, well, this.

Go Take Your Stool Softener, You Crotchety Old Lady

There are several places I must frequent that I simply despise with a fiery passion.

Namely, the grocery store. It is not fair, Gucci Giant, to ask me whether $254.98 is 'okay' when I swipe my bank card, when I really have no choice in the matter whatsoever. I need to eat, and you happen to be on my way home from work. So until I can answer 'no' and enter a more appropriate amount, do not ask me. I don't like to be taunted over my produce.

Secondly, I loathe the gas station. I feel ethically compelled to use a gas station with no known ties to shifty politicians and/or one that has not totally obliterated an ecosystem. Therein lies my first issue. My slightly bigger problem with the gas station is that I don't really feel like I get anything for my $55/tank. Yeah, sure, it fuels my car...for the drive to work, school, soccer, guitar and playdates. Thanks so much, really. I'd rather put the $55/week towards a chauffeur.

Last, but certainly not least, is the Target Pharmacy. There is so much about the Target Pharmacy that irks me. Why is the staff so angry? Why do they shout the names of my medications across the counter so loudly that people in the electronics department now know what I'm taking? Why am I nearly in fisticuffs over the lack of crowd control every time I go?

I'm neurotic today because...
...an old lady snapped at me in the cough medicine aisle at Target because I passed by her cart without notifying her. While I cannot mimic her tone, I believe her exact words were, 'You could've just said excuse me and I would've moved it'. And here I thought I was being polite, not interrupting her search for stool softener.

My Education Is Ruining Everything

Perhaps microbiology is not the best field for someone with my, shall we say, idiosyncrasies.

I've become a borderline obsessive hand washer. I can't get the visual of the tapeworm anal escape out of my head. I recite the stages of inflammation at night instead of counting sheep. I doodle cell anatomy. And even more annoying than all of that, I've become an opportunistic information sharer.


Recently, a coworker was reviewing laboratory results from a wound culture and commented, "I wonder if they really test all these antibiotics for susceptibility". I eagerly replied with a detailed explanation of in vitro testing for antibiotic susceptibility/resistance, complete with procedural techniques and zone of inhibition interpretation.

In retrospect, I think it was a rhetorical question, and I'm a wannabe know-it-all ass.

I had an exam today in my Chronic and Communicable Disease class--which is, for the record, an upper level biology class. I clarify that fact because I'm going to tell you something ridiculous-slash-obnoxious now. I completed the exam in roughly 15.3 minutes and earned 100 out of 101 possible points. Was I pleased? Nope. Only I would be frustrated because the exam was too easy (not to mention I missed that one point).

I'm neurotic today (and for the past two weeks) because...
...I don't know nearly enough to act like a know-it-all. I need to go watch Jeopardy with my father to be reminded of who really wears the brains in this family.

Vocabulary for Witty Banter 101

I've been staring at a blank page for two weeks. Can you believe I have nothing remotely clever to say? For reasons unbeknownst to me, I'm in a bit of a funk. Melancholic, if you will.

Melancholy is one of my favorite words, by the way. I also enjoy archipelago and polydactyly. You should know this if we're going to be friends. I highly encourage their use in our witty banter.

School started a few weeks ago, and something strange happened...I didn't experience my typical Hooray-I-Get-To-Use-My-Backpack euphoria. (Euphoria: another good word. Add that to the list you're keeping.) Yes, I prepared my colored file folders and loaded my pencil pouch with trusty #2's. I even went so far as to add a little flair to the backpack. Still, nada in the excitement department.

My classes aren't helping the situation. We spent three hours on advance directives in my first Biomedical Ethics class. The thought of talking about death and dying for another three hours in the second week induced a migrane on the way to class. I literally drove all the way to campus, lost vision in my left eye, and then made a u-turn back home. My Chronic and Communicable Disease lecture is a little less painful, but not by much. The professor is one of these gotta-be-funny-to-keep-the-kids-entertained guys, and it really pushes my buttons sometimes. I prefer dry and informational. This is a biology class, after all. Isn't dry and boring what we signed up for? The highlight of the week was when I learned that tape worms will crawl out of an infected child's anus at night if you shine a flashlight up there. You could also just apply tape across the area overnight and retrieve them in the morning, stuck to the adhesive.

In a related matter, my diet has improved since lecture began.

I'm neurotic today because...
...producing this blog was more arduous than birthing my children. (Arduous. Add it.)