Refracted Neurons

I love hearing rumors about myself.  It's like hearing about your alter ego.  This rumor was three years old, but I still appreciated it: Rumor has it that I made out in the file room at work with some guy.  The person telling me this couldn't remember who.  I think what happened is that this was a joke that was misinterpreted.  The joke was based on this guy bragging that even though I was "hard to get," he had made out with me.  I think the bragging was based on reality, but I don't know because I don't know who was claiming to have made out with me.  Not that I've made out with a lot of my co-workers.  I've only made out with ex-coworkers, so that doesn't really count.  Right?  Right! Anyway, I've learned that I'm hard to get and the best make out date with me is at the library.  XOXOX

"You remember him.  He was that hot guy." "No." "Yes, you do, you invited him to a party." "Wait, are you talking about the balding guy with the weird nose?" "Yeah, the hot guy." ********************************************************** I won the contest, so now I don't have to wear a rubber band anymore.

What's Hot Heinz Ketchup with the Stay Clean cap.  This is the first "stay clean" cap that I've used that actually stays clean. Redefining "going out" to include bocce ball and chocolate cake. Getting violent over board games. Earrings that look like concentric circles. Energy work for your cat. What's Not A plastic container to freeze Pop Tarts in. Pretentious desserts. Getting bored over violent games. Vogue Magazine. Static cling.

I joined a choir!  The cool things about this choir is that they're Christian and they donate all proceeds from concerts to Northwest Harvest.  Nothing turns me on like music and Social Services at the same time.  Now if there were only some hot guys in the choir . . . Which leads me to my next point: The Northwest Chorale desperately needs basses and tenors.  So desperately, that it doesn't care what they look like.  Music may be a hard mistress, but she loves what's on the inside. So, if you or someone you know has man parts (or can sing man parts), doesn't mind Christians, and likes singing, send them to https://www.nwchorale.org/join.php

I smell like maple syrup. I hate maple syrup. Anyway, my TMJ has started to act up again and today I can't close my mouth all the way.  I took some tylenol, which helped with the pain, but I still can't close my mouth completely.  It feels like my teeth are in the wrong place.  I would just hot pack it, but I'm at work waiting for a pizza to arrive so I can leave.  I am buying pizza for everyone that participated in our deep cleaning "party."  It was a "party" because I dressed up like a mermaid and all the chores were attached to candy bars. I didn't think the rubber band thing would work at all, but it has drawn my attention to what triggers my obsessing over "Johnny Depp."  Ready for this: 1.  Boredom.  When I'm brushing my teeth, driving down the road, taking a shower, etc. my mind starts rustling through its locker of things to think about.  If it can't come up with something really good to worry about or something phi

Let the games begin!  A friend and I have decided to test some behavior mod theories and see which one works best. She will do cognitive restructuring . . . I will snap myself with a rubber band.  Our goal?  To fall out of love.  The start date? Today.  The prize? A pizza trophy and a clean heart. Shit, I just had to snap myself.  Honestly, I'm really doubtful that snapping myself with a rubber band every time I think about a particular guy is going to work.  However, it's for the sake of science and the general advancement of humankind! My friend said, "Oh, it's kind of sad." I said, "Why?" She said, "Well besides the fact that I don't think he's the right guy for you, you've had this crush for so long . . . it would be like ______ no longer having a crush on Johnny Depp."

"Music is none of my business." -Marge Simpson 

Imagine: eight strangers analysing your relationship patterns and theorizing on the average guy.  Now stop imagining, because someone actually did: http://annan-dum.livejournal.com/125143.html

So, I can't sleep and I found a list that I wrote earlier this year. I haven't looked at it in a while because I was too busy being chased around by a snarling bat-winged honey-bucket (as Annan would say). I guess in light of my last entry I should be asking: does this list represent the average guy? My Ideal *Is a Christian. I can share my values and beliefs with him. He understands why faith is important to me and doesn't mind that I want to raise our children to know God. *Openly expresses love in all forms. He makes me feel safe to gush. We create our story together. *Respects my decisions. He respects my hair, the type of work I choose to do, and that I choose not to drink. *Has good mental health. *Respects the fact that I am concrete and solution oriented. *Wants to set goals with me. He has his own goals and shares them with me. *Wants children. *Recognizes the value of a stay-at-home parent and wants that for his children. *Can plan for the future. *Be

   A few days ago I saw a High School aged girl with "I heart Stevie" written on her hand.  I started wondering when I outgrew that particular phase . . . and then realized that hadn't (at least that I could remember) ever written anything like that on my hand.  I was always too shy to do something like that and would covertly doodle boys' names in my note books and sometimes sketch their faces, eyes, and hands.  Or I would write love poetry.  I still sometimes do these things, depending on how hard I am crushing.  The funny thing is that the older I get, the more I have the tendency to randomly admit to my deepest crushes and distrubute my poetry to them and anyone else who will read it.  So who really is more audacious?

 A few weeks ago, we had a company picnic.  One of the activities was Kickball.  I did not want to play, but I let my boss talk me into it.   So we start playing and my mouth goes dry and my palms start sweating.  As ridiculous as it may seem, I suddenly feel like I'm in Junior High School again.  In Junior High School I was chubby, I wore thick glasses, and had no sense of style.  I sucked at team sports (I still do), I didn't fit in anywhere (also still the case), and no boy would even glance in my direction. Junior High   In moments like these, I start to wish that I were one of those girls that looks like she's been cloned from a Style magazine.  Then I remember that that chubby girl I used to be was smart, funny, creative, and determined to above all else be herself, no matter what the cost.  I can't let her down. High School   My High school reunion was last weekend.  I took a friend of mine who wanted to hear stories from when I was in High School.