Obstacle Course Summer

So I've decided that the best part of being around campus during the summer is that I get to see all the construction. Granted, the novelty wears off a little when I walk down the hallway and a splotch of white paint falls on me from the newly painted ceiling, but other than that, it's pretty exciting to see the projects when they're still new. Plus, during the summer, construction actually PROGRESSES instead of stagnating like it does the rest of the year. And of course, there's the added benefit of having a free, easily accessible obstacle course that changes by the week.

This morning, for example, I had to take a book back to the library because it's about two years overdue and the librarian who emails me faithfully once a week threatened to send fireballs in my direction if I didn't bring it back. So I started out on my trek, carrying a cookie and a bottle of water in case I was taken hostage by cannibals during the 5 minute walk. Turned out to be a good thing I was prepared because what used to be a 5 minute walk during the school year has morphed into a 35 minute adventure in the summer because EVERY SINGLE PATH from my office to the library was closed. So I improvised. I went through buildings. I climbed mountains. Ok, they weren't so much mountains as mounds of dirt, but I climbed them nevertheless. I even accidentally walked into a classroom where they were having class. People stared. I left. Eventually, I did make it to the library, to the great delight of the librarian, who then informed me that there was a back path that would take me back to my building in exactly 3 minutes. Huh. Good to know.

Patience: Not MY Virtue

While we were walking around the Newark airport a couple of weeks ago, there was a woman with three very young children and a cartful of luggage who was simultaneously trying to feed her infant, keep her toddler from pulling the bags onto himself, and keep her other toddler from rolling around on the floor. And as she stood there making what seemed to me to be a superhuman effort to keep all of her children alive and safe, she very quietly chanted to herself, "Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue."

So two things here: (1) Wow. Just really wow. If I were in charge of giving out awards for superhuman serenity, that woman would definitely get one. And (2) I can never, NEVER be like her. And I want to. I think it would be very good for my blood pressure if I could be like her...the patience part. Not the three kids under the age of two part. That part would probably kill me dead because OH MY GOD, CAN YOU IMAGINE THE CRYING?

See, patience? Not so much something I'm good at. When I'm waiting for something important to come in the mail, I look out the window approximately every 58 seconds to see if the mail truck is visible yet. I start asking about what I'm getting for Christmas right after Halloween (which, by the way? Drives. McMoose. CRAZY.) And rather than order a DVD on sale from the BestBuy website, I'll drive out to the store and pay an extra $10 just so I can have it RIGHT NOW. Which is why we spent about an hour this weekend driving to all the BestBuys and Circuit Citys (Cities?) within a 10 mile radius, looking for the lowest price on a DVD box set, only to find that NONE OF THEM carried the set in store. So I was forced into ordering it online. And now I have to wait FOR TWO WEEKS before I get it. TWO. WEEKS. AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH. *Melts into puddle of impatient, green goo.*

Introducing...The Shiny Laptop

I recently got a new laptop, thanks to McMoose's connections with the mob. And by "the mob," I mean "the computer world." And it's very, very cool and very shiny, but it's been a few years since I've owned a laptop and it's taking me a while to get reacquainted with some of the, um, eccentricities. For example: the whole being mobile thing? It's fantastic. Except. The battery life is about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, depending on how benevolent it's feeling. And once I plug it in, I forget that I'm no longer mobile and I try to get up and walk around. End result? The computer has a hissy fit and shuts down and I have a Very Sore Leg from tripping over the cord.

And then there's the whole "Where's My Power Cord?" Drama, which is always fun, because for whatever reason, I CANNOT KEEP TRACK OF THE DAMN THING. At all. Ever. And one time, I even said to myself as I was placing it carefully upon my desk that "The power cord is on my desk. I will not forget that the power cord is on my desk. When I am looking for the power cord, I will remember that it is ON MY DESK." And 45 minutes later, I was accusing McMoose of stealing it and feeding it to the dog.

And if the power cord problems aren't bad enough, the laptop? It makes a noise. Like a kind of squeaky, whiny noise. Except that it makes it at strange intervals and whenever I try to show McMoose, it goes silent. So now, I look like a crazy girl who thinks her computer talks to her.

Putting the Crap into Scrapbooking

I feel like I should preface this by saying that I'm not usually a scrapbooking kind of gal. In fact, I'm not even a putting-photos-in-albums kind of gal. Generally speaking, I'm the person who feigns a headache whenever someone says "Oh, you have to see pictures of [insert event name here]." And yet, for some reason that I can no longer remember, I thought it might be fun to do a wedding scrapbook. Silly me.

I mean, the pages I've already done--the save the date cards, the invitations, the what's-its, the whose-nots--those were all fine. But now? Now I'm smack dab in the middle of the photo part. And the first step to the photo part? Going through the TWO THOUSAND PICTURES that McMoose's cousin (a.k.a. Official Wedding Photographer) sent us. Hear that soul rending cry? Yeah, that's me.

So all crying aside, I finished step one and thought I was home free. Except that when you weed through 2,000 pictures and pick out the ones you think are important, there are STILL over two hundred left. Right. So I'm going to put the scrapbook thing aside for a few years...I mean...hours...and try to channel Martha Stewart. She'd know about this kind of thing, right? RIGHT??? Good.

Well, If You REALLY Want Fashion Advice...

I hate holiday shirts. Ok, hate may be too strong a word. Let's rephrase that. Holiday shirts make me want to do like Oedipus and poke needles into my eyes, just so I no longer have to look at them...Better? And it's entirely possible that the 4th of July ones are THE WORST. Or maybe second worst, because the Thanksgiving ones are pretty awful too. I mean, come on. Is there really no better way to show your patriotism than by dressing like the flag? Seriously? Couldn't you just walk around singing Yankee Doodle and passing out apple pie instead? Because I, for one, would greatly enjoy that.

And I can even understand holiday shirts if you're in certain professions. Teachers, for example, who want to use their wardrobe as a visual aid. Pediatric Nurses who want to distract crying children. Day care workers who...also want to...distract crying children. I can see why these people would like the bright colors and the whimsical patterns. But if you're, say, a brain surgeon? Or the dean of a college? Maybe wearing a flag vest and a straw hat that says "Born and Bred American" isn't the best way to command respect. Just a thought.

Anisha and the Strange, Bizarre, Not-At-All Usual, Very Odd Day

-Woke up this morning to my cell phone alarm, only to discover that I had made three phone calls last night. In my sleep. To someone I haven't seen or talked to in nearly three years. Oops.
-As I was walking from the parking lot to my office building, I saw a man making balloon animals. At 9:30 in the morning. On a deserted college campus.
-The elevator at work stopped halfway between floors, and opened its doors. Being completely confused by this point, I actually stuck my hand out to test whether there was actually a wall there. There was.
-The construction crew was still jackhammering the office above mine. I found this perfectly normal until I remembered that I'M ON THE TOP FLOOR, so there is no office above mine. What the hell are they jackhammering??? And as an added bonus, they were listening to a Ricky Martin CD today, which they had turned up AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE in order to hear it over the jackhammer. Which meant that I could also hear it over the jackhammer.
-The woman in the office next to mine decided to counter the jackhammer and the Ricky Martin by turning up her Whale Song CD. I'm not even kidding. And you know what I discovered? Whale songs at 80 million decibels? NOT SOOTHING.

Yeah, I'm starting to think this whole day might have been an alcohol induced dream...although I guess the fact that I haven't had any alcohol in over a month now kinda shoots that theory full of holes.

Bring on the Limes

You know the nice part about my job? I work for a woman who has three different offices. Which means the chances that on any given day, she'll be in the office that's close to mine? Pretty damn low. Which is super-duper-fantastic, considering I'm trying to avoid telling her that I've accomplished a grand total of NOTHING over the past several months.

The not-so-nice part of my job? The building is currently under construction (or very possibly demolition). And although we haven't been kicked out of our offices, we ARE subjected to dust and noise and stinky paint. All of which was not great, but could be endured. Until today, when they began jackhammering the floor in the room directly above mine. And let me tell ya, it came as quite the shock because I didn't even know there WAS a room above mine, so my first thought was that the building had been hit by a meteor. And as pleased as I was that the world was not, in fact, coming to a loud and painful end, the fact remains that I still have pieces of the ceiling IN MY HAIR. And the cover fell off my fluorescent light, as a result of which my office is now brighter than the sun.

Between the ridiculous, never-ending construction and the fact that I worked for a solid 4 hours today and accomplished more on my thesis proposal than I have since April, I believe I deserve an 8-day weekend and a case of Corona.