A recent question:

"Would you rather have a million dollars that you could spend only on yourself, or fifty thousand that you could spend on whatever or whoever you wanted?"

A million for myself. Which would go into my bank account. And generate interest. That I could spend on everyone else.

Things Geeks Discuss at Lunch - Part II

1. Star Wars Episode I. Really a crappy movie? Or merely tainted by nostalgia? Did we merely dislike it because we know it's unlikely we'll grow up to be space pirates now? Darth Vader - villain or merely misunderstood?

2. Batman movies. Good? Bad? Or just another reason for Adam West to whine that he wasn't invited to be Batman yet again?

Yay! I know lots of hippie chicks! I'm not alone in my hippiedom!

One of my friends mentioned over lunch that he loves women who swear. He grew up with four brothers, and his mother never swore in front of the family, so girls who really swear have extra "bad-girl" appeal.

But you know what the problem is?

We don't get good swear words.

I know. We're supposed to be demure and sweet and pure and never, ever let a cloudy thought trouble our vacant little minds. But sometimes. Just sometimes. We have our moments. The, um, ones where we swear like a sailor. And we look silly because swear words just don't fit.

For example:

"bite me" - Not bad, but the question is - where? When a guy says this, it's quite obvious he's not talking about his wrist, or his elbow.
"blow me" - Same problem, but to a greater degree. This one just sounds silly coming out of the mouth of a woman.
"f**k me" - Not an ideal swear word combination for a girl. Sounds like an invitation.

On the other hand, we do get exclusive and accepted use of the dreaded "C" word. You know the one. We own this one. Guys can use it, but it just demeans them. It doesn't carry the same weight when a guy speaks it. For women, it is the ultimate insult. We reserve it for only those women who truly go out of their way to earn it. We rarely use it to describe more than five women in a lifetime. It takes alot of effort to earn this title. Trust me.

Welcome to Pavlov's Blog - in which our narrator (me!) once again falls prey to Emode.com.

I'm a sucker for a personality test. So, in the spirit of being recently singlified, I took decided to learn what "type" I am and what my "type" is. This will be handy, of course, because I can eliminate any potentially non-types right off the bat.

"I'm sorry. You're an intellectual. And this printout right here says I need a goofball. Thank you for dinner though. And please, don't call me. Bye!"

So, first off, for the curious among you, I am... (drum roll please) a Hippie Chick according to this test.

"The '60s are over, but their legacy of peace and love lives on in you, a genuine, granola-loving Hippie Chick. A fan of flowing skirts, Birkenstocks, and all-natural organic foods, you probably wear your hair long and loose so you can always go with the flow. The rhythm of your life is definitely laid-back and groovy. Genuine and unpretentious, you're a free spirit with a big heart. A Dharma looking for her Greg, after winning your guy's heart, you'll take him on a pilgrimage to Woodstock and make him wear flowers in his hair. And he'll love every minute of it. All in all, you've got just the right mix of idealism and social conscience to keep any guy trippin' over you, right into your arms."

Hmm. Never thought of myself that way. I do own Birkenstocks. And I have lots of flowing skirts. I'm, uh, wearing one right now actually. Hair long and loose, yep. Idealistic, yep. Socially conscious, yep. Lots of candles in the house. Thinking of getting a second cat. Err, yeah and I do prefer buying things from the health, hippy grocery store. Oh my. I'm a hippy?

Well, might as well find out who hippy chicks date. According to this, I need... a Goofball.

"Laughter is the way to your heart. A guy with a great sense of humor is definitely the one for you! You want a Goofball, someone who can laugh at himself and make you laugh, too. There's no bigger turn-off than a guy who takes himself too seriously. You know that if a guy is silly, he's generally self-confident and secure. Your man is a people magnet and everyone's favorite friend. There's never a dull moment with your jokester nearby. You crave excitement and laughter, and your goofball enhances those things in your life. You probably think life is too short to spend it without a smile. Your goofy guy will ensure that that doesn't happen — his lighthearted and silly ways make everything a little bit brighter."

Err, who wouldn't want that guy? I mean, sure, that's pretty right on. Making me laugh is the quickest and most powerful way to win my heart - but I'm pretty sure I need a little more than just laughs. Then again, that could be exactly what I need.

I really, really want this.

Actually, after reading the story of it, I really just want the chutzpah to negotiate an employer to buy that for me.

The short answer to your question, Eric, is yes.

I've learned that the world "out there" isn't always perfect, but it is quite often much more fair and infinitely more rewarding. I've learned that if I'm going to spend ten hours a day working for someone, I have to respect the person I'm working for, or it's just a waste of my time and my life. I've learned that the person I'm working for needs to respect me, or it's a waste of both our time. I've learned that I'm better and stronger than I was led to believe.

Leaving everyone behind was the toughest choice I made - but I've learned that I didn't really leave anyone behind. I simply extended my family across a few more states. There are still email and telephones and I still think of everyone often, I just don't happen to be physically present anymore. It certainly doesn't change how I feel for everyone.

About every four days, I get stuck in traffic on my way to work at this spot.

A view like that makes a traffic jam worthwhile.

Things You Don't Want To Know About Your Parents #45902:

Two weeks ago, while in Scotland, my father tried haggis.

So the thing about being single, she said, is that sometimes it feels like waking up from a long coma.

There are so many things I don't remember how to do by myself, and so many emotions I don't remember how to feel. For the last week, it seems my emotions have been all overblown and raw while I try to readjust the dial to "single girl". I bumble, I babble, I react with such strong emotions to everything. The right words come at the wrong times, and the wrong words come frequently. I apologize a lot.

I find myself doing things around the house and thinking, "I can change that because it'll just be me." I can keep a bottle of wine in the fridge at all times. I can wash my dishes right after I use them. I can fall asleep with the warm, clean laundry in the middle of the bed. I can be by myself.

I think I'm going to like being single.

Geeks in the Modern American Workplace:

A nearby lightning strike just blinked our power and a big cloud of black smoke went surging up out of the massive generator next to our parking garage.

Everyone in the interior offices ran into our window offices and we all oohed and aahed over the smoke cloud.

Because apparently none of us have ever seen smoke before. Or something.

Why Girlfriends Are Cool.

When you're feeling a bit bummed, they will call you from their car, in Denver, and send you out to the store to buy some beer. They will then sit on the phone with you for an hour and a half, drinking beer with you from three states away, while you commiserate about the strange, unfathomable male half of the human race.

This is why girlfriends are cool.

You will solve each other's problems and you will ignore each other's advice, and that will be completely acceptable. The point of giving advice is not that the other person follows it - because after 20 years, you know damn well the other person will just go make the worst possible chioce. The point of giving the advice is to acknowledge that you know what she should do. She knows what she should do. And when she doesn't do it, you can have a good laugh over the fact that she's never listened to you in 20 years and damn but you told her that would happen.

This is why girlfriends are cool.

They can't think of the name of that cute blonde guy, you know, the one you fooled around with in the elementary school parking lot and everyone knew about you two and they gave you an embarrassing nickname and gave you a stupid present at the graduation party, a present that had significance to that night in the parking lot and everyone laughed until they all noticed that his girlfriend was there and hmm, she certainly didn't know about the night in the parking lot and boy oh boy look at the time. They can't remember his last name either.

But your girlfriend has three-way calling, so you can both call the third friend who lives out in LA and it's only 9:30 there so you should call. Because the third girlfriend would know his last name and neither of you can find your yearbook to look him up. Because, of course, it's suddenly become very important that you know his last name, right now. Unfortunately the third girlfriend just moved and she hasn't sent her number yet, but it's all OK because you remembered his last name while she was off dialing anyway.

This is why girlfriends are cool.

They know all your secrets. They know your embarrassing quirks. And they can make you laugh about them, and laugh about yourself, better than anyone.

I passed! I passed!

I'm no longer a cutthroat renegade illegal driver. The State of Texas has decreed that I am capable of handling a ton or so of metal in the midst of many tons of other metal travelling at fast speeds.

And... I can buy liquor again! No more dealing with my baby-face being carded and having to explain that no, it really is my license and yes, it is really really expired and from another state, but honest-to-gosh I am 31 can I have the wine please?

And to top it off, I cleaned the house all spiffy this weekend. (Almost. I apparently put the vacum cleaner bags in a really really safe place that I can't find. Probably the same safe place as the original copy of my birth certificate. Sigh.)

Clean house. Driver's license.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

If my week so far hadn't been generally worthless, I would have been more annoyed this morning.

As it was, I just laughed.

I went to get my Driver's License.

And failed the written test.

And now I'm driving around as a L33t Criminal because it's very important to the Texas Dept. of Safety that I know... I mean really know, what the mandatory sentence is for possession of an alcoholic beverage while driving under the age of 17. The fact that I haven't been 17 for 14 years doesn't matter. Nor does the fact that I don't plan to be 17 again anytime soon. I should know these things! Bad Susan! Bad!

Just another in a week of wacky hijinks. Stop back tomorrow to see if I pass the test next time around! And then, the dreaded... Driving Test!

........

Wacky Driver's License Bureau Fun

It was early - about 8:20 AM. The guy in front of me stepped to the counter with his paperwork.

The bored-looking girl behind the counter looked up and said, "Step over to the monitor and read Line 5 aloud please."

The man stuck his face in the D.O.T. Goggles of Fun and said, "86239, 84593"

The girl glanced up.

"The whole row, please, sir."

The man looked back in the goggles and back at the counter. He was getting a bit confused.

"That is the whole row."

Bored-girl put down her pen.

"Sir, please look back in the monitor. Do you see all three columns?"

"There are only two."

"Sir, there are three columns. Can you read me all the numbers on line five?"

"There are only two sets of numbers."

She set down her pen, scooted her chair back, and stood up. And then glanced at the back of the machine and blushed.

"Oh. I, um, forgot to turn on all three columns of lights. Sorry."

I don't know about you, but I think if the D.O.T. scares the bejesus out of you like that, they should just give you a "Get Driver's License Free" Card.

For those of you keeping track - it may be only Tuesday, but I'm quite sure it is legally impossible for my week to get any shittier than it is already.

Deadly Sin of the Day: Lust

Lust for Tivo
Lust for PT Cruiser
Lust for VAIO
Lust for PSX II
Lust for the world

Unfortunately, my capacity for lust is larger than my capacity for cash. Ahh well.

So the problem with telecommunting is that even when you're sick and want to crawl under the covers in the dark all day, you still find yourself sitting at your computer answering emails.

Bleah.

A hearty congratulations to my favorite "Adams Family"!

Welcome to the world, Logan Thomas! With parents like yours, I assure you - life will never, ever be boring.

Inside my head earlier...

'OK, what else.. access badge. Keys. Where are the keys? I came in last night and I put the keys.... wait. I had to go back out to the car to get the soda that I left behind so I picked up the keys and put them... Hmmm. Keys. Maybe on the stove? No. Counter? No. I came in and put them... Oh! I remember! I dropped them on the floor and then thought I'd never remember where they were in the morning! Oh. Wait. That was before I went back out to the car. So I went to the car and I came back and I put the soda in the fridge and... aha! Under the mail!

Whew. I'm so happy it's Thursday.

Hmmm. Wait.

Monday... Tuesday...

Damn!'

A drawback to Texas:

The nearest casino is seven hours away and I've been having the urge to go gamble. Sigh.

Probably not really a drawback, since I'm saving money that way, but damn! I could be winning big!

How to know when you've been in "crunch" mode for too long:

I walked into the company deli this morning. As I was paying for my croissant and juice, the deli manager looked at me and said, "You look different this morning... You look... very relaxed."

I thought about it a moment and realized that for the last six weeks I have been rushing to finish one project or another project and another, and that I really couldn't remember the last day I didn't really have anything to do.

So! I think perhaps I'll try to figure out why my links never "light" up, so no one ever knows what I'm talking about. (Since our admin was nice enough to wave his imperial firewall stick and grant me ftp access to the digression server again.) Because I'm certainly not ruining this good, relaxing day by, um, working!

OK, now you can laugh. Yes. No matter where I go - the karmic wheel of fate spins back around and leaves me doing the same thing. The last six days have been complete chaos as this was cranked out. Yes. Six days. (Which is also my apology for it. If I'd had seven, we would have done something different.)

And now, I'm going home to sleep.

Which means the whole thing is going to break.

On the other hand, it gives you all an excuse to come visit.

OK, ok. 5:00PM. No, really. If I can't make the announcement at 5:00PM, you may find me sitting on top of the parking lot with several other people, sniper rifles in hand. Dooo-be-doo. You'll understand why at 5:00.

If God is wise and benevolent, why did he create people who take the elevator down one floor?

Random thoughts before bed:

To those of you who worked on the special event in the game last weekend:

I had a great time! There are always people out there who will be unhappy no matter what you give them. Fuck 'em. It was a very enjoyable experience and I met all sorts of new people, including some very nice teammates. I spent far more time than I intended to spend playing, and I was really impressed with the puzzles. Whoever created the "key" puzzle is evil, evil, evil and made me want to apologize to everyone who ever went through the COL puzzle on Teras Island. And, umm, if anyone wants to tell me how in the hell that puzzle was solved, drop me a line?

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Someone nudge Dave and tell him he needs a Real Audio server to post Real Audio files, so he shouldn't feel bad that they couldn't get it to work?

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I will have news tomorrow after noon-ish that will make the Mooville gang laugh and shake their heads. Keep an eye here!

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Secret Messages (decoder ring required): The pony must be emerald green, like in "The Wizard of Oz". Flightless fowl cluck at the moon. His first name is absolutely not Eggbert. Nor Wallace. Nor, for that matter, William Wallace. So there.

Gryph... Bear....

The sacrifices you make for me are amazing. And bananas help leg cramps.

Narf!