The One Where Tilly GLOATS Like The Bitch That She Is

Happy day, happy dance, happy Tilly!

I just got my vaca time approved for the end of next month. I may have suggested that I might not be coming back. I think my boss started to cry. They love me here. I think I bring a semblance of the real world slash a world they will never know or really understand to the scientific nerdy atmosphere. That or he had spilled some chemical in his eye.

Because I am such a doll, I pasted the forecast below. I don't expect it to change. Why? Because it NEVER does.

Day1: Sunny skies. High 83F, humidity 70%. Winds NNE at 5 to 10 mph.
Day2: Hi: 83° Lo: 60°
Day3: Sunny skies. High 85F, humidity 60%. Winds light.
Day4: Hi: 85° Lo: 57°
Day5: Mostly clear skies. High 84F and low 57F. Winds NE at 5 to 10 mph.
Day6: Mostly clear skies. High 85F and low 59F. Winds NE at 5 to 10 mph.
Day7: Hi: 85° Lo: 59°
Day8: Mostly clear skies. High 83F and low 58F. Winds N at 5 to 10 mph.

Jealous?

The Nudger

I got beat up by a scientist. Well. Not so much beat up, but beat on. And, not to be a fussywusslady but, ow. Technically, they were all nudges, but still. And they were loving, agreeing, recognizing nudges at that. But, again, still. These nudges not only came from the "unemotional, unhugging, self-admittedly-afraid-of-any-human-contact" scientist, but also the one who happens to be "my favorite of all the scientists" scientist. And when I pointed out said nudges, I received yet another nudge in order to display the accusatory nudges. And it hurt.

But what I have come to realize, what has finally come to light in this whole experience is this: I am a nudger. A NUDGER. And I don't like it. Nudging has got to stop. No more nudging for me. It hurts. It's insensitve and careless. It is basically an act of violence, and me: I'm just a simple, peaceful, amorous pacifist trying to make sense of this fucked mess of a land. Nudging demonstrates a lack of control of your own reflexes, which is therefore weak. And over here at Tilly, we're no sissysunflowerpedalfoots. So, there you have it.

The nudge stops here.

----------------------------------------------------------
This post could not have been more meaningless if I tried.

*More to come on the ineffectiveness of pinky-poking. And why the pointer is the way to go.*

Very Nice!

I finally figured out who my boss sounds like...BORAT.

My job and therefore my life just got 17gazillion times better.

"Pause...NOT."

Well, maybe more along the lines of a little tiny bit funnier.

They're IN the computer?

I'm sure you'll be relieved to know that I kept myself plenty entertained during my two-hour long meeting about university technology securities and compliance this morning. Nope, no need to worry about me. I'm what some may refer to as "easily entertained."

It was not so much entertaining when they were painting a delightfully disturbing picture of emails being the equivalent to postcards or somesuch in the world of information security. Nor was it too terribly hilarious when they mentioned that we should probably slash definitely destroy all documents containing social security numbers. And it wasn't all that laughable when they mentioned that sending attachments was the equivalent to perpetuating viruses and basically destroying the lives of everyone I have grown to love slash hate in this world of email addicts. But it WAS funny when they kept mentioning FILES and COMPUTERS and all I could do was endlessly repeat "The files are IN the computer?!" in my head and envision Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller as monkeys (because we ALL know how I adore monkeys, no?) and laugh and laugh and laugh. To myself (mostly). That and it was fun finding typos in the handouts and smugly pointing them out to my colleagues. Yep. That was fun too.

You Know What's Fun...

It's fun when you wait in line at Wrigley field at 6:30am (in the freezing cold) to get Cubs tickets and walk out of there at 9:30am (still freezing cold) with tickets! Real LIVE tickets. Real live REALLY GOOD tickets. Then go to the bar before it's open and start drinking at approximately 9:43am. Just before my thumbs exploded. I wanted to put my toes in my pockets, but the logistics got the best of me.

It's fun when you go to buy biking shorts (aka spandex. Shut it.) and the worker guy starts informing you about exactly why chaffing occurs. Please don't use that word, stranger. Please. I SAID PLEASE.

It's fun when you spend approximately 3 hours at one Home Depot only to have to go to the other one across town to get whoknowswhat. I think I blacked out.

It's fun when you wake up at 7am on Sunday and start being PRODUCTIVE and building stuff. I like drills.

It's fun when you finally take down your Christmas tree on the roofdeck while it is rain/snow/sleet/hailing. That's a hoot.

It's fun when you are in bed at 9pm on Sunday night. Oscar who?

It's fun when you break stuff first thing in the morning, like the toilet paper roll, or the shower door.

Like I said, Fun.

I want one...

Probably that one rifling through the desk drawers. Like mother, like panda.

Blasphemous?

Although I am not Catholic, I thought it would be quite healthy of me to give up something for Lent (that's legal, right?). The most difficult part so far has been deciding what to give up, so I'm off to a good start. After initiating this conversation with the scientists over lunch, I received several suggestions, each one being shot down immediately. Some of which included:

-TV (I don't watch enough enough for this to be that hard)
-Starbucks (ditto re:TV)
-Working out (Oh, Hells NO.)
-Cheese (Uh, WHAT? Please do not insult me.)
-Chocolate (Piece a cake. Ha! Puns all around.)
-Coffee (Don't fuck with me.)
And last, but certainly NOT least:
-ALCOHOL (ALCOHOL?!! Yeah. Right. As IF. Naga...Naga...NOTGONNAHAPPEN.)

Fiji, being the optomistic spiritual being that he is, suggested that we should add something positive to our daily lives rather than subtract something negative. Interesting...

I think I want to do both. Soooo...ideas? I am thinking I am going to cut out sweets and pizza (maybe) and read at least one night a week instead of watching West Wing dvd's, which have now replaced every other weeknight activity. I heart that show!!

I also learned (from the scientists, DUH) that Lent lasts 40 days and 40 nights, but that does not include the weekends. Or Sundays. Or something like that. Soooooooo...I think I can do it.

NewsFLASH: Tilly is lame. The lamest of the lame. That's all. Thank you.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!!

Seriously.

I can barely contain myself.

The scientists are LOUDLY talking in the hallway outside my office, discussing how one faculty recruit "lacks appropriate social skills," and "avoids direct eye contact." If that is a criterion to working here, EVERYONE is fired. EVERY.ONE. Except me. Of course.

This is like the kettle calling the kettle black, or howEVER that saying goes. Shut it. It's been a long day.

If only you knew. If only you knew.

Grasping Wonder

Some days I wonder how much longer I will last. And then some days I wonder not at all. Some days all I can do is watch as the minutes trickle past, holding power over me, instead of the other way around...the way it should be. Some days I wonder why some are content in their own complacency, while others continue to strive ahead, to push their limits, to surpass their own dreams. What gives one hope and the other despair? Confidence breeds success or is it that success breeds confidence? When all other extraneous (yet obviously vastly important) factors (i.e. SES, nature, nurture, etc.) are nil, why is that one is content answering to others, while others are immensely discontent answering to anyone but themselves? I know about personality traits, uniqueness, and accepting things just the way they are. Still, I cannot help but question things. Everything, really. I wonder about the world. And I long to understand. To grasp. To hold it in my hand.

Dear Loud-Lady-Talker-Outside-My-Office,

It's called eSpresso. Not eXpresso.

Kisses,
Tilly

p.s. Irregardless is a stupid, STUPID word. Please stop.

Puppies Bring Peace, if Only Momentarily

After an insanely hellish day at the office yesterday, Fiji listened to me rant and bitch and moan and complain for several minutes on end with no breath in between. He interrupted me only once to sweetly say:

Fiji: Would it make you feel better to pet some puppies?

Tilly: What? ...[thinking]...Only if we can keep them.


Way to ruin the moment. I sure have a hankering for that.

VD? I'll pass, thanks.

I wasn't going to do the requisite VD post, but I figured, what the fuck. Because shit, I like swearing. And hell, if I'm not a bandwagon jumper, who the flip am I? Anyway, one thing I know for sure is that things change. See, I am SO prophetic. And these "things" can change in 12 months or just 2 weeks. You never can tell. I always hated hearing, "Don't worry, you'll find someone" or "It'll happen when you least expect it" or other bull shit lines from my friends who obviously had already found their match. It's not that I mind(ed) being single or alone; it was my distaste for being lonely that I minded. And I consider myself a quite independent person. I don't need a man. Never have. However, I like men. One man in particular actually. Anyway, my point is that my last VD was/is/will be quite different than todays VD (I just can't stop writing VD. Does anyone else find that amusing? Anyone? No? Ok then.).

Last year, I stopped on my way home from work/gym to pick up a few things, which ended up including:

1. 2 Lean Cuisines
2. Twizzlers
3. A Do-it-Yourself WAX kit (which, btw, I never used. Luckily. Thanks to Kboo who instructed me, via text, to "put it down. Right. Now." Which I did.)
4. Nair (again, never used. I was feeling spunky (?) at the time. FINE.)
5. Bottle of Yellowtail (classy)
6. Batteries

I was oblivious to the interesting mix of purchases...until I was standing in line in front of a very attractive young man who was blantantly amused by my lameness. Fuck him. Anyway...I awoke at 2am, fully clothed, on TOP of my bed, with Dick Clark on TV (??), two unfrozen, unopened Lean Cuisines, some twizzlers in hand, and an empty bottle of wine on the floor.

I was late to work.

I love myself.

And I love all of you.

The train is trying to kill me.

Within a mere 40 minute time span, the train tried to kill me (and my bag). Twice. TWO times. On the SAME trip. The first time I screeched (like a small animal, or something), as it pretended to welcome me with open arms from the cold wind of the platform into its warm filth, and then slammed shut RIGHT in my face. I screamed. Embarrassed, I hurried to my seat to text Fiji the usual, "Last car." Once he arrived, I shared my sordid tale and explained the train conspiracy. He laughed and held my hand tight, assuring me that the train was not, in fact, out to get me.

By the time we arrived at our destination, I had forgotten about the evil train's plot and began focusing on the conversation hearts I was about to be purchasing from Walgreens (although they only had tiny, half-filled stupid boxes and not bags. Suck.) and was foiled, yet again. As I attempted to exit the train through the doors, they slammed shut again! This time, trapping my bag in it's grip for what seemed to be tens of minutes, during which I again screamed at the horror. WHAT THE FUCK?! Why was the train out to get me?! What had I ever done to IT?!

Luckily, I escaped...narrowly. I pleaded with Fiji to explain why oh why the train hated me so,

Tilly: What would have happened had the doors not reopened? I would have had to let go of my bag! I would have been dragged down the platform!! I would have DIED.
Fiji: No, no. The train wouldn't have moved.
Tilly: Well, why not?!! It OBVIOUSLY hates me something FIERCE!
Fiji: Because they can't proceed without the doors being closed tightly. So it wouldn't have been ABLE to move.
Tilly: Oh. Well. Yeah. I guess. But it was still close, wasn't it?! I mean, phew!!
Fiji: Yes, it was very close. You're lucky to have all your limbs.

And here I am, alive and fully limbed. And quite windblown, but that's another story.

With a soft "J"

After a weekend of binging and purging (except replace the purging with binging) at the homestead, where it has been officially and conclusively decided that I am a direct mix of my mother AND my father (thank you, genius citizens), my pants are tight and that's NOT ok. I mean, what the? I guess I should take into consideration the fact that I'm retaining water like a cacti, and also the purging did not stop once we broke the state line. In fact, it grew in both breadth and intensity. But, alas, this is not my point. My point is that my pants are tight and if I hate anything (which we all know full well that I do), it's when my pants are tight. It's also when my boss looks at me. He's creepy. And also when that song, "I'm Too Sexy" comes on and some stranger sings it while looking at me and making abrubt movements that I presume to be their attempts at dancing. Yeah, I hate that too.

And now, for something I love and to keep up the PMA, here is my newest acquisition slash friend slash chaffeur slash bedfellow slash kidnappee slash my favorite animal, the monkey: Javier. (Pronounced hav-eee-air or yaa-vee-air, depending on cultural background and/or intellect and/or sense of humor.)

He obviously takes his job of el capitain very, very seriously.

He has an utter command of the SeaSkyway.

Now he's just showing off; doin' a little dance on the wheel.

So I had to bind his monkey "hands" to teach him a lesson. Being kidnapped is not ALL fun and games and learning how to drive at unsafe speeds with the Feej.

But, alas, he used his blinkers correctly and appropriately identified a HAZMAT and was able to take the wheel once again.

Oh, Javier. You own me.

Someone's Gettin' Written Up...

You know what's fun?! It's FUN when you're in the middle of a meeting and someone lets an F-bomb slip! FUCK! And then that someone blushes so feverishly that it looks like their face is bleeding! And then, in case no one heard them the first time, that someone says it AGAIN, cursing in response to the FIRST dropped F-bomb. FUCK!

And you know what's even MORE fun?!

When I am that someone.

Sounds of Silence

Silence comes in many forms. It's not merely a lack of speaking or sound or noise. Yet, it can be. At times, silence is all I hope for, while at others, silence cuts me to the core. Deep in thought, I crave it. Confused and searching, I despise it. With clarity, content. With uncertainty, unease.

Unexpected and inexplicable silences lead directly and imminently to doubt, fear, worry. Disaster. Not one to fill the air unnecessarily, silence suits me. Oftentimes I lose myself (and others) in thought. Distracted, I delve into another mode, another world, another time, another memory, another me. In this place, I find silence.

However, being the curious soul that I am, questions unanswered, thoughts unfinished, feelings unconfirmed, looks unexplained, silences misunderstood, I am left off-balance, disconnected, unsettled, crooked, staggering, lost.

Being lost is a frightening, dark, and lonely maze where doubts, regrets, and condemnation ring in my ears.

And I wish I could have accepted, embraced, welcomed, and found comfort in the sounds of silence.

Overheard in Tilly's Office, part deux

"What happens in cost studies analysis, stays in cost studies analysis!!"


Good thing!! Had me worried for a second there.

Picture Pages

Poor Bubaru. Poor, poor buby. Mama's comin...

The Arch. Cool.

Perty.

Desk Friends.

a. Moose slash bouncy ball (kinda sick and twisted but oh so fun.)
b. Flipping Monkey
c. Glow-in-the-dark frogger
d. Gonzo holds my chapstick
e. Beach paperweight slash paper holder (in my stocking this year)
f. Unsharpened Butterfly pencil (just for show, obvi. It's precious.)

What kind of question is THAT?!

Regarding the new Tilly headline (look up, it's right there)...

Friend: If you are constantly surrounded by awkwardness, what does that say about you?
Tilly: ... ... ... Uhh... ... ...

CatDog

Despite the fact that they make my eyes itch and water, and make my throat itch and swell, and make my nose stuffy and full, I want a kitty. A little lady kitty cat doll. Er, not doll, but a really pretty kitty. And I want her to be part dog. A catdog, if you will. You know, one that fetches, like S&S's Gratel after a little teeny tiny ball. It's the cutest. And despite her diarrhea issues, Gratel's perfect. And I want one. Like, maybe tonight. Even though I am allergic, I am willing to sacrifice my breathing for a little gentle lady with fur and paws. Because I can't get a dog yet, this little pretty kitty will suffice and I know I will fall madly in love with her and so will Fiji and it will be wonderful, like a wonderland of love.

Now, doesn't that sound nice?

The CAPS Mean I Am YELLING. FYI.

Oh yay! It's recruitment time at ye old University again today! SO FUN! So EXCITING!

Come one! Come ALL! STOP and STARE AND LEER into MY office as you walk by on your way to the next DULL BORING CONVERSATION about SCIENCE and PROTEINS and INCUBATION PERIODS and CRAPTASTICALLY LAME THINGS!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!

I don't mind. I am just a fucking ANIMAL in a flipping CAGE. Take a gander! Take a LOOK-SEE! I know you want TO.

I am about to shoot myself in the FOOT. DIE. ALL OF YOU. JUST DIE.

Or cure cancer already. Gol-leeee.

Brat Face

Because I am both stubborn and bratty, I find myself in situations where I simultaneously crave attention, concern, and pity, yet I do NOT want to acknowledge this need and, rather, just want it to occur, sans request, where I will then discourage said attention, concern, and pity, seeing that I can DO IT ON MY OWN, thankyouverymuch.

Recently, while waiting for the elevator, I slipped and fell on something wet, most likely SNOW, seeing that it IS winter and FUCK! Chicago is COLD. And seeing that I refuse to wear real boots to work (because they don't match!), and instead continue to wear ballet flats or something similar (see: Stubborn) or basically any and all shoes with no traction whatsoever. In the snow. And ice. And rain. Yep. Brilliant. Anyway, I slipped. And fell. And managed to bang up my knee and crash into the VERY SCRATCHY wall, along with incurring other injuries (!!).

Luckily for me, Fiji was picking me up from work that day, so I hurried out to the car to share my disastrously painful (not really) fall and undoubtedly receive his care, attention, and concern (per (un)request). Unfortunately, Fiji was on the phone! The PHONE! (With his Mom, but still.) So, therefore, it was my duty to nonverbally convey my HURT and PAIN in order to receive (un)needed attention.

Tilly [climbing into "Rubi," rubbing knee, inspecting hurts]: Ughhhh. OWWW! Ouchie!
Fiji [talking on phone, kissing Tilly, expressing concern via furrowed brows]: ??
Tilly: Eeeee. Oowwwwwwwwwww. Hmph.
Fiji [still talking on phone, but looking at Tilly with great concern]: ??
Tilly [unsuccessfully and frustratedly trying to put bag in back seat]: Eh. Eh. Ehhh. Can't.
Fiji [to phone]: Mom, Mom. I gotta go. There's a lot going on right now and I'm distracted. I'm sorry. I'll call you back later. [hangs up]. Baby, what's wrong?!
Tilly: I fell.
Fiji: Oh no! Was it bad?
Tilly: Yesss.
Fiji: Oh no! Did anyone help you?
Tilly: NO.
Fiji: Well, what happened? Where are you hurt.
Tilly: My knee. Ow. Right here. [scooching up my pants]
Fiji: Oh, baby. Did you slip?
Tilly: Yes. Damn shoes.
Fiji [nodding in agreement]: Anything else hurt?
Tilly: Yessss.
Fiji: What?!
Tilly: I broke a nail.
Fiji: AhAHAHHAHAHAAA!!
Tilly: HAHAHAHA! I know!! I'm ridiculous. But isn't that fun?!

I liken the job search to that of the dating game. You shop around, looking for the best fit. One that is in sync with your life, your style, your interests, but also challenging enough to keep you interested and satisfied. You don't want to be too interested, yet, you want to be the frontrunner and more memorable than the rest of the Chicagoans aimlessly, yet decidedly, roaming the streets and bars or, rather, CareerBuilder. After the initial meeting, or application, all you can do is wait. And wait. There may be other applicants. There may not. Regardless, in your brain, there are. And who knows how many!

So, you wonder and hope, and hope and wonder, that they will call. Just CALL and let you know where you are on the list. Do they want to see you again, or at all??! Should you just move on and send your vibes slash resume to other interests? What if there aren't really any other interests to speak of at the moment? But you don't want to focus on that ONE option because then you're "putting all your eggs in one basket" and that is bad. And then if it doesn't work out you are way disappointed and disappointment is, like, the worst. But, then again, if you focus all of your energy on ONE thing, doesn't that mean something? Isn't that called focus or determination or something? Yeah. I think it is.

And then you don't want to be the first to contact THEM. No. You are supposed to be BUSY and carefree and important and not really NEED them. But in case you want to send out the feelers, when is it too soon? And when is it inappropriate? And when should you just hold tight and let it happen? Seriously. When?

Then you obsessively check your email (like WAY more than the usual obsessively checking), just to see if they emailed. And each time Outlook beeps to notify you of new mail, you scramble to click on the Outlook tab, but NO. It's just your current boss, telling you to attend some financial analyst meeting yada yada. And you are distracted and on edge and yet, still hopeful of the future. But then when and IF you DO get a call, you worry about what to wear and what to say so as to come across in the most positive light and for them to LIKE you and WANT you. But you also want to want THEM and to like THEM, because really, the most successful relationships are mutual. Any stalker/stalkee/psychopath/victim could tell you that. Geez.