No Habla Espanol? No problemo! Bar=Bar!!

Today there is this:

(pretty sweet with the refection of the rest of my office and my hand, I know)

Tomorrow and for the next ten days, there will (hopefully) be this (or something similar, at least warmer, and where there are no scientists about to be punched in the baby maker, or if they don't have a baby maker, the face):

and this:
and this:
and definitely, without a doubt, and most importantly, this:

Buenos dias kiddies.

(I'm learning spanish. The day before my trip. Because I'm a genius. As you can see I'm fluent now. So...no problem. Er, no problemo!!)

Even though I walk into my office each morning and see this: and around lunchtime this:

I still leave here feeling like I MIGHT FUCKING KILL SOMEONE. Every. Day.

This can't be healthy.

JT loves the FIJI too!!

Monday, Effin Monday

The weather was fantabulous this weekend, especially yesterday. It's unfortunate that I spent most of the daylight hours in IKEA-hell, having a 3-year-old run circles around me whilst taunting me with strange words from a foreign tongue. His intense eye contact frightened me and I cut a deal (with myself) that if I accidentally stretched out my legs just as he was rounding the corner, it would not be my fault if he fell. Hellooo? Parents? I think Fiji and I were the only English-speakers in the whole place. But I was able to refill my Root Beer an excessively excessive amount of times. The number of restroom visits correlated nicely.

On Saturday we ventured downtown on the el to see the Art Institute with the 'rents. We saved the miniature displays for last...I love small teeny tiny things. I want to make one of my home. Moms fell asleep on the train ride back and I almost punched this girl in the face because she kept knocking into me. If there's one thing I hate (and there are certainly more than one) it's people touching me inappropriately/unintentionally/intentionally/unknowingly. She's lucky she got off when she did.

It's been brought to my attention that I am old. I can now not even stay awake long enough to finish watching a movie. Or an episode of West Wing (41 minutes). I must have some kind of disorder.

We had our first grilling extravaganza on the rooftop last night. Well, Fiji and his friend grilled while PhotoFace and I worked on our very important, top secret photography/writing collaborative project. This is the beginning of a very lovely VERY beautiful very fun friendship. If you're lucky, I will post it here when it's completed. Unfortunately, we decided to down several many many bottles of wine which led to a hole-punch disaster and thus it's not quite finished.

Annnnnnnd, I'm spent.

If Today Weren't Friday, I Might Die. Seriously.

But, my Daddo ordered a big, blueberry pancake for lunch. Which pretty much made my day.

That and the fact that my Moms, currently enduring braces after all these years of hating her crooked teeth, now has a slight lisp.

Hi, My Name is Tilly and I Have a Blog.

It's not that I'm ashamed to be a blogger. It's not. I mean, it's not like I'm actually a blogger. It's more that I just have a blog. Kinda like how I write, but I'm not a writer. (BTW, this is not a self-deprecating fishing comment. It is what it is: fact.) Anyway, I am not ashamed to have a blog. I enjoy writing, and this provides a good motivation for me to write. Bottom line--it's fun.

However, I can't ignore the fact that I noticably wince when this here little bloggidy-blog is brought up in "mixed" company, as in some who are "in the Tilly know" and some who are not (and I intend(ed) for it to stay that way). Sometimes it feels as if I'm being accused of farting or finishing the last of the water cooler without replacing it. It's not a horrible accusation, but it's an (embarrassing) accusation nonetheless. And one that I would prefer not be linked indiscriminately with my name. My self. "Blogger" is not an additional attribute that I possess. Is it?

Regardless...it comes up. And sometimes, although I know that I don't have to explain myself, I do. I have to explain that I'm not some computer-geek-internet-addicted-no-life-having-child-porn-producing-self-important-freak. While I may have a slight addiction to the internet, WHO DOESN'T?! And while I am most certainly part-geek and part-freak, it's better than being milquetoast, no? BUT, I am NOT into child porn. So there's that.

Why I Need A New Job: Reason 1047

I just realized that I bought some pants last winter (and had not worn them until today) because I liked the lining of the waistband, as in the INSIDE of the waistband. Because it's pretty. The prettiest part is the one that no one sees. I noticed the beautiful innards of my pants during my 3rd visit to the bathroom this morning. It was the third visit because I drank 2 cups of coffee and one Fiji already. Apparently, me and one of the AnalAnnoyingScientists have the same size bladders, as we seem to always visit the ladies room at the same time. It is awkward. MORE than awkward. Especially when she attempts to bring up the grant we are currently preparing WHILE WE ARE PEEING SIMULTANEOUSLY. Which causes an abrupt end to my stream. And then I have to wait in my stall an adequate amount of time (approximately the time it takes her to finish her business, do-up her pants, wash her hands (hopefully!), and subsequently dry) so that we aren't forced to stand side-by-side at the porcelain sinks and engage in meaningless chatter and then have to endure a painful walk back to our offices together. I cannot withstand the torture. While wasting away waiting for her to leave (which undoubtably implies that I am taking care of business that I am, in fact, NOT), I also came to the realization that I can now identify peoples' footsteps from all the way down the hall. This is an advantageous skill (that will hopefully end up contributing to my survival and outlasting the "others" who have not the time to master such skills in their line of work) that allows me time to 1) disappear behind my monstrosity of a computer screen and type furiously with no breaks, 2) pick up my phone and pretend to be occupied on a very important business call, 3) dig through my desk for elusive, yet imperative, business documents, or my very favorite option, 4) hide underneath my desk.

In conclusion, I need a new job.

The end.

Bye.

Things That Are Helping Me Make it Through the Day Without Shooting My Foot (or My Mouth) Off:

1. Listening to Snow Patrol's, "The Finish Line."* On repeat.

2. Coffee with french vanilla creamer.

3. Fiji picking me up for a lunch of soup and the lake. And him. Mainly him.

4. Chewing an entire pack of CitrusMint (technically, it's sugarfree, therefore I am lenten-approved. Bite me.)

5. Holding my breath when stankassperfumelady comes into my office.

6. Creepo not being in the office today!

7. Going across the hall and looking at my soon-to-be NEW OFFICE.

8. Ignoring AnnoyingScientist until he goes away. It's fun.

9. Having my headhunter (LadyPed) look for new jobs for me!

10. http://cuteoverload.com/

*Props to Lady Pedro.

A Room With a VIEW! And it's ALL Mine. MINE.

Yes, that's right. I'm moving onward and upward. Well, I'm moving across the hall to an office with a WINDOW. And a VIEW. Of the OUTDOORS. And the LAKE. Like I mentioned the other day, they love me here. On my behalf, my boss wrote the following to the last occupant:

Hey [Professor Redacted],
Awesome [Tilly] has successfully negotiated permission to move into your old office. We just went through all of the files you left behind and shredded what looked important. Can you please get the rest out. If you do need some help, let me know and I can bring matches and a gas can.
If you don't want that US quarters map, I want it for my office!
[Bossman1]

*****************************************
At the end of our meeting a few minutes ago (and basically rifling through Prof. Scientist's things):

Bossman1: Scientists are weird.
Tilly: Uh, yeah. You think?
Bossman1: Ahahahahahahaha!!
Tilly: I'm guessing he doesn't need that shoe under the desk.
Bossman1: Ooooh. Look at this quarters map! I want it!
Tilly: Wow. That was pure excitement. Finders Keepers, I say.
Bossman1: I like the way you think.

Glitty Texts

[Please note: Spelling has not been corrected in order to accurately portray identities involved and demonstrate how much of an idiot the party in question really, truly is.]

Rando: Hi

Tilly [two days later]: Who is this?

Rando: Jus sum guy who wants to smoke wit u

Tilly: Hmm. Interesting. Any more hints you care to share?

Rando: Haha This is funny I think ur smokalicious.

Rando [10 minutes later]: Seriously let's hang

Rando [5 days later at 4am]: Hi

Dude. Seriously? Silly me had erased his "Do Not Answer" listing in my contacts. But he has quickly been entered as such yet again. I met him once. Last September. For those of us mathematically-challenged, that is about 7 months ago. SEVEN months. 7. I met him once. ONE time. And his best tactics are texting me "Hi," not revealing who he is, using "ur" and "smokalicious," and texting at 4am on a Wednesday? Seriously? Not to mention the preposterous misspellings. Can you not even add a "t" to "jus?" Do you even KNOW who I AM? Nope. You don't. And you never will. I was tempted to text back and say something snide and snarky, but then I realized: He is not worth it. And I just don't care. He is just a sad, pathetic soul that has nothing better to do than text randoms latenight/earlymorning in the middle of the week. Tear. Tear for him. And then I realized that I must have made some seriously amazingly awesomely fantastic impression on the guy. And then I felt all warm and tingly on my insides. And then I felt guilty. A nice blend of pity and glee. Glitty. Yep, I'm all filled with glitty over here. You should try it. It's fun.

p.s. That horse/pony painting/picture was the result of a "glitty" google image search. It's swell. And neat.