Today is Tuesday.

Hi. And hello. Lots of funny stuff happened this weekend in NOMI, but my hand was typically clenched around a cocktail and my mouth was typically guzzling said cocktail or spouting Tilly-isms*, so I didn't get a chance to write down all them funnies and the booze prohibited my mind from storing them away. What I do recall is this:

1. Old people are funny.
2. Taking a boat to the bar at night is fun.
3. Learning that a boy you used to babysit who used to have to have EXACTLY 14 "binkies" in his crib before he would go to sleep is now the front man for a kickass band is weird/awesome. (The "weird/awesome" is the best kind of awesome, just so you know.)
4. Your BF's parents having a kegerator in their basement is pretty much the coolest thing ever. That and the jukebox. And the jacked-up golf cart named Junior.
5. My Aunt Cathy is a shrinking lunatic.
6. I am now a member of "the club."
7. My cousins are mutes.
8. Driving with the top off is windy. And allows you to perfect your racoon eyes. And makes Taco Bell consumption rather challenging. (But, worry not, it does not interfere with its deliciousness.)
9. Boob sweat does not smell. (At least mine doesn't. Suckas.)
10. Men and small boys having "tails" is disturbing. Especially the sheer volume that I bore witness to this past weekend. There is just no excuse.

*I just made that up. Creative, huh!

Honestly.

I like to believe that I am a friendly person, but have recently had to come to grips with the reality that I may, in fact, not be. The evidence includes the following:
1. I have rationalized that I need to start taking the later train instead of riding and therefore having friendly morning chatter with a co-worker simply because I just don't feel like talking. I could easily listen to my ipod and read (which I do), but I would rather just not have to deal. I'm mean. And lazy. Also 6-8 minutes late for work. (Which doesn't matter in the least, since I am always here before everyone else anyway.)
2. When I enter my building onto the second floor, I always take the stairs up to my office on the fourth floor. Mainly because I get embarrassed waiting for the elevator, and also because I prefer to ride the elevator alone. In the case that I enter my building on the first floor, I find myself hurriedly fastwalking (so as to avoid seeming like a crazy person running) to the elevator in the case that someone is behind me. Once on the elevator, I spazzingly repeatedly press the "close door" button until the doors shut. Once the doors close and I find myself alone rising the levels, I exhale loudly and proudly and occassionally pound/wave my right fist in victory.
3. Since the scientists have tea time every day at 4pm in the "tea room slash kitchen" (Typically people bring in chocolate cake. Why these people don't weigh 400lbs, I will never know.), I rush to wash my coffee mug or retrieve my grapefruit or fill my water bottle at 3:55pm each day. I could easily do it earlier, or even while they are in the tea room, yet I can't bring myself to interact with them even for the two minutes it takes me to clean a dish. And on the days where I forget and people are already hovering around, stuffing their pieholes with, well, pie, I just leave my dirty dishes in my office for the next day. Or remain parched and starved until I get home. All to avoid the awk. And because, clearly, I hate people.
4. I can recognize different professors "walks," as I have been working here for 19 flipping months, and sometimes when I hear certain ones, I rush to close my door so that they are not tempted to stop and talk. And I wonder why I've never been voted Employee of the Month. (If we honored that shit in the first place.)
5. I will always return a text message, but rarely answer my phone.
6. I am a horrible fake laugher. I am sarcastic and can easily take things too far. But I apologize if I hurt someone's feelings. And even when I don't. You can read my emotions right off my face. Making eye contact while lying is practically impossible for me. But I will lie without meaning to, and a minute later confess. I have an insanely guilty conscious. And a strong desire to understand. And to be understood. Yet, I'm not so sure that I am. In fact, I know that I'm not. And sometimes that's ok.

Helga and Vita

For the first ten years of my life I had two imaginary friends: Helga and Vita. Apparently they were of Northern European descent.

(Sidenote: I was just flooded with the most intense memory...In college, we used to sit on this hill behind my old boyfriend's dorm and watch the trucks speed by on the highway and occasionally throw rocks at them. Mine never made it over the fence, but I doubt that was unintentional. I've got quite an arm. For a girl. Anyway, we used to get high and call each other EUROPEANS. As in "You're a PEON." And laugh and laugh. Not funny? Maybe it was the drugs. Anywho.)

Helga and Vita. They were both blond and tall. (No explanation.) And they always let me win. (I liked that. Still do.) When my family moved from Ann Arbor to the Bay Area when I was ten, I guess I stopped talking about them so much. One day my Mom asked if they were joining us for dinner and I explained that they had moved to Detroit. Good choice. Clearly I am very picky about where my imaginary friends move.

I kinda hope they come back soon.

Sweet Dreams are Made of This*

I had a dream last night that some blogger lived in the apartment above me, and we became fast friends, hung out all the time, and compared our "blog notes." LAME. Our first conversation went a little something like this:
Tilly [rushing out of apartment upon hearing neighbor coming downstairs]: Hi!! I love your blog!
Blogger [startled, and somewhat frightened]: Oh, hi. Yeah, yours is nice too.
Tilly: Let's be FRIENDS!
Blogger: Ok. TTYL. (She actually said that. Outloud. Like, the letters.)

This is wrong on so many accounts. Allow me.
1. I live on the top floor, with the roofdeck above us. So, unless she was calling a tent on the roof her home (which a shocking amount of visitors are wont to do), this is sooooo unlikely.
2. I don't talk about my blog to strangers. Let alone neighbors. Then how am I supposed to talk shit about all the fucktards, huh?! You tell me that.
3. "Let's be friends!" Let's be FRIENDS? Aw hell no.
4. I am no blogcist. Despite what you may have heard, you can NOT tell a blogger is a blogger just by the looks of them. I mean. I may be the only blogger I actually "know," but this is no time for existential questions. Or IS IT?
5. I do not fraternize with IMspeakers. Nope. Uh-uh. Not gonna do it.
6. I never remember my dreams. Therefore, all is for naught.

*NOT.
Also, this title is riddled with irony. If I could, I would punch Annie Lennox in the face and then run away like a little girl. She's scary! Despite the fact that we may or may not share a name. And, FINE, I like her sweet spikes and her superhero mask.

A post. Just for the sake of posting. Mainly.

So, I'm back to the land of the living, for the most part. At least temporarily.

HOWEVER. My favorite scientist is LEAVING ME. I honestly don't know what I am going to do. I might just go ahead and die. Or, you know, find a new job. Whichever comes first. They're neck and neck, I tell ya. Anyway, she's the most "normal" of the scientists (which doesn't say much, but yet, says so much), and without her I'm not sure that I really care to interact with the rest of them. I mean, the newbies are LOUD and ANNOYING. And have raspy voices. And are like sickeningly nice. Who likes NICE people??! Not this here lady. No way!

Fiji and I tried to go see The Decemberists at Millenium Park this week. It was hot. And CROWD-ED. So, we went to go get something to eat and never went back. Apparently that was a mistake. Which is my specialty. Another trophy for sucking at life. Weeeeeeee! I'm the champion.

This weekend I intend to play the game of moderation. A little bit of this, a wee bit of that. This will be a ginormous deviation from That Which Was Last Weekend (of Binging and Excess). You know, something new and different. Variety is the spiceGIRL of life. Or something.

Also, Go CUBBIES!!

(Please excuse the random dramatics. I've had two cups of coffee and a diet coke today. So much for the MODERATION game. See, I told you I was awesome. Pause. NOT.)

Well, Hello. Didn't See You There.

Hi.
It's me.
I'm just now beginning to recover from this weekend's festivities which included a shit-ton of booze, Widespread Panic, and strangers, and a teeny tiny smidgen of sleep. Yesterday I literally was unable to form coherent sentences. My morning meeting went like this:
Boss: Blahblahblah. Tilly, have anything to add?
Tilly: Nope.
Boss: Ok, well, what projects are you working on?
Tilly: Projects.
Boss: Okay then. I guess we'll leave it at that.
Tilly: Bye.
And then I went back to my office and closed my door. I didn't even come out for lunch with the scientists. My excuse: I was working. Which would have been true if working meant staring longingly and desperately out the window at the lake and resting my head on my desk for inappropriate lengths of time and sometimes closing my eyes but then opening them again. Honest, I know I really did some work yesterday, but hot damn!, who the flip knows what. I am going to have to go read through my sent messages so I don't look like the ass that I am bringing up stuff that was already taken care of yesterday when I was in a walking coma.

Good times!

Happy Birthday, Sailor Bee!

Happy Birthday to HBee!! You're 30!!!

Don't stand so close to me.

Really, don't.

The Police played at Wrigley this weekend. I wish I had rave reviews, but Sting seemed distant and bored. Granted, I was sitting in the nosebleeds of all nosebleed sections, but still. I could have been sitting on the roofdeck listening to The Police: Greatest Hits and had the same experience. The most entertaining part was that Fiji was drunk. It was funny. And fun. And I got to drink his beer (probs the best part). I think we were the youngest ones there. And we're "old," so that says a lot.

Oh, and also fun was that at one point someone lit up a "doobie" and people started freaking out. Because THEY WANTED SOME. They kept yelling out, "Share, dude!" To no one in particular. And, "Come on. Pass it on! We all wanna ride on THAT train." What? Mixing metaphors much? And, "Puff, Puff, GIVE." (That may have been me.) Most likely most of my fellow nosebleeders hadn't smoked dope in decades and were feinding for some high times. I mean, not that I blame them. I think I've said too much.

Goodbye.