My Bum Hurts

Backkkkkkk to work.

As I woke this morning pretty extra early because I'd napped the day before and thereby lost sleeping hours relegated to my usual sleeping period, I figured the day would be a pretty awesome one afill with sunshine and blue skies. 

As I walked out in the morning light, I felt even more assured of this and took in a deep breathe of fresh crisp morniningness. I sauntered to my bus stop and there she was, another person awaiting the bus, decked with rainboots and raincoat. 

"Hmm," I thought to myself. "Why is she wearing her rainboots? Is this just for fashion or does she know something that I don't know?" 

Upon consideration that I did not check the weather forecasts anytime recently, I had a sneaking suspicion that the latter was the case. Darn.

As I got off an hour and half later at my office building, I looked at the skies and commiserated with a coworker as he held the door open for me, about how the skies are all grey and it's gone cold again.

Sigh. 

So here I am, finally sitting down after reviewing things with my staff, and yes as my title says, my glutes hurt. 

This being a result of cycling down ravines. Do not try at home. 

Fiends, oops Friends*

Okay, so I took a whole day off, and now under coercion of certain bullies I am returning to blog yet again.  First and foremost, I must thank the idiot who is responsible for this horrendous act of the most inspiring type in the name of friendship, that is, for brushing his teeth.        

Anyways, truly, it does wonders to be able to indulge in a mope due to whatever reasons and have such caring friends ready to give you a shoulder or a punch when you need it. Those of you who are the enlightened ones of the elite IQ friendship society know who you are because that's just how friendship works, yo. I'm not really one for going all mushy and telling people how awesome they are and blah blah and I hope whatever I do is enough to let you know that you're cherished. And... I'm not so into the public displays of mushiness so I do believe I'll end this now.

 

Lunch

This was me today. I was hungry, so at lunch I decided to walk around outside for a longer time than usual and find some food. Mind you, I'm not very much acquainted with the restaurants and eateries in my office area. There are a hell of a lot Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese etc restaurants to the left of my building, then a bunch of more cosmopolitan stores and streets to the right. Judging from the windows of pigs, squids and disgustingly unappetizing indecipherable animals hanging from the windows to the left, I headed to the right.

I do know where the local Mcdonalds is. If you know me, you know I am so not a fan of McD. I know where Subway is. I know where the usual fast-food and coffee-centric eateries are. But for some reason I told myself that I was gonna walk my then recently-induced distress away and find food.

So I decided to take a turn into a street I haven't before, and walked someways down the sidewalk enjoying the sunshine with a slight  chill. I was aware of a dude holding a carton of detergent falling behind me as I walked along. After a good few minutes I decided that I was not up to fishy sushi (shudder) nor was the number of high designer boutiques of lingerie going to sate my hunger.

Feeling the eyes of those behind me (namely Mr. Clean), I dawdled on the street corner, looked side to side, then shrugged and turned back.

For those who know already, and wish to rub it in my face, I take the pleasure of admitting my shame to everyone:

I had McDonalds.

Chance of Snow

So this week started off with horribly cold, wet and grey weather. This morning I wake at the crack of dawn and get up stretching sleepily, muttering to myself (in my mind).

I feel yucky. To elaborate, I feel miserably sick and tired and I roll the idea of calling in to work and telling them to make do without me. As that ball of thought rolls around my head, it seems to clear out any traces of sleep-induced cobwebs, and thus my mind refocusses with a new realization of the situation.

"What are you thinking?" I asked myself. "You, my sexy friend, are superwoman. You are not sick. You can't be sick. What are you doing thinking such cowardly, weak thoughts? Get up and be a woman!"

So I drag myself to the washroom and in the middle of some awesome teeth-brushing, the power goes out.

In the aftermath of my little pep-talk, I choose to ignore this strange occurence without a second thought, and continue to brush my teeth and finish up all the while in the the confines of that box of pitch-black darkness. Reaching for the soap and cleanser with adept acuity, I congratulate myself on my ability to establish self-fulfilling prophecies.

Then comes the shower. I open the door and let the lights from the outer windows peep through. Do I really want to do that in the darkness? I shrug, what other choice do I have? If I'm going to work I don't mean to reach there late. I tell myself that the power will come back at the count of 10.

I turn on the taps and begin my countdown. As I reach 1, the lights go on, yes please. I gently kick the door shut again.

Later, sitting at my desk and working away in beautiful silence, the phone rings. The receptionist tells me "Hi its me. IQ part 2 is here."

"HUH?!" I respond.

"Yes, IQ2 is here."

"My SISTER?! What is she doing here?!" I hang up and head down to the entrance. And lo and behold, my family decided to drop by and visit me in my glorified workplace because they were in the area.

I tell them hold on, and I zip back to my floor, grab my sidebag, and let the others know they are to cope without me and hold the fort.

So I take them out to get coffee while I explained the dynamics of what my work entails - or as much as I could without having to kill them.

And the day isn't even half done yet. Why didn't I just stay home?

*Yawn*

Recess

This is probably the latest I've delayed writing a blog (don't correct me if I'm wrong), and yet I realized it doesn't really take so much of an effort to put down whatever random thoughts I've got floating in my head.

I've often been asked questions that fall under "Wow, you put so much time into writing." Which boggalizes my mind because, really, I don't.

When I write I don't really think. Of course, I think, but I mean I don't truly think and then write. My fingers just flow in collaboration with whatever I'm thinking at that very moment. And my thoughts buzz like electrically charged particles in an electric field.

As a result, almost 9pm, I'm like "yo, blog how you doin'?" Of course, it did not respond.

Or maybe it did, but then again who's to know; maybe it gives off blogistic vibes that just send out the thought message "Writeeeee to me."

It sure worked for me, if so. O_O

I'm  putting out this advance notice now:  I may just be incredibly (much more) busy at work than I have been. As a consequence, do not be too happy if I let you off with less homework childre- SETTLE DOWN CLASS.

Your assignments will still be as follows: keep smiling, think positive, be positive and stay superduperfuntastic.

That will be all.

*bell rings*

Melancholia

It's the strangest thing, I feel melancholy. And in so being, I was feeling somewhat subdued in that way that you don't feel like communicating at all. So I've been fooling around with the code on my blog and refining the appearance of it rather than contributing actual content, in terms of writing.

I think it must just be me, but I love memories. I think I can call myself somewhat of a memory hoarder. I like preserving things for the record and having them remain so that I can always look back and remember and relive those memories, in case one day you forget what it was you felt and how you reacted or what you were going through, the experiences.

Just as I hate losing people, I think I also hate losing these memories. I get this sad feeling in the same way that I feel sad when I see a tree that's always been there, everyday I've walked by it for years, cut down. Maybe I oughtn't to develop such attachments.

But it's hard, to remain detached. Especially for someone like me. I am probably too sensitive for my own good. And when I get to the point where it's not taking me forward positively but dragging me down negatively, I think to myself that perhaps I should stop caring. Caring so much? Caring at all.

The good part is, these feelings are tantamount to inspiration. So here I am writing it out for everyone to see and wonder. In a few hours I will probably have gotten over this phase of dejection and will be kicking myself and making myself laugh and by then all this will have been just a blink in time.

But like all memories, maybe it's better to remember, so as to learn.

Reason

No matter how hard the days become, I know there is a reason.

When I become overwhelmed by the work, and overcome by exhaustion, I know there is a reason.

When the week starts again and the countdown begins anew, I know there is a reason.

For every dark morning I get up and go again, I know there is a reason.

As long as the wait seems, I persevere because there is a reason.

Today I am reminded that all of it is worth it, every bit, because of you, my reason.

A reason to smile, a reason to celebrate, a reason to relax, and a reason to go on.

  It's payday, baby.

Exhausted

It's hard to attribute what exhaustion stems from entirely. While I've been the busiest I have ever been at work today  (lunch managed to fit in around 3.30 today), I know there have been times when I've been way more busier and yet was not exhausted.

Can you believe, I was so exhausted that I couldn't bring myself to blog? Until now. I'd been finishing project after project, running it by the other departments, reconfiguring and editing, putting word after word and yet, I couldn't bring myself to put words into a blog. I logged on countless times, and I opened the "new post" page often throughout the day, only to close it again. The reasons for closing it range from having been called to review another phase in a quickly-called meeting to just feeling utterly unable to put the right words in the thoughts I want to put down.

If you've been perceptive thus far, you might have gotten the hint that I am a bit of a perfectionist. That's a disclaimer right there. How can I say" a bit of" - being perfect is something that's either black or white, either you are, or you aren't. The thing is, I am and yet, I am not. I..am not perfect at being a perfectionist. There you have it.

I am what one might term a living paradox. I like things done right, and yet, I am laid-back enough to allow for things being done wrong. Because, I've lived some years enough to understand that the things I have done wrong have taught me more than the things I have done right.

In another juxtaposition of contrasts, I usually assert that I will - and forever will be (and look the part, psh) - young at heart. And yet, there are times I feel amazingly ancient. Not just in that weary and tired way, but the way that I feel like an ancient ascetic or something that looks at the world through wise old eyes. Strange, isn't it.

Still, as strange as it sounds, I feel that this applies to almost everyone. We are all ancient souls, and yet we are ageless. The problem being, the state of our minds is affected by the state of our bodies and, yes, vice versa. And today, I am living proof.

 (By the way, this isn't part of my claim of ancient wisdom, in case you were wondering why I'm stating the obvious.)

Strength

2.30 and I am finally having my lunch. It seems like one of those weeks, busy with new projects and meetings and interviews. In case you're curious, my lunch consists of rice, masala channa, malai kofta and karhi pakora. Sounds like a lot, but is half of the entire serving.

I am a bit tired, I think it's that bit of worry that's inevitable with the way things are. But things will be good.

Healing does not happen right away. It takes time, and most importantly patience and determination. You must believe that what you want to be whole again will be whole again, and you must nourish the soul that needs healing. Imagine your love and need for that person to be the healing balm that you must continually apply. Imagine positivity as the IV line that cannot stop at any cost. Send forth your strength from your heart and let it enwrap that soul as a blanket. Most importantly, remember the reasons why this is important, the memories which make you smile.  

Chaudah main tu satrah simple baat hai, arre duniya kya kahegi tera chanchal saath hai

S E V E N T E E N.  Welcome to my favourite number.  Yes 17.

Don't ask me why because I won't have an answer for you.

Granted, 29 is also my favourite number. But I like 17. I'm just particular to it for whatever reason.

It is so beautiful today! Well, it was yesterday also. I was sort of surprised at it, because I haven't been checking the weather in the mornings before leaving home. When I got out yesterday, I was just blown away by the amazing weather. The breeze was actually warm! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. (squeal of happiness).

I can't expound enough on how much sunshine make me happy. I was born on a quiet sunny morning. This is my disposition. Blue skies. White fluffy clouds. Warm breeze. Sunshine. Oo yes baby.

I also like rain. I like snow. Okay I lie. I love them. Ah, I just LOVE weather. And I guess I'm pretty lucky because being born here, I've pretty much experienced every hue existing on the climate rainbow.

I love variety, and I tend to be complacent with pretty much anything. I'm not that picky with much. If I were to say what I am particular with, it would most likely be with regards to the state of people's minds and personalities. The way they need to express such negativity.Ughh. *Shudders*

Oh, and fish. >.<

Magar Chupke Chupke

So, I've had one heck of a day with new projects. I am actually tired of writing.

Okay, scratch that. I'm not really tired of writing, I just feel that I've supersurpassed my quota of writing...which is somewhat dubious as I've never really dwelled on the idea that I really had a quota.

So I'm going to do us all a favour and keep this *SHOCKSHOCK* short.

Really. I kid you not. I, Miss I-DONTKNOWWHENTOSHUTUP-Q am going to end this now.

Baatein Kuch Ankahee Si

Friday evening while travelling home, I did what I usually do, sit and think.

 It occurred to me, not for the first time, that this travelling part of my day is one of my favourite times. In regards to the ongoing series of my extreme sleepiness, I've had a hard time explaining to a certain someone who believes that my long commute to and from home contributes to my tiredness, that it just is not the case.

I love the freedom of transit. You don't have to worry about your car, the signal lights, the traffic, other drivers, etc. You board, you sit (or stand) and you wait until you arrive at your destination. I always find the journey comparable to that of life.

The other day someone who follows this blog asked me if I'm the same way in real life. Meaning, do I also talk a lot like the way I write. I'm a very sociable person, one of the most pleasant and easy-going you'll come across, and oh yes I can talk your ear off if I'm ready to do so. But generally, I am a very quiet person.

Yes. This is me in real life. The distinction being, that this is the way I think. Not the way I talk.

Yes, I think a lot. I have been told many times that I think too much. To which I always aver that one can never think too much. I imagine my mind to be a sponge that can endlessly absorb everything and anything. The capacity of the mind awes me, because as long as you treat your body right, with the right food, right sleep, right activities and habits, with the right attitude and determination, the boundaries are almost non-existent.

And you know, this is what I thought in a flicker of a few seconds while sitting on the train, with the setting sun still shining upon my face. Almost like being suspended in time, that ride grants my mind the ability to rest, to think, to ponder, to speak to myself, and let the mind fly as far over the miles as it tends to do often.

This was meant to be my Saturday post, and I ended up saving it as a draft and never got back to it. I do kind of rue the fact that I missed a day. But not that I literally did - those of you with your sharp and keen eyes have noticed (and commented on!) my accessory blog - the Butterfly Effect.

Nahh, it isn't my new blog, it's more of a supplementary offset blog so to speak - as you can tell by now, I think alot, and on a LOT of different themes and as such, I felt weird just "reporting" news on this blog, whereas I kind of like to keep my thoughts and therefore, blogs, organized. So the Butterfly Effect is the home of my world events sort of thoughts.

 Similarly, you'd have noticed I've also put up other pages under the Timewarp section; Sapne is one of my very first blogs, and I've shared it with those of you I felt comfortable enough sharing with. It's been a long time since I wrote that stuff, and I've grown considerably, mentally and emotionally, and while I have an emotional connection with the content in the context of it being part of my life and  my writing thereof, I don't have the old possessive emotional connection I did previously in feeling that such writing was too raw and close to the heart to share with others.

So, on that train of thought, I think it's just about time where I ought to submit this mini-essay already.

Lookin’ Forward to the Weekend, Weekend.. Friday, Friday

So, this blogging thing. There are times I feel like just posting again, more than once a day. I realize that there is no rule forbidding me from doing this. However, I like to think that I am maintaining a consistent pattern and pacing myself.

I ponder.
If I increase the frequency of posting, will my inclination to do so decrease faster than if I were to maintain a moderated frequency? And, why would this occur?

Novelty. The idea that I'm relatively new to blogging. Okay, scratch that. I definitely am not new to blogging. A blogger since 2005, I have about 3141592654 blogs in existence to date (of which 3141592649 of them are not personal). Don't quote me on that.

I am new to Blogger.com considering that I have not been  personally blogging to the audience that I am on this domain until this week. As such, it is a novelty - an example of what I have termed the "Icecream Effect".

In a nutshell (cashew, preferably), the IceCream Effect describes the phenomenon of experiences of phenomena, their introduction, and the effect of exposure with regards to the pleasure they induce.  I use icecream as my example. We may have a craving for icecream, and our craving is influenced by a number of factors. The weather, our hunger, our environment. Most especially, the last time we had icecream.  Now, we may love icecream. But if we have icecream everyday, or every hour, that tendency to overdose comes into play.

As my pals Petronius and Mark say, all things in moderation [including moderation].

So maybe if I ration how much I allow myself the pleasure of writing and confusing your poor brains, perhaps I won't get so habituated and overdose myself with blogging.

Then again, why resist whichever way my creativity wants to express itself? If I want to blog 3 times a day, why should I refrain myself? In a week again, I'll still have been blogging for 2 weeks, regardless of how many times I have blogged. Same goes for a month later. I cannot predict what frame of mind I will be in in the future, my emotional state, my circumstances, or how busy I will be.

So why waste the creative juices? I'm not sure, if it's really wasting or not. It's just food (or drinks)for thought.

Y Das Sentido A Toda Mi Vida Con Tu Querer.

Happy Thursday!

One more day till Friday. Two more until Saturday.

Somehow, Thursday doesn't get all that glorification and fame the other days of the week seem to get. It's not one of the "anchoring" MWF sort of days. It's not the start of the week, nor is it the end. It doesn't get the hump day distinction that puts the feather in the cap for Wednesday.

It's like the fourth child, who doesn't get to be the wise eldest nor the spoilt youngest, and doesn't even get to be the notorious "middle child".

So in appreciation for the wonderful day that doesn't get all that glory, I wish you all a terrific Thursday!


It's almost Friday. And that thrill of anticipation is what makes it even more worth the day. In fact, when it's actually Saturday and officially the weekend, I can admit that it's a bit of a disappointment to realize that the day's already here and damn, we've just got Sunday then it's back to the week.

I meant to praise the morning and the amazingly beautiful day, but somehow my hallelujahs got diverted. Post-lunch, I'm yawning and struggling to keep awake.

YES, again. I can't explain it. I must emphasize again on the idea that naps after lunch should be law.  Post-prandial somnolence is a bigger issue in the Western Hemisphere than our authorities would let us believe. As long as they can enforce longer working hours and optimize on the working industry and tax us for our much hard earned work, they will. They will never admit to being slave-drivers, and will of course insist that this is what the people want. We want to work while half asleep, because we're still getting paid. Of course! (Just smile and nod).

Tell me why siestas are such a norm in other countries. Okay fine, they do experience different climates which induce a stronger sense of drowsiness. But, siesta is such a seductive word. Especially for a girl who's writing this half-asleep.

Mrow.

Mausam Yeh Superawesome Bada

After a few days of feeling totally under the weather, I think I can say (tentatively)ten·ta·tive (t n t -t v). adj. 1. Not fully worked out, concluded, or agreed on; provisional: tentative plans. 2. Uncertain; hesitant. that I am baaaaack!

I was certain I must have been dying. I was overcome with this incredibly heavy lightheadedness. I wake up feeling tired, get to work feeling tired, work feeling tired, leave feeling tired, get home feeling tired. Okay, tired isn't the right word. Not that I was doing anything so as to feel "tired", but rather, it was this pervasive adj.(esp. of an unwelcome influence or physical effect) spreading widely sleepiness that just would not go away.

Now,  let's get a few things straight. I do sleep 8 hours a day. I take multivitamins. I drink lots of water. And I mean lots. Routine did not change. Other additional factors that may have been attributableat·trib·ut·ed: To relate to a particular cause or source? The weather.

Yes, I do dress warmly. I wear layers upon layers according to the weather. I'm one of those people who get cold pretty quickly. If you know me, you know this already. I've had someone who, when introducing me to others would say, "This is 'IQ', she's always cold." I lie not.

Even on the hottest day, when it's sweltering humid, and everyone else is sopping sweat and fanning themselves, I'm as cool as a cucumber. I find air conditioning an abhorrencen. that which induces a feeling of repulsion; disgusted loathing.. Especially when for whatever reason, they turn it up to subarctic temperatures that, when in winter, is too cold for them. I can understand turning it on to bring the temperature to a somewhat tolerable state. But frigid wind-blasting temperatures indoors? And they wonder why people get sick in the summer.

It must be some underhanded prerogativen. A right or privilege exclusive to a particular individual or class of the Doctors-R-Us Business. They advise everyone to turn up the AC to counter the hot outdoors with the evil intentions of getting the population sick and providing them with even more business. Pah.

Little do they know that there are individuals immune to this sort of brainwashing. Likey moi. *Insert Matrix sort of moment here*

I am incredibly sensitive to the weather. To nature. Sometimes I feel, yes very narcissisticallyNarcissism is the personality trait of egotism, vanity, conceit, or simple selfishness., that weather must be reflecting my inner state of being. When I'm joyous, the sun is out and shining radiantly. When I'm sorrowful, it's gray and raining. The consistency with which this theory holds true almost makes this fact. Almost.

The exceptions to this rule - and yes, there are some occasions where this correlationn.A mutual relationship or connection between two or more things. Interdependence of variable quantities. doesn't hold true - lead me to believe that...my superpowers aren't perfect. Yet. ~ test
~

On another note, I meant to expose this villain a long time ago:

An example of colourblind felony rampant in the underworld. He also does not believe in U. Beware. 

Aankhon Se Padhke Tujhe Dil Left Side Pe Maine Likha

Day Two! Yay, I'm workin' it. I'm not sure if  I should be saying things like that. Yesterday I was told I shouldn't be saying things like "I have a thing for potatoes." Sigh. Why must everything that once was innocent become tainted by innuendos and double entendres?

Not that I'm goodytwoshoeing the phenomenon. I definitely am as guilty of it as any other person. But still.

This reminds of me a phase wherein I was resisting the changes in Indian cinema. I fussed about how everything was sexually oriented, and those good ol' days of sweet innocent love like that depicted in Dilwale Dulhani Le Jayenge were just a sigh of things we no longer have. And movies like Murder, Jism, blah  (insert movie that you remember the body parts but not the face here) blah blah were coming out. More making out, especially with the introduction of Emran Hashmi, and more sexual scenes or plots. And, holy pakora, these scenes weren't even that good! Pshh.

Once, I was assigned the task of reviewing the music for Gangster. Yup, way back in 2006, when the movie released. I heard the album and declared it blah. Yes, I actually did.  I did however, grudgingly, say that "Tu hi meri shab hai" was okayish if anything on the album was. True story. This was another shift in indian cinema - more so in the music genre, style and themes. Now, when I recall this episode of my life, I wonder what was wrong with me. I love that soundtrack to bits. And okayish? That one song is, and remains, one of my absolute favourites.

I'm always stuck in between two different directions. That ingrained sense to resist changes, because we've become so habituated to...what we are used to (duh). To go against that new fad, that new trend, because you want to stick with what you know is good and also to rebel, because well, that's how I am.

Then that other direction, dipping the toe into the water, testing the new and experiencing the never-experienced. To catch hold of the butterfly before anyone else and run with it.

I like being different. I admit it, loud and clear. I like being the one to take the first step and remember I was the one to take it. I like being the one to not jump, and remember I was the one who didn't jump and live to tell it. I'm the kind of person who resists people telling her what to do. I'm the type who goes right if you tell go left.

I can't really explain why I am. And I realize it's not always a good thing. I like being a leader, but I believe a good leader is the one who can, and will, follow. In the same way, while I tend to argue just for arguments sake, I do have to remind myself that - as much as I would like to be - I am not always right.

I am going to give you 60 seconds now so that you may awaken from fainting, or get up off the floor from falling off your chair.  Yes I said it. IQ is not always right.

Jab Tak Rahega Samose Mein Aloo

Yes yes, it is I. *Strikes a pose* The one and only. You may stop your applause, and you may take your seats.

It's the day back after the Easter long weekend. There is something a bit disorienting about returning after a long weekend. The way the change in routine tends to boggalize the mind, and leave one feeling a day lost somehow.

For me, I find myself pausing everytime I dwell on the idea that today is Monday. I have to stop and recheck that it is in fact Monday, and not Tuesday, which for some reason I feel it must be. Don't ask me how it works. If you're confused thus far, trust me, you'll be superconfused if you hear me attempting to explain how it works.

I am not even going to try. Breathes of relief are expected. In, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four. There was one occasion when I tried that breathing exercise out on a friend who was superstressed at the perplexities presented by the opposite sex. Yes, he was male; "Yo, wtf. I aint in labour."

So as I was on the topic of disorientation, I present to you a fine example today: Myself.

I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept all night, when in fact, I had done so for a good 8 hours. I slept the entire way to work, and while there is nothing new in that, it somehow contributed more towards the disorientation effect. I got to work to be treated with truffles from a coworker. I highly suspect that having champagne truffles first thing in the morning does not cure disorientation.

And so it is that I stumble along giddily to encounter specimens of potato. Yes, you heard me. The solanum tuberosum, the starchy plant tuber that is one of the most important food crops, cooked and eaten as a vegetable. MINE. Cmon now, it is not just a coincidence that it SOUNDS like awesome. Tuberosum, repeat after me, tuberosum. The Awesome Tuber.

I firmly hold onto the belief that the best things in the world start with the letter P.  As the world goes on, and time and experiences take me down that river of life, I find it amazing how often this rule of thumb holds true. Pizza, pasta, paratha, pineapple, peach, pumpkin, pie, paani, potato. POTAYTO. PoTAHto.

What is in a name? That which we call a potato (n. /pəˈtātō/) by any other name would taste as potatoey.

So, I've got a thing for potatoes. So WHAT. It's not clinically critical. There are times I do refuse potatoes (just don't ask me when)...and yes, I don't experience withdrawal effects when I am not partaking of it.

I brought samosas for lunch. I was told that isn't lunch, its a snack. I must digress, five samosas are more than enough for a lunch. Before lunch however, I committed a crime. I visited the other department and under the pretext of socializing and disarming my coworkers with my charming smile, stole another truffle. A Jamaican Rum truffle. Of course, I think I did a booboo by announcing "I'm stealing a truffle!" because all the glee in stealing was flattened with "Yeah! Go ahead! They're organic! Good for you!". So it was that I trudged back to my floor with a not-so-stolen truffle and dreams of samosas and Coke waiting for me.

Yes you're tuned into Disorientation Station. Brought to you by white champagne and rum chocolates from Germany, Coca Cola, samosas and yoursssss truly.

My coworker brought me sweet potato fries. "Let's get fat together," says she. "Yesh," I blushed at the fries, "What a splendid idea."