electrogirl

Over the past two or three days there have been a plethora of topics I have *almost* blogged about. I'll see, hear, read, or think something, and say to myself, "You gotta blog that!" but by the time I'm in a position to write, the urge is gone. I'm sorta, "Meh. That's not that interesting." So just consider yourselves lucky you have not had to read about Intermission and how it's made me afraid for the future of my dating/sex life, an overheard prison bus conversation that pointed out my own inherent sexism, whether that 13 year old father in Britain (who looks 10 and not pubertal) is a hoax, various fashion and beauty things I've been doing or will be doing to get myself out of these winter doldrums, another example of how the modern Japanese have a scarily warped culture (and this goes way beyond dressing your own cat up in a Hello Kitty costume), the chocolate chip rice crispy treat I bought in the cafeteria yesterday that contained *no* marshmallow and how I should really have gotten my money refunded for that, or how I have had a recurring dream since childhood about a plane dropping out of the sky onto my house.

Instead, I would like to just inform you all that I wore running shoes to work today, which I never do--I have other sneaker-type shoes I sometimes wear, but never these--and how all I have done today because of them is give myself (and a couple of my patients, sadly) static shocks. I am a complete field of electricity. Twice when I went to turn the light switch on in my office when I was done testing, the static shock was so extreme you could see the actual spark in the dark. It's pissing me off greatly, and I don't have any other shoes at work to change into.

Oh, and in other news, today is, as some of you know, my dad's birthday. He made 83. D and I are having a birthday dinner for him tonight with fried clams and chocolate cake, which I offer up as proof that, once again, nutritionists should suck it.

xoxo (and an extra xo for Valentines Day)