Whatever God wants, he keeps

Warning: The post you are about to read means nothing. In fact, you can just skip it. It's just one of those ideas that was stuck in my head and needed purging. You should save time and just go get a cup of coffee.

Do you remember the movie Short Circuit? About the robot? Back when Steve Guttenburg was a comedic genius? (Sue me, I was 10).

One of my favorite jokes comes from that movie:

There's a priest, a minister, and a rabbi. They're out playing golf. They're deciding how much to give to charity. The priest says "We'll draw a circle on the ground, throw the money in the air, and whatever lands inside the circle, we'll give to charity." The minister says "No, we'll draw a circle on the ground, throw the money in the air, and whatever lands outside of the circle, that's what we'll give to charity." The rabbi says "No no no. We'll throw the money way up in the air, and whatever God wants, he keeps!"

I like to be a little rabbi-esque (yes that is a word, I wrote it) when it comes to my office. My garbage can and recycling bin sit next to each other against the wall by my desk. Since we have one of those overly complicated recycling programs here at work (remember, we eat food with food, or now with wooden spoons that don't melt as badly in the hot food, but do flatten out, so soon you're eating soup with a paddle, and it all tastes like toothpicks), I'm never sure if the coffee cup is recylable, or if I'm supposed to carry it over to the kitchen to go in the composting bin. And the kitchen is far away.

So I instituted my rabbi rule of recycling, also known as the ricochet rule of environmental friendliness:

I simply toss whatever it is that I need to dispose of, coffee cup, corn-starch fork, balled up piece of paper, whatever, directly at the wall. It's going to land in one of the bins (am queen of trash basketball).

I expect an award from Greenpeace or the Sierra Club any day now.

The stuff of nightmares

I rarely remember my dreams. I might have a vague thought when I first wake up but the minute my feet touch the ground, zzzzt, gone. The only dreams that seem to stay with me are the bad ones, which are themselves few and far between (or so I remember).

One of the worst dreams I ever had involved being trapped in a garage at Lagoon (exciting UT amusement park - what, you've never heard of it?). There was a pit in the garage a la every oil change place in the world. And for some reason I was trapped on a thin ledge between the wall and the glooming pit. Ooook.

Another dream starred a small witch puppet who I'm pretty sure was going to kill me. She'd appear over the edge of my bunk bed and glare menacingly.

Metallica inspired a nightmare once - that damn song "One" with the Johnny Got His Gun footage in the video? All it takes is hearing the first few notes of that song, and I'm instantly returned to a nightmare where I'm the man who can't move or see or talk.

Until last night, the very worst dream of all time happened shortly after I accidentally saw The Elephant Man when I was young (6-ish? 7-ish). I dreamed that I was turning into the Elephant Man, complete with misshapen limbs. In all likelihood, it was probably related to the fact that my hand had gone to sleep, but I woke with a start with a hand that seemed 10 times its normal size. Ever since, all it takes is Tyler whispering, "I am not an animal" to send me screaming under the covers.

I don't know why these are the dreams that stayed with me. But I can say, with some certainty, that they have now all been surpassed. (Even though just typing "I am not an animal" [gaaaah, again] gives me goosebumps.)

Last night I had what can only be described as the queen of nightmares. I was at my parents' house, and for some god-forsaken reason, my leg was rupturing into X's, all along the skin. The left side of the X split to reveal fat and the right side to reveal muscle. (And hi, I knew it was a dream and not reality because seriously? Me in shorts? Not happening.) I was mildly freaked out about this, understandably, while simultaneously intrigued by the appearance of the muscle, but then, apparently, I was supposed to be going somewhere with my father. He started harassing me about being a little squeamish about my leg, so I grabbed a tissue, pressed it to my leg, which holyfuckingshit spewed blood, and threw the tissue at Dad. I wish I could remember what I yelled at him, I'm pretty sure it included the terms "fuck" and "you" and "eat bloody shit." But I could be wrong.

That goddamn dream has stayed with me all day. I keep seeing the skin rupture, the purple color of the leg. And I can feel it.

I never thought I'd long for the Elephant Man, but I do.

Politics of office doors

I've been lucky, I guess, to have always had a door in my workplace. I've never been stuck in a cube farm, always had the security of 4 walls and a door, behind which I can make private phone calls to doctors about, say, this inconvenient need to pee all g'damn day long.

But as with all things in the office place, there need to be some rules. When you have a door, the status of the door provides a built-in code, an indicator of my willingness to talk to you. (Because that's the kind of bitch I am.)

So here is my Rosetta Stone of Office Doors.

At my former place of employment (lovingly referred to as Soul-Sucking Mega-Corporation), there was a door and four walls, leading to the following door positions and meanings:

• Door open - Come on in! Distract me from these error codes!
• Door ajar - Knock first, please.
• Door ajar and I have a headset on - I'm on the phone - speak softly.
• Door closed - Knock but don't be surprised if I don't answer. I'm either out or sleeping under my desk.
• Door closed and whirring noise escaping from the cracks - For the love of God, leave me alone. I am pumping, and trust me, this conversation is every bit as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.

At my new pretty place of employment (referred to as Pretty Pretty Place Where I Work for the Pretty Pretty People), there are four walls, a door, and a window, with a blind, leading to additional much more complicated door meaning algorithms.

• Door closed + blinds up or open - Knock and wave. I'll either gesture you in or ignore you pointedly.
• Door closed + blinds closed - I'm busy plotting ways in which to remove you from this pretty place of business. Don't panic, panicking will not help.

Ok, so that last one probably isn't true. Maybe.