Wearing the cranky pants

The question is, am I actually, really in a bad mood today? I don't think so, I just think that when I woke up this morning, it was dark, and I accidentally put on my cranky pants.

I've checked the guru of all information, google.com, and it tell me it could be a result of not enough sunshine. Or the pills that I take. Or the pills that I'm not taking. Or allergies. Or insufficient "me" time. Or too much therapy. Or Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder. Maybe it's road rage? Iron deficiency. Vitam C deficiency. Sugar overload. Caffeine overload.

That's IT! I haven't had a cup of coffee today - problem solved. And now back to today's "news." Have you ever had a situation where your professional esteem is dependent on the work of others. And those others not only don't care about the quality of work, but appear to be actively uninterested in even completing requested tasks on deadline? OK - not a very hypothetical situation. I'm just frustrated because I don't want my boss to think I'm totally useless. I have been pushing the other people involved, but what can you do? No-one's career is ever as important as your own, and all people, regardless of how magnanimous they seem, are looking out for #1.

Then again, it could be worse. I could live in Auckland.

Perhaps it's Rooted in my Biological Clock

I suppose I could say my mood improved. I was quite happy all weekend, even though my golf plans were dashed. The weather was beautiful. Kiwis are perverse. We couldn't golf because the weather "could" have gotten bad, which I found frustrating at first, but with the uncanny sense of accuracy that so many of these antipodeans possess, it started raining right around our proposed tee time. How do they do it?

So, I solved my funk the old fashioned way. Oh, no, not sex. And not chocolate. So maybe not the old fashioned way. I rearranged my furniture. There is some backstory here, perhaps rooted in my biological clock. About 6 months ago, I started to feel rootless, so I looked into buying a house. Housing prices are obscene both in the U.S. and in New Zealand right now, so my hopes were quickly dashed. So I thought about buying furniture - a lovely ottoman, some armchairs, a leather couch combination. But my house isn't really that big, and I don't know where I'll be living next. So I finally minimized my dream, and settled for rolling the piano across the carpet, putting the dining room in the front entryway, and nearly decapitating myself (and my boyfriend) trying to move a giant, painfully heavy china cabinet. The cabinet is still in the middle of the room- I may have to leave it there as a testament to interior design modernism? Anyway, it was all vv therapeutic. I worked up a sweat (burning calories!), and my house looks better, and now I'm inspired to throw a dinner party. So, kids, the moral of the story is, when your dream of spending over $200,000 is dashed, move the couch. It satisifes the nesting urge without a 30-year debt hanging over your head.

Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

I should never have gotten up today. A terrible overwhelming feeling first thing in the morning that it's going to be a bad day is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Day was total crap. Not one productive thing accomplished. I'm tired. I'm cranky. I'm surrounded by incompetence.
On the bright side, I had the distinct honor (?) of attending a baby shower today. For those of you unfamiliar with the custom, it puts normally intelligent, social, influential women together in a room and alternately forces them to gurgle and coo like clucky hens, subjects them to horrifying games and forces them to eat a helluva lot of baked goods. I am still in a sugar coma. One of the games - creative - but ultimately mentally scarring - was to identify 10 different candy bars that had been melted into baby diapers. Yep, that's right. Identify the "poo-y" diaper. (OK, they're called nappies here, not diapers, but you still get the idea.) Singlehandedly, this afternoon managed to not only not/not make me want to have kids, it's put me off of chocolate bars for life. Yes, the baby clothes are cute. No, being that pregnant is not. The ability to create life is sacred, I know, but the inability to bend over and tie your shoes is nothing to envy.
The only thing that could make today worse? Having to go to a political rally this evening. Oh, wait. I do. And I just found out today that I have been tenured at work. On the one hand, awesome! I'm permanent. On the other, I can no longer claim overtime, so I am going to witness a political knock-down drag-out as the cap of a 12 hour day with no ideas of financial recompense to soothe my burning ears.
Thank god the weather forecast for tomorrow (I'm scheduled to play golf) is absolute crap. I'd hate for my funk to lift anytime soon. Grrrr.

Dr. Spock I'm Not

I am recovering slowly from the "Basta Pasta Party." I think, perhaps, that the waiter's uncanny ability to refill my wine glass with a strong Italian white while I wasn't looking may have contributed to my downfall. I don't like more than two glasses with a meal, but I was so wrapped up in an intriguing conversation on anti-Americanism (I'll get back to that topic) that I may have inadvertantly hit 3+. Ouch. Ok, it wouldn't have been painful, but I needed to get up extra early this morning to tour a visiting Research Vessel as part of my Dr-Spock-Science-Officer duties. I was expecting a glamorous and intricate tour of the complexities of scientific research conducted on the unpredictable Southern Pacific Ocean, but the charming man doing the tour said that this was his first time on this particular ship, and he was unfamiliar with how catamaran-style boats fared in nasty seas. Of course, at that hour, I was feeling a bit green even thinking of rough seas, so I pleaded pressing deadlines and "toodled" back to work.

Bring Your Own Pasta, We'll Provide the Water

Trapped at work until late, since the Italians are having a "Pasta Party" at 7:30, and it's too far to head home and back. I'm still not sure if the title of the party means I need to bring my own pasta dough, and they'll supply the hot water, but I think you can't go wrong with a bottle of wine. Thankfully, that's one thing we are seriously long on here in Middle Earth.

So, I thought instead of doing more work that would be done badly because it's late and I'm distracted, I'd try blogging, since my ability to send out fairly regular e-mail updates to y'all is failing. It's not that I don't mean to, it's just that nothing life-threatening seems to happen here. I have a normal life with acceptable social outlets for my highs, lows, frustrations and triumphs. Therefore, I don't end up with such pent-up words that I need to type it all out and justify the oddness in my life through feedback from friends and family. But maybe I can commit to writing a little prose infrequently on this site. Commitment. Damn. I must be nearing 30....