Elevators: They're Plotting Against Me

I know what you are probably thinking right about......NOW!  OH GOD!  ANOTHER WORK STORY!?!?!?!  WHYYYYYYYYYYYY?  Probably because all I do is work and all my good stories come from there.  So you are going to sit back, shut up, and enjoy the ride, or so help me I will turn this blog around right now and take you home WITHOUT GETTING ICE CREAM!.

That's what I thought.  Whoever said I couldn't be a good parent was seriously mistaken.

Anyway...I work in a twelve story building full of middle-aged ladies.  If you think, for one second, that these ladies are going to walk up twelve flights of stairs in unnecessarily high high heels, and gout and other problems (such as twelve flights of stairs) then you are just plain crazy (like most people who come to the courthouse during a full moon).

Usually, whilst I am running files and having to explain to criminals how to get my job (and then silent scoffing at them), the elevators work quite well.  They come to me when I am in a hurry and they go straight to the floor I need.  Recently, however, there has been a turn for the worse (Oregon Trail reference anyone?!?!).

Over the past few weeks, I have noticed that the elevators are being straight up bitches.  Allow me to list the reasons (like you actually have a choice):

• They never show up on time.  They are like my grandma.  I just assume they are going to be fifteen to twenty minutes late, so I get work done in the mean time.
• They never go to the floor I want.  I'm the only one of the GD elevator, and they stop at EVERY SINGLE FLOOR in between one and eight.  EVERY DAMN FLOOR!
• Sometimes, when the elevators are in a particularly fun mood, they just stop on a random floor and do nothing.  They just sit there and wait and wait and wait and then go.
• Whenever I'm in a hurry, do you think I get an elevator?  Didn't think so.
• They are all owned by Otis.  Who the fuck is this Otis guy and why does he have a monopoly on all elevators?
• The doors are a death trap.  Seriously, I have seen people get checked into another wall because of these doors.
• People are stupid and decide they have to rush the elevator when it opens, usually running into me and my stacks of files on the verge of spilling.  Then they act like it was my fault all along.  OH HELL NO! You got in my way.  This is my elevator.  You can use the stairs for all I care.  Until I exit, this is my domain bitch!
• The elevators make weird noises that make me think they just won't stop one of these days.  They might not (hope I get Worker's comp...)

So.  Now that I'm all done complaining...WHO WANTS LASAGNA?!?!

Why Yes. I am Terrified of Bees Thank You.

Bees.  What is there to say about them.  They live in honeycombed shaped colonies with millions of look-a-likes that swarm and attack at an instant.  They make delicious honey.  They are black and yellow black and yellow black and yellow black and yellow black and yellow.  You know what it is.  What you probably don't know, is that I am petrified of them.  So much so, that I've created a false allergy to them so people don't judge me as harshly when I run away from them.

I wasn't always afraid of bees (at least I think I wasn't).  I used to find their presence comforting.  That soft buzz flying through the air.  The fact that they are sexing up the plants.  It's all good.  But when I was five-ish, my life took a turn for the worse.

My family was visiting the Wisconsin Dells which are in Wisconsin I believe.  I think that might be the only real attraction in Wisconsin, unless you like cheese or the Packers.  So, we were visiting family and we stopped at this fun destination.  My father, being the gentle giant he is, decides to take five year old Brian on a hike up the dells (in the dells? Down by the dells?).  We are having a fun time when all of a sudden, there is a buzzing in my ear.  I swat it away, but there's another one.  And another one.  And another one!  Based on my dad's spastic movements, he was either dancing, or under the same annoyance I was.

Unfortunately, we were lead right into the path of a beehive.  We were attacked, NAY, mauled by these atrocities.  I was stung at least two billion times.  After running down the path, away from this vicious onslaught, only then did I realized the damage that these rapist bugs can do.  I then made it my personal goal to eradicate the world of all bees.  Then I found a frog and forgot about that goal.

Yup.  So over the last fifteen years of my life, I have slowly been weening myself away from my fear of bees.  I can tolerate them now.  And stand near them.  Which I feel (and my therapist feels) is progress.  But I won't stand next to spiders.  I fucking hate spiders.

My Car Got Fixed!

Exciting day for me!  My car finally got fixed!  Short story long, over the past few months, my ABS would go off at random times when I was braking and clearly not sliding, or they would randomly go off even when I wasn't braking, which was odd since they are supposed to help you stop but are very ineffective (or uneffective I suppose, I don't know right now, I'm tired and irritable) when you are using the gas pedal and the car thinks that you should try to stop.

I'm going to start a new paragraph, because that last sentence lost me.  Again, my car got fixed.  The ABS no longer go off randomly.  AND I GOT A NEW MUFFLER! My car is like a silent ninja assassin, but secretly disguised as a Bravada. Why doesn't Google Chrome recognize Bravada?  Does it have something against American car companies?  I'm on to you Google Chrome.

So, my car is all better, but my bank account is now sad.  Like, dead and gone sad.  To the point where it will take months to get back.  And by months, I mean a couple nights on my corner.  But seriously, I'm not a prostitute.

...I don't know what a male prostitute is called...

I Need to Stop Eating Before Bed

These past few days, I have been having some crazy-insane dreams. Like, if a movie producer were to look into my subconscious while I was sleeping, he would have a gold mine for two new blockbuster hits. That's how weird they have been.

I don't know if it's because I've been eating too much before bed or too little before bed (I can't really remember to four days ago.  Wouldn't want to anyway.) but these dreams have been entertaining for me. So entertaining, in fact, that I've been writing down the main plot points on the first piece of paper I found in the morning (which is usually a bank statement that says I have no money or some other important document).  Anyway, I feel like a dreamweaver or soothsayer or whoever looks at dreams, would have a field day with my subconscious.

On a lovely side note, I've added a poll on the side of the blog for fun and interesting outlooks into your lives. Also, I plan to use the results to create random statistical information to present to the WHO and win the Nobel Prize in medicine.  Or I'll just forget.  Probably the second one.

On a second, less lovely side note, my morning handwriting looks like I wrote with my left hand, if it were mangled in some machine that flattened all my fingers and left me for dead on the side of the road.