Weirdest Dream Ever

I'm sitting at my kitchen table, working on my laptop.  I click a link that takes me to my own blog, at which point I cringe. "The pan got too hot and the cheese has started to sweat!" I yell. Then I reach into my computer screen, peel the webpage off (which has apparently become a 3D object), and start to dab the cheese grease with a paper towel.  After a few minutes I plaster the webpage back onto the screen. Throughout the rest of the day I visit the page a few more times and stare in disappointment as I observe the permanent grease stains marring the "paper".

analysis: I have an obsession with cheese, and I'm feeling guilty about it. Maybe I've been working in my kitchen too much - food & technology have merged in mind. All the time I'm spending on this product development project for a touchscreen disinfectant also played a role...3D webpages??


Now I'm thinking about the cheesy open-faced cheddar/mozzarella-tuna-n-tomato melts my mom used to make on french bread when I was a kid, and I want one sooooooo bad!

The Overnight Train: A Necessary Experience

The best way to describe my over-night train ride from St. Petersburg to Moscow would be to say, as Joe -- one of the other interns -- always says, “a necessary experience.” It was a truly Russian experience, to say the least. I ended up in a купе (coupé) with three Ukrainian sailors – soon to become three drunk Ukrainian sailors. Two of them were middle-aged, 50 and 55. And one – Sasha – was younger, thirty-five at the very most. Andrei and Aleksandr, the older men, didn't speak any English but were happy to converse in Russian. Sasha kept wanting to exercise his small English lexicon.

It was fun for the first few hours; I talked as much as my limited vocabulary would allow, while the sailors drank. And drank. And drank. Until all the vodka was gone. Then things took a turn for the worst. I knew it was going downhill when Sasha took a deep breath and said, “So, I have a proposition for you,” in his thick, almost-unintelligible Ukrainian accent. He then proceeded to try to convince me to marry him. Of course I played dumb and hoped that my “lack of understanding” would make him lose interest. Bad call on my part. Instead, Sasha seemed determined to not only make me understand his wishes, but to convince me that marriage would be a fantastic idea. The two older guys must have taken this as their cue to leave, and went out for a smoke – closing the compartment door behind them with a bang.

My writing style suggests I'm a 66 year old woman?

I'm finally getting settled into the semester (which is fantastic, by the way) and starting to fall into a weekly routine.  The way my classes are set up, I have only one class on Monday and one class on Friday.  This is desirable, because packing the bulk of my courses into a three-day mid-week rush allows me to more efficiently manage my time outside of class with minimum interruptions.  However, my Tues-Weds-Thurs require more of me than is almost humanly possible, leaving me no time to blog during the week.  


Which means that Friday is BLOG DAY!  I sense that the space between is going to be spasmodically updated these next few months, but you can probably expect me to indulge in a blogging spree most Friday nights.  


Now, this is funny.
I happened upon a website that analyzes blogs.  I just entered my blog's URL, and POP! out came a series of pie charts showing the results of a computer analysis of my last twenty-two blog posts.  

MOOD

This is what the computer concluded: 


the space between is probably written by a female somewhere between 66-100 years old. The writing style is personal and happy most of the time.

AGE

I'm rather used to acquaintances over-estimating my age, but 66?  
Tu exagères! 

worst first date ever

So after being asked out a few times by an acquaintance, I agreed to accompany him tonight to dinner and a Nashville Predators professional hockey game. I really enjoy watching the Preds, and--although I didn't really think it would go anywhere--the guy seemed nice, so I thought I should give him a shot. We'll just call him He.

He showed up promptly at 5:30 and we set out to grab a bite to eat before the game. Upon reaching the stop sign at the exit of my apartment complex, He says, "I shouldn't turn left out of here." (It's a two-way, four-lane, busy road.) I reply: "Oh, hmm, I always turn left out of here. Maybe I just always get lucky, but the traffic usually comes in waves, so it should be clear in just a minute or two." Apparently, a minute or two was too long to wait, because after about 20 seconds he pulls out. We are nearly missed by two oncoming SUVs flying down the hill towards us and then we swerve dangerously into our destination lane, cutting off another SUV right behind us. A chorus of horns erupts from all directions. I'm definitely having second thoughts by now, but try to suppress my fears and put on a smile.

100 feet down the road we stop at a red light. The guy behind us throws his driver door open and storms up, in the middle of traffic, to our driver side window, where he proceeds to tap fiercely on the window and yell (in a slightly funky accent), "You're a moron! What, are you blind? You're crazy...you shouldn't be on the road" while waving his hands wildly. At first I don't connect the two events and giggle at him....then I realize just how dangerous that last move was, and am a little appalled as He makes a derogatory comment about the guy as the guy storms back to his car. He didn't apologize for nearly killing me.

Minutes later, we arrive at the "restaurant"....Qdoba, a slightly healthier version of Taco Bell. I'm thinking, okay, the guy's on a budget. I'm a broke college student; I can understand that. We go in. I order. He orders. It's a Subway-style deal where we go down the line and pick out the toppings. We get to the checkout. The very friendly cashier greets us, "Hey folks, how ar'ya doin' tonight. Are these going to be together or seperate?" I decided not to answer and let Him take the initiative. He looks over at me and I kind of half-smile with a little shrug. He says, "Oh...we'll be separate."

I'm in shock. Somehow, I find my credit card and hand it over to the cashier. The cashier likes the cute little sunflower picture on my card. So does He. I show it to Him, thinking, "Would you like me to use it to buy your dinner too?!" My salad was $6.43. That's less than the $10 it costs to park downtown. For someone who persisted in asking me for a date, I was bewildered as to why he didn't see fit to buy me dinner.

We gather our food and drinks and find a booth. For the next hour I politely ask him about how he came to be in Nashville, where he went to school, where he works, about his family, etc. I make an effort to show genuine interest because that's what tactfulness and appropriate date conduct is all about. Apparently, however, He missed the memo, because he didn't ask me one question about myself, my school, or my family the entire night....NOT EVEN ONE.

It's 6:47 pm. We've made it into the arena and found our seats. I'm initiating conversation--as usual--while we wait for the other fans in our row to show up and scoot past us. The first guy comes over, "Excuse me, I think my seat's just on the other side of you." I look up at the guy...."Hey! How are you!" (We'll call him Guy #2.) Guy #2 stares at me for 2 seconds before recognizing me. It's a guy I went on a first date with a few months ago. There was no second date.

By some freak alignment of the universe, I find myself sitting between these two. What are the chances that Guy #2 would be assigned to a seat right next to me?? None of our seats were bought; they are owned by separate companies who hold the season passes for those seats and give them sporadically to customers.

Guy #2 leans over and whispers in my ear, "This your new BF?" "No," I answer, "not at all." Guy #2 makes a point of calling me 'sweetheart' and asking me to hold his beer while he runs to the restroom. I'm trying to keep Him involved in the conversation and feel bad about Guy #2 moving in and trying to take over His date. He doesn't do anything at all to try to keep my attention. No clever jokes, no interesting stories, no informative comments on the game. Meanwhile, Guy #2 seems to be full of stories, jokes, and commentary galore. Guy #2 sustains a permanent lean towards me the entire game, supported by the flimsy arm rest that separates our seats. He, on the other hand, seems to be indifferent, positioned perfectly in the middle of his seat with his arms folded across his chest. I sit awkwardly between them, trying to keep from brushing either of their shoulders or sending any kind of message that would imply interest on my part.

Halfway through the game, a mutual friend of Guy #2 and I is spotted across the arena. I say, "Why don't we text him and then stand up and wave?" Guy #2 says, "Okay." He pulls out his spiffy blackberry and sends off a text that says, "Shirah is stupid!!!!" Great. Just great. What, is this 7th grade? A reply comes back. "No, Shirah is a genius. You, on the other hand...."
Thank you! Finally, someone stuck up for me.

All in all, it truly was an uncomfortable night. The worst part is, when He and I returned to the apartment, He chatted with my roommate for a few minutes before leaving. From the impression that his conduct gave her, everything had gone great. He really thought that the date had gone well. Can you believe that?

Needless to say, there will not be a second date.