Chick Lit

I get a lot of feedback from my co-workers. Recently, I was told that I would have great material for a book. Usually, when I'm quiet for long periods at a time, it's because a.) I'm saving up material, most of which I reject as banal and start all over again b.) I don't feel comfortable saying the things I really want to talk about. But I legitimately could write a great book. About any number of things. It's something I've thought about doing since I was...well, born.

It's amazing the extent to which I am and am not a perfectionist. It shows up big time on this blog, but very little at work. As a child, my parents began to observe that I was deeply perfectionistic. So I got punished whenever I tried too hard to make something "just so". They were only marginally successful-like putting a knee patch on a pair of jeans.

I self-censor to an amazing degree...this blog takes on my personality in surprising ways...like most INFJ's still waters run deep. So I'm going to try to let you all see a more spontaneous, less carefully edited version of myself. A few days ago I allowed myself to be snarky with someone-that's something I never do. I'm far too polite to expose most of my internal anything.

So anyway, back to the chick lit-the just for fun category of my reading list. I realized that I have a very easy time mimicking the writing style of the chick literati. I plan to utilize this writing style for my PhD thesis. It will be revolutionary, and underappreciated, and eventually a cult sensation with the academic-poseur UO fake glasses set.

In other news, I have developed a rather disconcerting habit on the Metro. I’ve always enjoyed observing others, but only on the Metro do I have a tendency to outright stare. And I’ve noticed that this makes some people more uncomfortable than others. Largely because I’m not just observing, I’m also actively reading them-like a social science meets personal exercise.

I’ve had an uncanny ability since I was a child to pick up on cues that most people don’t even realize they give off. And I’m very good at hiding my ability to do it. Right now, I’m actively working at a.) honing this ability and b.) testing its limits. I’m definitely a lot better with some people than I am with others. However, there are some I can read frighteningly well. My boss has actually admitted to others in the office that my ability to accurately detect intent has scared him on several occasions.

Strangely enough, my recent observations have taught me that I’m pretty good at reading kids as well as adults. I found this surprising. Also interesting is that there are some people who know very well what I’m up to and won’t let me read them. Although rare, these are some of the people who I find the most interesting.

There is a man I met on the metro who has taken a tremendous interest in saving my immortal soul. He’s an interesting one. He arrives in the Vienna garage about the same time I do every day. One day, he let me borrow his golf umbrella so I wouldn’t get poured on. We’ve spoken on at least four occasions. He always gives me a brochure titled “Am I going to Heaven?”, but he never remembers me. There is no spark of recognition. It’s not even that he’s struggling to place me but can’t-I’m literally new every day. But whoever I am, he’s very concerned about me.

All this, strangely enough, leads me to John Edwards. When the story broke it caused a huge commotion in my office, with at least 5 staffers gathered around a single computer making comments. I was disinterested in participating. Partially because, I remember watching Mr. Edwards on TV several years ago and predicting/sensing that this would happen. I use the slash because with me, it genuinely is a combination of both. This is unrelated to any cynicism I may have regarding the private lives of political figures. It has everything to do with an ability that sometimes pops up in strange and unlikely ways. So the announcement, for me, was more like déjà vu.

I’ve also discovered that the best barometer of my mood is to sit down and write something. I can figure out exactly where I’m at by the curve of the letters, their size, organization, etc. Basically, I am my own FBI toolkit.

Notes from all over:

· I may be working on a program soon called “That Takes Ovaries”. I will be the only woman working on the project in our office.
· The Christian the Lion story makes me cry. The backing music on You tube is terrible though.
· Bernie Mac, I will watch Bad Santa in your honor. Not like it takes coaxing.
· Last night I watched the opening ceremony of the Olympics with the Bangladeshi family I live with. During the Parade of Nations, they cheered with me for all the Latin American countries. I cheered with them for Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, Saudi Arabia, Libya and Sudan (places where they have either lived or have family)
· I am quite possibly obsessed with the Rihanna song “Disturbia”. I have listened to it 12 times in a row. Don’t worry, this is normal.