Crime and Punishment

Well, it's over.


And somehow I suspect no one involved feels much better.

Personality test shmursonality test

Today I fell for a cheesy website proclaiming it could tell me all about myself through a series of "on a scale from 1-5..." questions.

That's right. I took a personality test.

I've always been a little fascinated by the concept of a personality test, mostly because my impression of life is that the whole point is to slowly discover who we were all meant to be -- I suppose I feel like we are all destined to become this certain fated individual, and the excitment of life is that we spend most of our existance unwrapping this complicated gift like an anonymous Christmas present and figuring out how we fit into the "sweater" that is the best version of this inner self.

So personality tests seem both ridiculous (because how can a computer possibly "get" you if you don't even get you) and fascinating. (what if they can? and what if I can somehow give away the ending of my little pilgrammage to my core by answering a series of innocent, simple questions?)

At any rate, I took this particular test once, and then again later just to check its accuracy.

Both results follow. Something seems fishy to me...

Results of Test #1:

Results of Test #2:

I am now preoccupied by the concern that I may have more than one personality to discover here on this wild ride called life... thoughts anyone?

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Instant Messaging: my drug of choice

Before I discovered instant messaging, I was a relatively good employee.

Aw hell, why bother with humility? I was a fantastic employee.

I would show up early, work late, wouldn't take a lunch break. I would actually anticipate problems, projects, and extra work I would eventually be asked to do and have it done in advance. I would do my job, and then clean up the messes of the people around me who couldn't successfully do their own. I was the posterchild of the overworked, underpaid college graduate who is clearly overqualified for their position but is just ignorantly, blissfully happy to have a job anyway. I would cite the downward-spiraling job market (in Seattle, anyway) and justify my superiors' assaults on good taste, manners, and general professionalism with ridiculous, humble remarks like "well, he's the boss", or "well, this is a wonderful learning experience for me".

Quite simply, I was a job snob, refusing to sink to the job performance mediocrity and petty complaints of my colleagues because I just didn't think it was right. I took no personal calls on the job, never checked my personal email, and generally strived for perfection in all aspects of my work.

Then, at the advice of a rebellious friend, I downloaded MSN instant messenger. And I think it was the combination of a general awakening to the crappiness of my job and exposure to the wonderful communications technology of IM that led me to this particularly pathetic point in my professional life (how's that for alliteration?):

In the last two days, I am quite embarrassed to admit, my sole motivation for going to work in the morning has been to see which of my "contacts" little blue torso icons indicate they are "online". Then, my day really begins in a way it never has before. I spend it "chatting" -- exchanging sarcastic stories and wry remarks with an assortment of my friends (who I have discovered also must be mediocre employees). I have actually caught myself typing a zinger about one person or another around me and then giggling out loud, which immediately brings on a fit of guilt and cover-up coughing.

The downside? I am in a constant state of panic that someone will discover I have fallen from my formerly comfortable moral high-horse and am now rolling gleefully around in mud-slinging conversation and comaraderie with my friends, who are mostly disgruntled employees or students, on "the clock".

I probably spend at least a total of 30 minutes per day on just frantically minimizing my IM screen as people walk past my desk. But the stress is all worth it -- IM is the perfect drug. Why?

1. Just try to randomly test me for it.
2. IM = instant gratification
3. Instant Messaging has only one mild, but proven, side-effect: extreme apathy about all things important (job, school, responsibilities, self-respect, personal values, one's work ethic and better things to do with one's time, in general).

Why are we still talking about legalizing marijuanna?

Sometimes, it's better just not to go there.

So, some time back, I took this conspiracy theories class.

And I was studying in a group for the final.

And I don't know if its the fact the MATRIX RELOADED was coming out, or maybe it was just all the wacked-out conspiracy shit from class that had me thinkin', but all of a sudden I wonder, out loud, if we really are all living in a dream world right inside our skulls, like Dr. Spence said.

And one of my study partners asks me what happens, then, when we die (since it's common knowledge you can't die in a dream, I guess).

And I say, "Maybe we wake up."

Silence. *(insert general feeling of creeped-out-ness in group and lots of "hmmmmm...." eye contact)*

Add that to the list of surefire ways to end a conversation.

We don't need no water...

...but we might have.

(*NOTE*: This is, admittedly, an old story. But, because this is my do-over (and my brainspace), I am re-posting it. Followed by one more old story from an old blog, mostly because I hate throwing things away. But I know when to quit. And two is enough.)

Last year, my friend Megan and I almost burned down the Administration Building.

Well, not on purpose.

It was just that we were there, in that big, old building (haunted? not? I'm not convinced either way) at 2 a.m. in the pitch-ass-black, trying to turn in a research paper. In short, we were terrified. Holding hands, actually (a momentary and unusual lapse of courage, I assure you).
Our solution? Set a wad of paper on fire, Indiana Jones-style. (OK, that was my bad idea. Megan was a skeptic from the start).

So I'm holding this wad of paper and Megan lights the 1 match we posess and holds it to the makeshift torch.

It singes...it crackles...it fizzles out.

OUT!

And so we're standing there in the dark, me with the charred evidence, Megan with the empty matchbook in the middle of this old, wooden hallway, surrounded by smoke (and smoke detectors, which thankfully but suspiciously failed).

So, logically,
we run.

Down two flights of stairs, me stamping out the remaining evidence and laughing hysterically while Megan thinks up imaginary headlines:

"Sorority girls say: 'the Admin burned my homework!' "
and
"Afraid of the dark, girls make a fire... of the Administration building".

Anyway, we eventually find creepy horror-flick janitors who unbelievably direct us, through the smoke, to the light switches.

*Aah, electricity.*

Do over

So. It's been a long time.

And, luckily, nobody reads this, so that's cool and ok and nobody missed me. Which is both nice and suicide-inducing (although not really, and one-- if that one is tactful and caring-- should really not joke about such things).

So anyway, I'm back. This is my do-over.

And I have a confession to make:

I used somebody else's joke today.

Yep, that's right... I was having a hard time being entertaining, which I somehow always feel I should be, to avoid having to be myself (which is boring), and so I pilfered my best friend's really funny joke and told it to someone else.

Of course, after I told it, I got all sorts of props for being hilarious, which made me feel real guilty. And the compliments and laughing just kept coming. Which made it worse. You know when you say something funny and then people laugh, but a little too long, like they know it wasn't your joke to begin with and they feel sorry for you? That was it. That horrible, too- flattering laughing. It's something like what what's her face said on 'Strange Love' -- "You know ven people are overly kind to you? So you know they do not mean it? I don't like dat." Or something.

(I can't believe I just quoted Flava Flav's abnormally large dutch girlfriend, thereby exposing the fact that I watch that show... occasionally.)

In other business, my heel just broke.

But I did just rediscover Push Button Object and have been listening to it way too loud for about 34 hours straight (sometimes in the car, sometimes on the job, to the irritation of everyone around me). And that's nice and makes me feel better.

And really, life is good.
And short.
And it's later than we think.