Real Women Use Tools

I'm coming into work today with a grand total of about 12 hours of sleep for the entire weekend, and yet I am probably more functional than the two grown men who work in my lab with no such deficits first thing this Monday morning.

I get in and the first thing the Spanish post-doc does is go, "The CO2 alarm on the incubator's going off! It says the tank is low?"

This is the end of the world as we know it, only I don't feel all that fine. Being a tad peculiar from sleep deprivation, I first mixed it up with the liquid Nitrogen tank, which, as my boss has me stuffing the thing with liquid N2 every week, I know isn't anywhere near empty. But I figured it out and went and got the wrench to swap the guage for the incubator to a new C02 tank and just glared at the thing until the alarm figured out there's not a dearth of C02 to complain about any more.

I am also more with it than anyone I've dealt with for getting products. I had to call Bio-Rad twice because their stupid phone system sent me through only about ten seconds of musak and into dead silence for about two minutes before I gave up and called again. The lady who eventually answered was so spacey, she had to go away to study our price quote and left me on dead air hoping she'd come back.

At the same time, the FedEx guy is having a coniption about how he has five boxes for me, but, hey! Some of these boxes have a different name on them but are to be delivered to the same room. How cute; this must be his first day. I try to, while simultaneously not lose the hard-won phone operator, point him at the person he's looking for, and he just waves me off and has me sign for all of them. Look, that's not a problem, dude, but that's surely unprofessional. Also, chill out. It's a big room, there are three labs in here, and there are GASP! different people here, any of whom might want for a package at any given time.

It's going to be one of those Mondays. Good thing that, at one hour down, I've already done about five different things. I feel efficient and efficacious enough to survive. Maybe.

I need more Diet Pepsi.

(no subject)

Do you know who is awesome? i_am_rachiv. I don't know if she really wants the publicity, but I was inspired by her rantings to make some of my own. Beware, the subject matter is not for the squeamish (aka male).

( Anyone want a gently used uterus? )

Nah, still not quite as good as i_am_rachiv. Despite the crippling pain, I am not quite as sarcastically mean and wonderful. Fucking hell man. Whoever "designed" the uterus gives lie to that whole "intelligent" design bullshit.

Winner of the "Well, DUH" award

Sanitize this!

So, all those crazy people who think if they clean up the language/violence/nudity in a film, that things like Pulp Fiction might still be okay to watch? Officially p'wned.

The writer of this article is very kind to them, though, letting the complete idiots who would rent, say, Basic Instinct and not expect it to contain nudity, know there is still a way to keep their puritanical virgin eyes clean:

In the meantime, those who find cursing and nudity in movies unacceptable are advised to simply not watch films that contain content they find objectionable.

Second verse, same as the first

feiran, darkling1, and I saw Superman Returns on the 3D IMAX at 11 pm yesterday night because apparently it's a hotter ticket than The Producers when Matthew Broderick is in town and we couldn't see the 7:15 pm show because it was sold out. ( That means it was good! )

Also, boys? Is it really necessary for you air out your crotches whenever you sit down? This isn't a rare occurrence, either. Half the time I sit down on the subway, I'm on a bench where two good seats are being taken up by some sulking teenager or overgrown boy-man who's got his knees thrown wider than a whore's. What is it about your knees that refuses to let you you sit like your hips are capable of rotating your femurs directly out in front of you? Weak tendons? Is that it? Women do have stronger groin muscles... Anyway, knock it off. I am entitled to the space that is defined by my armrest even if my legs do not feel the need to expand to the edges of that boundary. Back the fuck out of my space.

I have more to say on the subject of Superman Returns--naturally, as all I ever talk about on this journal are my latest movie fixations and being pissed at work--but I just wanted to plug the IMAX a bit for now. We folk in NYC should get together to see more movies on IMAX. Some are definitely worth the extra bits, and there's this entirely too cute penguin movie coming out in 3D in the fall...

Ahem. I need to get to writing for class tomorrow. Wow. I have school work again. Crazy. I lay odds that I fall asleep before I manage to write anything.