Ping!

After about 6 years of absentia, I hit a perfect 7-iron on the first swing.

Ladies and gents, she's still got it!

The twins cajoled me into giving it a shot while I accompanied them on the range this afternoon. Usually, I'd have made a perfect fool of myself instead of a perfect shot. But Eureka's luck must have felt like giving me a break today because the shot gave a lovely little ping and soared to the 150 yard mark. Not bad for a rusty out-of-shape couch potato.

I was not stupid enough to give it another go. I'm not pushing Eureka's luck any more than strictly necessary.

Next week, I'll make a fool of myself on purpose.

Note to Self: Eureka is an Abrutis de Premier Ordre

I do not know what exactly was going through my insanely thick skull this morning. I must have still been in the 4th realm of pink suede elephants and rainbow shitting ponies because I cannot believe I could be this stupid.

The maid usually gets in around the time I'm ready to leave for work, so I just wait till she arrives to let her in instead of the doorbell waking my mother up.

This morning, the maid was pretty late, so for one insanely stupid second, I made an even more idiotic decision in my disease of Lapsed Judgmentia and left the front door slightly ajar so that she could come in.

The bigger issue was the fact that I informed the security guard downstairs so that he'd keep an eye out. According to the screaming voice emanating from my phone a couple of minutes ago that sounded a lot like my mother, the guy's an even bigger crook than those guys who ripped off the four Monet's from that Swiss museum a few months back.

I am so stupid, even Miss West Carolina is smarter than me. And she definitely isn't smarter than a 5th grader.

So Loud or Something

There are cats meowing insanely loudly outside my window. Must be in heat or something. It's like they're in my room and I'm pretty high up; they're that loud!

It's 1:40a.m. and I need to sleep. Any tips on how to shut them up?

Peeving

I'm a difficult person. It is the Capricorn in me. I'm very set in my ways, and so the only way something is done correctly is if it is done my way. I am the all-knowing and the all-doing-correctlying. So when things aren't going my way, I get pretty annoyed. Today's examples:

1. You know what really turns a girl off? Corny flirting. I love a good flirtation session. Really, I do. And I love prolonged flirtation sessions, like when they last a couple of days via a medley of texting, phonecalls, and face-to-face interaction. But it totally ruins it when a guy is corny. Like when he says, "I'm definitely going to have a good day because you exist in my life now" (and that is disregarding the aggravating grammatical and spelling mistakes. You all need to visit a remedial English class or six). Or when he exaggerates past the point of believability. I know that flirting involves a little fibbing or exaggeration. We girls do it all the time to pump up your fragile male egos. However, a girl can only pretend to believe so much before it just becomes a blatant lie. Like when you say, "You totally changed my life" the very night we met. Boy, we just had a cup of coffee with mutual friends, and we barely even spoke! I didn't give you an earth-shattering scream-inducing heavens-parting blow job. I didn't strip and pole-dance like I was Sally Yoshino. So don't lie to me like I'm a gullible Barbie with oatmeal for brains. Tell me you liked what you saw, that's great. Tell me you had a great time, that's good, too. Don't insult my intelligence. That isn't going to get you any closer to my pants.

2. The Egyptian work day. The Egyptian work day is a phenomenon. It requires you to be at the office on time in the morning, or else you risk not being paid at all for the day, even if you show up a teensy bit late. The day then requires you to sit around all day doing absolutely nothing until 4:50p.m. when you receive a phone call informing you of an urgent task or 19 simultaneous urgent tasks that need to be finished tonight or else we'll all lose our heads. Because our boss is the Queen of Hearts, whose whims must be met with excellence and only what she wants to hear. My boss is a man but you catch my drift. You are thus required to stay in till the wee hours of the morning finishing everything, only to have to be back at the office a couple of hours later. I live 45 minutes away from where I work. So that means I have exactly half an hour at home before I have to return. Ain't the working life grand?

3. The Egyptian executive. This is obviously related to number 2, but dwells on a seperate factor. The Egyptian executive has no notion of human rights whatsoever. If he does, then his only aim in life is to ensure the eradication of all forms of fundamental human rights his underlings have a right to. To the Egyptian executive, these rights are privileges, to be dripped down every millennium as a reward for good slave behaviour and work ethic. The Egyptian executive loves to wait until 4:50p.m. to call his underlings up and assign the task he himself had received at 10a.m. This isn't because the Egyptian executive has no notion of time. On the contrary, he is like a Swiss watch. He calls at 4:50 to the second. Not a moment earlier. Otherwise, the underling wouldn't be packing their bag. It is just that much more fun hearing the underlings squirm as they kiss goodbye their dinner plans and their bubble bath. The Egyptian executive is also uncooperative. He does not provide the information you ask for. He does not fill in the figures you need. He leaves you to rot in your pitiful dungeon on some basement floor attempting to get that damn cash flow to balance, when you don't even have the correct cash figure in the first place. Then he wonders why you're at the office till 10p.m. feeling overworked, underpaid, and not-at-all appreciated. He blames the high turnover rate in the junior corporate team on fickle employees and young women's desire to get married and breed. He doesn't understand that when he says he'll send you the completed financials at 6p.m., you will not call and congratulate him on a job well done when you finally receive his half-assed effort at 8p.m. You will not scratch his left nut for him and kiss his pinky in thanks for employment and his guidance. But you'll still have to kiss his ass and do his every bidding because you are his bitch. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Egyptian executive. A total doll, right?

These are just a few examples of what my day's been like. I like the concept of a Peeves post. I think I'll do it more often. Until next annoyance, folks!

101 and Counting!

Who'd have thought my attention span would last long enough to write 100 posts?

OR BE ABLE TO COUNT THAT HIGH!

Look Ma, I Evil-Eyed Myself!

As I took my meds on Sunday night, I thought to myself, "hmmm, it's been 6 months since my last attack, Wahaaaay!"

I got into bed, all tucked in nice and snug, read a little and proceeded to enter the land of abstract chance meetings with the most random people in the world, unusual teleportation-like powers, pink suede elephants drinking hot chocolate with yellow velvet monkeys, and impossible confrontations with those who have wronged and have been wronged.

Seeing as I am Eureka and I should really have a better sense of my own befuddled luck after 21 years of disappointments and upskirt moments because of it, I should have immediately texted my boss telling him not to expect me the next morning.

But no, for some reason my brain registered none of this.

And sure enough, I woke up at 4 a.m. with an attack. A proper doozy, too. Complete with high fever and shallow breathing and everything.

Sigh… Perfect timing, too. I actually had a lot of work to do that week. Then again, it is my Eureka luck, after all.

So when Tuesday rolls around I decide to go to work anyway, even though I'm still burning up and standing and a wonky angle.

That was the worst decision in the world. Our whole department moved floors on Monday (see what kind of luck I'm dealing with here?) and so I had to move two computers, piles of paper, and deal with a bunch of forms and reinstallation requests to a temporary floor until our permanent floor is completed in a couple of months. Am I alone in wondering why we couldn't just stay where we were and move just once? I know, thank you!

It took 3 hours to do something I could have done myself in 20 minutes had there not been 100 rules dictating who could carry what where using which service elevator. It took almost 2 hours to convince ANYONE to take the stuff down seeing as I wasn't allowed to use the service elevators and nothing could be moved using the normal elevators, and another half hour to convince IT to come and reinstall everything for me. I think I got into 39 arguments in those 3 hours. I'm not very popular at the office anymore.

Please note that after all that time trying to explain things like internal locks and bolts on the floor and stuff, IT still did not understand why I couldn't move the Bloomberg terminal. The thing is attached to the desk and needed a special combination or something to be removed. I just gave up at 2:30 and went home with a spiked fever and more pain.

I didn't come in the next day and did the week's worth of work in 3 hours on Thursday because I am the shit like that. Uh-huh.

Eureka ONE - Boss Man 349805723904

Don't you just love tiny victories? I could kiss tiny victories. A wet, sloppy big one right on the mouth. With lots of tongue. And even a bit of groping if it asked nicely.

Before you think I've paid a visit to a child's skull, let us start from the beginning.

Every year, my family spends July in London to escape the horrors of an Egyptian summer. And to spend grandpa's money at Fenwick, but that's beside the point. We can't help it if London forces you to shop hysterically. Seeing as this year, I am limited to a mere 21 days off a year, I hoarded and skimped and saved every single one of those days to get to go to London in July. I am not about to actively deny myself my Grandpa-given right to London in July.

Seeing as a month can be considered a long time in the working world (weird people these employed ones, aren't they), I figured I should give Mr. Boss Man ample notice of my month-long holiday and told him about it last week.

Mr. Boss Man: that's four weeks, not three.
Eureka: that's actually 19 of my 21 days.
Mr. Boss Man: no that's four weeks. Weekends are counted as part of the 21 days.
Eureka: no, they aren't. I get 21 working days off a year.
Mr. Boss Man: I don't know, let me check that out and get back to you.

Eureka marches off to her desk, huffy and plotting revenge if HR tell Mr. Boss Man she can't have her month in London.

Knowing full well that Mr. Boss Man won't bother to ask HR, I ask them myself. YES, I AM LEGALLY ENTITLED TO 21 WORKING DAYS OFF PER ANNUM. I told you; never try to tell me that I am wrong. You will lose that battle. You will be forced to crawl back under your sparsely furnished little rock with your short, bushy, poorly combed tail stuffed up your anus due to my insanely powerful boot's contact with your bottom.

Yes, I am supreme master and ruler of knowledge. Spaz is my only boss. I am heir to the Spaz throne of wisdom.

Yesterday, I told Mr. Boss Man all this. I told him to never argue with me again because it would just make him look bad in front of his bosses when I prove him wrong. I told him that I am Empress Eureka. He must bow and quiver with fear and reverence in my presence.

I said, "See here Mr. Boss Man, I am entitled to 21 days – net. I can take my days in London and still have 2 spare days to enjoy a long weekend if I so wish."

I really said, "Oh Great and Powerful and All-Knowing Mr. Boss Man, because you are so powerful and busy I called HR for you and asked about the 21 days. They said that they are 21 days net. Do you mind terribly if I enjoy my month in London or does that inconvenience you too much? If it does I will be happy to remain in Cairo to fan you with a large palm leaf and scratch your left buttock if you so desire."

Mr. Boss Man: no it's fine, take your month. That's all.

And I skipped out with my head held high and my month in London safe and sound.

Score one for Eureka!

Mark this on your calendars, it's probably the only point I will ever win.

More Badas and Bings

"Dell: Nes, look! It’s the Golden Compass! (It was some crap toy in the Cheerios box).
Nesticleez: *investigates...tries to open* Sweet...why doesn’t it open?
Dell: It’s a compass not a locket, you idiot.
Nesticleez: Oh...

Cue their mom laughing hysterically in the background."

We need to get these people a reality show.

RIP Miles Davis

Miles Davis is our intern. I've known him for about a year through mutual friends. Miles Davis has been christened so due to his love for jazz. No, he isn't 60. Yes, he does like jazz. Do not knock it till you've tried it. I've tried it, so I'm allowed to knock it as often as my evil heart desires.

Poor Miles Davis. He just told me the story of when he committed girl suicide. Miles Davis knows of this blog. Yet he still voluntarily told me the story. Ergo, Miles Davis voluntarily committed internet suicide. Eurekaisms is merely his suicide weapon of choice.

Miles Davis' story goes as follows. One night, he is in the company of a willing young woman. In such a situation, I believe most boys would shut up and take what they can get.

But no, not our Miles Davis. Our Miles Davis likes everything to be a certain way. Much like a 60 year old in fact. It must be all that jazz.

Our Miles Davis likes it when the girl he is about to enjoy is wearing matching undies. On the night in question, the girl was not wearing matching underwear. She was, however, willing.

Matching underwear v. Willing. Hmm, I wonder which should win out.

Miles Davis looks at her and comments – in his mind – oh so smoothly, "Why is it that girls find it so hard to match their underwear?"

Insert awkward silence with crickets chirping here.

She does not find this amusing. Miles Davis digs himself into an ever-deeper hole by wildly talking in his attempt to save the situation.

From this moment on, Miles Davis will now be known as Undertaker.

He dug and dug.

But he did not get any that night.

Let us have a moment of silence in honour of what could have been, and in Miles Davis' memory.

... Mmmffff, snort!

Sorry, I couldn't stay quiet that long.

Bada Bing!

"I just called my sister to ask her something, and when she asked me if I wanted to talk to the cat and I said no, she goes, “why not? She wants to talk to you...”

I don’t need a guilt trip from my cat."

The Nesticleez & Dell Show will continue to entertain you between bathroom breaks till the day after Tuesday

Obviously I Spent the Day on YouTube

She's so cute! I need to have one just like her.

Countertenors Are Awesome

His name is Nick Pitera. I wonder if he'd be willing to lend me his voice. I'd be happy to take his boy voice seeing as he likes his girl voice so much. You have to check out his youtube channel, too.

Shameless Self-Promotion

Yes, it is time this blog was used in yet another selfish attempt at bringing the internet's fickle limelight one step closer to my anonymous ego.

BK and I have set up Diablogue Soup. It is a forum in which anyone can participate and through which all and sundry will be discussed.

Yes that does include politics and pseudo-serious issues.

Feel free to roll your eyes and navigate away from this blog now.

Oh, you know you'll be back tomorrow.

The Indelible Disposition of Human Emotion

I am vulnerable. I am fragile. I am afraid. I am heartbroken at the prospect of solitude. I mask my emotions with an air of indifference. Of easygoing nonchalance. But it is a lie. I am lonely. I am. I want your arms to wrap around me in protection. I want to feel your heartbeat harmonize with mine. I want to enjoy the timbre of your voice as it jovially mocks my clumsiness. I want someone else's tomorrow. I want that tomorrow to be my own.

I do not as for or expect a fairytale. I do not require perfection. I require my own version of it. I require happiness. I require respect. I require conversation and intellect. I require a challenge. I require laughter. But above all, I require honest, reinforced, requited love and devotion.

I only ask for what anyone deserves. I do not ask for the extraordinary. That I can create within my ordinary. I want to know that this is not an impossibility. That it is not a dream. I want to know that this is going to happen. I want it to happen. I want it today. I want it to be my own and not my vicarious existence through a stranger or the imaginary. Because life is not meant to be lonely. Life is meant to be mine.

I do not need you to navigate through the waters. I do not need you to row my boat for me. I merely ask for your companionship and encouragement when the waters become choppy and the fog obstructs my vision.

You are not a necessity but a pleasure.

Where is this? Who is it? When will it finally reveal itself? When will my tomorrow come?