SarahAnnAlien's Journal: Random Alien Stuff

I was in my office today, talking with a friend who's leaving our department for another job. Another woman, who I've met a few times, but don't know well, happened to walk by in the hall, and ended up talking with the two of us. At one point, the third woman leaned out of my office to look at the name next to my door, then turned and said, "Sarah... I don't think we've met." I said, "well, sort of... um...". Then my friend explained that I'm an alien. She was totally nice about it, but it's really funny that people who have met me, but don't see me very often, just don't recognize me at all. Then again, maybe that's appropriate; they haven't really met *me*.

I went to lunch with a bunch of people from work today, including the friend that was in my office earlier this morning. I had a good time, and everything went just fine. There were 10 or 12 people, and every single one of them knows I'm an alien (I assume... actually, I don't *really* know that, but it just figures that they've all heard by now.) I thought the food was fine; I ordered half a salad and it was just about too much to eat. But talking with a different friend later, I discovered that the other end of the table had been less happy with the service at the restaurant. I didn't get into any long conversations about being an alien. I was very proud of that; talking about things *besides* *me* and my being an alien is high on the list of skills I want to develop.

I worked on the Doomsday Machine on Saturday. I've almost finished the mechanical stuff; now I just need to worry about the electrical side of things. One more Saturday and I should be in business. Oddly enough, I had never given any thought to what *color* the wires should be, although someone else's journal made me consider the issue. I think, the answer is, in an emergency, don't cut *any* wires; press the big red button! That's the power button. Most of the controls are labeled in classic-trek style; a knowledgable operator will know what to do with it. Even in the worst of circumstances my Doomsday Machine is extremely unlikely to explode, although oddly enough, it would probably be less painful in the long run if it did. (Update 10/6/2004: I'd just like to remind the Department of Homeland Security once again that "Doomsday Machine" is, in fact, just a name! The Doomsday Machine contains no actual doom. In the words of the immortal Douglas Adams, it is "mostly harmless". Thank you.)

Oh, and the package from hell is still wandering the city, which is completely pointless at this point, now that I've got that part of the Doomsday Machine assembled. It's odd that a company so unwilling to make an effort is also unwilling to give up, even when asked politely to do so. Well, I tried to be polite, anyway!

I also paid medical bills this weekend; what fun! It's quite amazing how big a bill can get for a fairly short (15-30 minute) procedure! And thank goodness for insurance too! Fortunately, I think we're done with the big bills for a while now; they ran all the tests they could think of. I've had a variety of scans, and I've had cameras stuck into all sorts of unpleasant places. They found a variety of weird things, but nothing we can do much about.

Of course, I go back to see Dr. S next Monday. He did some more lab work; I'll get the results then. Could be kind of life changing, or maybe not: that's the big topic we'll have to discuss. I'm less stressed about it than I was because we started the discussion last time, so it should be easier this time around. At least it looks like I'll be the one who gets to decide whether we make any changes this time around.

Oh, and I made pot roast this weekend. Yum, sort of. Not my best pot roast. I was going to make it on Saturday but got distracted working on the Doomsday Machine, so it got put off until Sunday. At least I didn't bake any cakes this weekend.

The big news on Friday was that I got my new credit card in the mail! I was dying to try it out. First step: the pharmacy. The pharmacy tech recognized me; she doesn't see me that often, but I think she's a special case. But because she recognized me, she didn't even ask my name, or even *look* at my new card! Not a fair test. So, I went to the video store, and picked up a couple of items that I couldn't really afford. When I paid for the stuff, the woman behind the counter did look at my card, and then asked for ID, which I dutifully (and happily) produced! All was well. So I'm now once again able to charge my way deeper in debt, which I could do before, but now I can do it in *retail* establishments!

Next step on the paperwork parade: the bank. I don't know whether my bank likes aliens or not. I guess I should gather up all of my paperwork, get on the bus, and go find out.

I'm starting to second-guess myself about deciding to move; I think it might be better to have as much of my paperwork in order as possible before I try to move. So it may take a few extra months. But I still don't think I'll sign a new lease; I'll let it go month-to-month for a little while, which is more expensive, but not as expensive as breaking the lease. The rental office still doesn't know I'm an alien yet, and I haven't figured out what, if anything, I should tell them.

I also saw an article that pointed out to me, yet again, that I need to strongly consider living elsewhere! My zip code is the most expensive housing market in the US. Beverly Hills is number two. Ouch. (Okay, technically the expensive zip code starts several blocks down the street, but that's where I work, shop, and have my mail delivered.)

Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'd feel safe in any other neighborhood; this is a very important consideration for an alien. Plus, transportation is an issue; right now, I pay quite a bit for the privilege of walking home from work every day, but if I move to another neighborhood, I'll likely trade my rent savings for two hours or so on the bus every day. And I've already checked; I wouldn't save *that* much money. Even the abandoned crack houses are hideously expensive here.

Haven't talked to Dad in a while. I'm a little worried about that. Worried that he hasn't called. And worried that I haven't called him. I need to work harder on that.

I found this quote online, and thought it fit me pretty well: "There's no true category for an object in such limbo."

I was totally annoyed with images.google.com this week when I discovered that while "purple monkey dishwasher" returns plenty of hits, "hello kitty pitchfork" doesn't return anything at all! What's the world coming to? Fortunately, I found some usable results elsewhere. (We're decorating the office for Halloween.) This was kind of funny.