Million Blogs- I am number 1493. Thanks to Binary Blonde for pointing this out. Amusing. I don't think it will take long to get 1,000,000 blogs listed. I suppose it depends on if the "big" blogs advertise it or not. My pitiful readership should get in like 1- maybe 2 people. But then again, I'm not a blog troller. I don't leave comments unless I actually have something to say which means I am a silent reader at most blogs. And thus, not one comes back to read mine.

Which is fine.

I would probably hate them anyway.

It is Saturday.

I am sure most people are aware that Saturdays are the weekend. For those of us in salary jobs usually this means a time of rest and relaxation away from the grey walls of our cubicle. It means spending all day in your PJ's and lounging around doing nothing- maybe popping off to see a movie or get a little shopping done.

I thought I would go see Iron Man or Speed Racer this weekend. Maybe Forbidden Kingdom- I'm always up for some shiny Flying Kung Fu fabulousness. But no, instead I find myself here, in my all too familiar grey cube.

There is no flying kung fu here- though, I am certain the cubicle ninjas are lingering about, trying to suck the one remaining joy out my being here. There is no Mach 5 or Racer X. There is no asshole trying to thwart my plots to take over the world while flying about in a red and yellow suit- no wait, strike that last one.

No matter- just to thwart people- I decided to spend all day in my PJ's anyway.

The cubicle ninjas and I have been having a head to head today. The tea supplies are dangerously low. Things have been vanishing from the fridge. And, to top it off, work keep magically appearing on my desk every time I step away for a minute. I walk away to give something to the head of QA, I get back and there it is- more work sitting on my desk. Not specifically on my desk, but rather on my chair left there to thwart me. I approach all work left on my chair as if it were a bomb, placed there and laying in wait like a land mine ready to blow up should I even jostle it slightly.

I think this Saturday of work the cubicle ninjas have been working especially hard to thwart me. On Friday I was impervious to them because of my pirate shirt. So, they had to do something to get me in on Saturday without my banner of protection.

It is all making sense now.

Today I ate husband soup. Mmm…husband soup. It was a butternut squash soup base with carrot puree. It was also delicious. I ate it at work to gloat a little bit about my husband's prowess in the kitchen.

Many people did not catch my geeky reference when I said it was husband soup.

Anyway, tonight I have a soccer game. Wednesday nights are a bad night for me to play soccer. 1. My home field is way the fuck out a bazillion miles away from my house. (or maybe it just feels like it because of the joys of Atlanta Traffic.) 2. The Game starts at 8:00pm. This does not really give me enough time to go home and get back to the field in time for the game. This means I must stay at work until I wager that I can get to the field in time.

Uhg.

It means I do not get husband soup for dinner. Nor will I get husband chicken or other sources of deliciousness. It means that I will have to stop on the way out to the field and get myself something. I don't want to do this. I don't really like eating out. I ate out yesterday and got a fast-food burger. I am not excited about doing it two days in a row. I intended to eat matzo and peanut butter for lunch and have husband soup for dinner. But, it was husband soup and it tempted me.

I was weak.

So, not I am stuck with the prospect of matzo and peanut butter for dinner and that just- well, it's just going to pale in comparison to my lunch.

So, last week I got in a car accident. I wasn't driving, so technically, I didn't get in the accident. I carpool to and from work and it was my carpool buddy who got into the accident. We were rear ended by some dipshit from Tennessee who didn't have insurance and then tried to talk his way out of us calling the cops. He tried real hard, but neither of us fell for his sugar-coated bullshit.

Utopia point of advice #1: Never trust a man who has two driver's licenses and is willing to leave one of them with you.

The cops were called and that smarmy ass, silver tongue wanna be used the time that it took the cop to arrive to sign up for safe auto insurance. Whatever.

Anyway, he got a ticket and a talking to.

Anyway, it has been a week and I think I may have pinched a nerve in my neck during said accident. My right hand has been all tingly- mostly in my thumb and at the tips of my fingers. The numb tingly feeling comes and goes. Also, my neck hurts from some wicked hard muscle knots in it. I know I should suck it up and go to the doctor for this. But what are they going to do? Give me some muscle relaxants and send me home, maybe send me in for a session or two of physical therapy or give me some exercises to do. Well, I can take some ibuprophen, take a warm bath, but some ice on the muscle knots and do exercises without their help. Also, I would pretty much have to take a half-day off of work to go.

However, the idea of a nice massage does sound pretty good. My husband tries, but he just has no skill.

Utopia point of advice #2: A good massage rocks, a bad massage does not rock.

So, I am in a quandary.

A while back, my granny (not my granny, my granny in law which I have claimed as my own since my grannies are how should I say… mean bitter bitches who hate me because I moved away) said that I seemed to be good at everything.

This is an out and out lie. There are several things I am just plain bad at. I thought I would enumerate them.

I can't style my own hair. If it's anything more complicated than a brush, blow-dry and putting it up in a pony tail- I can't do it. Braiding is out- French braiding is right out, teasing, curling clipping. I can't do it. It is beyond me. You think I'm joking, but I am not. I'm not in touch with my feminine stylish side.

To be honest, fashion in general fails me. I am bad at matching clothes for color and for style. It's just not a part of my programming or something. I don't care what it looks like so long as it is comfortable.

I can't knit. I can crochet with the grannies, but knitting baffles me. Two needles at once is somehow just too much for me. I don't know why it's so damn hard. I can't do precisely one stitch- knit. Pearls, chains, anything like that, nope, can't do it. I am inept.

I am bad calligraphy and my handwriting is terrible. Not as bad as some, but bad enough.

I am bad at keeping things clean. I think this stems from my natural laziness though. I can clean things initially pretty good, but keeping to motivation to keep them so, is tough.

I can't fry foods. I don't know what It is about frying that thwarts me, but I just can't do it. I was raised without any fried foods of any kind and perhaps that is why. I know the oil has to be at just the right temperature and the batter has to be done just so. I can follow the direction and still the frying itself fails me.

I am also Utopia, Killer of Plants. I cannot keep plant alive. I can try and follow directions and test soil pH's and all that crap and still my plants will die.

Anyway, my point is, I am bad at a lot of things. Sometimes it is good to remind myself just how bad. It makes me feel better.