2002-04-04 - 9:53 a.m.
Self-investigation disintegrating into Star Trek admiration ...

I know what I look like to my co-workers. Well-meaning, slightly ditzy, occasionally clumsy, with loads of sometimes useful knowledge knocking about in my mental cavities.

I know what I look like to my parents. Beautiful smart offspring, couldn't be prouder, except when taking jobs that pay below what they think I deserve and failing to meet young marriageable males to introduce to them and spending way too much time on pointless hobbies.

I know what I look like to my friends. Sharp, sometimes witty, easy to talk to, firmly opinionated, occasionally abrasive, an all-around spaz, and generally "one of the guys." (How else did I end up maid of honor three times?)

I know what I look like to teachers. Intelligent, quiet, and pleasant, raising their hopes for an ideal student, until they notice how often I'm staring out the window or reading novels or doing other things utterly dismissive of their devotion to the subject. (Shameful. Not living up to my potential!)

I know what I look like to church leaders. Good grasp of topics, seemingly firm faith, good congregation material, except for that distressing tendency to get bored and/or upset with the same old conversations and abscond instead of contributing to everyone else's strengthening in the faith or pioneering a new program that caters to my own need to grow.

Actually, I take all of that back. That's what I *think* I look like to all these groups of people, and I haven't even really gotten started with the categorizing yet. Bleh. And notice that every exercise I begin in self-understanding ends up centered in self-flagellation? Not much fun. I think I'll abandon it now.

Oh! Speaking of self-understanding. Azash bought the "Star Trek:TNG" Season 1 DVD collection a week ago. I had no idea that the series started in 1987. No conscious idea, anyway. No wonder I've always been excessively fond of British accents! That means I was nine years old when I was first introduced to Captain Picard, and I had a crush on him for at least the first four years of the show.

He's actually the reason I started drinking abnormal tea flavors. Earl Grey is not my favorite anymore, but it still has immense nostalgia factor for me. A cool day, a warm blanket, a mug of Earl Grey, and the Locutus episodes on-screen ... mmm. Or maybe some of the new "Enterprise" episodes that prominently feature the armory officer, Malcolm Reed. I don't like the new Captain's personality much, he seems like a caricature of Kirk crossed with Han Solo, but between Trip and Malcolm, yum.

(At the risk of sounding like I have lesbian tendencies, I'll also direct a yum at T'Pol; leaving aside her looks, she's almost as fun as Spock to listen to, and much more entertaining than Tuvok ever was).

Update on Cute Book Guy: his name is (#####), and he's shorter than me. Disaster, on both counts! Not that there's anything wrong with either his name or his height, specifically. I have some not-so-pleasant associations with the name; also, I walked into the bookstore on Tuesday in my 3-inch heels and felt like a giant. Well, yeah, so the heels made me six feet tall, which is a bit much. Still! Most of my male relatives are even taller than that. Given past experience, and the ridicule I *still* get from the family, I'll definitely be better pursuing men who can at least come close to looking my father in the eye.

*blink* My Outlook calendar just flashed a warning at me. Meeting in 15 minutes. Brilliant bit of programming, I have to admit, no matter how much I hate Microsoft. For those of us like me who have virtually no timesense or memory for boring events, it's a lifesaver. 'Til later, then. Blessings.