"There's Some of That Going Around."

It's always comforting to receive this lovely empty consolation when your skull feels like it's five hat sizes too small for your brain. Sure you can get a cold from someone, but it's not likely that someone that knows someone that has a cold has sneezed on your stapler. Now the Bubonic plague, that goes around, but a stomach virus or the sniffles never present an epidemic.

Ultimately people simply like to offer up their own personal diagnosis. I can't begin to count the ridiculous home remedies I've been "unofficially" prescribed. It was a very sobering moment when I finally stopped subscribing to these words of advice. I found myself sitting in a dark room with a towel over my head and Vic's vapor rub on parts of my body that can only be reached with the help of a baking spatula.

Birthday Wishes Can Wish Others Harm, Right?

I'm not particularly big into my birthday. Sure the presents are nice, but having to watch family and friends awkwardly get through a verse of Happy Birthday isn't worth a button down shirt and an astronaut pen. If anything, it's other people's birthdays that I enjoy. You see, I'm a giver. For instance, I enjoy giving my buddy his seventh birthday shot of tequila full well knowing his limit is six.

Above all, I dread having someone ask me when my birthday is. Immediately following this inquiry I fall silent. I sit wondering if this is going to be the predestined moment when I succumb to the barrage of irrelevant comments and die inside.

Inevitably one of two responses is given upon receipt of my DOB. One, "That's so ironic, my second oldest nephew's birthday is three days before yours." Or two, "Oh a Gemini. Figures." I can extract not one iota of useful information from either of these remarks. If it's small talk you're looking for, maybe you should give your second oldest nephew a ring and nag him for a while. And as for using the alignment of stars to make assumptions about my personality, save it for someone who finds inspiration in fortune cookies.

New Faces Only Add to the Monotony

Today I witnessed a cube migration. Effective last week, an entire department was told they had to move to a new floor. That new floor, that new location, that new area, is my floor, my location, and my area. There was a palpable buzz around my quadrant (said in your best robot voice), with everyone transporting his or her collection of trinkets, knickknacks and bric-a-brac ("they" call it desk flair), from their old desk to a new. A poster with a little kitten titled "Hang in there," a fern named Fred, a quirky statue of a Buddha with an "I heart NYC" t-shirt on. They all made the big trek. Everyone seemed to have a smile on their face as they arrange their belongings, only to notice that despite being on a new floor, everything looked the same.