My boss, a supervisor, and I sat in my office this morning and discussed the recent additions of physicians to the practice. My boss turned to the sup and said, “Space—“
“The final frontier,” I blurted out. Oh dear.
They turned to me and busted up in laughter. My boss said, “Michelle, I had no idea you were a trekkie.” Oh, how little they truly know about me. The shows, the movies, even the laughable scenes from the early years; yes, I secretly love them all. Even the bad ones. Now, I don’t call myself a trekkie, mind you. I am a definitely a fan, though.
I professed my twenty-year adoration for Jean-Luc Picard to my boss and received more giggles. This love will come as no surprise to my friends and family, as most are familiar with my obsession with Kojak when I was a mere four years old. I like those older, bald, badass men.
Oh. My. *sigh*
I am not a goddess; I am a nerddess. I do not have an “inner goddess” who tells me that I want the perfect, gray-eyed, pants-slung-low-on-hips, well-endowed, dominant, helicopter-flying, Audi-buying, eyebrow-raising, finish-the-food-on-your-plate-demanding, gasping, blah, blah, blah, twenty-something, feed-the-poor-in-Africa-giving, self-made billionaire to spank me (oh Lord help us all if this is the future of literature and please forgive me for this run-on sentence); I have an inner nerddess who corrects grammar mistakes (in my mind) as people speak. When someone asks a question, a voice in my head answers with a quote from a book or movie. I am a geek through and through. My son inherited my geek gene, too. Without a doubt.
This is how far my nerd factor extends: When I’m reading someone’s blog and they have pictures posted, I check out their living space. Namely, their bookshelves. That’s right. I don’t give a hoot that their entire living room is cluttered with magazines, lost socks, and baby toys. I want to see who lives on their shelves. I want to see with whom they spend their time after the kids are tucked into bed and they’ve poured a glass of wine or brewed some spiced chai tea. If I see shelves with stacks of books that I love, I’m instantly drawn to them. Even if I don’t see books I love, I appreciate the fact that they read.
Pictures like this. (Who’s back there on those shelves? Hey- that’s a MCM style credenza and china cabinet. She likes blue. Why does she have an children’s owl picture hanging there? [To cover the fuse box. Plus, Maya likes it.] I can’t read the titles of the books. I wonder if when I click on the picture I can see the books a bit better…) Yes. I have very strange snooping issues. I always return to the books.
I once saw a bookshelf that appeared (reference and literature-wise) very similar to mine. I actually pointed and said, “Hey, I have those books!” I looked around for someone to tell. This cool chick had all these awesome books and I—me, the nerddess—had the same collection.
Fortunately, no one was around to hear me.
Speaking of no one around to hear, I left my MC screaming at a lake. Must go…