I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up

It's pretty normal for a child to change her mind several times when deciding on what she wants to be when she grows up. I'm special. I'm not sure I'll ever really figure out the answer to that question. I have compiled a short list of a few of the jobs I have wanted to have as a grown up.

If I want to get all psychoanalytical on myself, I'd say most of my choice professions share a few attributes in common: exclusivity, years of required schooling (I love school), and really cute outfits. The following is by no means an all inclusive list.

Palaeontologist
My interest in digging up and researching dinosaur bones came early in life. I loved dinosaurs and I loved digging. What would be a better job than to combine those two things?

Archaeologist
This stemmed from my interest in palaeontology. I soon became interested in much more than just bones. Jewels, gold, hairs of people from the past, and they would be ALL MINE...

Children's Author
I have a really twisted sense of humor...maybe too twisted for the kids...I once wrote a book about the toothfairy called, "The Unauthorized Biography of the Toothfairy". It was basically a story of how the toothfairy came to be....which included her losing her teeth in a war. This is not quite the reaction one would desire from telling a story to a child:

Concert Violinist
I actually did play for a local symphony for a season. I found that I can't really enjoy playing with the symphony. I found it hard to focus because I could not even hear myself. How was I going to become famous if no one could hear me?! Then, as if my inner diva isn't insulted enough, it is customary to dress in black. BLACK. I was trapped in a sea of boringly-dressed emo clones. 

Not even my mom could find me.

Doctor
I really want to be a surgeon. I love meticulous work, so I think I would really excel at brain or heart surgery. I would also be a good surgeon because I have superpower hyperfocusability. (thanks Mom!)  If I am in a hyperfocus I won't even see a T-Rex tap dancing in front of me in a top hat eating ice cream with sparkly ... well...maybe I might notice the sparkles....I do like sparkles...Okay, so there would be a 'no sparkly' rule in my O.R. I could do that, because I would be a doctor.

Added Bonus: Doctors have the ability to shout out that they need something STAT.

That guy needs arms STAT

Cowgirl
I'm not sure why, but I think always thought it would be super cool to walk around like this:

I think part of my problem is that I like school so much. When I am away from school, I find excuses to go back to school. I think this is going to be me in 30 years....

Lifetime Learner. Lost legs in Archaeological dig.

Hiding is not my forte

I know that I am supposed to be presenting you with one of my way-too-many car accident stories, but that is just depressing and I need a brake.  Do you like that? Not break, but brake? like car brakes? :O) Besides, it is not at all fun to draw rectangle cars and circle tires. By the way, weren't my tires awesome?

Okay, onto today's subject. Hiding with the intent to scare. My dad was able to successfully scare me hundreds of times by hiding in my room before I went to bed. You would think that his preparation and training that I would be able to withstand any one's attempt at scaring me and that I would have learned this sacred technique. Unfortunately, I missed something in those lessons. You see, I am an easy target. Don't ever throw a surprise party for me. YOU HEAR THAT? DON'T ...DO...IT...

I hope to gain some insight into why my scare tactics don't work. Maybe you can even make suggestions yourself. I have outlined some of my common techniques. I don't fear sharing these with you because I have never had a successful scare with any of them, therefore it won't ruin the moment in the case of a real scare attempt.

I think the problem arises when I have to wait long enough for me to imagine Anthony's the person's face when I scare them. I like to imagine that there will be some sort of scream or yelp associated with look of fear in the eyes and a jump back.

Intended result. Very funny. That's not Anthony.

Hide in the Closet
I like this technique. Hiding in a closet does not play into my claustrophobia. I can breathe in open air and am not confined to standing in one position.

Note to self: less coffee, also, think about something not funny. Like shoes. But shoes can be funny....crap.

Behind the Door
This isn't a bad idea, because who would expect someone to randomly pop out from behind the door? I don't like this as much because I have to hold very, very still. I think that it looks like this when I hide:

But in reality, it probably looks more like this:

Not so stealthy

Beside the Bed

What I think I look like

Reality

Hiding under the Covers

Again, what I think I look like

Reality

Suggestions, anyone?

P.S. To the person who almost gave me a heart attack this morning, beware. I am about to get the best advice ever and you, Anthony PERSON, should be scared.

P.P.S. To the readers of my car accident series, I will try to continue that tomorrow. I have to allow myself to recover from too much rectanglage.

Talk French to me.

So I work in sea of cubicles. The guy next to me has got to be the most entertaining cube-neighbor I have ever had the privilege of sitting near. He has lots of visitors who all seem to look pretty important. It makes me feel less important because my cube visitors are always peppy and smiley and have something completely non-work related to say. His visitors dress in suits and ties (we work in a business casual dress code environment) and have serious faces and draw diagrams and other important looking stuff on the smart board that is on the wall in between our cubicles. I don't listen to what they say-they usually lose me at the first acronym. "The CTSB blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."

Today, however, I took note of cube neighbor because his phone conversation took an odd turn. The first and last 5 minutes of his conversation were purely in English. In the middle of the conversation, however, he started speaking in French poorly. And then he started spelling something. He did that thing where people try to sound authentic and use their horrible foreign language accents while speaking in the foreign language but it's like watching a movie where the person couldn't quite nail that accent down. Okay, but seriously. I am trying to imagine who was on the other line.

My first thought was probably predictable: Tall, thin man with curly drawn on mustache, striped shirt, red neck scarf, beret. He needs to talk to Pepe because Pepe is his French teacher and he decided he needed an emergency French lesson in the middle of his work day. Touche, cube neighbor, you DID need that lesson as your French was -yes- that terrible. Good luck and I hope you make it to Paris and find a lovely young lady like Audrey Hepburn who happens to also speak English but you can still impress her with your soon-to-be good French.

Or maybe cube neighbor is married. Just checked. There IS a ring. So, maybe he was speaking to his wife and she was all, "Talk FRENCH to me." And he was trying frantically to remember every bit of French he learned in High School (which looks like it's been a few years for him) and he just started spewing out letters because he remembered the cute alphabet song his French teacher taught him. Wife, satisfied with his attempt, tells him she's looking forward to his homecoming and will be armed with a striped shirt, beret, red scarf, and a marker upon his arrival.

He could be selling secrets to the French! Hopefully he doesn't spill the beans on how striped shirts, berets, red scarves, and drawn on mustaches are no longer in style. Or perhaps never were in style. Look at him over there...TYPING...sounds like he's typing in FRENCH. *typing in French sounds like surrender. How dare he?! No, couldn't be this. He is way too happy to sell secrets. Now he's on the phone again and laughing. People who sell secrets don't laugh in that tone.

Based on his level of apparent happiness, I vote for Wife scenario.