I want to thank Dawndie for her observation that at the end of "Ocean's 11," it sounds like Andy Garcia is yelling "ARGHBLARGS!"

The reason being, I have this really, really annoying co-worker. I won't bore you with endless descriptions of her behavior, except to say that she drives everyone nuts. Those of us who have offices close to her frequently send each other emails to vent about her behavior. I have taken to giving all the blowing-off-steam emails the title of "ARGH BLARG!" so my coworkers know instantly that the subject matter is "her." It truly is what I'd like to yell at her when she comes in and starts reading the paper to me. And OK, here's a micro-vent: this woman is the consummate idea-stealer and funny quip swiper. Yesterday I made a comment about something that she felt was rather clever, so she promptly trotted off to tell other people in the office about her idea, then came back, got on the phone, and started calling people to tell them about her wonderful idea. And she does this within earshot of me -- once it goes into her head, it becomes her idea. Let's just say, if it's important, I won't even say it within earshot of her.

And my evilness is really minimal in this category, because every now and then I could plant an either bizarre or completely incorrect story in her brain, and watch her carry it around to half the world. She would say it with all the certainty of the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. But I do believe in karma, or the golden rule, or guardian angels shaking their finger angrily at you, so I don't try it. Plus, lest you think I'm too pure, if I told her something stupid just to watch her carry it off, she'd probably tell everyone it was my idea once it was exposed as being stupid and/or false. So my karma would jump up and bite me in the ass rather quickly.

But I have evil coworkers. Last fall I impaled the underside of my forearm on a dried-up shrub. I didn't realize I'd driven a shard of the shrub into my arm until about a week later, when the doctor extracted it. Being rather amused, and knowing a few of my friends at the office just love a good gross-out, I brought the shard in so they could see it. Crude jokes about me going to no end to have a woody in me ensued. Word spread and people who hadn't even known about the boo-boo on my arm came in to see what became known as "the branch."

Not to be outdone, a few days later "she" started carrying on that the had somehow scratched her eye, that she was in agony, that she could barely keep it open, how it was watering so hard that she could'n't see, and infection was probably setting in. (It didn't look any worse than the non-injured eye -- her eyes are normally bloodshot.) I can't tell you the number of times she stuck her face in mine, pulling down her lower eyelid and yelling about her pain. Having utterly HAD IT with her competitive and attention-seeking bullshit, a couple of my coworkers tried to convince her that she should go purchase an eye patch. They told her it was critical that she keep her eye closed and protected. And SHE DID IT. The two people who talked her into it still high-five each other when they think about it. Of course, the next day, she showed up to work sans the eye patch, claiming a miraculous recovery, due to her superior immune system.

There must be a Twilight Alchemy Lab formulation that could work on this person. If there was, I'd do a group order with at least 4 or 5 other people. We'd all need our own bottle. Beth could make a cool $150 or so, thanks to the office battle-ax.

And hey, how about that Mum Moon formulation? I realized after I'd put in my update order last week that I should have ordered Mme. Moriarity. I read the Mum Moon description and decided, oh well, there's a good excuse to order the Lunacy upate and a bottle o' the misfortune teller. So, I'm back to having more than one outstanding order. My disjointed little universe once again has its requisite suspense and deferred gratification factors!