Thor hates me

No really, I mean it. I can't think of a better reason for all of my Thursday's at work to tank before I ever punch in other than the fact that the god for whom the day was named, Thor, hates me. I have been wracking my brain for a year now to figure this out. And it hit me like a bolt yesterday... Thor hates me.
I don't know what I did to the cute little Asgaard whose loss I mourned as much as Deforrest Kelley's. Generally everyone likes me. The insub doesn't count; she's a monkey wrench. So how could I have pissed off the little guy? He is a Kirk kind of trekkie and doesn't like my constant Klingon quoting barbs thrown in Shatner's vast general vicinity. It's the only explaination I can find. But, as today has been so wonderful, I have to say that Saturn, the god of Saturday is totally on my side on this one.
Today was great. The insub took an unscheduled shower when, while cleaning a shower stall, the handle caught on her shoulder and dumped cold water on her, "I refuse to give her a pleasant good morning", grumpy butt. Then I found tips right before lunch. Having proudly presented them to the maintenance guy as proof that Saturday's gods like me, he says "Brad ordered everyone pizza". And Friday I told my twitteratti that he sometimes does that. WTG Brad! Then another room left me M&Ms and Dave brought in the surprise he told me he was bringing me. The surprise was a Star Trek Original Series sketchbook of how the whole shabang was done. It was a great Saturday. And even better is coming online to find that the twitterverse is happily dumping good things in my lap.
Now if only Fancast will work right and let me watch CSI's geek homage without a stutter.
Saturn loves me. He really really loves me. And I love him.