Posts tagged Random

Things about Public Health School

Yesterday I decided to abuse people’s basic human rights, and in a completely separate decision, to kill off children under 5 years old.

And I’m not sure I wouldn’t do it again.

Public health school is weird.*

(In context:  both were decisions regarding limited-resource countries and ways to combat HIV. But still. )

* But awesome.

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Things about things you never wanted to know

Apparently the easiest way to find this blog is to google image search some combination of the words: “Volleyball smash.”

Yup. Things you never wanted to know.

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Things about HOLY SHIT BOSTON STREETS

Oh, hey, I moved to Boston. Yeah.

I don’t know what the fuck the founders of Boston were drinking when they put together Boston’s streets, but I think they may have overdone it.

I’m pretty damn good with maps and directions and geography, so imagine my surprise when I arrived in Boston and immediately turned in 17 wrong directions.  Seriously.  I’ve never seen a city with LESS sense in its urban planning and development. It actually makes anit-sense.

It’s like someone threw spaghetti down on a map of foggy Boston Bay area back in the 1700s and was like, “I shall design this array of spaghetti-strewn geniusness as streets! The pasta gods have deemed it so!”

I don’t know who to blame for changing street names every 4 blocks. That seems like something that could have been fixed in the past 300 years or so. Lazy gits.*

Impressively ridiculous, Boston.

Tomorrow means time to get out my bike… so I can get hopelessly lost in Boston by a 3rd type of transportation in a week.

* Actually, when I expressed my displeasure re: Boston streets to a former Bostonian, his reply was something along the lines of: “Bostonians were too busy saving everyone’s candy asses from the redcoats to care about streets, motherfucker!”

Alright, fine. That’s a half valid excuse at least.

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Things that I throw at the Cubs

During today’s abysmal “game” the Cubs played (I refuse to admit that tripe was for anything but minor league practice), a friend (“Mo”) and I (“Me”) consoled each other by using the time-honored tradition of “Madness-inspired mockery medicine” via gchat.  It was the only unpainful part of the experience.

And because this is MY BLOG I get to repost it here Mwhahahahah!!!:

Mo: does my fantasy team win a prize for last place?

Me: sure they do. they get to meet aaron heilman.

Mo: uh, is the prize really called “an opportunity to kill aaron heilman”?
bc if so ill pick him up…

Me: IF THAT WAS THE PRIZE I WOULD JOIN YOUR LEAGUE AND PICK HIM UP SO I COULD WIN LAST PLACE

Mo: bob: “we’d like to envision what the cubs would be like if they played to their potential every game”
i hate len.
i tolerate bob

Me: i ignore them and pretend they’re ron or pat
Bob: “we keep playing like that, it’s not gonna work”
again, i say OH RLY?!?!?!?
Cuz we’re only, you know, EIGHT RUNS DOWN

Mo: True

Me: Len: “let’s see if jake can run a 10 run homer”
now THATS funny

Mo: “keep swingin until the umpire tells you its the last out”
thanks len
thanks

Me: “all the sudden this game gets pretty interesting”
what?
len
what
what?
REALLY??
an INJURY makes this interesting??
not the fact that we gave up ELEVEN RUNS
or that someone hit for the cycle

Mo: cause the Cubs only need another 7 runs now

Me: not interesting in that our newest pitcher got hurt?… or that someone had their MLB debut and blew chunks all over it and had to have A RAM translate larry rothschild’s advice to him b/c he doesn’t speak english well enough?

Mo: yeah, who was that guy?
i turned it on in the 2nd and was like who is that, never heard of him

Me: absolutely NO ONE.

Mo: i was like – jeff stevens got called up, but… that is not jeff stevens

Me: No. No it certainly was not.
Yeah!!! DROPPED BALL. Stoopid Rockies’ LF-er.

Mo: that looks like me playing OF

Me: that looks like like a milton bradley play
ha. jinx.
awwwww the closer’s getting taken out. im glad that your SEVEN RUN LEAD isn’t enough.

Mo: it all comes down to…

Me: YES LAST GREAT HOPE
KOYIE HILL

Mo: …koyie??? really??
hahahahaah

Me: JUST WHO I WANT AT THE PLATE

Mo: fukudome is still on the bench

dont hit him though
he makes contact

Me: no, no why would they do that?
FUCK.
SHIT.

Mo: STOOPID CUBS. Sigh.
k im going to bed

Me: im gonna go throw things at the tv now

Mo: like your burning flaming computer?
actually, can you get video of that – id like to see it…

Me: Ugh, it’s worse now.  It goes black if you unplug it at all, and it stalls when you type so i make lots of typing errors ‘cuz i can’t see the words
Whatever. go slep.

Mo: hahaha. im gonna slep the shit of my bed

See, Cubs?  See what your awfulness brings about?!  STOP THAT. Oh, you’re about the play the Phillies, you say?  Siiiiigh.

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Things that mean you spend too much time on a computer

It can’t be a good indicator of what you spend your life doing when you start attempting to use computer controls in your real life.

I’ve begun using the phrase, “I wish I could just ctrl+z that,” when referring to actual events in my life.

(Apparently that keyboard shortcut is not quite as widely known as ctrl+c/ctrl+v because I often receive strange looks. Which only adds to the pathetisad factor in the Giant Dork Equation.)

Last week I wondered very briefly if I could revert my apartment back to a cleaner state by F5-refreshing the whole place.

And today, while chuckling at my coworker’s ridiculously sloppy desk, I had an urge to take a picture of the sty (in order to mock him righteously with my mad photoshopping skilz, obviously…) but remembered I’d unfortunately taken my camera home yesterday.

Immediately succeeded by the thought:
“Damn, I wish I could just ctrl+print screen this shot.”

Uh oh.

I need to leave this job.

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Things I should not do

I should not update my blog while drunk.

I’m already a terrible speller, so I shall now rely solely on those little red squiggly lines to tell me when I spell things ghastly improperly.

I should mention that I don’t really drink. In college, I was basically a one-day-a-weeker, if that.  Since college, I’m about a once-every-two-to-three-months-er.  So it takes about 2 glasses of wine to get me drunk, theseadays.

Since polishing off a half a bottle of wine (and working on bottle #2), I have done the following:

1) Text my college crush, who I was convinced I was over until he emailed me abotu 3 days ago out of the blue.

2) Told my roommate even more details about my embarrassing hook-up from senior year’s Cinqo de Mayo party. Probably more than she wanted to know, but I love her.

3) Watched an episode of the Colbert Report. Man, if that shit is funny when you’re sober, when you’re drunk, it’s fucking hilarious.

4) Spelled about 2/5 of this post incorrectly.  Red squiggly lines, how I love thee.

Okay, I’m off to read an article in the Atlantic about whether Google is making us smarter (fingers crossed for YES or I by brain is fucking screwed).

Then Newsweek.

Oh my god I’m such a nerd. I’m drunk and I can’t even stop being dorky.

<Insert nerdface here>

PSSST I DON’T KNOW WHAT A NERDFACE LOOKS LIKE.

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Things that are both creepy and embarrassing

As previously discussed, my computer/internet is not what one would call “top of the line.”  For this reason, when I know I will need to use a computer for personal use for a lengthy amount of time, I will often stay late at work and utilize the privileges of fast internet and large hard-drive space.

Tonight, I decided to abuse said privileges to register for my Grad School classes and listen to one more painful Cubs loss. As per usual, my meandering takes much longer than I’d expect and at one point I look outside and realize, to my shock, that it is in fact pitch dark.

With further use of my high intelligence (and inspection of a clock), I discover it is actually 9:30pm. My automatic “Oh, crap” mode snaps in, and I attempt to finish what I can before total patheticness sets in, when all the sudden, things get creepy.

See, now, at work,we often have people over inspecting the roof for various reasons: leaks, HVAC stuff, solar panels, etc. Therefore, I am well versed in what it sounds like when someone is walking on our roof.

And tonight, my brain abruptly registers this dull sound.

Thump.

Thump.

Ba-bum thump.

I pseudo-ignore it for a few minutes while I clean up, trying to imagine it’s thunder, the wind, my overactive brain, whatever.

Thump.

Ba-dum bum. Thump.

Shit.

That is SO not the wind.

Okay, so sometimes people break into our office building, steal some shit. Whatever. It’s petty shit, right? We’re not in the greatest area, but it’s not terrible… at least it’s better than it used to be when we had a prostitution ring semi-regularly use our parking lot for transactions. It’s probably some kids, who somehow scaled the wall to the roof. They’ll leave, right? They see there’s lights on, right? I’m not in any danger, right? RIGHT?

Thump.

Ba-dum.

Bum.

Thump.

Okay.  Shit. My brain is going into overdrive, so I might as well call 311, and see if they’ll do a welfare check on the building. Then again, maybe I’m overreacting.

Ba-dum-bum-bum thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Okay, fine, I’m not overreacting. I dial.  311 decides my call IS an emergency and puts me through to police dispatch. I explain my situation, and pretend I’m not as freaked out as my brain is, and ask ever-so-nicely if they’d just possibly send someone over to check out the roof of the building. They agree, and after I hang up I have to decide whether or not I’m leaving or staying put until the cops get here.  After all, it’s just a welfare check, and this IS Chicago – it could take hours for them to arrive.

Ba-dum.

Thump. Thump Thump.

Ba-thump. Thud.

Right. Okay.
Staying put. Check.

I call a couple of people from work to keep myself calm and inform them of the situation, and, much to my surprise, after only about 5 minutes, three Chicago Police Officers show up.

On bicycles.

I graciously unlock and open the front door and talk to one of them while the other two circle the building. I 30-second sum up the past petty crime, the walking sounds on the roof, the fact that I’m in the building by myself when normally no one is at work this late. Mr. Police officer looks at me, and very kindly says:

“Oh. That does sound creepy, but are you sure it wasn’t the fireworks?”

Um.

Oh.

Okay.

Shit.

It’s a Wednesday night. In Chicago. And there are fireworks at Navy Pier in the summer at 9:30pm. Every Wednesday.

That’s why the footsteps sounded so constant. And started so suddenly.

Shit.

Shit.

Mr. Police Men are very kind and not insulting at all as they offer to wait until I go inside, lock up, and get in one of the work trucks to drive home.

So. Um.  Thank you Police Sirs, for indulging my extraordinarily overactive brain for Things That Go Bump In The Dark.  Also, I think you’re pretty awesome for riding bikes while fighting crime.

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