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Ramblings of a Hamster on Death Row...(Get busy living or get busy dying!!!) May 09 Blogging away...... from here.
My good friend Yanik, in his infinite interweb wisdom, has decided I needed a REAL blog. So he tweaked it all up for me, even found the title. Dude knows me. Dude knows me VERY well.
It's here:
Because I have a new digital camera (oh yeahhhh!), Dude has also talked me into a Flickr membership (I wasn't too hard to convince, really, since he paid for it). If there WERE pictures on the account (none uploaded yet...), they would be HERE:
I'm feeling all pampered and... you know... tech-ish. :)
I'll post here too, occasionally, just because... shouldn't all real geeks have more than one blog? February 11 Sittin' here, thinkin'...... about what I've learned, these last 29 years, aside from the obvious essentials (walking, talking, holding utensils, typing with more than one finger at a time)... this is sort of a work in progress because I want to compile a decent (and funny) enough list before my 30th birthday this summer...
* Don't shake a bottle of juice unless you're sure it's properly closed.
* You can't make someone love you, no matter how right you think you are for them/they are for you.
* Cross stitch and cheezies do NOT go well together.
* When Martin sends you a link, don't click on it.
* Drinking massive amounts of Diet Pepsi makes your ... erhm... bodily excretions darker.
* There are very few things that junk food or s3x (or a combination of both) won't fix.
* It really IS the journey that matters.
* ... unless you are running up the stairs in a horror movie.
* Quebec taxes suck.
* The advice given by those who care about you is most often right.
* ... especially when you disregard it.
* Almost anything is possible.
* If you make something idiot-proof, someone will make a better idiot.
* You can only eat an elephant one bite at a time.
*to be continued* October 05 My So-Called Professional Life.Outside the bank today, an appropriately punk-grungy-looking young woman was sitting on the ground, strumming her guitar. There was a sticker on it. It said, F*CK WORK.
On September 11, I was fired from my job. First time ever - wait, that's not quite true. At not-quite-16, I worked for a whole 3 hours at a purse store. Sold a bag, too, before they sent me home. Didn't even think to ask to get paid. I was more relieved than upset. This time around, my record of employment says I did not "meet professional expectations". Well. It's not like THEY ever made an effort to meet MINE, so, I guess that makes us even. *LOL*
Good riddance.
So I applied for Employment Insurance (I love those PC terms)... and I was summoned to a meeting this morning, so we could talk about how to find work again. A lovely, lovely time.
Across from me sits a woman in her thirties with an unenthusiastic perm and just enough piercings and tats to look like white trash (it would take a few more for her to be a real bad@ss). 3 piercings in the right ear, 5 on the right, one in the nose, and my favourite, a tiny bright green salamander tattoo on her wrist that was probably drawn on by a crayon-happy 5 year-old. She looks like a hard worker, though. I'm guessing she's been through stuff. I would hire her.
Next to her is a grey-skinned woman in what I assume to be her late fifties. Her pink t-shirt says "Sweetheart" amid girly old school tattoo designs. She looks tired and a little sad, though, and she huddles into her white wool vest when she talks about her husband... in the past tense.
Then come three men cut from the same cloth. Salt of the earth. One is missing several fingertips from an on-the-job accident, years ago. I can imagine them being stern but loving parents and partners. In my mind, they are the cherished stereotypical grandfathers I never had. I would give all three of them some work, if that was what they wanted, because men who have worked all their lives to support their families shouldn't ever feel let down or cast aside.
A tiny man from Peru sits on the far end. Behind his glasses, he would make a believable engineer or maybe a Physics professor. He works in a carpet factory.
Eastern European women are sometimes recognizable at a glance. Her fuzzy, slightly sheer pink sweater and poofy bleached curls are in such stark contrast with the quiet man to her left that getting lost in all her campy splendor is almost unavoidable. Pink nails, impossibly tight jeans, knee-high boots and enough make-up to redo most of the walls in my house. No québécoise would ever get away with this. I give her a mental make-over.
To my immediate right, a guy who looks like he belongs at the Salon de l'auto, drooling over modified cars or trimming the front lawn of a semi-detached house in Repentigny. Turns out he graduated from a theater program.
Our trainer says, "well, why don't you guys talk a bit, get to know each other???"
Without missing a beat, one grandpa chimes in...
"Sure! What do y'all do for a living???"
Priceless. July 30 Non-Sensical Ramblings RE: the Evils of the Internet.A few months ago, a friend told me that he really doesn’t read blogs, but that if I deigned to write stories and post them on the internet, he would watch for updates like a hawk. The fact is… I’m a chicken-sh*t. (Ok. Ok. The silence accompanying your complete lack-of-surprise is deafening. Stop it.) But seriously.
What if I had this amazing idea, made it public, and then… some evil, underhanded writer with connections kidnapped it and somehow managed to achieve ungodly amounts of financial success with MY idea, hm?
It’s really not that I take myself seriously enough to think that people are seeking me out and steeling my golden bits of wisdom… but… the internet is a wonderful place, a huge idea farm with no real fences. Some giggly kids sneak in, see something they like, and take a little bite. That tickles me pink. It’s the others that harvest everything and leave a corner of the field dead and barren who really scare me.
I’m sure it’s been said before by many people much wiser and technologically-savvy than I could ever hope to be: the internet is the death of the holy copyright. I’m sure it’s not always a bad thing. And you know what they say... imitation is the sincerest kind of flattery. I wonder whether we have created a monster, something too big, wild and powerful to ever be controlled. Sci-Fi books and movies have been warning us about this for some time, haven't they. Bewaaaaaaaaaaaare the technology!!! What we create to serve us will come back, take over, bite us in the @ss and then eliminate every last one of us.
I'm kind of old school, I guess. I'm clinging to my glue-bound books. There are few better things in life than the smell of an old book as it opens to reveal all the beauty and wonder inside, and few more beautiful than someone’s face as they eagerly turn a page, hanging on the edge of a sentence, dying to find out what comes next. July 25 Interestingly Unusual Food Items.Liposuction.
I mean the slushie. Really. It's the only lipo I will ever be able to afford, so whenever I get one, I enjoy it with reckless abandon, along with decadent mental images of my own persistant belly fat melting away as I suck on an enermous purple straw. The slush itself is flesh-colored and tastes like rotten peaches. Who knew human fat tasted so very very sweet!
Marshmellow Hamburgers.
I'm not nearly as brave as Maze, but I did try it. They taste like... a chemical approximation of nothing mixed with a subtle hint of styrofoamy fruitiness. Oh. And crunchy sugar sesame seeds. I've seldom experienced such a combination of psychological and physical repulsion while eating something. Everything in me screamed, "NOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOO! STOOOOOOOOOOP!" It's... a humbling experience for any seasoned candy amateur. Though when I say seasoned, I don't mean it literally. Maze, you are a sick, sick man, and I love you for it.
Ungodly Sour Spray Thingies.
Steve and MJ thought (rightfully so, I'm sorry to say) that it would be fun to gift Josée and I with funky candy for our birthday. Some of it was quite tasty and reminiscent of our childhood days (were Bazooka jokes as laim back then???), and some of it was... uh... oh God. There are no words. Imagine a mouth full of thick, gooey Windex. Imagine the foul-tasting substance hitting the back of your throat, the roof of your mouth and spreading across your tastebuds like an infectious disease. Imagine having to work hard to dislodge and swallow it, and having to put up with the toxic chemical aftertaste. Imagine. And weep. Unfortunately, texture and taste-wise, it's certainly not the worst thing I've ever swallowed, but... it was still deeply unpleasant. Steve and MJ, you ROCK! House of the Dead 2: Dead Aim. A Movie Review.House of the Dead 2: Dead Aim (2005)
The Plot: A scientist, an ex-Secret Service agent and a pathetically mismatched bunch of Special Forces soldiers with no apparent skills or training are sent to a university campus that seems to be the point of origin of the zombie plague. Their goal is to find a first-generation zombie and get a sample of its blood so that vaccines can be developped and so that soon, the zombie plague would be, "just a footnote in the history books, no worse than AIDS or the Bubonic Plague." BWAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!
The Good:
The Bad:
The Ugly:
May 16 And the search continues.Heard at a job interview last week (I couldn't make sh-- like that up if I TRIED):
"I'm sorry. Your resume is amazing, you are a star candidate, but you would be bored to death with the job you are applying for. You're just overqualified."
I guess they had already met their quota for sharp-minded, power-suit wearing, knowledge-hungry, ample-chested women, eh?
*LOL*
As a reply to my e-mail in which I told a guy I was interested in him and I would like to get to know him a little better:
"I'm flattered, but no."
So... I guess my intuition needs a tune-up, eh? *ROTFLMAO* My day will come. It will. And when it does... ohhhhh Lord. I'll be ready. *LOL* |
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