Tuesday, October 2, 2012

*yaaaawn* What year is it?

Ok... what the actual fuck?

 
Jesus... It's been a long time. I missed you. No, really! What have you been up to? That's cool. Same old same old, eh? Me? Well allow me to bore you with an incredibly detailed blog update that I'm writing in order to take up time at work...
 
 

I said no, no, no...

 
I'm addicted to Rehab. That sounds a lot funnier than it really is, but I'm comfortable with that. It all started this summer when I was reffing roller derby a lot (I'm up to over 60 bouts reffed, by the way!). Imagine this scenario. You had a great time on a Friday night with friends, eating lousy bar food and drinking a bit more than your fair share (and your fair share, and yours, and yours). But you have to be at the derby bout at 1 in the afternoon the next day to ref a double header, and you KNOW that's not enough time to get normal again. After all, you're not twenty anymore. You can't just go and treat your own body like its yours and it'll do whatever you want. So you wake up bleary eyed, hung over, headachey, and your stomach seems to want to reject any possibility of solidity. You get dressed, shower, realize your mistake, take off your now wet clothes, shower again, and get ready for the bout. By 12:30 you're still feeling a tad south of miserable. You go to a gas station... You buy a Rehab... and boom. Like a shot of pure, cold, tea flavored youth you instantly feel light years better. You're focused, ready for the day, and to complete the cycle, after the bouts you do it ALL OVER AGAIN. This stuff is magic. And holy christwagons on a taco plane IT COMES IN FOUR FLAVORS! Honestly, I can't remember an elixir that fixed a broken human better than this. Except for that stuff in Reanimator. That shit was probably Rehab too...
 

Green tea flavored rehab should bring this head back from the dead... I am very well adjusted...

 

Also, I live with my friend as a roommate now. He is a computer programming night owl, so I am forced... FORCED I tell you... to watch star trek DS9 well into the wee hours. Rehab works for that, too. Very well indeed. I still drink coffee like a motherbitch though.
 
So what else is new... Oh yeah...
 

These guys... THESE FUCKING GUYS...

 
Fuck bed bugs. Fuck them in their little fucking fuckfaces. I don't want any species to be eliminated from the planet (even Tea Partiers) but THESE fuckers can fucking die in a fire. If I have to shoot each one of them with a god damn bazooka I will with a great big grin on my face and I'll pay for all the ammunition. I don't know exactly how they got in to my apartment, but I have my suspicions...
 
I had been letting a cat stay in my apartment for a couple of months. She will go in and out at her leisure. I think she picked up some eggs (you know its bad when they breed like fucking lizard chicken demons) from a couch or chair someone threw out and she napped on. I didn't know I had them til my girlfriend spent the night and got bit almost fifty times...
 
I'll let that sink in. I didn't know I had them. I don't react to their bites. My girlfriend got bit fifty times in a night. How long had they been feeding on my delicious blood? I'm guessing that there's a family of a couple of hundred people that would have been saved if I had donated that blood rather than let it be harvested by evil fucking Satan's dingleberries.
 
Naturally I reacted calmly and rationally... Ok. I freaked out. I've moved, bombed all my stuff, got rid of most of my furniture, poisoned every inch of my bed, vacuumed my mattress and washed all my clothes (ALL of them) in hot water and dried them on high for at least an hour. All told, I have no clue how much money I've spent trying to eliminate these little antipodean specks of ass chunks from my life. Now I'm going to tell you some of their little awful habits... the best way to kill something is to know how it lives (you hear me, potential serial killers?).
 
First they shit little black smears. That's how you know you have them if you don't see them in person. Of course, the fecal smears look like mold, so you never know for certain, so the appropriate reaction is to set whatever it is you suspect on fire and listen to them scream.
 
Next, they live in solitary colonies. They don't like living near each other, but have to preserve their space. So they live in tiny little clusters of individuals that hate. I saw a couple of those colonies on my box springs. So my reaction was to set them on fire and listen to them scream.
 
Finally, they are very flat, so they can live in very thin areas... like the hems of clothes... or the folds in a mattress... or behind your eyes. The solution? Fire. Screams.
 
To this very day I can't get a good nights sleep (it's been almost two months) without waking up every time a hair on my arm moves. I slap at nothing even though I've moved to a new place and taken great steps to eliminate any animals from my person except for my cats, and they're getting me suspicious. I do also live with one of my best friends now, who put up with my massacre with great aplomb...
 

And not a bit of absurdity...

 
Also... The coolest thing! I've changed my emphasis in my biology degree...
 

Finally my hobby of playing with dead people will actually PAY!

 
I'm going in to forensic science! What? Oh, for the sake of fuck, I KNOW that CSI isn't an accurate representation of the job. But Here's the deal. I have some criteria for a job that I would enjoy doing for the rest of my life...
 
1. I want a job that not a lot of other people can do for whatever reason.
 
2. I don't mind gore.
 
3. I want a career before I'm fucking 40 years old.
 
4. I want to deal with the sciences.
 
5. I like solving puzzles.
 
Find another job that fits those criteria. I dare ya. I've talked a lot to some specialists in this field and they've said that the worst part of the job is the smell of rotting corpses. They say that they keep a change of clothes in their offices at all times because you never know when you'll bring that smell home with you. That's the only thing I'm worried about. But it's exciting! The mere fact of being able to do a job like this makes me smile through the blood and gore.
 
Anyway... That's me since we last met. How are you?
 
Song of teh post: Rehab, by Amy Winehouse
Forensic research interest of teh week of teh post: Sharp force trauma wound patterns (stab wounds)