Do it yourself Protechnics!

I went and saw the Trans-Siberian Orchestra last night.

Flippin' AMAZING. If you have the chance, GO SEE THEM.

So, my father and I were cooking tonight, and managed to recreate the stage show effects in our kitchen.

The lazers were a bit of a bust, but I did manage to get a large open flame. In my oven.

Note to Martha Stewart: olive oil on 'high broil' explodes into a nice flame. Who knew.

The french bread toasts quickly became something more akin to paving stones.

The oven, being a modern appliance and having more sense than its users, started beeping. Ever the great natural leader, my father and I where handling the crisis brilliantly.

By panicking.

Just like the Trans-Siberian Orchestra often brings the spectators excitement to a fever pitch, our panicking quickly grew into all out chaos.

Which may have been handled better if damn would just stop beeping.

In a burst of rational thought, my father quickly deposited the flaming bread outside, so that the smoke alarm would not join in a duet with the oven.

There is now smoke everywhere, I'm racking my brain for the smoke alarm code for when it goes off, Dad is trying to stamp out the remaining flames.

Then, in the midst of this chaos, the frog prince (via the door open to try and let the smoke out) hopped on the scene. Due to both the resident cooks laking the correct pair of cromosones to try and help, we left him to the mercy of my cat. He had my cat cornered in seconds.

Finally, most of the smoke has billowed out, and I have enough sense to ask Dad to get the instructions for turning the now desperately beeping oven off.

As most of you out there know, the instruction manual was no help, so we started flipping fuses at random to try and get it to turn off.

After making our house look like it was possessed by at least 2 ghosts, we finally flipped the right switch and turned the stupid oven off.

Then rescued my cat from the hostage situation he was in.

In conclusion: french toasts a flambe was a total failure

Finals

F.I.N.A.L.S.

That's F!$@ I Never Actually Learned S!$# for those of you who aren't members.

Its a group on campus. I'm a member.

In no final is this more apparent than math.

I can do dervatives. I can do integrals. Limits? not so much.

And none of these when my professor is trying to trick me with questions that have sudden pitfalls in them and require creative solutions.

Guess what I was doing all last night?

Eating pancakes. But before then I was studying calculus. Lots and lots of calculus. I went to the final exam review sesson, I worked through all the questions he posted on the internet. So, when I woke up at 6am this morning, I knew one thing: It was Gametime, bitches. (oops, B!#$%es)

2 problems. I know when the math final is (8am) but not really where (Science building, its across the parking lot!) And the fact that I really can't fail this because my grades have not been the best.

Oh, don't worry. Passing probably would happen. I wanted at 3.2 GPA in the class.

This is when all you folks at home that took calc freshmen year go "Ohhhhh. Yeah that's hard."

Anyway, its gametime. I put on the gametime music on my computer, took my shower, printed out a bunch of problems to go through before the exam started, grabed money to buy a pack of doughnuts and a coke from the vending machine.

Problem A is solved when I find a building that in size 10 billion font has written on the side "SCIENCE BUILDING"

I walk to room 1001. Its 7:36, more than enough time before my final. I open the door and...

A bunch of kids with an exam and graphing claculators look at me.

Slightly controlled panic: unleashed. Time slowed down, my brain kicked into overdrive. Little details, like the pink ribbon in the girl's hair that is sitting in the back corner of a lecture hall, become very apparent.

She didn't study.

Dude giving the test: "Can I help you?"

Inside Relimited's head: "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD"

Deciding that that was not a god reply, I failed to swollow my fear and went with my insticts.

Relimited: "Whoops. Wrong Room. Sorry."

Insert Tactical Retreat Here.

Now, after that debacle, I hadn't calmed down at all, so I sat on a bench and tore through my math book, looking for the right room.

Math Book: "Math Final. Rm 1001 Science Building. 10am-12"

Oh.

Well then.

Movie Night

There has been an interesting thing that has been going on every Saturday night.

Its known as Movie night, perhaps you've heard of it.

Anyway, me and a bunch of friends all crowd into a dorm room (It's anywhere from 3 to 9 people, 3 bizarrely intimate, 9 far to much) and watch movies from 7 until sleep deprivation gives you hallucinations.

Its a blast.

Anyway, I thought I'd bring up tonight's double feature: The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

Yes, I watched a movie about transvestites in leotards followed by a movie where a character claims that only real men wear tights. (Aside: I think I understand homosexuality now) This, however, was preferable to our original plan, which was Requiem for a Dream.

Well, almost anything is preferable to Requiem for a Dream. Actually being in one of those awkward scenes taken out to its logical extreme in the Rocky Horror Picture Show is preferable to Requiem for a Dream. Hell, showing up for the wrong final exam is probably preferable to Requiem for a Dream.

Also, if there is anyone contemplating suicide that reads my blog, do not watch Requiem. Get help. If you must watch Requiem, have a psychologist on hand to talk you out of whatever you're plan is. The feelings will pass. In about a month. (Note: The psychologist has just as high, if not higher chance of swinging from the ceiling when the lights come on. Be prepared to deal with the aftermath on your own. I suggest ridding your house of anything that will not make it through airport security)

So, instead, we had a good time. This, regrettably, is probably our last movie night, so there will be no more dead silent moments when Mufasa dies in the Lion King, no more hands drumming in anticipation right before the climax of The Shawshank Redemption, no more bursting out loud in laughter at Shawn of the Dead, and no more swearing by David Bowie's bulge in The Labyrinth.

Signing off because its past 1 am and Plato waits for no man. Thanks, movie night crew, its been amazing.

When technology goes wrong...

This is not my story on the blog today, folks.

Rather, this is a story about a good friend of mine here in college land.

Lets call him... oh, I don't know... Chuck.

Now, for those of you who aren't nerds, Windows 7 is now out. Aparently, its the best operating system ever. Its even better than sliced bread. Mindblowing, really.

I wouldn't know. I was going to make the operating system switch myself, after all the fastest way to loose nerd status is to become outdated, but I don't have an external hardrive to store my music/homework/papers/videos/pirated iso files/plans for world domination. So, I'm still working on my devil costume, and my pitch. "Look, normally, this would cost your soul, but today I'm having a special- I'll make you famous and rich for a one terabite hard drive.*"

*fame and riches may not apply

In conclusion, I'm still suck with Vista- the retarded cousin of Windows 7, who was conceved at a Microsoft family reunion between DOS and Windows 98.

Anyway, Chuck was gonna get Windows 7, and no amount of misinformation that I could spread could stop him. He moved everything over to his external harddrive, downloaded the Professional version, and wiped his system, replacing that old, cluttered Vista with a new squeaky clean OS. He then stuck all his music on it, and called me down to gloat.

Well, the computer had no say in this, and wasn't to happy about it. As Chuck connected his new hard drive, an interesting diolog box popped up. It was a trap, but Admral Akabar (that fish guy from Star Wars) wasn't around to warn Chuck.

Diologue Box: "Would you like to sync up your internal hard drive with your external one? Its fantastic if you do! All the cool kids are doing it!*"

*some artistic liberties may have been taken

Chuck, in a bid to try to be cooler than me thrice over, clicked yes. And with an evil chuckle, his computer sync'ed the hard drives.

More precisely, it sync'ed the external hard drive to the internal one. In common english: Chuck lost all the data on that hard drive. ALL of it. Every last little byte.

But at least he has his muisc.

However, the computer still was annoyed, and not done. Oh no. The rebellion was just starting. The next thing his computer did was to send a high speed signal to his x-box, to melt the next disk put in. Chuck, to take his mind of the loss of all his digital wealth, decided to play his new copy Batman: Arkham Asylum.

His disc now looks like he stuck it in a turkey fryer. And if you have ever had to deal with Target's return policy, you know that Chuck is about to fight an unwinable war against red tape and idiotic policy.

And still, the rebelion continued. His x-box started phase 2: lets see how much crap we can make him lose, when it sent out a mass signal to anything with bateries to go roll around to some dark corner and never be found. His flashlight complied, and his cellphone tried, but Chuck grabbed it, right before it scurried away to some forsaken corner of his dorm.

So, we went out to buy flashlights. He naturally bought the biggest sucker he could find. He now has a second sun in case power goes out.

Except for the fact that it must be hooked up to a car to run. Good times...

Poor man now has no Batman, no laptop data and a military grade spot light that doesn't work for what he wants it too.

Sounds like one of my days

Woah its already what date?

I haven't updated this blog in a while.

I am now aware of this.

Its not that I stopped caring about you loyal readers or anything...

Ok maybe it is. My life got kinda crazy for a bit, but it looks like college might not be a "fit" for me, so I'm now I'm going to vocational school. If its as easy as it sounds, I should have a lot more free time.

I jest, I jest. After all, if I had been procrastinating on school work that hardcore, then I would have still kept the blog up. I'm still here, and yes, stupid stuff has still been happening to me. Never fear, if there is a door, I shall run into it.

I'm back, however. With all new stories on my crazy life.

Where to start? Perhaps when the President came and had a town hall meeting at my school? Or when technology itself rebelled against a good friend of mine? Or that same good friend's experience at the laundry room late one night (note, NSFW. Note that note: Everybody that was old enough to snicker and get very puzzled didn't, and everyone who was far to young to get that just snickered and came up with some very, very bad mental images).

Or the fact that today I have made the best purchase of my life? Or the puzzle that I spent two elevator rides trying to solve? Or movie night? Or my thoughts on the card game Bridge?

That's a lot of subjects...

Well, its a little late to tackle any of those right now. Rather, I am going to leave you good people with a picture of one of my midterm tests:

Note: Clicky-clicky the picture to see a version for all of you who don't have magnifying classes taped to your heads

Perfect Storm

Remember that friend that I drove up to see with only one eye?

Well, I decided it would be awesome to go hang out with him again.This time with back up contacts. Several boxes of back up contacts. I triple checked my stuff; I made sure that this time, I would be prepared, and have everything ready to go. No slip ups. No stupid goofs. I was going to have a good time without proving to some little kid that yes, it is possible to walk into a sign post.

.... Not the story I want to tell today, folks. I'll need a little help in telling that one if you get my drift.

And if you don't, then here: If anyone that plays FFXI reads this blog, I need a Monster Signa. I'll tell the story if you can get me that sweet, sweet staff.

And here you thought I was going to ask for money and/or alcohol. But, I've learned my lesson after that one time...

More stories that I can't/don't want/need more money to share. Or a Mary's Horn for my bard. That sucker goes for 350k in the AH.

Anyway, I actually managed to get there without a major mishap. I then proceeded to keep everything normal (and nothing extra ordinarily stupid happened either) for that entire night. We had a damn good time, and I could see the videogames we played to boot.

Note: hanging out with sight is far better than hanging out without sight.

Now, this seems like a very cool night. I'm hanging out with some of my best friends, we're talking, everyone is smiling and laughing, and outside the stars are shining, and all of nature is in bliss at our contentment.

Except for the fact that it is not very nice outside at all. Its blowing like a freakin' gale out there. There are branches from trees getting tossed around like the toy blocks of any three year old playing Godzilla.

Did I say three year old? I meant yours truly. Three days ago. Shut up, it was fun.

The sky is boiling over with clouds, and I'm just waiting for the rain of fire to signal the end of everything. The Mayans must have messed up multiplying a three somewhere with the end of the world counter, because it sure as heck looked like the end of the world on the other side of my friend's apartment's glass door.

So, while I was waiting to be Raptured, my stomach, unimpressed with the primal fury all around the apartment, growls. And my friend, who, in hindsight, is not the play it safe type, makes a command decision.

Relimited's Friend: "Hey, I'm hungry too. Let’s go out to get something."

There was no way at all, ever, that I was rationally going into that storm out there, for anything. Not for all the money, alcohol, or FFXI rare items. However, no one ever said a hungry guy, who has only eaten a poptart in the last 5 hours is rational.

Relimited: "Sounds great. We should probably run out to the store to stock up on snacks for later too."

God, I Am Stupid Sometimes.

So, we get our stuff together. I think it was when I was finishing up lacing my left sneaker that I realized how stupid this was. We were leaving the warmth, light and relative safety of the apartment for food. And not even food we needed, but also food that we might use later. Maybe.

Queue faceplam.

So, we go out into the windstorm, fighting the elements in tee shirts and shorts for each step out his apartment complexes courtyard. Finally, after dodging flying branches, falling flowerpots and the stray cat, we make it to his car.

After dislodging a branch that has given him a new stylish dent on his front bumper, we head out to Wal-Mart to get food.

And, in what seems to happen to me every time I go to Wal-Mart, we can't find the droids we're looking for. Stupid Obi-Wan and his mind tricks...

I mean food. We get everything except several packs of ramen, and after going up and down every freakin isle, we find the ramen castle. It took up the entire side of isle 9. There were several large blinking arrows that point toward it. Heck, it even had its own spotlights and disco balls.

No idea how we missed it.

By the time we get outside, nature has gone from apocalypse blue stage, to readiness level orange. Its black out there. Not dark... black. It hasn't started raining, but we run our shopping cart back to his car, this time dodging small trees, outdoor grills, and someone's kid. He seemed like a very shifty little bugger, so I'm sure those cries for help we just lies for him to pick my pocket.

Never mind that he was flying at me.

So, we duck into his car, and drive as fast as we can over to the pizza place for food. Naturally, we both decide we want some very arcane, complicated pizzas. Neither of us, at that precise moment of pizza ordering, are thinking about the fact that we want to get one last game of Super Smash Bros. Brawl in before the world ends.

And, of course, as we're exiting the pizza place (watching a weather channel reporter across the street) he opens his box to check, and tells me,

Relimited's Friend: "They got my pizza wrong, dude; I need to go back and fix it."

We turn back toward the pizza place, when I glance at a wall of pure water headed our way. Not rain... not even sideways rain, but a torrent of water coming down as a wall. If it was rain, there would have been gaps for air. Here, there were none. I gesture back at the wall of water, and try to make some words, but my mind defies me. My friend just nods and we get in the car and speed away, neither of us wanting to try and drive in that.

This was probably more dangerous than just sitting tight and driving slow in the so called rain. I am aware of this now, but right then and there, I wanted to get back to his apartment before I got trapped by the onslaught of water. We sped down the streets, as fast as his four cylinder car could take us, ducking into his apartment (This time dodging trees, cars, and the stray building), slamming the door shut before god flooded the world again.

But hey, it was good pizza; after all, mine didn't have pineapple on it.

The true cost of a Kit-Kat

So, I was up late, as is my custom, burnin' the midnight oil.

Naturally, I had a very good reason to be up that late. Something very, very important to do. Something that could not wait until later that day.

Actually, I was just playing computer games.

TEST

Anyway, as my party and I worked that good ol' experience point wheel, I had a sudden urge for something sweet. And not just anything sweet, as I have stocked up cookies for that average, every day, urge.

No, this was a very special type of desire. One I had not felt in a long, long time. I wanted something with chocolate, but with more texture than a normal chocolate bar.

I have chocolate bars stocked too. A little bit of chocolate can make any F seem a bit brighter. Actually, not really. It just lets your mind shut out the crushing despair for a few seconds to enjoy a small bit of euphoric processed coca bean.

But, I didn't want just chocolate. And I wasn't really feeling caramel, or peanuts. No, what I wanted was a great snack, one that you never really plan on getting, like a Twix or Snickers, but one that just sort of happens.

Ladies and gentlemen, I wanted a Kit-Kat bar. And not a break either, I wanted the whole damn thing.

So, I mapped out where I could fill this craving. Gas Station? Too far. Dorm Corner store? Long since closed. Shifty vending machine where I'm sure some not so legal things have taken place?

Perfect.

So I grab a dollar (actually two. Candy price inflation has been insane) and walk down to the vending machine. Sure enough, I need to tell a dude in a long coat and wide brimmed hat with his face hidden that I did not have the cash for his stuff (it may have been king sized kit-Kats... Damn I should have said yes!) And bought my kit-Kat bar (for 85 cents! If I wasn't craving it, I swear...).

Triumphantly, I returned to my dorm, opened my wallet to get my room key out and-

-watched as a fly buzzed out of the pocket I keep my key in. I quickly checked the other pockets of wallet to no avail. Then my pants pockets. No luck (but I did find the pencil I couldn't find for math class)

This was bad. I have already ridden the most shameful elevator ride of my life for forgetting my key once. There was another way; however, the consequences might be just as dire. Well, I decided to tempt fate and go with the devil I didn't know, rather than the one I did.

I knocked on the door. Twice. Then a third time, slamming my fist into it. I realized that maybe waking up my dorm mates might be worse than the ride of shame. Fear seized me, and with chattering teeth and shaking legs started to turn around, when the handle moved.

The door opened slowly. My heart was pounding, as the dark depths of my dorm room spilled out onto the lighted corridor. I took a step back, wishing I had a bottle of holy water to ward off this evil. Then I saw it.

It was zombie warring Jack's clothes. It gave a fearsome roar, then yelled, in some arcane, demonic language- that I have translated here- "WHY WOULD YOU WAKE ME UP AT THIS"- then several words that are amazingly profane, and don't translate into English-"HOUR?"

I found my holy water vial at that moment, and dashed it in his face. He staggered back, eyes wide with shock, as I retreated to my dorm room and slammed the door shut.

I might have just made a lifelong nemesis in my dorm mate, and if the death threat pasted to my door has any indication, one that is a little insane.

But damn, that was a good kit-Kat.

Because some things must be blogged about

Hey guys.

I didn't plan on blogging today. I really didn't. This is due mainly to the fact that I needed to write a 1,600+ word paper about some really old Greek dudes. I started yesterday and its due at 9:30AM.

Also, I got about 4 hours of sleep two nights ago, and only six hours last night.

But, then something happened. Or rather, it happened a while ago but I only just saw it today.

Sub note for all you anti-facebook people: It is a very good device for finding new ways for you to give up on humanity/the education system. Take your pick.

Naturally, I have found something that makes me want to just decide that our race isn't really worth the space it takes up on planet earth. Kinda like that painting you bought, that seemed like a really good idea at the time, but the more you look at it, the more you realize that it really doesn't look like a dog, it looks like a bunch of squiggles.

Or all those CD's you own of early punk. Great idea at the time, now just waisting space because your ears refuse to continue to take a beating.

Or all those VCR cassettes you still have lying around. I think I've made my point.

But why? What has caused me to fall so low, and truly believe that perhaps humanity is destined for its cultural nadir on 2:30 of a Friday afternoon, as predicted by the Onion? (only source of news that has covered how well our children are prepared for the zombie apocalypse, and hence the only source of news I'll trust)

This

What? Was this guy watching way to much Austin Powers or something? I mean, what the hell was he even thinking? Was he thinking? Do numbers beyond 100 hold any significance for this man? Was it a prank?

Prank get ruled out, as this is not his first suit for a stupid amount of money. This leaves me with a devastated hole on the inside.

A hole nothing can fill.

Except for you to read my posts. That always makes me happy.

PSA

The fact that my font is a different size every post is not on purpose.

I'd like to say that I'm experimenting with font to sizes to find the best one, but the truth is Microsoft Word has (what I though of as handy) post to blog feature. Apparently it just screws around with my text.

I hope to have a standard font size by the next post.

Music By Chance

I was going to write about another escapade of mine today, but I'm a little busy looking for napkins to clean my exploded brain mess that's all over the floor.

I'm sure that this is somehow a fire hazard.

Anyway, I might as well make this a post about music (which is somewhat related to why my brain exploded). Hmm? What's that?

Oh. You're not a musician, and feel like you won't understand this post?

Never fear. Allow me to run you up to speed.

Music is normally written with a bunch of kinda cool looking lines and squiggles. Musicians normally perform a complicated algorithm to transform the symbols on the page to music. Now, in order to keep musicians on the same page, a conductor (that dude with the baton that always looks kinda silly) makes some arcane motions that denote where we are in the music. The players simply play what they read from left to right, top to bottom until they get to the end of the piece, perhaps making a few stylistic changes (such as loudness) on their own. Everything else is written for us, and we just play what we see, working together to blend and sound as one.

Its rather simple in reality, and the result is the audio equivalent of a beautiful, epic painting.

Now, when I showed up to wind ensemble practice today our conductor said something a little scary.

Conductor: "I'm going to pass out one of the pieces we're doing for our spring concert. I know it's early yet, but you'll need a few days to get your head around it."

This should have sent up a warning flag, but it didn't. I was mildly curious at what we might be playing. We got three sheets of paper, two were instructions on how to play the music, and the next was a slightly weird piece of music. Instead of flowing from the top left corner to the bottom right, it was broken into numbered sections.

Not normal, but not too hard to understand. I'm sure it was just some little quirk that was easier to write this way. Not. At. All. Allow me to quote from the playing instructions, giving commentary.

"All performers play from the same page of 53 melodic patterns played in sequence."
Not all that scary, but this is a little confusing. Why number them if we're just going to play them in sequence?

"Patterns are to be played consecutively with each performer having the freedom to determine how many times he or she will repeat each pattern before moving on to the next."
What. The. Hell? This goes against like every fundamental law of music ever. Like… like… ok, that above example was given because it showed how awesome music is when everyone works together. This is like some kind of music battle royal. I might as well just hold down one note, and not give a damn about what is happening around me. You know what? According to this, I don't even have to play. It's my choice. I can just sit on the stage and !@#$ing smile for all it matters. Or just repeat the first numbered pattern the whole time.

This is like a kick to the musical groin of every other artist on the planet. Ok, maybe, just maybe, there is some mathematical rule, some limit to the madness.

"There is no fixed rule as to the number of repetitions a pattern may have," You know what? Banana. It makes just about as much sense as that line did, but wait, there's a comma. I'm going to sit here and cling to my fading sanity that there is some limit to this.

"since performers normally average between 45 minutes and an hour and a half, it can be assumed that one would repeat each pattern from somewhere between 45 seconds and a minute and a half."
That's my musical law to this piece? A suggestion? How are we supposed to get 35+ musicians to sound good together with a suggestion? I couldn't believe it. It's the equivalent of a football coach walking out on his team and telling them, "Don't suck, and try to win". No way would anyone actually perform this piece so I decided to YouTube it.

Well, some jerk decided to, and if I were to draw what I heard, I'd pick this:

This is called chance music, because there might be some chance that something that might resemble music's ugly cousin will come out of this. You know, if you set up enough monkeys at enough typewriters, you'll get Shakespeare. That doesn't mean you ACTUALLY TRY IT!

I think I'm gonna need a mop for my brain mess.

Driving, Pirate Style

Alternative title: Glasses 1, Contacts 0.

So, a few weekends ago, I decided to go over to a friend's apartment and spend the night there, eating leftover food (probably pizza) and playing videogames. This sounds very cool on paper. However, just like Socialism, I had a few hiccups actually putting this plan in motion.

Problem A. The streets around here are terrible. And I mean that both ways. There are streets here where a four wheel drive and a high undercarriage are required to go down them. These streets aren't really streets, more like a collection of pot holes semi straight line between buildings that would break the Geneva Convention if they were used to house POWs. Yeah, it's not exactly a blast to drive through in my economy class car.

However, there is another subsidiary of problem A. That is the streets also don't make sense. I think the urban planners around here just paved over the local game trails, then got really, really smashed and started pasting one way signs, no turn signs at random. To say that it's confusing is an understatement. I think they actually based it off of the original blueprints of the labyrinth.

Makes you wonder if there is a Minotaur in the center of it all. Then you realize where the center is, and remind yourself that far scarier things live there.

Problem B. Map Quest. Now, Map Quest on the main has worked great for me. But, the one time it screwed up, it screwed up giving me directions to Disney World. You would think that that's impossible. You're wrong, as the poor cashier at the Walgreens somewhere near Orlando can testify. I must have walked in there like 20 times, asking directions each and every time. Margret, I am so sorry for all the trouble I must have caused you that night. I'd use your last name too, but your nametag didn't have it.

Well, eventually, I did get to Disney World, or what I assumed was Disney World because as I pulled up to a T intersection, next to a large produce truck filled with fresh illegal immigrants, the directions stopped.

There was nothing there. Just woods and a bunch of Mexicans in the truck. Then the truck pulled away, leaving me without a single "Chao" alone in the woods. But they must have been magical woods, because according to Map Quest, we were in Disney World!

Screw you, Map Quest. Screw you.

Despite these two problems, I set out on my merry way, confident that I'd make it to my friend's apartment somehow, even though I had no idea what it looked like. And, the crazy part was that I was making it all work. I was actually headed in the right direction and everything. Then, fate and disaster struck.

My eye itched, so I proceed to take both hands off the wheel, finish my text with one hand and rub my eye with the other. Well, as you contact users out there might know, it is possible to rub your contact out of your eye.

I proceeded to do just that. Normally, this is a medium grade problem. It usually gets caught on an eyelash, or on my cheek, and I stop what I'm doing and grab it and stick it back in, telling myself that sight is worth the burning pain of jabbing something that hasn't been coated in special fluid in your eye.

Everyone should feel that at least once. It really brings perspective into what you're willing to do in order to function properly.

Well, I somehow managed to get the precise, perfect rate and angle of rubbing, that I didn't just rub the contact out of my eye. I shot it into another dimension. Now, I (as you previous readers can testify) am not the sharpest chip on the block, but I did pull over to look for it.

There was no way in hell I was putting something that fell on the floor of my car back in my eye, but I checked anyway. It was nowhere to be found. Undeterred, I kept driving on, toward my destination.

Remember the part where I said I was using directions? How about the part where I don't know what his apartment looks like? Now I only have one usable eye. If I try to use both, one in focus, one so far out of focus it can occasionally pick up ultraviolet light, my brain implodes. If I use one, I lose my sense of peripheral vision and depth perception. Multiply that by trying to read directions and a map while driving and having no idea what your destination looks like.

Sounds fun, right?

At least his couch was really comfy. It was almost as good as a bed. Almost.

Going to sleep on the wrong side of the bed

Actually, due to my spacious dorm room, my bed only has one side.

The other side is occupied by a large immovable object. Actually, that's a bit of a misnomer.

But, we'll get to that.

Anyway, it was late…err, early. And not exactly very early, either. I was in my dorm room, studying like the great student I am, when I glanced over at the clock. You know what's funny? Realizing how early it was triggered a panicked adrenaline rush. You know what adrenaline does? Here's a hint: the exact opposite of NightQuil.

So, I was now more awake that I knew I had to go to sleep very soon. My body is retarded. I leapt out of my ergonomic chair.

Quick tangent: The only thing that stupid chair does is make me see my life flash before my eyes when I throw my hands in the air out frustration. I would like a chair that passed school thanks, not a "special one".

Back to my story. I leapt from my chair, managing to somehow grow a third arm to grab my contacts, toothbrush and toothpaste, and my pro acn—I mean anti acne cream… err, that cream is another story for another time. Anyway, I dash into the bathroom to perform my nightly ritual while trying to break the speed of light.

And yes, I don't know why I try to race physics in my bathroom. It's not exactly a place I want to shatter the space-time continuum. If I were to bring about the end of the universe as we know it, I'd at least do it in a mall, so I could get as many people as possible before going down in an implosion of all matter.

So, story. I managed to get back to bed (the light barrier was still intact, but I think I heard a small pop. Might have broken the sound barrier) and slipped under the covers. Now let's do some simple math here:

Adrenaline + moving quickly =/= sleep. Not to mention that I have actually mutated while living in my dorm, and am now used to the fact that one of my dorm mates apparently is a polar bear.

I think he just shaves his fur coat every hour. And we can't see it because it's clear. Don't go "huh?", and give me that look. Common, you've all watched that episode from animal planet, hoping that a polar bear would eat a penguin.

Then you found your dreams twice crushed: the polar bear's fur is clear, (it only appears white because its body is white) so your idea to blend into white walls by replacing a doormat's fuzz with polar bear hair will never work. And then you found out the penguins and polar bears live on opposite sides of the earth.

Hope I didn't spoil that for anyone.

The point is that I am used to it being the current temperature in Iceland in my dorm. So, I am hot and uncomfortable underneath my covers, whereas, if I was still a normal human, I'd probably be trying to find a parka. So, I start tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. This adds to my duress, so now I tossing and turning out of a low grade panic as well.

Then, I tried to roll on my left side from my back, practically throwing myself in the motion, when my face collided with something very hard. Funny, I don't remember much after that.

I think I'm the first person ever to not roll out of a bed, but roll into a wall.

I had a nice bump and matching headache the next morning. By the way, I now worship Advil as a minor deity. I'm gonna sacrifice a goat to him on the beach on Sunday, if you're interested in gaining the god of pain relief's favor.

Mourning

I woke up this morning, to a retarded cell phone ring and as my custom, reached over and shut the damn thing off. I proceeded to go back to sleep.

15 minutes later, my backup alarm then went off. In a moment of sheer stupidity, I had decided that at this back up alarm, I'd actually want to wake up. So, I would not be annoyed in the slightest if I had to traverse all two and a half steps of my dorm room to turn it off.

I was pissed.

I opened my mouth wide, and let the whole floor know my anger with an earth-shattering yawn. I then proceeded to turn off the alarm, which vaguely reminded me of my own feelings. It sounds like C-3P0 throwing up. I sorta wanted to throw up.

I then gathered my clothes, and stumbled toward the shower, moaning about human flesh. However, as soon as the shower turned on, it was game time. I leapt in, and then proceeded to try and shatter the light barrier with my frenzied washing motions. However, for all my speed it was no avail, and the water was up to my ankles when I got out.

Note to self: Drano is crap.

After my world record setting attempt at the shower, I went back to my room and decided to replenish my energy supplies by grabbing a bottle of Starbucks coffee from the fridge. Unfortunately for me, apparently at one point over the weekend, I had decided to perform a thermodynamics experiment. I don't know why, especially after swearing to any god I could think of that I would never take another physics class after high school.

I didn't realize about my experiment immediately. I just sort of stared dumbfounded at the brown frozen liquid all over my mini fridge. Then I saw the three cans of coke I had stuck next to the cooling element. I can now report that the group of cans placed far away from the cooling element (the door) did not explode. Group 2 (the cans placed by the cooling element) did explode. This experiment was conducted using the number '6' setting on my mini fridge (the factory default). This proves my hypothesis, that the factory setting would be fine for storing cans of soda, incorrect. I conclude that whoever decided to use that setting as the default is a jerk, who kick kittens and makes kids cry.

Needless to say, that really messed up my whole day. It's hard to focus on Greek Literature when you're trying to figure out exactly how to clean up 36oz of frozen liquid in your fridge.

But, it's ok.

After all, I still got my morning treat of getting eggs via the ice cream scooper. It even has that little blade on the end the helps the ice cream detach from the scooper. Not sure how that helps with eggs.

So, the begining of the end

First Post!
Damn straight.

Anyway, This Is My Blog. If found, please return it to the address listed below. Trust me, it might look valuable on the outside, but you can't pawn this off for more gambling money.

So, if you didn't get it from the above paragraph, this is my ramblings/musings on my college life. I'll update when something happens that's worth updating about. Which could be all the time, or never.

Life's fun like that.

Lets get started on this ride, shall we?