Milk Was a Bad Choice!

So I’ve been having these awesome dreams of grandeur recently. Like the other night, I was freakin’ Peter Petrelli from Heroes – and not lame Peter Petrelli from seasons 2-through-whatever they’re at now, but awesome Peter Petrelli from season 1 who could basically do ANYthing. Yea, I was that guy. I was totally infiltrating some bad-guy base (which was easy because I was invisible) to stop the bad guys from doing whatever horrible thing they were planning on doing (I don’t dream in specifics, leave me alone). So I was just walking right by them and freaking them out by picking stuff up with my mind and making it float around the room. Don’t know how that one turned out because I woke up too soon (lame), but the last thing I remember from that dream was flying above some dude who knew I was somewhere nearby, picking him up with my mind, and slamming him into a wall, rendering him unconscious. Yea, win. These dreams are totally balla, but I always wake up from them, which isn’t so cool. Because then I’m reduced to being some feeble mortal without awesome superpowers. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the mind that spits out these amazing blog posts. You knew you liked me for a reason. No, I’m telling you: you knew you liked me for a reason.

That paragraph has nothing to do with the remainder of this post. Think of this paragraph as being like one of those “and now for something completely different” Monty Python things. What’s that? You don’t know what I’m talking about? Stop what you’re doing (after you finish reading this, of course), go find a complete Monty Python DVD collection, and then watch it. I’m sorry, what? You have a funeral to go to? Tough for the guy that died.* Follow my instructions. Now.

Okay, so on to my actual blog post.*** I’m a wimp. Yea, I know…it’s hard to believe. But I totally am. For those of you who have been on another planet for the last two years† and haven’t heard of my ankle injury: my ankle’s been injured for the last two years. Now that we’re all caught up, let’s continue. Because of this injury, I’ve had to have a number of rather unpleasant things done to my ankle over the past two years – two of these things being cortisone injections. Oh man. I’ma tell you what:†† I hate needles. Like I really hate needles. Both times I got injected with this Satan-fluid that ended up causing excruciatingly severe pain (though only the first time), I nearly passed out. Yea, because of a needle.

The second shot I went in for was the worst. The guy had to inject what I am now deeming as Satan’s blood directly into a joint, so he placed my foot underneath an X-Ray machine and watched the needle on there as he slowly inserted it into my foot.††† The worst part of the whole experience was when he let go of the needle and turned around. Yea. I was like “GAAAAAAAUUUUUUFJIWEOFJSADHFYASIDFSJKLDFSJKLADFSGHF!!!!!‡ Not okay, dude!!” Course, I didn’t say this out loud – there was a hot nurse in the room that I needed to impress – but I was dying inside. When the dude finally finished his painstakingly slow job, I was allowed to leave. Okay, no big deal. I’ll just put my shoes on and be walked out by this crazy hot nur….oh man. The walls are spinning. That’s kinda cool. No wait, I’m totally about to pass out.

When I realized this, I had to swallow my pride and tell Miss Hottie‡‡ that I needed to sit down because I was about to hit the floor. So she sat me down and put a wet towel on my neck. When the ringing in my ears had dissipated and my vision had returned to normal (yea, I was that close to blacking out), they moved me to a bed in a separate room, and who came in to keep me company? Hottie McHotson.‡‡‡ So at this point, while I’m still a little out of it, I start conversing with her and (let’s be honest, people) probably gawking at her. Well, somehow we got on the topic of what she would be doing in the next few months (no idea how we got to talking about this – like I said, I was still out of it). She told me she was going on a cruise with some people, and I told her I loved cruise vacations. I asked who she was going with and she told me her parents and her fiancé. Fiancé?

At this point I was like “What the heck?” Yea, I legitimately got annoyed with this guy for being engaged to this random hot nurse. I started getting angry with the dude, as though I had dibs on this girl who he had obviously known for longer. A few minutes later, when I was finally back to my normal**** self, I realized that I probably have some issues…or at least I do when I’m half-conscious.†††† I tell you all of this to let you know that I have decided to never again allow a doctor to inject me with anything. Probably a good idea.

*For those reading who actually have a funeral to go to, I’m terribly sorry. I assure you it was a joke and nothing more. It was very irresponsible of me to joke that way, and I assure you it won’t happen again.**

**LOL, lies.

***Yea, I actually plan what these will be ahead of time.**

†…With the guy who doesn’t watch 24.

††I’ve been in Raleigh too long. Actually, I hate Miami and never wanna go back, so I’m fine with living in Raleigh and saying/hearing weird things as a result.

†††I’m getting queasy just typing this and remembering this horrible experience.

‡Paraphrase.

‡‡Which actually turned out to not be here name – how was I supposed to know this??

‡‡‡Also not her real name. In case you were wondering.

****Heh, normal…

††††Okay, okay, and when I’m fully-conscious, too…

Caffeine Is Your FRIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEND

...Unless, of course, you need to go to sleep. Which is currently the case. However, thanks to Chickfila and their food which is complemented perfectly by a cup (or six*) of Coke, I am not only not sleeping - I'm shaking. Seriously. My hands are shaking. Can you say "typos galore?" You...can't? Okay. Uh. Keep reading, then.

Okay, so here's the thing. These facebook fan pages are getting on my nerves. And I'm not talking about the "oh, man, this is getting on my nerves" kinda getting on my nerves. I'm talking about the "oh man, this is getting on my nerves" kinda getting on my nerves. Yea. With the emphasis on those two italicized words.

Seriously, though, not only does every single one of them nowadays have an astronomical** number of typos,*** their subject matter is getting more and more stupid. I saw someone "like" a fan page entitled "droping you're fone on your face wile texting." Um. Who† in God's creation has ever dropped anything on their face and gone "Oh snap!! That was SO awesome! Man, I wish that would happen every day!!" Like for serious. That showed up on my news feed and I was like "Um, no. I'm not a fan of dropping my cell phone on my face. No one should be a fan of dropping their cell phone on their face..." But, what do I know, right? I'm a single computer scientist who lives in his mother's basement.††

Don't get me wrong, though, I don't hate all fan pages. Just the ones made by lame high schoolers who can't spell even though every browser in existence now spell-checks for you.** There are actually some fan pages that have made me laugh out loud.‡‡ The one entitled "I hate it when I'm standing shirtless in the woods and Abercrombie takes a picture of me" was hilarious. My favorite one so far, however, was the one entitled "I hate it when I'm brushing my teeth and an armadillo crawls out of my bathtub." When I first read that one, I laughed at the randomness of the title. But then I really started thinking about it. Pretty soon, I decided that I totally would hate it if I were brushing my teeth and an armadillo crawled out of my bathtub.

All seriousness aside,**** think about it. Put yourself into this scenario. There you are, minding your own business and brushing your teeth before heading to bed like King Saul did back in blog post one, when all of the sudden, a freaking armadillo crawls out of your bathtub. Okay, so now you're freaking out because there's totally an armadillo in your bathroom. You have no time to put your toothbrush away and properly dispose of the toothpaste in your mouth before this animal finds its way into the rest of your house, so you're forced to leave the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth while you try to find a way to pick this thing up without it biting you.

So one second, you're peacefully brushing your teeth and the next, you've got a mouthful of toothbrush and toothpaste and you're holding an armadillo by its...shell.......thing. Now you have the unpleasant task of calling up animal control without the ability to talk or even dial a phone, all the while wondering which one of your jerk friends went to the trouble to actually find an armadillo to put into your bathtub.

I seriously can't think of something less pleasant than the aforementioned scenario. Except maybe typing up a blog post that has more footnotes than planet Earth has mosquitoes at THREE IN THE FREAKING MORNING. Or listening to Miley Cyrus. *Shudders*




*Slight exaggeration.

**0 exaggeration.

***Freakin' high school kids and their mis-spellings...

†Or what. Freakin' iguanas.

††This is actually not a joke. Probably††† going to regret letting the whole world know this.

†††As in definitely.‡

‡Footnote to a footnote to a footnote. What.

‡‡The fact that I literally laugh out loud to myself at these pages does not make me feel better about the whole "single computer scientist living in his mom's basement" thing. At least I'm not like 40. Yet.‡‡‡

‡‡‡Lots of pessimism tonight. I blame the caffeine that refuses to let me sleep.

****See what I did there?††††

††††Okay, this whole footnote thing is getting ridiculous. This isn't so much a blog post as it is a maze. I am hereby banning footnotes for the remainder of this note.




Pictcha!!