Sort of.
I bought the fucking hub, I bought the fucking 25' cable, but I failed to buy a teeny tiny little cable to connect the modem to the hub. Solution? I just stuck my 25 foot cable right into the modem. Consequences? Jake doesn't have access to the sweet, sweet Internet. But, his ass is working, so fuck him.
Jeebus H. Christ. I'd like to tell you that it's been insanity without Internet, but really I've been OK. Except for a couple late online timecards for work and a quite poor e-mail return policy, I've been as connected with people as I need to be.
Cell phones. Fuck me.
Let's roll on down the week and a half. I was fully moved in on Sunday the 16th. Incidently, that was one of my few nights of healthy sleep in this place. Of course, Jake has yet to get all his shit in here, as it has been ordained that it should rain each and every chance he gets to move. The first attempt netted a truckload of soaked shit as Jake bought a tarp to cover his belongings, used mucho rope to tie down the tarp, but his knot-tying skills leave a lot to be desired as the tarp was half off everything. You see why I decided NOT to utilize his truck and moving skills to move in my shit?
Anyway, we can't move in the ping-pong table until he finds a day off where it's not pouring down rain as it will warp the surface.
Other than the huge boxes we have emptied of our shit and replaced with recycling sitting in the middle of our living area, this place is too fucking rocking for any of you. First of all, the decor is immaculate. Mostly, my posters dominate the living area, but the few Jake was able to contribute make the walls that much more ass kicking. We DO have the two TVs in the living room, though only the bigger of the two is hooked up at the moment. That's what I get for leaving Jake in charge of the Audio-Visuals. The DVD, VCR, CD player, Radio, LP Player are all hooked up, but the video games are still awaiting his expertise, as well as the cable splitter and amplifyer for the little TV.
Anyhoo, like I said, I've been sick pretty much the entire time I've been here. Fucking US Military. I blame our government for my getting sick, as my brother got it from a gaggle of degenerate Marine recruits. Germs from all across this great land have congealed in his lungs only to be spewn forth into my nervous system the few days we shared a household last week. The last two days of work last week I was a zombie. I couldn't keep down my succulent iced tea as it turns out iced tea SUCKS for a cold. I was near passing out both days, until I finally downed a gallon of O.J. Simpson and half a bottle of Ny Quil last Friday.
That made me healthy for drinking Saturday night, of course! Hey, it's not every weekend you get a chance to participate in a pore-gouging Rugby Party. Five bucks I had the privelege to pay for a cup and a half of beer, a fourth of a bottle of a mystery 40 just sitting on a shelf in the dancing room, and a full bladder squeezed shut by my legs as I waited a half hour for the piss-pot line to move six inches. Oh yeah, that was the day I had the pseudo-shits, where I was on the can every twenty minutes but nothing was coming out but gas and little burbles of shit not worth the price of admission.
Did you know, if you're recovering from a cold, it's not a good idea to do a lot of alcohol drinking? Boy, you could've knocked me over with a feather. Lost my voice something fierce that night. Come Monday, I was completely mute. Today's Thursday and I'm still not hitting much of a high register, but at least my melodious voice is back for all the world to hear.
I take solice in the fact that everyone at work got my cold. And, let me tell you, these people are SO unhealthy (HOW UNHEALTHY ARE THEY?); these people are SO unhealthy, what with their smoking and their pear-shaped bodies and their constant snacking that it's hitting the office pretty hard. About half the people showed up today, and those who did aren't fit to be doing anything too mind-consuming (luckily, they're in the right profession).
I think my headphones are giving me headaches at work (it might be a tumor), so I should just get my ass back to Frys. It's REAL nice to be less than a mile from that amazing store.
Hey, fockers, guess what I bought. Oh, that's right, Macgyver Season 1 on DVD. 22 Action-Packed, Pete-Thornton-Filled Episodes (actually, for those not completely in the know, good ol' Pete Thornton doesn't really show up until about halfway through the season. But, it's ALL Angus Macgyver from here on out.
I'm gonna get ready for some UW - Arizona basketball now. I leave you with this thought:
Remember, no matter if you're White, Black, Red, Brown, Purple, or CHINESE (much respect to those who saw comedy at Bumbershoot), we all come from the same place: Some woman's stinky, cum-filled uterus . . . YES, THAT'S RIGHT, your mom had sex! And she still does! She's probably getting shot in the face by your father (or her new significant other) as I write this. Enjoy that image; I hope it burns, BURNS into your mind like the sight of your mom's untamed bush. Seriously, women over 40, it's not too late to take a weedwhacker to your huge lady-frontbutt.
Current Mood: Jack Dalton
Current Music: The Byrds - You Ain't Going Nowhere