How to tell me you don’t want me in your class, in one easy step.

This joyous little gem came to your almost non-existent co-author from the vast reaches of Upper Midnowhere, Massachusetts, whilst sitting in class one morning. To say I was mildly displeased is a rather gross understatement of fact.
To say I was extremely displeased might even be understating a little. Yep. Just a little. Without further commentary, I give you…
> If you were going to do what?

Bear in mind that I was sitting right there. And it’s not like you can miss me. Pink cane, glasses, purple jacket, Braille display… I’m definitely not the invisible woman. This guy has absolutely zero class, and he can get away with it because he’s been there for several thousand years. I think “not pleased” covers how annoyed I was that day, at least for public consumption. Afterthought: I think I’m being too nice with “not pleased” actually. But I’m leaving it because I can’t think of any other diplomatic way of putting it.

Add this to things you didn’t want to know, but have to read anyway.

I haven’t posted a non sports update in awhile, so here’s my non sports update.
While playing
Jeremy’s swamp
A player decided that it would be nifty to post a link. that link was one of those links…. I had to post the content here, just because it was so out their, I had to share the knowledge.
Here’s the original link
If you don’t want to click the link? Text is below.
Warning, if your easily offended, ***do not read!*** as this is adult in nature, and I’m not responsible if I offend your christian, catholic, morman or some other religious ears!

philadelphia > RE: Best Self Pleasure Method
Originally Posted: Fri, 24 Jun 14:45 EDT

RE: Best Self Pleasure Method

Date: 2005-06-24, 2:45PM EDT


I’ve got to hand it to the Original Poster. Using a blood pressure sleeve as a masturbatory device is a very creative technique. I feel that it is incumbent upon me to share my favorite alternative masturbation technique with the males of Craig’s List as well.

Using a very complex mathematical formula (Villanova grad- Physics and Statistics dual major), I was able to make the determination that heating an unskinned cantelope in the microwave for six minutes and thirty-two seconds will cause the interior of the cantelope to warm to the average basal body temperature of a woman’s vagina. After removing the cantelope from the microwave and skinning it, I carve out a small hole using a potato peeler and let my erect penis do the rest of the work! As you penetrate the warm, soft, fruity flesh of the cantelope, you will find that it feels EXACTLY like sinking into a real woman! And even better, YOU’RE in complete control of the cantelope!

I usually climax into the cantelope as I call out the name of my hottest ex-girlfriend, Heather. Heather was very, very hot (GREAT ass) but she was so annoying (even in bed) that it completely spoiled her hottness- including that hot ass, which I would sniff and lick like a rabid dog whenever I got the opportunity. Since a cantelope by its very nature is incapable of verbal communication, this most precious piece of produce can ultimately sometimes be more satisfying.

My Catholic education taught me some real values, and I hestitate to waste ANY food products while millions starve in both the Third World and industrialized nations. Consequently, I make sure to chop up the cantelope after I masturbate into it and make a fruit salad. I usually add some watermelon, strawberries, grapes, blueberries, starfruit and sliced kiwi in with the “treated” cantelope.

(CAUTIONARY NOTE: Watermelons serve as very poor masturbationary devices. Aside from being too large for most microwaves, the seeds can cause serious injury to your penis. Try explaining that to an emergency room physician! Additionaly, the flesh of a watermelon begins to reek as it warms in ways that an actual, live vulva never could. I’ve performed oral sex on girls who have been jogging in 90 degree weather after sunbathing on the beach all day, and watermelon smells MUCH worse.)

After garnishing with romaine lettuce and that “other” cream- Cool Whip- I serve the fruit salad (affectionatly referred to as BLFS, or “Blown Load Fruit Salad”) to my roommates and female friends, who have no idea that they are actually eating my blown load. I feel guilty about serving it to my roommates (especially when they ask for some BLFS by name and have no idea as to what they are actually referring), but I feel funny telling them not to eat it because I used the cantelope to empty my testicle. (Yes, I have only one- motorbike accident when I was 12.) Plus, it WOULD look rather suspicious if only the women availed themselves of the fruit salad that I offered to all of my guests.

Serving Blown Load Fruit Salad does have one MAJOR benefit- it’s a huge confidence booster when I see a girl out at the bar who has eaten a generous helping of this most seminal recipe. I am better able to hold a confident and clever conversation with even the most stunningly beautiful women, armed with the knowledge that she thoroughly enjoyed a clandestine serving of my sperm. To date, I have scored 3 hook-ups that are fully attributable to my increased confidence while conversing with these women. (Funny story- one of them remarked that I have the worst tasting sperm that they have ever swallowed. She didn’t say that the first time around!)

I would be remiss if I did not advocate safe sex with the wares found at your local grocer. Condoms will protect you from various fruit-borne illnesses. (If you are really determined to serve Blown Load Fruit Salad afterward, you can just shake out the condom into the cantelope.) There are reports that tribes in Zimbabwe found that their penises would become inflamed and attract insects after a similar ritual was performed using the Green Cabasawa Melonfruit that is native to that region. Its composition is similar to the California cantelope in several respects, and you do not want a trail of fruit flies zipping around your crotch as you walk around the neighborhood. It is not only unsightly, but they really start to take a chunk out of your peter after a while.

Also, be VERY careful about using other fruit varieties for sexual gratification- the flesh of many produce items becomes much too hot even at relatively low cook times. I once suffered second degree burns during an encounter with a deceptively warm pineapple. I’ve found that the mathematical formula (which I cannot reproduce here, due to all of the necessary characters and Greek symbols not being available) only works for a cantelope. (Wait- I used the word “reproduce.” Get it- rePRODUCE.)

In any event, I post this because it’s much easier to buy a cantelope for most guys than to obtain a blood pressure sleeve. Now fuck that fruit with a smile!

P.S. I have copyrighted calling out “Heather! Heather!” while making love to a cantelope. Please use the name of another female if you wish to avoid receiving a nastygram from my attorney. Penalties for infringement can be severe.

PostingID: 80712647

Their’s another edition to the things you didn’t want to read category.
Enjoy, or don’t, as the case may be. lol.

The Fmeeping Stupids strike again, this time in student form.

Something happened to me today that has me inclined to write about it in the hope that doing so will prevent one more sighted person from pulling this same retard move.

Now, today’s Tuesday. It’s my long day at school, and if I wrote about every retarded thing someone did on a Tuesday, well, you guys would get sick of me real quick. Not that some of you already aren’t sick of me but that’s another story for another time.

So, I’m standing at the shuttle stop, texting, shooting the shit, waiting for the shuttle, as is my habit. I miss one, curse, continue texting.

All is normal here. Dee de dee de dee…Ooh! shuttle! *stuff phone in pocket, proceed to vehicle door*. Or… Rather., try to.

*insert sudden frightened scream and stream of obscenities here*.

I see a thought bubble over your head asking, “What, are you cursing at, now, Krista? Seriously?”

Behind me you see a guy, who we’ll call Grabby McHelperson. this fine example of an FSU student body member has decided, in his head, on the spur of the moment, “Oh my god! it’s a blind girl! She doesn’t know how to get onto the shuttle! she can’t find the door!”

So from there he’s decided, “I’ll simply grab her by the shoulders, not saying anything, and push her toward it!”
Because in Grabby McHelpersons world over there, apparently that’s just what you do when a blind person is slowly approaching a bus door so she doesn’t errantly cane anyone to death.

Now, I would’ve been alright if he’d asked me, “Excuse me, do you need help?”

Or even, “Yo! Need some help?” would’ve been nice! Seriously! I would’ve just told him I was fine and buggered off about my business, thinking nothing of it.

But, (and I say this for the benefit of sighted readers), blind people aren’t cattle! Don’t ever, EVER*, grab *anyone*, sighted, blind, or purple, for Christ’s sakes, and try and *herd* them somewhere. It’s degrading, undignified, and a stupid move if you wanna get out of a place unstared at.

Before someone jumps on my tits, because I know some asshole’s gonna go for it, I get wanting to help. But this guy didn’t even bother to say “Hi, how are you, need some help,” et cetera. He just walked silently up behind me and grabbed me by the shoulders and began pushing me forward. He was summarily disposed of by a flurry of screaming and cursing for the simple reason of, yes, I panicked. I mean come on, if you know me at all, or if you’re alive, breathing and in possession of a reasonable IQ, you know I’m not gonna stand there and let some silent stranger put his paws on me. Yes, it was a guy, I could tell once I could turn around enough to get a sideview on the dumb ass as he was backing away in embarrassment and fear of my cane which I had raised at a marginally threatening angle by that point.

So the question of the day is, who does that? How stupid do you have to be, or to think someone is, that you physically grab them and don’t say a damned word to them before doing so? Just… why? Why would you do that? Like I said. I get wanting to help. But if you wanna help someone, you open your piehole and *ask*, don’t just grab the person.

So apparently vodka’s an issue, while mold is not.

I’d been contemplating this post for about a week, and then I said, “Screw it. Let’s go”

So if you don’t remember that I lived in a filthy hellhole all year long last year, you live under a boulder. That’s ok, we’ll deal. To recap: Mold, for weeks on end, huge ass bins of dirty laundry, furniture hazards galore…

And no matter how much I bitched, nothing was ever done to produce a safer living environment.

So the other night I learn of a fire drill in my former dorm, wherein some kid got his ass chewed for leaving abig-ass thing of vodka out on his desk.

Buddy. that wasn’t smart. No. Really. It wasn’t. I promise. I mean, I totally get why that university makes you wanna drink yourself under the table but ya could’ve shoved the thing in your closet or something at least, and tried to save yourself!

So, my least favorite person over there finds this gentleman’s… libations. She gives him a bollocking, and rightfully so. So again, I gotta ask the question, where were those bollockings when we had fire drills last year, and people knew that there were safety violations hangin’ out the ass in that room?

You can’t tell me nobody knew, that’s no excuse. There were notes all over their metaphorical floor. So apparently allowing someone to live in filth is ok, but indulging someone whom you could very well be driving to drink is not.

Read between the lines.

I wonder how this local community college treats its students? Come January, methinks we’re gonna find out.
4.5 hours, 2 screams, a walk in the rain and a caffeinated beverage later, I’m still seeing red. And yes I did actually go outside for a couple of screams. I think I need about 8 more by the time the red blur wears off my vision. Mom cooked a dinner she knew I’d eat, I only ate half a bowl if that.
I really hope these people realize eventually what they’re doing to my head. But oh…wait… I’m sorry… I mistook them for a second for people who actually care. I forgot they’re all droids that are preprogrammed. As long as it looks like the droids are working correctly, noone actually cares about the living, breathing people involved. And when those people have had to start medication and start seeking counseling, it doesn’t matter to them. It doesn’t matter at all because what they’ve done looks ok on paper and as long as they can go home and say they’ve put in a successful day of work, it doesn’t matter who they inconvenience.
It doesn’t matter that between now and the end of the semester, my family now has to shell out upwards of $1200 in gas. It doesn’t matter that in the winter, when we’ve got 2 feet of snow on the ground, but that campus is nice and clear, that I won’t be able to get to class because driving conditions are hazardous and nobody in my family should have to get in a car accident in order for me to get to class.
Yet, I still have no answers. Nobody can tell me how I fell through the cracks last year and why I lived in the filth I lived in. Nobody wants to take responsibility for that. Nobody can tell me why is it a girl got away with disrespecting my family the way she did. Noone can tell me why it was that people avoided me all semester last year because my clothes stank of mold no matter how many times I washed them. Nobody can tell me why the furniture safety violations I complained about weren’t looked into. Nobody can tell me why I sat there all of February with my window open praying for a breath of air that wasn’t contaminated. Best yet, noone wants to explain how and why the bacteria culture that was that room got so bad I actually got a UTI from it.
Yet, I’m the bad person here. Well, you know what? I’m tired of being the bad person. Fornicate this taurean dung, I capitulate!

You did what… why?

So, I get it that there are stories in the media that make disabled people look bad on at least a daily, if not weekly, basis. I’ve grown used to having news stories scroll across my screen that make me wanna slap someone not once, but twice. And ya know, that’s fine. But this dude belongs over there.
I get being in a hurry. I get needing to get somewhere 8 yesterdays ago, and you’ve got some slow ass, stupid ass person in front of you, talking on their cell phone, reading the newspaper and walking at the same time. It annoys me. It irritates me. There are some days it just plain pisses me off.
But to be stupid enough to slam your wheelchair into an elevator door several times, resulting in your death… What’s so important that you needed to get there so bad you were willing to die for it? Further, I’ve seen many a person crash into an elevator door in various ways, going to a Braille jail does that to ya, so there had to be structural issues with the elevator in question. I still say the guy was a dipshit for doing what he did, but am mildly confused as to how the hell he actually managed to bust through the door and fall down the empty elevator shaft. That had to be a power chair. That kind of damage can’t be done with a manual chair. Power chairs weigh upwards of 800 pounds. Having one of those run over your foot feels great. *insert oozing sarcasm right there*. Never have I seen what kind of structural damage can be produced, but I’m sure under normal circumstances they can’t possibly wreck an elevator and kill a person.

A small vocabulary lesson and a reminder that took me nearly 3 days to write.

I just got back from an awesome dinner and a wicked good time with friends to be told by the admin team that certain *organizations* believe I’m *required* to accept their twitter follow *request*. Sidenote: Twitter? what’s that? it no longer exists on my radar. Try having to change your entire social media identity because people won’t leave you alone and are inciting ideations they shouldn’t. Oh yeah. It’s fun.

Because it’s in my favorites, and because I don’t feel like mincing words this evening, our source this fine Sunday evening is our good buddy

First, for your convenience, I introduce you to the definition of a requirement.

1. that which is required;
a thing demanded or obligatory:
One of the requirements of the job is accuracy.
This means that if a job requires something, you are obligated to do it. If the law requires something, you must do it. If the law requires you not to do something, well, then, you must not do it. In other words, the guy who nearly mugged us in Harvard Square would have been violating the law had he done so. (he did decide mugging ass-kicking looking blind chick with cane pointed near his face while resting the shaft on her shoulder was a retarded idea and went away, but that’s neither here nor there).

Now, back to the chalkboard, children. Let’s define request.
1. the act of asking for something to be given or done, especially as a favor or courtesy; solicitation or petition:
At his request, they left.
If you request someone to do something, they are not *required*, to do it. You are asking for a favor. A favor is something someone can deny you. if you asked me to borrow $100, I can and will tell you no. If the writer of this post asks the admin team to post it because her computer’s being a dweeb, they can say no, or we’ll do it later, or give us a minute, or something similar. Further, I just got told off for tagging something wrong a couple hours ago. If the admins decide I screwed up, they have a choice to request, or require, I fix it. Or if they decide my reasoning made sense in my head and only my head at the time, to hop off it.

If you send me a follow *request*, via social media, I am *not*, *legally*, *required*, to accept that request. there is a deny button for a reason. There is a blocking feature for a reason. There are safeguards to protect people from stalking via social media for a reason. (I should know, I’ve been beating on them like they owe me money this weekend). Whining in blog comments will not force me to follow you. Here’s why. 1. Because (and I’m saying it again just in case someone reading this has a reading comprehension issue), I ditched that particular social media method. 2. Because I am not LEGALLY obligated or required to follow anyone. As previously stated, a request is just that, a request. A favor. Our friend Rachel didn’t have to buy either the co-author or the admin ice cream this evening, but she did us a favor, because the place we were going doesn’t accept credit/debit cards. The co-author in question actually put up a fight about it and was told to shut her face and accept the favor. (Chocolate was involved, and she was jonesing as usual, so she did eventually shut the hell up and deal).

This being said, I am not required to dig up another twitter account just so certain people can stalk it. Thank you, good evening. You were asked by the admins to back off me, now you’re being told. Please, do it. I don’t really want to end up in the hospital due to a nervous breakdown, nor do I wish to be homeless and left out on the street to be raped, drugged, and possibly murdered. I don’t really wanna be the victim of the next crime you see on these guys’ blog over here And by the way, for the love of all that may or may not be holy, don’t click that link if you’re wimpy, because I’ll be nice and tell you there’s some stuff on there that sensitive eyeballs just shouldn’t look at. I almost puked over one article, and I haven’t puked since before we got my hormonal issues straightened out in October 2009. I am not a punk with a weak stomach. If things on that site can nearly make me heave, you’ll probably run away crying.

Please, kindly, cease and desist. I’ve been being harassed by individuals and possibly members of an organization all weekend long, and it needs to stop immediately, for it is ruining my mental faculties. This is both a warning and a plea. The administration team doesn’t take lightly to anyone involved with the blog or website being harassed, nor would they take kindly to the people in question ending their lives. I think that might be a major problem for the owner of this blog. Don’t be responsible for the end of a life.

This day can go fornicate its metaphorical matriarchal unit.

A quicky because I’m trying to figure out what to do about the last item on the list, because apparently somebody thought I needed yet more crap to add to the disaster that my existence is currently behaving like. And no, we’re not actually making an html list out of it this evening because I’d have to look up how to do it and my goal is not to make it look pretty, it’s to write.
1. Commuting? If you have a 9:30 class? Isn’t how it rocks. Unless you’re lucky and you live, oh, down the street. I realize where I’m going’s the middle of nowhere, but MBTA, do you really need to make it that hard to get to?
2. Also related Trying to get back here was less than amusing. If we tell you we’re stopping at Porter Square, that doesn’t mean we wanna go to North Station. Also, if your automated announcements are broken, use your big mouth.
3. All I’m gonna say about item 3 which technically should’ve been item 2 if we’re doing the chronological thing which we’re not, and only I’ll know what I’m referring to… Is WTF.
4. Oy. You. Yeah. You. Out there. 4.0. You know who I’m talking to. I’m living. I’m breathing. I wasn’t actually mugged Friday night like I thought I was gonna be. Now, you either think I belong in a group home, or you think I’m an adult. If you think I’m an adult, then act like one yourself.
5. Editing ftw kids. Oh, wait, someone already took care of that for me. Thanks. Yeah. that’s just what’s needed. Because I trusted you not to put me in a position wherein I could become perma homeless and you broke that trust. Well, you know something? fuck you.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go try and figure out how the hell to stop the universe so I can get off. No, not like that, you pervs. I know at least one of you was thinkin’ it. Drinking sounds like a good idea, now let’s go see how much I can handle before I’m hospitalized or dead. I’d prefer the later.

That’s… precisely how you do your job. Except for, like, how it ain’t?

Yarfing all over the blog again to prevent me using something as a projectile that I shouldn’t. Screen readers, wanna skip it? H to jump to the next heading is your happyfriend, sighties, use those mice like they were intended.

I have officially hit the point where “I can’t fucking take it any fucking more,” writes, publishes, and sells the book on exactly how I feel right now. You, person, can sit there and lah lah lah, I’m nooooot liiiiiiistening, while I complain for months and months and months, on end, about mold. Filth. Dirty living conditions. Disrespectful treatment of my family. Ok, maybe sometimes my mother deserves it. But my grandmother didn’t deserve to have a spray bottle yanked out of her hand last year, nor did she deserve to be screamed and yelled at by the student who was my roommate at that time.

Nobody deserves to be ignored when your job is to help them. Nobody deserves to sit there in the middle of February, freezing their tits off in the middle of the night, while you sleep at home in your nice cozy warm bed. Why was I freezing in the middle of the night in mid February? Because the mold smell in my room was so awful that I had to keep the window open 24/7 just so I didn’t throw up! But as long as you’re happy, nobody else has to be happy, right? Obviously, that’s how certain people think. I’m not saying anymore here, because I fear for my personal safety and mental health. I honestly thought briefly about checkin’ myself into a hospital and gettin’ some downers shoved down my face. Only reason I didn’t do it was because it’d get people involved who didn’t need to be involved and hopefully won’t need to. I’m sick of discrimination. I’m sick of favoritism. I’m sick of ass-covering, and I’m sick of people simply NOT DOING THEIR BLOODY JOBS! No. I can’t take it anymore. We thank Shane for not allowing me alcohol this evening because if I had my choice, I’d go get stupidly drunk, induce alcohol poisoning because I have no tolerance, and end myself up in the hospital. We also thank my friend Minh for allowing me to crash on her spare bed. We don’t thank certain officials for putting me in a precarious position. I lived in a precarious position all summer long. I didn’t really wanna have to live in a mentally unhealthy unstable environment for the rest of my life. Thanks, people, you’ve ruined me.

But no, you don’t care. Of course you don’t care. Especially certain individuals who can sit on their couch and eat ice cream while a blind student lives in an unhealthy, unsafe environment, and the people who are supposed to help her aren’t doing anything about it. You had plenty of opportunities. Is it simply the fact that you hate me because I needed your help? Do you not like your job? Are you that unhappy in your career that you won’t help someone who’s getting urinary tract infections because her roommate’s living habits are causing them? I believe you are. And I will be bringing that up at my earliest opportunity. You had all the opportunity in the world last year to prove you were on my side. Obviously, you weren’t. That, is called favoritism. You let someone else make me sick while you plugged your ears, turned away from me, and pretended I didn’t exist! You didn’t care! And now that someone called you out on it, all of a sudden, you want me as far out of your face as you can get me. Because to you, as long as it looks like you’re doing your job on the books, and you’re getting paid for it, it doesn’t matter what you’re doing or how other people feel.

Oh god no. This place? Care? About their disabled students? Oh, I’m sorry, that’s too much work. You might have to pay someone to breathe instead of filling the positions with robots who are preprogrammed for only certain functions. I…dude…I’m simply at the point where I’m done giving a shit. The simple fact is that nobody cares. Nobody wants to help. It’s too much work. I’m too much work. if you couldn’t help me, who was supposed to? You were supposed to be the person who walked in and told her, “Enough is enough!” But you didn’t. You failed me. You failed me once and now you’re failing me again. My opinion of you is that you’re a malicious, malevolent and disgraceful human being who doesn’t actually care about his/her job. And you know what? I’m entitled to that opinion. I’m entitled to sit in this train station and write down what I think of you, because surely it’s better than drinking myself to death and ending up in the hospital.

I shouldn’t actively be thinking about getting drunk. Alcoholism runs in my family. My grandfather still struggles with it. I also shouldn’t be contemplating ways to sleep outside safely tonight because my friend’s building manager isn’t thrilled with me crashing with her. I can’t go home. I can’t go home because if I go home I’m going to end up locked in a mental institution because my mother is of the opinion that I belong in a group home or something or under her legal guardianship, which obviously I don’t.

I also thought I’d let ya know that I’ll be doing a mass cleanup of my social media the minute I hit a place where I have net access, as the MBTA car I’m currently sitting in…well…there wifi works about as well as my eyes. Which is to say, um, how bout not at all? things, are leaking. Things, are leaking, that should not, be leaking. And I’m gonna plug that leak if it’s the last damn thing I do on this earth. Noone. Has any right. To be digging into my locked shit, nor does anyone have the right to tell me that I should kill myself.

Yes, it happened. Someone told me I should end my life. Not a joke. I’m still breathing, I’m sitting in this car next to Shane right now because a frigging cat saved my life in 2003. Yes, you heard me, I said it publicly. Someone who will remain nameless told me I should kill myself. then, that same human being told me I should pretty much be locked away in a mental institution. Is that what people want? Would it make everyone happier if I just ended my life or got put away somewhere so I could never be a bother to anyone again? I know there are certain individuals who would be happier that way and the only reason they don’t get what they want, well, he’s sitting to my right, if you must know. Yeah, you saw that. I said it here. The reason I won’t end my otherwise miserable existence is because someone got through to my hard ass head that I was actually worth a shit.

This is one of those weeks I wish I had an alcohol tolerance.

Below are various notes to the stupid, in no particular order because Window-Eyes and WordPress just had an argument and I had to intervene and force them to fight nicely.
1. If I tell you something 2 weeks before I do something with which you may or may not have an issue, and then sit on my thumb for ages, I’m going to assume you’re either an idiot who doesn’t pay attention to email which is the only form of contact I have with you, or that you really don’t give a goddamn what I do.
2. If I get an email hours before the deal’s already sealed, and then you don’t say word 1 to me after the fact, you have already put me in a precarious position, one from which I hav to do metaphorical gymnastics to rebound.
3. Whining to Mommy don’t get ya nowhere. Whining to the boss is not how you solve your problems like an adult!
4. If you don’t have any solutions for contortions which I can use to extract myself from the fuck shit stack I am currently stuck in, shut up and get outa my way because stuff’s gonna fly. A person 4 feet and 10 inches in height cannot easily extract herself from a pool of quicksand and dog shit 10 feet deep.
5. Communication is your happyfriend. Fucking use it and stop avoiding me.
6. When I’m already stressin’ right outa my mind, that is not the time to start hammering on me! Once again, I’ll say, step the hell off.
7. Again with the communication: there are multiple ways to, say, check your email. Hi, can we say I’m kissin’ data overages this month?
Done now. The humidity in this room is doing shitty things to this keyboard, and I think I’ve hammered my points to death in various other forms. If the dude across the room wants the floor on the situation at hand,he can have it.
Sidenote: Window-Eyes or wordpress has eaten my categories for an after-dinner snack. Damn it. Not cute.

Hicks and computers do not mix. I am living proof.

My brain officially aches. I have had the…what, almost 2 weeks? From hell. Naturally, this computer was the cause of it.

I woke up on the morning of the 5th to one hell of a mess. I restarted the machine, got tossed into a never-ending boot loop. I swore in all kinds of pretty and colorful ways, then I called Shane and explained the problem because at 7 PM on a Sunday evening when I finally got around to it, Lenovo technical support were the last people I wanted to talk to. His theory: My Windows install’s trashed. Well…Shit,

My next course of action, grab the 12-year old. “Here. Read this.”

“But why?”

“Because I asked you to, and this computer’s on crack. Now, read.”

So the child manages with my help to get Windows installed, but no drivers, because, well, going to hunt for those required an Ethernet cable that we didn’t have. So my mother gets it in her head that she’s gonna take it to our local fixit shop and they’re gonna wave their magic wand and make it all better. Yeah ok, smoke some more of that why don’t ya?

She takes the machine in on friday, the 12th, after loudly and screamily insisting that she could take it in by herself and me loudly and screamily insisting that no, I was going with her, it was my machine and she didn’t have to use it, I did. I didn’t care if she paid for repairs, but I wanted to speak to the person(s) fixing it. So grudgingly she took me with her, I suppose because I’m the only one who knew where my personal Windows CD was and well, they asked her to take it in with the machine.

So I walk in, described to the guy what the underlying issue was, what I did to fix it. Now I knew this guy was 1. an arrogant prick and 2. a stupid son of a bitch, because he’s standing in front of me saying he likes Lenovo, and that’s just not something you say to me after I get 2 phone calls within 3 months of each other saying that other students’ exact makes and models, same machine, had literally began smoking, in their faces. (Hi dead power supply nice to see you.)

So I tell the first dude, “We’re bringing this in for a software issue, but I want the hardware looked at too. I’ve suspected a dying hard drive since June.”

I get it back Friday night, hey, cool, it’s working, and they said the hard drive wasn’t dead. I wake up Saturday morning to discover I’m jammed in another endless boot loop! The word of the morning, at top volume, was “Son of a bitch!”

I leave for my grandparents’ place that day because I’m staring at this thing and I can’t fucking take it anymore. I was ready to overdraft my bank account and rush order myself a netbook even though I hate them on principle just because I needed a working computer, and my mother had just pissed $120 into this thing, having the Windows install fixed and putting a 2GB stick of ram in it. All I’d done the previous night was uninstall Open Office and VLC Media Player, which are two programs that are completely fucking useless with a Windows screen reader, and the next morning I wake up and it’s boot looping again.

So Tuesday, Mom drags it back down to the shop. The second ass-clown who worked on it was at least not a complete ass-clown, as he did discover the dead hard drive right away, even though his buddy over there swore to god that Lenovo hardware never failed, but now we have this other issue.

“Oh, she screwed up the hard drive by uninstalling software.”

What? What? As in, the fuck? Which is to say, are they smoking? Also, what kind of drugs are in the water over there? Uninstaling a piece of software should not fuck up the hard drive, unless the hard drive was already fucked over in the first place, which means that *somebody*, ain’t doin’ their job!

I blow up Shane’s phone again, and drop this cute little tidbit of bullshit on his desk. Naturally, he’s about as pleased as I am, but he’s got the net, he’s got a working computer and can do more than I could at the time. He busts out google, does a reverse lookup of their phone number which I had somehow managed to beg borrow and steal. Then, the Better Business Bureau gets involved.

I didn’t do it. During Shane’s conversation with whomever he spoke to over there, we found out that these twerps were operating under expired credentials. So not only were they doing this, but they were sticking inaccessible software on a disabled person’s computer, blaming said person’s removal of the software for their incompetence, then telling said person not to remove said software. Reportedly, someone from the state of Massachusetts paid them a visit yesterday evening. If we find out more, we’ll let you know.

So. that’s been, what, my last, 2 weeks? Freaking out over a broken computer, dealing with incompetent tools, freaking out because it’s broken a second time, sending it in, then finding out the retards who were supposed to have fixed it the first time blamed me for screwing it up, and finding that they were operating a repair business with expired credentials! And on top of all this, I start classes in 2 weeks! I almost didn’t have a working computer for college. Can we say heart attack? Can we say nervous breakdown? I can!

FSU: (fmeeping) stupid university? Yes, actually, it is, thank you for asking.

The last 4 days have been nothing but a fuck shit stack, with one quick break yesterday that lasted oh, an hour, maybe two? I’ll preface this by stating the obvious. I absolutely despise Fitchburg State University. Nope, not gonna lie. In fact if I still had this perspective legally blind freshman’s email anywhere in my files I’d email her from my personal account and tell her straight not to waste the state’s, or her parents’, money by coming to this hellhole. Someone decided on Monday they didn’t like my attitude. That’d be ok, if they, oh, I don’t know, *SAID SOMETHING TO ME ABOUT IT LIKE AN ADULT?* But nah. They bitch to disability services. Disability services bitches at me. Whatever. That’s over with. I refuse to deal with the individuals in question for a couple days because I was done with being treated differently and I damn near almost quit school right then and there. This causes a minor inconvenience to me, of course, but it’s not like I care, because in my mind I’d rather be inconvenienced than treated like an infant. So, whatever. Tuesday managed to go over without any kerfuckles, mainly because I stayed out of sight and literally only left my room to go to class, to the bathroom, and stepped outside once to pay a delivery guy. So yesterday I woke up feeling sort of like I’d been run over by a large vehicle. Ok, endocrine system, I get it, you suck, you hate me, stop telling me about it. this was quickly squelched with ibuprofen. Everything started out pretty nifty yesterday. I was all happy because Shane had thrown random surprises at me because he could, so I was bouncebouncebounce-ing off the walls for a good 3 hours or so. I sit down to do some homework and Blackboard decides it’d be nifty to pitch a major fit that included me metaphorically pounding my head against it for a good 3 more hours or so before all was said and done. I got out of my night class a whole hour and 15 minutes early, so everything was nifty. Nothing could go to hell from here, right? Of course it can! I walk back into the room… *sniff sniff, “Oh my god, what the fuck is that god awful smell?”* Sit back down and return to TeamTalk, because I’d left shane hangin’ there till I returned to class.

“I’m back, and something fucking stinks in here. A fucking gain.”

“Really? Like what this time?”

“Bad food again, I’m almost sure of it. I remember this particular brand of nasty from last time.”

So a few people walk in to visit the roommate, and I corner them and ask them if they think it smells in here. They of course answer yes, and the roommate tries to blame her boyfriend’s feet. It definitely was not foot odor. It was some kind of food product gone bad. Again. Keep in mind this is the same girl who left eggs in her fridge to rot for 6 weeks, had no clue, and tried to blame Shane, and say that he was unclean and didn’t shower. When that didn’t work she tried to say it was my rugs that stunk. Naturally this didn’t work too well for her either because I had someone come independently verify that there was nothing wrong with the rugs. This went on for 6 weeks, until we got back from spring break and she on a whim decides to clean out her fridge. Sure enough, rotten eggs, rotten food.

I complained to housing, who complained to disability services, nothing got done. Keep in mind this is after Shane and I complained to one of the RA’s while he was here that her belongings, which are spewing onto my side of the room, are creating a tripping hazard. So nothing gets done. Finally Shane busts the flip-a-shit-ometer last night, leaves a very pointed voicemail with the appropriate individuals that the room, once again, is smelly, nasty and disgusting. Little did I realize that he also had pictures that he took when he was here of the disaster that is this room. By this point, Shane’s boss has probably tanked the flip-a-shit-ometer himself. He’s followed us up through this whole disaster. I kinda feel bad for the poor dude, just another poor person that has to deal with this place and it’s rampant stupidity. But of course it doesn’t stop there. That’d be too damn easy. Because apparently somebody’s decided I’m responsible, 14 hours before a test, for them having the appropriate test materials and knowing how to use them. By this time all I wanna do is either strangle somebody or go to bed, which I don’t get to do until 2 AM because somebody decided that staying up till such time with the light on was the order of the day. So I get up this morning and I’m already apprehensive about dealing with disability services. They seem to have this inherent issue wherein, because I am reasonably competent with a computer, I’m supposed to be a walking, talking quick reference guide for any person who uses a screen reader who happens to need help. I stuff my face, I caffeinate, (twice mind you), and head over there. Our stats professor is literally loading the materials, which I had previously taken 15 extra minutes to go rechase and recompile onto a thumb drive for myself, (yes it did take that long, this computer’s a pain in the ass), onto the desktop, of the computer at disability services. I wanted to pound my head against the wall, but decided that sighing and rolling my eyes was a safer reaction and wouldn’t get me taken away in a straightjacket. Since when is it the professor’s responsibility to load the extra test materials onto the computer for us? And frankly, since when is it my responsibility to do Jaws training that I’m not certified, or paid, to do? A quick question here or there, I don’t mind. But a few short hours before a test, the individual in question should have already looked at, and figured out, the material days ago. I’m not a certified trainer, I’m not a notetaker, and I’m not getting paid to do either. So disability services, kindly stop expecting me to do those things. Shane left a very pointed voicemail with them about that, too.

I get out of my test, come back here, and find this wonderful email. You know, I was going to summarize it, but I think I’ll just press some buttons instead. and after that I think I’ll press another button or 3 and show you my response. So here we go.

Subject: MCB

Thu, May 5, 2011 at 11:19 AM
Show original
Hi Krista,
I was speaking with Cindy Hebert today and brought up the fact that you were working with a new counselor named Shane. Cindy let me know that you are in fact still working with her and that to her knowledge there is not a counselor at MCB named Shane. I am not sure who this Shane is that continues to call on your behalf, but I can no longer accept phone calls from him. Because of confidentiality I cannot speak to anyone that I do not have a waiver to speak with.
Thank you,

Please keep in mind that I’d had quite enough of disability services’ crap this week already, and had Shane been on the grid I would’ve just whipped the message at his head before reading it. I almost quit on Monday, that’s how angry I was. Related sidenote: I am not 3. I do not need a straw put in my drink, especially if you’re not wearing gloves to do it. Anyway, my main bullshit filter was off the grid so I kinda borrowed James and he became my backup bullshit filter. Trust me, you didn’t want me to read the content of that message directly after a stats test while I was undercaffeinated. Some poor innocent fool may have died as a result. So at around 3:30 this afternoon, it was on. I tried to call her back, got one of the secretaries, said fmeep this noise, I want this in writing. And write, I did. More like beat over the head with a clue by 4, but my strengths are not with speaking, but with calculated writing. I cannot think fast enough to verbalize all I had to say here while processing being spoken to, so email was my happyfriend.

Thu, May 5, 2011 at 4:59 PM
Hi Julie,
Re: my alternate trainer, no, he does not work directly for or with
MCB. He is not being paid by them. He is not taking over Cindy’s job.
He is not a counselor, but an alternate trainer. Cindy Hebert is the
counselor, which essentially means she’s the one who pays the bills. I
send her my grades, MCB does their part. The alternate trainer is
there for the more day-to-day issues, (i.e., the fact that my laptop
charger has managed to die an hour before I finish this email), or, my
living environment is smelly and disgusting and it’s not my side of
the room because my side’s spotless and free of garbage. A similar
issue arose in February, and I later found out that the offending
party had eggs in her fridge for 6 weeks and they’d gone bad.) That
having been said, he does have my permission to contact you, and you
do have my permission to speak with him. If you need an official
looking piece of paper that says as much, one can be created upon
Thank you for your time,

Needless to say, people have been, and will be, squished. You know what really pisses me off about this though? I can complain, whine, bitch, persist, irritate, annoy, advocate, generally jump down people’s throats while I’m living in a hazardous environment, and nobody does anything to help me. The moment someone whines to disability services that I took attitude with them, I get a slap on the wrist, and am basically told, “Bad child, go to your corner.” So I’m not allowed to be an imperfect human being and snap at somebody for treating me like an infant, yet it’s ok for my roommate, their workstudy student, to leave rotten eggs in her fridge and take over my side of the room. Can we say discrimination? Do we need to have another vocabulary lesson, children? I should hope not.

the things that attract tourists. really?

so the rss feeds strike again.
Toronto’s got this bright idea that automation of
your potty experience
would rock, and well, I guess 8000 people thought so.
They also don’t mind
$0.25 to take a piss or lay logs.
Their gonna instal 3 more of these

pay potties

you won’t catch me using one.
I don’t wanna pay to take a piss. I just wanna piss and I’ll take the 5 seconds it takes to manually flush the thing, ok?
thanks for the offer though.

And people wonder why I don’t fly?

and here, we go again.
TSA, seriously

The 50-year-old pilot, who lives outside Sacramento, asked that neither he nor his airline be identified. He has worked for the airline for more than a decade and was deputized by the TSA to carry a gun in the cockpit.

He is also a helicopter test pilot in the Army Reserve and flew missions for the United Nations in Macedonia.

Three days after he posted a series of six video clips recorded with a cell phone camera at San Francisco International Airport, four federal air marshals and two sheriff’s deputies arrived at his house to confiscate his federally-issued firearm. The pilot recorded that event as well and provided all the video to News10.

At the same time as the federal marshals took the pilot’s gun, a deputy sheriff asked him to surrender his state-issued permit to carry a concealed weapon.

A follow-up letter from the sheriff’s department said the CCW permit would be reevaluated following the outcome of the federal investigation.

The YouTube videos, posted Nov. 28, show what the pilot calls the irony of flight crews being forced to go through TSA screening while ground crew who service the aircraft are able to access secure areas simply by swiping a card.

“As you can see, airport security is kind of a farce. It’s only smoke and mirrors so you people believe there is actually something going on here,” the pilot narrates.

Video shot in the cockpit shows a medieval-looking rescue ax available on the flight deck after the pilots have gone through the metal detectors. “I would say a two-foot crash ax looks a lot more formidable than a box cutter,” the pilot remarked.

A letter from the TSA dated Dec. 6 informed the pilot that “an administrative review into your deputation status as a Federal Flight Deck Officer has been initiated.”

According to the letter, the review was directly related to the discovery by TSA staff of the YouTube videos. “The content and subject of these videos may have violated regulations concerning disclosure of sensitive security information,” the letter said.

The pilot’s attorney, Don Werno of Santa Ana, said he believed the federal government sent six people to the house to send a message.

“And the message was you’ve angered us by telling the truth and by showing America that there are major security problems despite the fact that we’ve spent billions of dollars allegedly to improve airline safety,” Werno said.

The pilot said he is not in trouble with his airline, but a supervisor asked him to remove public access to the YouTube videos.

He does, however, face potential civil penalties from the TSA. He said he would likely go public when it becomes clear what the government plans to do with him.
He still hasn't gone public, but further research indicates he did resign as an FFDO. from this article we have:

The pilot said he had resigned his position as an FFDO and was told by a TSA representative the resignation would result in the case being closed. The pilot’s attorney, Don Werno, said he was waiting for formal written confirmation.

In my opinion, why should he have to resign his job, because he showed flaws in a security system? it doesn’t make sense.
from the same article we have this

Current regulations require flight crews to pass through a TSA checkpoint, while ground crews can gain access to the same aircraft simply by swiping a card at an unmanned door.

“How effective is security when everybody on board is screened and everybody on the ground isn’t?” the pilot asked.

How safe do I feel now knowing that?
Should the ground crew not go through *the exact* same screening everyone else does?
I stand behind my previous claims, I’ll stay with greyhound, at least, until such time, as stuff like this is put in place for ground transportation.
Then I may just stop traveling crossboarder all together.
TSA, kindly, die.

can someone please explain the sense/logic in this?

Their are times in my life, when I am thankful to not actually live in ma, this time, especially in brooklynn, ma.
the words of the constitution according to schoolboard officials in the above named city are
yeah. that’s right.
to quote the article

A public school in Brookline, Massachusetts is bringing back the Pledge of Allegiance. Except now, in a move that suggests the recitation and its words are controversial, the school is requiring parents to sign a permission slip so their kids can participate.

According to the article, it’s supposedly a constitutional mandate, but I’m not american so I wouldn’t know.
and this parent, has it right.

“It’s uncomfortable. The pledge is a promise, and I’ve always taught my kids to think very carefully before making any promise. It’s not a decision I want to make for them,” parent Judi Puritz Cook, who has two sons at Devotion School, told the Brookline Tab.

your an american citizen, is the pledge not how you got your freedoms?
Am I missing something?
Please, give your thoughts and comments.

are people that hard up for cash these days?

so cruising through rss feeds, brings me to a question.
Are people in this day in age, really, that hard up for money?
must be, as she’s suing google for strreetview photos…. of…. that’s right, her underwear!
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Your gonna sue because the google car photographed your underwear on the clothesline?
You also lost your job?
I wouldn’t wanna work for your former boss.
oh, and you had to move?
Guess your landlord sucks, yeah?
The things people will do for money these days.

keep this one behind bars, OK?

their comes a time, wherein the three letters WTF, barely scratch the surface.
This holds true when reading about
the adult who decided to fake autistic behavior
in order to become sexually aroused when
babysitters changed his diapers.
in summary, the individual in question admitted to conning babysitters by posing as autistic so they’d take care of him.

An Oklahoma City man seeking sexual stimulation acted severely autistic and wore diapers to con baby sitters into caring for him, police reported.

Are you that hard up for sex? for serious?
the charges range from one fellany count of sexual battery to 7 missdemeener counts of outraging public decency.
Their aren’t words to describe my feelings right now.
Their are lifestyles that incorperate these things, adult babies, etc. because yes, in my times of bordum I’ve read about it, go use google, their’s loads of information about those lifestyles, and groups of people that are into this, but kindly, quit stocking babysitters just to get your sexual jolly’s.
Find a partner that you can spend your life with, and be happy, and that excepts you for who you are, and that sorta thing, and don’t use places like
to get a boner.
this one needs to be locked up. perminantly .

can I just forget about monday?

So monday started out all right.
The usual amount of nothing was scheduled to happen, except a few random calls to bitchslap people around that james and I had to make, not to tarrible, right?
you’d think so, until I have to ring up ODSP and hit them upside the head with knew information.
This goes all right, until it’s determined that their is no rent information on file for me, and I have until Friday, to get it in, if I don’t their not gonna issue the shelter cost.
Just fuckin’ spactacular.
I attempt to explain to the case worker, this can’t happen this way, we need more time, but can I give you the numbers verbally and fax or drop off to you in person next week with the proof of information, as this is how I got it done at the old address.
my reasoning I don’t have reliable transportation out to pembroke this week to get the information to you.
Of course not, legally she can’t do it, I shouldn’t have done it that way at the old address, etc. etc. etc.
Ok, fine, then can you send someone out here to pick up the information, as this has been done this way before, of course not.
gets involved and says, well all the information you needs in my file, can you use that until we can get in next week with the paperwork.
This is a no go to, so we finally get sick and tired of dealing with this person, and i call back and promptly request the manager of the district, without preamble.
I get shot to renfrue, the little smaller hicktown the opposit side of pembroke.
We determine after some checking that OK, I’m in the right spot, but the managers not in and won’t be until tomorrow, but is their something I can do for you.
The receptionist is sympathetic to the issues I’m raising and gets me calmed down from blowup stage to explain that yes, their doing their jobs, but no, them not accomidating you knowing the situation wasn’t right, and I was within my rights to call and speak to the district manager.
So I get put through to the manager’s voicemail, and have left one novel of a message.
After this is done, we now wait.
Will I get my full check this month? who the hell knows.
This has made up both mine and
mind that we are moving back to ottawa, for the simple fact that little hicktown dumps like here aren’t condoossive to gett anything resembling sensable done.
Related: we reached phil and hit him with a clue by 4 to get at least that portion of the paperwork started, but we’ll see where that ghoes.
Monday was made of suck fail and blow. that is all.

oh, hello logic, where did you go?

Holy shit.
This just tops the fuckin’ cake around here.
so I went to
to find out who/what has blown my credit report to all kinds of hell.
I get their, and ok, they want a credit card.
Whatever, I ask
if I could use his.
fine and dandy, right?
no, not so much.
We enter all the details, and instead of being smart, and logical, and making sure the information for billing was the same and letting me edit it if it wasn’t, the stupid thing *assumes* that *I* am the credit card holder.
Um, idiots? I *don’t* have a credit and I want to access my *credit* report to see what’s on it so I can *actually* get one, ok?
Equifax, a note to you, incompitent twits.
*don’t* require a credit card to access the credit report, thanks much.
Kindly die alongside everyone else including
greyhound USA
Greyhound canada

in Related news: getting jessica
up here is prooving to be made of fail hense my reference to greyhound USA/canada both needing to die.

T S A? you did what and to whom?

yes, I get this tarerist thing, really I do.
You’d swear I was
after my experience with boarder control on my arrival to the states.
but no, their’s a lot worse.
Read on.
I understand tarerists are a given now adays, especially after 9/11, but needless to say, TSA, was
Really required to be done to a three year old child?
from the article above.

There certainly are a lot of TSA search stories these days but it’s an important topic, so we’ll keep covering it as long as there are interesting stories. The latest, found via Slashdot, is of a three year old girl who got a full pat down while screaming at the TSA agents not to touch her. The girl’s father is a reporter and caught 17-seconds of the pat down on his mobile phone.

Further reading of that article, brought this
to my attention, and at this time it’s working, as I type this.
But really TSA, that crap wasn’t necessary, you need to have better training to handle children, especially young toddlers.
This entire incident could have been avoided if you were trained in the appropriate handling of children during the search procedure, yes?
to paraphrase a line from
TSA, please, kindly die. thanks muchly.

I’ve met another pain in my ass, that of the FSU student network and it’s help desk

so a couple of days ago, the
fitchburg state university
student network started having massive issues that were made of utter failure.
Packet loss, dropping us on the floor, horrid DNS resolution, etc. etc. etc.
We chocked it up to students on this router being bandwidth hogs, and generally a detriment to the ability for anyone to get anything done, in a timely manner, so we powered everything down, and crashed.
Yesterday, things were going fine, and krista decides to make dropbox her bitch to move over 30Gigs of shit from one machine to the other, so we can have her on one machine instead of bouncing between a netbook and a laptop depending on the task she needs to perform.
The speeds are absolutely disgusting, and believe me when I say disgusting, I mean, We’re used to, at peak hours, things flying at 775KB/sec upstream, and off hours, welcome to 1500KB/sec bitches.
No, not yesterday.
We saw maybe 200KB/sec, if that, when it decides to move.
the downstream? hi, did we roll back to the dialup days?
Normally with the two of us being bandwidth bitches, we’d see speeds between the two of us topping 2MB/sec down. really? we saw maybe, if we were lucky. 600K down.
so I got it in my head, kill anything we weren’t using, skype, mail, etc.
No change.
we started being tossed on the floor again, packet loss, dns resolution issues, etc.
So I then pick up the phone, and ring the helpdesk and start applying drop kick to peoples heads.
I end up getting this half assed response, well, here’s what you can do, we’re not seing any issues, call us back if it persists.
5 minutes later, neither of us can get online, it’s all exploded. It’s like we’d never used the network before.
Someone over their had reset the permissions on krista’s account, when clearly, I’d told them to leave it alone until the morning when I would call them back for a follow up.
We get her machine, and my machine, back online, but the netbook refuses to do what it’s told, I can surf the regular net, but get e-mail or do other essential tasks from the netbook? not happenin!
I beat it around for a bit, reinstalling the driver, trying to fix it, no go.
so I simply shut it down, and go to bed.
This morning rolls around, and I decide, fuck automatic registration, I’ll do it manually.
In other words, from a working computer, pull up the
portal of the FSU student network, delete the netbook’s mac address from the system, reboot the netbook and reconnect to the network, forcing it to reregister with the systems.
That’s,. not how it rolled.
The webpage refused to load, either on my machine or krista’s.
So I pick up the phone again, and sit on hold for a million years, and finally get through to someone with a brain, and explain the entire situation, she reviews the ticket, then she herself, attempts to access
and it tells her to go to hell as well.
So that tells me that it’s not just me and I’m not losing my mind, (not that I had anything to lose to begin with.)
After some digging, she escalates the ticket and reminds me of the policy of only having 3 devices per ID on the network.
I ask her where that’s documented, she tells me well it should have been in the paperwork you signed.
I then inform her that the residence agreement available to students online via the student portal, or the TOS/AUP available during registration make no mention of this stipulation and that I think she’s lying to me.
She hims and haws telling me I must have missed it, I don’t know how to read, it went on and on.
I told her politely but firmly, that she has to choices, either quit bullshitting me around or put me through to her supervisor, because I was done dealing with her giving me the run around.
so She then says, well you can get a special request to lift that limit, I ask her to make it happen.
She adds that to the ticket.
Then informs me that I will be hearing from her or teer 2 support by the hour of noon, today with a resolution to the matter.
I tell her that’s fine, and that I’d be speaking to her at 12:00PM eastern time today.
Why isn’t krista dealing with this herself, you may ask?
Because the technicians won’t listen to her, and she’s afraid to employ drop kick liberally to peoples heads, and I’m not, so, you want it done, welcome to drop kick central.
If this is not resolved by the end of the day today, they are aware that I’ll have krista file a complaint with the dean of student services, and something will get done, and someone over their, may end up jobless, or at least, severlely reprimanded.
To top it off, without a firm resolution to the matter, by the end of the day, they’ll get an introduction to my best friend.
Wanna know what that is?
It’s called.
welcome to open communication,
fitchburg state university
hope you enjoy.
With that, I’ll see you next time.

hi ontario government, did we fail to pass 1st grade reading?

so me and my obsession with news now-a-days and scrolling back into past news stories, brought me to
this story.
I took one look at the title and went, what the fuck?
So I read it. and the only question that comes to mind is

ontario government who in that office failed 1st grade reading?

come on here. That’s a mistake you don’t see that often.
your gonna make a 10-year-old serve? um, not likely, try again.
Ontario government, welcome to loads of fail.
It’s nifty in a, you idiot, kinda way.
And I also see that
put up a
about it as well so clearly I’m not the only one going, the fuck?

part 1 of my trip to boston, welcome to the customs agents being made of serious fail!

well folks, where to start.
Le’ts see.
this trip started out all right, with the city bus actually being on time for a change, holy shit. then, us, *gasp* actually getting the hell outta hamilton less than 5 minutes behind schedule. Even with a passenger arguing with the driver after trying to board the bus with an expired ticket.
Yeah that’s all kinds of brilliant, you stupid idiot.
We made it to toronto around 9PM, and finally bounced clear at around 9:45PM, 15 minutes behind schedule.
Interesting part about that departure from toronto, was the bus didn’t wanna start, so that was kinda nifty, in a fuck you kinda way. Then things got, shall we say, extremely not cool.
We hit the boarder around 11PM, ok, fine, 40 minutes to buffalo, right? we might make buffalo before oh my god o’clock, right? meaning we’ll hit nyc by 8:00Am at the outside, right?
totally, not!
I swear to god, the customs agent was a royal goddamn bastard, he found every excuse to delay us, from repeating questions, to nearly, in my case, not clearing me across, because, holy shit, I didn’t have my over the counter meds in the right bottle! Why didn’t I? simple fact, I didn’t want to be carrying this huge bottle of painkillers around, so I simply put them in a smaller bottle to take with me.
That the worst of it?
No, not likely.
The stupid agent then decides to call and grill the goddamn hell out of krista, while doing this, I’m forced to stand on a leg, that’s already in enough pain, and me without access to my painkillers because sir ass tard has them.
I finally get tired of it and stop another customs agent and go, with all do respect, if I expect to be able to move, and get out of here, 1. I’d like to sit down, and 2. I need both my painkillers, and a glass of water, preferably before next century!
The customs agent, a female, helps me to a chair, and in this really demanding voice, Mr. Lucas, this man’s painkillers, right, now,. move! he attempts to deny the agent’s request, and she goes, Lucas, if you wish to keep your job, you’ll get up out of that chair, and bring his medication over here, and don’t make me have to come over their.
I got the meds I needed, but that’s not the end of my boarder wos.
by this time, we’re 20 minutes behind schedule, and still a long way from being completed.
The stupid pompus moron rechecks my bag, and regrills me, like I’m some common criminal, and when I respectfully ask him why he’s acting unprofessional, he tells me to be quiet and speak when spoken to.
I then inform him in a really cold, and professional manner, get your supervisor out here, now.
He has the balls to ask why, and I very coldly respond, because you sir, have given me the impression that your power hungry, and don’t give a crap about the common person, now, if you don’t want me picking up my cell phone and dialing the canadian embasey and filing a formal complaint, you’ll get your supervisor out here, now!
He walks away, and I never did get to see his supervisor. but I didn’t have to deal with him the rest of the time. but the next person’s just as big of a prick.
so Then, I’m sent over to another agent, who, FYI, is just a big an idiot as the last one, where, he yet again re-asks where I’m going, how long I’m gonna be their, have I ever been in the states, and the complete address, and telephone number for krista,, I give him everything, then to prevent a blow up, I in a very cold, and professional voice, respond, sir, did the other agent fail to put pen to paper and write this information down as I’ve already given this information twice before, and your coleague has already utalized it to wake my girlfriend up, at this time of night.
his response, sir, I’m only doing my job. my response, with all due respect, In my opinion, I think you and your coleague are incompitent. but to speed this along, here, have this. and I hand him a copy of krista’s contact card, that I’ve printed up in the event of their being a medical emergency while I’m here.
I never did get that back, but I’ll print another one on ray’s printer in fitchburg.
Then, to top it off he runs my fingerprints. Like holy shit, kids, the fuck am I, a common terrarist? jesus christ.
he ends up clearing me on a conditional bases, in the fact of, you have to be out of the states by november 30th, 2010.
He also informs me that he’s stapling a card into my passport I have to show canadian customs upon my reentry into canada to proove that I did, indeed return.
Needless to say, krista was beyond pissed by the time I got back on the bus, and called her, burning most of the $13.30 calling her, jerry, and wes, at 12:30AM, 90 minutes after we hit the boarder.
Did we leave then? no, it’s nearly another hour later by the time we GTF outta their, putting us, you guessed it, 2 hours behind!
This has shoved us nearly 2 hours behind schedule, and could possibly cause me to miss my 9:30AM connection to providense, Road Island.
We didn’t get to searicuse, NY until 4:15AM 2 hours fifteen minutes after we should have been their.
And by that time I wanted coffee in the worst fuckin’ way, so thank god for dunkin doghnuts.
I’m seriously hoping that part of this trip was the worst of it, as I’m writing this on the bus at just after 8AM eastern time and we’re still on the move and greyhound’s wifi, at least on this bus, is equal to busted.
Oh, we did make up some time, as frank, the driver from searicuse to nyc, went through pensilvania witch shaved a significant amount of time off and brought us a little farther back on track.
oh, as an aside, greyhound’s policy about cell phones having to be turned off, is utter horseshit, this isn’t a plane for fuck sakes.
I just put mine on vibrate, and the driver can just fuckin’ deal with it.
on another note, I thought hamilton traffic was bad, new york city traffic is goddamn insane!.
ok, I’m done, for now, I’m posting this from a really shitty internet connection in the nyc terminal so let’s post this and we’ll post more once I’m actually in ma on real internet.

I’ve been victimized by the devel, cpanel!

I used to have this mild dislike for
that is supposedly the leading control panel, or so it’s
website says.
After tonight, that mild dislike has turned into utter hatred.
has also
It started out as a mild
issue that I asked
to help me fix.
actually it was more like I wanted
google analytics
to better provide tracking and other useful things.
Well, the plugins wouldn’t install, nothing would update, it was just a giant cluster fuck, so we decided, maybe the install’s hozed, so back your shit up, let’s reinstall that.
This is when we found all the broken things
so, Well a five minute job turned into 2 and a half hours, of nothing but headaches, and just stupidness!
I swear to god, when you install apache, it shouldn’t have shit barried under every fucking conceivable location in the linux operating system, and some spots, you wouldn’t think of!
Cpanel seriously, I hate you, if this hasn’t been made clear by now.
We came to the conclusion that apache was partially hozed, with miscompiled modules, etc, so simple fix, right? recompile the missing shit, and carry on, right? not so much!
The entire apache install was hozed, causing me to have to rip it apart, and basically take it down to the barebones, then rebuild the entire fucking thing back to spec, and to my standards.
I swear to god, cpanel, if you weren’t the one my customers liked, and what made me money, I’d fucking shoot you!
I seriously, and utterly, hate your goddamn guts.
you are the biggist piece of shit this side of the mississippi.
you stupid thundercunt of a control panel.
your supposed to be easy? your supposed to make things easier? really?
Tonight’s issues were deffinitly not easy to resolve, eeven with cpanel.
If i’d been able to get away with it, I’d have recompiled every goddamn package on that system from ground 0 from source and told cpanel to kiss my fucking ass.
But because it’s the thing that makes me able to pay the bills, I keep it around, but let me tell you, from now on, I’m not going in their, I know where all the shit is to do everything I need to from the command line, if it doesn’t exist, I’ll fuckin’ write a script to accomplish a task.
I’m not touching your useless web interface that’s made of so much fail, i’d have better luck talking to krista’s mother vanessa then making you do what your fucking told, and that, for the love of fuck, is saying something!
With that said, I’m done, for now.

you've got to be fuckin' kidding me

Yes, I ended up creating a wtf category.
for the simple fact that, When I see shit like:
this garbage.
I ask myself, what the fuck is this world coming to.
And the sad part is, This popstar is from where I grew up, in stratford, ontario.
I have not heard justin bieber’s music, but I ask myself, you attended the lazer tag game, things and accidents do happen, this shit isn’t necessary, Mr. bieber had every right to be their, it’s a public place, so lay the fuck off you stupid bastard.
This shit sickens me how when a star goes into a public place, and accidents happen, the star’s always to blame, nobody else, come the fuck on, seriously?
Utterly rediculous.
Comment away.