In Conclusion: 2008 hated me.

But before I start dissing the new year, I have to give the old one a proper send-off. And by proper, I mean, "beat it until it's dead and then dump its corpse into a gigantic vat full of acid".

During the beginning of December, I was still overworked as hell (no surprise here), so that means, Christmas Shopping will have to wait. A little. Then a little more, and a little to the left, and whoops, somehow it's December 21st. Anyone of you ever been so incredibly stupid so you had to go out two days before Christmas to get all of your shopping done?

We all know, that, as soon as December 1st comes around, approximately 30 % of the general population turns on a secret switch in their brains, the ends of which are labled "Normal -- Batshit Crazy", respectively. People who normally aren't fazed by an earthquake rating 7.2 on the Richter scale, suddenly are dazzled, confused and panicked by simple concepts like traffic lights. Or won't think of the simplest solutions and precautions. Like winter tires, for example.

As we all know, or at least SHOULD know, winter tends to be cold. One could even assume that, since we have witnessed snow, and ice, in the past years, always in winter, that people can make the association between "winter" and "cold". Especially considering that everyone who is permitted to drive a car has at least a 16 to 18 years experience regarding winters, depending on the country you're in. And you'd be mistaken. Because every fucking year, as soon as the first snow comes around, I always seem to drive just behind one of four types of car drivers:

a) Ooooooohhh. Preeeetttyyyy. I will now slow down and park in the middle of the street to admire the beauty of nature.
b) Oh. Is that a snowflake? Oh my. And this in October/November/December/January? Who'd've thunk. But now I have summer tires on my car. What do I do? I better get an appointment at the nearest auto shop. I will take out my telephone book right now. In the middle of the Autobahn/highway/highly trafficed city street. Oh, those people are honking. Don't they know I'm incapable of driving right now? I have summer tires! As a compromise, I will slouch along at 5 kilometers per hour, and hope I will arrive safely.
c) OH MY GOD A SNOWFLAKE WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!! (steps on the brakes so hard the following two cars slam into him, creating a traffic jam)
d) I am so very very cool. I am so cool that I don't need no fucking winter tires. Because caution is for pussies. That's why I'm driving 200 kilometers per hour in an area where only 100 is permitted, and where the road is totally fucking iced. That's how cool I am. And even though my brakes are failing right now, I'm still the coolest of them ....AAAAAHH! (Crash! Boom! Fatality! *Ding* Congratulations! You have unlocked the "Darwin Award" achievement!)

Sadly, these four types can also be found during the Christmas Shopping Spree. Type A will simply stop at every goddamn mall window, admiring the Fuzzy Wuzzy Weebits or whatever; Type B is struck with indecision, running around aimlessly because, hell, this way, he/she will just hit the wanted store and present at some point; Type C will kill each and everything in his/her path because, Oh GOD, there are only 25 Paris-Hilton-Barbies-With-Sagging-Eyelid-Action left at this and every other damn store, so the chances of actually getting one are next to nothing, NOTHING I tells ya; and Type D provides us with the much needed domestic violence quota over the Holidays, gifting his girlfriend with either everything HE ever wanted, or everything nobody in the History of Mankind ever wanted, but is still made commercially. Well, someone has to help the economy with senseless consumerism I guess.

Now, take those four types, multiply each of them by 500, stuff them into the nearest mall, and put one sane person in the middle, follow them with a camera, and grab the popcorn as the poor fucker is driven insane and/or ripped into pieces.

Yeah. Note to self: Don't do that again, Idiot.

Also, dear Mall operating staff, or whatever you guys are called: Yes, Winter is cold. Thanks for acknowledging. But if you crank up the heating in the building up to eleven and beyond, all those people, who are already zooming through your halls like a live demonstration of the Brownian Motion, and are coated in at least seven layers of clothing each? Will start to sweat. Sweat, when amassed in large amounts, starts to stink like a dead buffalo. So, just a suggestion, don't turn the heating up to a FUCKIN' 30 DEGREES CELSIUS.

But in spite of stress, homicidal maniacs, and strange random people asking me which motivational coffee mug she should buy for Stefanie (She mistook me for someone. I hope), I managed to get out of it with all presents and only superficial mental scarring.

But of course, that's not the end of my year. On December 18th, our department at work made an afterwork party/X-mas precelebration or whatever these things are called. Anyway, after sitting in a restaurant of ridiculously overpriced food, and gaining the suspicion that actually, work hasn't ended yet (brought on by my boss, who "suggested" that we "voluntarily" take part in some exercises that were remarkably like those in those fuggin' team workshops), afterwards, we took off in the christmas market, and since I was still dressed for office, not for minus ten degrees, thank you, I came down with a nasty little cold virus that infested me until about christmas.

But fear not, I will not have the indignity of not being bothered this Christmas! For Lo, my sister had an even worse cold and more or less coughed all over our Christmas Dinner, so on December 26th, I was sick again.
Meanwhile, the PC I had bought this past June was showing signs of the Fucking Off And Dying, and after realizing the hard drive was in on it, I barely had time to save some really really important paper I had been working on since October, and then *puff* PC Death. and even better, all those pesky files that I had stored on said hard drive? Gone, too!
Including, but certainly not limited to, the entire source code I was programming for said paper. (it's called Studienarbeit. Before you're allowed to write your diploma paper, you have to write a Studienarbeit/study paper to prove that you're capable of writing scientific texts or some bullshit like that. Essentially, it's three months of work that won't even be graded, but is almost as time-consuming as the diploma paper itself.). So, without the source code, which was the program I developed in those three months, and which was the basis of my very theory in the paper, the paper itself? was completely worthless now. Yay! Let's spend yet another year in University, Teshik! It's not expensive or exhausting or anything!

So, between Christmas and New Years, I had time to contemplate how to salvage the situation, and going through all my backups to see if there was anything left. There was, the almost finished version of my program, that is, save for a few bugs. But: without the source code, you can't edit out those pesky bugs, and also, you can't prove that you didn't download the entire application from some shady internet source - not good for a "scientific paper".

But at least, I had something, because my hard disk decided to give me the finger again, and again, and proceeded to fuck with my mind even further, since: My hard disk was divided into four parts: windows, my games, my music, and my data (where the important parts are located). Now, considering all my music is ripped from my cd's, and are also backed up as mp3's somewhere, what do you think I'll get if I access the broken hard disk with disk repair software? That's right, everything but the data I need. Good thing Murphy's law is still in operation. Oh, and additionally? The graphics card I got from Scorpio for Christmas, was toasted too.

Also still in operation? Murphy's Second Law, If things are left to themselves, they will go from bad to worse. Remember that cold? Oh, that cold itself wasn't that bad. But it seemingly opened the door for several other interesting diseases. And so, on December 31st, my cousin, where I wanted to spend New Years Eve, received a call:

Scorpio: Hey. What up?
Teshik: Uhh. My dinner. It then proceeded to jump in the toilet.
Scorpio: (pause) You really hate to catch a break with your bad luck strain, don't you?
Teshik: Yeah, that'd just be like giving up on my great Goddess, the Mighty Misfortuna.

And so, yes, the Year 2008 ended for me, clutching my old friend The Toilet Bowl.

Ain't Life Grand?

So this is Christmas? I demand a refund. Part II

Remember my shitty December last year? Yeah. That continued to a major bitchfest on Christmas Day with my family. My dad and I had a disagreement over whether he can smoke in my living room. We two had a compromise worked out in about 30 seconds. But, we then had to wait half an hour for my mom (because he still smokes, despite his rapidly declining health, my mom gets upset a lot), and then over an hour for my sister, who ran out crying because my mom had run out crying, and because my dad and I were "fighting". Tell me, is the following conversation:

Teshik enters the downstairs livingroom.
Teshik: Hey. Mom says you won't come up?
Dad: No, because you won't let me smoke. Or do you?
Teshik: No. But if you can't without, we'll play cards here instead.
Dad: Well, we need a bigger table for seven people.
Teshik: I'll get Scorpio. We'll get the old dining table out of the basement.
Dad: Okay.

fighting? Because, if so, I really need to update my vocabulary. Unless it's Opposite Day.

But Boxing Day got even better. Each year on December 26th, F and S make a fondue with a couple'o'friends, including me. We've done it for five or so years now, long enough to call it traditional, I think. (at least, it is, when all participants are below the 30-year-mark). In the last two years, our numbers considerably dwindled, however. For those of you accusing S's interesting perspective on some things for the shrinkage? I won't judge you. I won't agree with you either, though. (mainly because some day, somehow, one of my real life friends will make the connection between "Teshik" and my real life name, and I've accumulated too many death sentences already.). This year, we were only four, all old good pals.
Innyway. The fondue? Great, as usual. The gaming night afterwards? Eh...started out innocently enough. We started of with F's new Activity game, the Club edition. "Club edition" means "unsuitable for children". Because describing "condom leakage" with pantomiming? Yeah, that's aduld stuff. But good times nonetheless. Also? Those photos you get of those occasions are premium blackmail material.
But then, S dug out another game, called "Truth or Dare". It's exactly like the children version, only with, you guessed it, very adult topics. Thankfully, we left out the Dare part, because if I had to lick whipped cream off of F's manly hairy chest, I would probably write this from the inside of a prison right now. But the Truth part sufficed.
To get this into perspective, I am, or at least, I'm close to, being an asexual. Which means, basically, if you want to have sex like rabbits, go for it, woo hoo, power to the people and stuff. And as long as you don't involve animals and children, or force someone, I'd say anything is allowed if it turns you on. But don't expect me to be turned on myself. And please, please don't expect me to go all "ooh" and "aah" when you tell me about your vibrator collection, because, if you take away the "mmh, aroused" part, you get stuck with a pink dick-shaped object, where you put a battery in, and when it shakes, you insert it into a fitting body orifice. A rectal thermometer is also inserted in a certain orifice, but that doesn't mean I want to see yours. And your vibrator, even if it has a setting that makes movements "just like a fish", falls into the same category. So unless you want me to drop it into the nearest aquarium and see if it swims, drop the topic. Thank you. And that's all I want to say about the events of Boxing Day, Thanks.

Hm. Note to self: If you ever need to squick some visitors out, a visit to the nearest pet shop, and the nearest Good Vibrations will probably suffice. Heh.

You know, actually I planned to write about my current bad luck items in January, but it seems this will have to wait. But I can squeeze in that Sylvester/New Years sucked as well, because partying with my cousin bounced, he unexpectedly had to work on New Years Eve(No, he's not a nurse. Or a fireman. Believe it or not, he is a Gardener. Obviously his customers need mowed lawn on the morning of January 1st. Don't ask.). And since Scorp was picking the party this year, I wound up with no party at all. But, considering my bad luck lately, I'm glad I couldn't blunder across yet another "funny" "party game". Or be the centre of another "fight".
Yeah. That was about the end of 2007 for me. But that also means I can finally bitch about the shittiness of the year 2008. Hooray!

So this is Christmas? I demand a refund.

Don't. Don't try to start to raise my spirits. Because I am not, repeat, not, in any kind of mood for anything involving bioluminescent reindeers or coca-cola figureheads, because, frankly, I've had a really shitty December.
Starting:

December 1st.
Since beginning of November, I was working at the same job I already worked in July, but I managed to get my boss to sign me up as a part-time-employee. That meant instead of roughly 350 € per month for 40 hours a week I get roughly 550 € a month for 20 hours a week now. Which, in itself, r0xx0rz. But that one was November. In December, I discovered I only received 200 instead of 500 €. Which meant, get to my employer and tell him politely but firmly to hand over my cash. Did I mention that my employer is a multinational corporation and has more departments than you can shake a stick at? and that the personnel departments are always overworked? Great, huh? Not.

December 10th.
And in the first days of December, I had other things on my mind besides that. You remember that seminar from hell that failed because of utter incompetency, not necessarily my own? Yeah, this winter I'm taking it again. and the text part was due until December 10th. This time, we were only two, Petronius and me, so I thought, hey, this is way better this time. This is what I thought in September. And in October. By November and repeatedly kicking Petroniuses ass, I began doubting. Because, aside from a little Google searching on the subject, he consequently avoided to contribute. Which meant that by December 3rd, a date when I wanted to have the text part (about 30 pages) to be ready, and not to be half-assed, the 20-odd pages already written were 100 % from me alone.
And since Petronius wouldn't answer his phone, I had to resort to email-spamming to finally get his attention. Who answered me that
a) I don't have to be so rude
b) He had better things on his mind, like marrying and his pregnant wife
c) Work is a bitch currently
d) I thought you had already evicted me from our team, I just waited for you to say so
e) Hey, we still have a whole week to hand in that text

To which I responded:
a) I was polite in September, October, and November. I didn't get a response past "Yeah, I'll get on it" and "Oh, I already thought about that, but I haven't written anything down yet".
b) Why, thanks to withhold those minor life-changing information, fucknugget. Oh, and bonus for being bitchy because I'm less than totally überhappy at the divulgence of those news. And: Your girlfriend, now wife, is in the 6th fucking month. That's at least five months to get over it, celebrate, realize it might get a little stressed around winter, and TELL ME.
c) Well, guess what, I'm working too. And you know what? If you already know that each December you have workload up the wazoo, you could try and get us the work done before you're loaded.
d) THE FUCK? That's your excuse for not doing anything? And furthermore, you decide to hole up so I can't reach you, and expect me to reach the conclusion I'm now alone all by myself? Also, it's a TEAMWORK, Ass. I can't do it without you, so if you want to back out, tell me beforehand, goddammit.
e) In this week we still have to write 10 critical pages, and since you haven't even read the literature, I know I can't count on you to do something. Plus, if you'd answered my previous mails, you'd know I'm off at a two-day workshop with my department, and won't be able to do anything in that time.

So, In the end, we did manage to return a paper that's more or less half-assed, because instead of properly researched, we have a mixture of 85 % proper, but badly formulated (me), and 15 % general drivel that's not backed up by sources (him). Great. And the best part: He apologized to me for not participating so much, so the oral part of the seminar (we have to present it in mid-January, too) will be 80 per cent by him, so it evens out in the end, he said. Do you think he did anything without me kicking him, again, again, and AGAIN? No, of course not.

December 12th.
You dislike dentists? Me too. I am one of those lucky persons with a so-called dental phobia. Thankfully, my new dentist knows that (the old one just told me I was a big pussy, which is probably a reason I feared dentist in the first place. Plus, all fillings he gave me had to be replaced because he was incompetent), but still, dentist visits are a thing I fear. And I fear them even more when I go for a semi-annual routine checkup and he goes "oh, there's caries. oh, and another one here. Oh, and another almost reaching the nerve!". Oh, hooray!

December 15th.
I get home to my three little budgies. From left to right: Stevie, Micky and Nero. Micky and Nero are about five years old, Stevie (or, the Dwarf, as he's usually called) is at least fourteen, I got him from a friend of mine, who got him from a friend, and his real birthdate got lost somewhere inbetween. You already guess where this is going? Good.
The Dwarf always wasn't a good flyer compared to the other two, which usually led to hilarious moments of him hitting the nearest wall and/or my potted plants. On Friday night, I got at home, the birds merrily going on with their business (of eating my wallpaper, destroying my woodpaneling, shitting on my carpet, you know, the adorable little things you love them for), until I hear a *ploc*. Oh, so they tipped over one of my books in the shelf again, did they? No. The Dwarf had decided to move on from "flying" to "falling".
You think the gruesome story is over, and I'm left to pick a nice hole for burial? Noo. That came a whole day later, after the vet told me "he's that old? bah, nothing we can do", and after the poor little, innocent muffin died in my hand, obviously pained, and scared. The dying took so long I actually considered to put him out of his misery by myself. Would you be able to do something like that to your pet? I certainly couldn't.

December 17th.
Oh, crap. Christmas Shopping! I totally forgot about that!

December 21th.
Here, I have to be actually relieved. Relieved, although in January, I'm scheduled for an operation, which will take me out for two days. Why am I supposed to be happy about it? Because the urologist told me that the lump growing near my scrotum isn't cancer. No, I shit you not, yes, I am telling the truth. After several gruesome cancer deaths in the family, one does get suspicious with lumps, and does get thankful for being wrong in those suspicions. (FYI, it's a cyst, which means it's non-malignant, but it will cut off the blood supply to my precious reproductive organs soon if it isn't removed.)

December 23rd.
Usually, I'm at F's flat about once each weekend, gaming, watching telly, generally hanging out. This month, due to the stress at work and with uni, I had to call and tell him I can't come the first three weeks. Yesterday, I spared the time, partly because I wanted to give F the Christmas present for little Jay. What did I get in return: F's wife S bitching at me because I didn't giftwrap it (I gifted Jay with a little 15-pieces-puzzle, and chocolate. Why giftwrapping those?), and because I dared to gift Jay with chocolate, which hasn't been a problem for the whole past year, but is suddenly now an issue. And later, she bitched at me because "if you don't want to be here with us, just say so. But don't lie to us with shitty excuses, because that's really low." THE. FUCK. LADY?!?!? I'm sorry I wasn't here the past three weeks, but I don't lie to my best friend, thank you, and it's not like I'm contractually bound to drop by every other Sunday. At first, I tried to argue, but she really wouldn't listen, and I didn't want to pick a fight with the wife of my best friend in front of three little children. Plus, I was beginning to feel really tired and kinda woozy, which was the onset of a cold. By the time I got home, despite an aspirin from F, I had a splitting headache, and I'm still having it on...

December 24th.
Today morning, I gathered myself despite my headache and blocked nose, and finally readied myself for Christmas(in Germany, you already get the presents on the Holy Night, not on Christmas Day), thinking, it was a shitty month, but you should look past it, smile a little, and get into the spirit. So I began gift-wrapping, the two birds sitting in their cage in the living room. I returned from the gift-wrapping half an hour later, and stopped a little. Only one bird? Where's Micky? Oh, he's at the bottom...of the cage...and he's not breathing.
So, my funny Christmas activity after giftwrapping was to dig another hole in the backyard, while the earth was frozen rock-hard, and I had to be careful not to accidentally dig out the other bird I buried just eight days prior.
And you know what? I've had it now. Fuck you, Santa Claus, go elsewhere, our chimney is closed for the duration. Because "not dying of cancer (this year)" and "hey, you still got one budgie left" isn't exactly getting you an A on your customer satisfaction sheet.
And it's a little early for New Year's resolutions, but I already got some:

1) exercise more, eat less chocolate.
2) find better friends. The ones you have aren't cutting it.
3) the next pets you're getting are turtles. Those with the lifespan of 200 years. And if that doesn't help, try rocks.
4) find a cure for the common cold. Or at least, the headaches caused by them. Because, annoying.
6) broker world peace. Or begin nuclear warfare. Whichever's easier.
6) get a shrink, and make him weep.

Merry Fucking Christmas, kids.