(Not) A Funny Story

Okay, it happened. I am now officially one of those guys. Y'know, telling people of my story so that they won't end like me, *oooOOOOOoooh* *eeeeaaaatYoooouuurVeeeeegetableeeeesss* 

So yeah. My blog's been abandoned for like, over three years. Where the fuck have I been, my loyal readership of zero? Have I been eaten by dingos? Was I abducted by aliens? Have I even - GASP - gotten a life? Fear not, my nonexistant fans, for both the dingos and aliens are safe from me for now. I just happened to be mentally ill.

After finally remembering ye olde passworde for this little slice of the blogosphere, I first looked back to the last post (in 2010) about real life issues, and immediately cringe. Not only was this post all about me neglecting my internet persona, it also has this funny aneurysm moment right there:

...To be honest, I'm not surprised I left this blog unguarded, so to speak. But I am quite shocked that in the last twelve months, I haven't been able to write more than one blog post, and about a dozen half-assed attempts still rotting in my blog post buffer. No fanfiction. No programming project (for fun, I mean). No short story. No nothing.
Which is strange, because: I really like writing. I do. It's my creative outlet. More importantly, it's my source of stress relief. And I really could use that at the moment...

Euuurgh. This has "warning signs" all friggin' over it. Buuut, I managed to get through 2010. And I kind of survived 2011. Then came 2012, and I simply keeled over one day. Have A Nervous Breakdown, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Receive 200 Bucks.

My work had been stressful from the beginning, but I had always shrugged it off with "well, it IS a highly-paid job", so I tried to be a good trooper and march on. Because I did not want to be weak. And "everyone else" seemed to go with it too, so why should I be different? Even as my doc told me my symptoms do sound like a depressive episode, I refused to listen, because, why do you tell me that, I only have these neck pains, and could I get some more prescriptions for massages and pain pills, pretty please? And soldiered on for another three months, wenn suddenly one morning, I simply could not get out of bed anymore. So when I've finally mustered enough strength to get to our family doctor, he gave me a "told-you-so"-speech that barely even registered with me, because I didn't even feel anything anymore. Just fix me, Doc, I wanted to say. He prescribed me nice little Anti Depressants, and because he is a good doctor, he made sure two things made a dent in my mind: 1) Make sure someone watches you in the next days, and 2) Those things will actually feel WORSE before it gets better. And BOY, was that second part true.

Back then, I was going around like a Zombie. No real emotions but an overwhelming sadness would register, I'd just feel numb all the time. Until those Happy Pills kicked in. Let's just imagine, for a moment, all your emotions you feel over a year. Happiness, Frustration, Anger, Fear, Sadness. Now, let's compress those feelings into a neat little air balloon, waiting to burst. See, the thing with those Happy Pills is, they don't actually make you feel happy. They just prick the bubble, so you can't distance you from all those pesky emotions, like you did before. Now, imagine your very personal emotional Rollercoaster from Hell.

After a few weeks, the rollercoaster was kind of managable, and I could get back to work. And yeah, getting back was hella uncomfortable and awkward. I mean, do YOU want to tell everyone at your workplace that you basically ticked out? That you wept for hours, without an end, for no reason at all? That you could simply not do the simplest things, like picking up an used hanky from the floor? That I had to force myself to eat once a day? Hell, I've lived through that and and I still have a hard time believing it.

So, why am I writing this now, when this episode was back in 2012? Because the damn black dog is back with a vengeance. I did not only manage to work myself into a depressive episode, I managed to be one of those who get chronical dysthymia. Hooray. Currently, I'm in the midst of what is called a "moderate episode", which means roughly:

1.  I have good and bad days.
2. On Good Days, I can get out of bed.
3. On Bad Days, I just want to sleep. All day. Every day. 
4. On Good Days, I shower, get dressed, and have breakfast.
5. On Bad Days, I could not care less wheather I'm in my jimmies all day.
6. On Good Days, I make the housework. 
7. On Bad Days, I beat myself up because I won't do the housework.
8. On Good Days, I am an actually decent person who happens to have depression.
9. On Bad Days, I believe I am a fraud and the worst person who ever lived.
10. On Good Days, I can actually think rationally.
11. On Bad Days, I can't even read a single paragraph in a newspaper.
12. On Good Days, I am thankful that depression can be treated.
13. On Bad Days, I curse the medication and believe the pills make things even worse.

Today, I feel like an actual human being. Today is Good.

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?

Wisdom, my Ass

Hey People, sorry I haven't written in (insert time period) because of (insert increasingly lame excuse about stressful real life). Well, that's the gist of it, anyway, because after work, I get tied up in uni work, and after that, I barely have the time for the base tasks of "eat", "sleep" "brush teeth", and "change underwear", so I just decided to skip the "have fun" part of my weekly schedule entirely. And then it suddenly became November.

My body doesn't seem to find this all too funny, however, and given me subtle hints about his displeasure all summer. Athlete's Foot, at first. I have stuff that cures that, never mind. Then, gaining ten pounds of weight. Would be uncomfortable, if you don't count in the fact that even with them, I'm still ten pounds below the recommended weight for my height, so that one's actually working in my favor. For the first time in ages, I could actually buy pants fitting me - well, if I had the time to shop, that is. Body recognizes he's not getting anywhere, and starts popping zits, about one per day and facial region. Girl, please. I've been having zits since two days before my twelfth birthday. And unlike my puberty, I'm not a sobbing case of hormones anymore, thank god. So I'm able to shrug it off, because I'm not that vain. Then, hair loss. Oooh, subtle, and actually getting my attention - because while I might not care for my average facial structure, I do have a weak spot of vanity regarding my hair - mainly since I still, at age 28, have kind of a boyish appearance, sorta Michael J. Fox-like, and I would look really reaaaally stupid with male-pattern baldness. But I think I'll just look into Propecia and the like in the future and move on.

So, it became clear for my body that, if he finally wants me to slow down a notch, he inevitably has to break out the heavy artillery. That heavy artillery means: Teeth. I have a major phobia for dentists, so yeah. nothing short of my eyeballs literally bursting into flame will have any more impact.
Week 1. It started out as a dull pressure between my front teeth. Which I dismissed. I already knew the last wisdom tooth was coming, and well, I have had three of them already, all of which went out without any bigger fuss. Let him come, I have place for one more.

Week 2.The pressure continues. Well. Speed up, your buddies are waiting. And I'm busy redesigning the cover sheets of my TPS reports or something.

Week 3.The pressure intensifies, and shortens my sleep phases. Hurry up, fucknugget, I'm busy.

Week 4. I give in and make an appointment with my dentist, because, well, I don't sleep any longer. Are there any other people with moderate to severe oral phobia out there? Then you might be able to understand what "making an appointment with dentist", out of free will, means to me.

My dentist is a nice man, but he tends to be a little too enthusiastic about my teeth, or rather, their problems.

T: I have a problem with my wisdom tooth.
The Dentist takes that scraping thing and ventures into my unwilling mouth. Both me and the assistant tense up, me because I don't like people venturing into my oral cavity in general, and her because she knows, from experience, that I will plant my fist into her stomach to vocalise eventual...err...displeasures with the treatment. (I apologized. But I would do it again, without remorse.)
D: Yes, that one down there looks like a pretty case of caries.
T: Err...actually I mean the one on the upper side. The one that's not out yet? (But thanks about the prospect of a drill in the very deepest part of my jaw bone in a future appointment.)
D: (after an x-ray) Well, it seems that your tooth is special.
T: "Special" means you apply a special spray, and it vanishes on its own?
D: Oh no. See, here (points to the x-ray) you see the tooth reaching into your nasal cavity. Also, on the side, you can even see it boring into the back of your jaw muscle tissue - that's what's probably causing the pain. I can't remove that, you get to see a colleague of mine, a facial surgeon.
T: *twitch*

Facial surgery. Oh Goody. But since the pain in my jaw went from "ouch" to "Fucking OW!" to "OH PLEASE LORD HAVE MERCY" in the two days between dentist and facial surgeon, I didn't complain. Mostly because I was so exhausted from sleep deprivation that my mother had to physically drag me out of the house and into the car.
Oh, and what I definitely don't need in this kind of situation is walking into the waiting room and hearing an earthshattering "EEAAAAAOOOUUWWWW!!!" from a fellow patient. If I had been in a better condition, I'd've cut my losses and run screaming into the night.

The tooth removal itself wasn't that bad, because, thank the heavens for regional anaesthetics. And also, after the tooth was out, and the pressure gone, I was so very merry...until the drugs went off, that is. Since the tooth went up all the way to the nasal cavity, this also meant in the first two days I had to be really careful not to sneeze or anything, because certain parts of my anatomy in mouth and nose then flabbed. Also, when my mouth is closed, I really REALLY shouldn't be able to draw air into my mouth through my nose. Aren't you glad I imparted that interesting and disgusting wisdom upon you just now?

And yes, instead of finally taking a much-needed sick day, I purposefully set the appointment to a friday when I'm not working, and went on to work back on Monday. Probably because I'm just that much of a masochistic moron.

Yeah, and this is pretty much everything I remember from Autumn 2008. People say admitting that you have a problem is the first step and shit. I so admit my problem, too many activities crammed into too little time slots. There. Could now somebody get on with the fixing of said problem? I mean, I would solve it myself, but, just look at the time! Too late, too late, too-late-too-late-too-late!!! *hops onwards towards the next useless appointment while Lewis Carroll rolls his eyes in the background*

Join Teshik when he gets all he wishes, in the worst possible way of course, during Christmas and January. Which he will probably post in November 2012, by the rate things are going.

The hills are alive - With the sound of mucus

Note to self: Self, don't complain about the weather being way, wayyy too cold for Mid-May. Because then, only two days later, said weather will make a 180-degree-turn and roasts you in 32 degrees (Celsius. I don't do Fahrenheit.). Which had the unfortunate side-effect of activating my hay fever, and worse than ever. And nothing is more fun than spending your afternoons expelling never-ceasing-fluids from your nose, or marathon-sneezing. And those little crumbs in your eyes that prevent you from opening them in the morning? Make waking up at half past five even more perfect than it is already. My dermatologist (See? Told ya I'd add people to the list) says she's totally packed at the moment, because apparently it's more of a "People are dropping left and right due to severe pollen hazard" problem this year, and not a "Teshik's allergies are just more pissed this year than usual" problem. Which is not that big a consolation for me, but as long as I get prescription free allergy pills in the pharmacy, I don't mind it that much that she can't give me an appointment. Plus, it's actually less costly for me, because, If you go to the doc in Germany, you have to pay 10 € once per quarter. If you don't go to the doc, you don't have to pay. And the allergy meds cost me about 6 €. Compared to paying 10 € for showing up at my doc once for June, and July (different quarters, so 20 €), paying twice for the meds myself is better than having to sit around in the waiting room for two hours each appointment. Even if I get free meds out of it.

Hm, I just realized, I'm harping about the weather again. Which means, by the logic of "get what you want, in the worst possible way", that by this time tomorrow, it will be snowing. In June. Cool.

A Brave New Year - Part III

No, I'm still not done. But at least, the frequency of poo hitting the fan kinda slowed down.

On Saturday, my Dad brought me some anti-emetica from the doc, because, while I was getting rehydrated, I also didn't really stop vomiting, up to the point where I actually went to my computer, gaming, and every once in a while just casually hitting pause, reaching over to the vomit bowl, expelling the tea and the zwieback, hitting resume, and continue playing. Thankfully, that stopped after a healthy dose of that stuff. By the way, if I develop a kidney failure and/or liver cirrhosis in the next two months, it will be because of that drug, because I had to guess on the right dosage part. But at least, I finally got the chance to get a good nights sleep. Or afternoon. I didn't really care, but it was a step up from "passing out" to "napping".
On Saturday afternoon, we also pinpointed the time of incubation for the virus to be about 30 hours. Because that was when my Dad came down with it, too. At least he was sensible enough to pass out in the middle of the bathroom, instead of banging his forehead.
Speaking of banged foreheads: By around Sunday I had a mini-neanderthal-brow springing up on the front, and the horn from the Thursday incident on the side. the nose ridge, especially between the eyes, was a picturesque shade of violet, branching out on my left nose side, and the cut just a millimeter next to the beginning of my eyebrows (hence the bleeding before). I regret not having shot a picture of it, because I totally could have saved it for blackmailing. ("See, Mr Police Officer? He/She/It totally kicked the crap outta me! Arrest'em!")

It's a wonder we didn't infect my sister, too. I attribute that to her very smart approach of "staying over at her boyfriend, coming home once daily. Then, feeding the cat and the budgie, verifying from a distance that Dad and I are both still breathing, and getting the hell out of here before any virus can sense her presence." Good, partly because Mom is still in the hospital, remember, and no way in hell we're dragging a highly contagious vomit-virus to a woman who just had her stomach cut open. (Well, and all the other sick people over there, I guess.)

After this horrible weekend was finally over, I had learned that:
-I lost seven kilos of weight. Considering I was already quite a skinny guy before, losing about ten percent of my body mass isn't that swell as the overweight in the audience might think. Also, I'm considering to model for the new Perfume "Anorèxique (Pour Homme)",
-my stomach muscles are so well trained now that I'm probably able to swallow walnuts whole and simply crush them afterwards,
-no matter how fat I get, it's established that I'm never, ever, EVER going for bulimia. Ever.

You know what? I'm STILL not done. Because, on Tuesday, I finally was healthy enough to get back to work, and to visit my mother. Who, as I arrived, had just had her second operation. Apparently, the totally overworked nurse staff wasn't able to constantly check on the wound if it's infected, until my mother angrily marched over to them on Monday night because the wound stank. Which was, as was discovered, a rampant infection, and the beginning of necrosis. And as I hurried over, because operation? What operation? The first thing she whispered to me was: "Look under my nightie."- Me: "What? Why?" She:"I wanna now how far they went." Because there was a chance they would remove her entire colon, and stuck her with an artificial exit. Thankfully, they didn't. But even then, she lasted the next four and a half weeks in the hospital because of that (In comparison, usually patients go home after three to five days of an appendectomy). After the second operation, they also stuck her with a vacuum pump, which helped nothing except giving her excruciating pain. The reason for doing this? This way, they don't have to change the dressing each day, only twice a week. Why thanks, assbags, to think of your patient and my mother just as another subject of cost-oriented optimization. (You can't really fault the nurses, to be honest. I've seen the eye circles of them, they were even bigger than mine. Hospital just needs at least doubling the nurses there, and fast.)

Epilogue.

-It is now the beginning of March, and only because our regular doctor insisted to change the therapy to old-fashioned, Mom's wound is starting to heal up.
-The week after I got better, my TV broke. And two additional weeks later, my Mom's TV.
-The gash in my left leg? Still not healed completely.
-Meanwhile, my sister and her boyfriend managed to journey to Poland for a quick vacation. Where they got utterly lost, and then their car broke down.
-Said sister also managed to visit the emergency room twice in February. Her back and shoulder are extremey overtaxed due to her monotone tasks at work, and on those two days, she wasn't able to move her arm or neck at all.
-By the way, have I mentioned Satyria's ex-boyfriend pressed charges against her because she allegedly assaulted and bodily injured him? I haven't? Because he did.
-The last six weeks, I've been pushing a 60 to 70 hour week, because Lord knows I haven't nearly pushed myself too far yet. First, I got up from twenty to thirty hours a week on work. (Between semesters, it's in the contract that I work longer, due to the "additional freetime available". May I laugh?) I worked about seven hours each day, followed by six hours of studying for another exam that I had to push off before to get the Exam From Hell out of my way. Now that that's over, after over ten weeks, I can finally rest for a while...Great. Now I've jinxed it. Oh well. If you'll excuse me, I have to find a nice comfy bomb shelter.

...preferably padded so I won't bang my head again.

A Brave New Year - Part II

So, what do you guess could happen to Teshik on Friday?

a) missed lessons at Uni
b) missed doctor appointment
c) moderately severe bodily injury
d) people getting bitchy at Teshik for no good reason whatsoever
e) random encounters with borderline shizophrenic muppets
f) disgusting bodily fluids or
g) all of the above?

Bah, why half-assing things? "all of the above" it is.

Friday.

1.07 a.m. I wake up, look at my alarm clock, want to roll over, but I get a cramp in my foot. Hrmpf. That's uncomforta---

Mmf.
Hrmfl.
Hey, I have the taste of carpet in my mouth.
And I'm in the bathroom all of a sudden.
I'm lying in the bathroom, wedged between the toilet and the radiator.
Oh, I just realize, being in close proximity to a toilet bowl is absolutely great because *BLEAAAARGH!*

So, shortly after that, while I am merrily vomiting out my dinner, I notice that there's something in my face. Oh. Red. Red is not a good color right now. *BLEARGH*. I mean, seeing as our bathroom is predominantly green. *BLEARGH* And the corresponding red smears on the radiator aren't encouraging either. *BLEARGH* God, is that lunch on its way back already? Hm. You'd think as overcooked as the fish was, It wouldn't take him that long to be digested. *BLEARGH* Oh Ick. I just vomited out a roasted potato bit. Through my fucking NOSE! Disgusting! *BLEARGH* I am so not a happy camper right now. *BLEARGH* And considering that clock over there, I seem to miss about an hour of my life. *BLEARGH* I'm kinda hoping I can forget about this particular hour, too, though. *BLEARGH*

Finally, some pause on the vomiting. Oh, the other end wants to participate in the fun now, too! Great! (I'll spare you the sound effects of that one.). After that, I just hadn't had the nerve to check on the bleeding, because passing out on the floor seemed like such a good idea at the time. Plus, why trying to head back into my bedroom when I have to repeat the process every half hour anyway? And It's so comfy down there...

At about five o'clock in the morning, I realized several things:
1) The bleeding on my forehead stopped, but now my nose is swelling.
2) After you vomited out the contents of your gall bladder, there's nothing that can follow. (Actually, I already had learned this the hard way when I was 12, and nearly died because some shithead thought cleaning the toilets in a youth hostel is optional. But that's a story for another time.)
3) My body, even though he can't anymore, still thinks shitting and vomiting is teh bestest idea eva.
4) I must have passed out standing in our bathroom just in front of the toilet, and then crashed right against the radiator while unconscious. This also explains the memory loss and the wobbly feeling in my head. And the quite large gash on my left leg and the forming black spot on my hip.
5) I am now no longer able to stand, due to the niceties of the Norovirus fucking around with my blood pressure, and the now quite severe dehydration.
6) my dad won't get home for at least another hour to help me.
7) The floor, so comfy...

An hour later:
Dad: Teshik? Hello?
Teshik: Erh. mrhfl. dadd...dedme thoa hofpitel. im bweeding and im vomm...vommettg.
My dad says nothing, just grabs me, inspects my nose, and doesn't take me to a hospital as wished, just stuffing me back into my bed.
(Well, we are barely able to communicate with each other at the best of days, so he'll get a pass on that one.)
Plus, he gets me camomile tea. I protest weakly, because I just really really hate this part, even though I know it's coming: for the next 24 hours, it's Fun With Rehydration Time. Which means, stuff tea down your throat, hate it, vomit it out after five to fifteen minutes, and hope in the time you have just absorbed a miniscule drop of the tea you just drank. Lather, rinse, repeat. Can't I just go to the hospital and get a nice IV drip, or ten, and while we're at it, some dreamland pills? No? Crap. Oh well. At least, the dreamland pills won't be necessary, thanks to that awesome idea of getting myself two concussions in rapid succession, I had the prestige to be very...erm. Let's just say, that while my parents or my sister weren't at home that day, I still enjoyed the company of many, many colorful characters. Hallucinations included, but were not limited to:

The Little Prince: Naah-Nah-Na-Na-Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Na-Katamari-Damashii (Just imagine the soundtrack as a constant background noise.)
*BLEARGH*
Count von Count: That's TWO! TWO concussions on your head! A hah hah!
*BLEARGH*
Telekom Teledat 302: bee-dee-dee-bah-ding!
*BLEARGH*
The Three Sisters: Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air.
*BLEARGH*
Me: Three Sisters? Oh no. Ooohh No!
*BLEARGH*
Phoebe: Oh yes. You know you want me little coma patient!
*BLEARGH*
Piper: Do you know how many months you're now behind on your fanfiction? Do you? Because, Mister, me and The Hands are getting pissed. And your fans are, too!
*BLEARGH*
Me: I know...wait, all my fans? You, mean, both of them?
*BLEARGH*
Piper: Err...Yes.
*BLEARGH*
Miss Pig-tronius: Why, if you'd only been more helpful at that seminar! I almost had to do work on it all by myself! Moi!
*BLEARGH*
Me: I know you're just a hallucination, but, could you shave the goatee off? It's kind of clashing with the pink clothes. and the female-muppet-ness.
*BLEARGH*

I swear, if it wasn't for the headache, the fever and the constant vomiting, I'd've had the time of my life.

At about 16.15, Our phone rings. I think it's my Dad, who just went off visiting Mom, who forgot something. Otherwise I wouldn't even go near that phone, because who wants to hear my heaves because they happen to call at an inopportune time?

Me: Hello?
Female Voice: Hello, this is the Urology office. Your operation appointment is on Monday, at 13.00.
Me: Oh, erm...sorry, but...I can't take this appointment, I'm sick. And I'm sure I will be still sick on Monday, too.
FV: Okay. But you are aware that the doctor's out of office for the next six weeks? I won't be able to get you a new appointment till then.
Me: Well, it's not exactly like I want to miss the operation, it's just that I can't. Can I...can I just phone you for a new appointment sometimes next week or so? Just...take me off the schedule for now.
FV: *does stuff on her PC* Done. We'll wait until next week then for the new appointment, right?
Me: Yes. Thanks.
FV: No problem. Oh, and get well soon.

Please note, that the conversation above was held in a very friendly, polite tone of voice. Because of this, I was really surprised afterwards. Why? The woman in question didn't put the receiver on her phone in the right way, meaning the call wasn't terminated, and I could hear the following conversation:
Suddenly Bitchy FV: *Mega-Sigh of Exasperation and Annoyance* God.
Female Coworker: What is it?
SBFV: Oh that one I just called, I gave him the appointment for Monday, and NOW he tells me he's sick and can't take it.
FC: Oh.
SBFV: And NOW I have to call [some name] again and tell her she can get here an hour earlier, even though I had told her 15.00 before.
FC: (not really listening) Yeah, that sucks.
SBFV: I mean, can't those people use the phone? Is that so hard? The nerve of...
FC: Oh! The pho---*click*
"...ne is still on, and I'm able to hear every fucking word of you dissing me?" Yeah, that must be it!
I lay on the couch, the tea thermos in one hand, the receiver in the other, the vomit bowl on the floor, and thought at first, no way. No way that woman really was that rude. But she was. And I was pissed at her.
Because, First of all, that's your fucking JOB. Deal with it.
Then, it's one lousy phone call to one guy, and scheduling a new appointment with me. It's not exactly hard, or exceptional work for a receptionist.
And getting sick happens.
Furthermore, if I happen to get sick, I will call maybe my girlfriend and the inner family circle.
"That desk clerk lady of my urologist" isn't exactly high on that list of priorities.
I think what pissed me off most was the...Well, we Germans call that one "Hinterfotzigkeit" (vulgar. More polite Germans call it "Hinterhältigkeit", but I'm not one of them). I think it's kinda more expressive and melodious than the English word "underhandedness", because underhandedness still sounds very polite and neutral to my ears. I mean, if you are annoyed that I didn't call you? SAY SO. But don't bitch behind my back, because that's just cheap and low. Or at least, don't be too stupid to put the damn receiver on your phone.

You know, these are the kind of people that always make me wonder if we actually both belong to the same species, or if my alien parents dropped me off on this planet because they really, really, REALLY hated me.
And which kinda makes me hope that, once my fifteen K'roktars of detention are over, my podmother will zoom over in her spaceship, embrace me with her gentle and moist tentacles, and tell me, because I had been such a good little Brobl'arx youngling, Dad will let me use the Death Ray tomorrow. Ah. Dreams.

Continued here.

A Brave New Year - Part I

You'd think after the strain of mishaps last December, that it could only go uphill for me in the new year. And you'd be perfectly wrong.

First off, after having digested last Christmas, off to the shiny bright new year practically bristling with chances and opportunities. To get me, I guess.

January started off with me working, then getting home, then working again on the stupid presentation. Alone. The astute reader might remember that, two posts ago, Petronius promised me he would care of the oral part of the exam. YEAH. RIIIIGHT. So practically, since politely asking or bitching at him had no effect at all, I decided since I don't want to spend yet another year at uni because someone else is screwing me over, I'll just fucking do it myself. In the second January week then, Petronius kinda woke from his slumber and started to participate, which was good because, while I might be able to make the Powerpoint and prepare myself for it, he also has to be present. (I already had a plan B ready where I would've told him to play sick that day. (And a Plan C involving multiple vehicular manslaughter on my part, buuut let's not dwell on this.)) Because even he seemed to get that while I may try to drag him through this because of our friendship, there are limits of the stuff I can do.

In the end, we lucked out and passed, because 1)we were the first of seven teams, so no one could screw us with their übercompetence, and 2) all questions to the topic were answered by moi, of course. One day, I will find out how a 120-kilo-man is able to blend into the wallpaper like that, while I'm scrutinized by the professor and his aides and asked about the finer points of Likelihood-enhancing model-based stochastic search algorithms in multidimensional data sets (No, I have no idea what that means either). Oh, and 3) Someone must have either slipped a roofie or two into my professors morning coffee, or he forgot to shove his trusty umbrella up his ass, because he was mellow as hell, and didn't start to horribly deconstruct people after around the fourth or fifth team. (Well, someone has to fail in his class, I suppose). So, in the end, yay! Finally! I will be able to sleep again!

But wait, first, I have to get to my urologist. The week after the Horrible Exam From Hell, I get my very own operation! I'm, like, totally enthused about that. Because there's absolutely nothing better than having to tell your (female) boss that you can't get to work next week on Monday and Tuesday, because they're going to operate on your scrotum. Swell.
And Friday, I was supposed to visit my Anaesthesist(the last years, I only had a doc, and a dentist. By the way things are going, I will add "my Toxicologist" and "my Neurologist" to that list in no time), because he wanted to tell me all the nice little horror stories about narcosis and what can go wrong there, so that I will absolutely confident about the whole affair.
Yes, you probably noticed the "supposed" part. But I'm getting way nonlinear in the story-telling again, so to clarify things:

On Monday, it was Little Jay's third birthday. Which I couldn't attend because on Tuesday, the Exam From Hell took place. The entire Tuesday, so I lost time to work again (I have to work 20 hours each week. It's flexible to take, but after taking half of Monday off, and Tuesday again, Wednesday and Thursday suddenly looked very busy (and Friday's out of the question, due to classes I have to attend).

Also, on Wednesday was Little Jay's birthday party (Since M and D are born just two days (and two years) later, it's easy to lump the parties together, at least for now.) I came there, tired and craving for caffeine. What I got was this sentence from F: "Y'know, actually it was a good thing you couldn't come on Monday. We had no party because everyone of us had the Norovirus and we were only shitting and vomiting."
Oooookaaaay, this is kinda like ...not what I wanted to hear. But, given the past topics I had to endure in F's flat lately, and the fact that my Mom was also coming (she's the godmother of the twins, as I am to Little Jay), I was almost relieved. Because while I love my Mom very, very much, if she ever starts casually talking with S about her vibrators and their practical applications with or without my Dad in my presence, I will be leaving. By which I mean, this planet.
INNYway, thanks to an oversugared birthday cake and several cappucinos, I managed to survive this day, too. Go me! I'm on a winning streak!

Thursday. Or not. Thursday starts off at precisely 5.45 am, when my alarm clock throws me out of bed. My barely conscious body shuffles over to the nearest loo, and discovers: my mom, passed out on the bathroom floor. Suddenly, I'm not half-sleeping anymore. I wake her up, and she tells me she has spent the night vomiting. Wow. That was quick. I get her back to bed with a trusty vomit bowl, make her some tea, and tell her to sleep. I check on her before I'm leaving for work, wait long enough for my father to return from nightshift, and hurry off.

I get home at 4 o'clock. Yay me! It's not even completely dark yet! Time to check on Mom. Hm. Mom's not in her bed. She's not in the living room either. But Dad is.
T: Hey. Where's Mom? Is she better?
D: Hi. Yeah, she'll get out on Thursday.
T: Errr...out of what?
D: The hospital. (The "duh" is implied)
T: *Sigh* Could we just...start at the beginning, please?
(now you've seen how communication between me and my Dad works. And why I don't talk to him more often, in order to save brain cells.)
Anyway. Just about half an hour after I left home, my Dad called the doctor, because Mom was getting worse, as in, unusual and severe stomach pains. The doc, half an hour later, then send her to the nearest hospital. Instead of the stomach flu, she had an inflated appendix, and got operated at about 2 p.m. Which was lucky, since the thing had already been thisclose to bursting. They said she would be out of it for today, so visiting would be pointless until tomorrow. Oh well. That sucks, but at least I finally can catch a break...

...of course that means, in the very next five minutes, my cell phone rings:

F: Hey, it's me. I just bought a new laptop, and I can't get Windows installed. Can you help?
Me: Err...sure. Just drop by.

God. I am a stupid motherfucking doormat, aren't I?

So I go upstairs, and flick on my hall lamp. Or rather, I don't. Because the stupid thing has killed off yet another innocent lightbulb, upping the count to three in the past twelve months. So, get a chair, get the screwdriver, to screw off the stupid glass decor on the thing. Just like the last times. Only this time, one of the three screws holding the glass decor decides this is the perfect opportunity to snap in half. and the stupid glass thing crashes onto me, or rather, my forehead. I lose balance on the chair, slam into the nearest wall, and then onto the floor. Floor Lamp 1, Teshik 0.

About five minutes later, the following conversation can be overheard at the doorstep of my home:
F: Hi. Err...What do you have on your head?
T: (looks up) Frozen broccoli.
F: Is...there a particular reason for storing broccoli on your head, or did you just...feel like it?
T: You're an ass.
F: Yes, but I'm not the ass with frozen vegetable hatware.

We determined that I had a mild concussion, and I grew a nice little horn on the left side of my forehead, but except for the headache, nothing serious, so we got to work.

And discovered an interesting conundrum: F's laptop doesn't have an operating system. If you try and install Windows XP, it'll tell you, "I canna do this capn, there's no driver for the funky new S-ATA hard drive! Get me a driver first! And get these Klingons offa me engine room!" Okay. Getting the driver off the internet isn't that hard. But the driver installation program then tells you: "nuqneH?! This program cannot be run in DOS mode, you little P'tach! Get me a decent operating system first, and some Blood Wine! Q'apla!"

F: So...what's the diagnosis?
T: Hmm. I need enough explosives to blow up an certain moon, and a conspiracy plot to get William Shatner deported into a Sibirian prison.
F: Is that the concussion talking, or are you just messing with me?
T: The latter... I hope.

So we tried, tried, tried some more, even called the fucking shop. Who basically told us: either you can buy Windows Vista off us, or you can just keep being screwed. Thanks, you've been ever so helpful, that I'm sure I'm never buying there again, asshat. In the end, I was thisclose to install Windows XP on my USB stick, plug it into F's laptop, start it up, install the goddamn driver, and install Windows XP on the damn thing, but I had a severe headache going, and after Reenacting Star Wreck: The Undiscovered S-ATA Controller, I just hadn't the strength for Star Wreck: The Wrath Of Gates. Yet. F got home, I went to bed, because there's Uni tomorrow. Oh well. Just another day to survive, and then, finally, a weekend. I mean what could possibly happen that hasn't already happen to me this week?

Continue in Part Two when Teshik realized tempting Fate when she's currently PMSing isn't quite the great idea he thought it was.

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.

Call me Kassandra.

Or Kassander? Kassandrus? Kassius? Hm. Nah.

Okay, the good news is: I am apparently gifted with the Second Sight. Because right after predicting an earthquake in South East Asia in my last post, Sumatra was shook up by an 8.4 magnitude quake just the day after. (Thankfully, no tsunami this time)
The bad news? Apparently, prediction number two came true only two fucking weeks afterwards.

Tuesday morning, 6.30 a.m., about ten minutes before I have to leave for work, my mom comes in. And she is looking at my with That Face. That awful face I saw quite too many times already. That face telling you to make a quick rundown on all your family members and close friends, remember their age, habits and eventual diseases, and start the lottery, and think the dreadful thought of hoping the winner is someone you dislike, because said winner? You won't have to deal with him/her again, ever, because he/she won the one-way ticket straight to Hell, do not pass Go, to not collect 200 bucks, no refunds.
So while I'm collecting the various members out of my grandfather's generation I still have after the death orgy of 98-01 in my head, I ask the awful question:

Teshik: Who?
Mom: Uncle [Wulfman].

First thought: Wait a minute. Dad's uncle [Wulfman] already died over ten years ago, didn't he? Plus, we weren't that close...
Second thought: ...and we don't have any other [Wulfman]'s in the family, except for my uncle, who was named after him...
Third thought: ...oh. CRAP.

My uncle, dad's brother, is - was - barely fifty. We only held sporadic contact for several years now, because of a major fallout between my mother and my uncle's wife, who I will call Walpurga, during yet another funeral. But weird as we all are, family is always family.

So Walpurga and my mom had their first phone call for several years Tuesday morning? No. My Mom read the obituaries in the newspapers, to learn her brother-in-law had been dead for SIX DAYS. And the funeral was to take place on Thursday.
And bear in mind that Wednesday, October 3rd is Reunification Day, so no work, and because of this short notice, it wasn't possible for me or Scorpio to get a day off so we could attend the funeral set at 1 p.m., and my sister only managed that because she had to work on Wednesday, the national holiday, (her shitty workplace is a post-worthy topic for another time).

The best part? My Dad, who's really close with his brother, was already at work that day, and we knew that a) he usually isn't reachable there by phone, and b) he reads the same paper, including the obituaries, during his break. Boy, was there a juicy surprise for him waiting.

So, after work, we scrambled to get a wreath, and notify the rest of the family, who wasn't informed either. One would've understood Walpurga doesn't want to deal with my Mom, since they positively hate each other, but apparently no one of our side of the family was informed, except for her children (who naturally assumed Walpurga would tell us. Or at least, someone.). Only Walpurga's family already knew. So it seems her plan was to have only her "good" family around, and our part of the tree, who she never held high regard for in the first place, would exhibit bad form by not even showing up to give her husband the last honor, cementing for all time what shitheads we actually are. Gods, I am so fucking mad at this woman I want to slap the stupid out of her with a baseball bat. And then throw piss into her fucking face.

So after we've already buried everyone in my grandfather's generation, and after burying Dad's sister in 2005, I guess it's now about time my father's generation thins out. Sometimes I think I should just stay in the black clothes, get some decent pale makeup, go goth and be done with it already.

Partly I wrote this post to rant about my asshole aunt. Partly because I wasn't at my uncle's funeral and didn't have the chance to properly say goodbye. So I'm doing this now, in the most public way possible.

Hi du. Tut mir leid, daß ich nicht bei deiner Beerdigung dabei sein konnte. Ich steh zwar auf dem Kranz für dich mit drauf, aber ich war noch nicht bei dir am Grab, das werd ich diese Woche noch nachholen, versprochen. Ich werde mir auch einen hübschen Stein für dich aussuchen. Vielleicht so einen rotblonden mit grauen Streifen drin, so wie dein Schnurrbart.
Ich hab dich ganz doll lieb. Und ich werd dich tierisch vermissen. Grüß Oma und Opa von mir, ja? Auf Wiedersehen.


Erde zu Erde.

Asche zu Asche.

Staub zu Staub.

Soooo...

...yes, against all rumors, I'm still alive. Barely.

Why you ask, didn't I post anything, not here, not on the Charmed Sons, and not on fanfiction? Hm. Okay, let's reformulate this: Why, you would ask, if you actually cared. Because contrary to the usual bunch of people who post in livejournal, blogger et al., I know my readership isn't measured in thousands. Or hundreds. Or dozens. I'm self-conscious enough to guess that other people do have lives, too.

And after this shocking revelation(and more or less shameless filler), let's additionally discover what held me from posting the past three months, which might even interest you less. Heh.

First of all, we left off with a hateful rant against my team-mates. Starting off now with another one against them would be appropriate, since their lazyness, their unreliability, and their sheer incompetence have managed to drive us full-speed against the nearest wall. In the end, I contributed over 75 per cent of the actual work into the thing. But since these seminar papers need contributions from four people (and that means actual work, not half-assed little paragraphs passed off as "zis is rilly rilly hart wok"), so guess. We failed. And because of this event not caused by my own incompetence(and no, I didn't have the chance to pick my teammates), I now have a semester extra on my back. That's half a fucking year, if yer intrested.
Needless to say, I was thisclose to murder all of them, and a few innocent bystanders just for the heck of it. Even worse, I was thisclose to getting myself a drink.
Thankfully, I have stacks and stacks of emergency chocolate rations stashed in our house just for days like this. Now all I have to worry about is getting diabetes and eating myself into a sugar coma.

So, utter stress, utter failure, and rampant disregards for healthy food are my excuses for May and June. What's my excuse for July then? Easy. I got a job.

-Or rather, an internship. And it's even a getting-paid one. Yay!

-Although, I have to work as much as my co-workers, which means a 35-hour-week (technically, 38.3 hours, since I have to add the mandatory lunch break each day). Boo!

-But at least I'm able to pay my phone bill and fuel for the next three months! Yay!

-Unfortunately, not much more, since I only get 409 € a month (568,51 $, but only because the Dollar isn't worth shit at the moment). And I'm not sure until the first payday this week, but I probably have to pay taxes on that tiny amount, too. Boo!

-But I have the chance to work at Volkswagen again(Yes, I am a Wolfsburg native), and even in an IT department which does stuff I totally wanna do when I'm all grown up and equipped with a diploma. Yay!

-The work I have to do there is to create a new Intranet web presence for the department. It's simple html coding, translating stuff because they need an extra english website, and creating some new content. It's...okay, I guess. Not great, but okay.

-There's now just the tiny part of me working for eight hours, and studying for another five each day, which means instant death to social life. Boo!

So, are you craving to hear Ronan Keating's "Life is a Rollercoaster" right now? Then my work here is done. Heh.


I currently have a three-quarter-done Retard Review, and three unfinished blog posts I had to abandon, since, well, 70-hour-weeks tend to put a damper on my creativity. I try to post at least a part of them by this weekend, but I promise nothing. But y'all feel free to kick my ass if I don't deliver. Yes, I mean all two of you. ;-)

There's no I in TEAM. Yeah. Riiiiiight.

Brace yourselves, people, this is a rant, and it's gonna be long.

I hate teamwork. As in, HAAATE it. Why? Because I'm an antisocial freak? No. Well, okay, partly. But the reason I hate it so much today in particular is directly correlated to my current teammates in my current uni seminar(one of them), and the fact that they, well, suck. Starring in this particular drama are : Petronius (the guy I usually hang out with in uni), Yours Truly, and two people who were put into our group afterwards, which I'll call Sakharov and Ginorma.

Our seminar is about a part of artificial intelligence, neural networks, that kinda stuff. Not exactly the most amusing reading, I assure you.

Two weeks ago.
Professor M: I want every team to explore the topic, and next time, I want to see which branches of that topic you want to explore further, and give me a rundown of those in a presentation, so I'll see you actually did something.
Team Teshik: Okely-dokely, neighbor!


Act I - The Dating Drama

Petronius: Let's meet Wednesday.
Ginorma: Can't, I have to work, and Thursday morning, too. Thursday afternoon?
Petronius: ...is when I'm working.
Sakharov: So Friday then.
Petronius and Teshik: Can't, we have a meeting for another seminar.
Teshik: Monday morning?
Sakharov: Mandatory lessons.
Petronius: And in the afternoon for us. Oy.

So we finally planned to meet on Tuesday, 11 o'clock. Monday morning, email from Ginorma. Could we please move this to either Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday?
I check this with the others. Sakharov has lessons, and Petronius has to work, so we could meet at Tuesday, 18.30, or Wednesday. 18.30 is an iffy idea, since Ginorma and have to take the train into Braunschweig, and after 8 pm, the voyage back home tends to become a rather err...interesting experience. As in, if I take the detour over Paris and Istanbul I will be home earlier, and will actually be home faster if I drive the 50-odd kilometers by BIKE, so ixnay on that one. Since Ginorma doesn't answer her phone, the three of us agree on Wednesday at eleven, and write her an email (which was in her inbox at about 6pm on Monday).
Tuesday, 11.45. I'm at home. My cell phone rings.

Female Voice: Where were you?
Teshik: Err...Who is this?
Ginorma: [Ginorma]?
Teshik: Oh. Sorry. Hi. What do you mean, where was I?
Ginorma: I was there at eleven, I told my boss I have to leave for an hour for this!
Teshik: But...we agreed to meet tomorrow. Because you said you couldn't make it?
Ginorma: What? Nobody told me about this!
Teshik: Yes, we did. We couldn't call you, so I wrote you an email yesterday.
Ginorma: (pregnant pause) No. I didn't get any email.
Teshik: (thinking to himself) Suuure. This pause wasn't suspicious or anything. (out loud) Well, too bad. We want to meet tomorrow, at 11. I'll re-send you the email.

To everyone out there who keeps using the old "You must've typed my address wrong, cuz I didn't get that mail" excuse: If you actually do that, you'll get a message from the Message Delivery Subsystem/Your Email-Client/YoMomma, refusing to relay to nonexistant addresses. So everyone else knows it's just a shitty way of saying "I totally didn't read your email and try to gloss it over with a blatant lie."

And for the love of Christ, do me a favor and do not study Computer Science and Business. It's just so, so embarassing.

Act II - I'll get back to you on that.

Meeting 1:
Petronius: Since nobody can (or rather, wants to) read the whole damn book in two days, I suggest each of us takes a part of the book, reads it, and makes a summary for the others.
Sakharov: All of us have to read the first two chapters, because that's basic stuff. We'll split at the chapters 3 to 6.
Teshik: Agreed.
Ginorma: But the chapters are differently long!
Teshik: Well, okay, I'll take chapter 3, it's one of the bigger ones.
Sakharov: Chapter 4 for me.
Petronius: I volunteer for Chapter 6, that leaves you with No. 5 then.
Ginorma: Okay.
Teshik: Next time, we'll discuss what to take into the presentation.

Meeting 2:
Teshik: Okay, here are my results (shows page with Chapter 3 contents).
Sakharov: I haven't written anything, but I will tell you the main points now.
Petronius: I try to blunder my way through this by lying I read it while only nattering about the chapter titles.
Ginorma: It's all consisting of Look-up-tables and stochastic problems. What I'm saying is, I read it, but totally didn't understand it, so I'll just dish out random key words, hoping you won't notice. If Petronius can do this, so can I.
Teshik: So, can we put down the topics we like to have covered now?
Petronius: I suggest each one of us makes a list of topics he wants to cover and we'll jumble it together at the next meeting.
Ginorma: I agree.

Meeting 3:
Sakharov and I show up, Ginorma and Petronius do not. Petronius phones me, he got held up at work. Ginorma has reportedly forgotten her stuff at home. Sigh.


Act III - Won't anybody think of the Stochastics here?

Since I began to notice the rampant non-productivity in our meetings, I proposed to meet in IRC instead the next day. Not that I expected actually more, but at least I wouldn't have to waste time on the way and back.

So, Meeting 4, IRC, on Thursday, 18.00.
18.00:
T: Hey folks, I'm here. Folks?

18.10:
T: Fooolks?

18.20:
T: Fooo-hooolks!

18.30:
P: Sorry I'm late. Where are the others?
T: You tell me.
We begin working.

19.15:
S: Hi I'm here, sorry for being so late, got held up at uni.
P: No prob, we'll fill you in.
S: Is Ginorma gone already?
T: Err. Something like that.

So in the following hours, we worked together on the presentation, finally, on a draft I made the day before. BTW, I just noticed, this blog post lets me sound like I'm some kind of Über-diligent nerd and dominant as hell. I'm not, I'm more of a meek, lazy doormat. I guess it's just a case of being in the Land of the Blind and stuff. Innyway. We almost have the major stuff done, some formatting issues, and we'd be good to go. Until...

21.10:
G: Hey guys. I just mailed you my suggestion for the presentation.

Please note the disturbing absence of any apology for being late, or simply not going online. But, I was grateful she at least has done something. Until I open said draft. said draft consists of babble of what stochastic problems are. Since I don't want to bore you to death with the topic, I'll try to make it brief: Think of a game with a random element, like throwing a dice, and you have a stochastic event in it. So stochastic problems means you have to solve a problem even though you don't know for sure what happens next, opposed to deterministic problems, where you know for sure doing this'n'that will result in that'n'this. Sounds simple, right? Actually, it is that simple. And furthermore, it's our task to describe methods solving these problems.

Ginorma apparently thought stating the problem, or rather, only one of the problems, in excruciating detail would be enough, and wanted to add 9 slices of this in our 20-slices presentation. We told her, first politely, then firmly that this kinda is too much, and would probably better off in the actual seminar report we have to write later.
Until I discovered later at closer inspection that all - ALL - of her slices were just a literal copy-and-paste of Googlisms found on that topic. Like, Professor M won't notice because he's not an expert on exact that topic, and totally not recognizes every single morsel of the work that has to be original. NOT! AUGH!

But the best part: After dumping this "work" directly into our laps, and after bitching that our work isn't complete (like, how can it be complete when our task is to present the topics we're about to cover in the next two months, like, way to understand your actual task, dim bitch), she then suddenly announces she has to work tomorrow and has to go to bed now. We say goodnight to her. And then, she goes offline, at least, out of Sakharov's and Petronius perspective. Out of my perspective however, she turns on her invisible mode on ICQ, because she doesn't notice I'm not on her Invisible list yet. And stays there, clueless, for the next one and a half hour. Remember, Computer Science and Business. God, this is just sad.

But oh well. We got the presentation together. Now there was just the abominable task of who should actually present it. If you know me, you also know I have a near Phobia-like fear of speaking in public, and the other three weren't exactly keen on volunteering, either. So since we couldn't reach consensus, we planned to settle this on the day of the presentation.

Act IV - I just remembered, I have a thinly disguised excuse...

D-Day. Okay, Mon-Day actually. We agreed to meet at 9 o'clock, the presentation is at ten.

9.00.
T: Well, I'm here. (looks around) Hm. Guess I have to wait a little. Again.

9.05.
T: This is annoying. (pause) Why do I keep doing this being-on-time shit, anyway?

9.10.
T: Oh. They. Wouldn't.

9.15.
T: Oh God. They totally will.

9.20.
T: I hate each and every person on this fucking planet.

9.22.
Teshik: Oh goddamn fucking finally.
Sakharov (comes rushing): Sorry I'm so late, I missed my tram...Huh? Where are the others?
Teshik: You tell me. And no, they're not answering their cells either.

9.24.
Ginorma and Petronius arrive. The latter is limping.
Ginorma: Hey. Have you decided who's going to present?

I barely resist the urge to launch into a bitch-tirade, because a) when you're almost half an hour late(and notably, not for the first time exactly), the least you could do is utter a little "Sorry I'm late", and b) side-stepping the issue of presenting by simply letting your teammates believe you're a no-show? Wow. I don't even know where to begin. Anyway. Petronius did marginally better:

Petronius: Sorry I'm so late. I couldn't drive today, I sprained my ankle yesterday while climbing around in the Harz. And since I can't stand without considerable pain, I can't present today.

Because Petronius and I know each other so well by now, we then engage in a three-second conversation which was conducted entirely nonverbal. A rough translation:

T: Oh, you did NOT just do that to me.
P: Like I did it on purpose.
T: So you just happened to clamber up and down the nearest mountain you could find yesterday, not to mention with inappropriate footwear?
P: Why yes. Yes I did. Problem with that?
T: This ain't over. You know that.
P: Psh. Whatever. Drama Queen.

And no, I have no idea how one conveys "inappropriate footwear" just by wiggling ones eyebrows. But somehow, I did.

Ginorma: Okay. I just made three new pages on the stochastic problem. Let's insert them into our presentation.

No, I'm not kidding with that one.

Act V - He KNOWS something. Get the pitchforks! BURN THE WITCH!!

After we downtalked Ginorma yet again on her favourite subject (partly because two of her three were in the presentation already, like, nice of you to at least read what we've done, bitch. Not.), we got stuck again on the presentation part.

Ginorma: I was thinking, that you could take on the approximation part alone.
Teshik: That's...two thirds of our presentation.
Ginorma: Yes, but it's the part you wrote yourself. And you can explain it the best.

Oh. Kaaaaay. Just so we're clear, I had to do two thirds of our presentation, as a punishment, because I was stupid enough to do almost everything myself in the first place. Gah. Gaaaah!

I didn't start a major bitch-out, partly because it was 9.52 and we were on in ten minutes, partly because I really need that credit for that seminar, and partly because I'm a stupid pushover sometimes.

So, Ginorma begins...and stumbles. We wait for her to collect herself. Prof M asks her something. She's at a loss. I intervene, because I'm not a complete asshole. Prof asks a second question. I tell him G will cover this on the next slides, but before I'm able to turn over to her, I get plastered by the next few questions. I get a little ticked because suddenly I'm the one getting grilled by him, which is even better if you count the fact I'm getting grilled in front of 50+ other students and am barely resisting to dissolve into a sobbing heap of fear and embarrassment anyway.
Somehow I am able to get him back to our slices, although I have to do the rest of it alone. And if I thought two-thirds is much, three-quarters is actually even more. Rrrrgh.

After the end of the presentation, my next memories are kinda blurry. Must be that adrenaline thing in extreme duress situations. But I do remember Ginorma good-naturely saying I totally lied about my public-speaking-fear, because I did so well, and me resisting the urge of punching a stupid woman into her face in front of witnesses.

And to think, this was only the first presentation. We still have to write the actual paper, and present that one. Rrrrgh. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the clock tower.

Healthy lifestyle? Pull the other one.

Sailorwind asked:
So how was everyone's Thanksgiving?

Busy. And we don't even have this holiday. Let's see. There was :

Friday, block seminar. Lesson from 9:30 am to 6 pm, after which your brain cells are pretty much fried. And keep in mind I additionally need 2 hours to and fro each, so extra annoyance guaranteed.

Saturday. Spending the morning trying to decipher the cryptic notes I left on my memo pad yesterday, while apparently already in half-coma. Getting a call from F, the dad of my godchild. His wife, S, pregnant with twins needs to go to the hospital. Impromptu babysitter needed. I say yes, although I already agreed to do the same on Sunday and Monday, because I'm an idiot. F and S return around six, thankfully false alarm. After godchild is tucked away, we decide to raid the secret saltine stack, call a few friends and make a little dvd-in. After seeing "Cars" (average) and "Big Mama 2" (surprisingly good), I fall asleep within the first ten minutes of "Spiderman". Again.

Sunday. My Mom and I spend the most of morning and noon under our roof (more precisely, the stowaway parts at the sides) to stuff an old closet and bed (disassembled) there. First we have to clean up a whole bunch of mouseshit and close the hole they apparently crawled in. Fun. Not. In the afternoon, I pack my pc and drive over to F (we play pc games on each Sunday. It's part of a tradition by now). Unfortunately, around five S is having labour again, some more. So while they endure the fun of incompetent doctors, I have to keep Jay (my godchild) upright and entertained two hours past his bedtime. (Tugging him in myself? Nah. We discussed this. Either Mommy or Daddy tucks him in, or no one.)

Monday. F has a mandatory seminar today, so I babysit again from 7.30 am to 5.30 pm(at least, this time S is at home. Not that she can actually do anything while chained to the bed, but she's a better conversationalist than her son). Note the recurring theme of me babysitting and me spending more time at my friend's than at home. At least today, we don't have to drive to the hospital again. After that, dropping by at friend Y, who's in the city for a day. Uni workload? Pshaw. Tomorrow, maybe.

Tuesday, the day with most lessons. Getting a call from D, who somehow managed to rip apart something in his knee and thus can't return his math homework. So we ditch the 8-10 lesson and drive over to him. On the way back to uni, I notice my neck stiffens, my head aches, and my forehead begins to glow. This is my body's subtle way of saying: "Unusual Exercise, sleep-deprivation and Junk Food/missed meals instead of vitamins for several days? Screw you, Asshole!". I know he's not kidding, so I ditch the rest of lessons too and drive home. Much to the delight of a schoolclass on tour and two old ladies in the train, who probably think I infected them with Ebola or something. The rest of the day consists of dumping aspirin and the very arduous task of breathing.

Wednesday. Body and me sign an armistice, I stuff myself with a vitamin cocktail which usually would suffice for a whole week - and a whole family - and venture out into uni territory again. This day's wacky train hijinks feature two loud elementary-school-classes, and my non-functional mp3-stick. And in uni, I realize I came for exactly nothing, since the stupid server crashed and our input is void. Great.

So, in retrospect, I did so much my body went on strike, but actually having accomplished something? Nah. Yeah, depressing. I know.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll now shamelessly abuse my moderator privilege by randomly terrorizing poor innocent forumists. Mua ha ha ha ha.