Errr....I'm....back? Maybe...

*yawn* *smack, smack* Ah, what a delightful little nap. I wonder what time it is. Oh. Sunday. In May? In Two-thousand-fucking-ten?!? Wasn't it just November a minute ago? I feel cheated. Oh well.

Time to log on into ye Olde PC of mine...wonder whats on the email. Hm. Spam... spam...spam - ooh, "enlardge you're mennly provess!"[sic] - special spam, spam, spam, online game whining i've been off for several weeks, spam, spam, same o-game deleting my account due to inactivity...eh. whatever. Not important, anyway. Hm. I've forgotten something. Is it my laundry? No. I mean, yes, there is a big huge fucking heap of laundry in my bathroom gaining sentience right now, but that's not it. Man, that's gonna bother me all day. Is it something at work? No, cell phone would have gone off two hours ago, at least. I vaguely associate shame and guilt with that feeling. Hm. What could it be...*looks down* Nope, wearing pants, nope, no underwear on my head. ...This time.

Dammit. this can't be anything important, can it? Have I payed all my bills? Yes. Watered the plants? Ehhh...at least sometime this decade. Fed the birds? *watches bird poop onto his own waterbowl* - well, certain output requires certain input. *sigh* Check. Dentist appointment? No, I'm forgetting that on purpose. Hm. It'll come to me eventually. I'll just pass the time cleaning up my internet favorites. *sniff, sniff* eww, what's reeking like rotten fish in here? Oh. My blog - and that little internet forum where I'm still moderator...

Oops.

Err.

Hello, My name is Teshik Nakatani. You may remember me from films like "Burn, deutsche Telekom, burn", "I am totally going to finish that fanfic this year, honest", and the instant classic "Whine, my life sucks, waaah". And I think I just recovered from a near death experience of my web persona.

Web persona death are quite common, due to the anonymous and, let's face it, flimsy nature of the internet. People in forums post quite often at first, then more and more infrequent, and after a while they simply fade into the background, never to be heard of, again. I'm willing to bet that 80 per cent of the entire blogosphere is made of blogs containing 5 posts or less, abandoned at least several month ago. Web pages, social networks, you name it. All of them are susceptible to the dreaded Real-Life-Desease.

The Reasons are numerous. You got a new girl - or boyfriend, or broke up with him/her. You may realize that posting vids of yourself on YouTube might be hazardous to your carreer. You get a new job, start or finish college, the person collaborating with you on that web project quits, you simply run out of money for your hobby, nobody reads your beautiful webcomic/blog/whathaveyou, yadda yadda blah.

Real-Life-Disease is deadly for your Internet avatar. Worse - the longer you stay away from the web, the lower the chance you go back to it. To avoid the where-have-you-been-questions, because do you really want to talk about that awful breakup with your partner you just barely weathered? Or because whatever drew you into that particular web corner isn't just so interesting anymore. Admit it. The novelty's worn off, and you're bored.

Never say this will never happen to you, because it will. And probably, it has. Think back to the webpages you used to check regularly one year ago. Two years ago. Five years ago.

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, considering:

• I've finally managed, after seven fucking long years, to acquire my diploma in Computer Science and Business, (BOOYA, MOTHERFUCKER!)
• and I'm now employed as a system analyst and make, in my opinion, a real cool amount of money every month. At least, compared to the jobs I've had before, and the jobs my friends and relatives have at the moment.

So, I would have so many many reasons to bitch about work, uni, finishing uni, or the fact that the fucktards at the uni administration managed to lose my goddamn diploma certificate - TWICE - but for some reason, I didn't feel like posting about it. It isn't even that I don't have the time left to write something, I just didn't. Weird.

Is that what happens if you turn thirty? All the Creativity and Fun gets sucked out of you, and whats left is the perfect work drone for your employer? *shudder* I hope not. Let that be a lesson to you kids - don't let THEM ever talk you into accepting that you're older than sixteen, or you could end up like meeeeeeee! *zombie shuffle* *people fleeing in terror*


So what's the point of this blog post you ask, dear reader? Bah, since when do I need a point? Oh yeah, this time. I wanna thank WyattChris, Storygirl83, tim and chrishalliwellfan for administering CPR to my web persona by congratulating me on my birthday - which was a frickin' month ago, and I didn't even notice. Thanks guys - you got me thinking.

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.

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.

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.