Non News

Class? Meet Fridgey. Fridgey is the newest member of my household, and I will love him and hug him and pet him and call him Florence and take him to the park until the day he dies. Okay, maybe not the park thing, because I'm afraid frolicking will get a leeetle cumbersome, what with him not moving and weighing 23 kilos. But he has Energy Efficience Class A+, so he won't waste electricity! And he is so cool and new and not smelling of God knows what this little green wrinkled thingy was that Grandma left in the last one before she died anno 2001. (No matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't get it out of the old one. I presume it was parsley.)
You think I'm a little overjoyed with my new fridge? Bah. Ever tried to live two fucking months without one? And before you ask, no, I didn't have a (functioning) freezer either. Now I have. Granted, in the tiny space I can probably only fit a chocolate popsicle and about three ice cubes, or maybe a pizza if I fold it a few times, but nevertheless, it's mine, and it's working. Whee!

I also want you to meet the second newest member of my household:
You already know Nero, his new pal is called Marty. I will not hug him too tight, though, because that would end in me becoming very surprised, then very dirty, and then very sad, in about that order. Plus, little fucker is way too fast for me to catch anyway. I will not take him to the park either, because of the predictable result.
(Oh, and before you ask, no, that's not their real cage, they just like to play in the tiny one. And destroy wooden ceilings)


As for the third new member of my household, I will not give it nicknames, and I will certainly not post pictures, because that's the one-centimeter-scar I acquired when they finally cut away my "I Can't Believe It's Not Cancer"-cyst I whined about way back in December.

Another new member of another household: Petronius is now the proud father of a tiny little girl, and hopefully, he won't break off any parts of her. I don't have any pictures of her though, because we kinda didn't talk since Mid-February (when last semester ended), and to be honest, I will not be the one forcing the issue after the whole seminar fubar. Just because we passed in the end, doesn't mean all is forgiven. I wish them the best of luck, though.

Since this all was quite non-life-threatening and/or actually good news for us, don't worry, we do fill our shittiness quota for April too, since two days after my birthday, our heating broke. The way things are going in our house at the moment is truly amazing. I fully expect to slam a door too hard next week and the wall attached to it disintegrating into dust. Oh, and in contrast to last April, which hat temperatures of 25 degrees Celsius and more, we had the coldest April in the last 15 years. Thank you, St. Peter. We really like to freeze. Anyway, since we already had planned to nenew our heating system this autumn, we skipped the fixing and went over right to the new system. Which, naturally meant 1) the very day the new heating was installed, we had the first real summer day, and 2) a full week where people I don't know make everything dirty. Whee. Not. Also? My dad insisted on buying another oil heating because "it's reliable", so I will probably rip that one out in ten years or so, because: I don't know how prices for oil are in the States right now, but our gasoline peaked from 1,24 €/litre to 1,54 €/litre in the span of three month. That's a 25 fuckin' per cent increase, if yer interested.

Last, but not least: Today is Saturday, May 10th, and my Mom's gargantuan wound? STILL not closed. Partly because our Doc needed to rip it open again, there was some dirt in the wound.

Next up on Teshik-TV: Teshik and his family make a lovely vacation to the Indian Ocean, to discover where exactly Nargis went after scorching the better parts of Burma. Wacky hijinks ensue when they accidentally stumble around Osama bin Laden's secret hideout instead. Stay tuned, kids!

Chaaaaange

I guess it's finally time for me to take the time again and start to post blog entries every now and then (at least, entries that won't involve physical and/or mental breakdowns on my part)

Now that I've already driven off the sadists waiting for stories of my torment, how to antagonize even more possible readers? Hmm...Ah! Politics.

Let's have a rational and neutral discussion about your candidate debate. By which I mean, "let me ridicule your current and your possible next presidents."
At the moment, even though my TV is still refusing to receive any broadcasts, I'm still feeling bombarded by that whole "Who's da Prez"(candidate) issue. And I like to remind y'all that I don't even live on the same continent as the United States. Needless to say, I'm annoyed. Because, even if I'm well-informed about the issue, which I usually prefer in political topics, I won't have any say in the matter anyway. I do have the power to whine about, though.

Let's look at the choices you have. Your current supreme ruler isn't electable anymore. That means, since you're essentially a two-party-country, usually two candidates. I'm not including Ralph Nader or the Greens in this, because, let's face it: While Nader might have a chance of entering the Guinness Book of Records at some point (Most consecutive runnings for president, 1992 - 2036), the actual chances are rather slim, since better arguments won't win you an election, see "Re: The Dolt vs. Horseface" in 2004, and also, even the majority of votes won't guarantee you a win, see "Re: Re: The Dolt vs. Global Warming" in 2000.

Interestingly, this time, we have twist with an additional candidate, since the Democrats still haven't made up their mind yet. That leaves you with three choices: White Bitch, Black Jesus, and Old Faithful.

And now comes the tricky part: Are you able to vote for one of those candidates without those descriptive labels "Woman", "Black" or "Veteran"? The thing is, everyone has them in the back of his/her mind when deciding who is the best of them in their opinion. Yet, as soon as you point that out, you're either sexist, racist, or unpatriotic. This is fairly easy to spot once you begin to mix around.

An example: Imagine John McCain was a woman. Suddenly, his chances of becoming president begin to drop. Why? Not because of the big blond wig and the red lipstick, mind you. People have no problem electing female heads of state, The Iron Lady, or our Darth Merkel with her Weapons of Mass Distraction are the best examples. It's just that a Mrs. McCain would have the stigma of being too old. Ever seen a 71-year-old woman running around claiming a high political office? I won't say there won't be any, but as soon as they have to face elections, they have fewer chances. It's the old little saying: "When men age, they get more charming. When women age, they get more ugly". Sad, and certainly unfair, but still true.

Second example: Make Clinton male. Suddenly, she's way less "cold". Women are supposed to be more sympathetic with your issues, have that motherly attitude. It's her gender that kinda gets her the air of being a cold-hearted bitch. If a man acts cold-hearted, it's forgiven sooner, because it's more expected. If a woman does the same, it's regarded as an attack out of left field. Of course, being a woman can also be used nicely, like crying yourself back into the hearts of millions. If a man cried, he'd be out of the race in under five seconds. But don't get me wrong, if Clinton has to, she will order your Death By Airlock.

Thirdly: Douse poor Mr. Obama in a shower of bleach to make him white(Not that white though, please.), and call him Steve. Wow. Isn't he boring now? Also, he loses his ability to appear as the Second Kennedy. Plus, he predictably loses his appeal on the African-American populace. Why? Is a white male so utterly unsuitable to speak for all Americans, regardless of color? (If you answer that one with "yes", then Barack Obama is in return unsuitable for representing the Whites/Latinos/Whathaveyou, which is the majority.)
Also, Steve Obama's Speeches about the Chaaaaange the country needs, and the Chaaaaange in the government, are way less believable now. (Granted, his opponents jumped on the whole Chaaaaange train, but only because they realized it worked.). Because, if you look more closely, and strip away Obama's undoubtedly charismatic face and the whole "vision" and the youtube-videos blending him together with frickin' Martin Luther King, which just rubs me in a really wrong way, then you discover remarkably few details to his whole "Chaaaaanging America" plan. I mean, it's part of the deal that candidates try to hold the nasty details like tax raises and unpopular decisions until after the election, and McCain and Clinton are no different. But apart from the fact that Obama was against the Iraq war and him pointing fingers, "but the Bad Bad Mrs. Clinton said yes", I know little about his real political agenda. And all I do find are quotes out of the last year as a candidate, so I can't know if he's always been of those opinions, or if he just shells out everything his voters want to hear.

Oh, and another thing: Presidental candidates all try to sell that they're standing up for the Poor Lower-Middle-Class People trying to meet ends with three-and-a-half jobs. And they caaaare so much for them. Just remember two things, though:

1) Presidental candidates seldom know what lower-class or even lower middle-class means. You know McCain and Clinton are White Suburbians. And "Man of the People"-Obama? His Dad went to Harvard, his later stepdad was a manager for an oil company, Barack himself went to Indonesian private schools.
2) If you want to win an election in the USA, you have to spend the big bucks. That means you either have them yourself, or you need to get donations. Where'd you get the biggest donations? Well, corporations, and other rich people. Duh. Why will they give you the money? Because they expect something in return. Dubya was supported by big oil companies, so what will he do? Tax them for environmental destruction and use the money to create a green economy? Please. Your Li'l Shrub may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even he isn't that dumb. And Clinton, Obama and McCain will have to rely on the same kind of money.

So, kids, keep those words of mine in mind when you vote, and maybe we'll end up with the Lesser Evil this time. For my part, I will wholeheartedly support Hillary. Hillary Hussein Rodham-McCain Jr., that is.

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.

Ye Rhandome Shyte

Ever had one of those mornings? You know, one of those where your alarm clock kinda awakes you, but not entirely? I hate those. Because a) I never seem to get awake the whole day afterwards, and b) they usually interrupt very vivid dreams. And I don't get the usual dreams everybody has, like standing naked in front of my classmates/friends/coworkers kind of stuff, nooo. I get the really surreal shit that makes poo-flinger Dali look like a respected member of society.

I mean, first off, I incorporate my alarm clock into my dreams. Okay, probably everyone does that. But as a ringing doorbell, or a telephone, and that would be way too mundane for the black hole that's my brain. No, I have our cat beep at me. Or my sister, which made me think for a moment that dreams are now FCC-regulated. Or did you ever had a dream where you stared with a raised eyebrow at your cappucino cup, because it emanated a mesmerizing "bip-beeep-beeep-beeep-beeep-beeep"?

Plus, dreams kind of reveal my sadistic streaks. In one dream, me and my family got off a plane, because we'd just relocated to Mars, when my father suddenly got hit by a man-sized meteor. And because I am such a nice boy and caring son, The only thing I manage to say is "That's bad. I mean, he pays our rent an'all." Then, two ex-classmates of mine show up, of the kind I never liked. I just think "Hey, it would be so awesome if those two were hit, too", and what do you know? Combo! Fatality! Teshik advances to Level "Lucid Dreaming"! And manages to hit his incompetent ex-boss with another one and a very satisfying "Splorch" before he wakes up. And lies in his bed at 3 a.m., giggling like a madman at the ridiculousness of it all.

In another one of'em, I met Li'l Toby. Li'l Toby was a very stereotypical orphan child, I have to add. And a stupid one to boot. Well, at least he wasn't trying to shine my shoes or sell me the newspapaper. And, true to the form of cheap fifties tv series, Li'l Toby soon fell down a well. No, really. No, really.
But I knew somehow that since the well ends in a pipe system of the toilets in our house and that one ends on the river(don't bother with the logistics, it's still a dream we're talking about. Just tell yourself the pipes were big enough for Li'l Toby.), so I walked calmly to said river, ready to get the brat out, when I realized, hey, it's fucking winter. The river's frozen. So I had to rescue Li'l Timmy or whatever, when there's a twenty centimeter ice layer between him and the oxygen he kinda needs. And neither the damn hairy dog nor that stupid dolphin were anywhere in sight. Or Knight Boat, for that matter (There's always a fjord...). So, I'm running on the surface, li'l Jamie floating just underneath me making urgent gestures, and I'm hacking away at the ice with my boomerang, as I get pulled out of it by my alarm clock, leaving the orphan drowning and me sitting on my bedside, feeling confused and kinda guilty. And yes, I do recognize the psychological implications on the losing the orphan part, but can anyone explain the boomerang to me? If it helps, it was bright neon green.

Today, I was dreaming that I was getting my diploma, like, fuck yeah. Then, I get to my first job, which was advertised as "Usual Office Stuff and ...". And because Dream Teshik is as stupid and naive as Real Teshik, I took the job, and the next thing I knew, I was locked into a room with some demotivated colleagues, one of them boredly remarking: "Oh. It's melting again." What's melting? Why, we're talking about the meltdown at the local nuclear power plant of course. Of. Course. And with my diploma in Computer Science and Business, I'm like, totally qualified for that one.
But, no problem, I get to that control board all maestro-like, ready to - I dunno, depolarize the uranium, or whatever? - when I notice my car keys are missing. Which I really need to drive that control panel. (Don't ask. I certainly don't). And now, the thing starts beeping, as in, Shit's Happening, Dude. Unfortunately I realize at that point the annoying beeping is my clock again, so I didn't get to find out if my colleagues did handle it without me. But considering said colleagues included 1) an ex-classmate of mine who failed his abitur, twice, 2) Astronaut Teacher Christa McAuliffe, and 3) Twop-co-inventress Sars, who has a degree, but I don't think in Nuclear Engineering - I am a leeeetle inclined to think the mission might not turned out that well.

So, if you're going to sleep today and all you can dream about is an utterly devastated nuclear wasteland and a horribly mutated Sadie the Fire Safety Tomato, just remember: it's all Mrs McAuliffe's fault.

Oh, and since we're on the topic of random shit: When you're googling for what Sigmund Freud might think of Salvatore Dali, you may end up at a site like this. So if you're ever wished for a Chibi doll of Mao Zedong, your dreams just came true, for only $ 5.99 . For what you could possibly use a Mao Zedong or a Frida Kahlo Chibi doll, you ask? I don't know, but I won't judge you. (Partly because I so want that Einstein one. He's so cute! But smart, too! And totally Chibi!!)

And you know what's the best part of the internet? You can even google "random shit" and get results: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwm3yzPLAV4

So, enough insanity. For now. Heh.

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.

The more things change

Six years ago.

Today.
7.31 a.m.

Teshik: Good morning, sunshine.
Satyria: Good? Your privileges to call me sunshine are hereby revoked.
T: On what grounds? ...Monkeybutter?
S: I hate you. On the grounds that I have to deal with a shitty Japanese today.
T: What the hell do you have to do with Japaneezers?
S: Only one of them. I'm reviewing the corporate review of Miss Takashima, and she's not going to like it. And she's already pissy at me because I didn't start my last mail to her with "thank you, and I love you, and I'm going to die of breast cancer."
T: Well, it was awfully inconsiderate for you not to kiss Miss Tamagotchi's feet. At least not verbally, I don't think she expects you to make the 12-hour-flight to do it for real... at least, not yet.
S: She's called Takashima. Don't do this to me.
T: Whaddaya mean?
S: I'm going to confuse the alias with the real name and make an ass of myself again. It was embarassing enough with...with...you know, Mr Zucchini. That Italian guy. I never remember his real name now.
T: Heh. Well, if it helps, I'm countering your review on a review with a presentation for a presentation. Apparently, according to our CTO, we volunteered to present our department at a meeting at the end of the month. We were kind of surprised, and mildly annoyed. And I have to be the creative guy who presents the team with "fresh" and "promising" perspectives tomorrow. Needless to say, I'm less than thrilled.
S: How does one volunteer without doing the volunteering part?
T: He's the CTO. We're not.
S: Ever get the feeling we're some escapees of a Dilbert cartoon?
T: Frequently, dear Alice, but Dogbert told me that's just a phase.


Later, around 2 o'clock. (We do actual work at work, too, you know. Amazing, but true. )
T: I swear, I'm going to kill a priest any time now.
S: Huh? What crawled up your ass?
T: Remember the church directly across the street of my office building?
S: Yeah?
T: The bell is ringing.
S: You know, church bells do that sometimes.
T: But not all the fucking time.
S: You know why they're ringing.
T: Don't say it. Don't even type it. It is The Day Who-must-not-me-named. And if they're going to commemorate the shit, they could at least use the real time scale. Or, start in the afternoon, when I'm about to leave, not at nine a.m., or three in the morning for New Yorkers. And not, I repeat, not simply start and stop the bell at random intervals. And you don't do it UNTIL FUCKING TWO IN THE AFTERNOON! It's driving me nuts.
S: What happens when I name the day who must not be named?
T: Don't. Or I swear, I break out the fucking Enya.
S: Bring it, weenie. *ahem* Nine-Eleven. World Trade Center.
T: *sings* Let mee sa- heeel, let mee sa- heeeel, let the orinoccoflo, let mee reee- heeech, let me beee- heeech... *bum* dääää, *bum* däääää, *bum* däääää duh... selaway, selaway, selawayyyy...
S: ACK!
T: Don't say I didn't warn you.
S: I wasn't expecting this particular piece of shit. I was prepared for : Whooooooooocaaaannnnsaaaayyyywheeeereeetheeeerooeeedgoessss... um-bah-dibpu-dibpu-dibpu. You know, the usual.
T: I know you too well for that.
S: I will remember it. A propos remembering: Dear Sir or Madam, did you know that today is International Plane Day? Share with us your heartwrenching story of you sitting in the kitchen filing away your toe warts. What were YOU doing when "it" happened, those thirty-two quadrillion years ago when the world was still flat and dinosaurs roamed the earth and gas was cheap and we were young and innocent?
T: Plane Day. Hee. - You know? Six Years ago? I was talking to you. In the same company we are right now, only in different departments.
S: ...
T: What? I did.
S: ...Yeah, but...wow. This is depressing.
T: That proves it. Time really does flow in circles.
S: Crap. I'm going to keep shitty hair for at least a year now.
T: But you? Don't have to break out the funeral wear.
S: Hmmm. Does that mean your dad has cancer again?
T: He didn't have, I told ya. But if it helps, he has COPD and refuses to quit smoking.
S: We're both here again, I'm having an awful haircut, your dad's sick...okay, spooky. and it's 14.36 now, sooo...impending doom, starting in ten minutes.
T: If a terrorist is stupid enough to hit my office building? Tell F he still owes me the twenty bucks, and such simple things as me dying doesn't absolve him. Oh yeah, and that I love everyone and shit.
S: And if the earth opens and swallows the hall I'm in? Tell everyone I strangled at least three of my coworkers and Miss Takashima before going down.
T: "Satyria was a dangerous psycho." Got it. So. T Minus three minutes.
S: I wonder what it will be. I'm guessing volcano. South America.
T: I'm betting Earthquake. South East Asia. Followed by tsunami, again, some more. And the best part? No one will care because actual news would disturb the Remembrance Holiday in New York.
S: Good one. So, impending doom in five...four...three...two...one...Bingo.
T:...
S:...
T: Either the shockwaves of the H-Bomb Dubya just dropped on us take longer than I thought, or no boom today. Maybe Boom tomorrow.
S: You sound disappointed.
T: No boom means "Teshik has to do the fucking presentation tomorrow and won't get out of office until half past four."
S: I see your point. Hey, but you know, we could already be dead. If the sun exploded at 14.46, we won't know until 14.52.
T: One can only hope.


So, what do you know? Even September 11ths can end on a happy note. Or at least, with a different attitude. Happy Plane Day, folks.