Engineering symposium? Cheeze-It!

For some weird reason, this email from the engineering department at my university completely cracked me up. I just had to share it with someone. Aren't you lucky?

"Thermo-Mechanical Effects in Multi-Component Micro-Systems in
Electronic Applications"

DAY: 28 January 2005, Friday
TIME: 2:00 pm
PLACE: Engr I Bldg, Room 224

Snacks will be provided. Please see attached abstract details.

I think it was the "snacks will be provided" that set me off. You think a juice box and some ritz crackers are enough to bribe me into attending that?!?

Nice try, you sneaky engineers, you. I believe I'll be getting my nosh on elsewhere.

The day my opinion got flushed

We all make mistakes. Some are apparently less forgiveable than others... say, killing someone. That's usually a biggie. Among my friends, subjecting them to the wrong indie flick is capital punishment worthy. I learned this after picking out a saucy little movie called Urinal.

Now, I still maintain that there was no way I could have predicted the unparalleled badness of this movie. From the summary on www.imdb.com:

A mystery man brings together a group of dead, gay artists to investigate a police response to the dilema of wash-room sex in Toronto. The artists have seven days in which to report on the ethics of police tactics. The artists infiltrate the police only to discover that they themselves are under surveillance as a political subversive group. The artists explore and report on the evolution of toilets and wash-room behavior.

I mean, what more could any movie renter want? It's got it all: Dead artists, unethical police, an inside look at toilets, and of course, a "mystery man" bringing it all together. Who wouldn't want to see Frida Kahlo and Langston Hughes play gay avengers against the homophobic fascists on the Canadian police force?

Okay. Apparently it IS possible for a winning combination like that to go awry. Somewhere between the bad lighting and the bad acting, I finally admitted that I had chosen a very terrible movie. I even apologized. Me. Apologized.

But it was too late. My movie renting priviledges have been revoked. Forever. And I'm not even allowed to go *near* Stardust, the local haven for indie flick rentals.

Hindsight is 20/20 my friend, but don't tell me you wouldn't have fallen for that plot line too. You know you would have.

fantastic.

Not to pat myself on the back or anything, but I would just like to point out how forward thinking this mid-december post of mine was:

Here in modern day civilization, we've moved on to... oh, let's say, the Spongebob movie. And, you know, how it relates to... stuff.

And so we have. Stupid gay sponges.


Fantastic.

On the road again...

So, my good friend Flavian (aka Brian, aka what-ever-the-hell-his-name-is-on-here-cause-I'm-too-lazy-to-look) and I went to Washington, DC. Again. This time, Ryan was absent, although there in spirit, I'm sure. Overall, it was a good trip. But, as always, mistakes were made. In the interest of serving the public (which is clearly my goal with this blog) I'd like to share a few of those mistakes with you, so that others can learn without suffering as I did.

1. The good people at the Mini-Cooper factory aren't kidding with that name. Those cars are NOT "road-trip friendly" in my book. I felt like I was riding around in a slightly more stylin' version of a clown car. But ya gotta love that gas mileage.

2. Don't eat falafel and leftover curry when you're going to be in a confined space for long periods of time. Look, I'm not pointing fingers here or anything, but I am saying that I don't remember passing a paper mill on the way up. The way down, however, was a different story.

3. If you are planning on attending a specific function, say the inauguration, plan to be on TIME for that function. An example of what not to do would be, say, leaving Orlando at 9am with an ETA of 12pm in DC. Somehow, this just doesn't work. See below for further explanation.

4. Bring maps. Oh, and I should specify further: Bring maps of the areas you'll be driving through and visiting. For example, if you are going to DC, you might want to include a map of DC, as well as the states between you and DC. This helps you figure out not only where you're going, but when you might arrive there. I suppose this should be obvious...

and finally,

5. Don't stop in South Carolina. We'll just leave it at that.

miscarry me far far away from virginia

Absolute fucking insanity apparently has a new name:HB1677.
As well as a new master: Sen. John Cosgrove (R- surprise!) of Virginia.

I'd like to be funny about this, but really, it's not funny. It's monstrous. It's frightening. And it's some of the most twisted and downright mean legislation that pro-lifers have come up with in recent memory. Not for lack of trying, of course.

According to the bill's summary, HB1677

Provides that when a fetal death occurs without medical attendance, it shall be the woman's responsibility to report the death to the proper law-enforcement agency within 12 hours of the delivery. Violation of this section shall be punishable as a Class 1 misdemeanor.

Just to clarify, for anyone not fully horrified, this means that any woman who has a natural miscarriage at any stage of pregnancy must report it within 12 hours. A class 1 misdemeanor, by the way, is the same catagory Virginia affords to stalkers, statutory rapists, and the good people who make bomb threats. Is there any other instance in the United States where failing to report a completely natural body function is considered a crime? I'm reminded of the episode of Crank Yankers where the unsuspecting man is jokingly fined for environmental damage due to his overzealous bowel movements. Unfortunately, this time it isn't foul-mouthed puppets on a cable show. It's a senator.

The logistics, of course, are mindboggling. Even conservative estimates say that around 15% of pregnancies end in miscarriages. Most likely that number is much higher when you consider very early miscarriages from women who had no idea they were even pregnant. Not that this bill differentiates. And what about those women who didn't know they were pregnant? Criminals, all of them! And speaking of criminals, how will the fuzz deal with this? The impossibility of enforcement would make even the war on drugs look like a smashing success. The only way they can possibly keep track is if women are crazy enough to get prenatal care. We certainly wouldn't want to be encouraging that!

But more importantly, how the fuck is this guy going to tell thousands of women, only hours after they've miscarried, to shelve their pain while they fill out some forms?

I'm sick of these pro-child, pro-family, pro-asshole republicans living up to every stereotype I have of them. Someone prove me wrong already. Please. It's not that hard. My standards for republicans are appallingly low these days.

Jon Stewart- please procreate.

Tucker Carlson, as well as the CNN show Crossfire which made him and his bowties famous, has officially been sacked.

Everyone who is anyone immediately asked themselves: "Did Jon Stewart have anything to do with this? Please god tell me that Jon Stewart had something to do with this."

Oh, and he did!

For everyone who isn't anyone, Jon Stewart is the beloved host of the "fake news" Comedy Central creation, The Daily Show. Contrary to the description, he reports news that really isn't fake at all (although the audience usually wishes it were) with humorous commentary in between. Very humorous commentary.

But he's more than just funny (and insanely attractive.) He's the voice of a generation (even though he doesn't technically belong to that generation.) This was never more evident than in his now infamous Crossfire appearance when he called Tucker Carlson a dick. Right there. On CNN. A dick!

We'd all been thinking it for years, but even in my wildest fantasies I could not imagine it actually taking place.

That would have been enough for me to die happy. But he didn't just call him a dick. He called him a dick amongst a laundry list of other much-needed criticisms. But a summary by me would do no justice to Mr. Stewart's complaints. So here are a few of my favorite quotes from that episode, taken from CNN's transcript:

"I think, oftentimes, the person that knows they can't win is allowed to speak the most freely, because, otherwise, shows with titles, such as CROSSFIRE Or "HARDBALL" or "I'm Going to Kick Your Ass" will jump on it. In many ways, it's funny. And I made a special effort to come on the show today, because I have privately, amongst my friends and also in occasional newspapers and television shows, mentioned this show as being bad. And I wanted to -- I felt that that wasn't fair and I should come here and tell you that I don't -- it's not so much that it's bad, as it's hurting America. See, the thing is, we need your help. Right now, you're helping the politicians and the corporations. And we're left out there to mow our lawns. You're part of their strategies. You are partisan, what do you call it, hacks. I'm here to confront you, because we need help from the media and they're hurting us."

I mean, damn. All this from the guy who's show comes on after a half-hour program of puppets making prank calls. Which Stewart proudly admits.

Anyway- what was I talking about? Oh yeah. So today, CNN announced the end of Crossfire, and of Tucker Carlson (at least on their network.) And in explaining his reasons for doing so, the chief executive of CNN stated:

"I guess I come down more firmly in the Jon Stewart camp... " And what's more, the Associated Press reports that "He said all of the cable networks, including CNN, have overdosed on programming devoted to arguing over issues. Klein said he wants more substantive programming that is still compelling."

This is huge for fans of Jon Stewart. But it's also huge for fans of intelligent discourse. Will Klein live up to his stated ideal? Or will we be seeing yet another incarnation of "I'm going to kick your ass" in the spring lineup?

I don't know. But it seems that Jon Stewart was correct when he charged on that ill-fated Crossfire episode that "the news organizations look to Comedy Central for their cues on integrity."

I just can't believe they admitted it.

Juicy conversation

Every now and then I have a conversation with a friend that cracks me up so much, it deserves to be put here unedited, and without commentary from me. Without further delay, I give you the comedic stylings of Brian Pflueger:

Brian: I have a juicer, a blender, a neat-o coffee maker (I actually use that one.) I've used the juicer probably... twice?

Me: bread maker? I NEED that! How else will I aquire bread stuffs?

Brian: Have you ever drank the juice of an egg?

Me: uhhhhh

Brian: It's not very good. I went around when I bought it and juiced the shit out of my pantry. Pickles! Cheese! Butter! Nothing was safe!

Me: hahahahahahahhaha! oh my god. that's horrific.

Brian: The pickles weren't horrible, actually. Stay away from cheese juice, though.

Me: I can imagine.

Brian: You might think, "Hey, I like cheese and I like juice, so..." But no.

Me: I do think that a lot.

Brian: You and me both. I had the courage to act on it.

Me: oh my god. I'm laughing so hard.

Brian: Good! Learn from my mistake! Never buy a juicer when you're bored.

And there you have it, folks.

Smooth Operator update!

Wow.

So I sent an email to my boss about mr. wannabe-phone-sex-operator 34. And I cc'd the head of security. They are *so* cool. The head of security forwarded it to the property manager who promptly called the company supervisor.

Apparently, they record all their phone calls!! I've been vindicated!! The supervisor said he was "absolutely appalled" and the property manager is going to call him back tonight to find out what happened with it all.

woot!

Nov 2- the view from a dem

November 2nd was, well, painful. It hurts to even think about that night- a night that started with such hope and ended with complete despair.

Many democrats have been in mourning... almost as if we're recovering from a national tragedy. In the eyes of many, the reelection of Bush was a national tragedy.

The night started off well enough. I spent the afternoon hanging out at the polls with a group of local dems. We handed out fliers and chatted confidently about the election. Folks from the local dem headquarters brought us all french fries and sodas. Voters thanked us for coming out. With few exceptions, they smiled and even cheered at our Kerry signs. The only notable exception was a driveby yelling of "Kerry's a faaaaag!" Duely noted, good sir. And sadly, an excellent campaign strategy, in hindsight.

Back at my house, I had a small gathering of friends- Kerry supporters who were hungry for change. My good friend Ryan came over early. An ardent Kerry supporter, he was eager for a night of witty political banter as the results came in.

"Have they called anything? Have they called anything? MY GOD WOMAN! I've been in the car for 2 hours! HAVE THEY CALLED ANYTHING?" He screamed as he rushed through the door.

"Uhhhh, just Kentucky." I replied.

Although breathless, he still managed a heartfelt "FUCK Kentucky!"

Okay, so make that "witty political banter" as well as "drunken cursing." Really, the latter far outweighed the former.

People trickled in and we could feel the change in the air. Tonight was the night we would save America. We donned Kerry buttons and stickers. We wore patriotically colored beads around our necks. We gathered around the television for a night that was sure to change our country for the better.
Apparently, the rest of America hadn't gotten the memo.

I swore to myself that life simply couldn't go on if Florida went red. I had worked too hard. I had cared too much. The results from Florida began pouring in and things looked bleak. But Ryan wasn't phazed a bit:

"They haven't counted Broward yet! What the hell are you worried about?!? THEY HAVEN'T FUCKING COUNTED BROWARD!"

(for non-floridians, Broward county is one of the largest democratic strongholds in Florida. Ryan's faith in humanity rested with Broward county. No pressure or anything, though.)

Then the Broward results started coming in... and they clearly wouldn't be enough.

"20%! They've only counted 20% of Broward and you're worried? FUCK 20%!"

Fifteen minutes later...

"50%! They've only counted 50%! That's nothing! Broward'll pull us through!"

Fifteen minutes later:

"99%! Who gives a shit about 99%? Broward won't let us down! We can still..."

"100%. Huh. FUCK Broward."

At that point, most had left the party so they could cry in the privacy of their homes. The rest of us decided it was in our best interests to turn off the TV. The ultimate concession speech on election night is not the one made by the candidates: it's the one made by the lifelong partisans who say "Turn off CNN. Let's play some boardgames."

Ryan was curled up in a recliner, clutching a throw pillow and rocking nervously.
"What happened in Broward?" he mumbled like a child trying to cope with the loss of a favorite pet.

And much like the parents of that child, we didn't know what to tell him. How do you explain that no matter how much we all loved Broward, we had to let it go?

Probably unlike the parents of that child, I handed him a bottle of wine instead of a cheesy consolation speech.

The night wore on and we pretended that we were fine. Our eyes darted nervously, trying to avoid the streamers and balloons that decked the apartment walls. Suddenly, my celebratory decorations seemed to be mocking me and everything I stood for.

Ryan passed out on the couch that night and the next morning we set about to take down the decor. I tried to convince myself that this act was cathartic. But with every balloon I popped, I felt my soul deflating along with it.

And today, I wonder...

Has it really been nearly a month since that awful night? Has life really gone on like nothing happened? Am I really so melodramatic that I would compare popping balloons to the deflation of my soul?

The answers are yes, yes, and fuck yes.

I still haven't found a cheesy consolation speech to replace the bottle of wine. I still feel disconnected- not just from my government, but from my neighbors, my co-workers and my country. I still don't know why the fuck Broward didn't pull us through. Come ON, Broward!

But I do know this: In the spirit of Ryan Kent, who is probably in a straight jacket somewhere mumbling about a Broward recount, I must say:

FUCK November second.

Smooth Operator... really was an operator this time.

Lightning has struck me twice within the past week. How? How do these jackasses just flock to me?

Tonight, as I do many nights at work, I had to call our alarm monitoring company. We had a fire alarm going off, but no fire. So, this is my job. This is the important part.
Every few weeks they call and say:

"We have an alarm going off at your location."

To which I reply:
"Oh shit. Don't send the fire department. Really. I promise. There's no fire. Our alarms just have a sick sense of humor."

To which they reply:
"Too late. They've already been dispatched."

To which I reply:
"I know. Mother fuck, I know."

It's a nice little routine we have going. But someone decided to fuck that up in a nasty way for me tonight.

I called and asked to have our alarms put on "test," which is basically a preemptive strike to keep the fuzz from coming out when I know there will be false alarms. I do this often enough that the veteran operators at the monitoring company know me by voice, name, and building code. Woot.

So this new jackass starts off innocently enough. Don't they all. He asked me how my Thanksgiving was. Fine, buddy. He mentioned that I "sounded reeeeaaally young."

Note to, um, everyone. DON'T ever tell a woman (PARTICULARLY one that you've never spoken to before, or know only in a business sense) over the phone that she sounds "reeeaaally young." In your sick little world, it may seem like a compliment. It Is Not. It is the biggest "creepy porn-obsessed asshole" alert you could ever give off.

I just sighed and went on with my business. "put this on test, blah blah blah." But no. He wasn't content to have me just strongly suspicious of him. He needed me to know for sure that he was a full on, butt-dangling, turd.

He lowered his voice and said cockily "Are you a little girl who's calling about your daddy's business?"

Um. Eh? That is one weird-ass phone sex fantasy, buddy.

As is expected, I yelled at the worthless little shit and got his operator number. He's #34 in case anyone wants a heads up.

Smooth Operator

Oh boys. When will you learn?

Normally I get really aggravated when someone hits on me at work. First of all, I think it's just rude. When I'm at work, I can't exactly walk away from you, nor can I tell you to go fuck yourself. So I'm immediately at a disadvantage. All I can really do is paste a smile on, pretend to be busy, and hope that you'll leave quickly.
But they NEVER LEAVE QUICKLY!
Not quickly enough for my tastes, anyway.

I think that much of the problem stems from a vicious rumor that many men buy into. Often, they seem to assume that all women are inherently complicated and... compulsive liars, I suppose. If we look interested, we want them. If we look disinterested, we're being coy. And if we kick them in their shins, and call them fuckturds, then we have both turret's syndrome and unwieldy reflexes. But make no mistake. We still want them.

The other thing is that there is so much confusion on what attracts women. For instance tonight's specimen, Mr DeathMetal, apparently had decided that the following would sweep me off my feet:
- an extensive knowledge of Slayer.
- the random and seemingly forced statement that he had lots of money (which fit awkwardly, if at all, into the conversation with the poorly placed "It's a good thing you don't work in a bank. Then you'd see my account and only want me for my money.")
- the assertion, after approximately 30 seconds of artificial chit-chat that "people are stupid... but you're like a genius." Okay, I *am* a genius, but even my overly-inflated ego won't let me believe that that was sincere.
- the comment that manual labor was beneath him (might want to ask a girl's stance on union issues before trashing labor.)
- oh! and he owns a lawn care business. But don't worry. He only stops in to keep the employees in line- he makes *them* do all the work. Note: owning a "lawn care business" is 22 year old code for "I have a cell phone and a weedwhacker." Oh, and see the previous comment re: the trashing of labor.

But that part was only mildly painful. The part that really made my brain cells suicidal was the *philosophy* talk. He wanted to know what I thought about The Matrix and how it related to life. Um. Maybe he didn't get the memo, but I believe that talking-point dates back to the ancient flirtation attempts of 1999 amateur philosophers. Here in modern day civilization, we've moved on to... oh, let's say, the Spongebob movie. And, you know, how it relates to... stuff.

And once they find out my major, it's all over. I'm doomed. This captain goes down with the ship. If I had known that "aerospace engineering" was goober-guy code for "likes to talk about cars," I would have majored in puppies.

But all this work on his part was for naught. And that's what helped me get through the ordeal. The best thing about being married (aside from that whole love thing) is that you have a foolproof way to get out of an awkward situation. So when he FINALLY got to the point: "can we hang out sometime," I was able to cut him off with "well, between school and work, I barely even get to see my husband, so I don't think so."

Well, it used to be foolproof.

Apparently, the whole marriage thing just doesn't phase guys like it used to. Instead of backing away slowly like they ought to, they just try to manuever around it. "Oh yeah? Where's the ring?"
I don't wear one. So sue me!
"What's your new last name?"
I didn't change it. So bite me!

And then there's the attempt to get a financial advantage over the ball-and-chain. "what does he do for a living?" is typically followed by a see-through attempt at "well here's what I do, and here's why I make more money."

Look, I met Mr. Wankershanks before he had a job. I started dating him when he delivered pizzas and I moved in with him after he got fired from a BAR. I'm really glad that other guys keep reminding me that I'm only concerned about money because, apparently, I keep forgetting!

As I was saying earlier. Normally, I get really aggravated when someone hits on me at work. But sometimes, when the planets line up just right and the pick up lines are so consistently bad, even I can laugh and enjoy it. So thank you, Mr. DeathMetal. You have brightened my day.

But if you ever darken my doorway again, I'll feed you to the manual laborers.

update- flavian's alive

Call off the candlelight vigil. Flavian is alive. Apparently, reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated, as they say, although I think he enjoys the attention. So don't be surprised if he starts claiming to be dead anytime now. He's sneaky like that.

So there have been no new run-ins with porch guy. I'll be going over there on sunday, though, so we'll see what transpires.

I plan to wear running shoes just in case.

porch guy update

So I talked to Flavian. Porch guy is getting creepier by the day. New reports from eyewitnesses (aka flavian) indicate that porch guy was standing inside his apartment with the blinds open when flavian got home from work the other day. Oh- did I mention that porch guy was bare-assed naked?

Cause he was.

When Flavian noticed him staring, porch guy reportedly looked really pissed off.

I haven't talked to Flavian in 2 days.

I believe a candlelight vigil is in order. If anyone finds the remains of a 22 year old computer nerd, wrapped in a blanket that says "blanket" in binary, please contact me immediately.

Flavian, save me from your neighbors.

Serial killers. They may be morbidly fascinating to watch on Court TV, but you do not want one living near you. Really. They're not good neighbors.

So I went to visit my friend Brian (aka flavian, aka guy incognito) today. He just moved to the central florida area, and found himself with a very limited apartment selection due to the recent hurricane damage. Actually, he only had one option, and that one was not particularly pretty. But what are you going to do? He took it, and moved in last week.

I pulled my car into his new apartment complex and saw a man standing on a porch near Brian's new home. New neighbors. Exciting, isn't it? He had no shirt. Quite possibly no pants, but *dear god* I wasn't about to get close enough to look. I soon realized that he was staring at me. I gave the required nod of acknowledgement, sure that this would end the staring.

It didn't.

His creepy, serial-killer eyes followed me all the way to Brian's front door. I was practically screeching when I got there.

"Did you KNOW your neighbor is a goddamned, creepy-ass, serial-killer? He will not stop leering at me! Thank god I don't sleep here, cause he would gladly kill me during it!"

"Oh- you mean 'porch guy?' Yeah, he does that."

Um. ok.

Apparently, this was a serious step-up for Brian as far as neighbors go. His last one was cheerfully nicknamed 'old prostitute guy,' and quite possibly died in his apartment, with his body rotting in there for 3 full weeks. Brian has no proof of his passing other than flimsy circumstantial evidence, but he feels confident in his morbid theory. According to him, 'old prositute guy' wasn't the type to just up and leave. He had roots in his community. Whatever, Brian.

But back to 'porch guy.' Brian informed me that when he first arrived, he too noticed 'porch guy' leering at him. Not only that, but after Brian was safely inside his apartment, 'porch guy' walked over to Brian's car, and made two slow, suspicious laps around it, before going back to his clothing-optional post.

This made me feel slightly better. At least I wasn't being singled out by our local mass-murderer. He was into Brian too. And Brian has a newer car to steal.

Looks like you'll be taking one for the team, buddy.

A note to flight mechanics professors everywhere:

When you're saying "P sub S" in class, as in, "the letter P with a subcript of S," PLEASE make sure to enunciate.

Cause as a barely-awake student, all I'm hearing is "In this problem, we need to find the correct piece of ass."

And I *hate* being forced to snicker like a 10 year old in my senior-level classes.

Welcome to Kerry Country

Okay, okay okay. I haven't posted anything for a while. Sorry bout that. I've mostly been stewing in bitterness, disbelief, and a bit of vegetable boullion.

But after much moping and a few suicide attempts, I've come to a conclusion. I can't force other people to see the world my way. I can't shove tolerance down the throats of those I can't tolerate. I can't change the outcome of this election.

I can, however, ignore it.

So that's the plan right now. There's a 2 bedroom apartment in central florida that is now, and will forever be, "Kerry country."

At first I wondered if this was a little too loopy even for me. Then I remembered Bush's first presidency. You know, the one that he didn't actually win. If that man could last 4 years running an entire country on delusion, then I could run my 800 square feet that way.

So the inauguration is set for Jan. 20. President Kerry is formally invited, but we likely will just have to pretend he's there. That's okay. It goes well with the theme: "Imaguration 2004!!"

the proof is in the polls

Now, for a long time, people have said that I'm a partisan asshole whenever I claim that Bush supporters are stupid.

Stupid is usually an "opinion" kinda thing. But thanks to a new poll by www.PIPA.org, the realms of "opinion" and "fact" are being blurred in a wonderful way.

Even after the final report of Charles Duelfer to Congress saying that Iraq did not have a significant WMD program, 72% of Bush supporters continue to believe that Iraq had actual WMD (47%) or a major program for developing them (25%). 75% of Bush supporters continue to believe that Iraq was providing substantial support to al QaedaFifty-six percent assume that most experts believe Iraq had actual WMD and 57% also assume, incorrectly, that Duelfer concluded Iraq had at least a major WMD program. Kerry supporters hold opposite beliefs on all these points.

Similarly, , and 63% believe that clear evidence of this support has been found. Sixty percent of Bush supporters assume that this is also the conclusion of most experts, and 55% assume, incorrectly, that this was the conclusion of the 9/11 Commission. Here again, large majorities of Kerry supporters have exactly opposite perceptions.

Essentially, although the people at PIPA were entirely too lame to state the obvious, the above poll shows that Bush has a stronghold in lala land. I wonder how many electoral votes that'll get him?

This just in!

Preliminary reports indicate that some college kids threw pies at Ann Coulter. This is a second hand report courtesy of my good friend from http://www.livejournal.com/users/metalprophet/.

I will post updates as they become available.

... update- apparently, the first pie missed her, while the second one grazed her shoulder as she fled the scene. Still scanning for a link. No word yet as to the pie flavor, although I think we can all agree that Boysenberry would add a nice touch of class to this otherwise low-brow pieing.

I've heard speculations that cream pies were employed. This would disappoint me tremendously.

... update- word is, the scene of the crime was Arizona State University.

... update- FINALLY! It was CUSTARD!!
Way to keep me guessing, boys!

... last update: there is a VIDEO!

I aim to please

Wow. Apparently my blog is high up on Google for Brytec Roofing hits. Seriously, I've gotten more traffic from that little rant than I have from all my frozen dinner reviews and my tampon-talk *combined.*

The people have spoken.

First of all, for those of you playing along at home... here's a link to my first rant about the topic: rant!

Now for the updates: there aren't any. Well, not really. I called Brytec Roofing a few times after writing my last post. The phone just rang and rang. So, I called another number I hadn't called recently and... they picked up immediately. Yipee. I was told that the guy I needed to speak with wasn't there. Surprise. I said I wasn't hanging up until he got on the phone. Within 30 seconds, he was magically on the phone.
Here's a general replay:

me:"you ruined my stuff. where's this insurance money I was promised, buckaroo?"
him: "bullshit blah blah bullshit."
me:"my stuff is really, REALLY ruined."
him: "oops."

Okay- not word for word, but you get the gist. He's saying one thing, the apartment complex is saying another... I really don't care who the bigger douchebag is here. I'm not going to compare the two on a scale of doucheitude. I just need to get this taken care of so that I can go back to having a life that's only *incredibly* stressful instead of *unbearably* stressful.

Is that really too much to ask?

Oh- and to the good folks at Brytec, and their lousy web designers, here's a helpful tip: If you're going to implore people to "call today!" then you just might want to include a phone number on your webpage. Just a thought, you know... (see Brytecwww.brytecroofing.com for the amazingly information-free website)

sexual harassment: wear it!

my god. they already have
t-shirts.