July 24th, 2003

running, bomb tech


When someone triggers something, sometimes it's not so much a matter of pulling the trigger, it's a matter of smoking somewhere, and having some sparks fall on an exposed fuse that's leading to a couple tons of TNT that are buried right under your feet.

Sometimes they knew it was there and were smoking there anyway. Sometimes there was just a large "No Smoking" sign posted. Sometimes there wasn't anything, and they just decided to light up. Sometimes, and the person whose bomb it was really should get their ass kicked for this, there was a bench and an ashtray there.
running, bomb tech

Fuck You, Microsoft.

If I want to spell it incorrectly, if I go back and change it to the word that I actually typed, you should give it up and leave it that way. Fuck you.
running, bomb tech


Darkside defines 'sanity' as 'mental stability'. Good to know where his definitions are coming from.
running, bomb tech

Happy Loony

Today, so far, has been a glowing success. (Well, not what I wrote in my dead tree journal during ASP, but it is now.) Despite LF throwing a hissyfit when he was told to step away from the game and get dressed now, because they were leaving, it's been a good day. (Don't know if he's going to get grounded from gaming for that little display. I would.)

ASP class was good. Still need to settle down and read a couple chapters there. Lit class was good. I got the reading journal done this morning before school, sitting around lazily clad in underpants and sheet. Much discussion of Joyce Carol Oates' "Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been?" -- fascinating. An Old Fiend, eh? One hour isn't hardly enough time. I got the reading journal printed out from school before ASP, as I e-mailed it to myself.

I was a little nervous about my ASP lab, due today at 5p, but no longer -- I had the bulk of it done, and I just had to re-look-up the proper syntax for a caption on a table (<caption align=top>caption</caption>) and send off the link. 5 minutes work, and most of it was the opening of the program and the searching for the information.

So I now have an hour and 20 minutes to finish reading my friends page, responding to comments, and generally chilling (oh, and lunch, too) before heading off to my DBA class.

I need to remember to ask Dawn what class she and Darkside were in that project team together in. (I miss them both.)

*giggle* A girlfriend! *gigglebounce*
trust, best friends forever, snot-nosed brats

CIS disease strikes deep

Gha. Ever since starting up computing, I've been generating more typographical errors. Evil!

Darkside and I have decided that this is called "CIS Disease" -- the inability of programmers to spell worth a shit. (He has a worse time with it than I do, having never had the ability to write a flawless sentence the first time out the fingers onto the keys as I had from those years of writing my novel.)

I miss him, and all those little injokes. I really do.
  • Current Mood
Santa Lucia, Ritual, _schools16931

Who am I? --Gilderoy Lockhart

I started wondering who I was, and what I was doing here, early. I hear that many people don't start to wonder about that until their mid-20s; does this have any basis in more than rumor?

At any rate, I started writing in a journal for myself on the day the first Gulf War started. I did it so that my children would have a record of what their mother thought during the war (I'd been reading a novel set in WWI). I continued it because I found it interesting. My entries were sporadic at first, but by the 8th grade, I was writing about myself and my life regularly.

This set the stage for my epiphany at CTY in the summer of 1994, just before the 9th grade: everyone had a purpose in life, I knew. Not everyone was aware of what theirs was. I knew mine, and I wondered why everyone else had such a hard time finding theirs. I was comedy. My life was a comedy.

I kept seeing, in my path, the banana peels, the little things that would inevitably trip me up. And I wondered how I should take it. They'd be there anyway. Should I take them straightfaced and painful, falling with stiff dignity and bruising myself every time? Or perhaps, should I roll with it, take my fall gently, with more show than pain, and bounce right back up giggling?

I was fourteen.

I knew the benefit to me, and was aware of the shadowy benefit to others, but not exactly what it was. At fourteen, "I should do this because it will be better for me because I'll be happier, and besides it will be good for others," is a sufficient reason.

I keep coming back to that every time I do a self-examination. (Okay, maybe not every time I do a breast self-examination, which incidentally every woman should be doing to make sure that all the lumps in there are supposed to be in there, but you know what I mean.) I live a comedy, and I derive benefit from seeing the funny bits, and others derive benefit by watching my antics. (Makes me sound like Miles on crack.)

I started writing my novel because my love life was doing some really screwed-up, hilarious things, and I wanted to keep a record of what the hell was going on. I figured that it would beat most of the YA novels I'd been reading, and be funnier than Peter David. I think I was right, in retrospect. It became fiction when I moved away from what was actually happening, and began filling in all the "it would have been funnier if" bits. To this day, my mind still confuses itself about which was the cause and which was the effect in the relationship between my novel and the real thing.

Who am I? I'm still not entirely sure, but this journal outlines a great deal of the possibilities, and hints at more.

But I know what I'm Meant to do, and that's been a good thing to help me. I'm surprised more people don't know, still.
trust, best friends forever, snot-nosed brats


Called and got to talk to him for half an hour. Was glad to have some adult conversation. Little Fayoumis does not count. Darkside got into his penchant for obeying the letter of the law without even coming near the spirit. Wondered if we would have gotten along as kids. Told him that I would have been the quiet one in the corner with the book. He told me he would have been the one in the other corner with the other book. Then we got to discussing what we were reading...

It's good to have an old-fashioned gossip with him. After he told me two thoroughly abysmal jokes, and apologized that that's why he warned people before he told those to them, because they were so bad, I told him sternly that the only jokes of his that I would ever not want to hear would be the ones that would leave me feeling like crying in a corner. Other than the jokes that would hurt me, bad jokes don't bother me...

We got off into Weird Al and then discussion of my exes, a little.

Let him know that these conversations with him are reminding me more of the good days with Shawn. Got into a discussion of how hard I slapped when I was in high school. Told that story about slapping Shawn.

...He eventually had to get to bed. Learned that his "Anything else?" is ... well, if we don't have anything to talk about, we can't really be talking, right? Let him know that even when I don't have anything to talk about, I still desire to talk with him. So we found things.

Then it was his bedtime.

...votania and marxdarx find my smile after I've been talking to him very unnerving.
running, bomb tech

Happy Loony.

One good chat with Darkside.

One good long hot bath.

One good good book.

Several good items from Trader Joe's. (These were made possible by three checks in the mail, two from surveys that I'd gotten some time ago, and one the remainder of my retirement savings from when I worked that heartless phone job.)

Put these all together? Happy Loony.
running, bomb tech

No. Just... no.

So I'm reading my networking book, and you know it's late at night, because suddenly I get this brilliant idea: a drink. Not just any drink. A seven-layer OSI model network drink.

azurelunatic (11:20:36 PM): I have just had a really bad idea.
sithjawa (11:20:39 PM): oh?
azurelunatic (11:21:18 PM): I need names of alcohol starting with the letters P, D, N, T, S, P, and A.
azurelunatic (11:21:33 PM): For a seven-layered OSI drink.
sithjawa (11:21:42 PM): Kill me now.
azurelunatic (11:30:13 PM): Peppermint schnapps, Dark creme de cacao, Nassau orange, Tequila, Strawberry schnapps, Peach schnapps, Almond amarretto
sithjawa(11:30:25 PM): NO DRINK
sithjawa (11:30:27 PM): is EVER
azurelunatic (11:30:40 PM): Never?
sithjawa (11:30:43 PM): allowed to contain peppermint, peach, and amaretto all together.
sithjawa (11:30:44 PM): EVER.
sithjawa (11:30:55 PM): ESPECIALLY not with tequila.
azurelunatic (11:30:59 PM): but... is OSI model drink!
sithjawa (11:31:39 PM): *gag*
sithjawa (11:31:45 PM): And *still* kill me now :D
azurelunatic (11:32:06 PM): Fine. *huff* YOU find alcohol that tastes good together starting with those letters.
sithjawa (11:32:10 PM): *ggl*

The eventual vote of the committee was thus: peach schnapps, dark creme de cacao, ninety-nine blackberries, tequila, strawberry schapps, plum wine, apple schnapps, to form the Physical, Data Link, Network, Transport, Session, Presentation, and Application layers of the drink.