I love you, Coffee Guy

Peter and I met up at the cafe Maddo and I did a lot of NaNoWriMoing at, and my favorite Coffee Guy was there, wearing his "Utilikilt," combat boots, and sporting new surface piercings.

I ordered a mocha and a sandwich. Sandwich was given to me instantly. Mocha never made it to the bar. I walked over to him about ten minutes later, grinned pleasantly, and said "So, how's my mocha?"

He facepalms. "I don't know, how is it?"
"Hopefully good. I'm dying to find out."
Pause. "What size was it?"
"Sixteen ouce."
"Let's make that a 20."
"Oh, wow. Thanks so much!"

So I go back to sit down, and soon mocha is hand-delivered. Coffee Guy is my favorite because he always draws me little pictures in my foam. Well, today my mocha implored, in perfect calligraphy, "Please Don't Hate Us. :("

I took a sip and looked up to find him and The Owner both staring at me anxiously. I flashed them an "I love you" sign, and they giggled and went back to work.

I LOVE YOU, COFFEE SHOP PEOPLE. OMG.

iTunes puts the hot in relationships

The Boy and I are flopped on the bed, listening to music.

*new song queues*
Me: *twitches spastically to the beat*
Boypillow: "Hey, don't dance so sexily!"
Me: *stare*
Me: "You were raised by circus clowns, weren't you?"

Resurfacing

Strip Deadwood: Anytime someone says "cocksucker," whoever's name is shouted first must remove an article of clothing. This continues until all members of the audience are naked. Once this happens, start putting clothes back on.

By the end of an episode, a fully-dressed audience of four will have stripped and redressed a single time. On a good day. If the episode features Mr. Wu, the cycle may never stop.

More Poetry Wars

I walked into work today to find the following poem from Feeney sitting in my box:

91 to 90,
Why do you hate me so,
All I give you is love and care,
Yet you always rebuke me with scowl and glare.
Maybe this extreme agression is what causes your odd twitch
Or perhaps its why you threaten to leave me dead in a ditch.
You feed off others' pain and misery like it's a drug,
I think perhaps you could benefit from a nice hug.
We work for eight hours in this boring old cage,
84 and yourself form this aura of unspeakable rage.
As we both graduate and fade off into obscurity,
You'll look back and be glad we worked together on Security.

Now, I know for a fact that he hates haiku (naturally, I would know this.) So I decided to reply using several.

Nine-oh to nine-one.
Love is silent and golden.
Show you care. Shut up.

Time crawls to a halt.
Your voice echoes in the void.
Its sound cripples time.

My day really sucked.
I locked my keys in my car.
Your poem sucked more.

My mother is dead.
Grieving requires a heart.
Feeling awkward yet?

Perhaps this will get the point across.

I love my job sometimes

There is a backpack in the back room. Staff only area. I don't recognize it, so I decide to start rifling through it to find a name. No luck. Philosophy books, Spanish books.

Oh, what's this side pocket here? Holy shit, that's like....eight thousand spermicidally lubricated condoms. And they're all crumpled because they're being crammed in an exterior side pocket. That's...that's not very safe.

I know! I'll leave him a note!

This is the best place ever to store condoms, especially if you want them to break. The spermicide won't save you from STDs.

<3!

Hopefully he finds that sooner rather than later. Imagine what a mood killer that'd be.

But seriously...where the fuck is he fucking that he needs condoms and his coursework?!

It's like...

Bahahahha.

Wednesday I was handed a stack of A papers with glowing comments written all over: "Terrific! Thoughtful! Honest! Clever!"

I huffed them. :D

Grave shifts are all about the productivity.

<--And I am a fucking GENIUS.

Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo I killed the rock rock rock rock rock

Daryl and I have concluded that I get to do whatever I want, and other people are just forced to go along with it. For example:

When I switched to dispatch last semester, I was given a new badge number randomly, and I sulked for a long time. When I switched back to patrol, I proceeded to throw a fit until they gave me my old number back. Bossman Prime is never going to let me live it down, ("'It's a palindrome!' is not a reason, Wren.") and Tom keeps making "you just want to be under me" jokes, but I wanted my old number back, damnit!

Today, Mother Goose (my new name for an old bossman, see here) decided that Daryl was to spend all eight hours in the office dispatching. I decided he was wrong. We proceeded to "compromise," and as a result he has spent one hour in the office dispatching. I'm sorry, but learning buildings are more important.

And now, I eat sushi.

How to have my day in several steps

1) Write this into your final paper:

When Beowulf first plans to meet Grendel in combat, he goes into graphic detail regarding the violent and painful nature of his own death, should he fail:

Nor need'st thou then

to hide my head; for his I shall be,

dyed in gore, if death must take me;

and my blood-covered body he'll bear as prey,

ruthless devour it, the roamer-lonely,

with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen;

no further for me need'st food prepare! (446-452)

Beowulf is well aware that should he die, it will likely be painful, but he seems perfectly sanguine about this (literally, perhaps), and even seems to have a sense of humor concerning the entire ordeal.

2) Hear this from Daryl:

"I'm sorry, I just can't see you as a stripper! You look too classy!"

3) Get into a fight with a drunk girl at work:

"Security, this is Wren."
"Um, hi. I need to be let into my room."
"What's your name?"
"Um, [First name]."
"And your last name?"
"Um, [Last name]."
"Can you spell that?"
"Um, [zkfbadslfbasllmumble]."
"...And where are you locked out of?"
"I don't remember the room number, but I live in [dorm.]"
"...Hold please."
*Computer tells me she lives in a completely different dorm than she wants let into. She is informed I am talking to my boss to try and see if there is any way we can figure out where she belongs. She's on hold a grand total of two minutes before she hangs up and calls back.*

"Security, this is Wren..."
"Hi, I REALLY need to be let into my room."
"I know, and getting you in there would be a lot easier if you could actually remember your room number. I'm putting you back on hold."

Luckily, then my boss showed up to save the day and dealt with her himself.

In case you were wondering:

*evil laughter*

*smug grin*

My Day in E-Mails volume 2

From: Ryan (Wee Ours Event Coordinator)
To: Wren
Subject: Greetings!

Greetings,

I am one of the weekend event coordinators for Student Development. This semester our goal is to open up the Puget Sound community to fun, new activities. My co-worker, David J. Corcoran, and I have come up with some possible events that would engage students in campus activities. One such event includes a possible "comedy night." Our hopes is that the UT Comedy Sketch and the Comic House would be interested in entertaining the community.

A rough outline of the event resembles something like a comedy club; meaning, food and drinks are provided, for free, and tables will be set up with table clothes and tee lights. Unlike rendezvous, Marshall Hall provides a much larger venue for students to attend. Wee'Ours is able to plan the entire event, except the performance. This is a great way to advertise your group.

If you are interested and willing to perform in front of a larger crowd, please email me back with a response and we can begin planning!

Thanks,

---

From: Wren
To: Ryan
Subject: Re: Greetings!

Unfortunately, "Comic" is a noun, not an adjective. While we like to think we are amusing, it is not actually our theme.

Wren

---

My Day in E-Mails volume 1

From: Bossman Prime
To: UPS Security Staff
Date: 2/10/08
Subject: Climbing rope by fireplace.

Does anyone know the story behind the pile of climbing rope in front of the fireplace? How about the giant garbanzo bean can beside the rope? (I’m actually more interested in this one.)

Thank you for your time.
Bossman Prime

---

From: Wren
To: Bossman Prime
Date: 2/10/08
Subject: Re: Climbing rope by fireplace

The bean can was stuck in a tree, afraid and alone. We had to use the climbing rope to rescue it because we are Samaritans like that.

Wren

---

From: Bossman Prime
To: Wren
Subject: Re: Climbing rope by fireplace

Seek help...

Bossman Prime

---

From: Wren
To: Bossman Prime
Date: 2/10/08
Subject: Re: Climbing rope by fireplace.

Muahahahahaha.

Wren

---

"Nice recovery."

I am on a roll today.

The winds were angry last night and kept me and Madeline from sleeping. I went to work and was mightily productive, but came home understandably exhausted. We decided together that our first class with Mrs. Replete was not worth being buffeted by the elements, so went back to bed.

I woke up and ambled off to Wyatt to take my final make-up exam (which I pwned. In the face.) On my way back to the house, who else do I encounter but Mrs. Replete? I saw her before she saw me, and instantly began hacking and coughing.

"Oh, did we sleep in today?"
"No," I wheezed, "I'm not actually feeling that well. The only reason I am here at all is to make up an exam from last semester that I scheduled two weeks ago."
"I see. And what about Madeline?"
"She's sick too. That's the problem with living in a house together; we all get sick at once."
"Sounds like you all could use some Lysol..."
"Yes, or orange juice. See you later."

And then I fled. Angrily. ("Wren, it is so ironic that your Buddhism professor is the one that is causing you to accumulate so much Karma.")

Next up comes my Bible and Literary Tradition class. I had the unfortunate luck to disrupt the class by being an idiot (okay, so all I did was make a puppet out of a Hello Panda box and flap it at Maddo).

"Yes, what's going on?" My professor asks, masking her annoyance with a smile.
I think quickly, knowing all she could see was my back. "Oh, sorry, Madeline is trying to write from the board and my head keeps getting in the way because of my hat." (Panda hat.)
There are a few scattered giggles, including from my professor. Madeline murmers "no, it's fine."
I collapse onto the table. "I'll just lie here."
"She's kind of like a Valkyrie, isn't she, always flying into the way," observes my professor.
In response, Madeline rips off my hat. I shriek like a banshee and yank it back onto my head. Staring Man is in tearful hysterics.

And then the class goes on. About a minute ago, the professor winked at me. I think all is forgiven.

ahahaha.

Maddo and I have developed a perfect system for talking in class. She writes down sentences in her notes, and I reply in word on my laptop. It looks like we are both paying attention, but really we are girding our loins for the latest rat inundation.

It's gonna be a doozy.

I am such a brat.

I have concluded that Resolution Number Six does not apply if uncle is the one supplying the money for the items I don't need. Case in point.

I left my iPod on a chair in the living room of Comic House.

I left my iPod.

Since this moment I have been an empty husk, a shadow of my former self. Food has no flavor, tea no bouquet, the sheets feel like burlap on my skin. All days are cloudy. I had no idea until the moment I got on the shuttle and realised I have left all my music behind just what a shallow and dependent person I am.

But there it is. I am someone who listens to music at all times, and my Sony Stereo System just isn't portable. Also, the left speaker on my laptop just went out, and I am debating whether or not I should get it repaired while I am here. (In light of tonight's events, I have concluded I should wait a week before asking for the funds to do so.)

Tonight, I had an epiphany: I shall ask for an iPod Shuffle! It will hold enough music to tide me over, and I could probably convince Unc to fork over the money. Dollar signs in my eyes, I amble over to unsuspecting Unc, watching TV.

"Hey Uuuuunc?"
"Yeah?"
"I have an idea."
"Yeah?"
"You know how I've been having trouble sleeping?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I think I figured out why. I've fallen asleep listening to an iPod for the past four years, and now I don't have one."
"Yeah..."
"So, can I get an iPod Shuffle? They're like seventy bucks."
"I don't care."

There is a loaded pause. I smile at him in what I hope desperately was a winsome fashion.

"You're asking me for money, aren't you."
"Yep!" :D
"...When do you want it by?"
"I was planning on ordering it online tonight."
"Credit card?"
"Sure!"

[Girlfriend] begins to laugh. Unc looks at her, looks at me, frowns, and says:
"Fine, I'll go get it."

"Thank you!" I follow him, smiling charmingly, as flowers bloom and birds twitter in my wake.

So, I am now waiting for it to be delivered. I am the proud new owner of a (Product)RED iPod Shuffle, with the phrase "I love my rich uncle" lovingly engraved upon the back.

I figured buying one that supports a charity was only fitting, since I am a useless brat.

There is a special place in Hell being crafted for me as we speak

I hit on my hot professor today. In front of the entire class. D:

We had our final at noon. Otto and I went to the room at about 11:35 to get settled in. Oddly enough, we were the first ones there. I desperately wanted to get on my laptop and surf the web for a little while to let my brain unwind before the exam, but the only electrical outlet is at the front of the room, behind the professor's desk. Like that is going to stop me!

"He is going to be so flustered when he walks in and finds you in his chair, Wren," notes Otto, which is probably what I can safely blame the rest of this fiasco on. I set my laptop on the desk, place my cappuccino beside it, then get out a bunch of papers and spread them across all the rest of the empty space. As a final touch, I open up iTunes and start blasting some music.

"You're my obsession," says Animotion.
"You're insane," says a scruffy classmate as he walks in.
Students are walking by in the hall, slowing down, and going o.o .

Other classmates start filing in and giggling. I wave and smile jauntily. Some of them begin wondering if the professor would let us listen to music during the final. Others suggest other bad 80s songs to play. My favorites begin dancing in their chairs.

It is now 11:58, and Corey Hart is elucidating why he wears his sunglasses at night. The professor walks in at his normal brisk pace, sees me, and stops cold.

"Hi!" I smile.
"Hello, Wren..." He approaches the desk tremulously.
"Trade ya." The words slipped out of my mouth before I knew what was happening.
He blinks. "You want me to sit at your desk?"
"Yeah, actually. I really have no intention of moving."
He glances at the desk, then back at me. Several people in the class begin giggling hysterically.
"But I want to grade papers. I'm not sure I'd have enough room at your desk."
"Welcome to our world." The class begins to giggle harder. The professor is grinning bemusedly.
"Wren."
"Okay, fine. Can we at least keep the music on?"
"No. That wouldn't be fair to everyone else."
"Actually, it was their idea." One of the guys in the back of the room is now crying.
"Okay. It wouldn't be fair to me. I think I wouldn't be able to grade papers."
"I think the beat might help you get a good rhythm going."
He gives me a look.
"Okayyy, fine." I kill the music and slump off to my chair, pouting. (Oh God I pouted at my professor!)

He rallies valiantly and attempts to get a semblance of control over the class. He explains the basics of the final and then asks if anyone has a question. I raise my hand.

"Yes, Wren?"
"Can I steal you for a few seconds before the final?"
"Can you what?" The giggling resumes.
"Steal you."
"You want to talk to me."
"Yes."
"In the hall?"
"That would be preferable, yes."
"Okay, let me hand some stuff out."

He does so. Several of my classmates are too busy staring at me to hand out papers effectively. He finishes up, and looks at me.
"So we're talking now."
"Yes."
"Okay. I am walking towards the door." He begins to do so. Tears resume from the boy in the back row.
"Excellent." I get up and get to the door. Professor does an about-face.
"Wait, let me hand something else out first."

I hover in the doorway with my back against the doorframe and wait for him to finish. When he turns back toward me, I roll around the doorframe and into the hall.

I roll around the doorframe and into the hall.

He joins me, and we discuss whether or not I should take the final. We conclude no, pick a date to do so, and finish up the paperwork. I ask him for his signature and suggest we go back into the class where he can sign it at his precious desk.

"No, I'll just do it out here." Instead of using a wall, he kneels down on the floor.

So there I am, staring at my professor, who is down on one knee in front of me with paperwork in hand. A student walks down the hall, sees this, and gazes at me with great interest. I resist the urge to remove his spine.

Paperwork now signed, I give the professor his copy. We wish each other a good break and he flees for the classroom. "Thanks for the card," I hear him mumble. (I had sent all my professors thank-you notes for being so reasonable with my incompletes.)

I slink in a few seconds later, gather my stuff, and head for the hall. As soon as I leave the building, I call Maddo and explain that she is under no circumstances allowed to let me outdoors for the remainder of the day.

Otto called me later and told me I couldn't possibly have disrupted the class any more. For once, I am inclined to agree.

I am a genius.

Alternately, I have gone insane.

For the past few days I have been having a problem. My nails are getting rather long, and it has been making doing simple things difficult. For example, typing. Typing hurts after a while. Also, earlier today I was unable to open a Ziplock bag. Twice. Usually I don't have this problem with long nails, because my nails are stronger than most people's. They don't break, really. Instead, they shatter, and nail shrapnel goes flying and embeds itself within soft tissues in a five foot radius. When I used to swordfight in high school, the wrong blow ensured everyone involved would be left a bloody pincushion. The last time one broke, during field work on this semester's research trip, I believe it killed a clam.

Needless to say, I am not used to having problems with my nails. Then again, it has been a very long time since my nails were quite this long.

So how did I deal with this issue? Did I, perhaps, trim my nails? Oh no. Did I purchase a minion to follow me around and do all my opening and writing for me? Oh no (but not for lack of trying!)

Did I coat them in fucking Kevlar and rhinestones and go on about my business?

Bingo.

More doctorly antics

So, I had yet another test today. Go to the hospital, check in, get robed, get on the X-ray table. I'm supposed to drink some liquid contrast and let them take periodic X-rays of me until it has traveled all through my digestive system. Alright, peachy.

Nurse hands me the first cup of contrast. It looks exactly like semi-gloss eggshell wall paint. "Am I going to have brain cells left over after this?" I enquire.
"In theory, yes. Also, the faster you drink that, the sooner you get out of here."

Right then. As she turns her back, I turn the cup bottoms up and just down it all in one go. Three seconds later, there are 16oz of white paint sitting heavily in my tummy, which is preparing to write another round of angry e-mails insisting it was not informed the contractors would be redecorating as well as examining the structural soundness, and I have a coating of white goo on my tongue and lips.

"May I have a napkin?"
"Sure, hon!" The nurse heads over, hands me a towel, and grabs hold of the cup. There is a pause as she realises it is empty.

"Holy shit." There is a pregnant pause. She stares at me, all agog, and I smile back demurely.

"I have never seen anyone drink this that fast." She continues to stare at me like I am a mutant, and Maddo wisely keeps mum about the whole no gag-reflex thing. "I haven't even made the next dose!"

"Well, you did say this would go by faster."

"....right."

XD

This is a great day for Wrenkind

I just caused time to split today. I was in the science cafe, innocently studying for my Lab Exam, when I felt it happen.

There is a kid in Marine Interactions who likes my hair. It is all we have ever spoken about, and I have caught him staring at it during lecture when he is especially bored. Today he snuck up behind me while I was elbows deep in algal terminology, grabbed my shoulders, and vigorously ran his fingers over my hair in a sort of "d'awwww, hey there little buddy!" gesture. He has big hands. His damn hand engulfed my scalp and left my hair quite disheveled.

In that instant, I saw two things happen simultaneously. First, I saw myself grab him by the arm, pull him down over my shoulder, and slam my elbow into his kidneys before depositing him on the floor. At the same time, I saw myself calmly turn around and stare at him in mild confusion.

The Wren writing this did option two, but I swear that somewhere out there he was left in a battered heap on the cafe floor.