A Bifta in a Stretch SUV

Here's a picture. You may wonder how our evening ended, on the streets of Niagara Falls, with Cleavers commandeering an SUV/limo. I'm not sure I could take you there myself. But I can give you the ingredients necessary:

1. Cleavers
2. Copper
3. Three Rubber Duckies
4. A trip to the Casino buffett
5. Cleavers wearing a pineapple on her head at said buffett
6. Copper winning $125 at roulette whilst Cleavers and Anderson tried to be her voice of reason
7. A really, really cheesy nightclub
8. Booze

I'm not sure what the *exact* combination of each is, but it will eventually get you here:



I'm pissing myself.

More Evidence I Don't Want to Work on My Talk

Instead, I waste my time taking internet quizzes. Take it yourself! See if you're as cool as I am (although I'm wondering: does it change my ranking if I am trying to figure out why the percentages don't add up? 69% of what I wonder?)

Modern, Cool Nerd 69 % Nerd, 69% Geek, 34% Dork

For The Record: A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia. A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one. A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions. You scored better than half in Nerd and Geek, earning you the title of: Modern, Cool Nerd. Nerds didn't use to be cool, but in the 90's that all changed. It used to be that, if you were a computer expert, you had to wear plaid or a pocket protector or suspenders or something that announced to the world that you couldn't quite fit in. Not anymore. Now, the intelligent and geeky have eked out for themselves a modicum of respect at the very least, and "geek is chic." The Modern, Cool Nerd is intelligent, knowledgable and always the person to call in a crisis (needing computer advice/an arcane bit of trivia knowledge). They are the one you want as your lifeline in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (or the one up there, winning the million bucks)!

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 76% on nerdiness You scored higher than 91% on geekosity You scored higher than 61% on dork points

Link: The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test written by donathos on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Grumble. And Its Only Tuesday.

In my on/off relationship with the patch, I have had an on/off series of lucid dreams. But as wonderful as those wonderful dreams are, the lucid nightmares are much, much worse. Case in point: last night's nocturnal wanderings. I dreamt that Sandra and Christine were over and we were just hanging out. There was a knock on the door, and in walks my brother. That doesn't sound scary. But the fact that he had just had open heart surgery and left the operating table before he was put back together was a bit disturbing. I asked him what he was doing, and he said "I had to get back to work on my talk. I told them that you were a doctor and you could finish the rest of the job". So I had to reconnect some tissue and wait for the surgeon to make a house call to reattach his breast plate. As this was going on, he realized that he had forgotten a critical piece of tissue back at the hospital. As we were arguing about how to deal with this problem, Christine and Sandra, who had both been looking over my shoulder during the procedure, said "Oh, you Andersons. This would only happen to you."

Then I woke up.

What in the fuck could this mean? Maybe Ryan's going to get married or something.

Now this was 6:00 am. There was a good possibility that I could have gotten back to sleep for another couple of hours shut eye, but alas, it was not to be, as Crazy-Across-The-Hall decided to come out with the birds and start screaming again. At 6. In the fucking morning. It was brief, but still prevented me from getting back to sleep. As such, my ass was out of bed by 7. Damnit.

So I just called in a complaint about Crazy. That's the first time I've ever submitted a complaint about anything to anyone. But it turns out to be a good thing: apparently they had received a complaint last week from another resident. Unfortunately, the person who submitted the complaint thought it was the Superintedent who was Crazy (although I would never tell her so, the Super and Crazy look quite a bit alike). I was able to clarify this but emphatically stating "I am positive that it is the person who lives across the hall, as I can clearly hear every bloody thing she does". This clarification was good, as they had started an investigation into my Super (who is nice). I think I may have saved the Super's job.

All this, and its not even 10 am yet.

Public Service Announcement

Today is voting day. I have been grappling with my voting stategy, and until 5 minutes ago was unsure as to how I would vote. My mind was made up after perusing THIS website. Wondering if your vote will count? Would you like to vote one way, but are concerned that your vote may contribute to the election of a man who looks like he may molest small dogs? This may help you make up your mind.

Waste Disposal

I just got a notice in my door, as I often do, addressed to all residents of my building. The topic matter: waste disposal. Usually I don't read these things carefully, but this one I decided to take a glance at before I disposed of it (I wasn't going to flush it down my toilet, I swear). The following would be an excerpt from said notice:

"...We are encountering many problems as a result of the improper use of the newly installed toilets [note: we just got low-flow toilets a few months ago]. Many tenants are using the toilet to dispose of articles that the toilet was not designed to handle. This results in the toilet not flushing properly and the need to call the plumber to clear the toilet.

The following are some of the articles, which may not be disposed of, in the new toilets:

- Dental Floss
- Sanitary napkins
- Tampons
- Kitty Litter
- Flushable Kitty Litter
- Potatoes

..."

????

Potatoes?

Potatoes?

Who the hell flushes potatoes down their toilet?

And why just potatoes? What about other tubers? Or food-stuffs for that matter? Can I flush small servings of pasta? How about a can of soy beans?

I'm also trying to figure out how dental floss can fuck up the system. That must be one hell of a lot of dental floss (i.e. several containers) to plug up the toilet. And why wouldn't they optimize their list by having Kitty Litter (flushable or not) as one item? I'm not on board with Trivest's list, I tell you what. I have a feeling that this list may be geared towards Crazy across the hall. She just finished yelling about being celibate for 7 years. Didn't really need to know that.

Can you tell I'm trying to avoid writing an introduction to my talk?

Happy Fuzzy Thursday

Operation Fuck-Up-Cleavers'-Mantra: Success. At this moment she is flying over our heads smelling a wee bit like liquor. Sweet. Unfortunately to get her to that state, I too had to imbibe a bit. The result is that my head feels like its stuffed with cotton, and I can't think too straight. I'm sure that Phrilly is feeling the same way, and I wonder whether she made it to her 9 am meeting. All in all, however, a small price to pay to make Cleavers travel with a hangover. Brilliant.

I am now officially scheduled to go under the knife. Mark February 23rd in your calendars folks: Anderson is going to be bed-ridden that weekend, and will probably annoy the fuck out of everyone with phone calls. Don and Eva offered to take me to Avonton for the weekend, but I do believe that would drive me stir-crazy. So instead, I will sit in my apartment, hope for visitors, and likely become the most annoying person in the world.

Crazy Lives Across the Hall

I have a new neighbour. One that has just moved into the revolving apartment across the hall (I think that about 8 different people have lived there since I moved in, and I'm not speaking with hyperbole). I was here when she moved in, with help from her "special" friend (note that quotations only encapsulate special: yes, that's on purpose). She was very loud, and spoke with that slow and slightly cotton-filled drawl that only those with an IQ below 70 seem to possess.

So naturally, I thought she was retarded.

"That's nice", I thought to myself, "She has been given an opportunity to go out and live on her own. She must have acquired the necessary skills to be self sufficient and gain a sense of independence. So what if she lives across from me? If she needs any help, I'll be more than happy to give it to her. I like to help the mentally challenged whenever I can."

Turns out, she's not so much retarded as she is schizo.

And I don't mean schizo in the if-I-can't-get-a-hold-of-my-boyfriend-I'm-going-to-call-all-of-his-friends-and-friends'-friends-until-I-find-him schizo.

I mean she is a full blown schizophrenic. Big time.

Now, even though I am *technically* a psychology major, I know absolutely blue-fuck-fall about abnormal psychology. I never took it, taught it, nor TA'd it. My only exposure is through Lynne's (and once upon a blue moon Amy's) discussions of what was going on in class.

(sidenote: To be honest, until relatively recently, I had the naive opinion that most psychoses were just calls for help, and not anything that had any sort of true physical pathology (I've met a LOT of attention seekers in my day). I learned how stupid that opinion really was after seeing a friend going through a genuine manic phase. That shit is real. No question. And I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.)

So I have never seen a schizophrenic episode. That is, until the other night. I was sitting in my apartment, getting ready to watch "Pretty Woman", all bundled up in me PJs and wrapped in a blanket, when I hear:

"FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. I DON'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS AND I NEED SOMEONE TO HELP ME"

It was obviously from across the hall (and I didn't realize until then until how truly non-sound-proof my apartment is: the rest of my neighbours must be quiet as mice). I thought there was an argument over the phone. However, this profanity went on for quite a while. But then it stopped. "Must be off the phone," I thought.

But then it came out into the hall. Right outside my door.

"I'M LOSING MY BAAABY. MY DEAD BAAABY IS TRYING TO COME OUT. JACOB'S TRYING TO COME OUT. I'VE GOT TO GIVE BIRTH TO A DEAD BABY. WON'T SOMEBODY HELP ME?"

Obviously, something is wrong. I was never concerned that she was actually having a miscarriage, as she had been yelling for quite a while, and I figured would have called an ambulance if that was actually the case. Nope, something else was going on there.

"PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP ME. I'M GIVING BIRTH TO MY DEAD BABY. I BEEN SHOT IN THE STOMACH. I HAVE NO FRIENDS AND FAMILY. WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME?"

For a brief moment, I thought about going out and helping her. I felt pretty bad... I thought about how it would be to have no friends or family, and became more empathetic indeed. This brief period of altruistic logic was quelled when she screamed:

"FUCK YOU ALL THEN. FUCK. YOU. NOBODY WANTS TO FUCKING HELP ME. FUCK YOU."

She then went back into her apartment, and started screaming from there again.

Now, this went on for 4 hours. She would periodically come out into the hallway and yell again. She knocked on my door a couple of times. Sometimes, she talked about her dead baby Jacob. Othertimes, she would yell at 'David', who was apparently in her apartment and wouldn't get out (she was, in fact, alone). She also brought out some pillows and a vase of flowers, so when she was sitting in the hall, she was at least comfortable. For a good deal of this time, my eye was glued to the peephole out of sheer curiosity (also, I had nothing better to do: I had to shut my TV off because I didn't want her to think I was home and I couldn't do any work over all that rigamorole).

Finally, at 11:30, the cops came and took her away to the rubber-room. I heard them ask her if she had taken her meds, and she said she hadn't because she had been drinking.

Ah. That was it.

I wonder how I'm going to deal with this in the future. She's home: I can hear her TV. I'll just have to make sure not to make eye contact.

Why You Should Not Do Shots

Noone has ever given me a really good reason not to do shots. They taste so good, they go down so smooth, so if some other person buys them for you, then why not?

Well, because you may be out one night, after watching a rousing game of Lacrosse (Go Rock!).
You may meet someone.
That person may be very good-looking. Perhaps he even looks a bit like Chris Martin.
He may have what a great job with the one of the best and coolest companies in the world. Like Google. In Manhattan.
He may even (*shock, gasp*) seem to be genuinely interested in you. Perhaps you have a conversation about how cool statistics can be, without it ending with him saying "So... I have to go over here now..."

But then your friends buy you some shots.
And his friends buy you some shots.

And, while you can carry yourself well enough to know that you are not making an ass of yourself, you may, inadvertently, become just a little blonder. Maybe your intelligence is slightly masked. You may forget things.

And maybe, as you step into a cab after going with him and his friends for Chinese 'til 4am, it may take you 3 blocks until you realize that you didn't give him any contact information. Like an email address. Or a phone number. Or a last name.

And then you are stuck wondering if you gave him enough information to Google you successfully.

Now that wouldn't be very good, would it?

Moral of the story: you should not do shots.

An Open Letter For All Those Who have Mocked Me

Not just for any reason of course: but for mocking me for my steadfast instistance that John Mayer is a great musician. Fucking brilliant. And he is, as is evidenced by his new album with the John Mayer Trio, the first song (Who Did you Think I Was) of which is presented on his web site. (Although my favorite is Another Kind of Green... try and get your mitts on that one if you get a chance).

That guitar. Jesus. I'm in my own little world here at my computer. Even if you don't like his music, keep in mind that there is only one guitar on stage, and its being played by him. That, my friends, is true guitar talent, and is why he garnered comparisons to Stevie Ray Vaughn early in his career (i.e. pre: Room for Squares).

And we all know how much of a sucker Anderson is for good guitarists.

Ahhh.

NeoCockney Rhyming Slang

Phrilly and I have decided that the majority of the time, Cleavers is making shit up and passing it off as so-called "Cockney Rhyming Slang". I'm almost positive that most of these little terms are being pulled out of her ass on the fly. So, instead of buying into it, Phrilly and I are going to start making up Cockney Rhymes as well. The following would be the fruits of our labour from last night.

Term: Bein' Stephen
Translation: Being an ass

Roots: Bein' Stephen >> Stephen Glass >> Being an ass

Used in a sentence: After Sebastian had too much to drink, he began bein' Stephen.

Stay tuned for more Slangs from across the pond.

Everything's Coming up Milhouse..

...or Anderson, for once. A fellow postdoc, to whom I have been an experimental bitch over the past couple of years, just walked into my office and informed me that I am entitled to backpay for the hours upon hours of psychophysical testing that I have done for him. Now, I'm not going to say exactly how much money I have fallen into, but let's just say that I am struggling with the decision of what to do with said pay: either I will

1. Put it towards paying down my line of credit, or
2. Buy this:



Three guesses to what I'm leaning towards: the first two don't count. Responsibility be damned.

And now I'm off to a Blue Jays autograph session, compliments of Phrilly. Too bad I really have no idea who any of them are.

For Kevin

Just another example of people having too much time on their hands:



If you want to see a video of it, look here.

I wonder if Tessa shits in Faye's car.

And A Happy Christmas to All (or: What Eek Did on her Christmas Vacation)

Goddamnit. I planned my post-vacation blog to follow a storyline with pictures. But I can't find my damned camera cable. So I can't upload my pictures. So you can't see all the things that I saw over the festive season. Like our really, really shitty Christmas Tree (that was cut down with love from my parents' backyard). Or Eek under a variety of different attention-seeking circumstances. Or Horn. God Bless 'im.

Actually, my vacation was incredibly relaxing. For the first time since graduate school, I leave behind a vacation that actually recharged my clock. I'm not more tired than I was before vacation. That's a good thing, as January usually requires a massive detox session. January is still going to be low-key, but it's because I WANT to and not because I NEED to. Anderson must be growing up.

Vacation started when Eek and I drove to Avonton on the Thursday morning. Eek was pissed. So pissed that she took a big poo in the back of my car. Yum. She's never done that before, and I hope to God that she never does it again. It stunk.

For the first 5 days here's what I did in Avonton:

Blue Fuck All.

I grew so lazy that getting a glass of milk required a 1/2 hour contemplation on whether or not getting up off the couch was worth it. You think I jest, but I don't. I don't even think I went outside for 2 days. Unbelievable. The lack of energy/activity ultimately culminated in my last 24 hours of Avonton-time with my head stuck in a toilet. Unfortunately, chez Anderson was inundated with some sort of food-poisoning or flu-bug, which saw 75% of us sick as dogs for 3 out of the 5 days. Fun fun.

I picked up Hessels in Stratford on the 28th, and spent a couple of days hanging around the Tdot, shopping, rasing a little hell, then lowering it again. Watched a retarded amount of Kenny vs Spenny (Sandra gave me the DVDs for Christmas, bought them for herself, and I gave Ryan the set for Christmas... there was a lot of opportunity to watch them over the holidays). We also went to see the Skyes, which is always a treat. Jerkus even ventured out of his room for a few hours. Wonders will never cease.

Ryan and I took off for Hamifax late on the 30th, to be greeted by sober Nikie just before midnight. Got to see Nikie's place which is ALSO great (why does everyone in Nova Scotia have such great places? Its like some sort of great-place province). Right close to downtown and lots of great pubs. We spent most of the night catching up over beers and wine while Ryan slept the night away. But Nikie had to get up and pick Hessels up the next morning, and so sleep was required at some point.

New Years was fun... Amy came via VIA (hee hee) and we prepared a good ol' fashioned home cooked meal before we went out. We went to a pub downtown, where we reintroduced Amy to the wonders of booze, stared in stunned horror at the number of young (and I mean young) females in the pub, and became acquainted with our new best friend, Horn. Horn was a great guy. We brought him home with us, and boy did he talk to a lot of people on the street. Almost all of the time, a greeting from Horn resulted in a raucous "Happy New Year!!!" from random folks on the street. Yes, we were lucky that Horn came into our lives, as I'm sure he is grateful to have found us. Again, I have pictures, which would be so much better. Damnit.

We also headed into Wolfville for a couple of days. Its as shitty as I remember (in case you AREN'T Hessels reading this, I'm being sarcastic). Hessels' office is successfully keeping with the armpit theme. What a hole. Unfortunately, Horn is now stuck living out the remainder of his days in Sandra's dive of an apartment. Poor li'l guy.

We also had a East Coast Mussel dinner. Mmmmm. Good shit.

Shopping in Hamifax yesterday, dinner at Nikie's local pub (which is about a 2.3 minute walk from her place and unbelievably cool), listened to Ryan's talk, and off to bed for an early morning drive to the airport. Got in this afternoon, which meant, of course, that I didn't make it into the lab. Needed to get my last few hours of being a lazy mofo in before I crank it up tomorrow.

So tomorrow I have to work again. Boy do I have a lot of shit to get done. And I have to go pick up my magical pooing cat from the folks this weekend. GFTs.

And a Hap-Hap-Happy New Year to everyone.