I would have thought this paper belonged to Tortilla. Sure the student’s name is Brian, but I believe she is perfectly capable of writing somebody else’s name on an exam paper. Yes, I have faith in her. The reason I didn’t, though, is of course the perfect score. I’m not saying she is not capable of getting a perfect score. Not at all! But knowing that she has been having trouble with chemistry, it’s very unlikely that she would have gotten a perfect score in none other than chemistry and not blogged about it.
Click on the image for a larger view.
I found that some people I showed it to had some trouble reading the kid’s handwriting. So I’ll type it out below.
First problem: Tortilla Brian writes on the left, “This class makes me lose faith in humanity. =( ” On the right, he gives the real answer.
Second problem: He writes, “Equilibrium (boring); Thermodynamics (boring), Kinetics (bow-chicka-wow-wow)”
Third problem: He writes, “A chemical compound always contains exactly the same proportion of elements by mass. Unrelated, I saw my T.A., Jimmy, kissing a dude at a party last Friday.” Note that he underlined the word “dude” multiple times.
Fourth problem: He writes, “The chick in front of me is wearing a whit-lace Victoria’s Secret T thong.” on the left. The correct answer is on the right.
Last problem for extra credit (where the teacher misspells the word ‘accuracy’): He writes, “dildo” under the third diagram.
I usually obsess about something in my backyard when I take the dogs out. And the unfortunate objects of my obsession changes, usually according to the season change. This last winter, I was obsessing about rabbit poo, this early spring about dandelions, and up until 2 days ago about bird poo and the poo of another mystery animal which seems to drop by just to go potty; can’t blame the creature, really, cause everybody else does, but is it too much to ask to at least introduce him/herself and go in certain area and stand there a little apologetically for a while until I identify the spot instead of sneaking in only when I’m not there and defiantly leave the poo in different places that I need to search for?
These days, I’m obsessing about mushrooms. With all these animals, including my dogs, feeding shit to these mushrooms, they tend to flourish in my yard during the season. I remember obsessing about them last year and the year before. When I noticed mushrooms in my backyard for the first time, I started picking them because I didn’t want my dogs accidentally eating them (if you didn’t know, mushrooms are toxic to dogs in varying degrees from vomiting and diarrhea to death). So as with everything else, I started obsessing about ridding my yard of those mushrooms, annihilating all colonies, and I comb through the entire yard every chance I get. This year, I started noticing mushrooms just the day before yesterday. I have picked more than 1,000 mushrooms from my backyard in three days. Since yesterday was sunny and dry, I only picked a little over hundred mushrooms this morning.
There are quite a variety of mushrooms in my yard and I realized that I kinda consider them as something more than fungi. For instance, when I see a little colony of brownish mushrooms with pointy heads, I feel like I’m looking at a family with wee little kids. When I see a mushroom with a very thin head that looks like a cocktail umbrella, I pick it very cautiously imagining it viciously attacking me because it reminds me of the frills that belonged to the dinosaur called Dilophosaurus I saw in Jurassic Park.
Yeah, sometimes I think to myself, yur crazy. Maybe some of these mushrooms are psychedelic and they affect my brain with their smell? Are there such shrooms? Cause these mushrooms smell weird like gasoline or something.
I haven’t posted an update on Brandy’s condition so far. I tried, but I got so frustrated all over again thinking about the two receptionists at the vet, Lorraine and Sheila, as well as Dr C, who happens to be Lorraine’s son, that I jumbled the words and stuttered badly on the keyboard, so I deleted the post. Now several days later, I’ve calmed down a bit, although still upset, I think I can get this update published.
The short version is that Brandy has vitamin B12 deficiency and bacterial overgrowth, which has been causing the diarrhea. She’s put on amoxicillin and B12 supplement. If you are bored and want to read the long version, the rest of this entry is me ranting in painstakingly minute detail about certain people, mentioned above, at the vet’s office.
Last Friday, I received a phone call from Dr. C, instead of my vet Dr. L, about the blood test results. He said Dr. L asked him to give me a call, and said Brandy’s pancreatic level was normal as with everything else except her B12 level, which was low; the course of her treatment would be to give her B12 supplement and treat her with amoxicillin twice a day for 30 days; I could pick up amoxicillin and Pet-tabs, which is a multivitamin for dogs. I asked if I couldn’t just buy B12 supplement at a drug store, and he replied that I could certainly do that. Now my mistake at that point was to assume that he would have offered to call in the prescription for me at my local pharmacy IF amoxicillin was NOT a medication only available at veterinary facilities. Because Dr. L had offered to call in prescriptions for me twice already this year, I assumed amoxicillin was something not available at pharmacies.
The next day, SATURDAY mind you, I left home around 9:45am to pick up amoxicillin at the vet, which is usually about 40-45 minute drive. But after driving for 15 minutes or so on Long Island Expressway, the traffic came to a complete halt. Fortunately, I was right next to an exit, and I took the exit along with everybody else who was lucky enough to not have passed this exit. I drove on the service road at 0.00314 mile per hour and found out LIE was closed for 3 subsequent exits because of a tractor trailer crash. I finally got back on the LIE and flew to the vet’s office.
I told Sheila that I was there to pick up amoxicillin. For whom? she asked. Brandy, I answered. Last name? she asked. Kimn, K-I-M-N, I answered. Sheila opened a cabinet and started looking for it. Then she said quite contemptuously, Did you call it in? You HAVE to call it in first. It’s not here. You can’t just walk in and… I interrupted quite irritably, No, I didn’t call it in. Dr. C called ME yesterday. Flustered, Sheila proceeded to take out a basket from the cabinet and went through it. She took another basket out and went through it. She typed in my name on the computer apparently looking to verify my story. She went through the baskets again. She got up and walked to the back room, came back out, started the search again. She went to the back room again, came back out, searched for it again. Lorraine interfered and she walked to the back room, came back out, typed my information again on the computer. Lorraine and Sheila whispered this and that to each other. And Lorraine started going through the baskets again, when she grabbed a pill bottle and handed it to Sheila. Sheila said, Oh, I was looking for an envelope, not a bottle! Lorraine answered, Clavamox is in the envelope, not amoxicillin.
Increasingly irritated and impatient, yet relieved that I was getting the thing I drove all the way there for, I proceeded to pay and asked, so amoxicillin is not something that can be called in to a pharmacy? Lorraine answered sheepishly, We can call it in. But they look different. If you get it from a pharmacy, they don’t look the same.
(WARNING! The following paragraph not appropriate for children. Parental guidance strongly advised.)
With that, I turned around very quickly and got the fuck out of that place before I start yelling obscenities and end up getting banned from there. I mean, IT LOOKS DIFFERENT? FOR REAL? BIG! FUCKING! DEAL! WHY THE FUCK WOULD I GIVE A FUCKING SHIT ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK IT FUCKING LOOKS LIKE?!?! WHY THE FUCK DID I FUCKING HAVE TO DRIVE ALL THE FUCKING WAY THERE???? I WASTED THREE FUCKING HOURS THAT FUCKING DAY BECAUSE THE FUCKING CRASH WAS STILL BEING INVESTIGATED WHICH CAUSED THE FUCKING RUBBERNECKERS SO BREAK-FUCKING-HAPPY THAT MADE THE FUCKING TRAFFIC TO SLOW THE FUCK DOWN ON MY WAY BACK HOME AS WELL. AND HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO THE FUCKING PRICE OF FUCKING GAS THESE FUCKING DAYS? IT FUCKING COST ME TWENTY FUCKING BUCKS ROUND FUCKING TRIP! AND I COULD HAVE PICKED THIS FUCKING THING UP AT MY PHARMACY HALF A FUCKING MILE AWAY FROM ME?
One day last week, out of nowhere, under the blue sky, this mosquito very quietly launched a sneak-a-bite attack on my right shoulder and upper arm area. I feel my blood being sucked out of me only half the time when the bloodsucking is in progress, and this mosquito knew how to insert her proboscis without arousing any other sensation in me. I realized I got bitten, not once, but THREE times, only after the mosquito departed, obviously about to burst from the feast. I was, and still am very furious about this incident and still nursing – read scratching until I bleed – the bite wounds. Only yesterday evening, I had the opportunity to get my revenge by squashing a pair of them mating and spraying two more with my trusty lemon scented Clorox cleaner.
I have a bad feeling about this mosquito season. I’ve been already bitten half as many times as I was the last season, and the full-fledged mosquito season is not even here yet. The score is pathetic. During the last season’s battle with mosquitoes, when mosquitoes’ score was about 4, my score probably was at about 500 or so. I’m more than a little worried that this year’s battle will not be as one-sided as the last two years. I need a new strategy… Anyone? Anyone?
It’s just totally wrong for a Diva Inu to be seen relaxing with her legs not crossed in public. It’s just not right, I tell you.
This is the fourth time somebody came to my blog by searching “peeing mania.com”!!! WTF? I’m telling you, there are some sick, SICK people out there.
Not only there are sick people visiting my site, there are some other strange people ending up here by searching some strange stuff. Somebody came here searching for “cat puncture wound smells like poop”. Uh… HELLO THERE! IF YOUR CAT HAS A PUNCTURE WOUND, TAKE THE CAT TO THE EMERGENCY VET!!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING GOOGLING THE “SYMPTOM” OF A PUNCTURE WOUND???? And by the way, if it does smell like poop, common sense should tell you the cat’s gastrointestinal tract is punctured somewhere!
Do you know what kind of strange search people do to get to your site? Here are some other examples of what people searched to arrive here:
- fear of baby poop
- licking herself
- poop talk
- my bowel movement smells like bleach
So I’m thinking my blog is not hitting the target audience… oh wait… What kind of people ARE my target audience…?
I’m sooo massaging my shoulders and elbows and every single joint I have. Vigorously. And oh, let’s not forget the neck! I didn’t know I was capable of feeling strong emotions from watching anybody dance. I was wrong. I felt suspense. Oh the absolute horror I felt when he gave the “bonus” performance at a judge’s request!!! I was so picturing him collapsing with his neck bent backwards and the back of his head touching his back. Shudders. I could almost hear this neck crack! Dang, I get goosebumps just thinking about it.
I think he Can Dance – Watch more free videos
Last week, after reading a friendly twitter dude bc’s blog, I immediately proceeded to send my name to the moon because I think it’s one of the coolest things, like ever! As you can see below in the certificate, my name is the 994,006th added to the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbitor “Send Your Name to the Moon” Project.
Click on the image for a larger view.
I, of course, felt the need to send my mom’s, dad’s, and two sisters’ names along with all my beasts’ names including the ones who passed away. And for a good measure, I threw in my friend’s dog Houston’s name as well, whose owner, quite oddly, wasn’t excited at all about it.
No need to be jealous, you still have time to send your name to the moon. Don’t be tardy and do it before June 17, 2008 deadline according to NASA’s LRO page. And yes, Alice Kramden’s name has already been added by the aforementioned friend.
But I did. I failed to consult my organizer to check if there’s any important shit I was supposed to be reminded of. On May 20th of 2005, I started suffering from a severe chronic pain on my backside; the kind of pain that you get used to and you even miss it when you don’t suffer from it and you wish you never have to part from the pain as long as you live. The pain named Foster. Yes, 5/20 was Foster’s Gotcha day. I flew down to Newport News airport, VA, rented an SUV, drove to Baja-Ma’s house to pick him up, and drove back up to NY. And Foster has been the royal pain in my fat ass ever since.
Photo taken by PrincessGinger
Foster was abandoned by his owners – bastards! – who moved out and left him in the yard to fend for himself when he was only about 2 months old. A kind man noticed a poor skinny pup without food or water, so he took him, named him Foster, and contacted his friend PrincessGinger. She fostered him for about 6 months while trying to adopt him out to a good home without success. Having born with the fate of a big black dog, people who showed any interest in him were people who wanted to leave him outside as a guard dog and such. Then PrincessGinger’s landlord wanted Foster out. I agreed to take over the search for the right family but I couldn’t go get him myself and PrincessGinger couldn’t get him to me either so Foster had to be boarded. Then Baja-Ma who lives at about halfway point between me and PrincessGinger stepped in to foster him. So one day PrincessGinger and her BF drove Foster up and dropped him off at Baja-Ma’s house.
Photo taken by PrincessGinger
Unfortunately, Baja-Ma’s resident Beagle Jade was not keen on having to share her humans and didn’t like her domain invaded by a rambunctious puppy full of energy and it was disrupting an otherwise peaceful home – read people lost sleep. I rushed to make plans to go get him and 10 days later, I met Baja-Ma at her house, who, by the way, didn’t look too happy to see me at all and didn’t feel the need to fake happiness either – she later gave me a lame excuse like I woke her up or something, yeah, uh huh. I loaded Foster up and headed home.
On our way home, we stopped at G’s house in Onancock, VA. Now People! The stress is on the second syllable, and there are TWO n’s in Onancock! DO NOT DROP THE SECOND N!!! I knew G through Petfinder message board, and she so desperately wanted to help me by doing some of the driving so that I didn’t have to drive too much, in which case I would have completely missed the pleasure of meeting Baja-Ma and seeing her jump up and down with happiness for finally getting to meet me. But G’s location made it difficult for her to help me, so I stopped by for lunch and had a very nice visit with G, who by the way looked very happy to see me unlike certain somebody I mentioned earlier. Also her Golden Retriever named Rookie helped tire out Foster for the long drive ahead.
When we arrived home, Foster must have thought he died and went to hell and Grizzley was the Satan. Foster saw Grizzley lying under the coffee table, and lowered his head to investigate the kitty cat. Grizzley, not having any of that, and why should he in his age, hissed and air-whacked him without even getting up. The scene that followed is something you would have seen in a cartoon where Foster immediately tried to turn and haul ass but getting zero traction on the hardwood floor, he ran for his life at the exact same spot for a few seconds before he took off out of the living room and hurried into his crate, and didn’t come out for the rest of the evening.
I started the search for Foster’s forever home, and abandoned the effort in a couple of months or so later. He was cute. He was a pain. He was PAINFULLY cute. He was adorable. He was a pain. He was PAINFULLY adorable. More than anything, he was a good natured, I-love-everybody, OMG-life-is-great happy-go-lucky puppy who constantly made me laugh everyday. He was a pain. I was in love. He was a pain. I absolutely loved him and couldn’t let him go.
I would have decided to keep him sooner if I didn’t feel that Foster, the only “normal” and adoptable dog at home, could find a much better family who could take care of him much better than I ever could. But a not very trusting misanthrope I am, I convinced myself that he’s a pain enough to be called a “special case”. I still feel somewhat guilty about it sometimes for having kept him for selfish reasons. Kind people have told me I have to be selfish some time. Well, I just hope Foster feels the same way.
Happy belated gotcha day, Foster! …pain in the ass…
The other day, I commented in one of Baja-Ma’s blog about my favorite Yankees t-shirt with “What the hell is Ansky?” printed in the front. It reminded me of one of my favorite commercials, which that t-shirt stems from, and wanted to share it. Then I completely forgot about it since you know, if I don’t write a blog about something the minute it pops inside the gray matter housed in my skull, fat chance that it would ever show up in my blog. But what do you know, I remembered because for some reason several people in the office put NY Yankees’ hats either on their desks or on top of the cubicles all of a sudden – well, they have probably been there for a while, but I just noticed. Either way, here is the commercial people outside New York most likely haven’t seen.
PS. I was just informed that every employee received a Yankees hat with the company logo on the back of it. We lowly consultants don’t get shit.
Serious Stuff. Seriously
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.NaNoWriMo
Yeah, I'm gonna try this time. I must be crazy... not surprisingly.
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