evilhippo: hippo (11 [surreal])
( Jun. 10th, 2010 07:24 pm)
I figure it's only fair that I share the main conversation point I've had with other people lately: Is that a tattoo? (Contains abstract bruise) )

One of the girls at work and I were trying to use it as a rorschach test, but no one else would tell us what they saw in it. Most of them went "Agh! I didn't know it was that bad!" (This is the side of my arm, so when I'm walking around normally you pretty much just see the mostly-healed yellowish part of the bruise.) Personally, I see a duck with a colourful Nefertiti headdress. She saw the Pillsbury doughboy, but she also neatly disregarded all the coloured parts and focused on the x-shaped part at the bottom. (Also, in case you were wondering, it really doesn't hurt all that much anymore.) I've also had a few people confuse it for a tattoo, and I've had to tell the story an awful lot, since it's a hard bruise to ignore. (There are still people at work, though, that seem to have missed it. In fact, someone just noticed it today. For him, I abbreviated the story to "Yeah, I got hit by a car, it's all right" and then carried on with the question I was asking him. I did this mostly because I knew he'd give me a fantastically confused look, though).

I also found this ) on my way back from work today. I came across it standing up huge and obvious in the grass, all by itself, in front of the building next door. I hope it's a Sign. I also hope it's not too sad that I picked it. I always feel bad when I do things like that (I also have this problem with Christmas trees, and pretty much all cut flowers), but I figure, the grass was kind of long, so it was probably going to get mowed soon... so sitting in a glass for a few days and then being pressed in quality literature will hopefully be a better fate for it.
evilhippo: hippo (97 [one of those days])
( Jun. 6th, 2010 07:16 pm)
You know what I hate more than anything? What, if I had a true nemesis, that nemesis would be?

Car doors.

I can't wait until this bruise on my arm blooms out fully, if the half-dollar sized dent in The Stig is any indication of the damage. Ow. SUV doors really pack a punch.

Hate car doors.

On the plus side, this guy was super cordial and apologetic about it. I mean, it's a freak sort of accident, and I don't hold it against people unless they're complete tools like Mr. "Don't Worry About My Car!" I feel bad that I actually was hurt badly enough that I had to file a police report this time, because it probably ruined his evening, but man, ow. And I shouldn't feel bad about going to get my wrist checked out tomorrow, but I do, because his insurance is probably going to go up just because he didn't check his mirror before he opened his door. I mean, it was right into me. I didn't even see it coming. Stupid 53rd Street. At least it was just after a stop sign, so no one was going fast enough to run me over afterwards. Which, of course, didn't limit the terror of finding myself flat on the pavement looking back at an oncoming red car. I immediately panicked and rolled away, and then had two almost-simultaneous thoughts, which were: 1) Omg did that just break my arm? followed by 2) I was almost Sam Tylered there. And that made me laugh until I started crying. The poor man, he probably thought he'd really hurt me. Then I told him my shoe was still under his car. And that's when the police came.

And crap what is this now like, twice in a month? Geez. I guess I need to start riding in the middle of the road so cars can hit me head-on instead.

But now, aside from being very sore and covered in ice, I'm mostly sad that I didn't make it to Doctor Who night. Darnit, car doors. Way to interfere with my already-meager social life.
1) Attempt to call ISP
2) Attempt to call ISP again
3) Finally reach ISP after a week, once tech support finally provides the correct hours of operation (incidentally, exactly your work hours)
4) Set up new account, since apparently for some reason the old one won't carry over to the new address
5) Wait
6) Wait some more
7) Give ISP the (very unearned) benefit of the doubt, and give them an extra day to set up the connection
8) Attempt to call ISP
9) Attempt to call ISP
10) Finally get a hold of ISP. After fifteen minutes of explaining that ISP is unreachable during times you are at home while someone tries to walk you through tech support on your modem, "be advised" that a technician will be in contact shortly regarding the issue.
11) Wait several hours.
12) Attempt to contact a technician yourself.
13) Explain to fourth or fifth person you are bounced to that you just want to know why the internet isn't on yet. They explain that the tech needs access to the apartment. You explain that they gave absolutely no hint that they had been there, or that they needed in.
14) Schedule a time with for your janitor to let the tech in, since, as you so patiently explained, you have a job.
15) Realize that the four or so odd calls to your phone from a Chicago number were probably your ISP. Wonder why the heck they never left a message.
16) Receive a call at work asking if you're in your apartment to let the technician in. With great patience, ask the technician if he received the instructions to contact the janitor. He did not, and it is apparently blind luck that he showed up when he was supposed to. Repeat the instructions to the technician, give him the janitor's number, hope for the best.
17) Receive several more calls from AT&T letting you know that a technician is at your apartment working on the problem.
18) Arrive home. Fiddle with internet. Log in to find a screen declaring that that ISP has found something "wrong with your account."
19) Spend several hours on the phone with ISP.
20) Finally have internet.
Bonus! I can now freely change the name of my wireless network, which, for some reason, I couldn't do before.

Argh! But at least I have internet again now? Hi? My next request is going to be that it stay connected for more than a few minutes at a time. And maybe for my wireless to work correctly, rather than deciding that what it really wants is not to be wireless at all. (And I'm not even going to start on work. Omg.)
evilhippo: hippo (19 [azkabam])
»

Ow.

( Oct. 13th, 2008 10:35 pm)
I am in pain, and I smell like flowers.

Freaking Monday.

Also: Sunburn in October is like the Spanish Inquisition. Biking a marathon for music, cheese, and a marathon is dumb. Also Life on Mars is even better in the second season. I wish I'd gotten around to watching the whole thing sooner. I aaaaalmost have bunnies. I'd forgotten about having bunnies.
evilhippo: hippo (27 [help])
( Oct. 15th, 2007 11:50 pm)
Dear Illinois State Legislature:

Re: The CTA, and How it Sucks Already

It has come to my attention that you are being a buttface about transit funding. Stop it. Seriously. Because if you keep up this game of chicken, they are going to cut THREE OF THE FOUR BUSES OUT OF MY NEIGHBORHOOD. And that includes ALL of the useful ones, and most painfully the ones that both [livejournal.com profile] deathscytheheck and I use to get back and forth to work. (They're cutting the Division. The Chicago would drop me off with a nice sketchy two-block walk. That means if I still have my current job in January when the second round of cuts comes, I will have no non-scary way to get back to my apartment. In the dark. Which is somewhere very high on the list of Things A Single Somewhat Skinny White Girl Should Not Do In A City. And even if I have a normal job, heaven forbid it be somewhere other than downtown because OH, I WON'T BE ABLE TO GET THERE.) This is, frankly, absolutely unacceptable, and both you and the dastardly CTA can expect real proper letters from me sometime in the near future. They will probably be soaked with tears, and I might leave them outside in the rain and burn the edges a bit, too, since THE RED LINE DIDN'T TELL ME IT WAS REROUTED TONIGHT AND I ENDED UP A MILE OUT OF MY WAY AND OH, THE 70 DECIDED TO TAKE A BREAK AFTER I GOT ON IT AND SO IT TOOK ME AN HOUR LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE FOR ME TO GET HOME AND OH, WAIT, THIS IS NORMAL. So I hope you understand why, since things are bad already, I would prefer very much that they not get worse.

Thanks,
[livejournal.com profile] evilhippo

P.S. I notice you're only cutting about 20 buses. Why are three of them in my neighborhood? Why do you hate Humboldt Park? It's been improving, goshdarnit, and there are actual hipsters that get off the bus after I do. Do you want to turn us all into goths and emos? Because I swear that'll happen if you take our transit away. And I'll bet goths and emos don't pay for buses and trains. I bet they cry on them, and paint them black and cover them in spikes and sack Rome.
evilhippo: hippo (46 [internets])
( Sep. 12th, 2007 12:07 pm)
No internets for me for the next few days. I don't know how I'm going to survive (I don't know how I've survived this long, living 3/4 of the way in one apartment or the other).

People should call me, so [livejournal.com profile] rsiasta and I don't have to sit around playing Disney Princess Uno forever.

Edit: I am stealing internet. I currently feel like a bad person... kind of. And I am doing my best to keep my bandwidth usage low. Also, I have another interview either Friday or the beginning of next week. And there were at least three ads today that looked promising. I can almost taste the full-time employment in my future. Hopefully it's not one of those creepy synthetic sort of tastes. Like popcorn jellybeans.
evilhippo: hippo (73 [attack])
( Sep. 9th, 2007 12:55 am)
If I am never this stressed out again, it will be too soon. World, seriously. Give me a break. Otherwise you are going to kill me. I am young and relatively healthy, but I swear if you keep this up, I am going to have a heart attack and die.

Also, I've had hiccups since about 6 tonight. I'm still undecided as to whether that makes things worse, or adds an odd bit of levity to the situation. (There's nothing quite like squeaking at inopportune moments while arguing about financial situations.)
evilhippo: hippo (103 [presidential])
( Feb. 23rd, 2007 09:21 am)
If this wasn't so fun sometimes, I would hate writing so much.

(1.5 hours of sleep. This script sucks, and people have got to read it aloud in class today. I'm going to die. Omg.)

(I'm out of "Writing is going to kill me" icons, so here, have hot pink snazzy Teddy Roosevelt, straight from the government. I also recommend Rutherford Hayes, Warren Harding (who appears to be staring into some kind of mind-control device), and John Quincy Adams (who has enough skill to match his books).)
.

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