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Tender words on my last day of work

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 15:51:16 -0500

[15:50] Jimmy: before you go
[15:50] Jimmy: you should know
[15:50] Jimmy: my morning wood has been FURIOUS lately
[15:50] Me: ...
[15:50] Jimmy: i have to stand like, a meter away from the toilet in the morning

Do NOT use Lunarpages for web hosting.

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 11:30:00 -0500

Nerd moment: These fuckers are fuckers. A while ago, my site was hacked. They got my FTP password somehow, and basically messed with my site, rearranging the pages and folder hierarchies, and basically trashing the site. When I called Lunarpages and asked for a backup, they told me I probably had an unsafe script (their FACES are unsafe scripts!) and that a backup would cost $80 bucks, but I had better hurry, ‘cos they only have backups for so long! This was immediately after my friend, using asmallorange.com , had a backup of his site restored for free because he accidentally overwrote a file.

So, yesterday I was messing around with a php back end, and it called for running a program from the command line, which I tried with shell_exec, to no avail. I said, “eh, eff it.” and left it alone for a little. Today, someone messages me that my weather site is down. Apparently Lunarpages has suspended my site; not only my actual website, but FTP access AND ACCESS TO MY BILLING INFORMATION. They gave me no warning, email, or phone call. IF YOU DIDN’T WANT ME RUNNING SHELL COMMANDS YOU SHOULD BE RUNNING SAFE MODE OR SOME SHIT YOU FUCKS LET ME LOG IN AND DOWNLOAD MY VARIOUS WEB PROJECTS AND PICTURES FROM THE SITE SO I CAN LEAVE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS FOREVER

DON’T BE LIKE ME. BACKUP YOUR BITCHES, BITCHES.

Very cute, Tumblr. Now go to your room.

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 21:16:00 -0400

Very cute, Tumblr. Now go to your room.

If I ever have a Halloween party

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 14:28:09 -0400

I will not let anyone in whose costume name is preceded by “Sexy”.

The guy I’m dating just started a tumblr. Here we are...

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 21:41:24 -0400

The guy I’m dating just started a tumblr. Here we are being super romantic.

annie: The living room and kitchen! WHAT THE FUCK ANNIE, IS...

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 19:24:00 -0400

annie:

The living room and kitchen!

WHAT THE FUCK ANNIE, IS THAT A FIREPLACE? HARDWOOD AND BRICK? ON THE UPPER EAST SIDE? WHY DON’T I HAVE THAT? FUCK YOU, ANNIE

Photo

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 16:33:53 -0400

My dream last night

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 23:26:43 -0400

Last night I dreamt that I was a space explorer. I had my own ship, and I soared toward the outreaches of space. I was fairly successful. At this particular moment in my life as a space explorer, I stopped at a free floating hospital, a massive and sullen structure, drifting amidst the stars. I was there to see my mother. I spent a while looking for her, darting through substations and floors, talking to receptionists. Being lost in large buildings is a common theme in my dreams. Eventually, I found her. She was well, but still bed ridden, and I sat beside her. She was surprised that I had come to visit her, that I had gone through all the effort to find her in the labryinthian hospital. I asked her, how could I not? In the dream, I began to cry, recounting to her how she had cared for me through my many week long hospital trips as an asthmatic youth, my delicate early years. I told her that I would explore the farthest stars to pay for her stay at the hospital, and that I would always come back.

When I woke up, I remembered how long it had been since I spoke to my mother. I wondered what the most unrealistic part of the dream was.

My new employers (As of Nov. 6th).

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 00:40:59 -0400

My new employers (As of Nov. 6th).

LOOK, GAY STUFF!

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 12:27:00 -0400

LOOK, GAY STUFF!

Alright, douchebags, listen up.

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:01:33 -0400

I am tired of you fuckers at the gym not using the smaller water fountain. At my gym, there are two water fountains. One is normal height. The other one is cripple height. As a man who is 5’11”, I have no problem bending down to use cripple-height fountain, especially if someone is using the big boy fountain.

HOWEVER FOR SOME FUCKING REASON I AM THE ONLY PERSON WHO WILL DO THIS

Lines fucking form around the big boy fountain when the reebo-height fountain is perfectly free. I cut said line, because I am a thirsty motherfucker after blasting my pecs, but then I feel like a wompwomp because I am drinking from the stunted-growth fountain that no one else will drink from. Then the fucking frat boys look at me, all like, “Hey, look at that fucking trainable drinking from the fetal-alcohol-syndrome-height fountain” and I’m like “LOOK DOUCHEBAG GO LISTEN TO NICKELBACK” but I don’t really say that, because the real revenge is success.

What the fuck, 7-11?

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 18:05:14 -0400

What the fuck, 7-11?

Tonight. You.

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 01:55:54 -0400

Tonight I went to a bar that played CSS [Beautiful Song], Tiga [Shoes], Peaches [Talk To Me], AND Flight of the Concords [Inner City Pressure]. And then they gave me several St. Germain cocktails. I may have to return.

Here is a picture of me looking uncomfortable in a tie because...

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 11:24:00 -0400

Here is a picture of me looking uncomfortable in a tie because it is GPOYW

annie: ( via clairenatividad ) (via hypnotica) Annie, this is...

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 14:58:08 -0400

annie: ( via clairenatividad ) (via hypnotica)

Annie, this is dumb. Do you know how totally ready I am to win the lottery? Both Sallie Mae and I are ready for me to win the lottery.

What an awkward topic to broach

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 00:40:13 -0400

Me: Uhh.
Me: Did you throw up in the shower?
Drunk Roomie: DID IIIIII?

"Make no mistake. We’re now in the middle of a bloodless coup – the takeover of an entire nation by..."

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 11:18:09 -0400

“Make no mistake. We’re now in the middle of a bloodless coup – the takeover of an entire nation by the hate-America crowd – a cold-blooded gang that despises American’s prosperity, our standing in the world, our trust in God and our generosity and goodness.”

- ImpeachObamaCampaign.com is TOTALLY CRAZY-BALLS

My new shelves! Finally, a place to put my little ponies.

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 12:12:14 -0400

My new shelves! Finally, a place to put my little ponies.

On my list of most embarassing moments

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 12:30:11 -0400

During my freshman year of high school, not unlike all my years of high school, I was a pretty bad fuckup, in the “I don’t care, I’m just going to put my head down on my desk and sleep through class” way. I didn’t particularly have to put any effort in to eke out passing grades in most of my classes, at least at that point. However, there was one class this did not hold true for: Japanese. It’s hard to bullshit foreign languages with foreign-er alphabets. I would occasionally put in effort, but I never seemed to be able to get it right. My Japanese teacher, at the time, wrote me off as a failure and occasionally scolded me. In the middle of class, she once asked aloud how I intended to pass the course, before scowling at my mumbled, incoherent answer and turning toward her brighter pupils. She was very committed to the idea of working hard in school.

Our final was a grueling, two class period affair, with an oral component (hurr hurr hurr) and an essay portion, which I recall most of the class fucked up. We wrote a love story about the test’s picture of a young couple underneath a cherry blossom tree, when she wanted a mature and sophisticated novella about the two kids severing all romantic ties in order to prepare themselves for college.

Or something.

Anyway, when all was said and done, instead of handing our finals back out to us, or emailing us, or something reasonable and discreet, she decides to READ EVERYONE’S GRADE OUT LOUD TO THE CLASS. My heart seized in my chest as she began to chant off pairs of names and their excellent, dazzling, grades. My high school was full of overachievers and people who were accepted early to Harvard. The grade of a layabout like me was not only none of their business, but the attached social stigma of being the idiot of the class, who didn’t study and would clearly never go anywhere in life, hahah point and laugh at him, was reason enough to commit hara-kiri. Not to mention that the rest of the class was predominantly Chinese, so it’s like learning Spanish for them, right? Easy A. Anyway, she read the list alphabetically, and eventually, as alphabets do, she is lead to my name.

Reading aloud from a gridded chart inside a manilla folder, she says, “Robert Gable: sixty-seven.” Before my mind could begin pumping the chemicals appropriate for the spirit-crushing response to getting such a low grade on a final, as well as the embarrassment of having it read aloud to kids whose parents would cane them for anything below an 90, she looked up from the grades and said, in the most earnest voice I had ever heard from her, “Good job, Robert, you passed!”

As her rock-bottom expectations for me became clear to everyone in the room, the students turned to look, even though I had already dissolved into the folds of my hooded sweatshirt.

Who wears a robe, anyway?

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 17:40:08 -0400

Okay, so, my Graduation Robe has been sitting in a bin in the corner which I recently emptied. What do people do with graduation robes? I understand they save their hats (DUMB) but I’m not sure if there’s a protocol for a robe. I could use it as a blanket, maybe. Or a sex tarp for my bed. Maybe I could cut it into a cute haltertop.

Now taking suggestions for what to do with my graduation robe?