100 Things Reboot #1: When You Get a nice thing from a best friend in the mail

Let’s set the stage: I love getting mail in general. I love the anticipation. I’ve been over it 934953948539 times. (Okay maybe that number is hyperbole. But if you’ve followed the 100 Things tag (or was it the 100 things challenge tag?) I’ve been over it. But yesterday was different.

CUE A LOOP OF this tune when I open my mailbox yesterday morning. Do not stop the loop. These 24 hours are that silly.

“Parcel?” I don’t remember ordering something.

“Attempted delivery at 9:15 AM?” For once, the local post office is on top of things. I’ll attempt it tomorrow when I get off of work, I decide.

Fast forward to this morning when I can’t seem to figure out how ‘awake’ works. I try to text my boss to let her know I’m going to be a little late (I’m a little sick) but for some reason my screen’s not working. I’m blinking-sleep on the bus. I get to work about fifteen minutes after I realize what the problem with my phone was.

See, I was trying to dial my keys.

Further, APPARENTLY my phone bounced texts and my “Uhhh, we sold nothing, you got a day off” message didn’t come in. And I wouldn’t have known considering I was trying to place a call ON MY KEYS.

I shrug, hand in my keys (the work keys, not the phone keys/house keys), and get breakfast at a local eatery. On the way home I remember “Hey, I have a parcel.”

So I get to the post office and am handed THIS:

I GOT ROYAL MAIIIIIIIL (MAIIIIIIIL)

ooh, shiny

AS A MATTER OF SCALE I HAVE SCALED THIS DOWN TO ABOUT 30 PERCENT. WTF PHONE? EVERYTHING IS NOT THE SIZE OF THE GATEWAY ARCH. IT DID NOT ALSO ALL FIT.

slightly butchered box is slightly butchered

slightly butchered box is slightly butchered

 

An entire side is open. It’s like they actually TRIED to get a parcel WIDER THAN MY TORSO into a mailbox SMALLER THAN MY HEAD. On the upside, is not ParcelForce the most metal name EVER. Could you not see a metal band of nothing but postal and other mail-type workers in a band with that name? “YOU ADDED INADEQUATE POSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE *METAL GROWL*”

NOW FOR THE BEST PART OF PACKAGES: RIPPING INTO THAT SUMBITCH LIKE A STARVING MAN INTO A HOAGIE AND MUG OF TEA.

*five minutes later*

*girly squee* Would you look at this it’s heart-shaped l’il Marmite.

HEART SHAPED MARMITE. OMG.

HOW FLIPPIN CUTE IS THIS

 

AAAAAAAAAAH

TEA AND MARMITE AND LETTERS OH MY

I’M CID HIGHWIND AND THIS IS HEAVEN

MARMITE AND TEA AND MORE MARMITE AND THE FACT THAT THE POST SMASHED A LOT OF THE MARMITE CAN BE FORGIVEN BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T BUTCHER THE TEA. AND IS THAT SUA. I JUST. I DON’T. I CAN’T.

EXCUSE ME WHILE I LET OUT THE SOUND THAT DEFINES GIRLY. IF WINDOWS SHATTER NEAR YOU, MY BAD.

AND OMG. TOFF. YOUR HANDWRITING. ADORBS. I GUH.

IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME. I THINK IT’S TEA TIME FOR ME.

Gotta Hand It To Me???

I’ve developed a very annoying problem since stopping a couple meds in the last few months.

It began life as a plain ol’ twitch—the thumb on my left hand would just sort of tick-tock back and forth once in a while, and I’d just have to ignore it for a while until it stopped. For a while, that went away, and I figured I’d be done with the problem.

Except now I have a weirder, more painful problem.

Instead of a periodic tick-tock twitch in the thumb, now sometimes, the entire thumb—and sometimes, the whole damn hand—sometimes just…fists up.

Yeah.

I’ll be going about the usual business, when suddenly, there’ll be a series of painful stabbing sensations in the hand, and the thumb will just…snap into my palm, like I’m attempting to make a fist but a couple steps in the middle get missed. On bad days, the thing goes to the entire hand, and I could be in the middle of writing an entry—like this one—and the hand just slaps shut like a…hm. Uh.

Ya know, that simile was going somewhere at one point. The point is, the hand just suddenly goes WHAM shut, completely independent of me trying to do anything with it. In fact, in the course of writing this, the thumb has done that seven times, and the entire hand twice.

It’s gotten common enough that I routinely forget to bring it up to my doctor. You’d think “AUTO-FIST FUNCTION ON HAND ENABLED WITHOUT PERMISSION” would hit priority, but it slips my mind…until I’m doing something that requires the fine control on that hand and suddenly I’ve just squashed the thing because my hand’s turned into a fleshy mousetrap.

MOUSETRAP! THAT was the simile that I was trying to remember earlier. Ah-DOY.

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In other news, I am a nerd.

I got hella bored today while doing laundry. Like, super hella bored. So bored, in fact, that I didn’t even feel like starting up a game of Civ at the time–but I wanted to listen to the music. Like, crazy wanting to listen to the music. But I didn’t have the soundtrack to the expansions, and I wanted to listen to the soundtrack to the expansions, and maybe some of the pretty idle, nothing-is-going-on, the empire is at peace right now-music. You know, the stuff that rarely makes it into the final OST.

I had an idea then: Like the time I got around Steam to launch Kerbal Space Program during the time a beta bug, I could get into the local content to see where it was and listen to it from there.

With a few clicks, I was in the file explorer and looking at the Vanilla music, found in .ogg format. Interesting, I thought, looking at it.

Granted, I have the Vanilla OST—it came with the Bundle—but after wandering around I noticed that oh hey, there’s the pretty idle music!

…let’s poke around a little more, shall we?

After about fifteen minutes of poking around, I found what I was looking for.

I am now in the process of deciding which device to put this lovely ear candy on to listen to while I get the writing done.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you nerd! How am I supposed to do that on a Steam game?!”

Hold your horses, I’ll explain it. It’s simple. DISCLAIMER: You damn well better not otherwise manipulate the files other than a cloning. I am not responsible for any bricked installs. It also goes without saying this is personal use only (don’t be piratin’ yo). They all start the same:

  1. Jump into your Steam.
  2. Right-click the game in the sidebar.
  3. Clck properties.
  4. Click “Browse local content.
  5. Find the folder with the music. DO NOT CHANGE OR MOVE ANYTHING.

After this you have a couple options.

Here’s a pair of methods:

SUPER RIDICULOUS EASY METHOD:

Sync the folder with the music with your Google music manager folder. Upload, refresh, boom, done, it’s in the cloud.

LESS EASY METHOD:

Clone the folder to the desktop, if space allows, and move it to a secure place—an SD card, a device, a sufficiently powerful phone. …depending on the device this could take a while. DO NOT MOVE THE ORIGINAL FOLDERS.

THINGS TO NOT DO:

DO NOT USE ITUNES. While it sounds like linking the original folders to the library is simpler, iTunes especially likes to tweak things’ metadata and can easily cause problems.

IN FACT, DO NOT USE ANY MEDIA MANAGERS THAT WILL CHUCK SETTINGS AT THINGS. Keep the entire process manual. It’s best you not have to need to turn around and reinstall anything, because—especially if you’ve got the kind of connection that I do—that can take hours.

Boom. =D Enjoy your new game music.

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Returning from Hiatus: and a comment on current events (#Ferguson)

No off  days until next week.

Tore a muscle in my arm.

Typing hurts because I overloaded it at work and until I get my day off it’s gonna be overloaded.

BUT.

When I get a chance to breathe, I’m putting myself back on a schedule of updates. …the fact that I have developed a mild (HAH) Civ V habit also hasn’t helped things, but I think I’ve got a handle on that now.

OBLIGATORY CURRENT EVENTS MENTION:

I do not live in Ferguson. I live near enough that the events are concerning.

With the events in Ferguson, MO–a suburb of St. Louis, a mere stone’s throw from the city I live in, racial tension is at the whistle point. The kettle will either pop or have to be removed, and I’m suspecting a pop rather than a timely removal. Without going into the gory details (they’re all over at this point, to the point where the beleaguered souls in Palestine are giving us here in the US tips on surviving teargas and counter-riot brutality), things are at the point where even though I don’t live in Ferguson itself, the area is still tense. Solidarity protests have taken place in my city, a city known for its racially tense history (we are not far removed from race riots), and when I heard about them I was concerned that things would turn ugly. Later in the day I heard about a threat on the post office and federal building–potentially unrelated, but there was nothing in the paper or online to confirm or remove my suspicion.

Just yesterday, during my shift at work, there were a number of persons who will not be identified lamenting the destruction of the QuikTrip store involved in the whole affair. It made me sick. Had I been in charge of the property, they would have been thrown out–not escorted, not directed, not told, THROWN OUT. To hear someone with more concern for property than life–no. Fuck you.

I do not believe that it will get quieter soon. Not with the press release that just went out. The timing was terrible, the tone was worse. Anonymous is already involved, and we know how they work. (While their intentions have been not-shitty their methods have been…ech.)

My input stops here–not for lack of things to say, but because of injury.

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Well, at least it isn't eldritch…

“?! You little shit.”

As I stand stock still in the pantry it’s confirmed—I am in fact not hearing things. A mouse has gotten in through the hole in the floor that the people in charge of this hole of a building refuse to fix.

(Of course, this on top of the black mold, the falling-in-bathroom walls, the leaky pipe, the decaying space under my kitchen sink that has been that way since I moved in…)

I moved the trap to the path of where the mouse has been going, but it seems to have wised up. (“You little shit.”) Now I’m about to clear out the pantry and put down a couple more glue traps.

On the upside, I’m on vacation until Friday.

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In which I vent about the landlord who has done nothing for the building.

Dear Landlord:

Because you’ve dragged your feet on the leak over my apartment, I’ve developed a case of what is either black mold or mildew on my ceiling. While I was willing to attack this with a can of Killz brand antimold/antimildew thingy on my own, the fact that the ceiling itself has developed a bulge in two places, and gives when poked in another, is something that is more in YOUR wheelhouse. HOWEVER. It’s been almost half a year and you’ve done nothing. Which leads to this:

That’s my bathroom wall. An extreme closeup albeit, but the wall. Specifically, one of the wall tiles. You see how the stuff that sticks it on has rotted? You know how my bath doesn’t have a shower so it’s impossible for anything to get there? Yannou, except for that wrapping-around bulging pouf of paint that clearly indicates the pattern of leakage from the unit over mine? Well, THE FUCKING TILES are falling off now.

That’s right. The TILES ARE FALLING OFF BECAUSE OF THE LEAK YOU WON’T PINPOINT AND FIX.

Frankly, you’re lucky anyone in this building pays rent, because this right here is some serious bull.

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Eldritch Mouse, Part 2…

I step across my threshold with nothing on my mind except the prescription bottle that I’ve forgotten on my bed. I’ve been sans a nerve pain pill for two doses and at this point I have excruciating pain in four places and an alarming lack of sensation in a fifth. The first thing I’m going to do is take a missed dose.

The first thing I actually do is drop four F-bombs. Sitting on my wall is something I can only describe as a fucking corpse blow-fly (DON’T google that!). It’s about as long as the first joint of my thumb—I have long thumbs—and it’s…not actually doing anything. I avoid aggroing it as I get into streets and prepare a snack to take this med with. It is then that I notice something…odd about the air in the apartment. It smells vaguely like battery acid and hate. I get the distinct impression that I should check my glue trap.

Ay, Yemaya help me!”

I realize that they don’t have actual collarbone an are also all around flexible, but even Eldritch Mouse shouldn’t be bent in such a position. It clearly didn’t approve of the plan I had laid out for it. Its body is twisted double—triple-jointed even, using the entire available width area of the glue trap. From the looks of things, I got him shortly after leaving for work—maybe that was the noise I heard when I thought I dropped a pack of caraway seeds.

Worthy opponent aside, I’m not looking forward to moving that trap. But if I don’t get up to do it now, it won’t get done…

*cringe/shudders and gets up*

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