Found amongst my CC notes...

I’d welcome death
I’d burn my skin
I’d find a box
To be locked in

I’d walk on nails
I’d tap a vein
Chew on tin foil
Drink acid rain

Slam my hand
Inside a door
Tear my hair
I’ll ask for more

I’d drop an anvil
On my toes
Put a cockroach
In my nose

Dance on fire
Lick dry ice
Bite the heads off
Five live mice

Bob for apples
In a piranha tank
Lie in front of
An army tank

Pick on leopards
Tease a bear
Eat old mayonnaise
Mixed with hair

Drown myself
In lemonade
Go to the vet
And get me spayed

Red hot pokers
In my eye
Shoot a bullet
In my thigh

Move to Russia
Break my knees
Fill my pants
With angry bees

Drive my car
Right off a bridge
Change my name
To Esther Midge

Dip my face
In boiling milk
Clothe myself
In rotting silk

Never sleep
And never laugh
I’d cut my fingers
Each in half

Swim in toilets
Buried alive
Drain the pool
And take a dive

Try to catch
A rabid bat
Always wear
A pimpish hat

Eat some cyanide-
Soaked flannel
Ride 80 miles
On a mangy camel

I’d rather drink
A backwash-pop
Live in jail
With Baby Bop

Be crushed by Roman
Architecture
Then sit through one more
CC lecture

Termination Rules the Nation!

Gainfully employed. Earning a steady paycheck. Me. One of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn’t belong…

That’s right, folks- perhaps you’ve guessed or even heard by now, but I am once again wandering the realm of the unemployed. Thank God- I’m exhausted. I wasn’t fired, because ‘fired’ implies incompetence, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s transferring vaguely colored water from one tray to another. If there’s two things I’m good at, they’re transferring vaguely colored water from one tray to another and crocheting tea cozies from hard to work with media, but that’s beyond the scope of this blog.

Apparently, the company I work for – say it with me – isn’t doing very well, and they’ve terminated all temporary employee contracts. I’ve been terminated. Feel free to insert your own joke about not being ‘bahk’ and I’ll meet you at the next paragraph as soon as you’re done talking in that Austrian accent.

You’d think I would have emotions about this. You’d be wrong. I, for some reason, am completely detached from this situation. Like, ‘plot of Contact’ not caring. ‘Carrot Top just incorporated a new prop into his stand-up’ not caring. ‘There’s a Cirque de Soleil marathon on Bravo’ not caring. You get the idea. I’m vaguely pleased that women who missed their callings as party planners for kindergarteners will no longer glare at me. Lack of a commute springs to mind as a plus. Beyond that, though, I’m coming away from my first experience in the real world wit ha distinct feeling of meh.

There are lots of terms that have come to mean a termination of employment. And since I’ve got significantly more time on my hands, I decided to explore a few of them. Come along, won’t you?

The word ‘fired’ comes from the connotation that a worker would be ejected rapidly from his or her position, much like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. I got two weeks notice – not exactly rapid ejection. Not like ejector seats in planes. They should make those for cars. You know, for the passenger seat. So if someone’s all, “Hey, wasn’t that your exit?” or “You really need to update your resume and find another job,” a simple press of a button would get them out of your hair. Also, I bet a sliding roof panel would come as part of the ejector seat package, because they’re either gonna rip right through your roof or slam into it, and either way that’s going to be a mess. Even if I had been fired, I probably wouldn’t be able to say that, because I’m pretty sure Donald Trump has copyrighted that phrase.

The term ‘canned’ was in use long before it meant jail or toilet or butt or whatever the kids are using it for these days. Probably the marijuana. But that meaning originated about ten years after they started selling food in cans, so who knows. Maybe when people were fired they were given a complimentary tin of Spam. I heard Spam stands for Scientifically Processed Animal Matter. But I heard it from a vegetarian, so I don’t think I believe it. Not that vegetarians are liars, I just can’t imagine too many of them spreading the good word of canned meat. Even if they were, I still wouldn’t eat it. I wonder if the folks at Hormel are mad that Spam is a word for emails peddling Viagra and cheap vacation properties. Or maybe they started all of it. All the more reason not to eat Spam, I guess.

I didn’t get a pink slip, either – I got a boss beginning the conversation saying he was nervous because he’d ‘never done this before.’ I knew right then he was either laying me off or propositioning me. Considering the fact that I had been wearing the same hoodie for four days and probably smelled of lab, I quickly deduced that it was the former. Too bad. About the lack of a pink slip, I mean. Woulda looked good framed.

In England, the term is ‘sacked.’ Hard to sound negative when it conjures images of potato sack races. Maybe they don’t have potato sack races in England, though. Or maybe I’m just weird. Anyway this might come from the fact that when you’re sacked, you have to take all your tools home in a sack. I don’t have any tools. I did bring my pens and photos home in a sack. Well, it was a Pier One bag with handles. Sounds more dignified than a sack, somehow. I couldn’t put my bonsai tree in a bag, though. I’ve always wanted a bonsai tree, and now I have one. Check that off the list. It’s very cute. I should get some tiny plastic animals – like monkeys! Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Brilliant! I will found a Bonsai sanctuary for neglected plastic monkeys. Also related, I used to really like Garfield (shut up) and he used to leap onto lasagna and yell, “Banzai!!!” Yeah, I don’t know either. For some reason when I read this, I mentally lumped the ‘i’ with the !!!!s, creating the word ‘banza.’ So I may have jumped off things yelling ‘banza!’ So? What are you looking at? I didn’t do it at work, and it’s not why I was laid off. I don’t think.

Discharged is another term… but that sounds like something you should be telling your doctor about. So lets keep that between the two of you and not have that be a word associated with me at all.

Unemployed. I guess I’ll have to start making regular sacrifices to the gods of employment once again. Maybe the burning of my resume will appease them more now that it’s seasoned with a dash of real-world experience. Or maybe I’ll end up living in a refrigerator box living off of my complimentary tin of Spam. Only time will tell.

Rules in the World of X-Files

10. Guards in top-secret government facilities shall have sustained eye injuries which render them completely without peripheral vision.

9. Shot in the face? And you think he's dead? Have you ever seen this show?

8. Vancouver's program to breed the creepiest child imaginable is well underway. Yikes.

7. I can reconcile with Krycek. Doggett's growing on me. But I will never hate Monica with anything less than the white hot fury of an endless procession of eternally burning suns.

6. Did you guys bring a flashlight? Because we didn't spring for lights. Ever.

5. No, Scully didn't see the (insert truth-revealing phenomenon here). She was unconscious/ locked in a closet/ ten steps behind/ performing an autopsy/ blinded by a voodoo doll (delete as necessary).

4. On second thought, guys, better leave that hospital set right where it is. We may end up using it. Every. Single. Episode. This season.

3. Flesh wounds, especially severe ones on the face, leave no scars.

2. Even if you velcro it to your hand, you will lose your gun in a fight. If you're Mulder, you will lose both your guns and a little girl will probably hit you in the face.

1. If you can get past the paranoia, contortionistic liver-consuming killers, ear worms, pyromaniacs, ancient nocturnal insect swarms, giant flukemen, alien abductions and implants, bovine stomatotropin testing, escalating fetishists, clones, alien oil-viruses, circus freaks, defeatist psychics, train cars buried in New Mexico, robotic cockroaches, dog-eating lake monsters, not-safe-for-cable inbreeders, reincarnation, government conspiracies, nose cancer, babies with tails, not-long-for-this-world mystery daughters, shape-shifting alien bounty hunterss with acerbic green blood, vampires, Bermuda Triangle, body swapping, ghosts, tofutti rice dreamsicles, an overtly Christ-figure baby we don't hear about after he is no longer a plot point, a disappearing male companion and basically the whole ninth season, being assigned to the basement office with the FBI's loose cannon conspiracy theorist agent isn't all bad.

Flirting With Death in a Safety-Tested, Family-Friendly Environment!

This past weekend, I participated in the second annual Labor Day Weekend of People I Knew at Valparaiso University Roadtripping to be Stupid Together: PIKAVURST. Yeah, we're working on the acronym. This year's festivities took place in Sandusky, Ohio - home of Cedar Point, Tommy Boy and some of the sketchiest people and establishments I've seen these twenty-three years. It was great.

We rolled into Sandusky early Friday evening and began exploring the town. Aside from some excitement over establishments from my childhood (Tops, anyone? Friendly's? You mock the Clown Head Sundae and I'll kill you where you stand) there was a surprising lack of, well, everything. They should really just name the whole town Cedar Point and stop the dance of pretending it's separate from the park at all. Not even a sign of Callahan Auto. Although, as we were driving down the main drag we did discover the compact, 2-door version of the van from Dumb and Dumber. That's right: pup to that van's dog, it was a true mini-shaggin' wagon complete with fur, a tongue and ears. We told ourselves we'd come back for a picture, but when we did, it was gone... either stolen or purchased, each about as possiblity just as plausible as the other. There is no photographic evidence of the dog car, but if you at the very least don't want to believe that such a car exists, your heart is cold and dead. We also saw an eating and bowling establishment known as the Thirsty Pony, which featured something called 'fat burgers' and terrifying graphics of a pony morphing into a bowling ball. I suppose that's better than a pony morphing into, say, a fat burger, but either way I’m glad we didn't eat there. We, of course, watched Tommy Boy while we were there. Watching Tommy Boy in Sandusky- I'm surprised the Matrix didn't just swallow us up right then and there.

Saturday we attacked Cedar Point. Well, after taking the hotel shuttle to 800 other hotels first. On the way we were regaled with stories of shuttles past, drunk passengers of yore and the driver’s too-loud cell phone conversations. She sure was chatty. After that, and walking to the gate, and buying our tickets with Pepsi can discounts, that park was ours for the taking. We rode a lot of death defying rides, so I'll just recap.

Raptor
First ride we jumped on. Sort of a hefty line, but it gave us our first chance to do what would become a theme of the weekend- inconspicuously staring at people. I now know where tacky, "witty" t-shirts go to die: the theme parks of America. We saw one chick wearing a straight-out-of-the-80s off the shoulder shirt. It apparently didn't bare quite enough of the sisters for her liking, so it appeared that she had enlarged the neck with her teeth. Then, as if the shirt wasn't already shrieking it to the world, it read "I put out on the first date." So subtle- she was a true lady. Other shirts included "Cancel my subscription, I don't need your issues" "F.B.I. Female Body Inspector." I can only assume these shirts make up for some genetic function these people are otherwise incapable of thanks to generations of inbreeding. Oh, and Raptor was a pretty good coaster.

Millennium Force
Commonly referred to as the 'Millennium Falcon' because get off me, I only saw Star Wars a few years ago and I knew that name sounded familiar. This beast has a 310-foot drop and goes 92 miles per hour, which is even faster when compared to the average of -33 miles per hour you travel while in line. Millennium Force was my first experience with the greatness that is the Freeway Pass. You get your hand stamped and then can cut into line later in the day. Great time saver, but it gave me the feeling that everyone who had been waiting was glaring icy daggers of death at the back of my head. I could be paranoid. Or I could be projecting, because I know I did that when people cut in front of me with Freeway. Jerks. Anyway, Millennium Force was great. It totally pimpslaps gravity and is all, "Your services are not needed here, biznatch. Go get me a Slurpee." I appreciate that in a roller coaster.

Power Tower
Gave us a great view of the park and the phrase "I'd rather shoot up than go down." That is all.

Magnum
With a 210-foot drop and a top speed of 72 miles per hour, Magnum XL200 is known as the Best Steel Roller Coaster in the World. Who hands out these distinctions? More importantly, how did they get those jobs? You probably gotta know a guy. I don't think I do. Anyway, the 'Best Steel Roller Coaster' title must not hold much clout with Dragster looming in the distance, because this had one of the shortest lines in the park. We went on it many, many times trying to stage the optimal photo. And by 'optimal' I mean 'didn't have Laura's hair blocking half the shot' or 'sat Tara so you could see more than her eyes peeping above the seat back.' Hee. Short. We didn’t end up bying, but at least we have our memories...

White Water Landing
Let me state for the record that I have the worst luck on randomly soaking water rides. So you can understand my hesitation about this log ride. Tara insisted, and probably due to our whingeing in line, agreed to sit in the front, where you would THINK all the water would go. We called consecutive places in line, happy that Tara had agreed to be splash fodder. As the back position, I was especially pleased: surely, no water at all would make it back to me! Then a man in front of us turned around and informed us that the back seat is the wet one. Then he laughed. We'd called, stamped and double stamped our seats and no one would switch. Jerks. That man was very correct. At least it was hot out by that point, and the back seat gets a backrest. My cotton pants dried pretty quickly. I decided to ride the wave of good luck to

Thunder Canyon
…one of those white water rafting ride that bounces around and under waterfalls of lovely Lake Erie water. Mmm. On the path to this ride, people had left items they'd rather see stolen than wet on rocks and in bushes - always a good sign that the ride ahead will leave you competing in your own private wet t-shirt contest. We were herded into the raft and set adrift on the River of Chance. Moisture ensued. It'd be hard to figure out an equation to predict our chances of getting wet, due to the spinning and chaos theory and my hatred of math, but I can give definite percentages on the results of this ride. Fifty percent of us made it out dry. The other 50% were wearing wet denim the rest of the day, with 25% seriously regretting wearing a white shirt to the park.

Top Thrill Dragster
Luckily, they had plenty of time to dry off while we grew old in the line for Dragster. I freely admit hating the people with Freepass for this ride. The majority of the wait was weaving and standing and walking and tedium, so we'll skip to the boarding platform. It was the most fun I've ever had in line. We had divvied up into the car slots, the techno funk was blasting, and we were all that nervous kind of chatty you get when you think you might die, but probably won't because surely they safety test these rides, right? Right? We were united in sheer terror. We ran the gamut of age: all the way from an eight-year-old girl to some guy who I swear was Blue from Old School. We all rode it- and we have the photo to prove it. The next night, we decided to try it again, perhaps so some of us could open our eyes this time. Catie. But the Dragster is a fickle mistress. The second night, it took 2 hours and fifty minutes in line, three breakdowns and a rollback or two before we rode again. About two hours in, we vowed not to let the machine win, and eventually, humanity triumphed. Humanity even raised her hands the whole way and is more than a little proud of that fact.

This year's PIKAVRST was a total success. We showed that town a thing or two. We flirted with danger! We laughed at death! We ate amusement park food prepared by untrained college hockey players! And aside from the late-night Pitch ‘n Putt and throwing something off a bridge, we did everything there was to do in Sandusky Ohio. Not bad for a weekend’s work.

Which PIKAVURST participant are you?

The Familiest Friendliest Quotes from Sandusky

“Am I pregnant inside out?”

“Do you want a suede cuddle roll?”
“No.”
“That’s okay. You can use me.”

“There’s a huge spider on the ceiling. I’m going to get it!”

“You’re like Jesus’ witty sidekick.”

“I’ll be honest with you. Your head’s on my ass and you’re grabbing my stomach.”

“I totally got a piece of FDR’s curve.”

“Hey, it’s all ‘Rut beer.”

“This feels great. I’ve got this thing up my crotch and I’m wet. Oh my God, what did I say?”

"House."
"Mouse."
“Rouse.”
“What’s a rouse?”
"A drink for me.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Get dehydrated all day; drink all night. We’ll turn into jerky.”

“I’m going to be a Confederate in two weeks!”

A Completely Random Assortment of Synonyms, I Swear

10. Axed
9. Canned
8. Terminated
7. Laid off
6. Discharged
5. Given the pink slip
4. Expelled
3. Ousted
2. Downsized
1. Sacked