23 posts tagged “things that suck”
So, tomorrow's the 'big day'.
Tomorrow I head out for refresher training ( and as stupid as it sounds, it's called that, I checked!) to recheck if I still have what it takes to be cannon fodder a useful part of the Finnish Defence Forces.
Most of my friends are happy to see me going, though. Either because of a sadistic pleasure to see someone ship off again, because it's me shipping off or because they think I'll finally stop whining about having to go there ( I'm not exactly pro peace, but I'm anti wasting-my-time).
And hey, people who know me too well will agree that eight days of complete radio silence on my part can be bliss beyond imagining. I'm enough of a man to admit that.
But still, having to pull on a pair of fatigues again and go running around in the woods has me a little less than thrilled. Oh well, at least I've pretty much got everything necessary packed already: a good book, some chocolate, a bottle of vodka, a hammock, pen and paper etc. - y'know, stuff every soldier needs.
Especially the hammock.
Since most of the week's gone to renovating the ol' apartment for the better, most of the time I've been sniffing fumes from pretty much every legal chemical on the continent. If it hasn't been fixative, it's been paint or different kinds of oils - and let's be honest, no matter how much you try to air it out, that stuff sticks around!
Because of said hang-arounding, much of my sleepy-time's gone to going "Hummana-hummana-hummana" a whole lot and seeing dreams that most people would call hallucinogenic thought-clusterfucks ( others might call them 'prophecies', but I'm not going to admit that).*
Now that today's fumes have worn off, and the brain-seepage has died down somewhat, I think I can try to reiterate my last post completely.
SO, as I said, work on the murals hit full speed...
... for the first half hour...
... after which it ground to a full halt. Problem is the method I chose to start working with, since I realized that, if I keep doing it like this, I'll have either shot myself or died from internal hemorrhaging by Saturday. I DID, however, come up with an alternate, less brain-hemorrhaging method to get the line-art done, but just getting started on that will take another few days ( and some internal bleeding, I'm sure).
Honestly, it's bugging me to death, since I'd really like to get to work on this one as fast as possible ( in part because I have an old friend who's moving abroad within a few months and I'd really like to show her the finished product live), and these little hiccups suck both time and motivation. Also, the texture of the wall's pretty different from what I'm used to, so I'm expecting quite a few unpleasant surprises down the road concerning that, as well.
Luckily, though, there are other murals waiting to get done, and even if they all require different working methods and -materials, most of them require less time to "prep" than the one I originally intended to start with ( which, incidentally, is either the easiest or the hardest to make - either way, most problematic), so there's still lot's to do.
Now I just have to get my procrastinating ass working and painting again. Oy vey...
*Funny story, actually. Among all the flashy-colored psychedelia I dreamt about, there was one dream where, out of nowhere, I suddenly stood face to face with a girl I know - someone I haven't seen in months. The dream was mainly just a dialogue about what's been going on, but the surprising part came today when I suddenly bumped into her after such a long while. Whoodathunk she'd be messing around in a dream the night before?
I tell ya, it's been a while.
Been a while since I did any kind of painting, that is. After having gotten a "You're great, you really are, but we're not going to hire you" from my latest try at a sensible income and since I still have a few weeks left until I have to go play soldier again, I've finally ripped apart my schedule, decided to hole meself inside my apartment and finally finish something I should've started eight months ago.
I've finally started working on my own murals.
The "problem" is ( and was), of course, that since I'm working for myself this time, I "have to" make something a bit more spectacular/astounding. Just getting a basic idea was hard enough, but now that I've finally realized my own ideas, the actual work has just been waiting to get done.
Which brings us to the problem. Getting my procrastinating ass to work is a trick in itself, I'll tell ya that, but the fact that I at some inconceivable point decided to make a at least one of my murals predominantly lineart was a real sphincter-ripper!
"Why?" you may ask. Because that little decision makes it more or less impossible to produce a stencil for - meaning I have to do it free-hand. So now, for the past few days, I've been testing different ways to make sure I could get the best possible results with the least fuck-ups. The best solution ( unfortunately) is drawing the actual mural with pencil and then tracing it afterwards.
So now I'm stuck here, at home, drawing along the walls like some 3-year old just because I couldn't settle for less.
And why should I?
End term's are finally almost over, and with that I'm almost through my first academic year and am free to spend my summer holidays as I wish and see fit.
... which means I'm still as unemployed as a motherfucker.
OK, OK - it's not like it'd be the end of the world to not get a job for the summer ( which, at this point, seems very, very unlikely), since last year's work in construction got me pretty set and secure financially, but seeing as I'm not getting any state grants nor did I have the decency and genius to apply for at least one scholarship, I'm pretty much on my own.
But at least I'll finally have some time for myself. There's been a lot of work just waiting to get done ( or even started), and I'll finally have the time to finish/start those pesky murals I've been intending to paint all along the walls for almost a year now. I also have a promise to fulfill to a friend about teaching him kung fu ( Yes, "I know kung fu.") and I'll have loads of time for self-study, which I've been just dying to do!
Alright, that also means I have a few summer exams I've intended to get through ( since I failed them the first time - Hi Mom!) and I also have a few summer lectures and courses to boot ( whoodathunk "Japanese business ethics" was something you could get extra credit for?).
... And then there's that little thing about having to sit in the woods for a few weeks again thanks to the military wanting to up my military rank ( which, ironically, is the only real job I'll be having this summer, since it pays). And in case you're wondering, No, rank doesn't get you anywhere with the ladies - not in a country with conscription, at least.
But at least I should be allowed to blow up another tank again, which is always a blast ( no pun intended)! 'sides, who wouldn't want to blow +20k of scrap metal up for shits and giggles, and getting paid for it as well???
There are, of course, other things as well that should keep me occupied on a near-daily basis, but on the other hand I don't have anything definite planned for july - so I'm thinking about travelling somewhere, y'know, adventurin'.
But for now Mother's Day ( or is it Mothers' Day? I mean, there are quite a few of them) is coming up, and I'll probably be having my hands full having to explain to my own mom why I won't be visiting then because theoretical physics is so much more fun than a fully paid restaurant dinner.
Oh well...
This is Hugh Jackman. This does not save a movie.
Let me put it bluntly: Wolverine sucked ass - and we're not talking about Hugh's Jackass.
I've seen bad movies, and I will give Wolverine credit, it's not the worst movie I've seen. It is, however, the biggest god-damned theft this side of Utah! I should've been paid to watch this crap.
... And no, Hugh Jackman running around butt naked around Canada for a few minutes didn't justify anything.* We should've realised to leave when the opening credits showed 'Will.I.Am' as an actor.
We didn't. And we certainly had time to regret.
The whole movie was pretty much centered on Hugh's Awesomeness: I haven't seen this many slow walks away from explosions and slow walks toward the horizon since... well, ever. You'd think it was just one big catwalk-movie.
The special effects sucked like no other black hole. You'd have thought that with money like that they'd at least have the decency to make it look believable.
But let's not forget the main character in the movie - oh sweet Jesus, the Plot! If there ever was a writer for this movie, I want him shot, stabbed, hanged and dragged 'til death. The movie simply didn't make any sense, but if you ever wondered if anyone could jam in every action movie - cliché into one movie, look no further. Everything from the camera angles through the oneliners to the distraught romance-scenes were so out of the book you'd think these guys wrote it! I mean, cmon, at the end of the movie we were simply hoping Wolverine'd piss on his girlfriend's lifeless corpse just so that they could say that it was "an art-flick". That... yes, that would have saved this steaming pile of...
Oh Jesus, why can't things be unseen?
*I am allowed to say that, because the feeling was mutual with the girl next to me who didn't want to see anything but butt.
It's day 4 now.
Day fucking four and the bastard's still holed up in there like a string of meat between two molars!
OK, we've all had eyelashes defy the great quantum before and shout a big, whooping "F U!" to their natural home, the eyelids, just to go off to greener pastures and go dance samba on the iris, but this one, this fucker's special! Not only has it started camping out somewhere behind my upper eyelid, but the bastard even taunts me!
"Now you're just being silly."
How'd you feel if you spent a good half hour trying to even locate the damn thing, only to have it come say "HI!" for a few seconds, just to let you know you're not getting fucking ANYWHERE with all that digging and grinding! At best you'll end up with an eye infection while the bastard decides to lodge itself into your brain!
I hope it rots in there. Lord knows my temporal lobe's empty.
So this one's for you, Eyelash, because I know You're watching: I hope you die in there lonely and misery and end up getting eaten by the most horrid macrophages this side of the solar plexus!
So, after a mildly relaxing ( I kid, nerve-wrecking) weekend at the Bastille ( or 'Casa de Ma & Pa' as my sister would call it), it's finally time to have yet another person rip out a favor out of me like a piece out of some crusty bread.
See, my sister will stay over for a few days at my place, since she'll probably be going through so strong meds it'd make the Betty Ford - clinic wince. The fact that she has to go through surgery to get to that point is, of course, a bit of a bummer, but hey, with this autumns finals coming up next week, I'd gladly change places with her ( and who knew: you don't have to be older than the patient to be considered the 'Legal Guardian'!)!
So the next few days should be somewhat... special: nevermind the fact that my sister will probably want to chew on random colorful objects while I'll be trying to look like I'm studying - having to drive through ( or, well, technically 'out of') downtown Helsinki for the first time is probably going to be nothing short of a feat.
Luckily, though, the whole week consist solely of crazy women on medication and failing every single course this fall; since Christmas is so close, most of my week will be spent on ( almost) compulsory boozing and shmoozing.
Whehey!
Let's be completely honest: I'd been prepping myself for this inevitable thing ever since I started working in construction. When you work outside in the sun, rain and snow of any country, you'll inevitably end up sucking up enough sunshine to light up a Christmas-tree. And, just as unfortunate as it is to have to work in (what we Finns call) abominable heat (~25ºC in the shade), I was afflicted by the oh-so-legendary, though unfortunately neither rare nor mythical, Man-tan.
Yes, the Man-tan; the staple of every redneck, hillbilly and lower-class beer-chugger of the world. Otherwise known as the T-shirt-tan, the Man-tan is caused by an overexposure to sunlight with all too much clothing on, most often a t-shirt and pants, resulting in a very healthy tan on the forearms, the face, and the neck - leaving every other bodypart as pasty white as bleach...
... and unfortunately, I've been struck by it.
I currently have a very deep brown face, and my arms change color smoothly, starting from my fingertips, from an equally deep brown to a sindering red, finishing abruptly at shoulder-height in a white that would blind eskimos.
I was supposed to go to into the city today, as well, and I did, though not in the clothing I'd originally settled on. Unfortunately, a Hugo - wifebeater with a V-cut isn't exactly the most flattering garment for one of uneven tanning.
So, until I've been able to, at the very least, even out the edges, I'll be forced to wear covering clothing, no matter how hot it may be, for fear of enlarging the gap between soft latin brown and the arid snowy wastes of Antarctica. I have, in a nutshell, become what I feared most.
I am a Man-tan man.
I shouldn't have to go through this every year, I haven't even been diagnosed for this!
Sigh...
According to the men in white coats and funny glasses, most ( if not all) allergies humans suffer from are mainly caused by our love of cleanliness and hygiene, which causes us to overreact on things we normally wouldn't react to in a more dirty environment.
Seeing as the house I currently live in ( three months to go!) is clean enough for people to safely operate in the bathroom, I'd be pretty safe to assume that the witchdoctors might have a point...
However,
since I haven't been diagnosed for any allergies whatsoever, and because assuming makes and ass out of you ( and some guy named Ming), I will forfeit that last sentence from the overall ramble.
Ironically though, every fucking spring I get to experience the whole splendor of the phenomenon that is hay fever, each year trying to best the previous one by limiting my oxygen intake to an absolute minimum...
... But I still won't consider myself allergic.
... even if my "breathing" is limited to me rigorously trying to inhale through sinuses so blocked off you'd think the DDR was behind it, resulting in me sucking up every last bit of pollen lucky enough to have been released in the northern hemisphere.
And let's face it, even if there are medicines aplenty, I don't exactly enjoy snorting nasal-sprays like cocaine off the proverbial prostitute's behind.
Then again, not taking your medicine and instead going through a near-drowning experience each time you try to down a glass of milk isn't exactly thrilling, either...
Let's face it: if it's not a cooling three-minute summer shower during a sweltering day in July, I hate rain.
Prior to me serving in the military, rain was still "somewhat pleasant and comfortable to watch, just as long as you're not in the middle of it".
After having sat in the rain for 6 months straight, though, I have to admit that there is nothing more irritating than standing out in the rain with no shelter nor chance to dry meself out. I hate rain.
It should come as no surprise to ya'll, then, that the reason I decided to tell you about my strenuous relationship with yet another of Nature's wonders, is because it's been pouring down like fucking Noah for the last few days.
Of course, I wouldn't care for the weight of a rat's carcass if I could just sit inside all day, but because work is what it is, Nature might as well have come down and kicked me in the shin; it would have been quicker, and I might've had enough time to stab Nature in the gut.
Apart from ruining my working hours, Rain's been ruining my spare time as well; there's not a snowball's chance in hell I'll go jog 20km in fucking downpour, and since cardio starts sucking on a Black Hole-scale after a few days, I'm "forced" to not do shit about myself - therefore, Rain is making me fat.
OK, in all fairness, it hasn't been raining 24/7, but y'know, I hate jogging even more than I hate the rain, so achieving a "let's waste an hour on something we hate" - mentality takes its time, and I will not be caught dead in the rain, even if it's just for five minutes.
So Rain, fuck you. You make me fat.
