Thanks for nothing, Muhammed ibn Musa al-Khowarizmi!

I am taking algebra for the first time in 12 years, which is more than the expected lifespan of a Great Dane. I will spend the next 8 weeks rationalizing my denominators and factoring my primes (wait, no I won't). Tomorrow I may even get to meet my teacher! For some reason he couldn't teach class last night, perhaps he thinks syllabus day is pointless. He told the substitute the wrong room, which got everything off to a fabulous start. He immediately gave us a test with squiggles on it, than cackled that he would give us nightmares. Seriously. The syllabus contained a page on how to format our homework. It has 11 numbered bullets, 24 lettered bullets, and 8 roman numeraled bullets. Here's a taste:

3. The first sheet should be a cover sheet containing the following:

a. Name.

b. Homework ID, Which would usually be Chapter and Section.

c. Table of times worked with columns for:

i. Date;

ii. Start time;

iii. Stop time; and

iv. Time worked

This is my favorite part:

7. Put the cover sheet on top of the pile of homework pages.
8. Fold the stack of papers vertically bringing the right side over the left side
9. Leaving an one-quarter inch gap, crease the fold.

This is verbatim, it makes me glad he is not my grammar teacher. I am also glad the substitute is not my English teacher, he misspelled "nickels" and says unwords like "irregardless."

My class also has a That Guy. This That Guy sits in the back of the class and shouts out comments, asks condescending questions that imply he believes he is smarter than the teacher, and he apparently thinks he's funny. He's not. Trust me. I have not seen this That Guy (I sit in the front), but I would not be surprised if he's one of those too skinny 19 year old That Guys with baggy clothes and bad posture. Only time will tell. Or maybe turning my head will tell too.

I'm trying to think of this as a "Mathemagical Adventure!" There are plenty of cliff-hangers: Will I ever see the true teacher? Will I get an A? Will I care? Will I smack around that annoying waste of carbon? Will I remember how to use a graphing calculator? Will I feel like an idiot most of the time? Stay tuned to find out all these answers and more as I Go! To! Class!

My First Meme

Here are the rules: Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. Write a post about your own random things. Post these rules. At the end of your blog, tag 8 people and post their names. Don't forget to leave them a comment and tell them they're tagged.

1. I hate large pieces of furniture. They're so...permanent. During a particularly nomadic 36 months I moved seven times and schlepped some things into my friends' basement for a month. So I actually moved my belongings eight times, which is the annoying, shitty part. For obvious reasons I developed my contempt of chiffarobes and kitchen tables: they involve heavy lifting, trucks, and bribes for other people to do the heavy lifting for me. Ironically, I married a carpenter.

2. My favorite word is "rapscallion." The runners-up are "bittersweet" and "mezzanine."

3. I have done more things to bodies than anyone else I know. I have bathed, massaged, straight cathed, enema-ed, sliced, diced, clothed, polished, fed, medicated, taken fluids (blood, urine, sputum, vitrious fluid, and bile), toileted, kicked, and joint-locked. If you count what I've done to rats and sexual things (to people! you sick bastard!), I would probably have twice as many verbs listed.

4. I have watched Army of Darkness roughly five thousand million dozen times. I used to be able to speak the entire script along with the movie. VBG bought If Chins Could Kill for me (and it's signed! Groovy!) and it remains one of my prized possessions.

5. My favorite physical feature is a facial scar. I don't know when or how I got it, but there it is. I love it because it is a mystery, and it isn't a body part I can compare to other people's and then smother my inferiority complex with Phish Food.

6. I am the last of 6. My mother is the last of 5. Her mother was the last of 12. If you add miscarriages, I am the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Yet I have no mystical powers. At least, none that I use for good.

7. I wrote my first book at the barely-literate age of 6. The plotline revolved around my journey to a lost kingdom where I found treasure and unicorns. I wrote my second book in the third grade. This time I journeyed to various worlds, eating more sugar than necessary, exploring jungles, and slaying dragons, for which I was rewarded with treasure. It was made possible by a leprechaun that I rescued on page two. Senior year of high school I wrote an outline for my third book. I refuse to show it to anyone, but I will say it involves a journey (no treasure though).

8. I am the world's foremost Proust scholar.

This is the part where I tag 8 people. Except I don't think I know 8 people who haven't done this. Let me think about it.

A Suck Beyond All Measure

Have you ever felt helpless?

Wednesday night my mother had to visit the ER due to overwhelming kidney pain. She had been peeing blood and blood clots for over a week, so everything that goes wrong smacks of death. I called her oncologist and her palliative care doctor to keep them updated, then never left her side until 1:30am. I got her to accept a painkiller and she was admitted to the hospital. Thursday morning I filled my boss in one which of my patients needed assistance (I almost got to cry in front of him for the second time) and spent most of the day in her room. That afternoon I helped her sign up for hospice. The bleeding in her lungs caused scarring so she's on oxygen, plus hospice gave her a wheelchair for outings. I hang around hoping she'll give me something to do. I can't cure her, so I dust and do laundry instead. My mother is dying and all I can do is housework. Fuck.

342 days and counting

The glut of birthdays is nearly over. By nearly over I mean I just celebrated three and the next one isn't until June 1st. Plus I have yet to give MacGyver his birthday card which I have been saving for 2 years, if saving means I keep forgetting to give it to him. His birthday and F-bomb's fall on the same day, which is awkward when I consider that on May 8th we are the only two people on Team F-bomb guaranteed to get cake and sex. I was put in charge of giving my boss his gift by the rest of my team. Trust me, they will not make that mistake again. To ensure less responsibility in the future I gave our boss a sympathy card. I found it hilarious.

Jews have all the fun. True, they have to deal with stereotypes, circumcision, persecution, discrimination, and genocide, but they still get eight crazy nights to celebrate Hanukkah. Catholics don't even have eight holidays that equal that kind of partying! We have Christmas, Easter, Christmas eve, Fat Tuesday, St. Nicholas' Day, and not much else, which is all nullified by 40 days of Lent. My parents made us give up television every year for Lent. That sucked balls, man. I'm trying to talk MacGyver into celebrating our birthdays for eight days each next year. I am confident that I can successfully celebrate his B'day for eight days, I am not so sure he can do the same. Remember when he made me cry by not getting me a Christmas present? I sure do. Sometimes a sympathy card holds no irony for my birthday.

Things I Hate About Babies

At best babies are cartilaginous, but usually they are invertebrates. Try picking one up sometime, it feels like an 8 pound sea cucumber. I'm always afraid I'll snap part of it off and the baby pieces will regenerate (like starfish) and then there will be TWO babies. Like we really need that.

Babies have too much gravity. They may weigh about 8 pounds but it feels like 48. I try to hold them but my arms always fall asleep under the crushing forces they exert. Perhaps they would be more comfortable on the Moon.

Babies are stupid and I have proof. A friend and I came up with an idea to profit off their ignorance by getting babies to sign contracts stating they will give us money to dangle keys in front of them once a day. It would work because they are too stupid to know the value of money versus jingly, shiny objects. If people actually cared about babies they would pass laws to protect babies from themselves. But no one cares.

Every baby has the potential to grow up to be the Antichrist. Since bleeding heart liberals (Christian conservatives say the same thing contingent upon the baby is still in utero. I guess they figure babies can't do much damage in there.) argue against killing every baby, so learn how to protect yourselves, people! Babies are 10 times more likely to be the Antichrist if they are named Damien, have a 666 birthmark, are telepathic towheads, have a lifetime membership to the Illuminati and the NRA, and are like a leopard, and their feet are as the feet of a bear, and their mouth as the mouth of a lion: and the dragon gives them his power, and his seat, and great authority. Having the name Paris Hilton is a dead giveaway.

Hitler was once a baby. So were Nero, Pol Pot, Carrot Top, Paul Walker, Dick Cheney, Charles Manson, Ron Popeil, and David Berkowitz. I sense a pattern.

By the Power of Grayskull

I sort of have a list of people I want to have a drink with. Jack Black used to be number one, I figured he'd be hilarious when hammered. I have revised said list: Simon Pegg and Nick Frost are my first choices.

You can currently see them, as I did, in Hot Fuzz. You may remember them from Shaun of the Dead. If you don't, you either have poor taste in films (Remind me not to let you pick out a video next time, ok? I don't want you fucking things up. Retard.) or someone slipped you roofies. If you think you can escape my judgemental insults by claiming amnesia, let me refresh your brain:

Ed: "Purple Rain"?
Shaun: No.
Ed: "Sign o' the Times"?
Shaun: Definitely not.
Ed: The "Batman" soundtrack?
Shaun: Throw it.

"Hot Fuzz" rocked my world due to the quotableness and hilarity. It is a movie that gains more depth with each viewing (Like The Princess Bride. I watched it in elementary school and I'm still catching things. Last week I discovered a guilder and a florin are the same thing). A lot of scenes and quotes were lifted from other buddy cop movies, I don't think I'll be able to watch Point Break or Bad Boys II without thinking Nick Angel did it better (What am I talking about? I was never able to watch Point Break. I always fall asleep after 15 minutes. Or maybe that was just rohypnol.). In Shaun Simon Pegg portrayed a slacker very well so I was surprised that he could do just as well as a by-the-books supercop. He could actually act and stuff! There are many reasons to see this movie, but most importantly there is dialogue like this:

Danny Butterman: Where's the trolley boy?
Nicholas Angel: In the freezer.
Danny Butterman: Did you say anything like 'cool it'?
Nicholas Angel: Umm, no, not really.
Danny Butterman: Awww, shame.
Nicholas Angel: Well, you would have been proud of me before, when he attacked me in the hotel and I distracted him with the cuddly toy and I said, "Playtime's over" and hit him over the head with the plant pot.
Danny Butterman: Man, you're off the fuckin' chain!

Today's post is not very inspired. If you suspect I am distracted, you would be correct, sir. Mom went into the hospital Thursday and is scheduled for surgery tomorrow. This even overshadows the suck of my car getting sick. I am tempted to spend the evening eating phish food and watching movies. However, I will be shopping for birthday presents for MacGyver and F-bomb. Suck.