I'm a pretty reserved person. I'm pretty stubborn, and I'm pretty private, and most people can't tell because I've also got a pretty loud mouth and a tendency to steal the spotlight. Call it a shell, call it a front, call it what you like. That's just who I am.
Truth is, I project a pretty strong image. I think somewhere inside I AM pretty strong, but deep down I'm also pretty insecure. I'm sure that's the case with a lot of people. So I have many aquaintances, but very few close friends. I'm a great gal to hang out with until you start asking questions that I will not answer, talking about stuff that is mine only, trying to pry your way into a place that is marked PRIVATE.
I mostly think I'm a burden. I'm not easy to live with. I'm not an easy friend, either. I'll be there for you 200% until I just...disappear. Into the Eternal Haven. And that's a long story so I won't get into it. Suffice it to say that the friends that have hung around know that at any moment I might just drop off the face of the earth and resurface at an unpredictable time. They also know it's hard for them to be there for me, because I'm too stubborn to let them help. And those true friends understand that and somehow find a way to help anyway.
This is therefore a tribute to those people who endure me because they somehow find that all this aside I still contribute to their life in one way or another, and that it's worth the hassle to keep me around and help me out, and let me help when I can.
Funny thing is, some of these friends I have never met. They are people I trust with my life, they are people who are always there no matter what. They are people who seek me out when I've dropped off too long, who care about me and don't judge. I always go back to them on all fours, asking for forgiveness, and their answer never changes. This time, it went like this:
Dave: Chris!! I am agog! Are the last, what three months of your life on the net somewhere yet? I was going to ask if you live in two different universes and been in the other one a while.
Me: Oh, yes. I do. And I have been. Thought you knew that by now ;) I just keep disappearing...but I always come back hoping you don't hate me yet.
Dave: Pffff. Absence make the heart grow fonder.
And like that:
Don: what was wrong?
Me: Wrong, hm..had to retreat to the hole for a while. Had to rethink life and stuff. Still working on that. Phase one: deal with it anyway you can. Phase two: pretend you're fine. Phase three: actually pretend so well you believe it and stop working at making it better. Phase four: realize you haven't done shit in forever and feel like crap. Phase five: realize not doing shit has gotten you in trouble and doing other shit has gotten you in more trouble. Phase six: run away. Phase seven: say hi to Don and hope to god he doesn't hate you. Good 'nuff?
Don: Yep. No hate. Life's a waterfall.
So there you have it. No questions asked, other than what I've been up to. No matter what I've dropped. No matter what I missed. I'll be brought up to speed, and I'm right back to where I was before I succombed to the call of the hiding god.
Somehow, these guys know me better than most people I see every day. We've talked online, worked together, dreamed of plans, found a common goal. We don't think the same way, we have very different lives, but we respect each other because of those differences. We welcome the opportunity to debate and share, and disagree. Because we know that our arguments, ideas and opposing thoughts bring us closer to understanding. And in the end, we're really not that different. Or at least I like to think so.
They make me realize that I have a right to retreat. They make me understand that it's ok to take a break. They respect the way my brain operates, and my needs. I would never expect that from them, but they give it naturally, and without question. They are pillars. They are inspiration. They make me want to be better at everything.
Hopefully I give a bit of that back. They certainly deserve it.
Dave, Don, thanks for everything. I'll be down there this summer. I'll bring maple syrup whiskey and I'll finally get to hug two guys who've been much more to me than they'll ever know over the last few years.
And hell, I'll drink to that.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Today's Riddle
Blogging makes me think. And although that's not always a good thing, having a blog is. Because thinking makes my mind spin, and writing stuff down helps. Especially when I can come back to it and read it later.
I have this whiteboard at work, behind my desk. Don't ask me why. It was just lying there and I put it up, because I'm a sucker for white spaces waiting to be turned into something. So I started writing riddles on there, and people at work try to solve them.
So I put up a new riddle yesterday, which I at first thought was pretty clever. Now of course most riddles have more than one possible answers and it's a bitch spending my day saying 'Oh, very clever but um...that's not the answer I'm looking for'. My board, my riddles, my answers. Deal with it.
Ok so here is the riddle:
Where can anyone but you sit?
Try to figure it out. Go on, work your noodle. And please don't be wusses and Google the answer like some people I won't name *coughSABScough*. Bless me. And no, the answer isn't on your face (although if you can do this, I hear Cirque du Soleil is looking for contorsionists) or on your lap (you pervs). No, there is a more subtle and poetic answer. And that answer is:
Next to you.
Now as I said, I thought that was pretty cool at first. But the more I think about it, the more that answer bothers me.
I've been sitting beside myself for way too long for it not to bother me. I've been sitting there, watching myself go through pain, joy, and stupid stuff. I've been holding my own hand, been handing myself tissues and been laughing at myself all too long to believe that this answer makes any sense at all.
You totally CAN sit beside yourself. With joy, grief and anger. You can hover, watch, learn and scowl. Not that it does any good, mind you, but still.
I like sitting next to myself in contemplation. Feels much better than sitting inside myself in dread. Makes it easier to go 'tsk tsk' when you're watching someone else make those mistakes, doesn't it?
Anyway, I dunno. I think the right answer might still be lurking out there. Where can anyone but you sit? The question should be where can you sit that no one else can. I think, for now at least, the answer will be where I'm already sitting. And no one reading this better DARE try.
And so with that I leave you with a much better riddle:
A hundred prisoners are each locked in a room with three pirates, one of whom will walk the plank in the morning. Each prisoner has 10 bottles of wine, one of which has been poisoned; and each pirate has 12 coins, one of which is counterfeit and weighs either more or less than a genuine coin. In the room is a single switch, which the prisoner may either leave as it is, or flip. Before being led into the rooms, the prisoners are all made to wear either a red hat or a blue hat; they can see all the other prisoners' hats, but not their own. Meanwhile, a six-digit prime number of monkeys multiply until their digits reverse, then all have to get across a river using a canoe that can hold at most two monkeys at a time. But half the monkeys always lie and the other half always tell the truth. Given that the Nth prisoner knows that one of the monkeys doesn't know that a pirate doesn't know the product of two numbers between 1 and 100 without knowing that the N+1th prisoner has flipped the switch in his room or not after having determined which bottle of wine was poisoned and what color his hat is, what is the solution to this puzzle?
Hah. Have fun.
I have this whiteboard at work, behind my desk. Don't ask me why. It was just lying there and I put it up, because I'm a sucker for white spaces waiting to be turned into something. So I started writing riddles on there, and people at work try to solve them.
So I put up a new riddle yesterday, which I at first thought was pretty clever. Now of course most riddles have more than one possible answers and it's a bitch spending my day saying 'Oh, very clever but um...that's not the answer I'm looking for'. My board, my riddles, my answers. Deal with it.
Ok so here is the riddle:
Where can anyone but you sit?
Try to figure it out. Go on, work your noodle. And please don't be wusses and Google the answer like some people I won't name *coughSABScough*. Bless me. And no, the answer isn't on your face (although if you can do this, I hear Cirque du Soleil is looking for contorsionists) or on your lap (you pervs). No, there is a more subtle and poetic answer. And that answer is:
Next to you.
Now as I said, I thought that was pretty cool at first. But the more I think about it, the more that answer bothers me.
I've been sitting beside myself for way too long for it not to bother me. I've been sitting there, watching myself go through pain, joy, and stupid stuff. I've been holding my own hand, been handing myself tissues and been laughing at myself all too long to believe that this answer makes any sense at all.
You totally CAN sit beside yourself. With joy, grief and anger. You can hover, watch, learn and scowl. Not that it does any good, mind you, but still.
I like sitting next to myself in contemplation. Feels much better than sitting inside myself in dread. Makes it easier to go 'tsk tsk' when you're watching someone else make those mistakes, doesn't it?
Anyway, I dunno. I think the right answer might still be lurking out there. Where can anyone but you sit? The question should be where can you sit that no one else can. I think, for now at least, the answer will be where I'm already sitting. And no one reading this better DARE try.
And so with that I leave you with a much better riddle:
A hundred prisoners are each locked in a room with three pirates, one of whom will walk the plank in the morning. Each prisoner has 10 bottles of wine, one of which has been poisoned; and each pirate has 12 coins, one of which is counterfeit and weighs either more or less than a genuine coin. In the room is a single switch, which the prisoner may either leave as it is, or flip. Before being led into the rooms, the prisoners are all made to wear either a red hat or a blue hat; they can see all the other prisoners' hats, but not their own. Meanwhile, a six-digit prime number of monkeys multiply until their digits reverse, then all have to get across a river using a canoe that can hold at most two monkeys at a time. But half the monkeys always lie and the other half always tell the truth. Given that the Nth prisoner knows that one of the monkeys doesn't know that a pirate doesn't know the product of two numbers between 1 and 100 without knowing that the N+1th prisoner has flipped the switch in his room or not after having determined which bottle of wine was poisoned and what color his hat is, what is the solution to this puzzle?
Hah. Have fun.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
It's been too long...
Yes, I've been away. Been busy with um...well, life. Life tends to do that to me - take over. Even took over the StarLizard this time, surprisingly. I've been busy riding the Old Virago, aka the Stinger (aka Andy's motorcycle), playing Rock Band (yes, I DID get that platinum status!! - more in a future post), riding AWESOME cars (mine and, well, thanks for the rides in your sexy prelude, Dan) and, well, having fun. Which I really think I needed.
I also was sorta responsible in that I checked on the hole in the roof. My friend Andy helped with that, seeing as he just HAS to help, even though I'm too proud to ask (thanks Andy). So here's how this story goes.
After almost killing myself one too many times slipping on the puddle of water accumulating on my bathroom floor, I decided there must be a reason and the water had to come from somewhere. Yes I know, it takes me a while to get out of zombie mode, but hey, I did. Turns out I figured the water was coming from the bathroom vent, and turns out the puddle always magically appeared the morning after it had rained. Hence why I didn't see it (morning zombie mode is the worst ever) and almost hit my head on the tile floor that morning. Thankfully I missed the floor and hit the bathtub instead. Replacing cracked tiles is a drag.
I was determined to fix the issue, but of course too lazy to really think about it until one windy day, I heard sounds coming out of the vent. Now don't go thinking I go all bezerk at hearing sounds in the house. It IS an old house after all, and I've become quite used to all its creaks and moans - and let's not go into the noises that do NOT originate INSIDE of my house (took me a while and many sleepless nights and the police telling me to stop calling to realize that racoons in heat sound like a 5 year old being murdered). So with this said, I wasn't really alarmed with the sound, but I did find it odd, because, well, it was coming from the vent and it was, well, random. Not like a 'squeak squeak' or a 'ting ting' but rather like a um...'scratch rattle bump - silence'.
Now I'm not squirmy, nor am I afraid of bugs or pests or most things that could have been stuck in my vent. But I also did not cherish the thought of pulling the ceiling grid and having whatever critter dumb enough to fall in the pipe fall on my head and rearrange my hair in tangled knot of protection. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I called someone else so they could do it instead. And it went like this:
ring ring
Andy: Hey, what's up?
Me: Um, not much. You know that hole in the roof?
Andy: Yeah, the one I've been trying to convince you to let me fix for the past month?
Me: Yeah, that one. Um, there's a um...noise?
Andy: On my way.
click
And that was that. He must of been really keen on fixing that thing because 20 minutes later he was standing under the grid in the bathroom. Only there was nothing to look at other than a lot of cat hair because the noise had stopped. He figured it was just the wind, and I figured whatever was in there had scrambled back up the pipe, and either way it didn't matter. I pulled the grid and almost fell off the toilet in anticipation of the evil squirrel that was undoubtedly just crouching there waiting for the first opportunity to go all ninja on me but nothing happened. The squirrel didn't jump and I didn't fall and I cleaned the grid and the whole thing was really anticlimactic.
But there is a reason I'm writing all this. First because I haven't written in forever and this post has been a draft for over a month and I just had to finish it, and second because there IS more to this story.
Of course, now that Andy was here, he was intent on fixing the hole. Cleaning the grid was just not enough, because that would only allow MORE water onto the bathroom floor. So in the attic we went. Now THAT was fun. And for any of you wondering, no, I did not find the ring in there. Poo for me. We did find the hole, and later fixed it with a nice little cap, but that's a story for another post. What I was really excited to find was this:
This my friends is a 1984 copy (albeit not mint, as you can clearly see) of our local French paper, Le Droit.
For those of you who do not speak or read French, this is an ad for a contest the paper is having. Make your Choice is the theme, and all you have to do is fill up the coupon and you might just have your pick at any of the excellent prizes pictured here. I want that Honda Nighthawk 650 cc. I really, really do. But if that's taken, I'll settle for the Doge Charger (1984 model, no less) or that big ass microwave oven in which you can fit not one, but TWO whole turkeys. It might mean a redesign of my kitchen because I currently have no place to fit that, but what the hey, it's free. And I mean a contest that is giving out $28,866 (not 865, not 867, but 866) in prizes is pretty awesome. So that's it, I was entering. Lucky for me, I had until April 19 to submit and I found this on April 12. One whole week (yeah, I told you this had be in draft form for a while).
They just had to put a year in there, huh? The contest ends on April 19, 1984 and all contest slips have to be in before that date. Damn it. There goes my Charger.
I also was sorta responsible in that I checked on the hole in the roof. My friend Andy helped with that, seeing as he just HAS to help, even though I'm too proud to ask (thanks Andy). So here's how this story goes.
After almost killing myself one too many times slipping on the puddle of water accumulating on my bathroom floor, I decided there must be a reason and the water had to come from somewhere. Yes I know, it takes me a while to get out of zombie mode, but hey, I did. Turns out I figured the water was coming from the bathroom vent, and turns out the puddle always magically appeared the morning after it had rained. Hence why I didn't see it (morning zombie mode is the worst ever) and almost hit my head on the tile floor that morning. Thankfully I missed the floor and hit the bathtub instead. Replacing cracked tiles is a drag.
I was determined to fix the issue, but of course too lazy to really think about it until one windy day, I heard sounds coming out of the vent. Now don't go thinking I go all bezerk at hearing sounds in the house. It IS an old house after all, and I've become quite used to all its creaks and moans - and let's not go into the noises that do NOT originate INSIDE of my house (took me a while and many sleepless nights and the police telling me to stop calling to realize that racoons in heat sound like a 5 year old being murdered). So with this said, I wasn't really alarmed with the sound, but I did find it odd, because, well, it was coming from the vent and it was, well, random. Not like a 'squeak squeak' or a 'ting ting' but rather like a um...'scratch rattle bump - silence'.
Now I'm not squirmy, nor am I afraid of bugs or pests or most things that could have been stuck in my vent. But I also did not cherish the thought of pulling the ceiling grid and having whatever critter dumb enough to fall in the pipe fall on my head and rearrange my hair in tangled knot of protection. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I called someone else so they could do it instead. And it went like this:
ring ring
Andy: Hey, what's up?
Me: Um, not much. You know that hole in the roof?
Andy: Yeah, the one I've been trying to convince you to let me fix for the past month?
Me: Yeah, that one. Um, there's a um...noise?
Andy: On my way.
click
And that was that. He must of been really keen on fixing that thing because 20 minutes later he was standing under the grid in the bathroom. Only there was nothing to look at other than a lot of cat hair because the noise had stopped. He figured it was just the wind, and I figured whatever was in there had scrambled back up the pipe, and either way it didn't matter. I pulled the grid and almost fell off the toilet in anticipation of the evil squirrel that was undoubtedly just crouching there waiting for the first opportunity to go all ninja on me but nothing happened. The squirrel didn't jump and I didn't fall and I cleaned the grid and the whole thing was really anticlimactic.
But there is a reason I'm writing all this. First because I haven't written in forever and this post has been a draft for over a month and I just had to finish it, and second because there IS more to this story.
Of course, now that Andy was here, he was intent on fixing the hole. Cleaning the grid was just not enough, because that would only allow MORE water onto the bathroom floor. So in the attic we went. Now THAT was fun. And for any of you wondering, no, I did not find the ring in there. Poo for me. We did find the hole, and later fixed it with a nice little cap, but that's a story for another post. What I was really excited to find was this:
This my friends is a 1984 copy (albeit not mint, as you can clearly see) of our local French paper, Le Droit.
There is much to be said about the contents, and I may one day have the patience to photograph and post pictures of the very good deals on the latest 1984 fashions at K-Mart, or the new and exciting electronics on sale at Atlantique Électronique, but this is what really caught my eye:
For those of you who do not speak or read French, this is an ad for a contest the paper is having. Make your Choice is the theme, and all you have to do is fill up the coupon and you might just have your pick at any of the excellent prizes pictured here. I want that Honda Nighthawk 650 cc. I really, really do. But if that's taken, I'll settle for the Doge Charger (1984 model, no less) or that big ass microwave oven in which you can fit not one, but TWO whole turkeys. It might mean a redesign of my kitchen because I currently have no place to fit that, but what the hey, it's free. And I mean a contest that is giving out $28,866 (not 865, not 867, but 866) in prizes is pretty awesome. So that's it, I was entering. Lucky for me, I had until April 19 to submit and I found this on April 12. One whole week (yeah, I told you this had be in draft form for a while).
Now for the tricky test question. This is #4, I can't imagine how hard the other ones must have been. ''Alexander Graham Bell invented...'' a) the VCR b) the telephone or c) the tape recorder. Tough one. I thought it was the space shuttle, so I'm going to take a wild guess and go with b. Hope for the best.
...Only I'm a sucker for small print, and unfortunately, I read it.
They just had to put a year in there, huh? The contest ends on April 19, 1984 and all contest slips have to be in before that date. Damn it. There goes my Charger.
Mind you, I might still submit next year. They might write something about me. And hey, you never know, they might send me a consolation prize. I'm hoping for a beta system. I think my grandfather still has some tapes lying around.
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