*Crystalline* Where Mah Octopus At?
Howdy doo. I changed the layout. It's called "OOOOOOOMMM .oOo. the meditative octopus .oOo. [dieU]". I was going to go for an ultra-cute design that would have you puking neon rainbows...but I ended up doing something peacefully adorable, with calm waves of "awww" lapping upon one's face. I hope you like it. n.n
It should look like this...
...TA-DAAAH!
And here's my wittle uncolored Kootchi:
I used a script that (obviously) works better with general livejournal accounts and I planned the design out a little more thoroughly than in the past. Though I'm still fond of this layout:
*pat pat*
I put my hand upon your hip when I dip you dip we dip. The hip bone's connected to the WHAT BONE. Dem bones dem bones...and I'm done now.
Ah, not to worry, Hip City, Dieuterusland. We'll always have Paris.
***
Storytime!
Gather round, my peeps, and I shall tell you a tale of much merriment and WTF-ery...
Once upon a time my brother and I were lounging in front of the television, watching Resident Evil 2. For those who don't know what that is, please consult Elder Wikipedia. Think biochemical hazard resulting in giant zombie-infested city. When Claire, the genetically-altered heroine, easily crushes a couple dozen zombies, escape from Raccoon City is imminent. And much to the evil Umbrella Corporation's glee, this means they can release...Project NEMESIS!
But first they must unsedate it. And unplug and untie it. And prod it onto a helicopter.
Brother and I are transfixed, staring and breathing very little as the gray-greenish lump onscreen seems to twitch in awakening. Slowly, the Umbrella laboratory computer reveals a checklist countdown...
Tom Hanks?!, we screech, confused.
LMAO. Tom Hanks. The final ingredient to reviving Project Nemesis.
I never did like Tom Hanks. And now I know why.
(Other than Forrest Gump, The Polar Express, Cast Away, You've Got Mail, That Thing You Do!--ACK! Ouch. Must stop.)
***
There has been some serious weirdness at work of late. We already have a sound baseline for weirdness.
I feel like making a list:
.01. The front of the library has a long and wide mixed-stone pavement, down the middle of which are big potted plants. Understandly, from the parking lot, this might be too much for some elderly and/or invalid patrons. So we've made it known that we will allow them to enter through the staff entrance, where they may be dropped off if they call beforehand.
A coworker and I were leaning against the Circulation desk, cleaning DVDs and sorting books, when I hear him exclaim loudly. I look up and follow his gaze.
!!!
A car had turned onto the pavement and was driving straight for our glass front doors. It pulled up sideways--about a foot from the door--and stopped to let someone out. Person runs in, looks around, runs out. Car backs up all the way down our front walk.
...OOO-KAY.
.02. I was gone Wednesday, the day we had our very first bomb threat. (I think it's our first; I've only been there four out of its thirty-four years.)
A coworker (the same one from above, haha) was working the Circulation desk when an older man approached, saying for him to follow into the bathroom: "I need to show you something."
No doubt coworker's like "ummmm, no" at first, until the man insists it's something serious. (Serious--ly in mah pants, wa-ha-ha! No.)(I wish that had happened.)
Some kid had scrawled "there's a bomb in the--" on the blue tile wall before dashing away when the older man flushed and made to leave his stall.
The cops came, ordering everyone out, telling them to leave all their belongings. This was all fine and well until they demanded immediately thereafter that the cars be moved out of the parking lots. Hello? Everyone's keys were in their purses/bags/coats. Soooo, hahaha, a particular coworker of mine (not the one from above) had to go back into the building and gather everyone's things. Seriously.
.03. I worked last weekend, mostly. I went for lunch at noon on Saturday and was five minutes away from returning for the rest of my shift when my lungs tightened suddenly. I used my inhaler three times, but it was getting worse. I really couldn't breathe. While not breathing much, I was entertaining some disbelief: I mean, I was sixteen the last time I had a serious asthma attack. What the hell could have triggered this?
I got over my disbelief quick and ended up being speedily escorted to the Alegent Healthcare by my parents. It was not cool.
Friday I was back at work for the afternoon, feeling comparably better and up for handling shiny, new books. Thirty fucking minutes later, I begin to feel horrible. Worse yet, my lungs are tightening again! What the hell?!
I looked around me. The building is old and decrepit, but I've never had such a pronounced reaction. The roof has been leaking more of late, so maybe more mold?
And then it came to me. Recently we've been withdrawing tons of videos and cds to sell in the next sale. We've also had a lot of donations we've been boxing up. And guess where they're stacking all the musty boxes/crates?
In front of my desk.
That must be it; it has to be. And there must be some pretty fucked-up mold or something going on in the boxes because I could feel myself mutating in my own workspace.
Those boxes are going elsewhere on Monday. I'm not going to die for a bunch of videocassettes on birdhouse carpentry. Or for twelve fucking Phill Collins cds.
Toxic workplaces are inexcusable. People already suffer from nine to five; at the very least, their environments shouldn't be killing them.
***
My Little Pony. :D
It should look like this...
...TA-DAAAH!
And here's my wittle uncolored Kootchi:
I used a script that (obviously) works better with general livejournal accounts and I planned the design out a little more thoroughly than in the past. Though I'm still fond of this layout:
*pat pat*
I put my hand upon your hip when I dip you dip we dip. The hip bone's connected to the WHAT BONE. Dem bones dem bones...and I'm done now.
Ah, not to worry, Hip City, Dieuterusland. We'll always have Paris.
***
Storytime!
Gather round, my peeps, and I shall tell you a tale of much merriment and WTF-ery...
Once upon a time my brother and I were lounging in front of the television, watching Resident Evil 2. For those who don't know what that is, please consult Elder Wikipedia. Think biochemical hazard resulting in giant zombie-infested city. When Claire, the genetically-altered heroine, easily crushes a couple dozen zombies, escape from Raccoon City is imminent. And much to the evil Umbrella Corporation's glee, this means they can release...Project NEMESIS!
But first they must unsedate it. And unplug and untie it. And prod it onto a helicopter.
Brother and I are transfixed, staring and breathing very little as the gray-greenish lump onscreen seems to twitch in awakening. Slowly, the Umbrella laboratory computer reveals a checklist countdown...
Tom Hanks?!, we screech, confused.
LMAO. Tom Hanks. The final ingredient to reviving Project Nemesis.
I never did like Tom Hanks. And now I know why.
(Other than Forrest Gump, The Polar Express, Cast Away, You've Got Mail, That Thing You Do!--ACK! Ouch. Must stop.)
***
There has been some serious weirdness at work of late. We already have a sound baseline for weirdness.
I feel like making a list:
.01. The front of the library has a long and wide mixed-stone pavement, down the middle of which are big potted plants. Understandly, from the parking lot, this might be too much for some elderly and/or invalid patrons. So we've made it known that we will allow them to enter through the staff entrance, where they may be dropped off if they call beforehand.
A coworker and I were leaning against the Circulation desk, cleaning DVDs and sorting books, when I hear him exclaim loudly. I look up and follow his gaze.
!!!
A car had turned onto the pavement and was driving straight for our glass front doors. It pulled up sideways--about a foot from the door--and stopped to let someone out. Person runs in, looks around, runs out. Car backs up all the way down our front walk.
...OOO-KAY.
.02. I was gone Wednesday, the day we had our very first bomb threat. (I think it's our first; I've only been there four out of its thirty-four years.)
A coworker (the same one from above, haha) was working the Circulation desk when an older man approached, saying for him to follow into the bathroom: "I need to show you something."
No doubt coworker's like "ummmm, no" at first, until the man insists it's something serious. (Serious--ly in mah pants, wa-ha-ha! No.)(I wish that had happened.)
Some kid had scrawled "there's a bomb in the--" on the blue tile wall before dashing away when the older man flushed and made to leave his stall.
The cops came, ordering everyone out, telling them to leave all their belongings. This was all fine and well until they demanded immediately thereafter that the cars be moved out of the parking lots. Hello? Everyone's keys were in their purses/bags/coats. Soooo, hahaha, a particular coworker of mine (not the one from above) had to go back into the building and gather everyone's things. Seriously.
.03. I worked last weekend, mostly. I went for lunch at noon on Saturday and was five minutes away from returning for the rest of my shift when my lungs tightened suddenly. I used my inhaler three times, but it was getting worse. I really couldn't breathe. While not breathing much, I was entertaining some disbelief: I mean, I was sixteen the last time I had a serious asthma attack. What the hell could have triggered this?
I got over my disbelief quick and ended up being speedily escorted to the Alegent Healthcare by my parents. It was not cool.
Friday I was back at work for the afternoon, feeling comparably better and up for handling shiny, new books. Thirty fucking minutes later, I begin to feel horrible. Worse yet, my lungs are tightening again! What the hell?!
I looked around me. The building is old and decrepit, but I've never had such a pronounced reaction. The roof has been leaking more of late, so maybe more mold?
And then it came to me. Recently we've been withdrawing tons of videos and cds to sell in the next sale. We've also had a lot of donations we've been boxing up. And guess where they're stacking all the musty boxes/crates?
In front of my desk.
That must be it; it has to be. And there must be some pretty fucked-up mold or something going on in the boxes because I could feel myself mutating in my own workspace.
Those boxes are going elsewhere on Monday. I'm not going to die for a bunch of videocassettes on birdhouse carpentry. Or for twelve fucking Phill Collins cds.
Toxic workplaces are inexcusable. People already suffer from nine to five; at the very least, their environments shouldn't be killing them.
***
My Little Pony. :D