I Don’t Believe in WAITING!

FINAL UPDATE FOR THIS! See HERE for anything else on my journey through this ordeal…

So, I finally watched The Last Episode Of The Second Season Of BBC Sherlock.

Which means I have to wait until around Christmas (approximately, maybe January) for the next part season.

I should have waited….

I have been re-watching the series with a couple of friends, one of whom hadn’t seen the series before. I kind of maybe sort of forced her to watch it, but since her computer hates Sherlock, we have been watching it, one episode a night, with my laptop set on top of a juice box packaging container on op of a chair with the screen as bright as can be and the volume as high as it can go.

Today (Wednesday) is a small break for her because she has to review some things she doesn’t get in class, as well as catching up on sleep.

But my other friend (of the two who watched the series with me) hadn’t finished watching the second episode of season 2, and she wouldn’t be able to watch it tomorrow night, so I watched it with her tonight.

It was awesome, as all episodes of BBC Sherlock are.

But, at the end of it, and I knew it was coming, she tuned to me with a smile and said “Let’s watch the next episode”

It was only 9.

It would be over soon enough if we did watch it, 10:30, 10:40 if there was bathroom breaks.

It felt like something inside of me was shrivelling up when I set up the next episode…

Five minutes into the episode and I wanted to turn it off, wait until the next season came out.

Ten minutes later that same part of me that shrivelled up was screaming at me to turn it off! Black out the screen, mute it! TURN IT OFF! YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE EPISODE!

That shrivelled prune squirmed inside me and threw a massive hissy fit for another five minutes before it got distracted enough by the episode that it only remembered to start screaming again a little less than an hour and a half later. Or, as I’m realizing now, It could have been Insanity having tied it up. Possibly with the help of Sanity. I mean, Sherlock is amusing and interesting and the end of the first season nearly drove me mad, so that must have been amusing for Insanity… But also, being afraid of watching the last episode of the second season isn’t terribly rational, so shutting up that fear of WHY-MUST-I-WAIT-FOR-THE-NEXT-SEASON!!?!?! makes sense. It’s like ripping off a band-aid, best get it over with quickly, Sanity might say. But it can also be like ripping it off in a pool, so that you’re grossed out every time you see it floating there in the water, because you’re never quite sure if that one’s yours, Insanity might add. Probably with a smile…

But then again, Insanity would be that gross kid in the pool who would pick up the band-aid and whip it at you to gross you out.

In any case, by the end of the episode, that Shrivelled Thing was back to screaming.

You’re going to regret this! WHY DID YOU WATCH IT! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE! What the hell??? TURN IT OFF BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!

The ending was already spoiled for me, so I knew what was going to happen…. so I watched the episode through the screams of that shrivelled part of me, watched as what was spoiled unfolded (nice mental image, that), watched all the way through, and now it is with a heavy heart that I await the next season to come out. Why didn’t I wait? I probably could have waited for the next season to be out before watching it…

Perhaps the band-aid was not ready to come off.

But it’s off, and if I’m going by Dad’s philosophy of band-aids, it’s better to not put back on another band-aid. It’s best to air the wound, put on some Polysporin, and besides, it’s not even bleeding…

Watching the episode was probably less like taking off a band-aid, and likely more like putting Polysporin on a scrape.

*sigh* Fun times.

I seriously can’t wait until the next season comes out…

For all those who want to watch the show, go to THIS LINK HERE and watch, and become a fan, and love it.

Also, for those who Read my post HERE about how much I miss my dog, and are curious about what I named my stuffed dog, my friends and I figured out its name.

Benedict Scott. As in Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock) and Andrew Scott (Moriarty).

AND because I have two middle names (Elizabeth Rose), my manly stuffed dog also has two middle names. They weren’t really my choice, but I think it works.

Benedict Simba Rafiki Scott. Scott-Cumberbatch if you don’t want the last name to end so abruptly.

According to the internet, if you look up the meanings of each name, my dog’s name means (in full):

Blessed Lion Friend Of Scottish Origin

Which is funny because he’s a dog.

But my Benny Scott confused dog-lion friend is mine and may be species confused but will never be confused for anyone else’s ūüėÄ

Thank’s all ūüėÄ

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Oh, you should know, I Got an Abortion 2 Weeks Ago.

I have had a total of 2 roommates before coming to university and gaining 3, and it was a mix.

Signs of crazyness are fairly obvious... My last roommate was obviously crazy.

I don’t know much about my 3 roommates right now, other than the excessive shedding-and-not-caring-ness of one, and knowing what their majors are (business, law, and science, and me, in fine arts :|), so this post will be about my first roommate, who wasn’t crazy, and my second roommate, who was.

It would be fair to say that actually, my first roommate was Emma, but she’s my sister. And it happened when I was younger, so…

Yeah.

N was my first roommate, in Rangers. The rooms were small, didn’t have a door because it would be a fire hazard, and was set up with a bed, shelf, and hanging closet bit on either side of the room. N was great, though in the way that everyone seemed to get roomed, she and I weren’t very similar, were in fact very different, and the only real complaint I ever really had about her was that she would come into the room and immediately take off her shirt and strut around in her sports bra. Lexy once told me of her friend no-pants Alex, who was called that because as soon as he got home he would take off his pants, regardless of who was over, and strut similarly around in his boxers. N was like that too, but I feel that there is a difference. N had gigantic boobs, and complained about them often.

Hm.

But I mainly want to talk about my roommate from this summer, the one who shared a room with me for the two months I worked at Grundy Lake.

She was insane.

Insane in a fairly quiet way, but made her insaneness known within the first ten minutes of knowing her, before I had even finished unpacking. She’s insane in a way that makes you go “Whyyyy?!?”

Ten minutes in to unpacking, while my parents have gone to grab another box from the van, and she looks up from her own organizing, and mentions, in a casual voice “Oh, you should know, I got an abortion about 2 weeks ago.”

Me and sanity: What?

"Me NOT Want to Know!" "I'se just telling you--" "NOT WANT" "Youse should KNOW--" "NOT WANT!"

Insanity: *laughing* I don’t have anything to add.

On the outside though, I look at her and say “Um, okay? Good for you…?” What else am I going to say? WHAT would you say to someone who tells you this? I’ve known her name for less than an hour! Then, she ups the crazy.

“Oh, I didn’t want to have the abortion, but the babies were already dead inside of me.”

Excuse me?

“Um…”

Insanity, by this point, is on the floor laughing, and can’t get the breath to say anything, and me and Sanity are looking at each other and at this girl and thinking about how this girl will be sleeping in the same room as me for the next 60-odd days… oh boy…

But then my parents come in, and so the crazy is hidden away again, or at least she doesn’t really speak after that.

When walking down to the main gate to fill out some paperwork with a couple of my co-workers, one asks who has gotten the abortion story so far.

At least she isn’t restricting all of her crazy to me then…

She also, by tat point, had been talking about how her phone could go up to 50 feet under water, and how it could also then be shot ot of a cannon and still be usable. The girl at the store showed it to her, by putting it in a bucket of water and by throwing it on the ground. Bull.

I now have the same phone as she has, an Android Smartphone, and no, it will still be unhappy and broken under water, and I have a case around it because I’m not going to throw it on the ground. My phone will take enough abuse from me with out me testing for its aquatic abilities and shooting it from a cannon.

So I have a crazy, story-telling roomie… huh…

Later on in the summer, she tells me more about the abortion (I did not bring it up, and was in fact in the middle of reading). She admits that she was more than a couple of months along, and that she would have had twins, if she hadn’t had the procedure.

No really.

“By the way the doctor said that if I have a nosebleed, call the ambulance because I could die.” More crazyness O_O

She then goes on to talk about how it was her fault for getting the abortion, and her boyfriend has just texted her saying he wished she hadn’t. This boyfriend, by the way, is not the guy who knocked her up. She is now feeling guilty, but the babies were dead already with holes in their lungs. She says she thinks it’s because she was smoking.

Smoking while pregnant.

Holy Jeeze, she thinks that it’s because she was smoking while drinking.

Really.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I last saw her, and thinking back, I still have No Idea how I could have responded any better than the “Really”, “Uh huh”, and “Hmm” responses that I ended up giving when she decided to share.

I sometimes think that perhaps if I had stayed silent, MAYBE she would have dropped the idea of telling me of her crazyness. Maybe.

Occasionally we would have normal conversations, talking about what kind of work we did (Thank God we had different jobs– me in Maintenance and her as a Naturalist), and she took a lot of trips, either to her house which was like 20-30 minutes away, or she would go with her boyfriend, or she would go on an out trip with the other Naturalists… Entire nights without the worry that I will hear aout boyfriend troubles, about her worries about her post-abortion figure, about how she didn’t fucking swear….

Yeah… Normal roommate, and then the crazy roommate, and now I have three…. one of which is hairy and shedding.

But at least they all seem normal. And I haven’t heard any I-Don’t-Need-To-Know stories.

Yet.

Anyone else have crazy roommate stories?

How to Untangle Headphones (and Never Want to Use Them Again)

One of the online comics that I read regularly would be Two Lumps (can find in my favourite links page), and one of them mentioned a rather odd video that I hadn’t ever seen before: “How to Untangle Headphones Using a Cat.”

I was rather curious about WTF they were talking about, so I Googled it and let the Youtube video load.

Here it is:

Yeah.

Yeah.

Pretty much my reaction right there.

Shock, grossed-outedness, a bit of laughter, and a dash of “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO THE POOR CAT?”

If you had any combination of these reactions, you’re on the same side as my Sane side.

If your reaction was to wonder “What about if you don’t have a cat?” You obviously have a very similar Insane side to you as I have.

Yeah.

That cat was probably like this cat off screen:

“OmnomnomNomnom, Nomnom, nom…nom… WTF GUYS?!? NOT cool.”

Floss your cat indeed…

Gone, Gone, Going…? Now? No. … Now?

I am currently waiting for laundry to be done, and feeling alternating feelings (no duh) of chest constricting stress and  fluttery anxiety, and chest constricting anticipation and fluttery excitement.

I leave for Grundy Park tomorrow, probably at the crack of dawn should I ask Dad now, and I am starting and finishing my packing today.

Yes I’m late, but I’m a procrastinator almost by nature. I’m procrastinating¬†waiting for laundry to be done, because a while ago, I had my laundry waiting for me to bring it upstairs, and it was sitting in front of our freezer, which was left open, and it leaked.

I moved my stuff after it got wet, and left it down there to be done again when the washer was next free.

Mold grew.

I washed it twice.

I am washing it again, to get the sour-ish smell from it before I go.

I am not packing my stuff into a suitcase, because¬†my Mom says that it’d be easier to pack in the car if it were in these huge, 3fx1fx2f¬†ish plastic bins, so I have a plastic bin¬†in my room, in the hall outside of my room, one downstairs by my nearly-done laundry, and one in the front room of my house.

Scratch that, I have TWO (Three)¬†in the front room, because I need one separate for sleeping things such as sheets and pj’s.

It feels very much so as if I should be going right now, but then the chest crushing gets tighter with the feeling of Holy-I’m-Not-DONE-PACKING! untill I reassure myself and my insane part that no, we aren’t leaving right yet.

And then the sane part of me thinks of something.

What if I forget something!!!

Insane hears this as well, and slaps Sane on the head.

It’s because we’re not done PACKING! Get to work we’ve got like an hour to get everything together and in the car!

 Sane runs into a wall.

DOOM!

No, we aren’t leaving untill tomorrow, I reassure myself. And Laundry cannot be rushed.

And so I stand in front of the Door of Panic with my trusty Gandalf Wizard Staff solidly blocking the way.

From myself.

*sigh* Am I sure that there is actually an insane side, and it’s not just me?

Yes. I just happen to be strongly influenced by myInsane side when writing. Every writer has this part of them, it just so happens that mine feels the need to talk to me occassionally.

Insane people are in Sane people, and neither part are going past me to the Panic Room, because a)nothing gets done there, and b) NONE SHALL PASS!

All LOTR Gandalf the Grey jokes and references aside, I shall finish the Laundry of Impending Doom, cut it down to be hidden away in the Boxes of Plastic Containment, sealed away untill they are needed to fight the foe called Nakedness.

Shoot I gotta find myself some nail clippers, and perhaps a few more pairs of wool work socks.

Did you know that Costco has awesome underwear on sale? You wouldn’t think so, but they are comfortable.

A while ago, how many days ago matters not, Mum brought me to Costco to stock up on food items that will help in my quest of survival for the coming 2 months.

Working at a park is different from working as a Ranger in many ways, and one of which is that we don’t have chefs to cook and buy¬†our food.

¬†For the last couple of weeks Dad has been storing away chili¬†and stew and hamburger patties in the freezer, either in sealed plastic¬†bags or in Tupperware , so that for at least the first two weeks of no-trips-into-town-to-buy-food I might be able to survive. I am extremely thankful that we get a lot of freezer space at Grundy (everyone, not just me, though I’d like to believe I AM that special).

I will also be leaving with print out and digital recipes of such things as stew, easy stroganoff (which is not a loose, sexually active Swedish general), salsa-couscous chicken, and many-layered salads.

We bought juice,¬†meat, some veggies, cookies (the important things), underwear (they’re nice ūüėÄ Sane: Don’t SAY that! Insane: BWAHAHA!)¬†, and a whole slew of bread for me to make my main source of sustenance for during the day: Sandwiches.

To the sound of Pocahontas’ “Savages”:

Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Hardly ever Eaten! Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Where is my Mayonnaise?!

Credited to my friends (from rangers)¬†sister. Google Map Delta. It’s a place. They live there.¬†¬†¬†¬†¬† ūüėÄ

WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!

No.

Food is packed away, and I think that I’ll go through the plastic bins tha I have already and sort out the mixes of shirts, sweaters, pants, and shorts from in them.

I will probably have way more than I need, but…

Rather have more than I need than not enough.

Right.

 BUT WHAT IF SOMETHING IS FORGOTTEN???!!!

No. Grundy is 4 hours or so away, and the Parents will be visiting fairly regularly! Back!!! Back from the gates of Panic!

YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

¬†So tomorrow I’m gone, or going, or whatever, and I’ll probably be freaking out.

By the end of the first week I’ll likely be fine, but then I’ll start being paranoid about what, exactly I’ll have forgotten.

Because I will have forgotten SOMETHING.

But that is edging around my Gandalf staff, (BWAHA!), so we shall move on.

I was procrastinating a bit earlier, reading one of the books I liberated from my Mom’s school (they have a better library, and because she’s a teacher there, she can take them out over the summer), called “The Book of Lost Things” by John Connolly. The link will bring you to his site on it.

It’s good.

Like, Really good.

Most times I can predict what will happen at the end of the book by the time I get through the first 3-5 chapters, and I had a bit of¬†a feeling about what would happen, but so many things happened that promised a slightly different outcome,¬†I couldn’t put it down.

Of course, since Lexy probably won’t be reading this untill I’m long gone, I can freely admit that instead of folding laundry a bit earlier, i was reading this. I put it away any time someone came down to the basement, and started fiddling with laundry.

I still got a lot done, even while reading it.

…Weird.

The dryer just made it’s¬†“I’m-done” jingle noise (sounds a bit like a small part of an ice-cream¬†truck’s jingle), and this is getting kind of long, so I’ll bid you all goodbye for now. Whether I post small segments about my work for the next 2 months depends on if the claim to internet access is true or not.

Ciao!

~Doodled93~

Insane: THERE’S NO MORE TIME!

P.S. Afterthought: It is now about¬†10:28 pm, and I pretty much have everything packed, but I look at my 2 bins of clothing, my 1/4 bin of work clothes, and my slightly bursting bin of sleeping¬†stuff (it has a sleeping bag and pillow in it), and I feel I am missing a lot. Clothing-wise. I know I am not anywhere done my toiletries packing, as i currently have only JUST put the all-important nail clippers in my tinier¬†toiletries¬†bin, and I have no swim towel, no shower towel, and all of my electronics (including an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT digital alarm clock) are scattered around my house. Mostly uncharged too. Anyone else finish packing and look at your stuff and thing “nope. Not done.”? Also, pj’s is underlined in red, as well as bin. That is rediculous!