technological woes

I realised that it's been a while since I mentioned mutant squirrels in any of my blog posts. Obviously they've been lying low to prepare for their latest coup: destroying my computer.

When I turned it on, all seemed as usual. A beautiful flamingo greeted me (maybe if I'd chosen a squirrel, none of this would have happened?) when suddenly... it was no longer there. Before my horrified eyes appeared... The Blue Screen of Death. (Capitals definitely necessary.)

I can't even make light of this. I nearly fell off my chair in shock. (Although, to be honest, I shouldn't have been rocking back on two 'legs' anyway. Listen to your elementary school teachers!) Thankfully, after a longggggggg rebooting session, all my files reappeared as usual. (Well, I'm hoping- I've actually been afraid to check.)

After this near heart attack, I decided that it would be a good idea to back up all of my important files (read: writing and photos, not schoolwork, because if I lose that it's an easy excuse to be late) onto one of the many external hard drives we have lying about. (Why do we have more than one? Who knows...)

It took me about fifteen minutes to locate one. (Of course the day I want one, they'll all be hidden.)  It weighs about twenty pounds, so lugging it up the stairs was a nice little workout. Both my desk and the bed were exactly the wrong distance from the plug-in, so I had to crouch awkwardly on the floor with the laptop... and it told me it would take twenty minutes an hour ago.

Then, I logged onto my Blogger account to post this... and realised that all the blogs I followed had, as one of my friends would say, dropped off the face of the earth. Everything was not okie-dokie-artichokie (another friend-ism). I looked at a couple of these blogs, and I was still registered as a follower- my account had just decided that I would no longer be receiving updates from them. (As you can see, I'm a little hypocritical. What would I do without my daily blog reading? I might actually have to do research during classes!)

Fingers crossed- hopefully they'll reappear soon.

Gahh. How do you get mutant squirrels to forgive you? (I'm guessing that running around screaming like a banshee wouldn't help... nor do I want to invite over the neighbours' cat to eat them. He'd surely get indigestion.)

testing testing, i'm just suggesting, you and I might not be the best thing

Online quizzes. We've all taken them, in advance stages of boredom or procrastination. (Apparently I'm a chili pepper!) I think we can all agree that they're at least slightly accurate. (I can totally relate to being a bright red vegetable that people think is kinda weird.) So then why is it that, when we actually have to take them for school, they are so completely wrong?

Yes. I am talking about that dreaded creation known as ...Career tests.

My theory is that they're all elaborated by a race of aliens who wants to bring the earth to destruction... or who just don't understand anything about us. (Haha! I've found your secret! Wait, no. I bet it's the mutant squirrels. THEY'RE OUT TO GET ME, I tell you!) Otherwise, why would it have told me I was destined to become... -dramatic drumroll- a soldier?

I know. It makes no sense.

Reason 1 Why I Shouldn't Be A Soldier (aka Wisbas) (That sounds sweet, like a kitten's whisker... not the menacing tone I was going for): I am afraid of insects. (Blood doesn't bother me, since I get into so many accidents, but bugs... And somehow I don't think that waking up the entire camp at three in the morning because a fly landed on my cheek would endear me to anyone.)

Wisbas Reason 2: As previously mentioned, I am a klutz. I would be far more likely to shoot myself in the foot (literally!) than to use any weapon correctly.

Wisbas Reason 3: Really, those two reasons should be enough.

At least I wasn't in the same scenario as one of my friends, who was told "There are no employment possibilities that match your interests." Ouch. Does this mean he's condemned to live as a hobo?

Well, at least I understand why no one wants to hire me. Since all my test results just scream 'soldier!' they're just worried I'll quit when I see how suited I am to a different profession. It has nothing at all to do with anything I said or did during the interview. It's just some weird psychic knowledge... right? It's not because I was wearing my good-luck purple feathery earrings, and one of them fell into the interviewer's drink?

...no, that can't be it.

(Completely random side note- yes, I love Marianas Trench. If you don't know them, look them up now!)

Physics.

Note the capital letter and period at the end; this is a serious subject. There are lives at stake here. (The lives of brain cells...and I wouldn't be surprised if people died of despair after receiving lower than a 90.)

Now, I consider myself a relatively intelligent person. I -gasp, shock!- actually like math. (Yes, I am a dork. I made my peace with that a long time ago.) However, Physics is not math. It's Physics. This is an Important Difference. (Capital letters and all.)

For example, it is far more violent. Here is a sample question: "You throw a bomb at 3,4 metres per second. It explodes 10 seconds later, catapulting three different pieces in three different directions at three different speeds. If there is a density of 5,3 mutant squirrels per square kilometre, how many mutant squirrels will each piece hit?"

...Yeah. Okay. This is against both my vegetarian and hippie principles. (Not that I would want to eat a mutant squirrel even if I wasn't vegetarian... they're a little too green for my taste, or anyone's who doesn't want food poisoning.) Are they training us to become assassins? (Hmm... that might actually be interesting. However, in our bright yellow uniforms, I can't see us getting close enough.)

My other problem with it is that I am forced to beg other people for help. This requires a lot of preparation, both mental and physical. Much makeup and smile practice is necessary. (While shopping the other day, I found foundation with a shovel applicator. YES! I don't have to forge my own trowels anymore!) 

This is also where my amazing mascara comes in handy. I've used eyelash batting to great effect, saying "...will you please help me?" and insert sweet smiles. (At least I'm hoping it's sweet. It might just be frightening... Maybe he thought I was about to bite him and that's why he agreed. But I'd rather believe that it was just my natural charm.) 

Physics thus works on many life skills at once. (Does that make it sound like a good thing? Whoops.) However, if you really want to become an assassin or a professional flirt (groupie?) I would suggest going to a school that doesn't have highlighter-neon uniforms.