Light Hawaiian Punch will give you diabeetes. Apparently.

Before I launch into my story of irratibility, here is a fancy whiteboard presentation I have set up just for you.

 

You can't see it, but that Hawaiian Punch is far over halfway filled.

 

This is not my coke bottle. I have not had coke in... About a month.

 

That Pikachu wasn't drawn by me, but it was drawn just for me. And now for you, too.

I think my math is a bit off...

 

Fucker seriously leaned in just to tell me this little "secret."

NOW FOR THE STORY.

As I have previously mentioned, I work for minimum wage in a retail environment. Because I am a wage slave human employee, I had to fight fo my right just to keep my Hawaiian Punch out. I am also the one checking out every single customer, and answering the phones, and dealing with other customers' problems whilst I have a sore throat and a pretty dysmal cough.

So I took a sip of my Hawaiian Punch because my manager person started fussing at me for not answering the phone, because HEAVEN FORBID MY THROAT DRIES UP TOO.  Because of this sip (though it's hard to "sip" out of a gigantic jug larger than my head), the customer I was checking out leaned in close to me.

Customer: "Can I tell you a little secret?"

me: "Uh... Sure?"

Jackass: "You know something with that many grams of sugar in it will lead to early onset of Diabeetes."

me: ".... Thanks."

Fork-Rapee: "Just wanted you to know."

I have issues with my image, and my grandmother had diabeetes. Also, I am a stubborn person, and just because of what this guy said, I plan to eat sugar cubes in front of him next time while crying out "I can't avoid it anyway, might as well get it over with now."

And now for proof that I am not the blob:

 

I am protecting that TV box, because damnit I'm moving soon.

I am damn well sexy, even when being a bear.

Pen Tablet

About once a week, I manage to loose the pen to my tablet.

 

It must be under the blanket!

It stays lost for a month or so. But when I go to draw something, realization hits me. Something must be holding all my drawing utensils hostage. I search for clues to find the culprit.

 

I don't know what on earth this is, but I must consider it a suspect.

For a long while I am depressed. By depressed I mean "mildly upset that I can't draw." It has been weeks and not even a ransom note has appeared on my doorstep. Well, it might have arrived in the mail, but the damn mailman doesn't give anyone the right mail.

Either way, there has been no follow-up that I know of.

Because getting a whole new tablet is NOT an overreaction to loosing a pen.

I wonder if it's worth the money to get a new pen, or worth the heartache to get a tablet where the pen is attached. But it wouldn't be the same. My old pen was special, and had a name... It's name was Bep. Nothing could replace Bep. So I decided to draw using permanent marker. And continue my search for Bep.

 

Right after I get to a save point, I'll scour the couch cushons to see if he's there.

ideas

I usually have really good ideas at night. When I'm about to go to bed. Or when I'm just too tired to really do anything other than just lie there.

The ultimate lazy - I can't even chew my own cookies

While I'm in a comatose-ish state of being, I almost have a wonderful idea or a hilarious thought. Half of me goes "I should really write that down!" or "I should buy a recorder and just record what I say.

 

For some reason, I can't seem to get my words right when I say them.

 

Thank you for that look and explanation, roommate.

Unfortunately, the lazier and more dominant side of me goes "FUCK YOU WE WILL REMEMBER THIS. What, do you think I have alzh-who are you?"

 

Early onset of Alzheimer's. The forget-y illness thing.

But I never do. I fall asleep and that is the end of that story.

I wake up, and hours later, I feel a deep sense of shame and regret. I'm telling everyone "I should have written it down."
They they ask "written what down?"
me: ".. ._. I DON'T KNOW. That's why I should have written it dooown!" and I begin sobbing uncontrollably.

 

Regret: easily solved with a shotgun to the face.

Okay that was a lie. I don't sob. Or cry. But I do feel disappointed.

my lemonade

Finally, I finished up almost all of my christmas shopping. All I have left to get are stocking stuffers and little other trinkets.

 

pictured: sheer joy

However, this did leave my wallet a bit sad-looking.

 

Pictured: wallet, 5 dollar bill laughing at me, driver's license, edge card, note to myself.

While shopping, I forgot that doing so would leave me broke. And poor. But those are the same thing, only one of them feels permanent, and the other feels temporary. The temporary-feeling one is broke, by the way.

So until I get paid again (in two weeks), I have five dollars to live off of. Thank God I don't drive to work anymore. But that still leaves me with the "I kinda need food to eat" issue. So, running back into Wal-mart (*sigh* I feel redneck just saying that out loud), I quickly picked up edible stuff.

 

Dear maruchan: Thank you for your contributions to us poor people.

Well, that's food. But there is one other thing. I have a tendancy to get thirsty at work.

 

I am the multi-tasking/talking MASTER.

 

Seriously, I don't know why I need so much fluids.

So I really needed a solution for that one. I wandered aimlessly around the wal-mart drinks area, half-heartedly looking for a cheap solution, mostly wondering how much a bottle would be to lug around work. And to work. And if it would keep me sated all day. Then what to my wandering eyes would behold, a large drink carton, that would not get old.

I liked that it was cheap, and to boot, it was a drink!

I wondered why it took so little, and for a split second, I was caught in the middle.

But I soon realized I was standing in a store, looking like I had just found my big score.

I made sure my money was there-my wallet made it look like it was tucked in with care.

I sped to the check-out (though clearly not through. Wal-mart's lines were all long, what else is new?)

I started to shout.

The checker looked at me in a haze, thinking "Tonight, I will not be fazed."

So good night, poor paupers and poor whores

And sleep well, for know that there's food for us poor.

 

This was like Christmas. Only with less lights and more yelling.

Did you like my poem? I thought of it all myself. What's that? Don't go into writing? It's okay. Don't worry. I'll ignore you.

So, planning it so I would eat only one pack of ramen a day, I figured that by the time I get paid again, it will be just in time for me to eat what I call "real people food."

And on top of that, lemonade satates my thirst much better than soda, so I might have to buy one more lemonade drink, but really, I'm all set. I didn't need to do dishes because I eat the ramen without hot water, and drink straight from the bottle.

.... But apparently people at work like lemonade.

 

This is one of the managers, eyeballing my sweet sweet lemonade.

That quickly escalated into this:

 

Fuck off, sir paid-a-lot.

I became rabid. I clung to my lemonade like Gollum to his "precious", and drank openly right from the bottle, occasionally making the sick kind of coughing sounds. TAKE THAT, HYGENE-CONSCIOUS COWORKERS AND SUPERVISORS.

 

You do not mess with a face like this.

But still, I was followed and pestered by one coworker. So I finally broke down and let him have a small cup. Now he's missed a few days of work. He could be in the hospital, he could just be sick, or in vegas. I don't know. But now I draw protectors and stick them to my lemonade.

 

This was a smaller bottle, but they were out of the big ones.

And also, yes. This post was just an excuse to show off that I have a camera now. It's all a true story, and so far, my ramen regiment has been strict and successful. And when I die of malnutrition, or diabetes, I'll say "it was worth it! I saved so much money!"

Fire Pants

I live a good 15-20 minutes away from my retail job if walking by foot. I live in a relatively large city, where there are apparently hobos, muggers, and creepers waiting to go a-murderin'. It's like their Christmas present, intestines.

Our hours are from 9 am to 11 pm every day. At night, the closers do not leave until at least midnight, occasionally being forced to stay for at late as 3 am. I never seem to go home during the day. Guys, I am far too poor to buy gas all the time. This is why I walk. Also, by "poor" I mean "I want video games, so I'll only eat ramen and never buy gas."

 

seriously, I don't know why they panic.

While money is a hideously important factor as to why I walk, I also walk because I get some of my most interesting ideas because of my constant need to talk to myself. I can't do this at work or at home (because people tend to look at me like I'm crazy), and driving doesn't give me enough time.

 

There is a chance I meant "most retarded ideas."

This is only my most recent discovery. It's only thirty-something degrees and I've been walking for 5 minutes before this idea sets in. My upper body is warm, my feets are cozy, but my legs man... They feel like if I were to trip, they'd shatter because my blood froze. 

Note: I live in Louisiana. I am almost positive that by December, it's snow-worthy in most places.

I cannot help but feel mildly retarded after knowing this is really what I thought.

This idea is like most presidental elections. A good idea on paper, but once it's happened, you are thoroughly fucked.

 

I only realized this would happen once I got home and played some WoW.

In conclusion, I have written a letter to my brain. Mainly, the logical part that clearly is on strike.

Dear Brain,

     Why would you think pants being on fire would not set the rest of us on fire? I am not entirely sure if it is because you are just being lazy, or feeling unappreciated, but I know you were not always like this. Why, for several years, you continued to guide and protect me from myself. For instance, that one time I thought hiding in a pillowcase and letting my brothers sit on me... That was a lesson from you, to me. After that, you constantly reminded me of potential failures. I miss you sometimes, and wish you would do your job, like the rest of my body. And if it's more appreciation that you want, I will take a whole day off of everything just for you.

                     Sincerely,

                            Calli.

 

I don't know why my brain is emo. Also, I can't draw brains.

P.S. I did buy the Cataclysm expansion for World of Warcraft, but I can't log on to my server, 'cause it's full. XD That's why you get a post about fire pants.

Chopin + Deathbed + LSD

I swear guys, Eternal Sonata is like someone heard Chopin's music, and suddenly had a hard-on for him.

 

Not even men can resist the ear-porn of Chopin.

He must have gone home and looked the guy up on Wikipedia for a few hours, doing drugs simultaneously. He decided a video game, based on Chopin's deathbed and imagination, would be a hit. Don't get me wrong, I love the game, but seriously... Wtf.

 

This is the only way I can imagine that presentation went.

I did learn about Chopin, and his girlfriend/potential wife, though.

*video to prove my point will go here once it finishes uploading*

Eternal Sonata

I've played this once upon a time. Never finished though. However, for the sake of you single viewer who I'm only imagining, lemme tell you about it.

I don't know why I'm so tall. And why he's looking away.

Though for your convenience (and not because I'm potentially a viewings-whore) I've also uploaded gameplay onto a youtube account that my roommate and I share.

The link only takes you to part one of the game, though we do have some RE5 Mercenaries recorded.

 

There is something wrong with me....

So far, I looove the music and don't understand why I ever stopped playing.

 

seriously, though, I have no idea how this would work.

All I can say is I've played roughly an hour's worth, and as sad as it is, I'm LOVING it.

Part one: