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Posted
I make shit look pretty now and used to be in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers Corps. I'm not an engineer either, does that qualify me to make cables too? :D

Milspec!!!!! :o

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Posted
I make shit look pretty now and used to be in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers Corps. I'm not an engineer either, does that qualify me to make cables too? :D

Smeggy old bean, my alma matter had the word "royal" in it, I have to say the Irish weren't too fond of that British-ism :P

Posted

According to a box of business cards, I'm an Addictions Therapist supposedly utilizing Attachment Disorder Reparative Therapy. Ironically, last night, I had to leave my own group for a minute because I couldn't stop laughing while a 60-year-old patient presented her timeline. My professionalism is highly suspect on a few levels, but my god, she was funny...really really funny.

Posted
According to a box of business cards, I'm an Addictions Therapist supposedly utilizing Attachment Disorder Reparative Therapy. Ironically, last night, I had to leave my own group for a minute because I couldn't stop laughing while a 60-year-old patient presented her timeline. My professionalism is highly suspect on a few levels, but my god, she was funny...really really funny.

I guess that was about as close to a formal apology as you can muster right now. ;)

Posted

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

Posted
I guess that was about as close to a formal apology as you can muster right now. ;)

:)

^ So you're a Broken Minds Engineer. Repairing neuronal interconnections, that would be good for ICs design :P

I promise that no one wants me near their neuronal interconnections today or designing ics on any day. On the good side of things, however, I sought out some reparative therapy for myself this morning with a massage, pedicure, manicure, a nice meal while lounging, and a good dye job. I feel like the Tin Man, Straw Man, Lion, and Dorothy in the Emerald City: stuffed, buffed and feeling fine.

Posted
:)

I promise that no one wants me near their neuronal interconnections today or designing ics on any day. On the good side of things, however, I sought out some reparative therapy for myself this morning with a massage, pedicure, manicure, a nice meal while lounging, and a good dye job. I feel like the Tin Man, Straw Man, Lion, and Dorothy in the Emerald City: stuffed, buffed and feeling fine.

LOL.. I'm an envious cat right now. My day didn't go that nice. Spent two and a half hours at my lawyer's office planning a lawsuit :palm:

Posted
The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

Favorite post of the day, Dr. Evil.

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Posted

I did lights lights last night @ the club for the first time in about a month. That kept me up far later than I'd have liked. In spite of that, I got up entirely too early this morning and went to the lumber yard with the contractors. We bought a mess of 2x3"s and they built a temporary wall inside my living room. I went to the dentist. On the way back, I stopped at a local farm stand, and bought far more vegetables than I need (all I had was a $10, which buys a lot there apparently.) I stopped by my mum's house and gave some of my farm stand haul. I returned home and wrote the contractors a check for an enormous some of money. I made a small dinner and chatted with my housemate for a minute. I briefly considered watching Where in the World is Osama Bin Laden? but the weight of my own eyelids was crushing me. I went to "lie down" for a minute and woke up 5 hours later.

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