Saturday, January 19, 2008

4 Indisputable Proofs That The World Hates Sully

It just wasn’t my week... The following four tales of woe are related only by the long-lasting psychological trauma they have incurred. I have painfully relived the events here, as an attempt to document the root cause of sudden shift in my temperament that my loved ones must endure for the rest of my days.

The Heist
I love Cadbury’s Crème eggs. To an unhealthy extent. I’m sure that their seasonal-novelty is only half of the reason why I am compelled to shovel copious amounts of them into my face. I find them so arrestingly moreish, that the only way I can moderate my intake is to freeze them, thus making the act of cracking the outer chocolaty-shell a delicious challenge. On more than one occasion I’ve been airlifted to the nearest hospital to have my stomach pumped following a fondant-overdose (note- may not be true).

I tell you this, dear reader, so you can imagine the utter horror that struck me last Saturday. As I looked lovingly at the 6-pack of oval-wonders I had just purchased, and gently caressed the cardboard housing, my index finger felt a slight bump on the side of the packet where there shouldn’t have been one. It was a tear. Someone had pulled a Crème-Egg-Caper! As of yet, the local detectives have yet to return my calls, so I’m appealing to anybody who was in the Dunnes Stores in the Parkway Shopping Centre Limerick, on the 12th of January 2008 to come forward with any information they might have. I’m suspecting it was an inside job.

Whatever bastard deprived me of the full half-dozen lumps of joy is going to pay.

Air: The Basis of Breathing, but Bane of my Breakfast

I’m a stickler for bag scrunching. I like my cereal to be as fresh and as crispy as the day I opened it.

I like Weetabix. It’s a good cereal. Possibly the best cereal. My most prolific afternoons are often attributed to the bricks of wheat I ate that morning.

It’s a safe assumption then, that I like my Weetabix to be as fresh and as crispy as the day I opened it. But what if it wasn’t exactly fresh and crispy on the day I opened it? Amazingly enough, due to some packing error, the plastic wrapping over my ‘Bix was open before I laid eyes on ‘em, meaning that the air had been getting at the precious slabs of whole-wheat goodness for an amount of time that doesn't bear thinking about!

My housemates skimped on the sympathy, so feel free to leave your condolences in the comments section.

Running on Empty? I Wish!

I enjoy warmth. I enjoy washing my hands with hot water. I’m quite partial to having clean dishes and silverware too. I’m also a fan of eating hot food that was prepared on the stove.

Of course, I’ve been deprived of every one of those things, as my rented accommodation relies on the empty canister of gas out the back of the house for central heating, hot water, and the stove. The amount of things this has deprived us of is frustrating and liberating in equal measure. Sure, it sucks having a pile of crusty plates stacking up because washing them in cold water is pointless, but at least I have a reason not to shave!

My strategy has been to lounge around in other people’s houses as much as possible. My father told me to call over for a cup of tea – I left his house 8 hours later. When I have no choice but to stay in this sizeable icebox, I wear as many layers as possible. Whilst this provides most of my body with ample insulation, my hands get unusably frigid during typing endeavours such as this one, so in between lines I shove my hands under my ass until my buttocks numb, (which incidentally, is fun sensation that I heartily endorse).

I’m not the only one struggling with this recent inconvenience. Two of my housemates have tried to lure me into their rooms for bodywarmth-sharing purposes, and one of them has misappropriated the toaster from the kitchen and created a tinfoil satellite in the hopes of Macguyvering up a heating solution to tide us over.

Dead On Arrival

I’m a bit of a tech-whore. I have to restrain myself on an almost daily basis from blathering on about new innovations and breakthroughs that I’m excited about on this very blog. When I get a computer, I tend to get quite attached. I’ve taken to giving them names based on their aesthetics, and I casually refer to them as such to the befuddlement of my few remaining friends. They’re like my children, and I love them as such. The latest addition to my computer-family was Landis. Landis was a misbehaving old sort, and much like as if he were my own troubled child, I put him up for adoption.

Sorry - I’m confusing myself with this sloppy metaphor business. Anyway, Landis was sick from the first day I had him. In three months, I spent a total of around seven hours on the phone to Dell Tech Support, lost all my data 8 (!) times, had two visits from an engineer, went through four harddrives and two motherboards, but still, nothing fixed the problems. The final straw was Dell Support telling me that there was nothing wrong with my computer whatsoever, based on the extremely shallow diagnostics they ran, only for the Harddrive to physically fail a few hours later. Following a somewhat epic struggle, I prevailed in getting a refund, despite the endeavours of the folk at Dell’s Indian call-centre who assured me such a thing was impossible.

Dell’s courier collected the computer today. Considering I’m not a particularly sentimental sort, I found myself quite choked up at the prospect of disposing of a prized (if inherently flawed) possession. The folder I backed up my data in was rather melodramatically called ‘Goodbye Landis’. Of course, part of the reason I felt as though I was at the end of the era could have something to do with the successor to Landis’ throne, but that’s a blog entry for another day (Monday hopefully).

Stashing Landis into his cardboard coffin was a ritual I was all too familiar with, but the prospect of never seeing him again saddened me somewhat, especially since the final 24 hours of use I got out of him were the best I had ever got out of him over our brief time together. Looking morosely through a rain-spattered window as the Interlink van crawled out of the driveway and out of sight, I almost began to regret being so harsh on poor Landis.


I won’t dwell in my despair for too long... Maybe this will cheer me up.

Huh... Guess not!

No comments: