A PSA for those who are interested: on the label of JW Dundee's American Pale Ale, it says "Full Flavor" in small type. But apparently what they mean by that is "tastes like feet."

Of course, I finished it anyway, and I fully plan to drink the remaining five* My taste buds have been through worse; I drank nothing but Milwaukee's Beast (and lots of it) for the entire 2003-2004 schoolyear. In sharp contrast to 2004-2005, during which I drank vats of beer, and not a single half-liter of it was anything but fucking brilliant.

Well, ok, Svijany 13° does kind of taste like feet. But good feet.




*well, probably not tonight.

HahaHAH! Die, Insert key, DIE!!

Holy fuck I'm tired.

In other news, when I left the apartment this morning, the ant count was not zero. Doubtless when I get back this afternoon, it will be very much more not zero. This is not ok with me.

I'm punchdrunk. I'll lower the bar if I want to.

"This may take a few minutes, if you have a large blog." Heheheh. Large blog. All-riiight!

Eight bleeding pages of legal analysis, DONE!

Hey, what time is it now? Four-thirty in the fucking morning, that's what time it is. Not a time I like to see through sober eyes.

It's not like I've been drinking, but I have been alternately combatting The Ant Invasion and Writing a Memo, aka reading a bunch of made-up shit and extracting from it The Fact Pattern, reading a bunch of cases and extracting The Rule from those cases, applying The Rule to The Fact Pattern, and mashing it all into a highly stylized format, until the ass-crack of dawn, i.e. now. So I guess the word is "punchdrunk." It wasn't as much work as it sounds like...I could have been done way before now if I had a single none-idle bone in my body, and hadn't chosen "Sunday night" as the optimal start time for this project. But that's not the world we live in, is it?

Also, I've been walking barefoot across ant-poison sprayed carpet...i know, i know, genetic anomalies, but what am I supposed to do? I can't wear my sandals all the damn time. Plus I just realized they stink. Man...the concepts "just realized" and "footgear smells like wet laundry left in a pile for a week" really shouldn't ever be in the same sentence, should they.

Yeah, this is pretty much the level of coherence I'm capable of right now. Come on, wind down already so I can go to sleep. For three hours. And then, y'know, "brush up" on the ass-long readings for the ass-long tomorrow.

Wind doooowwwwnn, damn you... y'all are all so lucky I'm not calling you right now. That's pretty much what I feel like doing. Hey, it's daytime in Dan's world! But I don't think he has a phone. Bollocks.

Because this is a perfect time to resume blogging

Why is the Insert button even on the keyboard anymore? Who the hell uses it?? What do they use it for? And why the fuck is it right next to the Delete button, which I do use? Every other second, in fact?

And why did my apartment get attacked by ants? Tonight, of all nights, when I have an eight-page memo due tomorrow? And why can’t I for the sweet love of Pete end a sentence with anything but a question mark?

Very very picky about very small things

Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit. I can't find my nail-clippers.

No. NO. You don't understand. This is serious. I've looked everywhere, and I can't find the fucking thing. I did find a ruler, and I was able to confirm that my fingernails are, rightnowaswespeak, over 1/16 of an inch long. That's right, fucking Howard Hughes length. I am twigging. If Jedno and I were both still in the CZ, I would so totally be saddling up for the five hour trip to her place so I could use her clippers. She saw ample evidence during our travels of my complete inability to deal with this kind of thing.

I can practically feel them growing.

That's it. I can't take this. I'm going home, back to the ancestral seat of the Mylastnames, where the ratio of fingernail clippers to people is upwards of five to one, like a decent Christian household. What, you mean your family doesn't sit around the room twitching and obsessing about fingernail length?

Plus, they're having bratwurst tonight, and apparently my dad just went on a particularly egregious run to the fancy-ass beer store. That alone is worth a trip. Even if my fingernails weren't threatening to grow right the fuck through my palms.

So I'll, ah, be hitting the road now.

Stereotyping the people I love

I got Chinese takeout last night, with the pretend money on my credit card. They included three fortune cookies, which highlights another thing I can take comfort in about being back in the US, i.e. yummy Chinese food. You can get get Chinese food in the Czech Republic, yeah, but (a) it kind of surks, and (b) there ain't no fortune cookies. Which is too bad, because I'd love to see what Czechs would consider appropriate fortunes. "Your life sucks. But at least you're not a Gypsy." "Even when it's not raining outside, it's still raining in your soul." "No one loves you. If they say they do, they must be stupid. Or evil. Or both." And in Liberec: "There's only three kinds of weather in this town: rainy, windy, and uphill."

(Heh. That one's an actual saying from the Liberec, where it is indeed mighty hilly.)

Man, this is fun. Now I'm imagining Slovak fortunes: "Your life sucks. But at least you're not Czech." "Unhappy? Don't blame us, it's the Czechs' fault."

Hungarian: "You speak Russian in here and we will cut you."

German: "You might speak German. But you'll never be German. And don't eat with your fingers, you barbarian."

Russian: "How the fuck did you get in here? Vlad, increase the visa requirements!"

I can't think of one for Poland, though. Well, I can think of ones that the Czechs would make for the Poles: "Oh yes! I am Paweł! I am optimist, because I do not understand reality of situation!" But, uh, the Czechs have a little tendency to be hatas. Which is probably why I love them so much.

New wheels, new discoveries

I have just made an amazing discovery --
the Po' Man's Hydraulics!!*

What you do is, you put the car in first and get it going about ten miles an hour, and then you start gently tapping the clutch! It's awesome!

Plus, if you do it a lot, you probably get a new tranmission sooner than you were expecting to. I'm telling you, this trick is all sorts of fun...




*although I do realize that poor man's hydraulics are in fact...actual hydraulics.

Hooo-kay...one post, three spam comments within half an hour. Word recognition...ON!

fuuuuuck

You know what sucks?

Realizing you've run slap out of girl stuff, and it's ten o'clock at night.

Well, that's why the good Lord gave us a 24-hour Kroger five minutes away. Pass the Advil, we're goin' to the sto'!




Come to think of it, if I was in this situation back in my beloved Bohemia, I'd be totally fucked. I know any number of places to get a beer or a hotdog at all hours of the night. But a tampon? Not as much. Liberec seriously needs to get itself a 24-hour Tesco...I mean, there's one in Karlovy Vary, for pete's sake. Freaking Jihlava even has one.


Anyway, the point is, I'm trying damn hard to focus on the positive about being here and not there. And it's ok. I'm keepin' on.