After Yogurt After-thought

*fffthhhh*

*nnfff*

*shffff*

*shthh(ff?)*

What you've just read is an attempt to onomatopize or reverse phoneticize (read: they're words now and you'll deal) the sound I usually end up making at one point during lunchtime. It's the sound that comes out when you need to laugh but you can't open your mouth. And you'll explode if you don't release some air. And your office is dead quiet from people trying to work. And there is no physical feature on your face that allows you to close your nostrils and your hands are occupied by THAT DELICIOUS PB&J SANDWICH.

The result: A short burst of air sounding like some burst in an overhead air-duct. Followed by the *squeaky squeaky* of your seat as you shudder with ill-suppressed chuckle-age. Followed by the sound of someone who apparently just finished running a marathon in their swivel chair and is in desperate need of electrolytes or something better to do during lunchtime. Ehem.

Anywho-ways, I really need to stop reading humourous (THE BRITS) blogs during my eating-hour. Lest the manager outside my cubicle looks in and goes "NO PAYCHECK FOR YOU plus I need that TPS done by 4. Thaaaannks" and I fall out of my marathon-chair in a whirlwind of schematics and half-eaten gummy snacks (yum).


Note to self and published to others: Look into job as funny aerospace chef blogger? I think I saw a category for that at Monster.com. Or was it funny aerospace chief bowler? Hmm, I guess there wouldn't be too much of a difference...

RDTSFCM Thursdays (#1)

In hopes of getting into a rhythm of regular posting after my absence (what, you've been gone? I hadn't noticed anyone important leave), I've decided to dedicate certain weekdays to certain types of posts. Thursdays, from now on, will be Random Dialogues That Spew From Chris's Mind Thursdays, aka RDTSFCM Thursdays. It's catchy, I know. I especially like how a small torrential downpour of spit comes out of my mouth every time I try to say it as a word. RDTSFCM! *wipes monitor*

So, before I begin my first dialogue, here's a little background:

This summer, I've signed up for a membership at a mixed martial arts gym known as Cincy MMA and Fitness. I try to head over there four times a week for particular classes, especially kick-boxing/cross-training on mondays and wednesdays, and boxing on thursday and saturdays. Getting to the kick-boxing classes are an adventure in themselves, though, considering they start at 5:30am. A typical monday morning for me goes a little like this...


*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*


Me 1 (M1): Bahh, 4:30 already. Just 10 more hours of sleep please.

Me 2 (M2): Get up, you need to be on the road at 5.

Me 3 (M3): I reaaaallly need to go to the bathroom.

M1: Uh yeah no.

M2: You said you werent gonna do this. Move it.

M1: Annnnddd still no. I'll take the sleep this morning.

M2: If you want mad fighting skillz, you're gonna have to move your ass.

M1: Dude, you're so annoying. Go make me a sandwich or something.

M2: I'm about to make your face.

M1: What does that even mean? Just shut up, I dont feel like going.

M3: Whiz whiz whiz....we should do that right now.

M2: You know that alarm across your room is going to go off in 3 minutes anyway.

M1: Not if I throw this lamp at it.

M2: Yeah, well I guess a hole in the wall is worth the effort to keep sleeping.

M1: It's either that or the guitar, and the guitar will be too loud.

M2: I'm glad you're so well reasoned.

M1: They say a real genius is well rested.

M2: And is morbidly obese.

M1: It's a risk I'm willing to take.

M3: Uhh need to go right now. Gotta go gotta go gotta go...

M1: God, he's just as annoying.

M2: Well, see, now you have two reasons to get up.

M1: They can wait.

M2: Your small bladder says otherwise.

M3: NEED TO PEE RIGHT NOW.

M1: Can't you two bother someone else?

M2: Unfortunately there seems to be that whole attached nervous system thing that prevents us.

M1: Unfortunate doesn't quite fit. How about SUCKS A WHOLE LOT.

M2: I would punch you out of bed right now, but I DONT KNOW HOW.

M3: WHY ARENT WE PEEING?

M2: Look, now you've gotten him more riled up. Just get up.

M1: I hate you both.

M2: That kind of language usually leads to Xanax.

M1: Annoying AND expensive. How'd I get so lucky?

M3: Bathroom ho!



Which is about the time I finally roll out of bed and go to the bathroom. And then convince myself that, you know, who wouldn't want to go kick the hell out of a few sand bags at 5:30 in the morning? That stuff's better than coffee.
I'm not really sure what category the others days will fall into, but hopefully these RDTSFCM Thursdays will hold up for a while.

Fun Life Update: Im taking a class taught and sponsored by GE this week for 8 hours a day (12pm-8pm). During the class, I take apart an actual CF34-8E (look it up) jet engine and put in back together. Full size. And then I come home covered in jet fuel and oil and grease, and it's completely awesome.

What interesting things have you done this summer?

(Dialogue continued)

M1: Maybe instead of throwing the lamp I could swing it at you.

M2: Have fun explaining how you gave yourself a black eye with a lamp at 4:35am.

M3: I'm thirsty.

POLL. RIGHT NOW.

Hey all, I've posted an easy (or at least, it should be) poll just to let me know who's reading. So if you have a spare, err...2 seconds?...click away whichever character matches you best. And try not to go poll-crazy by voting 12 million times. Or even more than once. POR FAVOR.

Work. Here goes.

I work, for the summer, at GE Aviation near Cincinnati, OH. My official title is EBU Systems Engineering Intern. The EBU (Engine Build Up) department basically works on all the hardware that surrounds the engine combustor/compressor/turbines but is still inside the cowling.

And that's probably where I've lost most of you.

While I'm not allowed to go into too much detail about what I do (first day, we heard a story about another intern who spilled quite a bit on his blog. AND THEN WAS ASSASSINATED. But that was a completely unrelated incident...), I can give you some vague ideas. I work on parts cost reduction, redesign, testing, and some project management. One of the great things about my department is that it covers a wide range of activities, so in the end I can take on 2 or 3 projects at a time and get new assignments after a few weeks of work. All of this, though, comes after only working there for 2 weeks, so any of these ideas could be just plain wrong. We'll see.

Here's a pic of a GE engine.

And it's not even the biggest one GE makes. More on that at a time when I don't want to take a nap.

Just kidding about the intern assassination, GE. HA HA. I WAS JOKING.

Outlaw of the office

I've recently taken to collapsing one of my lungs each day at work around lunchtime.

Good thing I recently purchased that large hypodermic needle on Ebay to re-inflate it. Now I just need to deal with the 15 or so holes in my chest...

Just as I pull out my pb&j, chips, and fruit snacks, I inevitably find my way over to here (hey, I figured out how to do that!) and end up reading a few more posts. Alright, so the general subject of the blog may not be completely applicable to everyone reading her posts (note: I DID NOT JUST HAVE A KID. NOR AM I A MOM. THANK YOU FOR READING THROUGH THIS PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT). But the way Dooce writes is, in my opinion, completely hysterical. To the point where, even though many of my coworkers have left the office for lunch, I still end up bursting a blood vessel (or 10) in my eye as I try not let a BAHAHA echo through the office. And then one of my lungs shrivels up and dies.

Dooce is realistic and sarcastic, as well as a great writer who knows how to use punctuation and the little extras in style that push the blog over the "ordinary" line. One of those extras that I really get a kick out of is her use of CAPS.

Caps, when used wrong, are slightly terrifying and don't really set the..uh..implied mood. Therefore, it is easy to be taken aback when one receives an email that goes a little something like this:

Chris,
HOW ARE YOU? MOM AND I HAVE NOT HEARD FROM YOU FOR A WHILE. Are you OK? JUST GIVE US A CALL OR SOMETHING. NELLY AND MARCY ARE DOING GREAT.
-Dad

I love you, dad, I really do. But why are you yelling? Because whenever I read something written in caps, I read SCREAMING AND YELLING AND MAYHEM. Which is something I *think* the original creators the English written language intended. I'm not an English major though, so don't call me out on that.

So apparently the dogs (NELLY AND MARCY) are doing GREAT. AHHHHHHHHH. I love my dogs too. And now I think they're doing so GREAT that it may be INTENSELY PAINFUL for them. And let's all face it, folks, veterinary bills ain't cheap.

I realize that the whole CAPS style point may not be so ridiculously hilarious to everyone reading this, and I apologize. You must realize, though, that when I read things, I give the words little voices that match the character or narrator. So when my eyes grace letters given capital punishment on a page(......hehe), there's suddenly a cacophony of shouting in my brain which either creates a small seizure or smile. Usually no one notices the seizures until they realize that half of my body is slumped over in the chair.


Too far? Of course not.

So much for updating you guys about my job. Hopefully next time I'll be able to do that, given that I have two fully functioning lungs and no paralyzed arms.

P.S. Happy *early* Father's Day, Dad! I jest because I care!

Circumstances...

Dear Maryland,

I am sorry. Genuinely sorry. For I have embarrassed you, in front of a Duke student, none-the-less. For such a crime, I should be hung.

The moment of embarrassment occurred under certain circumstances, ones which continue as I type this post. It was not my intention to cause such an embarrassment, I assure you. Yet said embarrassment occurred anyway. I am...very, deeply sorry. The story of such embarrassment follows:

I am at a party. Circumstances mentioned before are evolving quite quickly. This particular party involves a bunch of interns from GE Aviation, all here to progress the aforementioned circumstance. I am...evolving faster than most. The time has come to rotate multiple red injected open *almost* cylindrical objects into a downward position in a particular order to achieve the fastest time. My opponent is the Duke (as I will call him). We smack talk, as expected, but we are respectful (as all Maryland students should be in such an instance). Before the next rotation of objects, I happen to point out that Maryland took home the golden NCAA crown in 2001...

Except not.

I am quite aware now that we indeed did take home the crown in 2002 against the Indiana Hoosiers. In that instance, though, the Duke pointed out to me (with a smile which I so loathed) that Maryland took the crown a year later from 2001, and it was in fact Duke who won in 2001 against Arizona...

Suddenly I have no will to be at this party. How unexpected.

Yet I continue to rotate *almost* cylindrical objects for several rounds longer, and then duck-out to mull over my perilous mistake. I had just embarrassed all of Maryland. I am a failure. I should be shot.

So next time you see me, please punch me in the arm. Enough to leave a red mark for several hours, since I apparently don't bruise (is that even healthy? We'll say yes). I am truly a good-for-nothing, and really don't deserve to attend such a highly-regarded and incredible school.


I am sorry Maryland, for I have sinned against your gloriousness. :(.

The end of my lunch break

If you're ever bored or completely distracted like me right now, hop on over to http://www.dooce.com/ to read the blog of an incredibly talented photographer named Heather B. Armstrong, aka Dooce. With a bit of humor, a great camera, and an even better eye, Dooce does an amazing job at capturing everything around her. Including one of my favorite subjects: dogs. :D



That's a real dog, folks. And I just guffawed awkwardly in my cubicle after seeing this, attempting to simultaneously stifle the noise and prevent myself from suffocating. The result was concerned side-glances from my cubicle-mate.


So as I head back to work (woo), I suggest you paroose through her pictures and read a few blog entries, including one titled "Regional Differences." I would NOT recommend reading this in a place where, say, 50 other people are attempting to think and might be bothered by the outbursts of gasping chuckles issuing from one particular corner of the room. I may or may not speak from experience in this regard.

*snicker*

Driving away

Raw emotion. Those two words have become the most pitiful combination of syllables and spaces to date. Because the meaning behind them almost never exists, at least not in our worlds.

We see examples of what it could be on television. Stories of people thrown so wildly into situations that they stumble around oblivious to all but their own turmoils. Anger, sadness, love, grief, joy. How often have you seen someone cry on a tv show. Or punch a wall. I ask rhetorically, of course (hence the lack of question marks).

And this is exactly why we're so drawn into these plots, however unrealistic. Characters on your screen are more capable than most people you'll meet on this planet. Everything they do is dripping with fake raw emotion, but usually performed in a way that makes the likelihood of that personality real. And we're reeled in further.

This thought-process comes to me after watching the last two episodes of House. Damn, they were good. To the point where, when I had finished watching, I could do nothing with myself but stare out my large living room windows into the adjacent trees. I didn't want to think, fearing I would lose the image of the emotion I had just shared with my computer screen (not that way...). But every part of me wanted to do something else entirely...walk around, jumping jacks, whatever. So I just sat there and stared, until a phone call from a friend shook me back to reality. And the thought of Popeye's chicken wavered my mental reverie (a little redundant there, but you'll deal).

So there's my rambling of the day. Sorry I haven't posted for a while - the past few weeks have been dedicated to sleeping off the terror that was finals week and settling into my new apartment and job in Cincinnati.

I started my trek north...or west...northwest? Did I even go north? Ehh, let's just continue. I started my journey to Cinci last Monday (May 26th) by driving up north to see my cousins Audrey and Margaret in Pittsburgh. After a night of delicious Buca and the comfort of a not-so-comfortable mattress, I left early Tuesday for my destination. Another 260 or so miles of driving southwest brought me to the Towne Commons Apartments in Cincinnati, Ohio. I had made it.....almost.

To get into my new apartment, I had to resign a revised lease and pay my first installation of rent (which included a week of May, all of June, and the rest of the security deposit...for a total of $1,215. Oh joy). While I was ready to pay that *twitch* amount, I was not ready to pay it as a money order - a little something I forgot to read over in the lease. Whoops. So off I go to the closest bank called Fifth-Third, the choice bank of Ohio (I guess), where I am told that I cannot purchase a money order if I'm not a member of the bank. Rats.

The woman at the leasing office then makes a smashing suggestion: just drive to your bank and purchase one. My bank, called the Cecil County School Employees Federal Credit Union, has a single location. Go figure, it's not in Cincinnati.

After ruling out the several other options of..:
1. Withdrawing $1,215 from an atm and buying a cash money order (the limit for a withdraw at CCSEFCU is surprisingly not as high as $1,215 *SARCASM*)
2. Getting CCSEFCU to raise the withdraw limit...
"We can't do that," said the bank.
"But I really have no other way of getting the money order," I stammered, "and this would only be one ti-"
"We can't do that, I'm sorry. I don't know what you can do."
Thanks for putting in an effort...jerks.
3. Attempting to fax the money order from Maryland (once again, surprisingly, that's not allowed. who knew).

...I finally had to give into the final resort of getting the money wired to Cincinnati through Western Union for a nominal fee of....$90. Ouch. In conclusion, thanks Mom for running all over Cecil County and dealing with my stupidity to wire me a ridiculous amount of money to pay for an over-priced apartment. Thank you :).

So now I'm sitting here in a fairly barren apartment (with a "new" *cough Goodwill cough* couch, some folding chairs, an inflatable bed, and my computer. But as numbingly energy-consuming and expensive as this apartment is, it's mine. As soon as I pay back my parents.

Which means you all should visit. Because sitting here all by myself in an empty apartment gets a bit lonely.

Next time I'll post a little bit about my new job, which is RIDICULOUS. But in a good way.


Til then, take it easy all.



BTW: Ignore that last post on here. It makes absolutely no sense. And this is coming from the guy who wrote it. 5:30 in the morning on only about 2 hours of sleep in the past week does not a coherent post make. That is all.