The Universe Strikes Back...

I'm not that big of a Star Wars fan (I like it, don't put words in my mouth) but the titles do lend themselves for good blog titles.

So, I feel like I need to write an open letter to the Universe.

Dear Universe,
The last 2 years have been an interesting ride.  First, I started and completed this thing called "grad school."

Those two words should be synonymous with water boarding.  Wikipedia, the most accurate resource on the interwebs, tells us that waterboarding can cause:  extreme pain, dry drowning, damage to lungs, brain damage from oxygen deprivation, other physical injuries including broken bones due to struggling against restraints, lasting psychological damage, and death .Adverse physical consequences can manifest themselves months after the event, while psychological effects can last for years (I'm not citing this shit because I've done too much damn citing the last 2 years. I said it was Wikipedia; find it yourself, 2013).  

Grad school totally did those.  
Headaches.
Drowning in assignment (because assignments aren't made of water unless you're a marine biologist or go to a school for mer-folk.  See I'm culturally competent), 
I'm pretty sure I inhaled asbestos during 70% of my class time (I'll address-os the asbestos in a moment-os), I'm also sure I stopped breathing a few times during presentations, 
I kicked the shit out of my shins and pinky toes while struggling in a desk too small for most hormone-enhanced 4th graders, 
I've self-diagnosed Bi-polar Disorder and Autism Spectrum Disorder
And I died after I saw a grade.  Twice.

Yup, Grad School is equal to water boarding.  You made a doozey there, Universe.

But I finished.  Maybe.  You also made professors that take an ungodly amount of time to post grades.

Oh! Asbestos!

So classmates and I were casually chatting it up beside the hand-sanitizer dispenser because we're clean and safe like that.  We noticed that there was this cute little dust covered plaque that we've conveniently ignored for 3 semesters.  I mean, you get 99% of your germs killed in one swoop and you got less thing on your plate; why the hell read a plaque?!   

The plaque clearly states there's asbestos in the building.  It gives the numbers of the rooms.  Those room numbers DIDN'T EXIST!  Some building wizard came in there with some sort of hot glue gun from Mordor and changed the numbers.  Now it's roulette with asbestos, higher education, and mesothelioma. 

Moving on...*coughs*

Somewhere in those two years, I discovered this creation you call...Tumblr.   Confusing because I generally like to avoid falling, tripping, sliding across concrete because demonic yellow leaves have fallen, and tumbling.  But no, I became addicted to what I know realize is the puberty of the internet.  Tumblr is a mess of emotions, cat pictures, pokemon, and sexual identity crises.  The things I've seen in my line of work pale in comparison to Tumblr.  I can't even... right in the feels.

Then I experienced true commuting.  Not the kind where you drive down to Dunkin' Donuts on a two-lane road behind a cattle truck.  No, that's pleasant compared to sitting in traffic where brake lights mean speed up and blinkers mean you should dodge an incoming litter box.  I've said "Oh what the hell?" enough in the last 9 months to probably copyright the phrase.

But it hasn't all been bad.  You've arranged planets and people in just the right way so that I met some great folks.  I guess that alone is enough to cancel out at least everything but the mesothelioma.  

So Universe, you win this round too.  But only by the nature that you kind of balanced shit out.  And I kind of don't want mesothelioma.

Speaking of shit...why is Gryffindor an auto-text option...but not shit...or gnome.  I am a nerd.  I use all three of those words.  Frequently.  

Yours,
-Me

The Return of The...Jedi? Nah...

I'm officially not dead.  No more heart attacks either.  Just Grad School happened.  It's on hold now. 

So how has the universe hindered me you say?  Oh, plenty of ways, but I need to write em down first before I put em here.  So I'll leave you with this.

That moment you get something tasty and you're really excited to eat it.  You go to tear it open and the universe says "HELL NAW!"  Like this:

"Easy Open Tear", my ass!

See!  SEE!  I had to go to the kitchen, FIND a pair of scissors (because in this house, basic office supplies wear invisibility cloaks), then cut the damn thing open.  Then I panicked that, in my rage of scissors and paper and gnashing of teeth, I cut the "perfectly resealable" sealing part.  If this happened, they would only be "perfectly popable" which poses a hindrance to my self-control. 

Portion-control challenged or not, I succeeded in not destroying the seal or the bag of Reese's in a single sitting.

Still though:  Me-0
Universe- 1 (we started over, it's a new year)

Update: Not so much a heart attack?

So, either 1) My mother was right and it was just gas trapped in my rib/chest area.  Which, after using the Googles, I did find that trapped gas can indeed feel like a heart attack.

Or 2) I was having a mild heart attack and the Bayer I took because I was in pain did the job and saved my life while also making me much more comfortable.

Given scenario 2, I think I fail at that whole knowing what to do in emergencies and my family fails at ensuring my safety.

Anyways, not dead. 

Universe M.D....of DOOM!

So why am I awake at 2 am on a grad school night (which btw is totally different from a normal school night) when I have to wake up in less than 5 hours to make an excruciatingly boring 45 minute drive to sit through 6 hours of classes? 

Because I fully believe I'm having a heart attack.

Why do I believe this?

Web MD.

Yes, Web MD is another one of those agents that I've talked about.  The hateful universe created it in order to make those of us with high anxiety even more anxious about unnecessary ailments. And when those of us start to panic and look at Web MD, all rational thought goes out the window.  Let me break it down for you in this little chart.

Ailment	Logical Explanation	Mother says	Web MD says
Throat hurts	Allergies	Take Benadryl	You have AIDS
Chest Pain	Trapped gas	Go fart, chew Maalox	Heart attack call 911
Fever	It’s winter	Take Advil	Death Flu
Upset Stomach	Nervousness	Pepto	Ebola

Who do we believe here? Logic? No.  Our mother who birthed us, raised and continues to feed us at the ripe age of 24 because student loans keep us from effectively launching into normal, functional adult lives? No.  Web MD? YES!

Because if it's on the internet, it's true!

Oh and for the record, all of those symptoms are signs of some form of cancer.  Which I will fully convince myself I have by the end of the week if this keeps up.

I'm going to go finish having my ravioli induced heart attack now.

Universe: 6.  Me: 1

Schnarchen. (verb) To Snore: The Second

So last time we all learned that I was a paranoid only child afraid of DemonBearHog at night who grew up to be a hyper vigilant adult who swears you shouldn't eat soup if the date on the can is at all in the past lest you'll get botulism.  Same goes for ketchup.


Oh wait, while we're on it, this whole "Best if used by" thing tends to be a bit of a struggle in the house.  I refuse to eat things that are more than just a few days past that day, but my parents are all "It ain't gonna hurt ya! I been eating things past the date since I was little and I ain't dead am I?"  The universe tended to avoid messing with me on this, until we bought French's Zesty Brown Mustard.  I'm not exactly sure if we've ever purchased a new one or not, so I don't know how long the one that's in the fridge has been there, but I avoid it like the plague until I'm making a sandwich.  Then I want something spicy and I look all over the stupid bottle like a date is going to magically appear knowing that I'm never going to find one.   So after searching for the El Dorado of use by dates, I realize my quest for a spicy turkey on white just isn't realistic and I place it, sadly, back in the fridge for the cycle to happen a good month point five later. 


I digress, back to etymological adversities.


Well, turns out, there are few more issues I've had with things that start with SNOR-. 


First is the inevitable snorting of things you don't ever want to snort.  No I'm not some cocaine addict.  I'm already crazy enough as it is, I don't need substances to make it worse.


Exhibit A:  We all know soap burns if it gets in your eyes and your nose.  So what do we do? We make an effort to ensure our eyes and nostrils are safe.  Whatever you do in the shower is your business, I won't judge.


So here I am, all excited because I'm about to make my hair daily clarified (as opposed to all-day volumized which I've done before).  I lather, massage thoroughly through hair and begin to rinse when this rogue asteroid of suds flies from my hair and lands right under my nose.  What does the universe do then?  Well, it makes me have to sneeze so of course I inhale, asteroid included, and sneeze the single most fiery and painful sneeze I've ever sneezed.  You are not supposed to daily clarify your nose hairs.  EVER! I don't even like when water goes up my nose, let alone Sodium Laureth Sulfate and Ammonium Chloride!  This burned for so long, it made my eyes water and my head hurt.  I would imagine snorting Tabasco would be more pleasant.  Seriously.


After all this nonsense, I sure as hell am not going to do the "Repeat" part.


And this is a general occurrence with me.  If something is going to burn when snorted by accident, I'm probably going to snort it by accident. 


But the Snorture doesn't stop there.  Oh no.


Imagine the beach.  Nice white sand.  Clear blue water.  So clear, you can see fish and coral and downed planes and more fish.  It's so nice, it makes you want to be able to dive deep and look at all the shiny fish and possible lost flights that took off 75 miles away and became confused and went down in a blaze of glory.


And what sort of thing allows you to do this?  Well, for the fancy, there's scuba diving.  For the tourist who is only staying for about 7 hours before getting back on a giant boat, there's snorkeling.


Oh snorkeling.  What an awesome idea.


No.


I'm all 16 and excited to try something new and I like oceans that I can see my feet in.  Underpaid college drop out hands my friends, my dad, and me our snorkeling gear.  Very simple gear: Goggles (I got these down pat), snorkel (should be easy), vest with emergency "Help I'm dying" feature (yay safety!) and flippers (they were yellow and I looked like a retard duck).   By the way, he gave us no instructions.


We get out to the now craniate infested small plane and decide, it's time to snorkel.  This should be simple.  You put your face down, you breathe like normal, you don't let the tube get submerged. 


Not if the universe hates you.


You put your face down, you swim 7 inches, you take one breath and your body panics and is like "YOU ARE NOT FISH! UNDERWATER BREATHING NOT OKAY!"  so you emerge in a stupor of "why did I just fail at that?"  You continue to go through this cycle of face in water hyperventilation for a good 8 rounds until  you're tired.


And by you, I mean me.


After this, I'm sort of over this whole snorkeling thing.  As I work my way back to shore with my retard duck feet, I realize shore keeps getting everything but closer.  I eventually resigned myself to floating until I died all the while thinking "If I pull this Oh shit string, they'll save me but then I'll look lame".  No 16 year old wants to look lame. All I wanted was just some way to inflate this freaking vest to help me out, but the only way I knew how was to pull the string.  So, I rested in the water, too tired to kick my feet and barely keep my head up so I can breathe.  At this point goggles and snorkel are all weighing down on random parts of my face.  It was a mess. 


I do make it to shore safely (as noted by my presence now) but I exclaim that I'm not doing this again.  Two hours later, my dad walks up.  He looks at me and goes, "Hey guess what we learned, you can use these and blow your vest up!" He proceeds to show me the tubes and inflate his vest.


Universe 5.  Me. 1.

Schnarchen. (verb) To Snore.

When you grow up completely unaware that there is this is thing called "The Universe" which happens to be out to get you, you: 1) Become an overly anxious child who continues to be hyper anxious about trivial things in later life and 2) assume monsters are real.   As you can see, these two create quite the paranoid six year old. 

But why did I do this to myself?  Oh maybe because, like all children do, I used my super awesome imagination—which by the way, I developed because I am an only child who had  no one to play with until he was in third grade—to make sense of the world around me.  What kind of things did I conjure from the depths of my mind?

Let's see, there was the evil gorilla man who always tried to watch me while I napped, but the blinds on my great grandma's door stopped him from doing so all I could ever see of him was his shadow being cast on the blinds.  Yeah, he was pretty mean.  I was positive he was going to strangle me in my sleep like all gorilla men are wont to do.  

Turns out he was just a coat rack, some coats and a hat that hadn't moved since the 40's.  I didn't learn that til I was like 10.  

But then there were times where it wasn't so easy to close my eyes and make the bad things go away.  Oh, no.  Visuals you can get rid of but not sounds.  

Snoring haunted me like...a ghost haunts a house?  Whatever, go with it.  Point is, it was there and I couldn't see it and it was getting on my nerves.  Unfortunately at this hyper vigilant point in my life, I was oblivious to the direct product of nasal congestion and/or sleep apnea.  I equated allergies with not being able to eat Oreo cookies or drink Hershey's chocolate milk as they would break me out into this weird red rash thing.  I grew out of this, don't worry.

So there I am, trying to sleep at my grandparents' house (you see where this is going) and I hear this awful, vicious demon-bear-warthog with chainsaws for teeth standing outside my bedroom door.  This DemonBearHog has obviously just finished running 3 kajillion miles from the depths of hell to torment me as not only is it snarling, but it has to exhale deeply from all the running.  I mean, I couldn't even run down the street without getting tired so I could only imagine how tired this unsavory beast must have been. 

I tried to make it go away, but it just never did. No amount of eye closing or singing to myself ever made the beast stop.  So I just stayed there all curled up, eyes wide as I had resigned myself to my fate of being gnarled up by whatever this was.   And because I was a good kid who prayed at night and got straight A's, I did not bother my family with my childish beasts of which I knew they would not be able to see or hear.

I eventually learned that this thing called snoring existed and my grandpa did it.  However, I also began to learn that anything with the word "snore" as its root, was part of the universe's plan to take me out.

But I'll tell you the rest next time. 

Universe: 4.  Me: 1

A rectangle is not a square...

Or in this case, a bum is not a hobo, but a hobo could be a rectangle. 


No wait, a hobo can be a bum just as a square can be a rectangle.


I was awful at Geometry.  And osmosis.  The stuff is on the outside so the water goes out? Or does the water go in?  I know it all has to do with making things equal, but I only ever think about it now when I see my pruned up fingers for being in the shower or the pool too long.  That confuses me even more.  Because there's "stuff" in the water, but there's also way more water so I'm never really sure if I'm pruney because the water goes in and makes me super saturated or if the water goes out leaving me dry.  If the latter is true, then I don't understand how because I am in enough water to sink a small boat (possibly a pirogue?).  At least when I'm in the pool there's that much water as I do not have a 12000+ gallon tub.  I think after a certain gallon-age, a tub becomes a pool.   So, thinking about geometry, if a square is a rectangle, but a rectangle cannot be a square, does this mean a tub can be a pool but a pool cannot be a tub?  Or can a pool be a tub and a tub be a pool?  Whatever, I learned to recognize triangles in relation to Doritos and I put smiley faces on all my proofs.  I made an A.  Full on 100 to be exact.  Don't hate.


Aside from the fact that the Universe invented things like Geometry and Osmosis to confuse me and make whine to my high school teachers, it also made homeless people.  What harm can homeless people be you say?  Plenty. 


Prior to writing this, I wanted to make sure I was using correct terminology as to ensure as little backlash as possible.  I looked up "hobo" as that's what I call 'em.  Apparently a hobo is a traveling worker, where a tramp travels but doesn't work, and a bum neither travels nor works. Hobos even have codes to tell other hobos things and there's like a code of ethics.  My worldview (at least of the homeless) has just been turned upside.  They're more organized than a Kmart! 




That being said, regardless of work ethic, organization, or distance travel/to be traveled, I will refer to the homeless as hobos still.  At least for this post and in conversation with those around me. 


I digressed, I apologize.


Hobos are secret agents of the universe.  They don't inconvenience me, however, they scare me or make me more uncomfortable than watching a sex scene in a movie with my parents.  And not only this, but either 1) the universe has painted a giant sign only visible to the crazy hobos above my head that says "Talk to this guy" or 2) it has equipped ALL of them with some sort of locator device that allows them to find me in a crowd of 9 million—or just 17— people.  I have only seen this level of "spot the person" skill exhibited by two other folks: Batman and anyone from the IRS. 


While there are many encounters with the homeless-kind, let me provide you with the more exciting examples.


Example # 1:  I'm in a train station in Belgium.  I'm drinking a sprite.  My "someone is near you" sense went off to my rear left.  I thought it was my friend who recently went to the restroom.  Then, I did an inventory of those I was with.  To my upper left, my mother and father. To my upper right, my aunt, my uncle, and my said friend.   At this point, I become uncomfortable.  I look to my side.  There is a man, with a freakish grin and wide eyes looking at me.  He motions the "drink motion" then nods and walks off. 


AT NO POINT DID ANYONE IN MY PARTY WARN OR ASSIST ME IN THIS ENCOUNTER!


Example# 2:  Recently (read Today), I was at a hospital.  I stepped outside of the ER room and into the wilderness that is the parking lot to make a phone call.  I like to follow some rules and not call people from cell phone restricted areas.  Why? Because the universe will make it so that my one phone call will stop someone's pacemaker.  I can't handle that kind of pressure.  Too much responsibility.  So, as I'm walking in, a hobo with his bags asks me if I can take him because he lives close by.  I tell him (honestly) that I can't because I'm with a patient and have no idea when I'll be leaving.  He asks me to consider it and I tell him again that this just isn't a realistic option because in theory he could wait for hours for me to leave when he could just walk and be there faster.  As I start to walk away, he follows.  And then loudly proclaims "I'm not making you do it!" 


At this point in my day, I've had too much sass. I boldly turn around on one heel, tilt my head like a disgruntled yet confused bird of prey and say "You're right, you're not making me do it and I'm not going to consider the offer because I was nice about it at first but you continue to ask when I've said that I am unable to.  So please, stop asking!"  He then asks me for a light to which I reply "I do not smoke, therefore I do not have a light" and proceed to take my belongings out of my pocket and dangle/jingle them in the air like a true smart ass then walk back in.   About 3 hours later, after leaving to get food I return to the hospital to find this man sitting the in ER room next to mine in hand cuffs and a hospital gown with 2 police officers.  Poor man? Oh no, he should know you don't cause trouble outside of a hospital when you've had a bit too much brandy.  Or whatever it is was on his breath.


Example #3:  This one time I was walking down the streets of Knoxville wearing a Superman logo shirt.  I like comics, don't judge me.  Then I hear this deep, booming voice from my right say "HEY SUPAHMAN, HEY SUPAHMAN!"  Imagine James Earl Jones but with a hint or two of vodka.  Yeah, that.  I look to my right to see a tall, scruffy, Dallas Cowboys jacketed African American male with blood shot eyes walking towards me to ask me if he could ask me a question.  I tell the man I am in a hurry and we part ways. 


While not an awful encounter, this man proved to be the Rain Man of the Hobos.  Every time I was walking in Knoxville, I walked in fear of the Dallas Cowboys Jacket.  You know how when you go in public and you see that person you don't want to talk to, you go out of your way to avoid them.  Say you'll cross the street or go down the feminine hygiene and family planning aisle.  Whatever it takes, your pride and/or safety are not a factor in avoiding this person.   Well, that's how it was for me.  I'd step out and look as far down the strip as possible to see if I could see the James Earl Hobo.  If I spotted the jacket,  I waited til later for food and found a back way.  A few times I tried to hide myself in a group of people or by wearing a hoodie.  Or both.  In the cover of the moonless night.  While using a cloaking device from the future. 


He still found me.  Every.  Time.  I'd hear from across the 4 lane road "HEY SUPAHMAN!"  And no, I did not wear my ONE superman logo shirt every time I left the dorm.  I was lazy in college, not dirty.  How this man remembered and spotted me baffles me to this day.   He always wanted to ask me a question.  Every time I said I was in a hurry.  He was like "that's cool".  One time the universe was especially hateful and made me wait at a cross walk like after I said I was in a hurry.  My theory is that this man was Jesus and he wanted to see if I was nice.  I guess I failed that one.


I did help a homeless from time to time.  One dude told me he was put on the wrong bus from jail in Louisiana and was hungry and diabetic and hadn't eaten in 3 days and had kidney issues (yes, he said all this without the punctuation).  After I told him I was going to Wendy's and he could tag along for a burger, I assumed he'd stop talking but then he told me he was jail for assaulting a police officer.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel like if someone offers to buy you a meal, you stop talking about being a criminal.   In the end, he got two cheeseburgers, some fries and a diet coke.  Because diabetics are only allowed to drink Diet Coke.


So to recap:
1) Triangles are Doritos.
2) Osmosis is a hard concept to absorb.
3) Cloaking devices do not exist in this time period.
4) Don't play "Where's Waldo?" with hobo in a Dallas Cowboys Jacket.  He'll always win. 


Universe: 3.  Me: 1 


Yes, I get 1 point.  .5 for buying the dude food, .25 for respecting cell phones and pacemakers, .25 because the sassy hobo got cuffed.