Knock three times on the ceiling if you want me
What I'm about to tell you will come as a shock to absolutely no one. But it helps if I make this point now, and then throughout the following story.
I am a dork. This will be reiterated later, but just keep it in mind.
Last week, I had the house to myself for about five days. I usually do all my computer work upstairs, but with two laptops, a wireless network, and the house all to my lonesome, I could fathom no reason why I shouldn't turn the living room into a command center. And I did just that - two laptops, one on a folding chair, one on a wooden TV tray, me on the couch, the TV right in front of me, a stack of rented DVDs, and upwards of eight remote controls within reach. Let the pizza delivery commence.
Of course, I have a lot more to do right now than lie about the house, multitasking with a mouse in one hand and the DVD remote in the other. Perhaps I mentioned earlier here that I purchased a set of speakers for my computer, and while the house was all mine, I hooked them up to my Dell laptop. Yes, yes, there is a stereo system in the living room, with big honkin' speakers, and a CD jukebox with nearly 400 discs in it. But that's not the point, is it? I had new speakers. New speakers must be tested, even in the face of a superior sound system. I had to know if the new gear would rock the nuts off a bull the way I needed it to. So my music for the week was taken from the iTunes on my Dell.
Here's where I remind you again: I'm a dork. Thanks. Carry on.
There were other things I needed to be doing around this house, like getting my shit the hell out of here, so I'd let my iTunes library go, right through my ballsy new speakers, and wander the house, gathering, sorting, discarding, packing...wherever I went in the house, I could hear my music with no problem. The speakers seemed to have been an excellent purchase, and I was well pleased with myself as I schlepped stuff up and down the stairs.
The command center was a delightful thing for when I had finished my work for the day; I could lounge on the couch, dink around online, watch movies, eat crap food, and snooze, all without getting up. About three nights into all this, I'd watched a couple of movies and surfed as hard as I could without waves and a board, so I decided to go in the next room and stretch out on the bed for a while. See, in my perfect world, I'd wake up for a few hours, nap for a couple of hours, wake up for a few more hours, nap for a few more...you get the idea. And since I am not gainfully employed right now, and the house was mine all mine for a few days, I saw no reason not to live just like I wanted. So I dozed off in the bedroom for what I anticipated to be a nap.
Checkpoint: A dork is writing this. But you knew that.
It wasn't long after I fell asleep that I heard the three sharp, commanding raps on the front door. That woke me up with a nasty start, and I looked at the clock. Who the fuck would have legitimate need to pound on my door at 1 in the morning? Somebody who wants to dismember me for grins? A cop? The possibilities were racing through my sleep-addled head as I pulled on my sexy, sexy bathrobe. The part that was really confounding me the most, though, was Snickers' reaction to the whole thing. Or non-reaction, I guess, if I'm to be totally accurate here. He hadn't missed a beat of his rhythmic, snorty snoring. Some protection this mutt was providing his mom who'd been spoiling him with all manner of dog treats all week . I kind of nudged him and said, "Snickers!" in my most incredulous "what the fuck?" voice.
I'm a big sissy when shit happens in the middle of the night and I have no human companion in the house. I clutched my robe around me and wondered if I should be carrying a weapon of some kind as I made my way to the front door with dread in the pit of my stomach. Once I made myself go into the vestibule, I raised up on my tiptoes to peer out the sunburst window. The porch light had been left on, and there was no one in sight. Great. So somebody was playing ding dong ditch it with me at 1 in the morning? I was trying to decide whether to be worried or annoyed, when I heard another sound that cut through the still night and the thumping of my heart.
The sound went prrrrringgggggg! like a fairy rubbing its magical, hairless ass against a zither.
Now, in my own defense, when I use the computer, I quite often have the sound turned off, and am not used to all the noises that come out of the damn thing, especially when it has thumpin' speakers attached, speakers that a certain dork forgot to turn off before she went to bed. But I knew instantly what the fairy's ass on a zither sound was: it was the sound of a chat contact sending me an IM.
And the knocking was, um...the sound of my contact signing into chat.
You see, that's why Snickers didn't bark: he's not a dork.
I am a dork.
I am a dork. This will be reiterated later, but just keep it in mind.
Last week, I had the house to myself for about five days. I usually do all my computer work upstairs, but with two laptops, a wireless network, and the house all to my lonesome, I could fathom no reason why I shouldn't turn the living room into a command center. And I did just that - two laptops, one on a folding chair, one on a wooden TV tray, me on the couch, the TV right in front of me, a stack of rented DVDs, and upwards of eight remote controls within reach. Let the pizza delivery commence.
Of course, I have a lot more to do right now than lie about the house, multitasking with a mouse in one hand and the DVD remote in the other. Perhaps I mentioned earlier here that I purchased a set of speakers for my computer, and while the house was all mine, I hooked them up to my Dell laptop. Yes, yes, there is a stereo system in the living room, with big honkin' speakers, and a CD jukebox with nearly 400 discs in it. But that's not the point, is it? I had new speakers. New speakers must be tested, even in the face of a superior sound system. I had to know if the new gear would rock the nuts off a bull the way I needed it to. So my music for the week was taken from the iTunes on my Dell.
Here's where I remind you again: I'm a dork. Thanks. Carry on.
There were other things I needed to be doing around this house, like getting my shit the hell out of here, so I'd let my iTunes library go, right through my ballsy new speakers, and wander the house, gathering, sorting, discarding, packing...wherever I went in the house, I could hear my music with no problem. The speakers seemed to have been an excellent purchase, and I was well pleased with myself as I schlepped stuff up and down the stairs.
The command center was a delightful thing for when I had finished my work for the day; I could lounge on the couch, dink around online, watch movies, eat crap food, and snooze, all without getting up. About three nights into all this, I'd watched a couple of movies and surfed as hard as I could without waves and a board, so I decided to go in the next room and stretch out on the bed for a while. See, in my perfect world, I'd wake up for a few hours, nap for a couple of hours, wake up for a few more hours, nap for a few more...you get the idea. And since I am not gainfully employed right now, and the house was mine all mine for a few days, I saw no reason not to live just like I wanted. So I dozed off in the bedroom for what I anticipated to be a nap.
Checkpoint: A dork is writing this. But you knew that.
It wasn't long after I fell asleep that I heard the three sharp, commanding raps on the front door. That woke me up with a nasty start, and I looked at the clock. Who the fuck would have legitimate need to pound on my door at 1 in the morning? Somebody who wants to dismember me for grins? A cop? The possibilities were racing through my sleep-addled head as I pulled on my sexy, sexy bathrobe. The part that was really confounding me the most, though, was Snickers' reaction to the whole thing. Or non-reaction, I guess, if I'm to be totally accurate here. He hadn't missed a beat of his rhythmic, snorty snoring. Some protection this mutt was providing his mom who'd been spoiling him with all manner of dog treats all week . I kind of nudged him and said, "Snickers!" in my most incredulous "what the fuck?" voice.
I'm a big sissy when shit happens in the middle of the night and I have no human companion in the house. I clutched my robe around me and wondered if I should be carrying a weapon of some kind as I made my way to the front door with dread in the pit of my stomach. Once I made myself go into the vestibule, I raised up on my tiptoes to peer out the sunburst window. The porch light had been left on, and there was no one in sight. Great. So somebody was playing ding dong ditch it with me at 1 in the morning? I was trying to decide whether to be worried or annoyed, when I heard another sound that cut through the still night and the thumping of my heart.
The sound went prrrrringgggggg! like a fairy rubbing its magical, hairless ass against a zither.
Now, in my own defense, when I use the computer, I quite often have the sound turned off, and am not used to all the noises that come out of the damn thing, especially when it has thumpin' speakers attached, speakers that a certain dork forgot to turn off before she went to bed. But I knew instantly what the fairy's ass on a zither sound was: it was the sound of a chat contact sending me an IM.
And the knocking was, um...the sound of my contact signing into chat.
You see, that's why Snickers didn't bark: he's not a dork.
I am a dork.
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 10:30 PM
19 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Well, you DID have a lobotomy... I saw the picture.
Heh.
Did you get any drool on the shiny new speakers?
Shiiiny speakers...*drools*
Shiny things = good
This story is not evidence of you being a dork. This story is evidence of the highly complex speaker testing system your subconscious mind devised while the rest of you was busy packing things and eating junk food. If you look at it right, it's proof positive that you have a highly evolved mind.
Perspective is everything.
You'd think Snickers would have turned the speakers off for you. Lazy dog.
Which reminds me, I need to set up my filters again on this new machine. At one point, anyone with the right subject could send my dog Jack an email. You could type anything and it would be read aloud. "Jack? want to go outside?" Even if it would be two hours before I got home. "Jack? Take a shit on Daddy's pillow"
And to prove you're even MORE of a dork: all those who have you listed in their IM contacts and were online over the last few days now know that you've made yourself invisible from them.
Nice one, dork.
Bucky's gone invisible???? Now I'm confused.
And I'm pretty brave in the middle of the night until I'm by myself. Then it's all stay under the blankets and the noise will just go away.
Peeing myself.
Pissing myself.
Pisspeeing myself.
When it is 1 oclock in the morning you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground. I would have fell for it.
Scared the shit outta you didn't it.
hahaha
HAHAHAHHA...what a dork.
I would have sat in the middle of the room and cried, pro'lly
Bwahahahahahaha!
I love you in all your dorkiness, Bucky. :)
Although, I really like the perspective offered by Phoebe Fay.
I see less evidence of dorkiness, and more evidence of a woman who easily gets the heebie-jeebies when she's alone at night.
It takes one to know one, you know.
love the command central....
hahaha
I had a similar, even stupider experience a few years back. I was driving through the backwoods of West Virginia, not quite certain of my whereabouts - when I suddenly hear the unmistakable sound of an airplane coming in for landing.
For two seconds my mind went completely blank with terror... I looked around me to see if an airplane was about to crash on the highway, or if maybe I was being abducted by a UFO. Then the guitars started up and I heard Paul McCartney singing "...flew in from Miami Beach..."
Yup. I'd forgotten that I'd been playing a Beatles tape that had just turned over, and what my feverish brain had taken for an incoming airplane was actually the opening sounds of "Back in the USSR"...
I dont think I would even gotten close to the door, without my cell dialed to 911, a big weapon of some sort, and all the lights on.
Then again, I probably would have hid under my blankey.
That's kind of like me bolting to answer the phone when my alarm went off one morning!
Dork.
Me, not you.
Beautiful!!
Such a dork.
We nearly called the cops one time because someone was knocking on our door late at night...turned to be, you know, a cop. Yeah, we're dorks too.
If you think Snickers was no protection, try living with Alex the Fraidy Cat. When objectionable sounds—such as thunder—come to his ears at night, he scats beneath the comforter on my bed and tries to bury himself in my arm pit.
No. Bucky, I don’t believe you are a dork. You are just in the midst of several transitions and that can cause all sorts of weird interpretations of your environment. In other words, you don’t know what the fuck is happening around you. In my life, I call that “normal.”
Since I have been known to sneak around online late and night and prrrriiingggg people and scare the poo doodie out of them I find this to be highly amusing. Because I am evil.
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