Tuesday, September 1, 2009

I got my head stuck behind the TV.

I have a small room. This is a common thing, and my room isn't particularly small or terrible. I worry more and more every day that it's starting to smell like Man. Anyway, arranging furniture and appliances in one's room is a puzzle with most of the pieces up in the air at any given time. My set-up in particular jams a bookcase and dresser into a corner, places a TV on the dresser and my ancient steam-powered first-gen PS2 next to the TV.

Yesterday I altered the balance by hooking up a cable box to my TV. It's one of the little DTA boxes (no DVR, no guide functions) that give you a basic selection of channels, but it has about four cables coming in and out of it. Without getting into too many specifics, I needed to stretch and re-arrange some cables to get power to the DTA box. This forced me to shift the dresser forward, and left a space between the back of the TV/PS2 and the wall. Finally, the time came to plug in the DTA box and be welcomed, as a Caesar arriving back in Rome after a campaign, to CABLE TELEVISION. To see where the power cord hooked into the box, I leaned forward and wedged my upper body between the wall and the various appliances.

Once everything was plugged in and all the appropriate LEDs were flashing, it was time to extract myself from this situation. But nay! I'd gotten myself into the space by going over the top of the PS2 and lowering my head down behind it. I banged my head not once but TWICE trying to simply pull it out of the space rather than get it out the way it had gotten in. I realized my mistake almost immediately (ALMOST, because I'm fucking stupid and these are the things I do) but the damage was done. By damage, I mean stuck in my head was the image of my old dead dog sticking her head behind the sofa for a dessicated piece of old food, and getting it stuck because she just tried to pull it out and ohhhh isn't she a goofball! Who's a goofball??! Yeah, you!!



And while I'm writing stories about how shitty my life is, a week or two ago I was heckled by a bunch of small children while running. They were jumping around in one of those bouncy castles that Mexicans love to have at their parties (it's not racist as long as it's true!) and there were no adults in sight. I ran by, sweat pouring off my pale shirtless hairy body. I'm sure my hair looked ridiculous and matted, my mouth was hanging open and I smelled like hot dog water. And what do I see but some poor bastard's gap-toothed hellspawn pointing at me out of the side of the bouncy castle, pointing at me and yelling "Ewwwwwwwww."

And because these are children and children are horrible, all the other whelps in the cage joined in and were all chanting "Ewwwwwwww" as the poor sweaty man ran by. Yeah, mock the adult trying to better himself.
Maybe, I thought, just maybe some enterprising adult was within earshot of the jeering and would come to the rescue. Maybe she'd chew out those little punks and a lesson would be learned. Maybe there'd be a happy resolution to this whole terrible situation as an adult corrected their behavior and I went along my merry way, pleased with myself for NOT having punched all those kids in the head. It was not to be, and honestly at this point I don't know what the appropriate reaction should have been. As in most cases, it was probably one of the many things I didn't do. Ugh.

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