Oohgobs and Uno Boxes

I’m officially addicted to my Xbox 360.  I don’t even call it an Xbox anymore.  It’s now referred to as the ‘Uno Box’.  Most players were, at first, refusing to stay in a room with me since I couldn’t show my face, so I bought a $40 webcam early last week.  I can’t even count the number of crazy things I’ve seen in the span of a week.  Two men playing in thongs; a fat, male belly dancer; a fake SWAT raid performed by a kid wearing Army fatigues and toting a "gun" fashioned from a broomstick with a flashlight taped to the end.  It’s quite entertaining.  I have made one normal Xbox buddy, though, so I always have a friendly face to play against.  Oh, and I can kick his ass at Smackdown Vs. Raw, so that’s a plus.

As mentioned in my last entry, I’ve been having quite vivid dreams lately.  Thursday night’s was particularly disturbing.  In said dream, I was ridiculously horny.  Hmm, nothing new there.  However, I was so flustered, I practically molested — are you ready for this? — Bobby. 

In the dream, we were at a party at a friend’s house back in Chattanooga.  I recognized it because we actually attended a get-together there just before I left.  I pushed Bobby into a dark bedroom and onto the bed.  He teased me, never letting me undress him.  It was uncannily reminiscent of the very real events that occurred between Jeff and myself last summer.  Just as I decided that I was about to physically burst, Bobby pushed me off of him.  He screamed that I was a slut, a whore, and that after what I did to him, he’d never touch me.  He made his way downstairs and out the back door to the patio.  I froze for several seconds, stunned and unable to move, before coming to and following him.

As I stepped through the sliding glass door and onto the back patio, the dream slowed to an almost frame by frame stillness.  So many thoughts flooded my head with each passing second.  Though it was a warm night, a cold breeze lifted my hair into my face.  As I examined my surroundings, I noticed that we were several stories up.  Bobby sat in a lawn chair pushed up against the deck railing, his lips pursed around a smoke and the corners of his mouth turned up into a slight, shit-eating grin. 

I instantly became filled with rage.  I lunged toward him and wrapped my hands around his neck.  I could feel my nails beginning to break the skin as his eyes widened and his fingers straightened, letting his cigarette fall to the ground.  Just as he was about to reach up and pull my  hands away from his throat, I pushed him over the edge.  I looked over the railing at his limp body lying on the sharp, gray gravel beneath me.  When I saw the blood trickle from his mouth, I knew he was dead. 

Yes, I dreamt about Shithead McBobster (I think I will call him that from now on), and I killed him.  It was completely random to have him pop up in my nightly visions because, quite honestly, I haven’t even thought about him since the day he owned up to faking amnesia.  There’s something seriously wrong with the fact that I even had to type that sentence.  But I digress.  I knew upon waking, though, that this must be a sign.  I knew deep down that he would be trying to contact me very soon.  I was right.

Sunday morning, I signed into my Xbox Live account.  Not five minutes into my Sunday morning ritual game of Zuma, I saw a little box pop up on the bottom of the screen.  "jimjackjose has sent you a message."  I immediately felt physically ill.  Never in my life has just the mere mention of someone’s name flushed my face with anger and sent me running to the restroom for fear that I might hurl.  The message simply said, "i heard that youre going to iraq."  Now, had he brought up any other topic, I would’ve ignored him.  I responded only because I was interested in how he came about that fact.  Writing him back was a big mistake.

By the end of the day, I had received about fifty Xbox messages from him, some text and some voice.  Again, just the sound of his voice playing through my headset practically sent me running for a trashcan.  Last night, after another relentless afternoon of phone calls, messages, texts, and voicemails, I dialed him up.  Long story short, he apparantly thought that since the sympathy card didn’t work on me the first time, he might try it again.  I really should’ve made a list…

The house he’s been remodeling for over a year was vandalized.  Vandals spray painted white trash on the freshly dried walls and stole all of the just-delivered-that-day appliances.  How they managed to haul off the stove, dishwasher, and refrigerator in the middle of the night, he couldn’t explain.  His wallet was stolen, and the theives drained his checking account and maxed out his credit.  His phone was stolen (yet he somehow managed to call me even though he claimed he didn’t have my number).  His radiator exploded in his Beamer.  Yes, exploded is the term he used, and he emphasized that fact.  He still hasn’t found a job.  His best friend lied to his face about being busy with work so he wouldn’t have to hang out with him (this is absolutely horrendous in Bobby’s mind, though it’s apparently okay that he pretended to have a car accident on his way home to Tennessee followed by a fictitious bout of amnesia).  His neck is getting worse, and the doctors told him he either had to deal with the pain or have surgery.  He’s decided to deal with the pain.  His dad is ill.  He’s having heart palpations (yes, he is incorrectly using the word ‘palpations’ rather than ‘palpitations’, and I laugh every time), and has to wear a heart monitor.  Another friend died of heart failure after fighting with his wife, getting really drunk, and locking himself in his car in the bitter cold in just his boxers and a wifebeater.  His dog died.

Dude, he doesn’t even have a dog.

When he realized he wasn’t getting much of a response from me over his sob stories, he reverted to tales about his friends (friends that I care absolutely nothing about) and girls that apparently want to date him.  Does he really think that I’m jealous of those girls’ stupidity?  I swear to god, I think he told me every single detail of every single thing that’s happened to him since the day he left.  I probably said two words throughout the entire conversation before finally ending the call.  I thought he might never shut up.

In other news, I got a huge pat on the back at work this morning.  Another separate issue came up at JIATFS, our client in Key West.  After some bullying and nagging to get approval (not just for me, but for anybody) to work on the problem, I corrected the bug and sent out a patch yesterday afternoon.  Here are the messages that ensued:<stro

ng>Ken (JIATFS Field Engineer):
Rachel,

This is great will test today —— thanks again — and this is quick turnaround by my standards.

Ken (copied to my supervisors):
Hi Rachel,

I did some quick testing and it looks like you fixed another hot one for me.  I am having Pascual  do a little more testing on it but if it works for him we will demo it to the ARG folks this afternoon and they will be very delighted.  Thanks again this is great response.

Ken (again copied to my supervisors):
Hi Rachel,

I just had another call this AM from the same team that found the issue you resolved. This new problem was around tracks and worked on 2.5.3 but failed on 3.1. I had installed your patch before I went to observe the new issue and when we brought up 3.1 with the patches this bug was also fixed —- you made my day —- thanks again.

Leif (one of my supervisors, and copied to the head honchos):
That’s great news Ken.

I’m passing word along to Jeff and Dennis as well.

Ken (copied to supervisors and head honchos):
Please do – this will really help me move the users onto the latest versions (3.1 and above).  I am not sure what the correct ISS protocol is for ATA-BOY/ATA-GIRL, but Rachel’s effort sure deserves one from my lowly point of view.Yay, me!  I’m feeling ridiculously proud of myself today.

Let’s see.  What else?  Alsie’s still having oohgobs of sex and orgasms.  I’m still having none.

Cheers,
Felina