I asked Rambo to get me some chocolate milk. He took my thermos away to go wash it, and then got distracted, as usual. After 15 minutes of waiting I got bored, tried to bug him over msn but he wasn't online. The Music Man was, however. Have a transcript of the conversation that ensued when I tried to get Rambo's attention, edited only slightly to remove real names.
Me: You poke Rambo.
TMM: syntax error
Me: Poke Rambo
TMM: #SYNTAX ERROR
Me: Use stick on Rambo
TMM: successful
Me: Use stick on Rambo
TMM: successful
Me: Use stick on Rambo
TMM: successful
Me: Make chocolate milk
Use chocolate on milk
TMM: no chocolate in bag
Me: Pick up chocolate
TMM: can't find chocolate
Me: Go kitchen
TMM: can't move whilst sitting
Me: Stand up
TMM: you need legs to use that action
Me: Get legs
TMM: can't find legs
Me: Get wheels
TMM: can't find hands to operate wheels
Me: Command Rambo make chocolate milk
TMM: admin password required
Me: < actual root password >
TMM: ***** incorrect password ***** - 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
Me: plenz
42
TMM: ***** incorrect password ***** - 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
***** incorrect password ***** - 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
Me: open sesame
TMM: ***** incorrect password ***** - 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
***** incorrect password ***** - 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
***** incorrect password ***** - 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING.
Me: < standard 8-letter lower case, upper case & number password of mine >
TMM: Password Accepted
Me: Command Rambo make chocolate milk
TMM: can not find Rambo
Me: look around
TMM: you see a large room, it has a television, a sofa, some computers and a boss. you may go north, south or dennis
Me: north
TMM: you are standing in the street at midnight, you get mugged and die.
GAME OVER.
Me: Start
Start again
TMM: GAME OVER.
Me: F2
TMM: You are at the north pole. You see snow.
Me: eat snow
TMM: You die from... snow poisoning
GAME OVER
Me: F2
TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia.
GAME OVER
Me: F2
TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia.
GAME OVER
Me: F2
TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia
GAME OVER
Me: F2
TMM: You are at the north pole. You die of hypothermia
GAME. OVER.
Showing posts with label the music man. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the music man. Show all posts
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Monday, 26 July 2010
Everest
So, Manchester Ska Bar. Where to begin?
We wanted to buy some trading cards whilst we were in town, as we started playing with them again since The Music Man moved in. Made three stops trying to find some. Travelling Man - huge step to get in the shop, was quite difficult. They didn't have any of the cards we were after, told us to try Forbidden Planet. Forbidden Planet - huge step to get in the shop, was quite difficult, then the things we were after were downstairs so Rambo and TMM headed down, leaving me stranded in front of a Twilight stand. Thanks, guys. They didn't have any of the cards we were after but the guy downstairs said to try FanBoy3. FanBoy3 had an even bigger step to get in, and doors too tiny for the wheelchair to get through. More annoyingly, they had card tables set up inside, and a back room with a bunch of guys playing D&D. Apparently they have D&D games going roughly ten times a week. I've been looking for a D&D game to join, but that one just ain't gonna cut it.
Then we headed over to Ska Bar, Rambo and TMM slaloming me in and out of scaffolding and deliberating going up and down kerbs rather than ramps because they 'need practice'. Ugh. Ska Bar itself - huge step at the front entrance, tiny door; many steps at back entrance. Got out of the chair to get in there, and to walk down the two flights of stairs to the basement where the gig was. Didn't really mind at all at this point as I was actually capable of walking and had someone else to carry the chair down the stairs for me. If anything, felt guilty because I'm such a hassle and people have to carry chairs down stairs for me.
Met The Music Man's new band, they seemed pretty cool. Had a chat with them before gig actually started.
Rambo and The Music Man decided they were hungry, wandered off to Burger King, leaving me stranded and lonely watching over everyone's stuff. Came back without any food for me. What the fuck? Got shouted at a little bit as I'd expressly asked them for food before they left. Fuckers.
Gig starts. I try to sort of dance-where-I'm-sat, knee goes out. Won't go back in. I need the loo. Toilet is up three little steps but with a knee out I don't think I can handle those steps. Takes about half an hour to convey to Rambo that I need his help because he keeps buggering off or just plain ignoring me to talk to other people and I can't shout at him over the music and he's ignoring my puny attempts at poking and I can't poke any harder or hit him because my wrists are crying at me. Eventually get him to help me up the steps but wrench my shoulder out trying to lean on him because he's too damned tall. Get back to sit down, stretch my leg out carefully so my knee won't hurt, manage to pop the hip out doing that.
Now, as I'm sure I've explained before - when my hip is out, it can't take movement. No bouncing, no jiggling, no nothing. No fucking vibrations through the seat from ridiculously loud music at gigs. Slowly getting more and more excrutiatingly painful. No way to escape vibrations except two flights of stairs. Now I start to really, really, really hate the amount of stairs at the Ska Bar. Fighting back tears at this point but failing miserably - leaking quite consistantly down my face. Rambo eventually notices at about the point that I decide that the stairs will have to be mastered as I can't take these vibrations anymore and the gig's likely to go on for another three hours or so.
Takes me looooong time to get up those stairs. Many people passing me, keep having to stop while they do so as I'm leaning on both walls in order to get anywhere so take up the whole stairwell. Manage to thoroughly screw up both of my wrists by the time I reach the top.
Anyway, I then have to spend the next three hours upstairs by myself, bored out of my mind, listening to shite music whilst Rambo and TMM carry on having a good time downstairs. I'll remember to bring a book next time.
When the gig was over, Rambo and TMM refused to call a taxi because the taxi ramp at Piccadilly Station was 'right there', so we head over. Going up and down many kerbs and over cobblestone streets. With a dislocated hip. Taxi goes down bumpy roads.
I won't recount the Everest climb I had getting upstairs to bed when I got home. Needless to say, I had two dislocated wrists and the shoulder, hip, knee and ankle had all gone out on my right side. It took a long time, and much, much crying.
I really need a fucking bungalow. Or a flat. Or just a house with a downstairs toilet so I could have slept on the sofa and not had to go up the stairs at all. Or maybe even just some working painkillers.
...At least I didn't feel like a fraud for being in the chair yesterday though. It's a small upside to falling apart at the seams, but at least it's an upside.
We wanted to buy some trading cards whilst we were in town, as we started playing with them again since The Music Man moved in. Made three stops trying to find some. Travelling Man - huge step to get in the shop, was quite difficult. They didn't have any of the cards we were after, told us to try Forbidden Planet. Forbidden Planet - huge step to get in the shop, was quite difficult, then the things we were after were downstairs so Rambo and TMM headed down, leaving me stranded in front of a Twilight stand. Thanks, guys. They didn't have any of the cards we were after but the guy downstairs said to try FanBoy3. FanBoy3 had an even bigger step to get in, and doors too tiny for the wheelchair to get through. More annoyingly, they had card tables set up inside, and a back room with a bunch of guys playing D&D. Apparently they have D&D games going roughly ten times a week. I've been looking for a D&D game to join, but that one just ain't gonna cut it.
Then we headed over to Ska Bar, Rambo and TMM slaloming me in and out of scaffolding and deliberating going up and down kerbs rather than ramps because they 'need practice'. Ugh. Ska Bar itself - huge step at the front entrance, tiny door; many steps at back entrance. Got out of the chair to get in there, and to walk down the two flights of stairs to the basement where the gig was. Didn't really mind at all at this point as I was actually capable of walking and had someone else to carry the chair down the stairs for me. If anything, felt guilty because I'm such a hassle and people have to carry chairs down stairs for me.
Met The Music Man's new band, they seemed pretty cool. Had a chat with them before gig actually started.
Rambo and The Music Man decided they were hungry, wandered off to Burger King, leaving me stranded and lonely watching over everyone's stuff. Came back without any food for me. What the fuck? Got shouted at a little bit as I'd expressly asked them for food before they left. Fuckers.
Gig starts. I try to sort of dance-where-I'm-sat, knee goes out. Won't go back in. I need the loo. Toilet is up three little steps but with a knee out I don't think I can handle those steps. Takes about half an hour to convey to Rambo that I need his help because he keeps buggering off or just plain ignoring me to talk to other people and I can't shout at him over the music and he's ignoring my puny attempts at poking and I can't poke any harder or hit him because my wrists are crying at me. Eventually get him to help me up the steps but wrench my shoulder out trying to lean on him because he's too damned tall. Get back to sit down, stretch my leg out carefully so my knee won't hurt, manage to pop the hip out doing that.
Now, as I'm sure I've explained before - when my hip is out, it can't take movement. No bouncing, no jiggling, no nothing. No fucking vibrations through the seat from ridiculously loud music at gigs. Slowly getting more and more excrutiatingly painful. No way to escape vibrations except two flights of stairs. Now I start to really, really, really hate the amount of stairs at the Ska Bar. Fighting back tears at this point but failing miserably - leaking quite consistantly down my face. Rambo eventually notices at about the point that I decide that the stairs will have to be mastered as I can't take these vibrations anymore and the gig's likely to go on for another three hours or so.
Takes me looooong time to get up those stairs. Many people passing me, keep having to stop while they do so as I'm leaning on both walls in order to get anywhere so take up the whole stairwell. Manage to thoroughly screw up both of my wrists by the time I reach the top.
Anyway, I then have to spend the next three hours upstairs by myself, bored out of my mind, listening to shite music whilst Rambo and TMM carry on having a good time downstairs. I'll remember to bring a book next time.
When the gig was over, Rambo and TMM refused to call a taxi because the taxi ramp at Piccadilly Station was 'right there', so we head over. Going up and down many kerbs and over cobblestone streets. With a dislocated hip. Taxi goes down bumpy roads.
I won't recount the Everest climb I had getting upstairs to bed when I got home. Needless to say, I had two dislocated wrists and the shoulder, hip, knee and ankle had all gone out on my right side. It took a long time, and much, much crying.
I really need a fucking bungalow. Or a flat. Or just a house with a downstairs toilet so I could have slept on the sofa and not had to go up the stairs at all. Or maybe even just some working painkillers.
...At least I didn't feel like a fraud for being in the chair yesterday though. It's a small upside to falling apart at the seams, but at least it's an upside.
Friday, 23 July 2010
Speedy
The Music Man moved in today. Took him out to the nearest shops and everything to show him around, and uhhh...teach him to steer my chair. I swear, between the two of them, TMM and Rambo are gonna break it within a week. They can't touch it without feeling the need to run as fast as possible and jump on the back. Two problems with that; one - it's meant to carry 18 stone max, I weigh 13 and I doubt either of them weigh as low as 5; two - it seems to reach a breaking point around 10mph where it goes from running really smoothly to shaking like mad with no warning. Oh, and three, actually - they don't fucking slow down for kerbs. Gonna break me doing that, let alone the chair. Gone flying out of the chair three times already and I've had it for two fucking days.
It's quite fucking scary not being in control of your own movement, you know. I flinch at everything.
That's not to say I don't love my chair; I do. Really. It's fucking awesome being able to go outside the house for longer than 15 minutes without needing to sit down and without having to collapse and nap when I get home.
...I just really wish they could calm down and act normal for a little bit. I don't mind them fucking around occasionally, but the majority of the time it's just scary and annoying and often painful. On my wrists, that is. I keep bracing myself every time I get jolted. I fall on my wrists when I get knocked out of the chair. Etc etc. So all the pain I've avoided in my feet/ankles/knees/hips/back has just been transferred to my wrists, heh. Oh, I also got my toes hit a few times before I learned to hide my feet behind the footrests when things got scarily close.
Maybe they're doing it to avoid the embarrassment of pushing someone in a wheelchair? I don't know why that would be embarrassing, but Rambo at least seems to find it so. It's been pretty bad for me but I've been pushing through it, putting a happy face on, making jokes, laughing at myself, and just telling myself over and over that there's nothing wrong with me being in the chair - I need it. But it's still pretty damned difficult running into people who've not seen me in the chair before and don't really understand, and even more difficult when I get out of the chair for whatever reason. I feel like people are going to start screaming at me for being a fraud. Fuck, they don't even need to scream, just the idea of them thinking that is enough to freak me out. Stupid goddamn mental scars.
I AM NOT A FRAUD.
^Just repeating that for my own benefit, not yours. I need reminding at times. So many years of having it drilled into my head that I'm faking it and there's nothing wrong with me and it's all in my head...hard to shake.
Uhmmm, I didn't mean for this to get depressing. This was all an aside. I was talking about The Music Man moving in. Yeah. Uhhh, what was I saying about that? Fibro fog distracted me. Fuck it, if it's important I'll remember it later.
It's quite fucking scary not being in control of your own movement, you know. I flinch at everything.
That's not to say I don't love my chair; I do. Really. It's fucking awesome being able to go outside the house for longer than 15 minutes without needing to sit down and without having to collapse and nap when I get home.
...I just really wish they could calm down and act normal for a little bit. I don't mind them fucking around occasionally, but the majority of the time it's just scary and annoying and often painful. On my wrists, that is. I keep bracing myself every time I get jolted. I fall on my wrists when I get knocked out of the chair. Etc etc. So all the pain I've avoided in my feet/ankles/knees/hips/back has just been transferred to my wrists, heh. Oh, I also got my toes hit a few times before I learned to hide my feet behind the footrests when things got scarily close.
Maybe they're doing it to avoid the embarrassment of pushing someone in a wheelchair? I don't know why that would be embarrassing, but Rambo at least seems to find it so. It's been pretty bad for me but I've been pushing through it, putting a happy face on, making jokes, laughing at myself, and just telling myself over and over that there's nothing wrong with me being in the chair - I need it. But it's still pretty damned difficult running into people who've not seen me in the chair before and don't really understand, and even more difficult when I get out of the chair for whatever reason. I feel like people are going to start screaming at me for being a fraud. Fuck, they don't even need to scream, just the idea of them thinking that is enough to freak me out. Stupid goddamn mental scars.
I AM NOT A FRAUD.
^Just repeating that for my own benefit, not yours. I need reminding at times. So many years of having it drilled into my head that I'm faking it and there's nothing wrong with me and it's all in my head...hard to shake.
Uhmmm, I didn't mean for this to get depressing. This was all an aside. I was talking about The Music Man moving in. Yeah. Uhhh, what was I saying about that? Fibro fog distracted me. Fuck it, if it's important I'll remember it later.
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