So we were sitting at dinner as a family. Delicious, delicious Pho. And Jacob brings up the fact that he wants to have a little baby brother or sister to play with. Apparently, he wants to have someone to play with all the time. And he doesn't think it's fair that Ryan and I got to play with each other when we were kids. He also knows that my mom can't have any more babies (hysterectomy, but he just thinks she's too old).

This is how the conversation progressed from there:

Jacob: I want a little baby to play with.
Mom: Well they wouldn't play with you all the time, you know. They would have to rest.
Jacob: Can we put a baby in Erin's tummy?
(I think WTF??)
Mom: Well I would like if Erin had a baby in her tummy.
Me: OH MY GOD! WHAT???
Mom: Yea, I'd like to be a grandma.
Me: WHAT??? I'm SOO not there.
Mom: But I want to have grandkids. I think it would be nice.
Me: Well, I guess I'll just go get myself knocked up since that is what everyone seems to want.
Jacob: I WANNA GET ERIN JACKED UP!!!
Mom: Erin, be careful what you say.
Jacob: I WANT ERIN TO GET JACKED UP!! I WANT ERIN TO GET JACKED UP! I WANNA GET ERIN JACKED UP!


OH. MY. GOD.

Dear Linda Spradley:

I just received the sad news that the men and women's UCSC Water Polo teams are going to be cut. As a 2005 graduate of the women's team, there is no way I can sit silently and watch as this amazing program is axed. Playing water polo at UCSC meant more to me than I can even begin to express. By cutting this program, you are cutting significantly more than a team sport. You are really cutting the hearts from the players. Everything these athletes do is for the love of the sport—for the opportunity to play water polo at the collegiate level.

There are no scholarships given to our athletes. Our players aren't allowed to take mid terms or finals on the road, as with Division I schools. There are no one-on-one tutors for Division III athletes. Many work jobs in addition to their full schedule of school and sports. And many, like my self, would not have even had the opportunity to compete at the collegiate level, if not for UCSC.

But despite these apparent set backs, our water polo teams have not only had the talent to compete against the Division I/II schools, but we have always boasted top national GPAs. We consistently beat out schools like Cal Berkeley, UCLA, and Michigan for top GPA honors. There is a love and dedication shown by our water polo athletes that is unrivaled. I'm sure you witnessed their commitment when they offered to fund next season on their own. In my five years as a UCSC water polo player, I saw myself, my teammates, and the program transform and mature.

I implore you to reconsider your decision. This is a life-altering change for my teammates. I am deeply saddened that the 2007-2008 season could be the water polo team's last. Should the program continue, supported on the backs of the student athletes and their families, I would gladly make a fiscal donation towards the team's efforts.

Thank you,

Erin Naylor
UCSC Graduate, 2005
UCSC Women's Water Polo Goalie, 2000-2005

I am standing in the kitchen. My old kitchen in SSF, but it's arranged backwards, with the fridge in place of the oven and the oven...gone. I am holding some sort of glass of liquid and I'm looking on the floor. Something scuttles slowly past...slowly taking shape. Cockroach!! Nasty nasty nasty cockroach. I am in my bare feet, but don't want the cockroach getting away from me. I step on it.

Oh gross. It is so slimey. So slimey that it goes shooting out from under my foot and disappears.

Later, I am lying in bed and I reach under my pillow. There is something slimey under there...and it feel like its oozing onto my hand.

Turns out the cockroach's nest is in my pillow case. I have crushed the cockroach and his pieces are all over my hand and hair and smeared across my pillow. I am so grossed out.





Today at work. I messed up, kind of badly. For most of the day, I was convinced I would be fired in the near future. I still don't know what the outcome may or may not be, but I'm less panicky about it now. I'm still scared of snowballing, etc, etc, and suddenly something bad but not so bad blows up into a huge, huge, huge deal.

I don't know why I doubt myself so much at this job. Probably because it's the first time I see myself having a career; something I can do for a long time. I have made long term plans based around this job, and for me, long term plans are a huge deal. Commitment-phobe doesn't even begin to describe me.

My body might be aging, but Peter Pan captured my brain long long ago.

My mom has this idea in her head that we should be friends. And when I mean friends, I mean like best buds. And I don't think this is an impossibility between moms and daughters. In fact, I personally know several people who would consider their moms to be their best friends. I just think its an impossibility between me and my mom.

I say this, not because we aren't close, but because we can't communicate with one another. I except something totally different from our conversations than she does. And I actually don't think she knows how to communicate.

It's like when her and I communicate she is a man. By that I mean, for all of my moanings and groanings, she offers me solutions. I don't want solutions. I want someone to listen, and by listen I mean empathize with my plight (whether it is totally insignificant or completely blown out of proportion). I want someone to tell me Yes, that does suck or Boy, your coworker sounds awfully unprofessional, you are so much better than her. I was conversational validation because that is what will make me feel better. And my friends, who are also girls and who know how to communicate like girls are able to talk with me in this way.

Then when she talks with my step dad or any other man, she is suddenly the woman again. Why can't she understand that the reason she gets so bitchy and feels so invalidated around Steve is because Steve talks at her the way she talks to me. Without listening and with only offering solutions. She doesn't want solutions, she wants empathy. And yet she cannot see the similarities and differences.


( How I wish our conversation had gone )


( How our conversation went )

Monday - Work from office.
Tuesday - Work from office. Leave early. Go to airport. On plane for HOURS. Las Vegas, NV.
Wednesday - Sleep in. Work in Las Vegas, NV. Go to airport. On plane for HOURS.
Thursday - Sleep in. Work in office.
Friday - Work in office.
Saturday - Rest.

Sunday - Up before sun. Go to airport. On plane for HOURS. Deerfield, IL. Company buys fancy dinner.
Monday - All day training in Deerfield, IL. Company buys fancy dinner.
Tuesday - All day training in Deerfield, IL. Go to airport. On plane for HOURS.
Wednesday - Sleep in. Work from office.
Thursday - Work from office.
Friday - Work from office.
Saturday - Shop for work clothes.

Sunday - Rest
Monday - Up before sun. Go to airport. On plane for HOURS. Oklahoma City, OK.
Tuesday - Sleep in. Work in Edmond, OK. To airport. On plane for HOURS.
Wednesday - Sleep in. Work in Buena Park, CA. Hang out with brother. Zetterberg hat trick. Hotel.
Thursday - Go to airport. On plane for HOURS. Work from home.
Friday - Go into work on work holiday. Work crush there, too. Swoon. Dominos and Pho night with family.
Saturday - Shop for work clothes
Sunday - Rest?

Monday - Up before sun. Go to airport. On plane for HOURS. Tampa, FL.
Tuesday - Sleep in. Work in Tampa, FL. Work from hotel.
Wednesday - Sleep in. Work in Clearwater, FL. Work from hotel.
Thursday - Up before sun. Go to airport. On plane for HOURS. Home.
Friday - Work in office. Happy hour with coworkers.
Saturday - Rest?


It's rough. I get tired often. Planes make me smell and make me sick. But did I mention I LOVE MY JOB! I love everything about my life, even though I have no friends and live at home with my parents. LOVE LOVE LOVE IT.

I'm so happy NOT to be working at Genensuck. I am so happy NOT to be working in the lab. I am so happy NOT living in San Fransucko. I am so happy NOT to be around all the snobby San Fransuckans. I am so happy that I never have to see certain people from my old job ever again in my life. I am SO MOTHER FUCKING HAPPY!!

The only thing that could make my life even better would be some good fucking.

I am going to Illinois in a few weeks for work. Begrudgingly, so as to be "the bigger person," I called my dad's number to say we should meet up, blah blah.

FYI. My dad and I have not been on good terms for the better part of three/four years. I finally got sick of his lame ass bull shit, and he still has not made good with any of his make-up attempts.

But as things get closer to my Illinois trip, the less and less I want to meet up with my other family, and I definately don't want to meet up with them as often as I had initially planned. I just don't like hanging out with my dad that much. He has absolutely no social skills beyond what a psychiatrist has towards a patient. And I hate when he treats me like his patient and not his daughter. I don't need to be psychoanalyzed, I don't need our relationship psychoanalyzed, I just want him to act like a normal person and not like some scared sheep who has to fall back into the comfort zone of psychiatry in order to relate to another person.

Then there is my step mom. And I mean, I like my step mom, but she is so well intentioned yet so nosy and so wanna-be-Confuscian and hippy, that I'm scared the whole time I'm with them it will be stories of how her and her dad didn't used to get along and how now they had mended their relationship and wow, look at all these parallels between you and your dad, interesting, huh?

And, I'm gunna say it. I don't really care whether or not I meet my brother. Ever, really. Why? Well, he's not related to me by blood. At all. He's not from my dad's seed and he's not from my step mom's egg. He's just like fisheried salmon...little bit of this fish's semen, little bit of this fish's eggs, mix em up, incubate them, see what comes out. And okay, no, I probably wouldn't feel this way about my little brother if circumstances were different. If my dad and I really got along and if I could stand hanging around him for more than the length of an episode of Friends and if I had more family-like feelings towards my dad, then there would be no problem in feeling as if Jonah were a part of my family. But the truth is, I don't have those feelings towards my dad and even if Jonah were of my blood, I would feel the exact same way towards him as I do now because I have absolutely no familial feelings towards my dad.


So other than not wanting to meet a harmless little baby because he's not related to me, why am I a bitch?


Well. My dad got into a car accident tonight. Totalled his car running into a street light. Broke some lame-ass small bone in his wrist, and is all air bag burned from it deploying. And this news makes me not even want to meet up with him and my step mom at all.

Why?? Wouldn't it do the opposite?? For me, no. Because now the second I see him, all this "let's resolve our relationship" bullshit is just goinng to be ten times worse to deal with. It is totally going to turn into the guilt trip of "what if I had died, wouldn't you feel so horrible about not ever having healed our relationship"? And how do I know this, cuz this was the same guilt trip he placed on me when Sharon's dad died. He constantly was telling me how much I would regret not taking this time to heal our relationship because life is so precious and once he's gone I'll never get the chance to learn about what a wonderful person he was. Yes. For real. This coming from a fucking psychiatrist. And okay, he didn't use those EXACT WORDS, but pretty damn close to, especially when he was tryinig to "teach me a lesson" by telling me about his relationship with his dad and how he felt his stubbornness and anger made him miss 28 years of getting to know a pretty cool guy. And whatever, that's fine and solving the relationship that way worked for him and his dad. But my dad doesn't even think enough of me to rent a fucking rental car and take me to breakfast when he is trying to make up 25 years of shitty parenting to me.

Plus, dumb ass wasn't wearing his seat belt. I don't know how many times my little brother and I told him to wear a seat belt. I don't know how many times my mom and him fought about how important wearing a seat belt is or isn't. My mom would get so pissed at setting a bad example for us kids by not wearing a seat belt and how it would turn into such rows late into the night. Because how goddamn hard is it to buckle a goddamn safety belt? I don't want to see him just to punish him for his sheer stupidity. It's not like seat belts are sooooooo uncomfortable either. And it's not a huge thing to forget. Get in car. Buckle seat belt. Turn on car and leave. OMG THREE STEPS. ALL THOSE IMPORTANT THINGS I HAVE TO DO TODAY WILL BE LATE AND OVER DUE BECAUSE I HAVE TO TAKE FOUR SECONDS AND BUCKLE MY SEAT BELT. A part of me wishes he would have been more badly hurt to teach him a lesson. To teach my whole family on that side a lesson. Two of my aunts and now my dad have been in car accidents (where their cars were totalled), while not wearing a seat belt. And the worst thing that happened? My aunt broke a few vertabrae, but has no lasting side effects, except for occassional shoulder pain (which is now gone because her shoulder muscles have been strengthed by waitressing on her off days).

And my dad? All that's wrong with him is a fractured scaphoid and bag burn from the airbag...unless of course my step mom meant xiphoid...entirely possible. I just hope when I see them in two weeks, I won't dissolve into immature, snide comments about seat belts and injuries and "wouldn't you feel guilty if Jonah had a cripple for a father or no father at all" remarks.

I'm a bit resentful of Jonah, I think that is obvious. Because my dad was a shitty dad. And if he is a spectacular dad for Jonah (which leopards don't change their spots, but what if), what a fucking gyp. He's a better dad to some dumb kid who he didn't even sire. And Jonah is all advanced or whatever for his age. And I just hate hearing my dad take pride in that fact, especially since A) Jonah is not of his progeny, and early developmental intelligence is not THAT environmentally/nurture based so how can my dad feel any sort of pride for Jonah's accomplishments and B) even according to you, Dad, I was way more advanced than even Genius Boy Jonah, so get the fuck over it, I win. And if you do think I'm so special, why the hell can't you remember my birthday. Ever? I made you a dad, you realize this? And yes, I do remember you telling me that you didn't want to be a dad. Well, I didn't ask to be born to a lame ass father such as yourself, so I guess we are even.

Blah. I don't even want to call him to see if he's "okay" because it's just going to be so uncomfortably awkward to have to deal with that soft spoken "I love you, I'm glad I didn't die. It means we are meant to have this opportunity to repair our relationship" load of BS that makes me want to puke.





In other news. Something is going wrong with the vision in my right eyes. And A's (well I guess I mean Mariner's) tickets go on sale tomorrow.

I am almost completely Brand New.

I live in a brand new city in a brand new state. I have brand new eyeballs. I have a brand new job in a brand new career field. I have a brand new wardrobe and a brand new Hybrid. I have a puppy and family within tweleve feet of me at all times. I have two more "Brand News" to achieve. One is a requirement, and one is a like to have. Either can come before the other, but I would like the requirement to come before the desire.


I keep wanting to write more about all of these subjects, though I think I have livejournal induced writer's block. I can no longer turn my life into dramatic novelizations.

Funny Funny Funny!! I would love to recieve all of these things, but I don't really understand how I am giving them to myself

I just accidentally had a wet T-shirt contest with myself just now.



I made a gigantic sloppy mess, oops.

I think I have fleas.

58 days....or more exciting: 57 days in 39 minutes. 57 DAYS! Exciting, scarey, guilt-inducing, and very very secret.


In other new, thank god for all these upsets in college football. Now no one can *really* make fun of me for being a Michigan fan because all of the number one teams so far this season have lost in huge upset games, not just my Wolverines. HAH! SO THERE!

Furthermore: GO PATS!!!!



I want to move to Boston. So badly. I would be the most annoying Sox fan, the most rambunctious Pats fan, and the most die hard Bruins fan. And I would walk across the Bunker Hill Bridge to the Garden and sit in my season ticket seats, then walk back home across the Bunker Hill Bridge to my apartment and I would look out my window and see the most beautiful city sight I can think of:



And I would bask in the humidity of summer, and the rain and the snow and the fridgedness of winter. Lovelovelove.

Or: bocabocabocabocabocabocaboca




What the hell am I doing with my life?

YAY TODAY WAS THE DAY OF MY CORNEAL MODIFICATION!!! NEW EYEBALLS, I CAN SEEEEE!!!! WHOOOOO!!!!

So there are all of these "OMG BRITNEY LOOKED SO FAT AT THE VMAS" and while I am not defending her performance (or lack there of) all I have to say about the matter is, I thought Britney, excluding her horrendous hair extensions, looked hot.

She had a nice, feminine stomach and her legs were very shapely. Okay, so she wasn't the outrageously slender/buff 20 year old she was five years ago, but if anyone else was wearing the outfit and had that body, everyone would be thinking "damn, she fine." But since it's Britney and since she has to compete with all those other Hollywood fat dumplings like Keira Knightly and Nicole Ritchie, a normal body suddenly becomes a Lard-Assed, Bag-Body.

Um, and ps, she also had two kids very recently, and during her first pregnancy she gained 40 pounds. I know of several people who gained that much or more during their pregnancies and have yet to take the weight off, even though their kids are 10 and 7 years old. So her stomach may no longer be concave, and you may no longer be able to see her 24-pack, but since when did ribs, shoulder blades, and clavicles become sexier than a girly belly, legs, and some tushy? Guys would much rather bump and grind up on a filled out body rather than get their pelvis scooped out like ice cream by some anorexic bone monster.

So there, Hollywood, take that. I shove that in the face of your extreme body conscious manner. Because I'll bet you anything, if she were to suddenly lose the weight, all of a sudden, she would be in headlines "Britney too thin! Wasting away!"

And that's another thing, country. All of the 25 year olds I know (myself included) are complete life-crisis, mental cases. I can't even imagine how I would start acting if my life were smeared across the headlines and I couldn't so much as fart without the paparazzi snapping a shot of my opening and closing a-hole. And I was a wreck after the whole me and Rob thing. If that had been documented as closely as Britney's break ups, I too would have probably going nuts too. It's like Britney fell down a well and instead of people helping her out, they hosed her down with water and laughed and snapped pictures.

And, you know, maybe she would stop acting like such an animal if people started treating her a little bit more like a human. It doesn't take a PhD Psychologist to see that the girl is hurting inside and that all the negative attention is not doing her any good. This is exactly the same reason that monkeys start flinging shit in the zoo. Too many people scrutinizing their every move, that their only recourse is to act completely insane. No one should have to forsake humanity for fame. And people are sick for doing what they are doing to Britney.

My brain tumor finally decided to go back into remission, however, it seems to have reappeared in full force and metastasized into a bizarre lymphoma which appears to only affect the lymph nodes on the right side of my neck.

So between the tumor behind my left eye threatening to pop my left eyeball out of its socket and burst my left ear drum, and the lymphoma threatening to dislodge my tongue, I am pretty dern unhappy right now.

I want to go home and go to bed. But I have lots of work to finish up and I'm supposed to be going to see Sweeny Todd today in San Francisco, which just so happens to be a play I've wanted to see since I was 11. Then I have to go to some dumb group bonding picnic for work tomorrow. So my brain tumor will probably persist until my vitreal fluid explodes out my cornea from all of the pressure in my head.

i have the worst headache in recent memory. Feels like i have a brain tumor pressing on my left temple and blowing out my left ear drum. I know its not a brain tumor, but whenever i've had a headache in the past few months it's been at that same spot.

this is awful.

I just came into my room and was crawling into bed (with the side light on, thank fucking Christ) when I saw this gigantic shadowy menance looming at the edge of my bed. I shrieked (well, not aloud) and leapt out of bed and ran into the kitchen to get my trusty fly swatter.

Fly swatter, you ask? Yes, fly swatter, the gigantic shadowy menance looming over me was a gigantic spider. ON MY BED!!! It had brown legs and a yellow brown back and a black ass. A big gigantic spider with a black ass! ON MY BED!!!

This spider was so big that as I chased it around my bed with the fly swatter (losing it a couple of times within the folds of the duvette...makes me just gag to think about it), so big, that I could HEAR its LEGS pitter-pattering on the taut fitted sheet covering my mattress as it ran around!!!! FUCKING I COULD HEAR THE PITTER-PATTERING SPIDER LEGS!!!!

I am not normally a squeamish person; I generally have a non-chalance about bugs and worms and creepy-crawlies and yes, even spiders, but my current apartment is ridiculous. With the various terrifying encounters I have had with spiders (ie, big black ones attacking me in the shower, pearly white ones with red eyes and fangs and leg tips assaulting me on my way to take a piss, and huge brown ones lurking outside of my front door to pounce the moment I leave my house), with all of the spider episodes I've had here, sometimes I feel that my apartment is not (poorly) insulated with asbestos, like all normal buildings its age, but rather, it is insulated with thousands and thousands of spiders, a living insulation, pulsating and flowing in clicky rhythms, with cobwebs and arachnid skeletons honeycombing the dead space between the walls that serve as spider vessels and passage ways. And they crawl over one another and around one another in a spidery wave and the walls hum and throb with their life.

And there must be some outlook point, where the Queen Mother sits and observes. And she soothes her brethren with her words and tells them to bide their time, and that one day, one day soon, they will be able to leave their hiding place and consume the brown haired, two-legged being that rests so daintily, so innocently, so unassumedly, underneath her red duvette. And what a tasty, tasty treat she will make. Just wait, my darlings, you will see.

And my blood won't run thick on the carpetting, for in fact, there will be nothing left. No evidence of my passing, because my broken remains will be dragged back as an offering, a pledge of undying faithfulness to the Queen Mother.





Once I read a statistic that said based on the sheer numbers alone, we humans are never more than three feet away from a spider at any given time. Just you think about that.

There is a difference between the cadence and intensity of fireworks/firecrackers and rapid gun fire.

Fortunately, I know the difference.

Unfortunately, that was definately gun fire.

Curioser and curiouser.

I recieve a phone call from my mom this morning. She tells me that she met a women at a meeting today who told her factoid R. And factoid R just so happens to add about three extra rungs in the ladder I am using to achieve action B. Factoid D could in and of itself erase the single largest hurdle I would have to overcome in order to achieve action B. And if factoid D lead to successful acquisition X, I could beat out persons C through Q and accomplish action B with an incredible degree of success.

But now that this has been presented to me I'm terrified. What if this turns out to be a bad idea, what if I hate it, what if it is the worst thing I have ever done in my entire life? What if its horrible and I am miserable?

Is it better just to stay where you are if you are lost in a forest and wait for someone to find you? Or is it better to venture out, possibly saving yourself, but risking hypothermia?




In other news:

Let's pretend event A happens. And you decide "hot damn, I think I should do (action B related to event A)." Yet for numerous reasons you realize that it will be at least six months or so before you make action B successful. You mention this to no one because when you complete action B you do not want to be joined by a single person in your life, also for various reasons.

Then suddenly every person you know starts talking about doing action B. Albeit for completely different reasons than your reason, event A, but still you feel as if this small sanctuary that would have been action B is tainted, no longer yours. Especially since person C, someone who makes your blood feel like acid, is probably going to complete action B before you and, therefore, when you complete action B, you will be joining person C. And for all intents and purposes this joining will be forever, as far as you can measure. And action B is no longer your saving grace, the thing you were framing your life towards is suddenly a smashed stained glass mural. You wanted to do action B to get away, get away from nearly everything in your current life, a life you feel trapped by. And now, if you complete action B, person C (and D and E and F and G and possibly H-Q) will be joining you and your old life will be following you. You may never even see these people in the process of accomplishing action B, but the whole way there, you will feel them...the negative auras pressing down on yours. Plus because most of them will probably complete action B before you, you don't want to feel like you are copying them, because you are 100% not copying them. But credit is given to the first who reaches a goal.

And no. It 100% does not and should not matter because it's your life and not theirs. Yet, for some reason it does, it does matter. It ruins all your plans for action B. And now you want to complete it first, because it was yours first...but to do so you would have to take very drastic actions, none of which are smart and all of which would most likely screw over, not the completion of action B, but rather the degree of success of action B.

I want to throw up my hands and ask when, when, will I get to escape this? Every action of mine is mirrored, but mirrored before I act. How long will my soul be doppleganged to death. And what is this telling me? What are the Fates setting in motion and why am I the small, misplaced leaf being swept downstream by crushing rapids?



In other news, here is the list of people in my life who I am not sick of or irritated by:
1. my "Good Friend" <3!!! (hah, this makes her sound like a secret lover)
2. Ageliki
3. Emily

Everyone else I am either neutral towards or try to avoid completely. HEALTHY!




I have been thinking about applying to the Fulbright Scholarship again. It would cure my feelings about completing/not completing action B because I would be at least completing something. Or at least if I got the Scholarship I could postpone completion of action B for a year and then the slate would be, for the most part, wiped clean and it wouldn't matter about the other people.

I emailed my old German teacher, hoping he would write me a letter of recommendation. And I emailed the Goethe Institut to hopefully get a language reference. Neither have replied, thus throwing my mental state into even further confusion and panic. I know this stuff doesn't have to be completed right away or decided right away, but I want it to happen right away. I just want to know something. I just have a horrible feeling that this will be like trying to get the RA position in college.

Either way, I feel like I am behind on my application. It's not due until October so I have about three months. But last time I spent about a year working on it and it got me no where. Please just email me back Herr Mueller. You know I care about the German language. You know I was a good, kind, dedicated student and would be a perfect candidate. Please, please, please!
And Goethe Institut please email me and set up a time to do this whole language evaluation thing. Please, please, please. I am already plagued by self doubt about this situtation and event B, don't make it worse.

At times, my neighborhood terrifies me.

Yes, there are lots of really nice families around here, and most people are really nice. But every so often, my neighborhood demonstrates an "element."

This element includes two liquor stores within half a block in either direction. To my right there is a halfway house separated from my apartment by one house. The shifty, ex-con looking men leer and ogle from their garage as I walk by, or sometimes they are able to see into my apartment from certain places in their back yard and certain rooms in their house. I do not keep my drapes open if its past dark, and I definately no longer feel free to walk around my house in the nude. Further down the block is a sober living facility, and despite the soberness of their living, the soberness is not reflected in their permenantly drug marred faces. And from the looks of it, these drugs were either heroine or crack.

But what really tips me off to the quality of the neighborhood I live in, are the names of the wireless networks in my area.

Possible connections include the "Don't connect or I will kill you" wireless network option, and the "Pussyless" network connection option.


Class. Such class.