Finger info for hendersa@icculus.org...


If I knew that updating a .plan file was this entertaining, I would have
started doing semi-regular updates a long time ago.  Oh well.  My web space
is located at http://nuthouse.org/~hendersa and I can be reached via e-mail
at hendersa@icculus.org.

Archived .plan entries can be seen at http://nuthouse.org/~hendersa/finger.


**************************************************************
*19 June 2002 - The Floridians Will No Doubt Demand A Recount*
**************************************************************
Boy, when you people vote, you don't mess around.  I received a LOT
of votes on what the next .plan update topic should be.  And it was
close.  Really close.  Like one vote close.  So what topic won?

Suprisingly, it was the ROTC storyline this time!  Since the Wedding
storyline people have been on a roll and had such a lead in the votes
last time, I though that I'd be writing about weddings for sure.  I
guess the ROTC folks revised their tactics and conquered the Wedding
storyline folks using a clever flanking manuever.  Or maybe it was
because they just rocked my inbox with messages filled with assurances
along the lines of "oh yes, we WILL get our ROTC update this time."
Any way you slice it, it was impressive. There were 37 votes
for the ROTC storyline, 36 votes for the wedding storyline, and
a single solitary vote for a new storyline.

And to add fuel to this fire,  I received 3 votes for the
wedding storyline after the deadline for the voting had passed.  I'm
telling you, it was close this time around.

In other news, I've received a number of applications for the
minion/henchman/lieutenant positions that I mentioned in the last
update.  Some of the applications are long.  Some are short.  Some are
really clever.  Some sure as heck aren't.  Almost all are pretty
darn funny.  The field has varied quite a bit so far.  I'm really
amazed with some of the entries I've received so far... you people are
putting a LOT of time into these things.

Keep those applications coming!  Remember, you have until the
end of Sunday the 23rd (Midnight) to get your minion
application to me.

Without further ado, the ROTC story continues...


I *volunteered* for this? ROTC Update
************************************************ *20 June 2002 - Trouble Comes In Small Packages* ************************************************ When last we left things on the military front, I had just been pulled out of ROTC rifle team practice and told that I was going to become the practice partner of a charming young lass known as Neri Velez. This had come as a bit of a suprise to me, since I was the last person that I thought would be picked to help someone with their rifle drill training. Hell, I was lucky if I could avoid hurting MYSELF when performing rifle drill. I can just imagine the damage that would result if someone emulated my heinous technique. Still, this girl had picked me out. Go figure. Moments after Neri and I had swapped pieces of paper with our respective phone numbers at practice, the drill team executive officer started yelling at me to haul my butt back out to the practice area and get back to work. I picked up my rifle and made a mad scramble back over to the colorguard who were, unsuprisingly, doing much better with me gone. I scrambled back into formation, and was popping to attention when a big drop of water hit my face. That drop of water was soon followed by about ten million of its friends. My legs started to feel heavy as buckets and buckets of water began to soak into my BDUs. It began raining so hard that the sound of the water hitting the asphalt was drowning out the drill commands being given by the chief training officer. "Well, didn't you go inside to get out of the rain?", you might ask. If you asked this, you clearly do not understand the principles that the military is built upon. Once it became quite clear that the practice area was beginning to flash flood, we all knew what was coming next. Push-ups. Lots of them. For some reason, military people seem to think this builds morale. When you have to do push-ups, it really isn't that big of a deal. It only really bites if you either happen to be somewhat out of shape (which I was) or if you get in trouble a lot and end up doing hundreds of them as punishment (which was me once again). However, when you are gasping for breath right before plunking your face down into two inches of water, well... that just sucks, no matter how you slice it. Consider the fact that the water in question was carrying motor oil and other dirt, crud, hairballs, and stuff that accumulates in a parking lot, and you're talking about one swell time to be had by all. After performing a few dozen face plunks in the parking lot, the team commander called us all to attention and dismissed practice for the evening. At this point, we were in the midst of a major downpour of rain. Cars driving by on the street next to the parking lot were starting to plow through the water as it continued to get deeper and deeper. The positive spin that had been present at practice (meeting Ms. Velez) was certainly being quickly dampened by mother nature. I made a mad scramble to the car and headed on home. I was completely sopping wet, and I could feel water that had been warmed by my feet sloshing around inside of my drill boots. I was not in a very pleasant mood, and I just wanted to get into some dry clothes and get some homework done. Well, the homework part was optional, but the dry clothes were definitely on the to-do list. I was soaked through to my underwear, and sopping wet briefs aren't exactly a picnic. When I reached my apartment, I fished out my keys and unlocked the door. I'm sure that at least one of my three roommates that inhabited my two bedroom apartment was home, but the door still managed to get locked because of one of my roommates in particular. That roommate would be Shannon. We'll be getting to her momentarily. I opened the door and stepped inside the apartment onto the doormat inside. I immediately became aware of how warm it had been outside and how not warm it was in the air conditioned apartment. Ask anyone with wet underwear what they think of air conditioning... I'm pretty sure you can take a stab at what their response would be. My roommate Randy peered at me and smirked at my hydrated condition. "Say, you're awful moist", was his assessment of the situation. "Well, I'm just happy to see you, you know", I replied as I started to wring out my shirt onto the linoleum floor of the entryway of the apartment. It was the sound of the water hitting the floor that brought the pitter-patter of scampering little feet over into my direction. "Not on the floor! Not on the floor!" Shannon chattered at me as I redistributed parking lot-flavored water all over the entryway. For such a small person, she was an overachiever when it came to whining. She was easily whining at the level of a seven footer. Shannon was a large goody-goody nuisance packed into a five foot frame. I looked at her through my one open eye. My other eye was closed because a miscellaneous tidbit of parking lot funk had decided to add to the moment by finding it's way into my eye. "Where do you want me to drip, then?" I demanded of her. "If I go drip outside, I'm just going to reload." With that, I pulled off my drenched t-shirt and tossed it aside with a might *FLUMP* on the floor. Shannon just about had kittens. "You get into your bathroom and stop dripping on the floor! I'm going to have to mop this now!" Shannon whined as she pointed at the shirt on the floor. At this point, I was rather tempted to whip my head back and forth and spritz her with some rain water cocker spaniel-style, but I decided that verbal torment was far more satisfying. I dashed from the entryway of the apartment through the living room to the door of the bathroom that Randy and I shared. As soon as my boots hit the lineoluem just inside the bathroom, I could see Shannon looking at the wet bootprints on the living room carpet. This discovery was not met with a warm welcome. Shannon knelt down, examined the water on the carpet, and was preparing to explode. I decided to just head this one off. "Since you've got the air conditioning cranked to 'Antarctica' on the thermostat, I think it'll probably evaporate in no time." I said to her when she looked up from the wet footprint. Her face was getting more and more flushed before she simply got up and walked away. Undoubtedly, this little episode was going to be a major portion of Shannon's next extremely-long whiny phone call to home. After watching Shannon storm off, Randy turned to me and shook his head with a grin on his face. He always found amusement when Shannon and I went toe-to-toe. To him, this was better than watching Cartoon Network. "Boy, she's pissed at you!" was Randy's assessment of the situation. I peered at him with my open eye in a rather Popeye-like fashion and then turned my head to look in the direction that Shannon had stormed off. I looked back up at Randy and said, "Oh... I hadn't noticed. Oh well." I sat on the toilet, and proceeded to wrestle with my boot to try to tug it off my foot. I fell off the toilet in the process. "Say, you look a little wetter than normal. I take it practice was fun?" Randy said as he watched me head over to the sink so that I could splash water into my face in order to get eye #2 working again. I turned my head to look at him for a second, paused for a moment, and said, "They assigned me a woman. Go figure. I knew all those ribbons would pay off!" Randy looked confused for a second before asking for clarification. "You were 'assigned a woman'? They can do that for you in the Air Force? Oh man!! I KNEW I should have joined ROTC! I didn't know they gave you women, too!" Randy said in mock amazement. He was quiet for a moment as I winged my foot around in an attempt to get my second sopping-wet boot off of my foot. When my thrashing had died down, I said, "Yeah. I was asked to help train a girl that wants to join the drill team. You know what this means?" "Umm... that we'll have about half the women on campus hanging around in our apartment?" was Randy's response. Since there were about 13 guys to every girl at our school, the fact that Randy and I lived with two of said scarce females was quite an achievement. Women were a scarce sight. When you saw one that wasn't surrounded by guys, chances are pretty good that you only realized that it was a woman when you took a good hard look for a few seconds. If you threw in the idea of a third girl hanging around, well...we would have most of the female population of the school right there. I pointed at Randy and said, "Well, I hadn't thought of it quite like that, but that's not a bad take on it", and I tugged on my soaked sock in an effort to get it off my foot. The sock removal process wasn't going very smoothly. For some reason, socks never go on or come off when you're in a hurry. Then again, I guess that when you're in a hurry to change your current sock/foot relationship, your feet are probably damp at best and soaking wet at worst. I paused for a second before saying, "Besides, this one is really cute. Wonder why we've never seen her? Oh well... it doesn't matter. And you know why?" Randy looked at me for a second before responding with a "noooo....". With a big smile on my face, I reached into my pocket to produce the evidence of the fact that Neri actually existed and even might want to talk to me again. I pulled out a mass of paper that contained Neri's phone number. Or rather, it was the mass of paper that HAD contained the number before getting thoroughly soaked and sloshed. At this point, the number was pretty much smeared beyond all hope of readability. My heart sank. Well, this just downright sucked. Of course, my luck tends to have radical swings with no middle ground. Either I'm being hit by a car (which happened at college) or I'm being given thousands of dollars for no major reason (which ALSO happened at college). It stood to reason that my good luck was due for a drastic downswing after having had the good fortune of being placed in a situation where a cute girl had been ordered to spend time with me. Randy gave me quite the smirk when he saw me staring blankly at the wad of paper I had pulled from my pocket. "Oooooh, dude! Sucks to be you!" was Randy's assessment of my predicament. He was lucky that I had left my rifle in the entryway to the apartment. If I had happened to have it in my hand at that moment, I probably would have started beating him with it. It suddenly came back to my attention that I was really pretty darn cold. Sitting in the swirling air conditioning while soaking wet wasn't doing much for me. I realized that I had been shivering during most of the conversation I had with Randy. I started pushing him out of the bathroom door. "Shower time. I need heat. Get", I told him as I herded him out and closed the bathroom door. I jumped in the shower, washed the parking lot funk off of me, and soaked in the hot water for a good 20 minutes before deciding that I had better get out and dry off before the wrinkles on my soaked feet and hands decided to became permanent. When I finally opened the bathroom door, I was greeted by Randy. "Dude, she called when you were in the shower! How's that for timing? I even got her number for ya", Randy said as he forked over a piece of paper with a phone number on it. "She sounds cute!" he added as I examined the paper. "She sounds... Spanish or Mexican or something." he added. "Well, her last name is 'Velez', so I'd imagine that's where the accent comes from. What did she say?" I asked Randy. He smirked again and said, "She called and asked for 'Mr. Henderson'. I thought she wanted to talk to your dad! Anyway, I told her you were tied up for a little while, but that you'd call her when you had a minute." I glanced at the piece of paper I had in my hand. Looks like fate had decided to give me a second chance after all. Of course, If I had had any idea of what was in store for me, I probably would have been happier with losing the number and not finding it again. But I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? "Hey... think she has a sister I could have?" Randy asked. Next Military Update: Major Mamasita

When this .plan was written: 2002-06-20 04:48:16
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Stop complaining. If I wanted to hear whining, I would have called my mom.