Oh baby, Dolomite's back! I know many of you think that that is an opening, but in fact it is a statement. And that statement is to point out where I am feeling the most pain. That is right folks. Dolomite is flat out, in pain, and still trying to deliver the goods. Do I have heart or what? It's probably best if that is left as a rhetorical question.
     So I guess most of you are wondering either how I hurt myself, where this story is going, or where are those naked Britney Spears pics you thought you were clicking toward. If you are in the last group, then just zip up and forget about it. They do not exist. People only say they do to get you to a pay site. There are no naked photos of her, until her career hits a slump and she dons the cover of Playboy (as well as the inside). But until then...umm... where the hell is this going?

     Okay, obviously I am still not at 100%. I blame this all on lousy television signals. And you will see why. Last weekend, I canceled my cable. My roommate was not putting up his share of the bill, but ordering more than his share of the pay-per-view "events." Now, at the time I did not realize the serious implementations that this would have upon my physical well being. Without a cable line running to the television, I was forced to go back to the old fashion method of receiving basic cable: the antennae. Now, my apartment is located on the first floor of the building. As one can expect, good cable receptions are rare in a first-floor environment when the building is over four stories high and one has only a rejected coat hanger to cash in on these free signals. As one can nearly expect, I was quite frantic in my reaction to this horrendous situation.
     My first reaction is to reposition the television, hoping this miniscule change in angle and such would actually make it easier to catch the signals outside the wall beside the television. Surprisingly, this did not work. Next, play with the actual antennae. For those of you experienced with this "age old" home repair trick, we all know the results. Instead of snow, I began to either see the black-and-white versions of the actual programs (with or without sound) or just a more colorful version of the snow. And this was with all basic stations, except PBS. I now know where all that money from the membership pledges goes: to the most powerful cable signal ever constructed, with separate satellite system for instant relay to wherever those signals are relayed to. I know this because regardless of where I turned the antennae or television, PBS came in perfectly fine. I swear I did not even have the antennae connected to the television, and it still came in crystal clear. If only they put that money into quality television.
     Okay, on with the story. By now, it is Sunday afternoon. I have to go to work in about an hour and I still have nothing but PBS. I am absolutely concerned with nothing but this television problem. I have moved the dresser, which the television lies on, over to the window (God bless extension cords) in hopes of finding an actual signal. I am starting to get some form of wavy reception, but as it was described, this reception is wavy. It has one person's head on another person's body on the original person's legs. That is how wavy this reception is. Nonetheless, I strive onward. I begin to add various items (aluminum foil, bent out paper clips, bent out coat hangers, string, tape) to the antennae, hoping to make a difference. All is in vain. No difference I made. I go off to work, disheartened and worried that I will miss Simpson's later in the evening.
     After I get out of work early, head home, and shower. I am out of the shower by 7:00 p.m. I check the reception now. I can make out most of the shapes shown on Futurama, but I can only hear enough garbled voices ruin the little improvement. In a desperate gamble for a better reception during the main show, I decided to stretch the antennae outside the window. The only problem was that I had no way as to gain any real height on this thing. Then I spied the ladder left outside by maintenance during their rebuilding of our roof. "Most excellent," I claimed in my best Burn's impression. Then I opened my window to the full height, judged it quickly, and finally decided that I would just go around the damn building.
     On my way out, I ran into another one of my roommates. I asked him for his help, which was basically watch King of the Hill until the reception came in clear. He agreed, partly because I had an antennae in one hand and duck tape in the other (an awkward combination if applied in the wrong way to a human body cavity). I ran outside, only to realize I had no shoes or socks on. Hell, I was already on a timer, so it stayed that way. I ran out back, slipping ever slightly on the thin layer of snow and ice that was on the ground. I got to the back, set the tools down, and went to pick up the ladder.
     The damn thing would not budge an inch! Apparently, the ground was soft when maintenance had finished with the roof (or one could say quit). The ladder must have sunk into the soft, muddy ground, then froze into it when it got could again. Well, I had come this far, why not further. So I kicked the damn thing. Nothing from the ladder, but a big scream from me as I was reminded that I had no footwear on. So I began to dig around the ladder. I even went as far to huff on the ladder, hoping my warm breath would help unfreeze the damn thing. Well, apparently something worked out because I soon had the ladder in my hands, above my head, with the occasional clump of half-frozen mud falling on me. Then my roommate shouts out that it is about five to eight.
     Hurriedly, I place the ladder against the wall next to my window. I climbed the ten feet to my window, then hurry back down to grab the antennae and tape. Back up the ladder I went, realizing that ten feet looks a lot higher from above that it does below. Tossing the antennae line inside to my roommate (after all, it has to be connected to the television to count), I climb up another few rails. Seeing that the line had grown quite taunt, this is where I taped the bastard. And tape it I did. Seeing as how the base of the antennae would not be leaving the building, it was time to fiddle with the rest of the contraption. I yelled for my roommate to give me a hot/cold reading as to how the reception was. He replied that I was down to three minutes.
     I began to fiddle with the antennae. I heard his shouts of "cold, warm, warmer, very warm, almost there, back to cold" as though they were only a few feet away from me. Soon, I begin to get the hang of this and make a masterful addition of a key ring to amplify the reception to "hot." I shout out a cry of victory, only to receive a reply of "PERVERT!" Hastily looking around, I noticed one of those damn feminists below me, apparently accusing me of spying on women. Personally speaking, I am far from a voyeuristic individual, unless watching porn counts as being a voyeur. I try to explain to the bitch what I was doing when my roommate yelled out to me that The Simpson's was beginning. So, instead of a kind explanation as to my innocence, I simply gave her the middle finger. She replied by kicking the ladder out from under me.
     Now, I realize that many of you know that a twelve-foot fall will only hurt you if you land on a neck or wrist. I am now telling you that you can hurt your back from this fall as well. You just have to land right. Landing right for me meant landing on a large toolbox, conveniently left with the ladder by the maintenance crew. This was a million to one chance of hitting this thing "just right" (as it was phrased by my sympathizing friends). The chance of the feminist blinding me with pepper spray as I lie helpless on the ground: one out of two. There is a chance that she might be out of pepper spray.