Nava: Not to mention things like cookbook/magazine writers who lie about how long it takes to caramelize onions.
Just found out that the guy I got upset with:
…is this guy. Now not feeling so bad.
Great piece of advice in that article, where he says that “the best time to [cook some things] is yesterday.” That requires planning, but it can save a lot of nerves.
ETA: GuanoLad, that is some seriously high level of asshole.
What is with you people who expect so much fulfillment out of your job? Just do your 8 then go home where your real life should start.
Don’t jump to conclusions about her “seeking fulfillment” from her job. The likelihood is that she uses the earnings from her job to finance her “real life.” If that’s the case, her current restricted scope of duties could be interfering with her ability to obtain promotions and raises that will help her finance her real life more effectively.
Nope. I’ll even cop to trying to find my car by locking the door with the wrong key fob on occasion. :smack:
Holy shit. That’s fucked up. I totally forgot why I came in here.
nava, I still have baking recipes from The Other Shoe’s mom that read just like that. Someday, I’ll figure out just how she makes cooked frosting like that. Until then, I have 1 the Internet, and 2 the knowledge that I’m doing it wrong.
Also, same as my mother “you just have to keep coming home to have this” style of teaching me to cook.
Oh, yeah: my father had cancer surgery yesterday, my BFF’s mom had back surgery earlier this week and couldn’t come home on schedule because of heart problems (to which I’m rather sensitive since my mother and one of her sisters had pacemakers installed) and I just got a weepy call from New Guy’s mother because her husband was in an accident last night Oh And Yeah my goddamn apt complex locks the doors on the laundromat but doesn’t post the hours, and as of 1 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon still hasn’t unlocked it and dammit I want my undies back.
Minor problems compared to most of y’all but I’m completely out of fight right now. Not a typo.
Update: 2:30 pm and I got my clean (wrinkled) clothes back. At this point I’m just happy to have them back, but I gotta move outta here. Too much crime, too much gunfire, too much hassle.
I’m in the middle of a fucking meltdown. My parents, my dying cat, my health problems, my living situation, my work life, my EVERYTHING I need a hug.
I’m not a guy, but I do that all the time. I call that “the here-I-am feature”. 
{{{purplehorseshoe}}}
Brilliant idea, I’ll do that! Thanks!
Why is my wife such a slow shopper?
I swear. She says she will “run to” the store to pick up a few things and she’s gone for an hour. Plus she brings home tons more. When I ship I go in, find what I want, then leave. She walks so darn slow and has to stop and look at darn near everything.
Is this common? Do other men hate to shop with their wives?
Nope. Mom hates to shop with Dad. He walks so darn slow and has to stop and look at darn near everything. Mom has a list and sticks to it, and does fine by herself. If Dad comes with (very rare for this reason), he HAS to go up and down every aisle and read labels on whatever he can get his hands on and will put extra stuff in the cart. Trip with Mom, 30 minutes. Trip with Dad, 2 hours.
I am the one in the family who goes into the store with a list of 5 items and comes out with those five, ten minutes later. My husband can be sent to get a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk and come back in an hour with four bags full of stuff, most of which we don’t need or already have.
Hmm… so not a gender thing.
It’s been my experience over the past 67 years that very little is a “gender thing”. People are people and come in a million flavors. Assuming that some thing is a “man thing” or a “woman thing” brings forth my mini (or not so mini) rant for today!
Because 8 hours is a significant amount of time. I worked hard to get my education and to get where I am now and it makes me sad that it’s not even a tiny bit interesting. I find it so hard to motivate myself.
Mini rant: Husband is a mechanic and he is working on my car today. I took his car to work and I feared for my life the whole commute in. Is this car literally invisible? I guess they don’t call them (Mitsubishi) Mirages for nothing.
Why are there so many writers who think it’s OK to have their foreign characters speak a broken version of those foreigners’ own language? Do they just never realize, think that their word by word translations are fine, or believe that spelling is not important? Finding someone to check your Spanish, French or Italian can’t be so bloody difficult!
pant pant Sorry. I really should stop reading the kind of novels that want to grow up into popcorn movies.
Don’t you just love being on the bus trying to get somewhere on time and having to wait several minutes past scheduled departure time while some Fitz stalls by rummaging through an incredibly disorganized overstuffed backpack, apparently hoping the driver will decide to just let the fare payment slide so the bus can move? (It apparently didn’t work, but she gave it a good try.)