Oh, for pity’s sake. Why are people panicking over the two Ebola patients brought to Emory? More people die from the FLU in a single year, in the United States, than have died from Ebola in, like, EVER.
When does adrenaline exhaustion set in from all the terror people are fed?
Roaches. Fucking roaches. I hate them with the fire of a thousand burning suns.
And we have an infestation now, coming from our garage. They were apparently transplanted when I moved the last of my in-law’s stuff from their house, including boxes of paperwork that still needs to be sorted through, into my garage. Now I have to park in the driveway and there are roaches invading my garage and house! And they’re huge! Gaahhh!
Bonus fun: Clark the Cat likes to hunt them. And he makes the loudest, strangest yowl when he’s got one in his sights. I’m beginning to really hate that yowl.
Extra bonus fun: I went to Big Box Home Improvement Store today to get some diamataceous earth to try to deal with them. The BBHIS employee in the pesticides section gave me a blank look when I asked for it, and said “um, you’re going to have to explain that to me.” Great. Guess I’ll be ordering that online now.
Fucking roaches.
Try their nursery. It’s biggest use here is for ants outside.
A minor irk about our local classic rock radio station: It seems like about twice a day they play “Low Rider” by War. OK, “Low Rider” is a good song and I like War. But would it hurt to play some other tunes like “The Cisco Kid” or “Slippin’ Into Darkness”? Hell, “Spill the Wine” would fit even better into their format since it’s with Eric Burdon.
PSA: I don’t wish to come across as creepy or superficial, but a glance at Missy2U’s entry in the SDMB photo gallery reveals that her husband is not a liar.
That is all.
For the longest time I hated Rush because the classic rock station in Raleigh only played “Tom Sawyer.” Then I heard “Roll the Bones” and “Subdivisions” and realized they are truly excellent. Now they’re one of my favorite rock bands.
But I still fuckin’ hate “Tom Sawyer.”
My husband feels your pain. We look like Mr. and Mrs. Jack Sprat. And it’s almost impossible to eat with anyone who knows him (particularly family) without them commenting on the amount he’s able (or rather not able) to eat. Self-consciousness and embarrassment are not conducive to improved appetite. Of course, I have the opposite problem, but it’s much more common. Still, nobody sits there and comments on how much I’m eating, so why do it to him?
There was free food in the conference room this week at work-- we said farewell to a favorite co-worker who has now retired.
But there was discussion as to whether one of my co-workers had a proper sandwich or not-- only one slice of meat, and no cheese (I don’t remember whether it was one or two slices of bread).
She didn’t find the discussion of her eating habits funny, and neither did I, although mostly I was just cranky that I’d bought too much lunch to be hungry for free food.
Walmart, in the pesticide aisle.
On behalf of my kid I pit clocks.
I am teaching my kid to tell time and I told him about the hour hand and the minute hand and he thought I was fucking with him. Why the fuck would anyone make the small hand represent hours and the big hand represent minutes. I told him that the hour hand is the big hand and the minute hand is the small hand (because hours are bigger than minutes) and he became convinced I was fucking with him.
WTF is the deal with that.
Explain to him that the longer the hand is, the faster it can go around the clock face.
So I did it again. I went looking for something I knew would make me angry and was successful.
This past weekend, one of the local parks hosted a Big Latch On event. The purpose is to open the dialog about breastfeeding and help normalize it. I’m currently breastfeeding my daughter so I decided to go and meet other ladies who are going through the same thing I am. For the most part, it was fun. I breastfed my child in public with no cover! Whoa! But it all went sour as I walked around the booths. I had just finished complimenting an essential oils seller by not once ever demonizing “chemicals” in general when I decided to see what the next booth was about. It was hosted by dr momma.com. It seemed to be mostly about not circumsizing baby boys but one of the ladies pointed me toward the vaccine table to make sure I looked there too. And I shut down. I left almost immediately. Today, I realized that they could have been advocating vaccinations of children instead of the alternative so I looked them up. They advocate the “personal choice” of vaccines. They say all parents should be more informed and that each parent should decide for themselves how to vaccinate their children. They also reference Dr. Sears in the first sentence of their page on vaccines.
Now that I’ve written a novel describing my anger, I just can’t understand why these things seem to go hand in hand. Why can’t I advocate breastfeeding without implicitly advocating for alternative vaccination schedules to “protect” children from the “toxins?”
We had a thread here recently about what constitutes a proper sandwich, but I’m too lazy to look for it. And yeah, I also hate it when people try to discuss my eating habits (such as at work at lunchtime, though it’s not like it happens every day or anything.)
My own rant for now: I was at a music festival for the past three days. In general, I had a super time! But I think they should’ve added a T-shirt to the merchandise tent, a shirt saying “I Survived The Great Toilet Paper Shortage of Osheaga 2014.”
Having a longer minute hand is completely logical, because a person reading a clock needs more precision in reading the location of the minute hand than in reading the location of the hour hand.
If the hour hand is somewhere between the 4 and the 5, you know straight away that it’s somewhere between 4 and 5 o’clock. But if you need to know exactly what time it is, you look at the minute hand, and because that hand is longer, you can see exactly which minute you’re at within the hour.
I wholeheartedly concur. It’s not okay to tell people they’re fat; why is it okay to tell people they’re skinny?
Why hasn’t anyone taught you not to chew with your mouth open or smack your lips loudly? And stop digging into that bowl like you’re excavating for gold. You’ve hit bottom. Stop. …jfc.
Somebody jacked my mother’s credit card and used it to buy a membership on Christian Mingle. Because if you want to Find God’s Match For You, the first step is always identity theft.
I congratulate you on your self-restraint. A lesser woman would have raided the booth for the Society for the Promotion and Encouragement of Banking of Umbilical Cord Blood in America (SPEBUCBA), grabbed a crapload of souvenir faux-umbilical cord lanyards, fashioned them into a whip, gone to turn over the anti-vaxxers’ tables and driven them from the fair, just like Jesus in the Temple.
So good for you, bein’ the better human being like that…
Well, they had some, but some people came along and said “Our need is greater than yours.”
By the time they got the shirts back, they – really weren’t sellable. :eek:
A rant courtesy of a couple of pleasant hours spent on the Mass Pike between Boston and Sturbridge on Saturday. Goddammit, people, if you’re in stop and go traffic, just pick a lane and stay in it. Unless there’s a smoking wreck literally in front of you, you’re not making things better for anyone if you try dodging from lane to lane. You’re just measurably increasing the chances of some fender bender further slowing down traffic.
Special awards to the idiot in the white truck who spent 12 slow miles immediately in front of me. Sometimes he was in the left lane, sometimes on the right, and sometimes in the center lane, but he never even managed to get more than one car's distance in front of me. And another award to the jamoke driving the enormous RV towing an SUV who worked his way all the way over to the left lane 200 yards before the service exit and then suddenly decided he had to pee so worked his way all the way back. And finally, lifetime achievement awards to the many, many participants who feel as though turn signals are really not necessary when you suddenly decide to dart from one lane to another.