{{{{M-o-A}}}}
Don’t hurt you hand in the process.
I’m getting real tired of charitable and low-income help in this county. This is the second time in a week I’ve gone somewhere to ask for help that everyone tells me I qualify for only to be told by the organization “Oh, we can’t help you. You don’t fit our criteria.” Fuck you. I’m sorry I don’t fit your narrow little worldview of someone who needs help. I guess I don’t need help, then. I’ll just spiral down on my own.
I’m so very sorry, Mom-of-Andrew. If there ever was a time to tell the dipshits to fuck off, now is it as you have more important things to focus on.
It was queso en taco cabana. I have standards, bee-yatch.
I’m sorry you and your parents lost him, MomOfA. Doubly sorry that you have to deal with all that dipshittery. Be gentle with yourselves this weekend, okay?
I’m so sorry to hear that, Mom-of-Andrew. Your brother may have been not the greatest person in the world, but he was still your brother.
I’m sorry to hear about your problems too, SpazCat. It sounds like you’re getting caught in the Working Poor trap - too successful to qualify for poor people relief, but not making enough to make ends meet.
ETA: @PurpleHorseShoe - duelling burritos at dawn!
I’ve never disbelieved RLS however I had nights following my knee replacement so now I know. It’s horrible. You in a place that does medical marijuana? I smoked a couple of joints for the first time in years and it helped.
I’m in Georgia - we’ll get gay marriage before we get the Evil Weed legalized for any reason. In other words, not in my lifetime. It does help, though, when I’ve had the chance to get ahold of any. Not lately. Damnit. Although the weed doesn’t give me the wonderfully weird dreams the Mirapex does - my favorite was the one where I was in my backyard feeding one of the hockey players to a plant.
By the way, I love your username!
I read somewhere that the only (non-medicinal) method for symptom relief that actually works is vitamin C. I have only mild RLS, but it does work for me - I take a vitamin C pill when my legs start to twitch, and then they stop shortly thereafter.
(((M-O-A)))
I totally want to bitchslap him for you. Your parents sound like very gracious people who would be upset if you were to do it (plus, you don’t seem the sort anyhow). Having a stranger grab grab him by the collar, slap him around and tell him to STFU wouldn’t be your fault.
I’ve got a release to fly, but not to work. Bitchslapping a dipshit wouldn’t be work!
Hang in there, Mom-of-Andrew, you’re over the worst part; now you and your parents can devote more energy to healing for the rest of you (after you send Dipshit to Billings for the memorial service ;)).
This is probably the mildest rant of all time, but man, I wish that Asda cashier hadn’t made me rewrite my signature because 2 seconds of sloppy signing didn’t match my careful, cursive name on my credit card. No one ever cared before or since, but it’s been a month now and I’m still writing out my name letter by letter every time.
Thanks. I was still having weird post op dreams at the time, which the weed just enhanced.
Really? Haven’t heard of this one before. Gonna have to try it. I know too well the suckitude that is RLS. Never fails, I’m at home trying to relax on the couch after work and my legs start cramping and twitching. And my poor boyfriend is probably getting tired of getting kicked during the night…
((M-O-A)) I’m sorry for your loss.
((MOA)) If you need more help with the dipshit I’m sure some dopers would be willing to help out.
Last night we went o check out the holiday train, which was awesome except for when Velociraptor went to go see Santa (at my suggestion) and got lost, Santa was only about 10 feet away and I could see him and we were right at the front but Velociraptor went into the crowd and away. So I was mildly freaking out and had them call him from the stage to get back to me after a song’s worth of my pacing the crowd trying to see him. Other than that it was fun.
And now I’m getting a cold, I thought I was getting worn down a bit but I woke up this morning with my head slightly stuffed but I think it’s already in my lungs because deep breaths feel tight and make me cough. I’d rather a head cold than a chest cold because a chest cold + asthma means I’ll have to take extra meds and still have a time just trying to rather.
(((MOA))) And now that Uncle of Andrew is no longer suffering, the idjits can be safely ignored forevermore.
Also, now that I’ve spent waaaay too much Christmas budget on new computers for Hubby and sprog, my laptop is dead, dead, dead. I guess I’ll just slap a new motherboard into one of the old computers so that I actually have one to use. Sigh.
I couldn’t rest without seeing if I could find it, it’s apparently called “The Artist of Hunger”, though I distinctly remember it being only “Hunger” in the magazine. The author is Scott Sanders, and it appeared in the July 1983 issue of Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine. Reading through the tables of contents of the issues between 1982 and 1984 made me wish I still had them, there were some good stories in there.
I second this motion. Is there a local contingent of Dopers who could descend on the dipshit?
Hang in there, MOA. You and your family’s peace of mind and healing process definitely take priority over the dipshits at a time like this.
Give it a try - the worst that could happen is you get a little more vitamin C in your diet. 
And it’s the right time of year for it - a case of clementines is just the ticket.
*Or it would be if I had RLS as an excuse. Now the pile of peels in my compost bin is just embarrasing
I’m not sure where M-o-A lives but I will say these two words:
Road trip!