Fuck the lazy and non-creative celebrity media who refer to any celebrity or athlete as the first letter of the person’s first name and the first sylable of the the last name (e.g. A-Rod). Alex Rodriguez was the first person I saw this with, so I’ll excuse that. Tracy McGrady (T-Mac) had it early, too. But beyond them, it’s annoying as hell. This morning, I saw a headline on Google News about R-Patz…Robert Pattinson. Horrible. Are there any other stars out there with the last name Pattinson? Or even Patterson? Not that I can think of. So annoying.
Also, a preemptive strike against those who don’t shovel their sidewalks. There was agood thread in the Pit last winter about it, and those points still stand. No snow has accumulated in Milwaukee yet (very suprisingly), but it’s coming, and there will be lazy, selfish, disgusting fucks who won’t do it at all or will give it a half-ass once-over. I hope they slip on the ice as they’re returning inside.
Fuck the lazy and non-creative celebrity media who refer to any celebrity or athlete as the first letter of the person’s first name and the first sylable of the the last name (e.g. A-Rod). Alex Rodriguez was the first person I saw this with, so I’ll excuse that. Tracy McGrady (T-Mac) had it early, too. But beyond them, it’s annoying as hell. This morning, I saw a headline on Google News about R-Patz…Robert Pattinson. Horrible. Are there any other stars out there with the last name Pattinson? Or even Patterson? Not that I can think of. So annoying.
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Yup. But at least they’ve generally stopped the T-dog or A-dog bullshit.
Dear neighbor kid: it’s cold and wet out and more importantly it’s ten fucking goddamned thirty at night. I have to get up early and go to work tomorrow morning. Stop with the goddamned fucking basketball playing or I’m gonna come over and cram that stupid fucking ball up your stupid fucking ass. Fuck you and go to hell.
Oh, and you know the Christmas tree you found your basketball under? Gonna cram that up your stupid fucking ass, too. Fucking little punk-ass douchebag.
My December bitch is about the November job interview I went for, the first one so far in my actual field.
Needless to say, I didn’t get it (or I probably wouldn’t be bitching). If I’m not even able to get a training position directly related to both my education and my experience, that doesn’t bode well. Competition for any available job is just ridiculous right now, and I think I lost out to the other candidates due to the enormous age difference, though I bet they’d never admit it. But they’d be fools not to at least consider that it might be a better use of their time and resources to train a younger person than an older one.
At this rate, it looks like I’ll still be unemployed by the time I become eligible to apply for benefits.
I had a co-worker like that once. She was from Ireland and I could barely make out half her words. So I just spent our time together admiring her truly stunning red hair. Same thing with a stewardess from Glasgow on a flight to Venice. Maybe on in ten words made sense. Glaswegian is my nomination for oddest accent ever.
After less than three weeks under hospice care, my husband’s grandfather died last night. We’ll be heading that direction for visitation and funeral when we know what the arrangements are… probably Monday viewing & Tuesday services. And then the games will begin, with Tony’s dad playing the role of a Hatfield, and his uncle portraying a McCoy, and several other family members taking their cues from the classic “Tobacco Road.” I’m dreading the drama. (These are people who, the night of their mother’s funeral, actually counted and divided the contents of the lady’s change purse, because they’re so concerned that one might actually get a nickel more than the other!)
I intend to play two roles at these functions: help keep Tony sane by keeping his stepmom as far from him as possible, and, if necessary, play the “I’m pregnant andand delicate and need you to get me out of here NOW” if things get too fraught. (Not that Tony won’t just walk away from the bullshit, but he’s entirely likely to tell each and every one of his paternal family members which asscheek they can kiss first… timely intervention may prevent that, at least.)
I’ve entered some kind of Kafka-esque hell where my work email provider insists my security questions for my account are clearly not questions I would have chosen. The elementary school my children attend? I don’t have children. I would not have chosen that as my security question. My grandfather’s occupation? I have no idea. My grandfather died when my mother was 10. I would not have chosen that as a security question! Last try: what elementary school did you attend 6th grade? Ok, that one I would have chosen. ::names my elementary school:: “I’m sorry, m’am, that is not the right answer.”
Seriously? In what twisted realm would I use a different answer from the only answer possible for a security question??? It’s not like I work for NASA. If I chose that question, I would have used the actual name of my elementary school!
Jesus fuck. All those questions are questions my boss would have chosen. I suspect you are asking me my boss’s security questions. Of course, I have all this info on my computer at work. But I’m at home. Also, sending me a form to an alternate email address to fill out and fax back to you is also not a workable solution as I am at home. No, as a security precaution you can’t call me back at the number listed on the account as it is my office number and I am at home!
Tony, again. When he’s scared or hurt, he lashes out. Today, we got into a big pissing match because Tony thinks I’m not a real biker anymore because I haven’t done more than start my bike on the weekends. A real biker would just suck it up, ignore doctor orders and ride. (for those who don’t know, I busted up my foot while riding on snow and gravel last year, had surgery a couple of months ago and don’t want to risk my recovery trying to hold a 650 lb machine up in the snow.)
Then we moved on to rescue. Tony thought I was committed to rescue, but he can tell that I’m not because now that the Director of my group is dead, I’m refusing to take in more cats. I am sad about this, but my group is gone. I can’t start taking cats in until I’m part of another group. Tony can’t do that, Lolli was the only one who was willing to trust Tony with fosters and she is gone.
Finally, we got to the crux of the matter. Tony is afraid that I am going to move to Texas and leave him here. Tony is going into the New Year afraid that he’s going to be alone again.
I’m so sad for Tony. I shouldn’t be his only safety net. Tony has very real mental problems that only get treated when he’s in jail or in the hospital. Tony is borderline functional, so nobody can force him to take his meds or go to treatment. I can always tell when Tony has gotten his small disability check because suddenly there are cars in his yard. The only time anyone besides me calls Tony is because they want money or to give him cats.
Mad, frustrated and helpless is how I feel right now.
I was so embarrassed because I just stared at the poor woman and then blurted out a quick um where the HELL are you from? Fortunately she had the grace to giggle politely and tell me. In my defense the Italians had delayed our flight by several hours and I was operating on very little sleep.
I’ve lived in and near NYC my whole life so I’m used to accents. But I’ve never heard anything like it before or since. I must get to Glasgow and investigate it further some day . . .
