Umm, yeah, I am. I do recognize that there’s a difference between a museum docent and a prison tour guide, even though they may both give guided tours.
Hey, Lissa, you might get a cattle prod if you gave guided tours of a prison! By the way, I would so totally support museum guides all having cattle prods. Don’t wanna get shocked? Stay away from the stuff that is clearly marked “Don’t Touch!”
fetus, you have my sympathy for your socializing woes. That kind of stuff, while pretty small in the scheme of things, is still awfully annoying.
Damn rain.
Thunder at work. 103F.
I got hit by two drops.
It rained at home. The streets are damp like many large animals spit; my dirt road has craters where raindrops hit, planting trays have water, but the dust sucked the moisture right up. Walking in the humidity outside is like swimming.
Aw hell, this is the pit.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I feel better now.
Thanks, everyone.
Ever taken a math class in California? “Times” is a verb here. :
On a similar note, it really irritates me when I take someone to a cool local coffeehouse, owned by a San Diegan trying to make a living, and they get up to the counter and ask for a Frappucino. I always get “that look” from the counterperson, too.
It also might not be a bad idea to implement those things people make their dogs wear around their necks that shock them when they try to run away.
Actually, my alternative suggestion was to electrify the artifacts.
School Security Fucks:
When you write a parking ticket, try to follow up on it within the semester it was issued. My grades are frozen for a ticket that I (allegedly) received on May 31, 2005. The fuck? I’ve registered for two semesters and received grades for one since that time. Organization is a nice idea; put it into practice sometime.
Now for the “alleged” part: if you’re going to write a ticket in my name with my parking permit number, PUT IT ON MY CAR! Do NOT put it on the car with license plate 1Z A2229 when mine is 1Z YXWVW. Not the real plate numbers. I have never received said ticket, yet I’m not allowed to know my grades because of someone else’s fuck up. Jackasses.
I’ll be calling the head of security on Monday. He wasn’t at work when I called earlier. If indeed the ticket was supposed to be issued to me, I’ll pay it. It’s just principle to refuse to accept an automatic guilty verdict with no evidence in hand that prevented me from paying it off today.
Family:
somebody else buy some fucking soap. I’m broke.
You use fucking soap? We prefer lube, ourselves, but YMMV.
Betcha thought you were kidding.
My sophomore biology teacher and his wife run that website. Ours was the last class he gave the URL (to the main non-adult page) to. We were a little too curious. 
Mother Nature: It’s fucking hot. I know it’s California, but still, it’s fucking hot and the apartment building won’t let us put in AC.
My stomach: Yes, you hate me. I hate you too.
In the course of my visit to my parents in Southern Alberta, I camped in Glacier National Park in Montana with BrattiAtti and Tripler. I packed hot dogs and eggs along with the other food I was taking with me. The border guards mugged me of said food products, because the eggs were ‘uncooked poultry’ and my hot dogs would spread BSE to everyone in America. Fuckers.
THEN, when I left Canada to head back home to Maryland, they didn’t bother to even look. I could have brought home a god damned side of beef and they wouldn’t have known it. Fuckers.
There’s a herd with a Princess Cow at mile 178, I-94 in North Dakota. I called Tripler to tell him.
Fucking Cows.
God damn it, where are the normal band-aids? I hate football, and yet I’m walking around with a Baltimore Ravens bandaid on my thumb. Stupid moving and living half outta boxes.
Lethbridge. My 18-year-old niece works in tech support for the Chicagoland area - in an office in Lethbridge, Alberta. I guess the 1600 mile distance deters murderous attacks by disgruntled customers.
Apologies for the second post in a row.
I looked, but didn’t see the fuckin’ Princess cow. Believe me, I was keeping my eyes out for the train derailment, but I didn’t see that one either. . .
Tripler
Fucking cows!
I knew I was asking for that.
Although, if lube could make me clean, I’d use it.
You could always go for the old olive-oil-and-a-stirgil method.
But this might be better: make your own soap. Nothing will get your mother out to the store to buy some for you faster than the smells of rendered lard and lye boiling merrily in her kitchen.
Ow. I have a big painful blister on my right little toe. I pit my shoes. And walking.
That is all.
I hereby rant on the Spanish Minister of the Interior, who has recently declared that ETA’s extortion letters to business owners or high-level workers do not exist.
Sure, hun, I’m sure nobody ever apologized to my Dad for putting him into the death list, shortly after being fired (Dad had been fired, not the other guy). All those dead people? Figments of our collective imagination.
Oh, wait. I think one of them dead people was a Socialist. That one many have been real.
Or perhaps he was roadkill, given that one of ETA’s favorite methods is blowing up your car. That’s if we believe in ETA, which according to our dear minister must be akin to believing in fairies only with less marketing behind it…
If you are a bar and you have a pool table, it would be nice if you actually left enough space around it to, you know, use the cues. That’s them long sticks, ok? The ones we’re supposed to use to push the balls around? Thooooose. Enough space at the slit where you get the balls, so a normal sized person can get them without twisting him/herself into a Dali-designed pretzel would also be helpful and might even get the table to be used for something other than holding beer bottles.
Blah. Went to JCPenny’s and bought a bra. The person who checked me out was quiet, but whatever – it was a half hour before closing time and she looked dead tired. She was even nice enough to reach over and hit the ‘complete’ key on the credit card scanner without mentioning a word of my forgetfullness.
But damnit, I get home and the stupid thing still has the the security thing on. Which means another trip to the store. More gas wasted. And my other bras are on the fritz. I’m trying not to be annoyed at her, really ;p
/S