August Mini-rant thread
Unimproved and in the same old flavors at an increased cost and a slightly smaller package.
Twinkies, right? And you just know those fuckers at the fairgrounds are going to use the slight increase in cost as an excuse to jack up the price on a deep-fried-battered-Twinkie-on-a-stick by a buck or two.
Rant away.
It’s still July where I am, but close enough. 
I am sick and tired of customer surveys, probably because I know how some companies use them to bully their employees. There seems to be a survey attached to every damn receipt I get, from fast food to home improvement. Guess what? I am not participating in that stupid shit. I refuse to be the tool used to browbeat the people who are actually in front of customers. I used to just give everyone all 10’s or whatever, but the sheer volume of requests is getting to be ridiculous. I’m done.
Now I’m hungry.
I got groped by a young boy today. He had the look of a Down’s child and I think he was more interested in what was printed on my T-shirt (kitties, of course) than my boobage, but it was rather disconcerting.
His horrified looking dad was right there and pulled him away and apologized.
It’s not August…
RAWR, I’M SICK OF EVERY SINGLE THING TODAY AND I HATE IT.
I have, like, three months left in this pregnancy. Assuming I don’t give up and light myself on fire or something first.
End rant.
You know what? Fuck it. Details because why not?
I just started the seventh month of the fucking worst pregnancy I’ve ever had (out of now four, though one of those ended before it got to the really miserable stage, i.e., anything over about week 8) and I just want it to be over. I can’t eat any damn thing, ever. Why? Because something sounds really good but then turns out to not be. Or the very act of prepping/cooking a meal destroys my appetite and I can’t bother. Or fucking heartburn. Or I can’t figure out what I want and give up. I have gained not a single pound, not one. Never has the scale gone up from one visit to the next. I’ve actually lost 10 pounds. Factor in that the baby weighs and the fluid and stuff weighs and my belly is gigantic and unwieldy and, actually, I don’t know how much I’ve lost. This is easily the very least concerning thing I’ve gone through with this pregnancy so far, so that tells you something right there.
On top of this shitty, awful pregnancy, my two year old is now a TERRIBLE GODDAMNED TWO YEAR OLD. Jesus Christ, I can’t take it. I don’t remember my other kid having a terrible twos phase. He did, I know he did; I wrote about it on Live Journal. And that’s how They (and by “they”, I mean the guys who are all, “Yay, let’s have another baby! It’ll be AWESOME!”) get you: women, through some miracle of evolutionary development, can’t fucking remember how awful pregnancy and very small children really are. We DON’T REMEMBER. I hate being pregnant. I HATE IT. I will swear between pregnancies though that I adore it, it’s such a great time for me, blah blah FUCK NO. And I know, I know for a damn fact, that I have flat out told people that my oldest NEVER went through the terrible twos. No, he was a complete ANGEL from the day he was born.
Bullshit. Two year old kids SUCK. “I want a turkey sandwich. NO TURKEY SANDWICH! I want milk. RAWR, NO MILK, I WANT APPLE JUICE!!!” You know what I want? Like 5 minutes of quiet, EVER, and for you to go to bed and just STAY THERE before 10 pm. My husband leaves for work before I even wake up and gets home for the day around 1:30 pm so, realistically, I have between 4 and 6 hours of wake time with the kids by myself, depending on what time everybody gets up and whether or not there are naps involved. That’s all. It’s not very long at all and even so some days I am and crying, desperate mess by the time he gets home.
But then the two year old comes up to me to give me a kiss or a high five for no reason and says, “I love you too, Mama!” (it’s always “too” even if he’s the first one to say it) or looks at me with that face, that beautiful face, and asks, “Do you want to watch penguin with me?” And I melt and die just a little because I feel like the Worst Mother Ever because I’ve spent the last hour pawning him off on his 10 year old brother because sometimes I just can’t do it anymore for a while.
I just want to be not pregnant, now or ever again. It’s honestly kind of ruining my life this time and I just want it to stop.
How good is the 10yo about brother-sitting? I used to find myself in charge of every kid younger than me within a 5-mile radius (ok, it was probably more like 500yd, but you know how when you’re smaller everything seems bigger);I like to think that yours truly and most of my usual co-shepherds were good at it (we never got any of the younger kids in trouble, nobody died, the few times anybody bled it was one of us eldests shows off the scar on her chin). The Nephew is pretty good at it too, but his little sister has managed, at age 4, to reach the point where “being cutesy will NOT get you out of trouble, young lady!”; she’s used to having 99% of the world wrapped around her little finger but her parental units have now realized that while she’s busy looking cute she’s not doing what she’s been told to.
Honestly, he can be a complete dick sometimes. I don’t get it. Most of the time they play really well together. The bigger one is good at coming down to the little one’s level and will play stupid kid games with him or read to him or teach him how to tell a knock knock joke or whatever and I’ll get a half hour to myself, during which time I’m usually doing absolutely nothing at all except enjoying some relative quiet. But sometimes the little one will come running down the hallway crying about something Alex did and it’s always something dumb that I swear Alex did ONLY because he knew it would bother the kid.
I worry lately that he’ll start to resent one or both of us because I rely on him for something literally every day right now, even if it’s just 10 minutes so I can take a shower without interruption.
So, of course, now I feel bad so I’m crying (good Lord, the CRYING is just relentless!) and had to sneak into each of their rooms to give them kisses and tell them what good boys they are. I love my kids, it’s just so incredibly frustrating to make it through each day when I feel like a damn crazy person all the time.
Nah, he totally sounds like the big brother type. He’d resent it if you weren’t doing your part, but being put in charge of the little ones is just a part of being a big one. It means you trust him.
But heck, sometimes little brothers are such big targets you’d have to be a saint to refrain from taking a shot 
I woke up this morning with my sinuses acting up. And by this morning, I mean 2 a.m.
I don’t have much to rant about – I’ve got a new job that I’m loving, I’ve lost weight, the weather’s good…my only minor rant is at myself though, as I’m fasting for Ramadan and haven’t been doing so well with that lately. The not eating or drinking is actually fine, it’s the *other *stuff I’m having trouble with, so I’ve got to pull it together…
The fucking weather this year has kept my summer car sitting in the garage way too much. It doesn’t do rain and it’s hot in cool weather, so unless there’s no clouds on the satellite sweep and it’s reasonable heat and humidity, it sits.
We’ve had almost nonstop thunderstorms and heavy weather except when it’s 80-90… degrees and percent.
Boss: Kelevra, I need you to prepare comments on EPA’s new Proposed Effluent Guidelines for the Steam Electric Power Generating Category.
Kelevra: OK, but I haven’t done this sort of thing before so I have no idea what’s involved.
Boss: It’s pretty big. It’ll probably take you a couple days to go through.
So I look it up. The Federal Register notice is 113 pages. The supporting documentation is 1,000 pages. The background info is 200 pages.
How is that “A couple days”?
More like a couple months!
How to tell if the script for your tampon commercial was written by a man:
“It’s like Santa for your vagina!”
No. No it is not.
I’m not clickin’ on that link, SpazCat. Not at work I ain’t.
I’m at home and I’m STILL not clicking on it!
100 degrees, no air conditioning, eight months pregnant. Have little feet jammed up under my ribs.
Gestational diabetes- now weigh the same as at the beginning of pregnancy. Will get scolded for this (in French) next Thursday.
Just want a goddamn cookie.
That whole article talks about the woman behind the startup, and in fact the commercial was inspired by wine and Thai food with friends. I mean, yeah, a guy said the phrase “Camp Gyno” but she loved it and ran with it.
She is sick and twisted and probably needs to go on medication or shock therapy [well not really, but still …]
I had never had a happy period in my life. If I could have ripped out my uterus at the age of puberty I would have.
All men are evil.
