Well, the rest of the world does say that people from Quebec are bad drivers… hmm.
People who think that those from Quebec or Oregon drive badly, have never been to Italy. Wow. Just wow.
(Scene: A mall in a mid-sized metropolitan area that has a largely white population. We have all the usual minorities, but no minority-concentrated neighborhoods in which anyone would imagine that white people were some kind of novelty. )
I pit the woman in the beauty supply store/salon who was wasting oxygen and was speaking (slowly, loudly) to the proprietor (Asian male) because I guess she was trying to find the stylist who had done her friend’s hair.
“She was WHITE, Like me, you understand?”
“And busty, I’m sure you’d remember her.”
(To companion)“I just don’t believe this.”
“Most of your customers are probably Asian, right? I’m sure you’d remember her.”
“Could you just ask the other people here in your language? My friend has hair like mine, you probably don’t see a lot of that.”
(To companion)“Unbelievable.”
I really don’t think that was written by a man. I found it hilarious – and satirical, of course. Now those commercials with the white spandex and blue fluid and running and jumping and smiling on the beach, THOSE were written by men.
Dammit my PC died yesterday and my tablet died today. Oh and I have no friends. Hang on no - I have plenty of friends when they want something from me or I am useful to then. I ask for help and not a fucker to be found.
Personally, I won’t be happy with any pad/tampon commercial until they show how the product stands up under the kind of periods I used to get.
“So your internal organs have liquefied and are trying to escape your body…”
Periods are not happyfuntimes and I don’t think young girls on the cusp of womanhood should be lied to and told they are. Cramps, people, cramps! Address the issue!
Oh and {{{madrabbitwoman}}}
Dammit. There’s so few places that will allow someone on benefits to move in.
I have the damn money- I’ve had no problems at all with getting benefit payments in the nearly two years since I got ill, and I have savings. It’s not as though I won’t be able to pay the rent, and it’s not as though being on benefits magically turns you into someone who’ll smash the place up. I’m sure the same people who refuse this would want the same safety net to be available for them or their kids, but someone else who’s landed in that situation, for whatever reason? Scum.
Half of them don’t even put it on the adverts, but you find something that looks perfect, contact them and enquire, and then they tell you.
Can’t get a job because you don’t already have one, can’t get a flat because you don’t have a job…
And while I’m at it, damn my now ex-housemate for giving notice for our joint tenancy behind my back, two fucking days after claiming “whatever happens, I promise I’ll give you at least two months notice to find somewhere else to live.” I know that she’s involved with a nasty, manipulative turd, but still…
Oh, and saying “No, I wasn’t lying, I know I promised that- I just changed my mind. I’m allowed to change my mind about things, that’s totally normal”- yeah… that’s shitty. Expecting me to be fine with that? Crazy and shitty.
Only good thing about it is at least I hadn’t started trying to buy a house with her, as we were discussing doing only a few months ago. At least she only fucked me over on a rental.
Go to Haiti.
Add me to the list of people who ate period cramps. I get them so badly that I take quite a few pills and drink way too much caffeine, because I’ve heard it helps with pain. I then later on have to go through the process of cutting down caffeine.
Or Doha, Qatar, or Saudi Arabia, or India…etc.
It’s a Saturday, it’s nice out, and I’ve actually got a job that has me working hard all week so I’m really happy it’s a weekend, as opposed to my old job, where it was pretty easy all the time, so weekdays/weekends just sorta blended together. And what do I have to do today? Go to a fucking wedding. Some friends of ours kid is getting married. I think I met her twice. I’ve never met the groom. Wedding at 2, reception at 4:30.
Mr. Athena is pissy and moany about going as well, and somehow missed that yes, indeed, we have to go the wedding and not just the reception, because apparently it’s fucking rude to skip the wedding and just go to the semi-fun part. He’s acting as if it’s MY fucking fault we got invited and accepted, which is absolutely not true. I chased him down 2 months ago and we made the decision to RSVP together; I did not make any unilateral decisions. So we fucked up 2 months ago and should have planned something else for this weekend, but we didn’t, so we have to suck it up and go. Mr. Athena is really, really bad at sucking things up and going, so rather than just trying to put a bright face on it and make the best of it, he’s been whining about all the things he’d rather be doing, and pulling me down with him. Fucker.
Three days ago, I was OK with going. Today, after hearing all the bad things about it for 2 days, I’m dreading it. Fuckity fuck fuck.
And mispronouncing it. It’s “con-et-ih-cut.”
The kid is not talking about the period. The kid is talking about care packages that arrive in camp for the girls timed with their cycles with tampons, panty liners and candy.
Fuck it. My off-the-rails mother is visiting. She’s been here for maybe a little less than half an hour, and is already bugging the shit out of me.
I think I’ll brave possible thunderstorms and go fuck off to downtown. (When I leave a place angrily, I say that I’m “fucking off.”)
Oh dear God I’m going to have to unfriend someone on Facebook. We were friends in high school but I haven’t seen her since. She just posted a picture of her and her husband in a formal posed portrait. She’s dressed all nicely, he’s in his prison orange jumpsuit.
Her husband is locked up for many years for repeatedly raping her daughter from her first marriage. If that wasn’t bad enough, she didn’t marry the guy until after her daughter told her about the rapes. He was apparently here illegally and she would rather have him locked up here than deported. And then she wonders why her daughter has cut her out of her life.
Wow… just wow.
How do you cook those?
My condolences on your maternal unit’s visit.
:eek:
*‘my lover stole my girlfriend’
‘I keep beating up my ex’
‘I want to kill my neighbor’
‘my daughter’s selling sex’
‘my s/m lover hurt me’
‘my girl became a man’
‘**I love my daughter’s rapist **’
‘my life’s gone down the pan’
What a show!
The Barry Williams show
The Barry Williams show
Dysfunctional excess
Is all it took for my success
And when the punches start to fly
The ratings always read so high
It’s showtime
*
Where am I? What state is this? What time is this? Oh good lord, I’m so bad at traveling. Last night, I tried to find the toilet in the dark and ended up tripping over the bathtub.
Thanks to my kickboxing classes, I know how to fall, even if I’m asleep, so I was able to tuck and roll, but I still managed to get a bruise on my forearm, right where it sits on armrest.
I want to go home. I want to be in our bed, with our cats and our smells and our sheets and pillows.
We drove this trip because Bill is planning to bring Tony home with us and we needed to be able to pack all of Tony’s pets up.
Tomorrow, we will have 2 untrained dogs, 6 cats and a feral human in the truck as we start out on a 2 day drive.
Pray for me.
Keeping you in my thoughts; may you have an uneventful journey!
You know flatlined, I tend to answer “only if brothers count” when someone asks whether I have pets, but you certainly get some sort of Picks Up Strays medal 
So, going all traditional on yer ass, may St Wenceslas (patron of beer and wine, and best known in folklore for sharing his cloak with a man who needed it more), St Benoit-Joseph Labre (patron of the homeless) and the Bishop St Anthony (patron of domestic animals) be with you and grant you their aid.
No, they don’t need feeding. But for some reason, looking up saints, their patronages and their bios tickles my funny bone. You learn a lot of things about everyday life with those stories that nobody tells you about in history class.
And hey, if you found the tub, at least you were in the right room!
Since I am already here and it’s bugging me: hey neighbor! When you’re going to spend the night out, switch off your alarm clock!
Sending peaceful thoughts to you, flatlined. Sounds like the next batch of beer (may it be mostly liquid - I think you’ll need St. Arnold for that one,) needs to be ready yesterday!
I think my Tony and I just had the stupidest spat ever. Stupider, even, than the “wrong size spoon” brouhaha. He’s mad because I didn’t find a video funny at all, even though it made him laugh and laugh and laugh. And then he wanted to know why I don’t think it’s amusing. Seriously?
Side note: I hate fucking mimosas. And vines of almost all varieties. Between taking care of Tony and kids and everything else all year, and the prodigious amount of rain we’ve had this summer, everything in the yard has grown completely out of control. I have pulled vines and weeds and cut crap down and weeded like a mad woman. More than a dozen large, heaped wheelbarrows full of limbs and vines and weeds, and I still haven’t tackled either of the big flower beds in the front yard… I think my next yard needs Astroturf and silks.