Mini-rant numero uno: I went to the gym today to do some cardio and discovered when I got there that instead of packing one of my workout shirts, I’d inadvertently packed one of my son’s t-shirts – and even if I wanted to take my 44-year-old ass into the gym wearing a t-shirt that said “Senior 2012” on it, it’s three sizes too small for me. This meant that I had to just work out in the t-shirt I was wearing, which in turn meant I couldn’t shower at the gym. Hrmph.
Mini-rant numero two-o: The used bookstore where I hang out has a coffee shop in it. They have sandwiches and such, and there’s a daily specials board. On Monday I was in there getting some iced tea and noticed the sandwich of the day was written “ReubaN.”
Yes, with a capital N. But I didn’t mention the “N” – I just quietly and with good humor pointed out the “a” to one of the people behind the counter. She told the guy making the sandwiches, who took down the specials board and changed it to (let’s see if I can represent this in a post…)
ReubEN
Yes, also a capital – and at least four times as big as the other letters. He then showed it to me and said insolently, “That better?” I just cheerily said “Much!” and left, but it’s still chapping my ass two days later.
Look, you little coffee-shop hipster punk, I’m sure that those two-inch-diameter things you’ve got your earlobes stretched around are giving you some neck pain and I probably remind you of your dad, or some teacher who tried to force you to learn how to spell, or something. But let me tell you something. I was just trying to help. It’s a typo. I’m a proofreader. I HAD to say something. But it wasn’t a comment on your worth as a person or a personal attack. Misspelling the name of a goddamned sandwich doesn’t make you a bad person – but pointing out the typo doesn’t make ME a bad person, and there wasn’t any call to get pouty and smartassed about it.
Follow-up to the quoted rant: Don’t get snippy with me because you’re tired, missy. I’ve been up a good hour longer than you, put in a full day at work, went on an hour-long hike after work and I’m still in a better mood than you. Bite. My. Ass.
There’s a rather large chance he’s not a good candidate. It’s not the surgery that bugs me, it’s the that she believes all her problems will go away once it happens.
It’s frustrating because co-worker’s constantly deciding if someone else makes some huge change, her own life will be fixed. She’ll spend weeks talking about how once X happens everything will be sunshine and puppies. She either doesn’t realize or won’t admit that her ‘solutions’ either have no connection to her problems or are completely unrealistic and no one can tell her otherwise. Then things don’t get better and she mopes.
Before this plan the jackpot was 30 million and she kept talking about how if her dad won it he could give her 10 mil and she could do all kinds of stuff. Somehow she assumed the IRS and her three siblings would be perfectly ok with being left out.
Chef Troy, a couple of weeks ago my husband went to a fast-food restaurant at lunch – I don’t know which one, the one that offers “Beef and Cheddar.” Arby’s? Anyway, he told the counter person that their sign had “cheddar” misspelled on both sides as “chedder.” The kind of sign with movable letters.
When he passed the restaurant on his way home from work, the sign had been corrected on both sides.
My smoker brother-in-law posted a diatribe on Facebook about how water fluoridation causes cancer. :smack: I suspect pointing out the contradiction will only lead to more tinfoil-hattery about how he smokes natural tobacco and it’s the big pharmaceutical companies that are poisoning us with drugs in the water and withholding The Cure for Cancer…
Back in the November or December thread I ranted about it not snowing at my house when the rest of my city got snow. Today I rant about getting snow at my house. It’s officially Spring, the Pacific Northwest isn’t known for snow, and I don’t live up in the mountains, I live right next to the river near sea level, or in local parlance “the valley floor.” Why can’t we get more snow when we’re supposed to and not get snow now? It’s not a lot of snow and will probably melt by the end of the day, but there shouldn’t be any, dammit!
It’s spring. Therefore, it’s humid. Humidity does not agree with my hair. I’m going to spend the next couple months looking like the bride of Frankenstein and thinking wistful thoughts about pixie cuts.
My book came back from copy-editing. I read every single sentence out loud to myself. Then I read every single sentence out loud with my co-author. Every single page of the book still had at least one glaring error.
Listen up assholes on another message board. Your self-published book is not the same as my book. Your self published book has not been copy-edited, nor has it been through any damned outside review at all. Consequently your self published book is tripe. I don’t care what your mommy told you or your idiot friends or your fellow self publishing morons believe. SItop comparing my hard work with your mental masturbation, your arrogant, sad little idiots. Self publishing is not publishing. I am not interested in talking to you about “our experience” nor am I interested in talking to you as a fellow “author.” Your shit on lulu or smashwords or publish America is just that. Shit. I have news for you. Most books are shit. My book may in fact be shit. I don’t know yet. But I’ll tell you this. At least it will be copy-edited shit. Your will just be shit, now and always.
Now go away and stop yelling at me because I dared tell you so.
Oh God Yes Yes How I hate that hateful little train and his horrible putrid island with its screeching children singing. And just when you think the song has finished its final chorus it just repeats the chorus AGAIN for absolutely no reason.
Secondly, the whole island of Sodor would be so much better off if Thomas was shunted into some isolated jungle track where he could rust away for eternity. Every single episode is some variation on “Narrator: Thomas couldn’t handle normal everyday interaction so he decided to run over the wife of Sir Topham Hat repeatedly. Thomas: Boiling bumpers, I’ve made a mess of everything. Now the kids will never get their Celebration Day cakes.”
Finally, the highest compliment anyone can give seems to be “You are a very useful train. Not like that artist train we had here before who couldn’t haul half as much sheep excrement to the docks as you can.”
