This is so weird. I’m a baseball fan and most years I travel the three hours it takes to go to Cleveland Indians games. Yesterday, I got a call from them, asking under what circumstances I go to games. It was weird, but I answered. Today, she called back! I asked my assistant to take a message, and she said it was about my “account.”
I looked up the name and number she left and she really is with the Indians.
Hello, insomnia.
Last night/early in the twilight hours of the morning as the windows started to show light:
“This is the time when I always start getting a little paranoid. There’s no … reason I’d be pregnant, right ?”
Him: “Uh, if you are, it’s not because of me and we have other things to talk about.”
Today, at work:
“OwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwWTF?ohwaitthat’swhatthatitisohcoolYAYalso…ooooooooowwwwwwwww.”
Hello, Advil. You and Insomnia can be BFFs.
Me too! We’re like, rag sisters!
To the dude on the 70 bus: Shouting to all and sundry about your problems finding a job as a chef because of those gol-durn Mexicans with their green cards working for minimum wage just makes you look stupid. If the Hilton Hotel let you go (union shop, right?), it was likely because of your loud mouth, poor attitude, and sorry-ass cooking skills, not because a minority showed up at the door.
Sheesh, sometimes public transit just isn’t worth it.
Ha! I liked to fish once in awhile (no Sorels for that, just Sitka sneakers), but I quit going hunting when I was about 18 years old. Never got into the expense of snowmachines, boats, planes or cabins either. After being born and raised there, 30 years away changed my priorities significantly. Also, I’m a Democrat, which made me an endangered species over the last ten years there.
Wait, how is this in the Pit? This sounds like free or steeply discounted tickets to me!
Maybe the guy on my bus could help him out. He is apparently the Commissioner of Generals, and he has *several *high-rise buildings and *three skyscrapers *interested in his ideas.
Why the FUCK did the bagger at the supermarket, where they obnoxiously didn’t provide bags in the meat section, bag my raw carrots in with my raw meat? The meat oozed all over the carrots.
Isn’t that the first rule of food bagging, no meat in with other things, especially things people eat raw? And where are the fucking bags in the meat section?
Fuckers.
Why the fuck does just about every bagger at every grocery store I go to insist on putting the bananas in with my frozen stuff? If I don’t catch it, I get home to find they’ve been smashed AND turned black by hard frozen stuff. Morons.
Wait, you weren’t just going to make stew?
Well, I am now!
An article in the local paper this week told about an abusive asshole who started shouting and cursing at the driver and pushing her while she was driving. An ex-Marine walked up behind him in case things got out of hand. Somebody further back told the asshole to STFU: he whirls around, sees the Marine, thinks he’s the one who shouted at him and takes a swing. The ex-Marine, who is also a wrestler, takes the fucker down in about two seconds and they hold him until the cops show up. OO-rah!
I did some bagging at the Air Force commissary for a while. The rules were:
Don’t put foods and nonfoods together, and ESPECIALLY don’t put poisons in the same bag with foods. Poisons weren’t just things like rat poison and such, but detergent and furniture polish and whatever else would make you sick if you ate it.
The only thing that goes on top of eggs is bread.
Put down ONE layer of canned goods, but then put lightweight stuff on top of it, like paper towels or toilet paper.
Seriously, I don’t think that putting raw meat in with other foods was ever covered. Most of the baggers probably had enough of a challenge to just remember those three rules. I think that this was before the practice of having bags available at the meat section, too. It was back in the days before plastic grocery shopping bags were common, you had paper bags in an assortment of sizes, and your choices were single or double bag.
Drop dead Dish Network. The United States Figure Skating Nationals are on this weekend. I can’t get NBC to work for me so I can’t watch the pairs or ladies finale. I may be able to watch the men tomorrow but I doubt it.
My husband and I have made four separate phone calls to HQ about getting the old pvr fixed in the last two weeks. All we’ve gotten are conflicting quotes and shrugs from you at the poor service. One person tells us one thing and another person tells us another. The stupid fucking service tech would not let me authorize new service because my husband’s name was on the account and not mine even though I produced several bills with my name on them including the mortgage and copies of my last month’s paycheck. This is not god damned 1960’s. I will not be treated like an appendage who must beg my husband’s permission to make financial decisions.
I am not paying this month’s bill. I am switching to Comcast.
Fuck you. You took away six hours of pleasure from my life because you’re lazy, greedy, unhelpful assholes. We’ve faithfully paid our cable bill for eight years. This is not how you reward loyal customers.
And if anyone has a copy of the 2011 United States Nationals I will glady pay you for a copy of the ladies and/or pairs finale.
I still get this, too, and it never fails to piss me right off. I’m not sure how my husband’s name got on all the bills, but when we moved, he asked them to put my name on all of them, too. I do all the financial stuff in our household; when I make a decision about a bill that will benefit us, I want to be able to call someone and make it happen, not have to ask my husband to call them.
The worst part is when I you call them to try and they tell you they need your name on the account, you remind them it is and they still stick to their story. THEN when the Mr. calls to readd your name they say “Oh yes, she’s already there, what’s the problem”
Dear Electric Company; I have mailed the last two payments in a row more than 2 weeks before the due date. Then about a week and a half past the due date, you send me an email notice telling me that my payment was late. Then you miraculously receive it just after that.
Fucking knock it off.
Next week I begin the process of paying you for two months at a time, so that you can’t claim the month after that was late. Depending on my bank account, I may just try to stay one month ahead of you after that.
Oh, and fuck you building management company. Starting with all new leases*, you can be charged an $8 late fee on your average $10-14 water bill if it isn’t paid in time. Then they send you the fucking thing about 6 days before it is due.
Holy fucking shit. My friends common-law husband just found out he has multiple myeloma. A very rare cancer and she is now in the process of jumping through all of the insurance hoops on this shit. I talk to her about once a week, and every week she encounters something that just about makes me scream. (I am astonished at her calm and poise)
Her insurance company doesn’t count the Mayo clinic “in network”. So yeah, none of that is covered. Her insurance company counts his first dose of chemo medication as “specialty” so they don’t cover that either - that was only $3k for 14 pills. $3k for 14 pills! fuck!
I am just blown away by the bullshit that she is going through.
What a fucked up system. It just makes me feel a little sick to my stomach how she is getting screwed by insurance.
I don’t know why the fucking Charter website will not let me sign in to pay my bill. I reset my password last month after it refused to let me sign in with the correct one, even wrote it down, and now this month it’s doing the same shit. I’m going to try again tomorrow, and if that doesn’t work, I’m calling them and asking them why the fuck their website does not recognize the same password two months in a row.
Fuck! Who takes a fucking girls (10 years old? 12?) basketball team to Starbucks lateish on a school night? And a special fuck you to the guy who asked if it was OK if he sat next to me - sure, why not? Ah, what he really meant was “is it OK for me to save this seat for my wife to come breastfeed her baby?”
Yeah, I left. Guess I really didn’t need to take a rest break driving home from Phoenix…