The only song that would make me afeered in such circumstances.
Feeling frustrated with my son. He was looking good for 2 A’s and 3 B’s this semester a couple of weeks ago. Now it looks like straight B’s. Mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to do some assignments, not because he didn’t understand the work. Three of these classes are semester classes and thus, the final grade. Skating by with B’s when you are capable of A’s with a little effort is not acceptable in our house. The B’s in the harder classes I’m fine with. The B’s in Drama and Spanish because he didn’t bother with some assignments are unacceptable.
I think I speak for us all when I say ‘…what the Hell???’
Try listening to a half dozen or so versions of this monstrosity when you are working. Thankfully she cut my hours at the store down so I don’t get to hear it so often, but the day shift worker is ready to go postal on it.
I loathe the junk mail that shows up during the holidays designed to look like a Christmas Card - card sized, “handwriting” font, holiday stamp. Do they really think tricking me into opening it is going to endear me to their business? “SO clever! You got me, A-1 Insurance! I wish to do business with you!”
I’ve often thought about getting a Christmas job, but the idea of listening to Christmas music for two months - nuh uh. Can’t do it.
Or this onefrom Sailer Twit.
Someone from the hotel we stayed at on vacation called this morning.; they found the keys my husband lost while we were there! 
Of course, he had the expensive, chipped one cut and programmed yesterday. 
Damn it.
It’s like eating strawberries and orange juice. The one substance completely changes the taste of the other. Something about the dark chocolate makes whatever it is in the fake cocoa and/or milk taste like ass. It’s horrific. And possibly due to the fact that it’s fake cocoa in the first place - but it never tastes as shitty as when I’ve had good dark chocolate.
Got home from the lovely dinner we had for my father’s (last Saturday) and niece’s (yesterday) birthday celebration. I get into my apartment, unload everything and decide to walk down and check the mail. I walk past the laundry room on my way and there is no sound of any laundry bring done. I get my mail, slowly sort it out and toss it, dawdling to pay attention to the two dirtbags loudly arguing in the lobby, curious if it will erupt into a fight and I’d need to call the cops. Then back up to the apartment. Still no laundry being done, I need to do a load, there’s time, so what the heck.
Go into my apartment, feed the cat, set aside two bills to pay, change my clothes, sort out the laundry (getting the idea this is taking more than 2 minutes?) and remember there’s only like 20 cents on my laundry card. So I walk back down to the lobby, charge the card watching one of the two dirtbags argue with a third person who had showed up. Go back to apartment, grab laundry, detergent, etc and go to laundry room.
Both washers are full, but done. Long done. Been at least 15-20 minutes since I got home and wasn’t going in that time. So I unload one of the machines and put my stuff in. Hey, I used to wait for people like this, but too many people would leave their shit overnight, or all day, so fuck 'em. If it’s been over 20 minutes, I pull your stuff and do mine.
Walk in there 10 minutes later and that person’s stuff is in the dryer.
Show up 35 minutes later to check on things, just to be sure. As I walk up, I hear someone opening the washing machine my stuff was in. Hurriedly steps away and comes out the door hauling all her clothing as I get closer.
SuperBitch starts screaming at me about how her laundry wasn’t done for TWO MINUTES before I touched it. “I have two small children* and I don’t like people touching my clothes!” I start to apologize, but say it had been at least 15-20 minutes. She screams over the top of me about how it was only TWO MINUTES!!! and how rude I am. :rolleyes: Starts walking away still yelling at me and telling me not to touch her clothes.
Done. No more apologies. “Ok, at this point, you can go fuck yourself.”
Will be interesting if she complains to the office about me tomorrow. I’ll tell them - “I started to apologize, but she was a screaming bitch, so as far as I am concerned she can go fuck herself. I’m sorry that you have to deal with this.”
Oh, and you know what? I occasionally space off my laundry too. Once or twice someone has pulled it out to do theirs. I admit I’m not 100% comfortable with that, but figure it’s my own damned fault for losing track of the time and other people need to use the two washers and two dryers for 20 apartments on this floor/wing sometime too.
- No idea what that has to do with anything.
Eh. Don’t sweat it. I once dumped 4 dryers of clothes, plus what was on top of two of them, so 6 loads of laundry, onto the floor in one huge pile. There are a few 4-bedroom units in my building, all occupied by clueless Loyola students. That laundry was there all weekend.
I’m sure your office already knows your lovely neighbor as a screeching banshee. They’re usually not the type to complain to anyone but what’s directly in front of them at the time.
I set my phone’s timer, 25 minutes for wash and 55 minutes for dry. Works well.
Life is so haaard when you have small children! You just don’t understand! I can’t possibly think about anyone else! Argle bargle!!!
:rolleyes:
I spaced on taking my laundry from the dryer promptly once or twice my freshman year of college. Both times it was an underthings load and both times the person who moved it folded it neatly on the table next to the machine. I was torn between being weirded out that someone touched my undies and so so pleased that I didn’t have to fold it myself.
Okay, haters, I get it. Haley Osment is faaaaaaaaaaaat. I kinda noticed it myself. I also notice that he’s working. So I’d rather he was plump and (presumably) happy and working than skinny and miserable and unemployed. If all you have to say is “He doesn’t look like he used to,” you don’t have to comment at all.
I don’t think any of us look like we did in 1999. And if you do, then you’ve had way too much plastic surgery and have problems beyond what I’m willing to deal with.
I once tasted some hot cocoa mix straight out of the pack because it smelled so good when I opened it. The mix tasted a bit salty, and not very cocoa-like at all.
I used it to make hot “cocoa” anyway. :o (I was in college…I didn’t know any better.)
Well, he used to look a lot shorter. I’m glad he didn’t stay that short.
For shared washing machines- one of my housemates has the enfuriating habit of loading up the machine with all his dirty washing, then… just going out for the day. Or the weekend, on one notable occasion. Without switching it on. Taking someone I know’s clean laundy out the machine to put mine it doesn’t bother me, it happens. Having to take some guy’s dirty underwear out? That’s not really ok.
Anyway, that wasn’t the minirant I came in for. I went shopping to try and find a present for my cousin’s 15 month old. In a little local toy shop, and (I think) the owner came over and asked if I could use any help. I said I was looking for a present for a 15 month old… she asks ‘Is it for a girl or a boy’, I reply ‘It’s pretty much just a baby at the moment, where’s the baby stuff?’
‘Oh, but girls like things like this’ (points at play cookery set) ‘Boys like trains and cars!’
At 15 freaking months??? COOKERY SETS?
I’m not normally very happy about having such a gender divide with kids toys (and I’m specifically trying to avoid it for my cousin’s kid, as she’s first granddaughter both sides, and she’s got loads of girls stuff already), but I know a lot of people go with it. But I clearly didn’t want to buy something specifically gendered, and seriously, a fake cooking set, for a kid that tiny? Pisses me off.
At 10:00, the car in the driveway across the street set loose with its alarm. It went off for maybe a minute before it was shut off.
At 11:30 it went off.
At 2:30, it went off again.
Then at 5:00.
If it goes one ONCE tonight, I’m going to walk over there, knock on their door, hand them a crescent wrench, and tell them to disconnect the fucking battery.
You won’t get the wrench back, I betcha.