Bitch bitch bitch
I miss my friends. I’m spending far too much time alone lately and it’s affecting me.
Husband got the dogs all wound up playing with then and Mojo bounced his head into my hand and ripped half the nail off my finger. Luckily its on my left hand and its Friday so I’ve got a couple days before I have to do any real typing but my hunt and peck skills are way out of practice and I cant sleep beacuse of the throbbing pain in my hand.
To: the person who needs to chase serial numbers (I’m lazy).
I work in IT-ish (ERP consultant): usually we bring our own laptops, mice, keyboards, screens… there are clients who won’t even provide us with pens and papers; my current coworkers stopped making fun of my black Hello Kitty notebook when they discovered that their only local sources of paper were stealing from the copier or asking me for a page. At one place my coworker who used paper clips was told to bring her own.
And yet, a couple of times already I’ve had to sign affidavits on the day I left, swearing on my dear departed paternal grandmother’s grave that the bright blue keyboard (15€ Carrefour’s white brand - it actually said “Carrefour” in the corner), the Logitech mouse (corporate ones all being Dell) and the red Toshiba, or built from parts, or bluish-silver Siemens laptop (corporate ones being most definitely not built from separately-bought parts, and always being a serious shade of black) were, indeed, mine.
Evidently they think they don’t pay me enough to spend 15€ on a keyboard, I need to steal them. I should ask for higher rates.
The czar must institute reforms!
Oh wait, I misread the thread title
Network TV: Why oh why must you take the month of December off? You’re totally fucking up my routine.
I just give up on regular tv for December. (Also my regular radio station 'cause it goes all Christmas music and I can’t take that.)
What I do is marathon rewatching of TV seasons. First up this year: Game of Thrones, season 1 and 2. And then Firefly. 
flatlined, do you now have papercuts in interesting places?
Dear Doctor, Now that I have finaly relented to your year-and-a-half campain to join the clan of the daily stabers, would you please put your many years of education to use and figure out that insulin pens are not supositoiries?
[short version, order the fracking needles too, dumbass]
Went to a restaurant for lunch today. The tables were not terribly far apart. On one side we had two ladies who I think were modelled on Hyacinth from “Keeping Up Appearances”. They never shut up the whole time.
On the other side were two guys and I am convinced one was a Nigerian scammer. He spoke so loudly and so often- waving his arms for effect- about all this land he had bought in Africa and establishing a fish market in upper bum fuck, Nigeria, that he didn’t have time to eat. Eventually the waitress asked him if his food was okay as it was taking so long for him to finish it.
When we had our coffee I asked the lady if we could have it in the bar area. No problems and I mentioned that the gentleman beside us was just too loud. She smiled and said “I know!”
My daughter is growing out of her afternoon nap. But I’m not ready for her to, dammit! She’s three. She’s been in there 45 minutes and is STILL awake. I suppose I’ll have to spring her soon. But, for fuck’s sake, can’t she just close her eyes like a sane person to get a little shut eye instead of mooing at her feet? She and her brother spent the entire morning arguing and I don’t want to get all screamy, but if at least one of them isn’t out of the way for a tad longer, I’ll go bat-shit crazy.
Speaking of, when is it okay to let them handle their own damn fights? I know now is not the time when my daughter is entering her terribles and my son is six (though getting better at learning to just walk away), but fuck, I’m tired of playing referee. They hardly even hear me when they’re annoyed at each other, so I have to raise my voice to get them to knock it the hell off. I hate that.
If she’s happily mooing at her feet, why on earth would you spring her?! Leave her there!
Widget is the same age, and most days she sleeps for an hour and a half at naptime, but some days she just stays awake, talking to herself and singing and explaining things to the universe. I still leave her there for an hour and a half. She needs the downtime, whether she uses it to sleep or just to relax. If she doesn’t have naptime at all, the results are Not Good.
My daughter is 20 months old. She goes to bed at 7:30, asleep around 8, and has been waking up about 6-6:30 which is too damn early. Just a month ago she’d sleep till 7. But naptime is what’s really getting my goat… she’s been whining for up to 45 minutes, then sleeping for 45 minutes and waking up again. BAAAHHHHHHH I’m supposed to have at least another year of napping GO BACK TO SLEEP ALREADY.
Don’t Wikipedia vandals have anything better to do with their time? There’ve been at least three hits today on one article!
That’s about the age my son gave up naps at home. At daycare, he’d nap great, at home, nope.
Like an idiot, I got emotionally involved in an Israel thread in GD. Again. After I swore I’d stay away from those threads. Those things are going to give me a fucking heart attack one day, and yet I keep coming back.
Yeah, you’re a real fucking genius, Alessan.
Some fuckstick at Lowe’s switched refrigerator water filter boxes so they could get it ten bucks cheaper. I didn’t find out until I got it home. I hope they choke on a glass of water.
Once again my damned aunt has included a poison pen, ‘Here’s what I’m disappointed in about you’ note in a family birthday card. It’s fucking cruel is what it is, it’s your birthday, you open cards and are feeling warm and lovely but THERE - “I can’t believe you care about me so little that you would blah blah blah, but Happy Birthday anyway, I love you b/c you’re family.”
I used to forgive it and chalk it up to her mental illness when she did it to me or my brother, but this time she unloaded, inaccurately, on my dad on his 68th birthday. Screw you, Linda.
I had to take 100% responsibility for almost fucking up at work, which was a little outrageous since other people took such a big role in setting me up to almost fuck up. My answer was that I was going to have to break people’s balls the next time I get into a situation like this, to which there was no response. Which means next time I am going to have to break people’s balls. I will have to become imperative and authoritative. Probably a little abrasive. Rude? Invasive? At the very least assertive. Otherwise these clowns are going to get me into more trouble.
Balls.
Sounds like well past time to write a “And we’re so disappointed in you for consistently being an ASS to people on their birthdays. What. The. Fuck. Is wrong with you that you feel the need to do this?” note for HER birthday!
My hands involuntarily closed into fists when I read this. OWIE!!! I have no advice, but lots of sympathy.
That bites. Both about having to stick yourself as well as not having a way to do it. I learned here that you don’t have to have a script to buy insulin syringes, maybe you could pick some up at a pharmacy to hold you over until the needles for your pen come in?
As to the papercuts…no. It might have happened if it was a good book, with high quality paper, though. Because after I flung the book half at Bill, we ended up pulling the pages out of both halves and throwing them at each other.
It was the most fun I’ve had for 50 cents ever!
Bill is even more evil than me. My Christmas tradition is that when I walk into a store that has a bunch of motion-activated singing things, I shut them all off. Not because I’m a grinch, but because the poor cashiers have to listen them all day. The cashiers can’t shut them off, but I can and do.
Today, Bill watched me start shutting them off and told me that I was doing it wrong because a Manager would just come along and turn them all back on. Then he opened one and reversed the batteries. Why didn’t I think of that years ago? :smack:
Bill got a call from the catsitter today. She was worried about Steve because she hadn’t seen him. When Bill hired her, he told her that Steve was in a cage for a very good reason and that if the food went away and the litterbox got filled…all was good.
Catsitter didn’t listen and stuck her hand into Steve’s house. That went about as well as could be expected. Steve’s rabies paperwork is in Houston, and the animal control people wanted it right away, so I had to call my awesome vet (I miss him already) and beg him to go to his office and fax his copy to them.