Funny that..
Cool – then we’re noble, instead of pathetic.
{{here are some of those brackets for ya}}
Hey MiL,
Do you seriously not understand why we don’t like that guy you just eloped with? You invited us over, we showed up on time. He had to have known we were coming. If he didn’t want to see us he could have just not been there instead of pretending we weren’t there while playing Sega Genesis games in the other room and then saying “I GOTTA GO BUY SOME SODA POP OR SOMETHING” and scurrying out the door when you asked him to join us. He’s just so damn awkward. He gives off a vibe that’s somewhere between “55 year old mildly retarded Napoleon Dynamite” and “just got caught red-handed trying to fuck a chicken.” I mean, shit, I have tried to get to know him but he doesn’t converse. I ask him a question, he looks at his feet and answers “Yeah” or “I dunno.”
You and FiL had a terrible marriage and you’re better off apart. Did you really have to jump into a rebound marriage with the first guy you met online who wasn’t trying to scam you out of money?
And now it’s the 4 year old’s turn! Can’t take him to daycare, hubby is already at work, and with a blizzard coming to town, I’m not going to ask anyone to come watch the kids or they’ll get stuck.
They’re maternity jeans, idiot. They’re intended to be worn over some chick’s bump. I’m fairly sure that you had that info when you were asked to design them, given that they have a big stretchy band instead of a normal waistband. So what made it seem like a good idea to have the seam between the jeans and the band, a few inches above the bottom of the bump, be non-stretch?
Ow fucking ow. This is what I get for ordering online. They’re the exact same brand and model that I lived in last time, so I assumed they’d be fine, but apparently in the past four years some genius has redesigned them for women who enjoy being sliced in half whenever they sit down.
This hasn’t happened to me recently, but occasionally I’ll get a phone call from my bank, and I’ll be asked to do a telephone survey relating to their services. They ask me to rate various things (politeness of tellers, quality of service, etc.) on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the best. I’m usually satisfied with most things at that bank, so I tend to give everything a 9. When I do that, though, they hound me and ask me why I hadn’t given them a 10, and ask me what they can do to improve.
Hello? 9 is pretty damn high. I’m satisfied enough already, okay? Leave me alone.
Maybe his last job was designing pans of Jiffy-Pop.
That’s an easy one.
Stop asking me to take online surveys.
It isn’t online, though. It’s a phone call. But great idea
My response is usually “I’m Minnesotan. Nothing is ever given a 10, as it goes against our ethics”.
Unfortunately with these kinds of surveys, anything less than a 10 is a fail. You might as well give a 0 as a 9. I hate them and I refuse to participate most of the time.
The friend from whom I bought my car has threatened with killing me slowly with a rusty spoon if, when I get the customer satisfaction survey, I do not claim that Of Course he offered me the extended warranty he knew I wasn’t going to want, and the shiny bells and whistles he knew perfectly well I wasn’t going to want, but specially, if I do not say that Of Course I’d test-driven the car!
Half his comision hangs on that last question 
The comision changes depending on the customers’ answers, with Mr. Pushy Pain In The Ass apparently being the ideal salesman and the notion that the customer might not want/need to test drive the car (maybe his brother/friend/lover’s second-cousin-twice-removed hairdresser already has the same make and model, for example? Or he got one as a rental?) not having occurred to whomever designed the poll. Which gets to be the Big Question varies month-by-month.
Oh yes, absolutely, I test-drove the car! Yeah man! Same color and chasis number as mine, actually, isn’t it amazing?
Customer Satisfaction surveys are the bane of the modern era.
People who design them and then set professional goals based on them should be slow roasted over flaming mixed animal feces and while further punishment is decided by making them fill out surveys.
Hee! That’s exactly what I feel like: one good kick from the kid and BLAMMO!! And I’m only five months in, and it’s not like I’ve put on tons of weight. My normal jeans with a hair elastic through the buttonhole are actually more comfortable than those bloody things.
While I’m on the subject, I would also like to complain about the fact that I did all this pregnancy shite last time and it’s not FAIR that my husband can’t do it this time round.
Fuck off and die power company. FIVE power outages in less than a week. A little bit of rain or an inch or two snow and you’d think another hurricane Sandy was on us again. Grr . . .
I don’t know why I can’t manage to find any GOOD used cds at the thrift stores here. Everybody in this boring shithole has awful taste in music. Last time I was at the thrift-store I found Depeche Mode and it was either burned or blank. Found a tape of the Bangles and the BOX was empty. I didn’t pay for that shit, Who the fuck shoplifts tapes anymore? I am even coming up empty-handed at the fucking library, I found a Warped tour cd and it’s miossing the first disc. All I want is some goddamn music.
This fucking computer continues to piss me off. Either that or this worthless piece of shit modem. I am fucking tired of constantly rebooting and maintenance.
I miss the meow mix commercials 
To the serial vaguebooker who posted “WORST. CHRISTMAS. EVER.” as her status on Christmas Day: STFU. It could be so much worse, you selfish twit. YOUR teenage daughter is still alive and well, unlike my friend’s teenage daughter who passed away very suddenly just 24 days prior to Christmas, and your family is most likely sitting happily around the table enjoying Christmas dinner, unlike my friend’s family who has one empty place setting and are barely holding it together for the sake of their two other kids. You have a fucking broken ankle. “Worst Christmas”…fuck off. How about looking at your life in perspective. Yeah I “hid” you from my newsfeed because I’m royally sick of your bullshit.
I’m supposed to be learning to drive. In order to learn, I have to practice.
It’s now been over a month since I touched a steering wheel. My mother is (was) the only one in my family who drives, and when she ran away from her family and her responsibilities a month ago, of course, she took the car with her.
Now I’m supposed to have a driving road test sometime in the future, and I have NOBODY to practice with. My dad tried to get his friends to practice with me, but I’m not insured with their car or something.
FUCK it all.