Who doesn’t want to surf Pornhub from their fridge?
I hadn’t thought of that. I think I’m sold!
Jeez, get a cat.
Or intriguing designs like this?
:dubious:
Yeah I hate it when my Bugatti’s hubcaps won’t spin and have to put it in the shop again and have to use the beater Porsche.
This Canuck has no probs with a non-wintery T-giving. I’d have more of a problem having it on the Yank date - way too close to X-mas. It’s like - what - I’m seeing you guys again, so soon? 
US politics has been somewhat disconcerting.*
*Perhaps not a recent revelation.
Way to dispel the myth of the polite, understating Canadian.
(I know it’s a joke but it dovetails so nicely with my rant)
I do have a cat. He’s a lazy asshole that pees in my living room and ruins stuff. I finally bit the bullet and put a litter box in the living room to see if he would at least pee where he’s supposed to if it’s in his room of choice. For the past two weeks, we have had no instances of inappropriate peeing. Success! Except now he poops almost exclusively in that litter box and he won’t bury it. Great.
So the motherfucker will crap out after 5 years from “the motherboard” when everything else is still fine. Replacing the motherboard would have been almost 500€ just for the part; a new fridge was less than 300. And the old one didn’t even have screens, internet or an ice maker; the spec which made it “extra fancy” was that you could switch off either half (fridge and freezer) separately.
Have you tried the “slowly move it where you actually want it” trick? Although that can be a problem if there are closed doors and/or stairs involved.
Dear Professor Twatwaffle,
FUCK YOU you vile, evil, revolting cunt. I have spent Eight. Goddamn. Years in school while simultaneously working and raising a family and you sit there and tell me that I’m not taking this seriously? What. The. Ever-loving. Fuck??? Maybe, just maybe your fucking expectations run counter to everything that every other professor has 1) taught us to do, and b) expected from us. Therefore, perhaps my request for clarification comes not from a position of laziness but rather genuine confusion over the required projects. Additionally, if you have some serious issues with my paper perhaps you could lay them out—telling me “I could list the problems with your thesis and argument, but why bother if you don’t care” isn’t fucking helpful. I mean, we’re both teachers, constructive criticism is what we do.Well, it’s what I do with my students, clearly it’s not what you do. You just demean your students and play favorites. If I didn’t meet your expectations, tell me how.
Yeah, I know. This is graduate school, boo fucking hoo, put on your big boy pants, etc. But you know what? The whole fucking point of graduate school is to hone the field-specific skills that we learned in a broader sense as undergrads. For me, that’s research, which means that if I have questions or concerns simply referring me to the syllabus and repeating the due date doesn’t fucking cut it. When half the students in your seminar—half the goddamn students—voice their continued and sustained confusion over the assignment you’ve given, perhaps that’s a good indicator that the fault is not ours, but rather your unclear expectations. Oh? We’re all idiots? Ok, I guess that makes sense. I was under the impression that we were graduate students, but apparently we’re just a bunch of high school dropouts with a collectively high illiteracy rate and low IQ. Yep, that must be it. How foolish of me.
Now, maybe you’re one of those “sink or swim” types, but yanno what? Fuck you. Those types—your fucking type—don’t belong in teaching positions. I’m paying for my fucking grad school out of my own pocket, every single dime, right there on my Visa card—don’t tell me I’m not taking it seriously.
Go fuck a chainsaw, bitch.
I decided to stay home today with the kids. After all, they had a day off school, we had a really hectic but wonderful weekend, so I wanted them to be able to sleep and relax instead of having to be shuttled someplace or have to stay home alone while I work today. Awesome. So they got to have a leisurely morning which, although it did involve flu shots (making the most of a day off), also included candy for said flu shots thanks to the pediatrician’s office.
So I came home to wash the trashcans out (we’ve had bugs practically crawling out of the woodwork, which is typical when we have the house sprayed a couple of times a year - the house isn’t terribly old, but old enough that when we spray some creepy crawlies come out, gasp and die, so I usually bleach the more common areas to prevent any “growth”). I open the trash cabinet and take out the bin only to find a squirming mess quite full of life underneath. Someone forgot to take out the trash while we were gone, which I knew and remedied last night, but I was tired so hadn’t gotten around to the bleaching part. Apparently my attempts to prevent any bugs were one day too late and a fly had laid eggs under the cabinet. Well, the fuckers hatched and I haven’t been able to eat today out of sheer disgust.
Fine, maggots (shudder) taken care of, I go to throw the laundry into the dryer. And my feet go splash. Fuuuuuck. A leak has sprung in the bottom of the washer. While we aren’t out of laundry (I did it before we left), my laundry room is decidedly not supposed to go splash. Anyway, the kids were more upset than I was. I kind of rolled my eyes, got down on my knees and started wiping, with their help. Damn house. Damn vacations. Always more tiring than I expect.
But if there’s enough “not taking this seriously” classmates sharing your same concern, why not approach her, as a group, and call her on it?
This approach was done in an English class back in college, resulting in WAY fairer grading of papers after we took the matter up with the prof.
Why has my car fuel gauge decided to dispense with the subtlety of registering any values between ¼ full and AHHHH!!! EMPTY!!!?
The last ‘quarter tank,’ according to the dial, has always dropped noticeably faster than the rest of it, unlike my old car in which it lasted longer than the whole rest of the tank. Today though, it went from ¼ full to fuel light on within a mile. I had to stop and get fuel from one of the ludicrously overpriced tourist places to be sure of getting home.
I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to do that. But before anyone says, I’m not going to get it checked out, because the car is old, beat up, and fixing it would likely cost more than the car’s worth.
Let me guess - a Dodge?
Any one I ever owned had that same problem.
Last month my daughter bought a beautiful pork shoulder to cook up for shredded pork. Due to a miscommunication I also bought a pork shoulder. We cooked mine and I vacuum bagged and froze hers. Since today’s a holiday we decided I need to defrost and smoke hers so I set it out last night. I opened the bag this morning and the smell of rotten eggs nearly knocked me down. Well shit.
So into the dumpster with a lovely pork shoulder and I’m off to the store to buy a couple of racks of ribs.
I have a new Toyota Camry that is like that, the gauge is more of a logarithmic scale. When it is at 1/4 on the gauge, I can put in 11.5 of the 13 gallons of the tank. It stays above 1/2 tank for freakin’ ever though.
My mail at work comes by noon most days, although sometimes it’s as early as eleven. Today I walked to the box, 75 yards (I forget why I know that), around 11:30, but no mail yet. I walked to the box again at 12:15, then again at one. Then I looked online and discovered it’s a holiday.
Around 2:30 I was done and decided to go home. Out of habit I drove up to our mailbox. When I saw it was empty, Columbus smacked me in the face. Damn!! I do the same thing every minor holiday year after year. Luckily, mail is delivered on groundhogs day; that would be too meta.
A story.
When I was stationed in Germany with the US Air Force, I bought a Chevy Vega through the Base Exchange. The car came in at the port in Bremerhaven, in northwest Germany, and I was stationed in Ramstein, in southwest Germany. So I took a train to Bremerhaven to pick up the car. Cars come in at the port with just a quarter of a tank of gas, just enough to get you out of the port and to the first gas station on the way out. So I filled the tank, got in the car, and lo and behold, my gas gauge still showed a quarter full. I drove back to the base and took it to the car repair shop where they told me they were going to have to order parts from the US, and just drive carefully till the part came in.
So I’m in the barracks one Sunday night when two friends who had been in the US came into the Frankfurt airport and called anybody poking around in the barracks to come pick them up. Let me reiterate that this was a Sunday evening. Back then in the 70s (I have no idea what it’s like now), practically everything in Germany was closed on Sunday nights. The on base gas station and the stations near the base were all closed. I went into the computer lab, where I worked, which had people working all day and all night, and told them my problem. A co-worker told me that she had a gas can with some gas in it and I took it with me, just in case I ran out on the way to Frankfurt.
And I did run out of gas, right on the freeway. I just happened to be at the off-ramp to Mannheim, a major town along the way, and took the gas can out and filled what it had in it into my gas tank. I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to get to the airport with just that little amount of gas, so I drove into Mannheim, driving around trying to find a gas station. But I couldn’t find one. So I flagged down a taxi, explained to him in my broken German what my problem was, and asked him to guide me to an open station. He did, I paid him for his help, filled up my tank, and was able to get to the airport and back to base.
It was a bit of a hectic night.
Reminds me of when I was stationed in Japan and my car had a digital dashboard. When the speedometer on said digi-dash decided to stop working, I took the car to Camp Zama’s car care center (as the Exchange calls the auto repair shop), the clerk and I had a rather interesting conversation:
So, I got another car with a traditional analog speedometer.
A Vauxhall actually.
My Uncle has a Reliant where the fuel gauge only works from full to half a tank. He keeps a little notebook of the mileage and how much fuel he puts in every time he fills up. It’s a low tech solution involving more effort than I’m prepared to put into it, but it works.
I take it the car doesn’t have a trip meter in addition to an odometer? While my current car’s gas gauge is pretty accurate, I’ve had this issue in the past and found that using the trip meter was an easy fix as long as I remembered to reset it at every filling. I had a good idea of how many miles I got to a tank, so I just paid attention to that.