Note to neighborhood TV meterologist:
Look, it’s great that you plan to only cover-up the Rah! Rah! USA! commercials and not the Olympics unless the weather gets really bad.
But I wish strongly you would use more of your “limited” commercial time to talk about what the bad weather may look like and less of it to promise not to cover up the Olympics.
This fucking weather. I have never more earnestly wished for some goddamn heat to get rid of the damn snow.
I was absolutely shocked when I saw it as well. That half-second feeling of “*Nawww *… that’s a joke. Who makes a stupid joke like that – OHHH.”
Note to self: Send Inner Stickler a jar of mid-July Texas summer air.
Now I’m wondering: would a holy fuck be what got Mary preggers?
I would treasure it but also probably end up using it to heat one of the many currently frozen aspects of my life.
Things to buy for next year: a stupid shovel to keep in the car for when there’s a fucking 2 foot drift all around said car.
…is still waiting for the guy from craigslist I hired to plow us out to show up. If he doesn’t, TheKid will not be going to work as there is no way for us to shovel the 3’ plow berm at the end of the driveway. I will then have to plead to my dislike BIL to come plow us out, which will put me in debt to him, which I so do not want.
New rule: if you call my workplace saying, “I just got a missed call from this number,” I am legally allowed to tase you in the nads. The taser will be turned up to the maximum.
Listen to your goddamn voicemail, morons.
Co-worker and I were talking about this very thing today.
Interesting encounter.
Walking along the sidewalk and I come up behind this man pushing a large scraper to get ice off the sidewalk. I make a comment about how fun that looks (sarcasm). He says something to me and I start to keep walking but the voice sounds distantly familiar, so I turn and talk to him for a second. Then it hits me. “Alex?”
Yup. Cousin of my once best friend. Haven’t seen him in about 14 years. He asks me if I’ve seen cousin/xbf lately. I say no, I haven’t spoken to him in 12 years because I got tired of their dogs biting and scratching the shit out of me and then them screaming at me, accusing me of hitting the dogs when I pushed them away (while blaming me for my injuries). He says he rarely speaks to them anymore because of much the same thing, including cousin/xbf’s wife screaming at him because he used the word ‘hell’ in front of their boys. :rolleyes:
Spent a couple of minutes catching up. Was kind of nice to feel somewhat vindicated like that.
Even better when you’ve barely hung up and they’re calling you back. If you’d have listened to the voicemail, I answered all of your questions!
May I add: If you leave a voicemail, don’t assume I’m going to know who you are. I take calls for over - lessee - 500 people per caseload, 9 caseloads - yeah, i’m not going to know you from Adam. Leave identifying information. Twit.
And the people who don’t like voicemails, so just continuously call then hang up should be beaten about the head with a heavy club.
Oh geeze, yes. How many times have I answered the phone and had this conversation:
“Blah place somethingsomething, this is Sicks…”
“Sicks! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for two WEEKS! I have a PROBLEM!”
“Um…did you leave a voicemail?”
“No, you’re never there!”
“Uh.”
No. I’m not always here. That’s what voicemail is for.
“Um…did you leave a voicemail?”
“No, you’re never there!”
Proper answer;
“Ah, then it obviously wasn’t very important”
And while you’re at it, speak slowly and clearly while leaving your name and callback number. You might have given out your number a billion times and you can say it all really quickly, but I can’t understand you when you do that.
What happens to me more often is someone calls and says “Um, I got a call from this number.”
Me: “Was there a voicemail?”
Dummy: “No.”
Me: “Well, it’s probably a misdial.”
Dummy: “Well, why would you be calling me?”
:mad::rolleyes:
No kidding! I never knew there were so many auctioneers out there!
How would you get to it if it’s in your car?
Looks like my neighbours have finally rented out their basement flat. It had previously been occupied by the same guy for the last 20 years who never said boo and appeared not to own a television or stereo. Now it sounds like a party girl has moved in next door. One more reason for hubby to hate living here. sigh
It’s not getting to the car that’s the problem. It’s once I’ve cleared the car off and am sitting inside it, can the car back out over the ridiculous mounds of snow and get out of the parking log that is the question.
That may be your problem right there.
OMFG, my mother. Just, grrrrr.
Phone rings at 4:30. It’s my dad, letting me know that they’ll be here at six. Ummm, we are going out, first time in months, late Valentine, husband’s birthday. Planned to leave at six, get dinner, go watch a band fronted by an old and dear friend. “Oh, that’s okay, just leave the key in the usual spot. We’re just dropping off some stuff.”
Look, my front porch is still full of crap my mom dropped off. I don’t need stuff. I don’t trust my mother when it comes to judging what kind of stuff I might need or want. I have more than enough stuff.
So, do we delay our plans so that I can supervise? Trust that Ma will only leave useful stuff? Let Ma crap up the house more, and then make two trips to donate this shit back to Goodwill?
I already had to disinvite everyone earlier this week, when Mother thought it would be brilliant to invite themselves, a family friend, and my in-laws for a birthday party, to be held here, where everyone had a dreadful cold, and I don’t have a working kitchen, and where boxes are piled everywhere because I can’t unpack the kitchen or office or my mom’s glorious piles of stuff until the contractor finishes.
As Freud put it, “If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.” (Paraphrasing.)