A couple of times the door for my gas tank cap froze up. I just go into the gas station, explain and get a cup of hot water and pour it on that little door. Clears it right up.
Holding you both in a bit of light - I’m not the prayin’ type, but it’s the best I can do from far away.
Hopefully he’ll have some kick-ass nurses who can get him fixed up.
He’s rescheduled for next week. Thank you🌞
I’ve got the Cantina song as an earworm dammit.
ETA: And I just lost the game.
February is not my month.
New cereal-Wendys Frosty. When Oreo O’s aren’t sweet enough.
The way things are going, I keep expecting to find Calvin & Hobbes’ Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs on the cereal aisle.
But they’re kind of bland until you put some honey on them.
I ranted a bit ago about the ludicrous DIY laundry on the university campus I’m currently living on, with a stupid app system with a website that was apparently designed by a drunken chimp on work experience.
Now the term-time laundry is pissing me off… This should be a great system. It’s included in the rent; the porters pick up the dirty laundry bags, and a few days later, you collect it nice and clean. So far so good. The problem is, there are a lot of people using the system, so you need to have your clothes labelled- we were all given instructions on this at the start, every item needed a nametag sown in, or your name written on the care label. So, I duly wrote my name on the care labels for most of my stuff, but I didn’t want permanent pen on some of my nicer or more expensive clothes- I’m only here a few more months, and it really doesn’t wash out, so I sewed in labels in those, so I can unpick them when I no longer need to have a nametag like a toddler in my clothes.
Until the Christmas break, this was fine…and now they’ve suddenly decided to start writing on the stuff with labels on, in BIG BOLD LETTERS. My new expensive jeans now have my name written straight on the pocket fabric, in half-inch high letters, despite the tag sewn in the waistband.
My new favourite top makes even less sense- they’ve written on it literally inches away from the tag.
I managed, with some effort, to remove the writing on the top (nothing’s shifting that pen on the jeans), and included a note on the form we sent in with the washing, asking them nicely not to write on clothes with a nametag.
It came back written on again, with big fat marker pen, in exactly the same spot, inches away from the -perfectly legible- sewn in tag.
I’m following the instructions, they have no disclaimer saying they reserve the right to do this on any paperwork I’ve been given (there’s a small disclaimer about removing items from pockets, and a statement that it’s your responsibility to check fabric type is suitable for bio washing powder, but that’s it)- they just seem suddenly determined to deliberately cause what I consider to be damage to my stuff, for no reason.
I’m honestly not sure where to take it from here…
A ( local? ) motorcyclist that I’ll refer to as Mr. Blatty Blat has been getting his jollies by loudly cruising back and forth through the subdivision just after sunset on his loud-ass Harley Davidson. His “method” seems to be to go down the street to an intersection ( or cul-de-sac ) in 2nd gear at about 35 mph and every few seconds blip the throttle to speed up and then close the throttle and loudly decelerate. Down the street, and then back again, in a series loud and obnoxiously “blatty” raising and lowering crescendos. You then hear him, slightly fainter and fainter, doing the same thing on each parallel street of the neighborhood.
I guess in the evening twilight there’s too little light to satisfy his “Look at me!!!” cravings, and so apparently he has to settle for auditory chest-beating. With so many people being annoyed, and his apparent desire to spread his message far and wide, one wonders how long before it’s going to set someone off and put to the test of whether “Loud Pipes save Lives” or not.
Min for sure, but it pissed me off.
Just got off a flight (on a non-wifi equipped aircraft) where the woman next to me was on her Instagram account and texting the whole time. I said to her “You’re not supposed to be doing that. They mention it constantly.” She says “Thanks for telling me” and kept it up. It was a short flight and they told us to stay in our seats with seatbelts fastened and that the flight attendants would not be up and about due to expected turbulence. I considered hitting the call button but with all the stories about unruly passengers getting confrontational and causing a huge problem for the crew and other passengers, and the short duration and bumpiness of the flight, I didn’t. I keep wondering if I should have.
But hey, lady in seat 4E on flight 1144 out of Midway today, you are a self-centered entitled bitch and I hope the rest of your week sucks donkey balls.
We’ve got one of those. He’s barely 19 and has a used Italian racing bike. He’s the same social misfit who bragged about taking long walks around town and coughing on people when he had COVID. He has Zero human interaction skills; he was 'home-schooled to be feral and ignorant; his parents had him major in odd jobs, “merit badges”, and petty theft around the neighborhood of everything that wasn’t nailed down.
I asked a different neighbor if I should file a noise complaint. He said “kids will be kids”.
Except… I have kids that Feral Rat’s age and they don’t rev their engine up and down the block while trying to leave patches of rubber.
Personally, I call that parenting.
So yes, if Inbred-Weasley ( uncanny resemblance ) does it again, a patrol car will be visiting him.
Wow, just wow. I guess these people do what they do because now that they ( ostensibly ) have driver’s licenses and vehicles, they don’t have to go around with a can of spray paint to prove their “Alpha” bona-fides.
I once accidentally (really, I’m not smart enough to think of this myself) dropped a gallon bottle of molasses in the street our Mr. Blatblat guy used to cruise. I don’t know if he stopped being Mr. Blatblat after his encounter but I do know he wasn’t Mr. Blatblat on our street anymore.
Be kind. It must be an awful shame what happened to his penis.
They were never were taught boundaries. They were squeezed out of horrible libertarian parents “who knew better”.
[MorganFreemanNarrating] “But they actually didn’t.” [/MorganFreemanNarrating]
At this point, only the courts or jail will knock sense through their heads.
Quite likely. That, or they’ll succumb to their own recklessness due to the inherent danger of motorcycle riding in general. A running, though astute joke among some wags is that motorcylists = organ donors.
My bank finally found out why my payments to the hospital kept getting bounced back. The e-checks are sent out by a clearinghouse that insists on sending them to the wrong address. — Which was supposed to be fixed. — Which wasn’t.
So much for the brave new world of e-commerce. Tomorrow I’ll mail a paper check through the USPS.
In a rare moment of adult responsibility, I realized that my license plates were going to expire fairly soon and I had better renew them. In a further fit of responsibility, I figured I may as well renew them for two years and save myself the hassle next year. It’s $120 a year, so $240.
On the way home from the license office – and I’m not making this up, this was literally on the drive home from the license office – the news came on and it was announced that Ontario was eliminating license renewal fees, effective March 13. You’d still have to renew your license every year and provide proof of insurance and pay off any fines, but the renewal would be free!
The good news is they said they would be refunding all license fees collected since March, 2020. Meaning I’ll actually get a cheque for nearly $360. But that assumes that nothing screws up in the bureaucracy, and the cheques won’t arrive until spring. I just can’t get over the sheer coincidence of this major announcement occurring on the very same day that I just renewed for two years and forked over $240 to the bastards!
I don’t believe in coincidences. Clearly this was in direct response to your recent decision.
Probably. It’s the story of my life. 