February mini-rants thread...


Food packaging industry: Goddammit, STOP FUCKING PRETENDING that you can “hold the line” on your prices. BACON is supposed to be packaged by the pound, not 12 ounces!

Mayonnaise is supposed to be packaged in QUART jars, not 30 ounces!

Ice Cream is supposed to come in a ONE HALF GALLON size; and it’s not supposed to drop down to 56 ounces, and subsequently to 48 ounces!

We (the grocery-buying public) fucking need a way to know about these decisions and the individuals who are making them! Otherwise, how will we know which gates to storm?

Dear driver: It is really, really hard to mistake the railroad tracks for a road and turn onto them. Really. Even when there’s snow, you can still see the multiple sets of tracks there. The last person who turned onto the tracks around that area and got stuck was seriously drunk. Were you drunk, texting, or blindly following your GPS? Either way, thanks so much for making a long post-blizzard commute home even longer.

Dear Bureau of Meteorology:

I love your work, really I do. I like being able to see what’s happening across this vast country with a single mouseclick. I love watching the radar predicting the welcome rains.

So I was disappointed to see yesterday that, although there was a severe thunderstorm warning in my state, it didn’t actually extend to where I live. The warning boundaries were a good 100km to my west…right up until FIVE FUCKING MINUTES before the worst storm I’ve ever seen came belting through.

Thanks fer’ nothing. :rolleyes:

Dopers who want to post about things that are being done with discretion: It’s discreet, not discrete.

“Discrete” means that you have more than one of something, and it’s easy to keep those somethings separate from one another.

Dear Weather:

Fuck you for being so cold!! We do not suffer through June, July, and August just to turn around and suffer right now- 36 DURING THE DAY??! Have you lost your mind?! Now get back to the 60’s, pronto!!

While I wish the people I know nothing but the best and while I do appreciate that my own position is far from desperate and I am grateful for all the help I have had, I am damned tired of struggling to stay afloat financially.

It seems like all of my peers came through school with less debt than me, despite me working several part-time jobs through school when many of them did not.

Now, all of them are stable enough to start families and buy houses and enjoy themselves on vacations and otherwise continue to be successful.

If I continue to work 50-60 hours a week through this year, I may be close enough to reducing some of the $3000 I pay every month in credit card debt that I can start to focus on the $1200 I need to pay on student loans but haven’t been.

I should have just got some random undergrad degree, found a job as a cog in a company and been happy.

You probably shouldn’t have even mentioned it… :smiley:

Counterintuitive as it may sound, curlcoat, I like you, and I’m just going to trust that if there is a derailment in that direction, you won’t be implicated in initiating it. :slight_smile:

Dear girlfriend,

I love you. I really do. You are over 9000 times awesome sauce. But, what happened the other day was more than a bit annoying. We had fabulous sex and took a nice snuggly nap for half an hour. No complaints there. Far from it. Then, when you woke up, we both commented on our post-coital hunger. You offered to cook dinner. Wow! I thought that was so romantic and awesome. You told me I could sleep and you’d wake me up when it was ready. I remember thanking you and commenting on how awesome and romantic you are.

Little did I know I had committed the little known fourth classical blunder: unquestioningly accepting something a lover says at face value. I woke up while you were in mid-preparation and, with a big hug, asked how it was going. Stormy silence. Frowny black clouds and dagger vibes filled the kitchen. I tried gently probing you for info onto what grievous sin I had committed, but for the next 20 minutes it was nothing but awkward tension. With my amazing powers of intuition, I knew it had something to do with dinner and your cooking of. I offered for us to go out to eat, to Italian, but you said it was ‘too late.’

Finally, you pounced. ‘You forgot we were supposed to go to Italian today.’ Actually I had not forgotten… I foolishly assumed you changed your mind and wanted to cook for me all sexy-like. You apparently did not believe this. ‘You ALWAYS keep your promises to other people and NEVER to me.’ Ouch! Critical Hit! Fortunately I managed to keep my cool. As hugs and sweet apologies were rebuffed, I just went into the other room, a bit sullen.

After twenty minutes of silent dinner, which I pointed out was super scrumptious, you asked me why I was so quiet. Me? ME?! Uuurrgggh… deep breath. I said I didn’t want to make you even more angry by talking. I said I was sorry for everything I did and we could go to Italian tomorrow and I was afraid of your wrath and omg puppy eyes. Apparently this flipped some switch deep in the depths of your amygdala as your formerly golem-esque demeanor reverted to your usual angelic self. Tears, apologies, and hugs all around. Life was good again.

I guess my point is… to the extent that I have a point… please don’t ambush me after sex like that ever again! I realize I wasn’t entirely innocent either and my writing style in this post probably makes me sound like a total asshole, but god damn…

Discrete, datcrete, duhudercrete.

I do not want your credit card. I do not want your life insurance. Not this time, nor the last 50 times you have sent me forms in the mail. Forms that contain my complete address. Some of these forms are damned-near pre-filled out!

Please, for love of God, STOP!

The only thing these forms are good for is identity theft!

Hey cats,

That was the cable guy. That was not the evil cat killer who is going to drag into you into the snow and murder your little furry backsides. You had no cause to hide in the basement rafters for three hours and get completely covered in dirt. The white short hair is now the icky grey short hair. The long hair (who was bathed yesterday) is now the filthy bellied knot ball.


Now what am I going to do if I get a bona fide breastfeeding rant? Huh? Ever think about that, Mr. ILikeToStartNewThreads?

I dunno. It could hinge on how big the ta-tas in question are. Might not be so “mini-.”

My ta-tas have not been mini since 6th grade. Seventh grade was the most embarrasing year of my life. You really don’t want to be 12 and a c cup.

My floss keeps breaking. Right in the middle. No matter how long a piece I use, it will snap perfectly in the middle. Often, I am left with a piece of floss stuck between two teeth. The only remedy (and here you see the brilliant business idea behind self-breaking floss) is to use another piece of floss to dislodge the first and hope that it, too, does not break.

This is even with the GOOD floss, the stuff that costs over a dollar.

Have you considered flossing with fishing line?

The best bumper sticker I saw recently was “save the tatas” over a pink ribbon.

Where have all the bumper stickers gone?

Have you tried unwaxed floss? It molds better. (said the person who also has this problem).

I hate it when men do the following:
Him: Hey, let’s (do whatever it is) next Saturday night. I’ll come and pick you up and we will (do whatever it is). Can’t wait to (do whatever it is) with you, next Saturday night.

Me: Okay, sounds good.
Then along about Thursday…
Me: So, did you still want to (do whatever it is) on Saturday night?

Him: Sorry, I can’t. I’ve been working so much/am tired/am busy blah blah blah.

Basically, making it look like you asked him out and are now getting rejected.

Me: :confused::o:rolleyes: I was only asking because you mentioned it- I wasn’t asking you out! :smack: