I know every word in that sentence but they don’t make sense in that order.
I’m not so concerned about the “instant” part…it’s just that this guy can’t seem to eat them without swishing them around in his mouth, then sucking his teeth afterwards. (Fortunately, my supervisor doesn’t seem to mind the use of headphones at work.)
I wonder just who is expected to be eating Instant Grits. No one outside of the South, unless they are from the South, would eat that stuff in the first place. So if “no self-respecting Southerner” would eat them, I can only conclude there are plenty of Southerners with self-respect issues who are happy to eat them.
I shoot left-handed, maybe I can help? 
Oh, and I eat instant grits. And I’m not from the south. :hangs head in shame:
Dear client,
You goddamn wear too much. Your whole family does. Yes, I know the kids are growing, but all four of you have twice as many clothes as you need. Outside of a store (where everything would be packaged and in some kind of order), I have never seen so many socks. You know, when the soles get brown and stay brown after being washed, it’s okay to throw them out. This is how a house gets out of control. You said yourself that the laundry takes, or would potentially take, so much time that you either can’t do it, or you have to neglect other things while you do it. And I know that’s where I come in…when I can come in. I also hope that since I’ve shown you my datebook, you’ll start contacting me in advance, instead of texting me at 6am to see if I can work the same day.
:smack: 
To pompous uneducated windbags:
For christ’s sake, if you can’t be bothered to learn about the subject on which you’re pontificating, just SHUT THE FUCK UP and let adults talk, 'kay?
Well, I just thought I’d get in one last post before we all take Kolga’s advice …
… and the crickets and the tumbleweeds show up.
Heh. I had that same thought about six seconds after I posted.
<quote snipped to prevent inadvertent re-exposure>
My workplace has a whistler, but fortunately he’s Chinese, so he whistles weird non-Western scale things that don’t get stuck in my head. One time, he started whistling Christmas carols, and we had to have words. That problem has not repeated itself.
At least he’s not my ex-husband*, who used to whistle the repetitive guitar riff/countermelody to the '80s Michael Jackson/Freddy Mercury song State of Shock (YouTube). I literally haven’t heard that song since the 1980s, since looking up this clip this morning — and with great gratitude. All those years of torturous whistling scarred me indelibly.
- No, I did not kill him.
Freddy Mercury or Mick Jagger? I can’t remember.
This might end up being its own thread. I am in a state of shock and bewilderment previously unknown.
So I pit myself for being a good friend and a soft heart, I guess. Because my 11 years estranged legal husband called me up from Lambert St Louis airport last night out of the blue and told me he had no place else to go.
Granted, we’ve been in contact for the past few years, in which I have encouraged him in many ways to improve his life and circumstances. I never meant or even implied he should do this by coming here! I couldn’t very well leave him at the airport, he does have the cash to go elsewhere, and sure, it’s good to lay eyes on the man - but bloody hell! What the fuck do I do with this?
He’s now snoring upstairs. I will feed him and let him take a bath, and then we’re going to have a very serious discussion about impulsive behavior and boundaries. And his next destination.
If the two of you have been estranged for 11 years and you haven’t even seen him in years, why haven’t you divorced him? 
Yay! The Larouche morons are back in front of the post office with their Obama/Hitler mustache posters and impeachment petitions. They look so cutely earnest. I think they’ve disguised the tinfoil hats to look like hair. Apparently the posters and crackpot ideas are what passes for rational discussion these days.
Mostly money. I have never had the $408 dollars (as a Florida resident) it would take to file the paperwork. It’s really been sort of background to be honest. didn’t matter to me one way or the other. Also for the first 5 years or so I had no idea where he was and we weren’t in contact, and would have had to pay more to have him tracked down and served. I got all the info and facts, just was never able to put them into action. Always lived paycheck to paycheck, and $500+ is a great deal of money to me.
I will be taking Missouri residency officially soon when I sign my lease, and here it seems to be a great deal cheaper to file for uncontested divorce. I also know exactly where he is/will know where he will be so the cost of serving him the papers will be nil.
Ugh, he needs a friend and a boost and some support, and that’s all good. Holy crap though - if I offer someone those things it needs to be at least partially on my terms. He’ll be leaving tomorrow at the latest, and I don’t care if he stays in St Louis, but in my house is not where he needs to be.
Well, damn. Round about the middle of January in the Workplace Griping thread, I mentioned that I had bought ice cream on the way home, but it wasn’t in my car when I got home, and this made me really mad because it had been a terrible week and damnit, I deserved ice cream.
I found it today. In the car. :eek: It had rolled under the front passenger seat, apparently, and this was the first time since the night I’d bought it and tried to find it that I had looked in that general direction with large amounts of light. I swear, I looked there at the time! I did! And I even crawled in and felt around on the floor for it. It wasn’t there!
The amazing thing is, nothing had leaked out of the carton. No mess to clean up. It’s out in the garage waiting for the next garbage day now.
Sad to say, the mess I didn’t have in the car showed up in the family room when I tried to move the rolling table with my laptop on it that I had also put my dinner on, because dinner fell off and half of it spilled on the floor.
And to top the day off, after cleaning up *that *mess (beef biryani, more or less), I’d barely had 4 bites of the remainder of my meal that had stayed in the Rubbermaid when it decided to come back up again. I only made it yesterday. I had no trouble *eating *it yesterday. Today it made me throw up. And it was the same reaction I had about a month ago when I thought I’d gotten a bad batch of milk; 3 or 4 bites and then hello, central. Weird.
I’m debating playing some more Skyrim tonight, but with the way my luck has been going today, I’ll off my husband (again) and the last 10 saves will be corrupted so I can’t get him back.
If you have to bite the milk, that might be a sign that it has gone bad.
This is the thank-you note I received from my sister’s 10 year-old, a fourth-grader.
My sister is an elementary school teacher, by the way:
Did I mention that my sister is an elementary school teacher? The letter was dated 1-2-2012, the postmark was February 3rd (that’s my sister - time is a rather amorphous entity to her.)
Not so much bitching as rather sad about this…
We have a cold. I knew that I needed to keep Bill at home, but once he was able to stay awake for longer than an hour, he wanted to take me out.
We are paying for it now. I can take OTC drugs and it doesn’t hurt too much when I sneeze (I do have a big red clown nose), but poor Bill is suffering a lot.
I called his doctor to ask if Bill could take OTC stuff too, and the receptionist gave me attitude. She acted like we were drug seeking addicts. I didn’t ask if we could have a refill on the oxycodine, I asked if the doctor would review Bill’s scripts to see if it would be safe to give Bill a benadryl or some cough drops.
We have a doctor appointment tomorrow morning. Great, just great. Now I get to drive in Houston traffic while sneezing and blowing my nose and listening to my beloved sneezing and moaning in the back seat.
I think I’ll sneeze on the receptionist and leave my wet tissue on her desk. Bitch.