Here’s to the woman at a nearby table in our favorite Mexican restaurant who felt the need to shout out a loud series of F-bombs to impress her apparently brain-dead girlfriend. Then after a couple of restaurant staffers quietly asked them to cool it, she waited until they left and then commented about how terrible the restaurant was.
Nice.
Don’t let the door hit you in your fat ass on the way out.
It’s just a fucking 3’x4’ landing. Easy enough to tile, right?
No. Of course, I run out of mastic halfway through and have to mix a new batch. IT’S SIX DAMN TILES. Fuck. Idiot.
ETA: And of course, the floor isn’t level. It’s only 12 square feet, but of fucking course it’s not level. Fuck me.
.
I endorse this rant. I’ve personally committed myself to voting in every one of these polls, even the ones where I don’t really care for any of the songs, at least to endorse the one that I consider to be the cream of the crap. (I can tell you I’m going to have a hard time when we get to the early 2000s - there’s at least one year where I may have to vote for Nickelback, God help me.)
Better Nickelback than “My Humps.”
I’m sorry to hear of the loss of your friend, Charley. That does suck. HUGS
Fortunately, My Humps peaked at #3, so we won’t have to face down that demon when that poll comes. Instead, we have to legitimately consider the possibility that “Hollaback Girl” was the best single of that particular year. 
Hollaback girl? No way! That shit is bananas!
Goddamn it, why don’t people bother answering their goddamn facebook messages.
I don’t even feel good enough to end that sentence properly, with a question mark.
I third this rant, unless I haven’t read far enough down this thread and there are more. I’m really enjoying the polls and am spending time on youtube, but I’m done with scrolling through all the posts about how everything sucked. Who cares if you’re sitting out the poll?? I sure don’t. At least it’s been nice to learn there are more closet disco-lovers like me than I knew.
ETA: Smapti, I said it before in one of the threads, but I LOVE the polls. Thanks so much for going to the trouble.
Thanks janis_and_c0 he was a good guy. An infuriating awkward bastard, but a good guy. It seems silly to miss someone you haven’t seen for almost 20 years and didn’t speak to for more than 15 of those years, but there it is. I always thought of him somewhere out there, and now he’s not.
As you said, you lost a piece of yourself. Who would we be without the infuriating awkward bastards who have touched our lives? I hope you find peace.
I’m so sorry,** Charley**. That really does suck. 
Intelectually, I learned a long time ago that different cultures have different ways of receiveing imported workers, and that what I consider “normal” is in fact quite unusual. The rest of me, though, isn’t so convinced. Now, I know that I can’t expect my clients or my coworkers to tell me if there is any kind of paperwork I should fill in for a “visit” to their country lasting over a year, but for all that’s unholy and bureaucratic, is it so fucking much to ask that the government of that country be willing to do it?
It’s the first time I’ve contacted an embassy and they haven’t answered. And any attempts at getting information from local governments have met with responses along the lines of “uh?”
What country are you in, Nava? I imagine you’ve posted this someplace but I can’t keep track of you! Of course, finding government to be unresponsive could be anywhere.
I can’t tell you where she is at any given time but when she’s at home it’s in Spain
I have an internet friend/former classmate who became my virtual fitness coach about 2 years ago. He’s been busy lately and all I get from him these days, other than WOD assignments, are weird and cryptic messages.
Yesterday it was a quote from Hamlet:
Today he sent me an e-mail with no text, just the subject line, ‘‘Sometimes we give away the wrong things.’’
He is seriously the weirdest fucking person I know, and I’m including myself.
Sweden. Heck, my banks have trouble keeping track of me and I email them any time I get a new contract…
On one hand, it’s the EU, so I don’t need a work permit or to move officially (I’m subcontracting for a company that isn’t even Swedish); on the other, there are a lot of services and even the ability to sign a contract which depend on being “registered” locally, but nobody can tell me how to do that.
My body needs to figure out a way to go to hell without dragging me there. Between the nasty pms cramps and the migraine and the possible arthritis in my fingers I’m about ready to tell it to fuck off.
Also Rachel From Cardholder Services has taken to placing phone calls to my house impersonating my friend who died of breast cancer last month and my late mom. I want to bang her fucking skull against a wall.
How does Rachel find out who my friends are? Does she hack into my phone’s memory? Or is it from Facebook? I hope it’s Facebook; I’m not on there!