Some people are using FaceBook to be publicly uber-religious. Much like certain Pharisees in certain parables.
Meh. I’m not saying you don’t have the right to be annoyed, but it’s not so bad to enjoy life. There’s too much shit going on in the world to begrudge some kids the joy of not yet having soul-crushing responsibilities.
Big sigh. I work my heart out for rescue. I do good works for humans. I give so much and my only claim to fame is SG. (thinks I should put a 
here but actaully, I’m 
)
PS, tell your hubby that my Sprint part collection is pretty impressive. The only thing I’m missing now is a carb. I am going to impress the heck out of people when I start riding a restored 30 year old dirt bike. :smack:
Another post today – he’s been out of work for over a year, and had a call-back interview today: “It is 100% in God’s hands.”
Apparently the hiring manager has fuck-all to do with the process.
Well, personally, yeah, I’m impressed and glad that you do rescue work, and help humans. But I’m absolutely astounded that you really haven’t fed SG into the shredder. Feet first.
TMI… I had round 2 of interviews for a possible new job today, and I woke up with cramps like I haven’t had in a long time. Doubling over in pain kind of cramps. Being a girl sucks eggs sometimes. But I got invited back for round 3 of interviews, so I must have hid it well.
My SIL posts things like this too, the most recent one being something about needing prayers for her upcoming eye surgery: “Pray that it will work this time.” And then she follows that up with, “He [God] is in control.”
Well, if he’s in control, then what are the prayers for?
Campaigning. It’s in his hands to help you…or not. You have to make sure he chooses in your favor.
If I were Christian and believed God listened personally to my prayers, I would be embarassed to ask for victory for a sports team.
Just sayin’…
“Listen, I’m sorry. You’re just… Well there’s no easy way to say this. You’re just not polling very well in the 18-24 year old male x-treme sports fan group. And they’ve one of our biggest key demos. I guess what I’m trying to say here is… Well, you’re on your own for this one, big guy. The big G can’t be seen to be backing a loser. I’m sure you understand. Maybe if folks had prayed for you a bit harder…”
I have an M.D. from Harvard. I am board certified in cardiothoracic medicine and trauma surgery. I have been awarded citations from seven different medical boards in New England and I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you; when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that their wife doesn’t miscarry or that their daughter doesn’t bleed to death or that their mother doesn’t suffer acute neural trauma from postoperative shock, who do you think they’re praying to? Now you go ahead and read your bible-Dennis. And you go to your church and with any luck you might even win the annual raffle. But if you’re looking for God, he was in operating room number two, on November 17th, and he doesn’t like being second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex? Let me tell you something: I am God. // Dr. Jed Hill
Or even worse for myself in a reality show. There are two types of prayers during these things and only one really pisses me off.
God give me the strength to climb this wall - Crazy but whatever floats your boat.
God let me win against the heathen opposition - I will be waiting to celebrate your loss. (and possibly sputtering indignantly)
If my husband pulled that shit he’d be lucky to be alive and I certainly wouldn’t have cleaned up the mess (are his arms broken?) and made dinner. The kid was perfectly safe in a crib and you were in the bathroom for a few minutes? Seems more than reasonable to me.
Stand firm! Cry if you need to! Fuck the idea that you shouldn’t ‘make a scene’ with your own husband.
(It’s a damn good thing I don’t know where you live or he would get a stern talking-to.)
I don’t think a jury with any women on it would convict you of anything you did to him with this kind of provocation.
Hell, as a guy who’s been pulling diaper duty all morning while mom was at a doctor appointment, I’d pull his man card. Real men do the damn job and don’t bitch about it, even if that job involves soothing a child and cleaning up her diaper shenanigans.
Hear hear. He helped make the kid, right? He gets to help keep her clean & happy, period, and has no standing to get all judgey on you for (gasp) *bathing *while she’s (supposed to be, reasonably expected to be) napping.
Heh. Thanks for the moral support gang! And a follow-up: I’m still glad that I said nothing yesterday, because I wouldn’t have been reasonable. I was just too mad, and he’d have felt attacked instead of seeing my pov. So today, I brought up the subject, and got a sincere apology. I don’t know why, but his reaction on seeing her when he walked in is that I had just plopped her down with the dogs to babysit, and wandered off for a bubble bath. (She was in the thoroughly babyproofed den, not a crib, because she can readily climb out of both cribs.) I pointed out to Tony that I never just leave her awake and unattended, precisely because she is such a Houdini these days.
And while we had this little confab? Yep! She thoroughly disrobed herself. I caught her before she made any messes this time! 
My DVR receiver crapped out yesterday. I lost 250 hours of recorded TV and had no reception. I had to watch TV using the second DVR, which is mostly shows my daughter and her man watch. I had to watch live TV last night, including commercials. First world problems, but I am on vacation next week and I had fully planned to start watching Battlestar Gallatica. Dammit!
I think you may have given birth to me. (Good luck with that) My mother told me that as soon as I was physically able to get out of a diaper, they came off as soon as I pooped in them. Artistic demonstrations often followed. I was more of a Gypsy Rose Lee than a Houdini; I stripped all the time. The bright side to it was that she said I pretty much toilet trained myself.
Do you have latches on your kitchen cabinets? If not, get them now. When I was less than three, Mom laid down with me for a nap. She went to sleep; I didn’t. I emptied everything I could reach - flour, milk, butter, eggs, sugar, syrup - into the kitchen floor and was having a grand old time playing in it.
She called her best friend, said “do you love my daughter? Then come get her” and locked herself into the bedroom until I was gone. She said she was afraid she’d hurt me if she touched me right then.
Hmmm. Sounds like you wanted to make pancakes, instead of mud pies.
When my daughter was a toddler, and my husband was watching her, he’d frequently put her outside to play. And almost as frequently, she’d knock on the door and hand him whatever she had been wearing. No, she hadn’t pooped or peed, she just wanted to avoid those unsightly tan lines.