cranky, if it will make you feel better, you can watch me masterbate again.
:d&r:
Well Cranky:
[singing]
When it seems that life will drive ME NUTS
I drive out to buy some Circus PEANUTS!
Thumb sized orange squares of sugar love
Better than Godiva, Better than dove
Forget your son your dog and your dissertation
Have an evening of CP’s and masturbation!
[/singing]
Feel better.
LC
Well, since you asked, something is getting my goat–fucking SHEEP are getting my goat.
I would love to be hating my dissertation right now, because that would mean that I actually managed to complete my research, which we all know will never happen. Why? Because these fucking sheep will not get up off their asses and ovulate. I will never finish this project.
I will, however, develop an ulcer from all the times that a fucking sheep puts me through a living hell when I try to knock it out, then has 18 layers of fat standing between me and its internal organs, then makes it through the entire procedure beautifully only to stop breathing after I’ve finished and taken it off the fucking anesthesia. If I have to resuscitate another sheep I’m quitting and pursuing a career in McDonalds management.
Oh, by the way, my favorite part was when you dropped to your knees and begged for a divine explanation. Priceless.
Hope tomorrow is better for you.
[singing]
No more resuscitating sheep so they can bleat
I’m off to work in the clown’s house o’ meat
When working on sheep I’m heard to say “Fuck!
This sheep’s stopped breathing, she’s shit out of luck”
It’s mickey d’s for me, and you know whats?
I’ll now only see sheep in the thread “Ewes Sluts”.
[/singing]
You know what’s really wierd? It was watching the movie “Apt Pupil” that made me feel this way!
LC
::wiping tears from eyes::
Thank you Lucki Chaarms, that was beautiful… I’m printing it out and posting it in the lab.
I can’t find a fucking emery board either or a pen. Got no ice cream at all. I hated Anita Shreve half way through “Where or When” so dropped it for a Bill Bryson book. Jesus am I glad I stopped at the MS degree. Please don’t hate me, CAAOM. - Jill
Shit. Sorry.
Nacho. Just Nacho. No “S”. Sorry. I always read it plural, too, as in “Here are the nachos for Sara”. 
Cranky,
If you would listen to a bit of advice: Go tell your husband that you need laid. Now. Give him a mission of getting someone else to watch the kid so you can relieve some stress. Take the time to get laid and bedded well. Somewhere in there take a hot bath and relax.
And don’t stress about making it happen, just tell hubby that its his job and he needs to do this for you.
Wild sex isn’t always a solution, but its usually a good starting place.
I hope that’s not as bad as it sounds, Rasa.
I’m in one of those moods this morning. I awoke this fine AM thinking that I was going to have some time alone with my brother, who is in town and staying here this weekend. My mother and stepfather had said they would be going to church this morning. I get up and start checking the boards, and here comes my mother. This pissed me off to no end. FUCK! I realize it’s her house and I’m really just a visitor here (albeit a very long-term one), but for chrissake. I get up in the morning, she’s here. Leave for work, she’s here. Get home, she’s here. I would just like to have the place to myself for ONE FUCKING MORNING. Especially when she started in with the STUPID questions. I already fucking gave Brian a copy of my resume like two months ago! I told you that! GAAAAHHHHHHH! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
But think of the glory when you elbow your way through the crowd, saying "Let me through! I know Sheep PR."I know you meant “sheep CPR,” but I still got this disturbing mental picture of myself as a sort of Jerry Maguire for ovines.
If one of these animals jumps off the table and starts screaming
"SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!!!!!!!!!!"
then I’m definately taking it as a sign that I’m on the wrong professional track.
BTW, Cranky, how ya doing?
I’m well on my way to becoming an old man, and she’s way crankier than I am. And I’m pretty damned cranky.
Hope it gets smoothes out, Crankster.
b.
[[I know you meant “sheep CPR,” ]]
Uh, no. It was funnier the other way.
Jill
Moderator
SDMB
You too? What the hell is it with the fucking lady bugs? I left a window open for ten minutes this weekend and my place was crawling with lady bugs. Lady bugs on the light fixtures, on the door jambs, ceilings, walls, everywhere. I tried to catch the first dozen or so and release them outside but starting with #13 I was just smashing them like disco albums. When did this lady bug invasion start? Isn’t it late in the year for bugs?
I know, I know, I got the rhyme. I was just basically giving myself a hard time because it took me a minute to figure it out. Sheesh…
In an effort to at least clear up this issue:
These bugs you see are actually Asian Lady Beetles (Harmonia axyridis) that were purposely introduced in the mid 1990s by the USDA to control tree feeding bugs. Now they have become pests as well.
http://www.uky.edu/Agriculture/Entomology/entfacts/trees/ef416.htm
JillGat
for The Straight Dope
…sniff, Cranky, that was beautiful.
Right now I hate that I am broke. I hate that many of my friends don’t get that broke means BROKE. It means I can’t go out for “just one beer” or “it’s just a movie” or “c’mon, brunch isn’t expensive.” I don’t expect them to take me out, and I try not to bitch about it or talk about it too much - it’s my business. And let me say that some of them have been absolute angels - my roommate has been bringing food home from the restaurant where she works for me, Vile Orb has been good for many drinks - I am completely grateful and will of course return favors when I am a bit more caught up. And phew, I was able to pay rent.
But fuck you, friends who come into town to visit. I understand you want to hit the hot spots in town, and I am happy to show you around a bit and suggest places. But would it kill you to come over to my place and let me make dinner and mix a few drinks instead of insisting on going out? Why do you have to whine at me (after I do finally go out for a drink with you) that I “caaaaaaaaaaaaaan’t leeeeeeeeaaaaaaave” and make me feel worse than I already do? “Nobody can be thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat broke.” Well fuck you. I am.
For Persephone & Cranky,
May I suggest cloth diapers? My mom and all the moms in my family swear by 'em. They take a bit more work than disposables - you’ve got to scrape the poop into the toilet and rinse 'em right away and keep a covered pail full of bleach water around to put them in, then you wash them in the machine every couple days. You use disposables when you take baby out of the house for long periods of time. But instead of “wicking fluid away from baby’s skin” and “keeping baby dry and comfortable”, wet cloth diapers form a cold, miserable, bunchy, hellish mass. Kids will potty train just to get away from that feeling.
I finished the suck-ass book. No idea what the fuck was up with that ending. I don’t have the time to think it over, alas.
I ate the ice cream. It was still good. It was that “Edy’s Dreamery” stuff. Not sure what the significance of the special name is.
Sex? What’s that? Well, it’s not that bad, but my antidepressants are making me wonder what an orgasm feels like.
I don’t even want my kid to be potty-training. I’d gladly change diapers until he was five. But there is a numbskull at daycare who is a year older than him who has been training for 6 months. With all that effort and reinforcement, my son has decided he too wants to pee in the potty. You can’t very well tell a 2 1/2 year old to just “go in your diaper” when he’s insisting on trying to take a whizz in the commode So I’m unwillingly becoming a partner in this.
My dissertation STILL sucks. But you know, by Thanksgiving I’ll have a draft done (embarrassing in quality though it might be) and so the end is in sight. If I can just keep from killing anyone between now and then.
Loved the poetry, Lucki. And the reassurances from several that my kid is normal, even though I’m sure if I shaved his hair off I’d find a “666” tattooed on his head.
magdalene, if I had any money, I’d hire you to move in with me for a month to type my bibliography, keep me sane, and make runs to the local bookstore for non-shitty pleasure reading for me. You’d also be in charge of bringing me refills of Diet Pepsi. If I were rich, I’d pay $4000 a month, plus room and board, plus extra hazard pay anytime you were left alone with Cranky Jr. for more than 10 minutes. And an extra $100 bucks for every chess game you play with Mr. Cranky.
How freakish is this: I am also reading The Last Time They Met and am also asking myself, “WTF?” I usually love Shreve’s writing style (though not necessarily her plots), but this book has left me cold. I have all but abandoned it in lieu of a Laurell K. Hamilton book. Really liked WoW, Fortune’s Rocks, Pilot’s Wife and Eden Close. Luckily I borrowed TLTTM from the library, so at least I’m out no money.
Also, while I don’t have a 2 year old anymore, I do have a new puppy. So my life has revolved around bowel and bladder movements as well. Sigh.
Cheers!