Awesome!
Why yes, I am persistently giving you the finger.
Why? Because you pulled out in front of me when I was doing 50mph in a 50mph zone, then you insistently drove 35-40mph, which is 10-15 mph BELOW the speed limit, while staring at me in your rear view mirror. Perhaps if you were keeping your eyes on the road in front of you, you might have been able to read one of the TWO “Speed Limit 50” signs you passed, or notice that the cars in front of you were receding into the distance.
You stupid little shitstain.
Amen. What’s killing me, though, is that I can hear him playing in his bed in there. Unfortunately, his door frame cracked and the entire threshold had to be taken out. So he has no door, which is probably part of what is keeping him up (that and the fact that he’s been banned from moving much the past few days due to illness). Hearing him do stuff, though, is like nails on a chalkboard.
I’m working to find a contractor who can replace his door. He can do whatever he wants as long as a) he’s not loud, b) he remains horizontal and c) I don’t have to hear him.
And what if they decide that the sight of women with their hair uncovered incites them to the point of physical violence so would you please not do it? What then?
You know what MY sacred idea is? That ALL religious belief – even Islamic religious believe is up for mockery. As an American I firmly believe that I have the right to tell the Amish they are being morons for denying their kids access to high school, that Jews who force women to move on airplanes are dipshits who should be firmly told off, that Evangelicals who screech about abortion while denying people access to food stamps and birth control pills are fetus worshiping nitwits, that the pope is a sexist schmuck who should go have sex and that yes Mohammed is not someone I have much respect for.
Muslims have absolutely no right to tell me or anyone else what we can and cannot think or feel or right or draw about their pwecious prophet. If they feel otherwise, they are insulting MY deepest beliefs and can go fuck off.
This, exactly.
Rex Kramer disagrees! :p:D;)
I will probably never like rap music – I’m the wrong demographic – but I’d be a lot more tolerant if they removed the requirement that you have to play it in the car at 110 decibels with the windows rolled down so that the entire world can know what a fucking badass you are because of your musical choices.
Even better: When the amplifying equipment inside the car is far sturdier than the automobile itself, thus rendering the “thump-thump” of that ass-kicking bass as “bzzz-bzzz-bzzz” from the car rattling itself to an early death.
In other news, I’ve taken up gardening this spring, just to get some peace and quiet at my house. My history with gardening is kind of like flatlined’s history with cooking. It just doesn’t work for me, for some reason. But I’m trying again anyway, because working in the yard is a nicer way to have alone time than telling everyone to fuck the fuck off and leave me the hell alone. (So far, my azaleas are still alive. Maybe I’m getting better in my old age?)
I should probably stockpile some booze before summer vacation starts for the three teenagers at the end of the month.
Hey! I resemble that remark! Why, just last weekend, I cooked bacon and scrambled eggs and didn’t have to use the fire extinguisher 
Do ya’all know those stupid looking bullet shot stickers that people put on cars? I really have no idea why they are a thing, but I bought some of them tonight. They are going on jerky driver’s truck tomorrow.
One of our rotten cats ate my kindle. I could tell by the damage that it was a cat, and she didn’t actually eat it, that just sounded cool. She chewed up the edge and managed to scratch the screen. I kinda doubt that this is covered under the 2 year warranty and I don’t want to toss yet another tech toy in the land fill, so I’ll read around the scratches, but its still annoying.
TL; DR: I found the worst psychiatrist in the country today.
Long version:
Today I saw a new psychiatrist, and it was one of the worst interactions I’ve ever had with another living creature. There’s a bit of back story that mostly has to do with her office being disorganized, so I’ll just mention that this was actually my third time being at the office, but only the first time seeing the doctor. She was an hour and 45 minutes late. I don’t mean that she was seeing other patients and they ran past their scheduled appointment time, I mean it was an hour and 45 minutes before she showed up at her own office. A normal new patient intake appointment with a mental health professional takes 45 minutes or an hour. She granted me a precious 15 minutes of her time. During those 15 minutes, she barely made eye contact or even looked at me. She interrupted me mid-word several times, and I’m not a big talker who was rambling on and on. She had to ask me my age four times, because she evidently wasn’t listening the first three times I answered. She asked me if I had siblings and where I grew up, but nothing about my parents, or a family history of mental illness, or if I’d ever had suicidal thoughts. If I gave her more than a one sentence answer, she interrupted me, so it’s not like I could fill in the gaps myself.
One especially frustrating part was when I mentioned that I need ADD medication, and she said, “You have to get tested!” I told her that I’ve been taking the medication for a while, and she demanded to know who gave it to me. I started to tell her that I started taking it in college, where it was prescribed by the psychiatrist at my school’s counseling center, but that it has been prescribed for me by two people since then, but she interrupted me after I mentioned the counseling center and demanded the phone number. When I said I didn’t have it on me, she replied, “Well, you have to give it to me!” as though that would make me magically conjure it up. I listed the three antidepressants I’ve tried over the years, which are all SSRIs, and said that they didn’t do much for me and I want to try a different class. She said, “I’ll give you Zoloft, because Zoloft works.” Note that Zoloft was one of the medications that I listed which haven’t done much for me. When I told her the dose of Prozac I was on, back when I was on it, she looked at me incredulously and said, “No you didn’t!” I said that I could be remembering wrong since it was a few years ago, and asked if that seemed unusually high or low, and she brushed me off and kept talking. I looked it up later, and the amount I remembered seems to be a perfectly normal dose, not even the maximum recommended amount.
My favorite part of the visit was when I said I’m only working part-time, and described my jobs. She mumbled something about working full time. I said I don’t think I can work full time right now, and I spend most of my non-working hours at home in bed. She rolled her eyes and muttered, “I hear this all the time, it’s always the same story.” That’s right. A psychiatrist complained that she always hears people saying that depression is keeping them from functioning at a normal level.
This whole thing has me so upset I can barely muster the sarcasm to make this post entertaining. I actually started crying in her office, and she just ignored it. The only good thing she did was ask me about my sleep habits and prescribe a sleep aid, even if it’s one I told her only sort of works for me. I felt not even the slightest bit of compassion from her. It mostly felt like I was being ridiculous and wasting her time. The appointment booking website where I found her has some negative reviews and also some extremely positive ones. I honestly think the good ones must be fake. I’ve never before left a negative review of anything online, but I sure left one for her. Now I’m back to scouring the city for another psychiatrist who takes my insurance. I’ve tried going through my insurance provider’s website, but the phone numbers are mostly for clinics. The clinics I’ve called are either not accepting new patients, or don’t have any openings until June. I’m probably going to end up just paying out of pocket, but the going rate around here seems to be at least $300 for an appointment, which I can’t really afford. I’m going to keep trying, but every bit of energy I spend on this is one less bit I have for other things, like my actual jobs. In the meantime, I have no antidepressants, and only about a week’s supply of ADD meds.
Depression sucks.
Mom, I love you very much, but good gawd I could strangle you right now.
You’re broke. B R O K E
You knew this was coming, but instead of selling the northern property you keep hemming and hawing. I know, it was dad’s happy place. Dad died 7 years ago. That property caused a huge schism in the family. Call the damn realtor and be done with it. OR sell it to the nephew and know that while it will stay in the family, he will screw you out of money. Take your pick but do something.
OR sell the cabin. I know it’s your happy place. It’s too much for you. The neighbor is suing you over the lot line and you’re paying an attorney to fight over 2 friggin’ feet. I know YOU think you’re right, but the county and the land surveyor says you’re not.
Here’s a thought - sell EVERYTHING and buy a townhome on a lake. You’ll have the best of both worlds - you’ll be where you want AND not have to deal with outside maintenance.
I don’t know why the world scares you. When dad was alive, you were the one in charge. Now you’re floundering, trying to hold on with your fingertips and it’s not working. We don’t CARE about an inheritance and legacy, only YOU care about it. Hell, we still hear about how your dad “let go” of the old farm for a song and now the land is worth millions. That was then. This is now. Legacy doesn’t pay the bills.
I know it’s difficult, you and dad worked your whole lives to provide for us. There is no longer an “us”, as you pushed Sis away with your comments. I know you think I don’t know crap, because I’m so young (45!) and feeble (my kidneys do not impact my ability to think, TYVM). You have to quit listening to the whispers of the past in your head.
Geeze Louise, trapezoidal jellyfish, what a horrible experience… What you describe is neglect on the psychiatrist’s part, and you can file a complaint against her for that… I hope you do… and also hope you find a better Doc soon HUGS
I feel for you. My dad has been unable to really function much since my mom’s death almost three years ago. The world also scares him without his partner. He makes dumb decisions and all I can do is sit back and sigh over it.
This is the correct answer.
You should be able to take it somewhere to get the scratches fixed.
See, I disagree. No one’s religious faith should be “mocked”. The Amish are simply wrong for not going for higher education. And, no Jew actually forces women to move, hell, that’s not even part of the Talmud. Etc, etc.
“Mocking” serves no purpose. Explaining why they are wrong (except about their actual faith) firmly and quietly- it was is needed.
“Professionals work for you.
If they don’t work for you,
Find Another.”
- Chimera
I’m with Lavender here. I mock, albeit behind the backs of the faithful. The purpose it serves is one of humor (humour for my friends across the pond).
About five years ago my father (now age 79) was talking about how he wouldn’t make it more than another year or two at most. My sister and I had to have a little talk with him about how he damned well better outlive our mother, because once the shackles came off, she was going to spend every dime they had and then be a whining, self-martyring burden on all of her children. And how once she finally died, we’d spend a year cleaning out their house before we could sell it.
Apparently a couple of weeks ago he told my sister that we’d convinced him and all his work to lose weight and get in shape was to be sure to outlive her. His entire attitude has changed too. He was very depressed back then, and he’s much happier now.
Quite true.