A more rude version is to try to fit the name into these sentences: “Introducing the President of the United States, (name here),” or “And next taking the stage and taking it off at the Pink Pleasure Palace, (name here)!”
I recently finished a job, sold or gave to charity the furniture I’d bought there and moved back to my house (look! It’s small and it’s not accesible to people with mobility problems but it’s 45% paid for!). The guy who bought most of it had said “I’m very bad with tools”; he said it again as I was explaining to him how to reassemble the bookcases “you make it sound so easy, though.” “Well, here’s the thing… has anybody ever explained to you how to do this before?” “
No.” “So how are you supposed to be ‘good with tools’? I’ve spent the last 30 years trying to decide what’s dumber, thinking that ‘a girl’ is biologically unable to learn how to use a screwdriver or that ‘boys’ instinctively know how to custom-build cabinetry because God made them so. Did your parents also expect you to know how to drive on the first try?” “Wow… 
eek::smack::)”
I also explained to him how to measure a room and how to use two wrenches to open/close hex-head nuts’n’bolts. Professor Nava, that’s me!
I would go see Bear Blu at the all male revue. He might need to change the spelling though.
Surreal moment in tabbed browsing: Great Debates open in one tab, and this post at the top of the other, which I read thinking it was a GD post
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed it actually wasn’t another “look what Fox News hath wrought” thread…
To my nut-job ex sister-in-law:
Stop it with the “Jesus is my saviour” crap, I know who you REALLY are. And I’m really freakin’ tired of pretending that there is nothing wrong with you for the sake of my niece and nephew.
I had my suspicions when you kept calling the cops and making false reports of stalking against my brother, when he was safe and sound at home with witnesses on the reported occasions.
Then when my nephew (YOUR SON !! ) overheard you and your sleazy new boyfriend talking about luring my brother to your house and shooting him ( pretending that he was your “stalker” and you were scared )…everyone had to PRETEND you were joking “for the sake of the children”. Your son didn’t think you were joking, though, he was really freaked and maybe you noticed he has been around you much since then.
I guess you put Jesus on the back burner doing these moments.
And, even though you went to a keg party thirty years ago you haven’t had a drink since and YOU AREN’T AN ALCOHOLIC, even though you love going to AA meetings…but only the ones being attended by either your ex-husband or his mother. In fact, you didn’t announce your “alcoholism” until the folks running these meetings got tired of your constant disruptions and closed the meetings to visitors…then you went from observer to “alcoholic”. Whose the stalker now, bitch??
And teenaged boys will be boys and making your teenaged son go to Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting because you found a dirty magazine in his room was an inappropriate reaction. Making him go to the same meetings you attend and listen to YOUR stories of YOUR alleged sex addiction is really sick…which is why after the first couple of meetings he would run away upon exiting the car like a cat being taken to the vet.
And I don’t believe the sex addict stuff either, I just think it’s a line you pull on some nice men that attend your church to justify you taking money and housing and stuff from them without putting out.
And speaking of using your friends…during the point in time when you were dividing your nights between screwing you sleazy boyfriend and not screwing the nice guys who gave you a place to sleep when the sleazy boyfriend wouldn’t let you come around, your best friend for forever was providing food, housing and transportation to school for your young daughter 5 days a week. I know when you went to social services complaining about the lack of food and housing for your child you expected them to throw money at you. But they didn’t, instead they took your kid and threw her into foster care…
Apparently you never admitted you had a stable friend who was a twenty year public school teacher helping you out with your daughter. You also decided to hide the fact that you had an ex-husband and ex- mother-in-law living in a big house with a full fridge and a bedroom set up just for your daughter.
Your caseworker was really embarrassed when the 3 of them showed up in her office and revealed their roles in your daughter’s life…but it got her out of the foster home, even though custody didn’t go back to you…I hope this means you won’t get away with scamming social services again.
So go suck on your bible and quit sending me religious affirmations, bitch.
Wow. I feel like I should be hiding from her and I don’t know her…
Another good test is imagine someone announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, President of the United States Starbright Johnson,” or “We’d like to introduce Starbright Johnson as the next CEO of Big Huge Corporation.”
You know, if the link in my notification email would bring me to the first unread post instead of straight to the bottom of the page, I wouldn’t sound like a parrot. **SpazCat **wanna cracker? :smack:
NO, your sister-in-law’s friend’s cousin’s toddler was NOT snatched by Romanians in a shopping centre only to be found in the jacks with the evil Romanians cutting her hair and changing her clothes. It didn’t happen. That’s one of the oldest urban myths in the book. It’s been around for at least 30 years. It resurfaces on a regular basis, and every single time, guess what??? IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!
I was in the park with Widget today, and next to me are these two other women with their toddlers, talking about Madeleine McCann and James Bolger - real horrors that real families actually have to live with - and in the next breath they’re talking about OMG OMG OMG the shopping centre and the Romanians and the haircut and I just wanted to kick them.
I don’t know why this particular urban myth makes smoke come out of my ears. Most of them don’t have this effect on me at all. I think part of it is that it feels like an insult to put this kind of mindless babble in the same category as the real horrors. Part of it is that, come on, this is older than my parents, have you just not been paying attention for the last thirty years? And a big part of it is the fact that it’s not even plausible. If you had snatched a kid, would you seriously hang around getting it into the toilets and hoping the toilets happened to be empty and hoping no one came in and shaving the kid’s head and changing its clothes and remember this is a struggling screaming toddler that even its parents can barely manage to get dressed most days? Or would you, I don’t know, LEAVE? And if this had in fact happened, you don’t think it might just possibly be all over the news? Seriously? Did you put even one second’s thought into this before you gabbled it off as gospel truth?
Arrghhhh…
Wait, your parents are under 30? How old are you, then? Or does “older than my parents” really mean “older than I am, before my parents were parents”? Just curious…
Roddy
A work rant. Because my LJ is lapsed, and I have cow-orkers who read my Facebook.
I think I’m having a crisis of conscience. I work at a bank. I’ve worked here for about 9 years. I took the job as a temp when I was desperate for work and I’ve managed to parlay that into a semi-career, in that I’ve managed to earn promotions every year and I’m basically making about three times as much as I did when I started (granted, temp wages are pretty easy to top).
But … I hate banking. I detest the industry. Every day I go into work and I do my damnedest to make sure our software is working and every body who relies on it is pleased, but really … deep down … I don’t give a shit about any of it.
Now here I am creeping up on 50 (well, I can see it not too far in the distance) and I’ve come to realize that I’ve done a good job over the years for the sole purpose of keeping myself afloat. I’ve managed to be able to pay my bills, most importantly, my child support (I don’t think I’d care if I missed an electric bill payment as much as fucking over my kids), I’ve managed to buy a few things that are nice, but in the long run … what the fuck have I been doing for the last 20 years? Working to make sure that other people are happy.
I need some happiness myself.
Couple that with the fact that my boss is a fucking moron who doesn’t know the first thing about what I do, or the software he ostensibly manages. He’s been on the job for near a year and I still constantly have to correct him or outright explain to him how something works in the system. And he latches onto jargon or buzz-words and flips them at me completely out of context in the form of project requests that always end with, “… so you can have that finished by the end of the day, right?”
Here was the ‘constructive criticism’ I received today: “I was a little disappointed that you only worked 4 hours last Saturday. I thought you were going to be in the office for 8 hours.”
Eat shit. I have a fucking life even if you don’t.
If I may paraphrase Platoon: They done got their last click outta Junior.
So there. I’ve ranted. I’ve vented. And you know what? I don’t feel any better. Go figure.
Long version:
According to my memory of the Snopes page (which I last read a few months ago when this freaking thing last reared its head, so I could be wrong, but my friend’s aunt’s best friend says I’m right), the myth has been around at least since the early 80s but possibly since just after World War II. So my thinking was along the lines of ‘It’s been around longer than my parents (slight exaggeration, but only by a couple of years), and these women were around thirty so they’ve had thirty years to notice it.’
Short version: Rantiness overruled basic maths.
“SECOND NOTICE”? That’s the best marketing technique you stupid fuckers can come up with? You think that just because you have an insurance company logo on the front of the envelope that I’m automatically going to open it because it says “SECOND NOTICE”? Do you really think that I don’t know who we’re insured with? Fat chance, assholes. :rolleyes:
… Obama was a stripper to pay his law school bills? That’s a shitty stripper name.
We had a thunderstorm today, and the power went out. We have altogether too many appliances that have clocks in them. Also, the answering machine wanted to know the date and time when the power came back on.
Yeah, that’s definitely mini.
I just found out that I have PCOS. I’m not mad about this. I realize it can make it difficult for me to get pregnant but I have no interest in ever getting pregnant so I’m not super concerned about this.
Here’s what I am mad about. My periods have been hellish since I got my first one at 10. I have been suffering for years. I have been bleeding every 2-3 weeks for over 2 fucking decades. I have been complaining to doctors for ages. Every motherfucking single goddamn one of them told me it was normal.
I got myself a new gynecologist about 6 weeks ago. I told her my problems. She said that it wasn’t normal and she wanted to do some tests. She said she didn’t want to put me on the pill before doing these tests because she didn’t want the hormones to skew the test results.
In the last 3 weeks, I have had a uterine biopsy, an ultrasound (internal and external), a pap, a shitload of bloodwork, and a colposcopy (unrelated to the other issue - just my regular cervical cancer scare - no big deal).
Today I found out that I have PCOS, that it causes exactly the symptoms I’m having, and that as long as I stay on birth control, I should be able to regulate the bleeding and dampen the pain. She put in a prescription for me today.
What I’d like to know is WHY THE FUCK do people go into gynecology if they’re going to assume all women complaining about their periods are just whiny little babies? Why did it take me 21 years to find a gynecologist who took me seriously when I told her that bleeding for up to 2 weeks every 2-3 weeks is what I’ve been dealing with for the majority of my life.
All it took was a simple ultrasound. Even I could tell from watching the ultrasound that my ovaries look like swiss cheese. WAS THAT REALLY SO FUCKING HARD?!
There, there congodwarf. pats head It’s just your womanly hormones making you all hysterical.
(Glad you found someone who took you seriously, though. Congrats on a solid diagnosis, at least!)
We have co-winners today for the coveted “Clueless And Tone Deaf” Award.
First there is the Wall St. Journal’s editorial board, which went a bit overboard in spinning the conviction of a big hedge fund manager for insider trading. The WSJ says insider trading statutes are “ambiguous” and that “it’s hard to find a victim because for every buyer of a stock there is a willing seller.” Yep, if your buddies at Consolidated Fuzz tip you off that they are secretly negotiating to buy Amalgamated Lint, and you manage to buy a bunch of shares for a low price - a dumb mark sold those shares willingly.
And then there’s the CEO of Philip Morris, who at a shareholders meeting told a cancer nurse that while smoking cigarettes is harmful and addictive, “it is not that hard to quit”. :dubious:
Attaway, businesspeople of America! You’ve restored my faith in you.
This made me laugh, hard. Thanks. 
My 19 year old daughter has been searching for a job for a long, long time. I’m starting to think she will never get one. She’s also in school, and is haranguing me night and day to let her drop a certain class. Furthermore, I think she’s depressed and all my talking at her is just exacerbating the problem. It’s tears and lecturing all the time at my house these days. I hate having to go on with all this, but if I stop, all she does is retreat to her dark bedroom and play Farmville. Something’s got to give, soon.