$8.60/gallon for regular unleaded. And pos car that just was at the shop for expensive repairs decides this is the perfect time to start using suspicious amounts of gas for the daily commute.
Where the hell are you?
If you ment me then Sweden.
I just demetrified the actual figures (14.6 SEK/L) since this IS an American board.
Okay. Still, dang. I’m in Los Angeles, and gas is a bit over $5/gal. I laughed hollowly when CNN said gas prices were “approaching” the $5 mark. The thought of $8.60 makes me cold all over.
REALLY $5/gallon, Rilch? Here in OC, I’m seeing it at $4.059 at the Arco stations. What/where are you pumping, Texaco Premium in Malibu?
I’m in the Valley. I get the medium grade, but even the basic grade is over $5.
I only hope your commute isn’t that far!
I haven’t done more than start my bike since last year because of the crappy weather. Today, I thought I’d take myself for a nice ride and when I got on the highway, my left mirror started flopping around. OK, I’ll just pull over and tighten the adjustment screws, an easy fix, right? Wrong, no adjustment screws! WTF!!!
OK, plan B…the Harley dealer is only a few miles away, I’ll buy new mirrors that do have adjustment screws. The only ones they had with the screws were dripping with bling. The first thing I did when I bought this bike was take all that crap off. The plainest mirrors I could find say Harley-Davidson in black letters in the glass and the lettering is under the glass so I can’t scrap it off with a razor blade.
Mini, yes. Minor, very. Its still annoying. I’m going with plan C. Clear silicon to stabilize the mirror and order a set online.
May 14th and my furnace just kicked on. WTF?
Usually by this time of year I’m debating about whether or not to turn on the AC.
Stop sending the cold weather down here Canada! shakes fist
I would like to say a few words:
Ogdam goose-choking, hamster-squishing, last-beer-taking, tampon-eating, tree-gnawing, Thor-farting, baby-Jesus-with-colic-and-green-diarrhea FUCK MY LIFE.
Wednesday, I have an anxiety attack. Interestingly enough, my reading tells me that most people’s anxiety attacks last around 15 minutes. How pleasant for them. Mine last hours, unless I take enough diazepam to completely knock myself out for the next five. Yeah, so bad enough that I start having one on the drive home. That was a lot of not-fun, doing breathing exercises, chanting to myself, squeezing my steering wheel into a new shape, all while dealing with rush-hour traffic.
It’s the getting home part that makes me insane. Mom is the first person I see, and I manage to communicate a) anxiety attack, b) going upstairs to take meds, and c) please check on me later, as I might start clawing my skin off in an attempt to distract myself. Mom wants to know what set it off. Good question. For another fucking time. Right now, keeping my heart rate under two hundred and not wetting my pants are the highest cognitive functions I can muster.
Tell Dad I’m not feeling well and go upstairs. Maybe Mom said something to him. Maybe his daddy senses picked up on the vibrating hell broadcasting from my head. He follows me upstairs and catches up with me after I’ve taken the diazapam, knowing that I’m going to lose the rest of the evening, but, I won’t be making pretty pictures on my skin with a knife just so I don’t have to pay attention to the entire cast of the Eternally Damned screaming in my head.
Dad, who drinks far too much, thinks less of me because I’m a liberal, and has a habit of snarling at me when I bring him his medications, comes and sits next to me, puts a hand on my back, let’s me lean against him, and talks quietly to me, telling me it’s going to be okay. I stop shaking and almost start crying in relief. That’s how good it feels to have some human contact and reassurance.
He stays with me until the meds kick in, and there is no more panic attack, just consciousness going out like the tide. He tells me if I need anything at all, to give a yell. He kisses me on the forehead and closes the door behind him.
Mom? Doesn’t check on me. Didn’t touch me while I was stammering out how panic attacks are bad and I was going upstairs, okay? And please check on me? Just kept a very detached, clinical attitude about the whole thing.
Once I was awake late in the evening and very spacey with the leftovers of the panic attack and the meds, she gave me the third degree. Did I eat any gluten? (No, Mom, gluten gives me severe muscle and joint pain, diarrhea, and suicidal thoughts, not panic attacks.) What was the trigger? (Seriously? Well, it could have been that I had to read Chapters 2 and 3 of Eli Wiesel’s Night to a bunch of tenth graders who were kinda unclear about the whole Holocaust thing and were halfway convinced Wiesel was just making shit up. It could have been watching the first 10 minutes of Freedom Riders, which just evoked symptoms of PTSD from when I taught in Dallas ISD. Or it could have been a random interaction of my fucked up neurochemistry, the environment, or the asthma medication I had to take after unloading gardening supplies at a friend’s place. I DON’T KNOW.)
Well, what can I do to prevent another one from happening. (Seriously? You think I have the slightest idea? Because if I did, I would have done it, even if it meant parking illegally, stripping naked, and singing “Cunning Plans Are Here Again” on the top of my car.) Well, I need to take better care of myself. (No shit, Sherlock. Could we start with me throwing a screaming fit at the kharmic bird dropping and anvil hits I’ve been taking THE LAST FIVE YEARS OF MY LIFE.) Well, we need to start getting more structured about my health care.
( . . . . . AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAgaspAAAAAAAAAAAAAFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH)
You know, Mom, I couldn’t be more proud of the fact that you’re a registered nurse and a damn good one. I brag on you every chance I get. Friends are constantly asking me to run questions by you. If there were an election for Galactic Dictator, you would be voted in on a tsunami, because you would make the universe run on time, people would behave, and good things would get done.
But, Mom, I am not your patient. I am your daughter, and when I am sick, I need a Mom, not a nurse. I need to be hugged and told it’ll be all right. And when I am sick, you, Mom, are a fucking cold fish. I feel like I would be better off going to a friend’s mom’s house, where at least I’ll get a bowl of soup, a blanket, and a Mickey Mouse DVD. I don’t want to be drowned in a barrel of sympathy, but a couple teaspoons full would be very, very nice.
And I know it’s not going to happen. Because going into clinical, detached nurse mode is how you deal with the universe crapping on you. Who the hell am I to question your coping mechanisms. They’ve seen you through three children, a bout of breast cancer, your husband’s slow slide into mental and physical disability, and now me, falling apart in front of you. I just wish it were otherwise, you know?
I can’t do more than offer you a virtual hug. I’m really hurting for you now, phouka.
I used to have panic attacks and I finally managed to leave the situation that was causing them. I don’t know how you are feeling, but I do know how bad I felt. I admire you for managing to make it home, there were times when I had to pull over and just shake because otherwise I would have crashed my car into something just to make the bad feelings stop.
Words fail me, I’d tell you to stay strong, but you already are. I’d tell you to take care of yourself, but you are already doing that as well. Offers you more virtual hugs and lots of chocolate.
Hell, phouka, I’m horrible at real-life hugs (I always think people will be bothered by them), but these don’t come with an expiration date…: {{{{{{{{{{{{{}}}}}}}}}}}}}
So apparently, despite being a perfectly lovely, cool night out, without a hint of bad weather anywhere nearby…the power decides to go out. Bonus to this power outage being that I’m now working nights, so this is my “daytime”, only the only places I have to go to get out of the powerless apartment complex at this time of day are 24 hour stores like Wal-mart. So I’m stuck at home with about 2 hours worth of battery life in the hotspot/laptop and maybe another 2 hours in the ipad, but can’t go to bed without bleeping up my schedule for another 6 hours or so—and of course, the power company has no idea when they’ll get the power back on.
I’m heading out in a couple of hours, cap and gown in hand, to my university’s commencement ceremony.
I started school late, and it took eight years to get through; I had to work two jobs at the same time to pay out-of-pocket. I finished with a 4.0, two degrees from two schools (mathematics and philosophy), and no debt. Pretty good for a high-school dropout, whose stepdad told him he was worthless, whose ex-wife told him he’d never do anything, whose significant others since then had actively tried to disrupt my schooling. I ended up being the top student in both of my programs. I’ve had a bunch of awards ceremonies to attend the last several months, and this is the big culmination of everything. I get to lead the procession today, get to wear honors cords from two schools, tassels for two schools. I’m really proud of it all.
My mom called last night and cancelled on me, both for dinner last night and for attending the ceremony today. I haven’t seen her in nearly two years, despite the fact that we live less than 10 miles from each other. She’s cancelled for all of my awards ceremonies over the last few years, she’s cancelled on holidays.
Got messages from friends that they’d be unable to attend for a variety of reasons. Church (which lets out three hours before the ceremonies), too tired from partying last night, don’t want to drive downtown.
The extended family won’t attend; they disagree with my choices of fields of study due to religious reasons (apparently, math attempts to usurp God’s perfection, and philosophy is apparently the exact same thing as Godless religion).
I’ve had no guests at any of these awards ceremonies or events since over a year ago. No one in my life will be there today. Turns out that not a single person in my life gives a shit.
Student Driver I don’t know if it helps you to know this but I am insanely proud of you. You have made yourself into what I am trying to be, well except the philosophy part. I mean the part about making something out of yourself, succeeding where everyone expected you to fail, proving to yourself that you can do it. You worked and went to school, paid for it yourself, got a 4.0, lots of awards, the admiration and recognition of your peers. Your friends and family don’t seem to give a shit. Maybe they’re jealous. Maybe they’re just assholes. You accomplished something that a lot of people can’t. I’m not working and I’m going to have a whole lot of debt when I finish. I also just lost my 4.0 to an A- in Beginning Spanish.
Revel in your success. Celebrate with your classmates. Go on with your life and be successful and happy. If your friends and family can’t be happy for you, fuck 'em. And remember that there’s a 31-year-old second year college student who admires you.
They then wonder why I’m doggedly pursuing out-of-state/out-of-country grad school programs. 
I’ve been realizing over the last few months that, for whatever reason, bridges have been burnt. There’s not much to keep me here any more, and I’m ready to go somewhere new and start fresh.
Mainly just bummed about mom cancelling on me. I expected it, but had hoped she would follow through on this one. Oh well.
Jeez, what a worthless lot! You’ve done something stupendous and you should revel in it. Congratulations!
And if I were you, I’d be planning to move somewhere nice FAR FAR away from all of them. Make a new life, make new friends, find a new sweetheart. Those of us who started out with crappy families can create new and better ones.
And on posting, I see you’re already thinking along the lines. It’s a shame, but you can only beat your head against walls so long. If your original family can’t/won’t connect with you emotionally, then you need to look elsewhere. I’d say ‘good luck’ but with your drive and ambition I don’t think luck will be needed for you to succeed. 
Student Driver, if you’re still reading this, print or write out my name, and carry the paper in your pocket. I’m amazed at your persistence, and also amazed at your high grades. Congratulations.
From what little I know about how we understand the workings of the universe, I’d say mathematics is the highest expression of God’s perfection. :dubious:
Congratulations, Student Driver. This random internet stranger is proud of you and impressed with your accomplishments.
Thank you, Nava and flatlined. It helped to get that off my chest, and it helps a lot to hear others say they care.
Student Driver, you deserve so much more than what your family and friends gave you. It’s time, I think, to find a new family. Math and Philosophy sound like a fascinating combination, and I have no doubt they will take you to fascinating places. Leave the old crap behind and embrace the new.