The joy/curse of small non profits: We don’t do our jobs because we’re qualified, we do them because nobody else does. It’s actually a peeve of mine: frequently reminding my compatriots of the proper ways to do things 1, while at the same time I’m very much aware that I’m not qualified for my job either 2.
For example, the leader (she doesn’t like to be called president) who smacked me down for this stated it was because the old logo was our established branding and was on all of our marketing materials. So I should NOT have tried to get something different printed on t-shirts. (This is what triggered the whole thing, she was copied on an email between me and a shirt vendor.) However, she said, it was okay to put it on the website…
My full education in accounting was a one semester class in high school more than twenty years ago, which doesn’t explain why I’m treasurer. It might have something to do with me understanding at least the rudiments of accounts receivables and chart of accounts and having the sense to marvel at groups (I’ve worked for two that did this) who invest in accounting packages like QuickBooks and don’t use anything other than the check register feature. My true, best qualification for any of the jobs I do here is that I try to do things right and educate myself on the topics.
Oh my bleepity bleeping bleep! If you aren’t smart enough to check your oil, transmission fluid, tire pressure, coolant, battery connections, and power steering fluid, you aren’t smart enough to drive a bleeping car!
The housemate has had to be rescued twice in the past week - Thursday she had a flat tire, and the Boy went to change it for her. She didn’t know where her spare nor her jack were (she’s owned this vehicle since it was new, in 2009,) and she chose to drive off of the wide, flat, paved shoulder onto the muddy, slanted verge when the tire went - that definitely doesn’t make changing a tire fun. In addition, she didn’t even know where the handbrake was. The Boy showed her. He then checked all of her tires - she was running on 26-28 psi, versus the 36 recommended by the manufacturer. Today, her transmission locked up because she has never - not once! - in 6 years checked her fluid levels. We hope the vehicle is salvageable, because there’s nothing else for her to drive to school, and no public transportation available, and I’m not spending $1000+ to pay for a transmission. If it can’t be repaired, she’s gonna just have to sell that for whatever she can get and buy a cheap used something.
Please, when you’re standing in line (and this applies to people at red lights in their cars), if there is a gap between you and the person in front of you, for the love Ghu, move up!
Please do not bury your Chihuahua’s shit in my front garden. I realize that you were probably drunk (this was the night of the 4th) and maybe thought that when the little bastard used my rose garden for a toilet, maybe you were doing the right thing to cover it with dirt. Well, I found it, with my bare hand. I was not happy.
If you must let your shit machine run loose, how about you at least change his food? I’ve picked up a bazillion dog piles, and I have never smelled anything this foul.
Dear Husband:
What the hell did you have for breakfast? The stuff all wound together in the kitchen sink drain is unrecognizable. Try not to do that again - we have a disposal for a reason.
Is it OK if you pay a temporary minion to do it? My current bleeping car is a Citroen and the nearest Citroen mechanic happens to be the next block over, taking it there counts as neighborly I do know where the jack and spare are! And the handbrake, of course. I even know where the manual is, both in the current car and in my brother’s; last time I was home, he asked me where something or other was, and I showed him both the button he’d been looking for and TFM.
Hopefully he won’t manage to kill that car’s a/c like he killed it in my previous car :smack:
Having it done definitely counts. Driving for 6 years without basic maintenance? Yeah. Dumb doesn’t even begin to cover it. (And this is a woman who claims that she’s a strong, independent sort who does it all. Apparently, her definition of “all” is smaller than mine, because she’s also bumfuzzled by the notion that I’m out here cutting grass myself - it needs to be done, I’m perfectly capable of doing it, and the Boy is busy this week with college/work stuff. I’m not asking him to drop his important crap just to do a job that I’ve been able to do since I was ten years old!)
There are times when I really wish I had a nice hermit cave!
You forgot about the ribs.
The caterer made it sound like we were planning to have 2 food lines with the blacks only allowed to eat watermelon, fried chicken and ribs. I was flabbergasted and then furious.
I’m not a big fan of ribs or chicken, but that’s because I avoid eating things that breath air. (The shrimp kabobs were excellent.) I LOVE watermelon.
Oh well, it was a lovely party, everyone seemed to have a good time and there was enough food. That’s the important part, right? We have a new caterer on the list for company parties, and that’s good as well.
curlcoat Ick, ick, ick! Does the idiot neighbor even bother to care for his yard?
Lacunae Matata You are honestly a saint. How have you managed to not bitch slap your housemate? Some people aren’t physically able to change a tire or do car maintenance, but they should be smart enough to know that cars have to be cared for.
Ok when standing in line, sure keep moving with the person in front, recognizing the social norms of personal space and trying not to look like you are about to push past.
Ok social norms is quite a large range.
Cars stopped at a light, I am not so sure closing up too much is a good idea. Getting too close means that you can’t start to break friction and roll forward until the car in front of you has started moving. Giving some buffer room means everyone can start moving at the same time when the light turns green, too close and you cannot move until everyones reaction time and awareness in front of you has been dealt with. Same deal for slow moving traffic, keep a buffer and it will smooth out the stop / start shit.
But as a horribly tense queue person ( I blame it on being British) I agree, just keep moving forward, even if it is just to stand a few paces further along.
My mini rant. Banks, you know your underwriters are going to ask for all this additional paper work. In fact, when on Thursday afternoon, at the beginning of a long holiday weekend, with a house closing deadline fast approaching, you tell me , " the under writers need this, they always do " and it is stuff that may take a few days to get , because , as you told me, “it always does”, maybe, just maybe you could be a little proactive and ask for it up front, after all you have done this many times before.
I’m totally not a saint. The housemate is on her last strike with me, but Tony is much, much nicer than I am. I’m actually really, really pissed off right now, because I just learned about a series of episodes when the housemate’s son molested his much-younger sister. Yes, I kicked the son out six months ago, but he’d have never moved into my house, with my three young daughters, had I known then what I know now.
Much more minor, but I repaired a leak in the sink drain in one of the bathrooms last night. It has been going on for a while - no one told me, and I don’t have any reason usually to check. Boy 2.0 told me about it last night. I found about ten washcloths stashed under the sink, ruined by hair dye that the Spare Girl uses, and the bottom board of the vanity is ruined - mildewed and warped. I hope that the floor underneath the sink isn’t also rotted out. Part of me wants to be angry at the 16-year-old spare, but what can I expect from her, given that she’s been raised by an idiot?
Honestly, the kindest interpretation I can think of is that the housemate’s cancer (which I know has recurred, and isn’t being treated,) has metastasized to her brain.
Also, watermelon and fried chicken and ribs? Yum, and who cares what color your skin is? If you don’t like watermelon and fried chicken, it says nothing about your skin color. That’s good eating!
Start replying with messages that will make her emailers get in touch with her, and get her email address corrected. Such as:
Dear X, we are returning your message unread. We are unable to deliver your message , because you are not listed as an authorized correspondent for this person in our custody. Sincerly yours, XYZ prison.
Return to Sender. Unable to Deliver. Occupant Deceased.
Return unread. All email must be addressed to: care of Indiana State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
Return to Sender. Addressee Deported.
If you want to be nice, send her a notice that, effective after x days, you will no longer accept email for her, and will be returning it with spoofed answers.
Tony’s nice streak has run out. I told him what the housemate said when I asked why she hadn’t told us about her son’s molestation: “Your daughters aren’t as pretty as mine.” Because she’s crazier than her son! (Also, her daughter is perfectly cute. And mine are beautiful. And I don’t give a shite what her justifications are - I’m armed to the teeth, and will kill someone if he hurts my little girls. Tony will gut-shoot that person though, to make sure they suffer.) Seriously?!
Also, the housemate seems to think that she will be using Boy 2.0’s truck while hers is on the disabled list. No. If you can’t be bothered to maintain your own vehicle, you aren’t using the Boy’s truck. I get that yours is “nice,” and his is just an old $900 pickup, but if you can’t be bothered to maintain your own “nice” vehicle, you sure as hell aren’t welcome to borrow his poor little truck. Because I said so, and I don’t have to offer you any justification.
On the bright side, if there can be said to be one in this horrible situation - Tony agrees. We’re done. Next offensive remark means that the housemate needs to find a different place to be. We’ve had enough with folks who can’t be bothered to respect our home, to clean up after themselves, to even take care of their own stuff that they can’t afford to repair or replace if they don’t maintain it. I’m not willing to live with the drama, I’m not willing to take the chance that someone accuses my husband or son of something untoward, etc.
The only part of this that makes no sense, Lacunae Matata, is that you are waiting for one more offensive remark. I think NOW is the time to clean house, sweeping the “housemate” and family to the curb.
What IS it with housemates and all that crap? If the tables were turned I’d be making sure I’d be earning my keep. It just astounds me how much entitlement people think they deserve when in reality they don’t deserve one iota of it.
Our housemates are finally moving out within the next week or so. Right now they’re in the state from where they moved attempting to drag the contents of their storage locker down there to their storage locker up here. Then they have to drag the contents of the storage locker up here into their new apartment. Then they have to clear ALL THEIR CRAP out of our house. I can’t really complain since we’re inheriting love seats, a gas grill, and possibly their TV since they can’t afford to get cable.
Oh, and did I mention that the female roommate has no idea if she’ll be hired to teach anywhere come September? And if she doesn’t get a job there’s no way her husband can carry the rent by himself? My friends keep telling me to change our locks. My husband, OTOH, is all “well you can’t just put them out on the street”. That’s how we ended up with them in the first place :smack:
We have friends/family make use of our spare bedroom every so often. I’m always a little surprised when they leave and I see they’ve made the bed, straightened up, tidied the bathroom, hung towels to dry, etc.
In similar situations I seem to remember leaving things a mess, assuming my hosts would be washing the sheets.
That would be it for me, right there with those words.
“DONE. GONE. BYE BYE.” and physically and forcefully eject this person and her spawn from my home in that very moment, then start throwing their shit on the lawn and calling the police to have them removed.
We were “chosen” because we were the only dog-friendly friends they had in this area. Never once did they volunteer to clean the poop out of the backyard. They haven’t cleaned one inch of the bathroom they’re using from what I can see from the hallway. I’ve never seen a vacuum cleaner in their room (YOU HAVE A DOG HELLO?!?) Oh, and don’t get me started about dishes. The wife refuses to touch them once they’re in the sink “because I’m not a housewife”. We got into a couple of fights over the winter about this when I told her I wasn’t her fucking maid either and WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS LATE WITH THE RENT, HMMM? OH THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO BUSY GOING ON SHOPPING SPREES BECAUSE GOD FORBID PEOPLE THINK YOU’RE AS PISS ASS POOR AS YOU ACTUALLY ARE. No wonder why you and your husband have been on the verge of divorce for the past few years. Oh, dear…did I make you cry? Isn;'t that too fucking bad.
The sticky is that she and my husband were good friends in college. He had no idea she’d changed that much the 25 years since then. I was like, WTF? OF COURSE SHE’D CHANGE! YOU’VE PROBABLY CHANGED TOO! I KNOW I HAVE!
The one good thing about all this is that if we ever take in somebody else they’re going to sign their name in blood to MY HOUSE CONTACT. No ifs, ands, or buts. You live here, you’re considered a member of the household and therefore you have chores. Don’t want to do them? There’s the door. I’ll even help you with your stuff
Sweetie, you’ve BEEN done. For a while. You know with the certainty of the next sunrise that there *will *be a next {insert offence here} so why wait?
I’m sorry for the Spare Girl, and I know you are too, but you’ve got to look out for your own family. Your Housemate is a known protector of child molestors (right? did I interpret your comment about her son’s molestation of his own sisters correctly?) and you have little children. Your Tony is injured, healing but hurt, and you’re spread so thin that you’re diluting your ability to care for the ones you love. (Spoiler alert: Housemate is not one of them. She does not love you.)
Bless your heart for trying to right by so many people at once, but this situation has spun completely out of control. It’s time for you and Tony to find an exit strategy, pronto.
If I see a line I’d like to join, and there’s a gap in it, I’m always tempted to just walk into the gap to fill it. (Though this probably wouldn’t work while driving.)
I do know where the jack and spare are! And the handbrake, of course. I even know where the manual is, both in the current car and in my brother’s; last time I was home, he asked me where something or other was, and I showed him both the button he’d been looking for and TFM.
