actually risotto freezes, and the tubs of premade shelf stable polenta are quite good, i likecutting polenta discs and frying them in bacon fat as ameal component.
Polenta in bacon grease… Fucking amazing. Throw in a little fresh kale with sesame seeds and some spicy sausages, and you have something truly wonderful. 
A thunderstorm blew out my basement window and dumped in 30 gallons of water. It’s a finished basement so the repair bill is about $8500. We have insurance but still pay the $3K deductible.
Now the insurance company says that only items attached to the house are covered. So the area rug and various crap stored in a closet are not. Why? Because it was damage from a window. If it was caused by damage to the roof or wall it would be covered.
This sounds like a pile of horseshit to me. I think I’m going to call my insurance agent and ruin his day.
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((((dropzone))))
Got a new washing machine installed. But the company had wiped it down with some extremely powerful solvent that is making me sick to my stomach. Washing and wiping the machine hasn’t removed the odor. And I might not be able to get it replaced for quite a few days yet…but I work remotely from home.
Oh, they would come get that machine today. And bring a clean up person. That is so wrong. Get on that phone and do some targeted bitching. The franchise office or the store owner, someone like that.
Have you ever been to a thrift shop or ‘antique’ store, looked at all of the flat-out broken items, and wondered, “Who buys this stuff?”
That would be my family. I…don’t even know what to say. In this case, I know where this person shops; they probably paid quite a bit for a turn-of-this-century tchotchke that was clearly dropped from a great height and is missing a significant component. I think this person meant well, but it makes me feel sad that they probably thought this item was some amazing collectible. 
I buy broken and chipped china at flea markets. Sometimes they just give it to me. I buy torn up unreadable books. I use these things in mixed media art I do. But, yeah a broken bric-a-brac is a worthless collectible.
Side note: I design magazine covers, and used to concoct large collages using finds from flea markets and hardware stores. But I stopped, because it was turning me into a hoarder (“Hmmm, I could use that for that thing…” “Oh, no, can’t throw away that stone angel off a tombstone, might use it someday. I’ll just set it on top of the four-foot pile of architectural salvage”). Now, if you have stuff you can easily throw away in an organized storage space, that’s different.
I had stacks o’ crap.
I have heard it said, and can confirm its truth, that making crafts and accumulating craft materials are two separate hobbies.
Where’s that “Send to all my friends” button?*
True for any (analog) creative endeavor.
*Wow, this is the second time this decade that I’ve thought “I wish I were on social media.”
Yep. I am a hoarder of artsy shit. The definition of artsy crap is determined by me. It drives people crazy. It makes me happy. Don’t harsh on my mellow, man.
An aluminum drip pan for the stove in the rental is $45. And there are 4 ruined ones.
The lunchmeat drawer to the fridge has a hole, like a burn. $66. For 1 small drawer. Da-fuq
SharkWife just got notice that our debit card was used to the tune of $1100 at a CostCo three states away. Now we’re in the throes of freezing the cards, ordering new ones, changing login passwords, etc.
How the Hell does someone buy crap in person if they don’t have the physical card in hand? Or the PIN?
We just transferred a heaping chunk o’ money from our brokerage account to checking, hoping the bank froze our accounts in time and there aren’t pending charges we’ve not seen yet.
And, of course, we leave on vacay in five days and probably won’t have the new debit cards by then; if we do, it’s the possible nightmare of our legitimate purchases blocked because we’re 2,500 miles away from home and they’re flagged as suspicious transactions. Fucking scumbag dick thieves.
Well, I finally slept several hours in a row. I was sitting and thinking of all the bone-headed shit I did while sleep deprived. I remembered my project I have been working on. I went into my art room and holy-shit. What a mess. 6 little canvasses that look like crap. Book pages, glue, india ink and (omg) gold sequins. What was I thinking? I went to get a trash sack. I shut the door to keep cats out of ink. I havn’t got the heart to open the door again. I am leaving it today, at least. I cannot believe what the brain thinks is a good idea when compromised. Ho------ly shit.
“Do not make any decisions bigger than what kind of cereal to have for breakfast if you’re sleep deprived!”
I kept repeating that to myself when I went three weeks with minimal sleep. I was coming up with all sorts of “great ideas” that… weren’t. If I’d acted on some of those ideas, I wouldn’t be employed or married or alive at this point.
Yea, I knew that. But apparently my addled brain thought it knew better. But, oh well, I’ll survive. It’s not like I was painting the Sistine chapel or something.
I have a two step commute: home to transit station and bus to work. The first leg usually takes me about fifteen minutes.
On Wednesday, I got up and left half an hour early to make a meeting. It turns out that that first leg is MUCH more backed up than I thought it would be just half an hour before my usual time (when I go, it’s usually very free and snappy; this was a backup disaster). I knew it could be bad, but that was an hour before my usual, so half an hour can’t be that bad, right? Nope, it was.
I go a route I usually don’t take and I make a right on red without completely stopping at an intersection whose traffic camera sign I’d JUST read. I get to the transit station just in time to see the bus leave. I wait for the next bus. Because it’s a slightly different route, I get to work just five minuets before my usual time, even though it left twenty minutes before my usual bus.
So to sum up, I got up early, went through suspense on the road, and I’m probably gonna get a traffic camera ticket, and I was still late to my meeting. Fuck me.
After a bad breakup I feel like my options are either “give up on my favorite community” or “accept that every time my ex is around it’s like a fucking knife in my gut”. I can’t ask her to leave - she’s literally a moderator there. She’s not actively plotting against me, mind you, it just hurts like hell when I see her, and she’s super fucking active and every time I see her it’s a reminder of how badly I fucked up and how much I wish she hadn’t left me. These people are my tribe, and I feel like a goddamn outcast. It hurts like hell.
Dude, sounds like a bad break up. Separate yourself from that place for a breather. It may feel better when you go back. Whether you believe it or not, time does help.