Smooches and champagne from the Internets? holds up bottle
On a purely selfish note, it makes me sad and frustrated and worried that I have no money for anything, and that I can’t seem to find (or get) a really good office / desk job.
On a less selfish note, this makes me sad.
Here is one: {{{{{{OneCentStamp}}}}}}}
Mine was 9/9.
I pit my cousin for hating her brother so much that she won’t show up to a family gathering if he might be there. I pit my neighbor for cheating on his wife and causing not only a nasty divorce but also a custody battle for two kids.
Why oh why must people show such hostility to the innocent animals that fuckers rode in on? Sure, fuck those idiots, but spare the poor horsies and other rideable creatures. 
It’s happened in two offices in a row for me now.
I have another co-worker whose personal life is falling to pieces (mental/physical illness, family crisis, etc) and who therefore isn’t able to do their job for extended periods of time. Their coworkers cover for them but get very tired of it.
The only thing they have left going for them in their life is their job, and the whole office knows it. But they are not only not doing their job, they are increasing the burden on their coworkers and putting the office at risk. And the manager is too nice to send them out to pasture (or whatever needs to be done). Which is bad management, to be sure. Bad management of the kindest type.
Boo.
On a personal, TMI note: My internal reproductive organs make me sad, once a month. I can’t decide what’s worse, the physical symptoms (cramps, bloating, backache, salt cravings, upset stomach [from the ibuprofen, I guess], insomnia, migraines, sometimes even fever) or the mental (I almost started crying in a class the other night; I’m reclusive and introverted at the best of times and just can’t stand people for a day or two every month, once I got so pissed off at a malfunctioning printer I punched a cinderblock wall).
Then I think about the fact that I have, as far as I know, a fully-functional reproductive system*, which I will never use for that purpose and just causes me unending hassle. At the same time, there are women who don’t but really want to have kids; that’s just unfair.
And then I think about the fact that there are people in horrible, horrible situations in so much of the world, situations which put my piddly little monthly issues in perspective. You can write all the letters and donate as much money as you want, and volunteer as much as you humanly can, but you’re never going to make a dent in any of those problems.
*Maybe. I know my mother miscarried before having me. As did two of her three sisters and her mother, so who the hell knows? Moot point, anyway.
Happy Birthday, OneCent, I’ll always remember your kindness.
I pit the family of my mother’s friend, a 71 y.o. lady (the friend), scrapping by and living with her son and his wife. The son stole money from her, what little she gets from social security and a part time job and the DIL badmouths her every day. That just ain’t right.
Birthday hugs to vivalostwages and onecentstamp
I am very sad that my SIL never got to meet her grandson (she died 3 months before he was born) and that my parents never met their great grandson (or their grandsons’ wives for that matter)
I am heartwrenchingly sad that my sister was taken at the age of 37 and never got to see me follow in some of her footsteps
That’s beyond “not right.” That sounds like it could be a Pit thread all its own. :mad:
And thanks, friend. You too, vivalostwages and anyrose. Anyway, Mom asked me to drop by her place on the way home from work and loaded me down with a birthday cake and a big bag of Vietnamese egg rolls, so all is well now. 
I pit the situation happening here in Pittsburgh-a man who stabbed his two younger brothers-identical twins. One was killed, the other is still in the hospital. So not only is he dealing with severe injuries, he has to face the reality that his twin was murdered-by their own brother.
Said brother does suffer from mental illness, and because he’s over 18 they can’t have him committed without his consent. (Well, NOW they probably can)
I pit the fact that tomorrow is the 6th anniversary of Sept. 11, and we still haven’t managed to catch Bin Laden.
I pit that the man who was my father’s best man recently died of cancer. A man far too young to have died such a horrible death.
I pit the fact that out of my parents’ children, I’m the one with the job, rainy day fund, roof over my head, and two cats to sleep on my feet at night.
I want my siblings to be similarly secure in their lives as my parents are already looking retirement dead in the eye, but the siblings aren’t there yet. One seems to be honestly working on getting there which is good, but the other one, uh. Yee-aaahhh. :dubious:
Unfortunately, parents are also contributing by going “You should get a better job of OUR choosing!” :dubious:
I’m just… trying to stay out of it except for when I try to fling words against both brick walls to about as much effect as you’d guess.
Maybe being called fetish weirdos makes them less likely to be up front with their desires?
I pit the guy who stole my wallet when I arrived in Madrid, causing me to cancel my vacation and return home. The guy never even used the credit cards; all he wanted was the cash. The bastard could have taken the cash and returned the wallet to my pocket. He only needed the money, but he had to ruin my trip for no reason whatsoever. He could have said, “Hey man, if you want your wallet, it’s in the trash bin over there.” But he didn’t.
I am sad because today is the birthday of a man who is smart enough to be silly, strong enough to be tender, playful enough to be thoughtful, rational enough to be spiritual, and macho enough to be kind. He is drinking to his health with his wife, who isn’t me.
And, there is only one of him in the entire world.
I’m sorry for your predicament. Unfortunately, the only quick solution I know is, outdoor dogs, indoor cats. “Easy to train” doesn’t usually mesh with “strong prey instincts” because the latter generally interferes with the attention span required for the former.
The untrainable husky my family had was taught to leave cats alone by the cats themselves. Eventually they all learned that sleeping in a giant multicolored dog-and-cat pile was the best way to keep warm during the winter, and then they actually went out of their way to look out for each other.
Good luck: it’s a crime to have to abnegate one’s responsibility for another living creature.
I spend many of my evenings listening to people’s troubles on a suicide/crisis hotline, and over the years I have heard many sad stories.
For the most part, it just rolls off my back and I go into work the next morning as chipper as ever, but occasionally one call haunts me for weeks, or even years.
I was reminded of one when I read VCO3’s thread, Is “rape” real?, and its associated pit thread.
Since I’m a guy, it’s understandable that I rarely hear about sexual crimes; I suppose most women would prefer not to discuss such things with a guy.
Some time back, I spoke with a woman who made a couple of short calls, with vague references to things in her past, and then she finally opened up and told a sickening story of an attack many years ago. She had been so violently and forcefully raped that many of her ligaments and other soft tissues were damaged, as if she were in an automobile accident. She described the attack in detail. In the intervening years she never recovered and spends her life in pain and suffering.
The agony in that woman’s voice still haunts me today.
That evening when I drove home, I was ashamed of being a man and ashamed of every impure thought I had ever had while gazing at a woman.
I pit the fact that we are losing touch with the natural world. Please convince me that our children’s children will be able to experience a glacier, a jungle, a desert, or a forest in the same way that I did. Otherwise, I’ll feel ashamed that we did such a lousy job as keepers of the planet.
I pit everything to do with my biological father, because I have no feelings about it other than sadness. In the 10 years that we had no relationship, my entire adolescence went to shit, from multiple abuses to suicidal ideation to legal emancipation at 17 to hospitalization at 20. We started talking again right around the time I recovered from all the shit that can’t even reasonably be called a childhood.
He loves me so much it’s palpable how much pain my absence has caused, and how afraid he is that I’m going to go away again. He bought me a giant stuffed stegosaurus the first day we got together. A toy. I was 23. I’ve been seeing him for over a year and he still gives me twenties for gas and calls when I’ve been away too long–and you can hear the absolute panic in his voice that I’m never going to come back again.
During the 10 years I was gone, both of his sisters died, both in their forties. He says I remind him so much of my Aunt Sue, but I don’t remember. And how the hell am I supposed to explain to him everything that happened to me between the ages of 13 and 23? I barely even comprehend it myself. It sounds like something in a bad Lifetime drama. And I don’t even really want to think about it, it’s over. That chapter of my life has closed.
‘‘I was so angry at your Mom,’’ he told me, ‘‘But I accepted it because I knew she would take good care of you, I knew she would do what was best for you.’’
Then he paused, and said, ‘‘I guess I was wrong.’’
Probably one of the most authentically sad moments of my life. I pit that moment.
It will be. (At least part of another one.) There’s a string of Pit and MPSIMS threads in store.
It makes me sad that the men who shot and harpooned a gray whale on Sunday are unrepentant. The leader said it was “invigorating” and he wishes he’d done it sooner. 
Right, 'cause an asshole who rapes and impregnates a child in a wheelchair deserves my respect. :rolleyes: If it wasn’t a fetish that lead him to do what he did, then he’s even a *worse *monster.
But to the larger question of why Missy can’t get laid, it’s because most “normal” guys don’t want to fuck a woman who can’t control any of her limbs and who’s so skinny she’d make Keira Knightly say, “Girl, eat a cheeseburger!” So she’s left with the slim hope of finding a normal guy who will love her and a theoretical pool of guys for whom fucking a woman in a wheelchair is a fetish, which is rather disturbing in and of itself.
So, like all of us, she waits and waits for some guy to come along and love her as a person so much that he can overlook her outside appearance and have sex with someone who drools. She’s, as I mentioned, not stupid. She knows her chances of true love are even worse than the rest of us.
And she can’t even hold a vibrator. So yeah, that makes me feel sad.