Let us pool our minor annoyances to create a festering swamp

The BBQ Pit
41

Dear Fellow Teacher of the Very Vaguely Creepy Persuasion:

Stop killing my white board markers. You’ve done in two of them so far. I realize that sharing classrooms is not the fun-fun blast our administration would have us believe. I realize that the third (or fourth) teacher doesn’t like to put chairs and desks back the way they started. But MUST you take it out on my innocent markers?

Seriously, dude, I bought them myself so I could have many, many colors to write in, because it makes me happy, and the white boards and markers are one of the few topics I get really anal about. If you were to use up the markers, I would be slightly miffed, but I would get over it. You didn’t. You pressed the marker on some surface so hard that the point collapsed into the barrel. Dude…WTF? Did it insult your not quite toupee quality hair cut? Did it snicker at your inability to hold a conversation without disconcerting pauses and stares?

I can only envision a Psycho scene where you yank off the cap and then stab-stab-stab at the board, leaving bloody dots of marker ink on the whiteboard while your students gaze in horror at the carnage. Stop killing my markers!

Wait a minute.

  • Male
  • Librarian

Oh, dear sweet tweedy God, do you not know that you are the center of multiple sexual fantasies for all women of a particular age set who watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer not for the Buffy, the vampires, or the Whedon-esque dialogue, but for the Anthony Stewart Head’s librariany goodness?

Baby, put on that tweed sports jacket with the patches on the elbows and tell me my interlibrary loan is in. Rrrrrrrow.

42

FOX! You bastards! Bring back Dark Angel! :mad:

43

The shift in tone in this post is… odd.

44

I love you honey, but I’m going to go apeshit on you if you crack open our bathroom window and horizontal blinds up 5 inches again. I realize with the height of the window this makes it low enough that it enables you to look outside while you’re on the throne. However I don’t feel like showing our neighbors my penis whenever i take a piss.

45

Um, wow. I’ve never done this before, but…

How you doin’? :wink:

46

This is what Admiral Farragut actually said at Mobile Bay.
And damn the Boston bullpen.

47

Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, checking out your Dewey Decimal collection.

48

Stop misusing apostrophes, humans! Were you all absent that day in fourth grade when they explained how to use them? GEEZ.

I’m ready to smack one of my 6th graders upside the head and school hasn’t even started yet. (Well, today was the first day, but it’s just a welcome ceremony. Don’t ask me why the first day was on a Saturday, I don’t know.)

The last book in the New Testament is called Revelation. NOT Revelations. NO S. It’s just ONE Revelation, not MULTIPLE.

That’s all I got at the moment.

49

Dear roomie,
You are a shitbag. You’ve been failing almost every single one of your room inspections for over a year, and now, you’re making me fail them too. It’s not all that fucking difficult to clean your room, seriously. You throw your trash in the trashcan, take the trash out if you’re leaving, make your bed, wash your clothes and put them away, and vacuum/dust. It’s not hard. Yet your room isn’t just messy - it’s NASTY. Grotesque. I don’t think there’s even enough words to describe it. It smells. There are bugs. Piles of trash everywhere.

Every time someone comes in to inspect, I get embarrassed, and it’s not even my room! I’m not sure whether I should pit you, or your command for letting it go on for so long. If I were in charge of you, I’d make sure to inspect your room every single day, and make you clean it if wasn’t squared away. You’ve already gotten mast and lost a crow over this bullshit- do you want to go again? Get your fucking act together. Maybe you should be cleaning instead of partying in Yokohama. Remember what you are. CLEAN YOUR ROOM!

Sincerely, your roommate.

Whew, that felt good.

50

Dear (now) Ex.

Damn. Way to be sneaky about your new girl. I realize you could see wiggle room in what we still had (which was pretty bad), but…it seems like you made an effort to make sure I didn’t know.

And to not find out from you, but from your/our friends. You’ve been seeing this girl at shows and such, and took her on a band trip with you…

The point is…I’m pretty sure you knew how I’d feel about this, otherwise you would have told me about it.

I was devastated. I’m working through it, but…damn. :frowning:

(I had told him seeing other girls was the dealbreaker. The bit that would cut the thread, really. And so…he didn’t tell me.)

51

Dear local farmers,

Well hey, I know it’s autumn… a time to reap and and a time to sow, a time to harvest and a time to plant up for the winter. The wonderful, immutable cycle of the seasons etc. All very rural and bucolic.

And a farmer’s gotta do what a farmer’s gotta do, right?

But do you REALLY need to spray every single field in a 5 miles radius of my house with concentrated pig shit? This morning an acrid cloud of gag-making essence du merde drifted gently across the town, which did not enhance my morning bowl of cornflakes.

I guess it makes the beetroot grow nicely, but damn it stinks round here today.

Yours with a wrinkled nose,

e-logic

52

Would you rather it was chemical pesticide? It may stink, but at least it’s natural.

I’d read that Japanese use human waste as fertilizer way back when. Is that still the case?

53

Absolutely, hence the choice of the “minor annoyances” thread… it could be worse, but still pongs. :slight_smile:

54

Well, I hear the farmers asked everyone in the Midlands to come out and take a dump en masse in the fields around e-logic’s place, but they were too busy playing video games.

55

What baffles me is a neighbor of mine that plows his fields into dust in the fall. Dude, we have wind here. Lots of wind. Gusts of 50-60 mph are downright common. If you plow it that fine in the fall, all of your topsoil will blow away–much of it ending up on my floors, counters, and patio furniture. Why can’t you do the last 27 passes over your field in the spring when the weather is calmer and there is likely to be some moisture to hold the soil in place?

56

At this point it’s no longer minor, but it’s still an annoyance. I hate my back. For ten straight days my lower back has hurt. It hurts constantly with a low throbbing pain. I am done. My husband has done his best to get it fixed for me; he’s done therapy exercises, manual traction, stretching, and even e-stim. Nothing. It resists all efforts. I had to do a carpool trip this morning that involved sitting in my van for 30 minutes. I wanted to cry.

I’d go to the chiropractor if I knew a good one and you know, actually had the money for the visit because I’m also flat broke besides the stupid back pain.

57

Go to the doctor - not a chiropractor. It could be a kidney infection - back pain is one of the symptoms.

58

Dear SO–I love you dearly, but you have the conflict resolution skills of a two year old, and I’m getting oh-so-tired of your tantrums.

You wanted to go camping. Okay, sounds like fun–let’s go camping. I work all week, forty plus hours, in a job where I have to be the major decision maker, get it done person and general rah rah cheerleader. That’s okay, I’m paid well to be a mommy/nanny. However, when I come home I have ZERO desire to continue in this role, no matter how much you might want me to do so. This means that I expect that YOU will have done ALL the prep work for the camping trip YOU proposed. Since you work from home I don’t see this as a big imposition on you. I further expect that this will be done before Friday night is ended, for an early Saturday departure. I do NOT expect you to roll out of bed at the crack of nine (after I’ve been up for two hours,) still unshaven and unshowered and NOTHING put together or packed by ten thirty, when you insist I tell you why I’m not bounding around with Labrador retriever-like excitement over our camping trip.

After I tell you–calmly, matter of factly, with minimum nastiness–that I’m disappointed and no longer want to go camping because it’s all become a huge hassle and it’s obvious that if it’s going to happen I’M going to have to be the one to MAKE it happen and I wasn’t THAT enthused in the FIRST PLACE, you throw one of your patented temper tantrums. Yelling, name calling, threatening to leave me, threatening not to do the work you’ve contracted with my boss to do, all the stupid shit you ALWAYS do whenever anyone has the temerity to point out that maybe, just MAYBE you MIGHT not be TOTALLY PERFECT IN EVERY WAY.

Every time you do this I lose a whole bunch of respect for you. Some day it’s going to tip the balance over and I’m going to throw you out again, as I’ve done before. Somehow, though, you just don’t GET IT that I do fine on my own, that while you’re a great asset to me in many ways and I love you dearly and have for over twenty years and I love having you live with me about 95% of the time, your behavior during that five percent is absolutely, nonnegotiably, unequivocally UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR FOR A FORTY YEAR OLD MAN and I do NOT have to put up with it. This is my house, all I have to do is give you a thirty day notice and you’re going to be out on your goddamned ass. Are you forgetting the several other times I’ve kicked you out, for up to two years at a time, because you will NOT learn to control your temper?

Oh, and that neat little way you have of “punishing” me by ignoring me completely and sleeping on the couch? It’s so cute I’m laughing at you all the time you’re doing it, especially when you slam cabinet doors and throw things in the sink to let me know how pissed you still are. It’s especially cute watching a six foot tall man try to sleep on a five foot long loveseat. For a pretty smart guy, you can be quite the tool. You forget I raised two year olds, and that I’ve had nephews, neices and a granchild go through the stage as well. It doesn’t impress me, it doesn’t intimidate me, it doesn’t do anything but make me laugh at how stupid you look doing it–that red faced, freaked out toddler face looks so very becoming on an adult male…

GROW UP!!

:rolleyes:

59

Generally no, and definitely not on the larger farms (to quote Homer Simpson, “I’m only one man.”) Probably just limited nowadays to older folks out in the countryside growing vegetables in their own gardens.

60

That ‘particular age’ appears to be 20 and up, upon confirmation with one of my college-student buddies.

It certainly includes me. :wink: I’m a little too old, possibly, to put a big Giles poster up in my room, but one day I will post one in the computer/TV/geekland area.