Argh!!
Sister, I love you, but AAAARGH!
You call me at 10:30 pm and leave a message: You’re at a party in town (she lives about 20 miles away), you want to know if you can crash at my place (a studio apartment). A party she knew she was going to earlier, when I called my mom and she was in a store’s dressing room with said sister. No mention of staying with me.
I’ve had a long week. I work and go to school, and I’m very stressed about a bunch of assignments. I’m tired. My sister can be kind of a drama queen and emotionally exhausting to me. So no, I’m not real keen on it tonight, thanks. I have to get up tomorrow and work on all this crap. If she’s desparate, yes, but not otherwise.
Sister’s on painkillers for a past rotator cuff injury that was reaggravated yesterday. So she should know her limits, and basically wants to be able to drink more and drive less.
So I leave the message, she calls back, I explain I’ve had a long week.
“Well, I’ve had a long six months.”
Absentminded me: “I know…”
“No, you don’t, because you’re never around!”
I was apparently the alternative plan for if she couldn’t crash at the party. I would never have heard from her if she hadn’t needed a place to stay, and yet now it’s about how she “never gets to see me and she doesn’t ask for much.”
If she’d called earlier I might have said yes, but on short notice I’m not keen on it. That’s what adults are allowed to do.
The icing on the cake was the text message: “Thanks for never being there for me. :)”
Yeah. Like I wasn’t the first person you called when you were pregnant and didn’t know what to do. Like I wasn’t the person willing to borrow money for an abortion if you needed it. And when you announced you were keeping the baby, I was happy and supportive also. (Child subsequently lost.)
What the fuck.
And I pit me a little too, because she exactly pushed all my buttons and I got all anxious and guilty and played into it, and spent the entire night grumpy with a stomachache.
But I didn’t text her back and she’s not here now. So I avoided playing too much into the guilt trip.
ETA: To be clear, sister owns a car and managed to drive herself to the party, so she did have a way to get home.
To my employer:
Either accept my resignation, or fix the fucking problem. It’s been three damn weeks since I told my immediate supervisor that I will not be doing X anymore. If that means I am unemployed, then so be it.
The Supervisor has informed the Manager, who has talked to the Director of Operations who has consulted the Chief of Operations, who has talked to someone about something, maybe. I have been requesting help, direction or relief about X since mid-April. I have been alternately ignoring and bitching about X since mid-August. I have not done X at all in three weeks. I have never done X well. So if X is of no value to the company, why the fuck do you want anyone to do X?
Just make a decision. I’m your employee or I’m not. It’s not that hard – strawberry or chocolate, your choice. You can continue to pay me if you’d like, for doing QRSTWYandZ, but I ain’t doing X.
Seriously. You’ve put the Mad in my Pansy. That is not generally considered a good thing.
Jesus, enough with Bee Movie! I’m sick of the damned thing even before it comes out.
Yeah, this weekend the CMT Top 20 Country Music Video countdown had Seinfeld as one of the guests, and at least once the host of the show was wearing a bee suit to promote the movie. I’m so sick of all the hype I wouldn’t see it now if I was given free tickets to a private showing accompanied by five naked women of my choice.
What the hell is up with this daylight savings changing crap? My computer clock sets itself an hour ahead late Saturday night. Unbeknownst to me, daylight savings doesn’t kick in until next week. So guess who woke up an hour late this morning…
I have this co-worker. Everything with her is a big show about how she’s the only one who knows what’s going on, everyone else exasperates her with their incompetence, she’s constantly put-upon to fix other people’s messes, etc. Only, it’s all in her head. She’s no better at her job than anyone else in her department, and it’s a relatively simple job that any somewhat sharp person could master after a couple days’ training. If she quit tomorrow, the department would be short-handed for a few days until they hired and trained a replacement, but that’s it.
So co-worker: Give it a rest. You’re not as indispensable as you think you are. The rest of us would do just fine without you.
Funny enough, all of our computers at home (except hubby’s) have been updated, so they didn’t set forward. My clock is on a satelite feed, so it was ok, too. But – and this is the funny part – the server here at work set itself back an hour, so the whole call center was sitting around going “isn’t it weird that the phones aren’t ringing?” for about 45 minutes before I mentioned that it was prolly due to DST not going into effect until next week. Hee Hee…
Goddamn automated telemarketer machines! Whoever set these hell spawn to begin their maniacal work at 6:30 in the goddamn morning needs to be raped by goats.
Why yes Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Scarlett Johannsen, Alyson Hannigan and Jennifer Aniston, it is sad that LurkMeister isn’t here.
Please, I’d sit through The Postman (special expanded six hour version!) if that’s what it took.
I am not the goddamned phone book! Why don’t you look at your appointment card before calling up the reference desk trying to find the number for your doctor’s office!
I got in the most ridiculous argument with my husband Saturday, then again this morning. And it’s unfortunately colored my entire day.
Husband: “Could you put our son’s clothes on while I finish getting ready?”
Me: “Sure” I put clothes on kid; unfortunately, shirt is from yesterday and had been worn once last week, too.
Husband (now exasperated): “He can’t wear that shirt. He’s worn it like five times. Find another one.”
Me (with shrieking kid clinging to my leg): “Hey, I gotta go, I’m late. Would you mind taking him?”
Husband: “Couldn’t you at least have dressed him?”
Me (now annoyed; nonetheless, I pick up kid, kiss him, tell him I love him and to have a good day - set him down again. More shrieking.): “Look, I was up to my elbows in shit while you were in the shower because he pooped. Big time.”
Husband: “You’re not the only person who has a hectic Monday, you know. You could have been helping while I was showering.”
Me (with voice raised now over screaming kid): “I’m sorry you think that, but I did put his clothes on, even if you’re not happy with the choice I made. Anyway, I gotta go. And I don’t want to have this argument right now.”
Husband: “Don’t yell at me then.”
Me: “I’m yelling because I can’t think over the screaming. Can we talk about it later?”
Husband: “Fine. Just go.”
Me: “I love you. We can talk about this tonight.”
Husband: “Love you, too.”
So I went to the store on lunch and got some additional clothes (we didn’t have a lot of cool-weather clothes in our child’s size, hence the shirt re-wearing) and called husband to ask if he wanted anything. He won’t answer his cell phone. I’m trying to assume he’s probably busy, but I’m afraid he’s a little ticked off at me, too. And I can’t stop obsessing over it. 
Fucking stupid arguments. Always over the same tired things, always with the same pattern.
OK, who’s the moron who designed the user interface on my Cocks DVR? You can only select a program by the first letter of the program name. There are some letters with probably 3000 programs. Why not allow you to move to the next letters and select them, thus filtering it to a manageable number of programs? And for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to cancel a scheduled to be recorded show from that menu.
Background: Work through lunches. Who the fuck invented these? My office buys lunch for the staff, in exhange, we ‘work through’ and have what is essentially a status meeting with the added floor show of taco ingrediants being spewed about. Really, how do grown people not eat with their mouth’s closed? /background
How about a little notice? Maybe even a tad earlier than 11:30 am? I had plans for lunch today. What? Plans? Well you’ll have to break them, this meeting is important. Oh noes! I change my plans. Then for 45 excruitiating minutes I sit in one of those lame ass conference room chairs (circa 1970) and listen to the receptionist describe in agonizing detail her dealings with the telephone guy. Who the fuck cares? The phone lines are fixed. I don’t give a shit that he took a 45 min lunch break lounging under the tree out front - he at least got to have a fucking break from this place.
The meeting was unproductive. Nothing of importance was discussed. Hell, we touched on one case for all of 3 minutes. And both attorneys left the office to ‘run errands’ immediately thereafter.
And attorneys: stop fucking asking me if a particular judge uses this form or that form of a scheduling order. When I hand you the scheduling order rest assured that I know which of the 2 forms this judge likes to use. Don’t ask me 3 times. And damn sure don’t call the judge’s office within my earshot. Your last paralegal was a fuck up. I’m not.
Hey cats. If you ever confuse my favorite down comforter with a litter box again I’ll give you to the lady down the street with the five hellions and the meanest dachshund I ever met. That ought to be lots of fun.
Upload Goatse for your picture and change all the text fields to “Delete my account, you fuckers”
I’m sure they’ll find it in their cold AJAX hearts to acquiesce.
It was already dead. Not sure if it had been alive when the (indoor) cats found it or not. You’d think she’d be desensitized to the presence of random wildlife in the house, what with the dessicated compressed frog bodies that have been stuck (since we moved in) to the long hing-side edge of our door and door jam.
Totally stupid, but I’ll rant about it anways. To the douchebag ex-lead guitarist for my husband: there are other fonts appropriate for use by a heavy metal band than Abaddon. Really, I think that font burned out on the metal circuit ca. 1999. However, I consider your lack of creativity in this area as a warning to other musicians who think they might want to work with you, you soul-sucking, untalented, coked out, bemulleted, ugly ass cliche.
And your music sucks. Seriously. You’re an embarrassment. Whoever told you that songs without choruses are the new form was either an idiot or a total genius for tricking you into it.
Fuck you, USPS – at least, my local branch and mail distribution center. Who in the wide world of jizz-sock-waste are you to play with when I receive my mail, just because you want to save on overtime costs?
In the last month or so, I’ve noticed my weekly paystub and one magazine subscription have been way late.
My magazine (3 years on time), which usually arrives on Monday with next Mondy’s date on the cover, now arrives the following Saturday or so. My paystub (5 years w/ the same employer), which is always mailed on Thursday from Manhattan and usually arrives the following day, on Friday, or Saturday at the latest, now arrives in Brooklyn . . . whenthefuckever.
For instance, a paystub that was mailed on 10/4 (should arrive 10/5), arrived 10/12. 10/12’s paystub (mailed 10/11) arrived . . . hold on for this . . . 10/26! I have not seen 10/19’s paystub and have asked my employer to hold paystubs until I figure this out.
I checked with the magazine company and my employer; neither has changed mailing procedures or mailing class.
I inquired of the local PO manager about changes that would suddenly cause delays, i.e., understaffing, different distribution procedures, etc. I tried to explain the investigation I had done in order to narrow it down to the common denominator between the two mailings – the post office. However, the manager would not let me get a word in edgewise, lengthwise or any other wise. She immediately started blaming my employer and magazine co., suggesting they were lying to me about when they mailed stuff and suggesting I play an e-subscription trace on my mag – whateverthefuck that is.
Receving no satisfaction, I spoke with my mail carrier, who is, I must say, a friendly, cheerful, conscientious woman (who truly deserves the Xmas tip she receives each year). It is from her that I found out that mail was not being sorted and distributed because the manager I had talked to was trying to cut down of OT.
The fuck? Regardless of when you actually sort/distribute the fecking mail, the volume of mail is the same and has to be delivered by someone at some point, right? Or, is the idea that if you kept holding mail back and cutting down of OT, you never have to face that fact? Ariadne, the mail carrier, also told me they were deliberately delivering magazines on or after the date printed on the front – IOWs, disrupting the magazine’s schedule trying to give me timely info. Additionally, people w/ cable and TV schedule subscriptions were getting the magazines 5 and 6 days after the date the schedule starts and cancelling out of frustration. Huh? Something should be cancelled but I’m thinking more like a PO manager’s ability to see straight or shit sitting down.
I’m about to give going postal a whole 'nother meaning!
Not so much a mini-rant as a follow-up to a mini-rant I posted in this thread already.
-
I now know why I got two phone calls during the one hour my phone was turned off last week–the owner of the phone had forgotten which day of the week I had the committment. (The owner of the phone was not the caller–her sister was. I’m getting lots of calls right now from my mother’s siblings )
-
Dear Auntie–No, I do not want more stuff from Grandma’s house. I don’t want stuff I gave her back, I don’t want her cookbooks, I don’t want her jewelry, I don’t want her recipe collection.
-
Dear Auntie (same auntie)-- I also do not want you to keep all Grandma’s stuff in your house. If you do, one of these days I’m likely to have to deal with getting rid of all your stuff. Do Not Want! Please, do not keep stuff just because it used to belong to someone in the family. One of these days it will no longer be part of this family’s belongings. Go ahead, make that day today!