Goddammit refrigerator. You could pick a better time to go on the blink.
Blinkers.
Indicators.
Turn Signals.
I don’t care what you call them. Fucking use them, already.
On an unrelated note:
This is an office. I thought your fucking flip fucking flops looked stupid in July and August. It is now November. In NY. Wear shoes. You look like a moron.
Heather McCartney, The McCanns, Big Brother, Love Island,all fucking useless lamebrained reality shows.
For the love of Satan fuck off and rot someplace
Sorry, I didn’t word my post carefully enough. I’m complaining about people who park their cars at the pump, go into the kwik-e mart, use the bathroom, peruse the snacks ‘n’ sh*t, stand in line at the register, make a cell phone call, all before they put the nozzle into their tank.
Wow. I knew Comcast sucked, but I didn’t know they were that bad…
We’d always had cable before, but when we moved to Pittsburgh, we got DirecTV, and we’ve been pretty happy with them so far. Just sayin’…
Come to my office. We got candy, but had no trick-or-treaters. So now I’m trying to give away our candy (all of which is chocolate) so Mr Neville and I don’t end up eating it all.
It’s 2007.
The music industry has been working at full tilt since the 1980s, I’m pretty sure. Several songs have been released since “You’re the Inspiration.” *
So why have I been subjected to it twice in the past WEEK? TWICE?! And I never listen to the radio, it just happened to have been on TWICE when I happened to go into an establishment playing “Today’s Passable Hits, Yesterday’s Second-Rate Classics.”
I was fucking sick of it when I was a teenager, even while I was too naive to realize what a shitty song it was. You think I like it any better now? Gah!
-
- this rant also applies to any song recorded by any solo member of any 1970s band that was released between 1980-1995, as well as any CanCon artist, as well as any rock ballad from any period, as well as, really, ANY fucking 60s-70s-80s song. Ah, screw it, let’s apply it to the entire commercial radio industry on this continent, which seems to be obsessed with mediocrity.
Look you fucking mouthbreather - back the fuck UP!!! You are looming over me and I can feel your breath in my HAIR! It’s a cafeteria line, not a line waiting for life boats - back the fuck up or I swear you’ll have my boot slamming into your instep.
Why does my brain hate me? No, really WHY? I’m working on a slash fic. I’m NOT giving details. But why does my brain come up with these things? Why do I search out things that I KNOW will break my brain.
Also, sis- why can I not trust you to use my computer? Let’s see, there’s the time you used my computer without my permission, looked at bondage sites, installed an instant messenger, told me you UNinstalled it and didn’t - that was strike fucking three. I’m hoping the fact that yahoo had you longed in was a holdover from that.
I instantly set a password on my computer and on the screensaver. A password which I did not write down and will not tell you and that you will not guess.
I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, but you’re making a bigger deal out of it than necessary - like fucking ALWAYS. And you have to fucking drag me into it, like ALWAYS. I’m waiting to graduate college (in three to five years) then I’m dumping your fucking ass.
The world doesn’t revolve around you. I’m tired of putting up with your shit and your manipulating and begging.
Also, I think I need to get back on anti-depressants, but I don’t have the money. Fuck.
Jesus Christ! I’m working the reference desk and a guy is looking at the video display which is right in front of the reference desk, so his back is to me.
And then he rips a silent, but deadly one!
Dear god, that kind of smell should not eminate from a human body unless you are dead! Thankfully he was standing under one of the vents, so the smell is quickly disappearing but oh man, the humanity!
I think girl and I are going to have to have a talk - she took my mouse away from me yesterday, because I was using it and keyboard shortcuts to do data entry. Apparently I am only allowed to do things HER way. I have been doing data entry for 11 years - since she was in Grade 10. I will develop the quickest method to do it, but I won’t while she’s sitting there watching every keystroke - no one types well while being watched. I was so mad I had to walk away - I was shaking like a leaf. And no, she isn’t my supervisor - she’s just a bossy, micro-managing, hypercritical, power-tripping cow. I’m telling myself that after my training is done, I won’t be dealing with her anymore, so just stick it out without doing bodily harm.
Women and compass directions: Last week I called a business where I was hoping to find work, for directions. The woman who answered the phone was completely baffled when I asked whether the place was on the east or west side of the highway. Finally, we established which direction I would be coming from by reference to a cross-street, and she told me it would be on my right. I get this all the time when getting directions from or giving directions to women, and almost never with men. I try not to be sexist, but it gives me a suspicion that our brains are wired differently, somehow. In prehistoric times, men were the hunters, women the gatherers – the men needed a sense of direction and the ability to carry maps in their heads.
Uh… why does hunting require more of a sense of direction than gathering? One would need to remember where the good plants are. Besides, I can’t tell my left from my right, but I’ve got the compass directions down pat.
That’s a pretty commonly discussed difference – men tend to give directions in terms of compass points and roads, while women tend to give directions in terms of routes and places. “Take Hansard Road West to Highway 9 then go North for 3 miles. We’re on the East side of the Highway” vs “Turn left at the Costco and then take Hansard until you get to Highway 9 – it’s right near the train station – and then turn right. We’ll be on the right side, just past the Burger King.”
How true it is beyond anecdotally is hard to say. I tend to describe locations in terms of compass points and directions via left/right/landmarks. “I live on Sentinel Road, one block east of Keele, and one block North of Sheppard.” is my standard line to cab drivers who are taking me home, but then I’ll tell them they have to turn right at the second lights past Keele once we’re almost there.
I read this as “power-tipping cow”.
Next time she stands over you, give her a good power-tipping. I bet she stops.
A hunter has to travel farther from the camp, and find his way home again.
In my perfect world one NEVER bites into a chocolate chip cookie only to discover that its actually a raisin cookie.
“You think those are raisins you’re eating? Hmmm.”
Queen Bruin, she’s so top-heavy, she might just tip all on her own. 
Fucking Sofia cab drivers, you are the worst fucking cab drivers in the WORLD. You think I want to take a cab? NO, of course not, I try to avoid taking a cab in this city because you are such a bunch of SHITTY cab drivers. But I don’t know where the address I’m going to is, so I hail a cab, and give him the address. And what does the driver say? “No.”
NO?
Look, shitty ass Sofia cab drivers, I think you’re missing an important part of the whole cab driver-passenger relationship: I tell you where to go, AND YOU TAKE ME THERE. It wasn’t even far away, as it turned out! Asshole.
This is at least the fourth time I have had a cab driver here refuse to take me where I’m going. I should be used to it by now, but I’m dumb enough to keep trying, I guess.
Other experiences I have had with Sofia cab drivers:
I once hailed a cab. After I told him where I was going, he told me “I’m off duty.” Then WHY DID YOU FUCKING STOP?
I once had a driver take me to the COMPLETELY WRONG PLACE. And then, instead of taking me to the right place, he fucking ARGUED with me about it. Told me I had SO told him to go there. Fuck you, lying ass lazy cab driver!
When my friend came to visit, the cab driver back to town from the airport heard us speaking English, so when we got out and I gave him a small tip (which is TOTALLY unnecessary, this is not a tipping culture, but I can’t seem to stop), he yelled loudly, in bad English, “This is not big tip! You are not typical American girl!” Fuck you, asshole, thanks for giving my friend a great first impression of Bulgaria. Oh, and thanks for the little rant about the gypsies, that was great too. (And yes, I totally yelled at him, in Bulgarian, “I’m a teacher in a Bulgarian school. You think I’m rich?!”)
Fuck Sofia cab drivers! I’m just walking from now on, fuckers. You could have had my money, but I can see you don’t want it.
Whew. That felt good.
Lilbro has been rejected for a job for the first time in his life.
Now he’s depressed, Mom’s freaking out and I’m trying to decide which one I want to smack first. Her, I think. Starting to tell him about the three job-related calls I’ve had this morning (I’m unemployed too but it’s sort of voluntary, taking a break after the last job - I said no to the one in Finland and the one in Korea, should get another call about the one in Barcelona this afternoon) and then stopping mid-sentence and expecting me to guess what the heck do you exactly want to gain from that is NOT helpful, woman!
If I were a cab driver in New York City, I’m sure there are some places I would not take a fare for any amount of money. Not sure that applies to your situation, though.