Just Mountain Dew, or all varieties of Pepsi products? And does this mean that the largest version available for non-individual sale in grocery stores is going to be the 16.9 oz bottle?
Personally, I like the 20 oz. bottle, but I’ve never found a store that sold it other than as individual bottles, which gets expensive. 16.9 means that my soda and caffeine intake is likely to go up, too, and I’ve been trying to lower that.
Random dude sending pervy messages on social networking site: mildly irritating.
Random dude sending message stating that he had to “take care of personal business” after seeing my photo and soliciting “personal and intimate messages”: fucking gross.
Random dude doing the above on LinkedIn: …the fuck is your major malfunction, dude?
Holy shit, that’s beyond disgusting NinjaChick!
Speaking of disgusting - I’ve been fighting a bug problem at my house. I’ve sprayed, I’ve put out roach baits, I’ve cleaned, I’ve swept and mopped and done everything I could think to do. Still many, many bugs. So tonight, despite being absolutely certain that everything in the pantry is factory-sealed, I pulled everything out to wipe and clean and spray and double-check, because I kept finding crawlies in there. Everything seemed fine, until I got to the basket of MREs on the floor. Someone (the Princess*, I’m certain,) had opened a bunch of MREs, nibbled on a few choice bites, and just left the opened bits he didn’t want all over the fucking floor, in the basket, etc.
Y’all, there had been a mouse in there. The mouse chewed open those strewn packets, and the bugs were feasting. A mouse. In. the. pantry! (I keep Tomcat bait in the crawlspace under the house to prevent mousies, but one obviously sneaked in before succumbing to the poison. One of the dogs most likely ate the evidence before I found it. Probably the big dog, because a poisoned mouse would have made the Jack Russell sick, but the Pyr is big enough to shake off the effects of a relatively small dose.)
This irritates me on so many levels:
First, the Princess had to go plundering just to find those MREs. They’re packed up in the bottom of the pantry, unlike the hundreds of other food items up for grabs on the eye-level shelves. (I’m not exaggerating when I say “hundreds of other items,” either. I keep a freaking stockpile.) There’s usually an unopened 35-pound back of dog food on top of the MRE basket, and another closed plastic container on top of the packets. He worked harder to get to those MREs than he did at anything else while he lived here!
Second, speaking of stockpiles, I keep those MREs in case we need them. Last winter, they’d have come in handy when the power was out for the better part of two days due to an ice storm. We live in a part of the world that is at risk for hurricane-related problems. Meals Ready to Eat are perfect for that sort of thing, right?
Also, those suckers aren’t cheap. The ones we have (had) were from my brother, who recently retired from the military. When I need to replace them (because I had enough on hand to feed everyone emergency rations for 3 days, and now I only have about 1.5 days’ worth,) each packet will cost $6-$12. For my current household, that’s gonna be close to two hundred bucks!
Fucker. I hope he glues his hand to his pecker in a freak airplane glue accident. And that treatment renders him unable to procreate, because his genes do not need to be passed on!
*For those who missed prior mini rants, the Princess was a kid who lived here for a few weeks, wasting a whole lot of oxygen and getting on my very last nerve. He no longer lived here after the night of our family Christmas party, when he had the unmitigated gall to cuss his Mama, in the middle of the night, while I had a houseful of overnight guests.
I have IBS. Most of the time, it is so well controlled that I nearly forget I have it. But other times, like right now, it is not.
All I can say is fuck IBS. Fuck it all.
And I am not sure what is triggering it this time.
I missed the backstory on this winner but may have to go back and reread, because that sounds like a lovely young man who deserves to have mice infest his pants, while he is wearing them.
By the way, the term for pillaging a bunch of MREs for the good bits (i.e., M&M’s, Skittles, and Cheez-Its) is “ratfucking”. The term for forgoing a perfectly good pantry full of actual real food in favor of MREs is “what in the actual fuck?”
“Mummy Wrap of Pain”
Head to toe, hard to gather the concentration to deal with things outside of it.
I just wanted to mention Oatmilk for those who might be interested. My youngest daughter is allergic to milk, nuts and soy, but didn’t particularly care for Ricemilk. (She has a ton of food allergies, so I was looking for something to cook with that she could also drink.) Oatmilk has a much more pleasing mouth-feel than Ricemilk and a great amount of protein and fiber. It mixes well in pancakes/waffles and other dishes that can take a very slightly sweet flavor.
The starter in our Subaru had been giving me trouble during the coldest days this winter, so when it wouldn’t start yesterday morning, I wasn’t worried. I had it towed to the mechanic and let them know what I thought the trouble was. That afternoon, i get a phone call with “Do you want to good news or the bad news first?”.
The good news was it wasn’t’ the starter, the bad news was, it was the head gasket.
That’s okay Universe, I didn’t want to take that vacation this summer, anyways.
Sigh.
My dad died two weeks ago today. He was reasonably well off, and apparently had a number of investments which come to a substantial sum (of some sort). Dad did tell me a few years ago that I would get a sizable inheritance, although not exactly how much.
Last night, my husband decided to discuss with me his plans for how to use said inheritance. (To be fair, I’d already thought of a couple, but my view is that it will come to us when it comes to us, and I am not in any hurry for it to come to us. We have a fair amount of debt, but not overwhelming and we both make good money. We get along OK.) Did I mention Dad died only two weeks ago today?
I still haven’t finished processing the part that Dad Died. I’m still sort of in coping mode, especially since I came back to work this week. I am in no way ready to even begin discussing what to do with my inheritance. Look, darling, I love you, and I realize you have dreams of being debt free and finally being able to own a house, but please give me time to grieve for my father before you start acting like a vulture, OK?
I did tell him to back off, and point out that I was still barely coping with it, but damn, I would’ve hoped I didn’t have to tell him that. I mean, really. Money does mess with people’s heads.
Separate note: Fuck cancer. A dear friend’s mother passed yesterday morning from stomach cancer. She’d only been diagnosed about two weeks. Seriously, fuck cancer.
Crap. Two weeks is barely within the bounds of discussing plans for an inheritance from someone you didn’t like, but a beloved father? Nyet. I hope this was just a brain fart on the part of Mr. Indy. (((Hugs)))
And agreed: Fuck cancer.
My dental woes continue. After having a horrible extraction experience, needing a week of treatment for dry socket, and then having three temporary bridges break, I went back to the dentist’s office. They hygienist said, oh, I can make you another temporary bridge!
Oh, hell no.
“I don’t want another temporary bridge. The last 3 have broken. It’s obviously not going to work for me in this location. Just make two temporary crowns for the abutment teeth.”
And here are the “reasons” I was given that crowns were a bad idea:
“Oh, but your teeth will move!”
I have a missing tooth on my left side that’s been gone for eight years. My teeth haven’t gone walkabout.
“Well, the crowns might break.”
I’ve never had a temporary crown break. Ever. Unlike the temporary bridge.
Then the dentist came in and poked around and tried to sell me on the temporary bridge.
Dentist: “Your teeth will move.”
Me: “So?”
D: “Well, your final bridge won’t fit.”
M: “We haven’t taken the impressions for the final bridge yet.”
–dentist looks at chart––
She pokes around some more. Drill, drill. Poke.
“You know, now that I’ve ground down your teeth, the temporary bridge should work!”
(Thought by me: Why the hell didn’t you grind them down correctly during one of the previous three appointments?)
Me: “Please just place the crowns. I don’t want a bridge. I’ve broken three bridges the same day they’ve been put on. One I broke eating pizza. The bridge is not working. I want the abutment teeth to have temporary crowns.”
She tried a different tack:
D: “You have such a small mouth, it’s difficult to get to the back teeth.”
Me: “Don’t you work on children?”
D: “It’s not easy to make the temporary crowns for you, you have such tiny teeth.”
(Oh god, is she seriously blaming the size of my teeth?!)
D: “The temporary crown might not be good or might fall off or break.”
Me: “Like the bridges? The temporary crown you made for my eyetooth last year lasted for six months with no problems and little special treatment.”
And so it went, nag, nag, nag for the bridge.
I finally had to sit up and tell both the hygienist and the dentist, very bluntly, that I was NOT getting a temporary bridge. That this was my fourth temporary-bridge-related visit, and my seventh visit after the extraction, and I lost at least two work hours each time I had to come in. I then said that they could either put temporary crowns on the abutment teeth to cover them until the healing was complete, or I could leave with nothing on the abutment teeth and complain to the state board and my insurance company.
So, they made the crowns.
And I think they took out my assertiveness on my mouth. I walked out with small cuts and bruises inside my mouth.
Indyellen, I’m so sorry about your dad. 
Lacunae, I guess I missed something. I thought the Princess had moved OUT?
GrumpyBunny, you need a new dentist. There’s no excuse for what you’ve been through.
That was my thought. Falling back to my old maxim;
Professionals work for you
If they don’t, find another.
GrumpyBunny, what **Helena330 **said. Complain anyway; that sounds borderline unethical.
yancylebeef, that’s a known issue for Subarus, or so I was told when I had to have mine replaced this last year. It has to do with the orientation of the Boxer engine. In Subaru’s the valves are horizontal, not vertical (I think). Mine lasted 9 years, though, so I guess I can’t complain.
And Chimera, I don’t know why you’re in such pain, but I hope it passes soon and leaves you feeling good.
Oh, he’s definitely out. I just hadn’t thought to move EVERYTHING in the pantry to double check that something was amiss. For reference, here is where the MREs are stored - they’re the shiny packaging you can barely see on the bottom of the blue basket. Even if there’s not a spare bag of dog food atop the basket - and there is a bag there, 99% of the time, because I buy a new one as soon as convenient after putting the previous one into the bucket, this is the view from above. And this is a pretty typical view of the four shelves just above that basket! (And that’s just the pantry. It doesn’t include the fully-(over)stocked cereal and snack cabinet in the kitchen, nor the well-stocked freezer, nor the two refrigerators full of food and drinks. Not to mention that, about 75% of the time, there’s a cake carrier or cookie jar on the counter, containing something freshly baked.) Why would it even occur to me that someone would ignore all of that just to plunder through the basket at the bottom (which is abutted by a couple of spare bottles of bleach, a canister full of baking ingredients, and is generally blocked by the big sealed bucket of open dog food)?
Yeah, I should have cleaned that up sooner, but I didn’t realize I needed to, for Pete’s sake! (Also, I’m slowly but surely training the remaining houseguests that everything goes into a canister, a sealed zipper bag, the refrigerator, etc., after it’s been opened. Everything. Really. Even the breakfast cereal. Especially the bag of sugar, or flour, or tea bags. I’m tired of the bugs.)
I hate work reviews. Stressed enough about that, had to get up early for the 2 hour round trip, as first cat decided to have gluey diarrhea in three places, second decided to toss up a hairball on the bedspread, and other two started fighting as I got into the shower. Had to skip their canned food and my makeup, and new ID pics are being taken today. I just want to crawl back into bed and start over tomorrow.
Dammit! Just got a call from the bank - the workers comp insurance company stopped payment on last week’s check, which means that everything I’ve paid since Monday has been in the red. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! That’s the power bill and the car insurance! Shit. Just… shit.
God bless my mother-in-law, who’s on her way to make a deposit for us so that we quit bleeding NSF charges, but really? Really?! The check was dated Monday, 3/2, it was deposited on Thursday, 3/5, and y’all wait until 3/11 to stop payment?! With no notification?!
I hope that decision-maker gets a mouse in his fucking pantry!
AND superglue on the hand on his cock, I think you meant to add.
Call the bank, and see if you can get the NSFs waived due to the circumstances, Lacunae.
Tony is currently at the bank, pleading for mercy. I’m too mad to ask reasonably. Besides, he’s the public servant who was grievously injured in the line of duty - he’s more likely to elicit pity right now.