I’m sick of being pregnant, putting on too much weight every week, and having no idea what I’m going to be left with after the baby is born. Please child, get born. I want to be able to put shoes on again, so that I can leave the house again. I want to not have this belly, so I can walk without hurting. And drive again. And then we can go on nice nature walks together and I’ll show you all the wildflowers as they come up and bloom… and the exercise will be really, really good for me.
I just printed off the instructions for this year’s 1040. GOD DAMN it’s been printing for like five minutes, and we have a fast B&W printer. Even duplex, I can tell that fucker’s going to be thick as hell. And will, of course, have approximately five pages relevant to me.
This week seems to be the Week of Personal Grooming Mishaps (and the week of lame mini-rants). I’m at work so won’t go into detail, save to say that I had an incident with a personal trimmer earlier this week and, true to form, had to schedule an appointment with my OB for the very next day. Sigh I wish I had better aim at 6 a.m. At least I got the eyebrows done last week, despite sitting through a meeting with glowing red bald spots on my forehead. (Electrolysis is starting to look like and awesome option; the cat won’t stay under my desk.)
And dammit, baby, stop waddling into our room at 5 a.m. You’re cute and all, with your grin, even when you’re bellowing “Deh! Deh! Deh!” (code for there, there, there!), but some of us are trying to sleep. And that precious 20 minutes I get at 6:20 a.m. to 6:40 is the only time I generally get to myself all damn day. Stop taking it away by waking up everyone in the house.
And to my husband, I’m buying you a calorie counting guide and downloading an app onto your droid so you’ll stop calling me every lunchtime to find out how many calories are in the food you’re eating. I’m really glad you’re trying to lose weight, and I’m happy to provide guidelines and healthy meals at home, but I don’t generally know off the top of my head how many calories are in sesame chicken (likely many more than you should be eating for lunch).
Omg, WHAT IS WITH the husbands using wives as internet access points? Mine wants the weather report every morning. I love you sweetie but WEATHER.COM, okay?
Actually, it’s probably a fair trade for the latte he makes me every morning. Maybe I should calm down.
Can’t go to the library and grab a copy 'cause I’m at work. Hard to read PDFs on this laptop screen, and even harder to skim through large documents for relevant bits when I can’t manually flip through pages.
I did get some use out of the instructions, but I ended up just saying “fuck it” and e-filing online through the same place that did it last year. Among the many hats I wear for this office are Purchasing and Printer Maintenance, so it’s not like I caused any hassle for anybody else by printing a large document.
I do not know why it irritates me so much when I manage to ignore so much other internet advertising but I am sick to death of seeing this one ad freaking everywhere - the one that says '1. Trick of a tiny belly - Cut down on your belly a bit every day using this 1 weird old tip"
About two weeks ago I turned my ankle a little bit on an uneven place in the pavement. Didn’t think anything about it at the time. A couple of days later, it started hurting when I walked, like a slight strain or sprain, but this sort of thing has happened before and it always goes away in a day or two.
Two days later it just seemed to be getting worse, so I bought an OTC brace thingy at CVS to support it while it gets better. I wore it most of the day for several days. At first it felt better, then it stopped feeling better, and finally it started feeling worse again.
At no time in this saga was there any swelling or other sign of an actual sprain. When it started feeling worse again, I took off the brace and stopped wearing it. The ankle felt better right away. That was last Saturday.
It’s been feeling a little better every day, and when I was walking home today I hardly noticed any pain at all. If only it had gone on like that, you would never have been subject to reading this long, boring story.
Now I just took off my sock, and now it’s swollen! What the hell? Don’t tell me I have to see some medical person about this!
I’m only 61, I’m not supposed to be falling apart like this yet. Crap. It had better be feeling better by morning. Are you listening to me?!
Roddy
Blech my friend who said he’d animate for the game I’m making for a game dev class flaked on me. I probably shouldn’t even bother putting it in mini-rants, I’m not really able to even work up that much ire over it, he just ended up with school getting to be too much on its own, much less with the added burden of doing stuff for me. He even offered to put me in contact with someone else if I wanted. It’s just mildly obnoxious that I was fairly certain we had someone on it and it kind of disappeared. I can’t in good faith recruit a random person from the internet since even though there’s a CHANCE this will be polished for retail if we like the end result, it’s realistically unlikely and so we can’t really offer payment. Luckily I have another friend who is good at drawing (but unfortunately no animation experience), and previous animator DID offer to find a replacement.
God dammit, why do the power companies in this state suck so bad? I feel very badly for people in the western part of the state because many of them are on day four of a power outtage due to the ice storm that hit over there. Why are the reaction times so damn slow? It’s not like there haven’t been storms exactly like this in the past three years, so shouldn’t they have their acts together when one hits?
I got the sprog’s crud last week. The cold itself went away fairly quickly, but now I’ve got this nasty, wet cough. I know I don’t have anything worse, like active bronchitis, but I’d like to have an ordinary cold that visits like an unwelcome relative, then leaves. But no, I’ve got to deal with The Cough and all the crap that goes with it.
I thought I was well rid of your hateful racist “Upside of Anger” drama shit. I don’t care that you are divorcing, that you ‘got’ Moms & Dads condo out of the executor, or that your house is being foreclosed on. You are both evil, spiteful, and not worth the effort to remember.
I’ve spent 6 happier years w/o your shit & never regretted it once (your kids are great, but YOU JUST SUCK).
Now you hear through your flying monkeys that I had a health scare (and that’s another leak and I’ll deal with it) so its time to pry-bar it into sympathy for you? Use it as a hook to get back into my and my kids lives? Or is this just your need to one-up? Well, sell it walkin, sister.
The rumor got to me that your husband now has inoperable cancer and it will kill him. But isn’t he the same guy who kept giving me cups of champagne while I was 8 until I was throwing up in the bushes? Wasn’t he the guy who pointed & laughed? I find that extra special now that I have kids & realize what a special damaged-fuck it takes to do that to a kid. Wasn’t he the guy who, who when I brushed past his motorcycle and burned the shit out of my leg, had the decency to say “Stay the Fuck away from my motorcycle! You Hear Me!?”. Wasn’t he the asshole whose used Schwinn I had to buy at the bike-store full price of a new bike of a better brand because Dad said you needed the money? Wasn’t he the Dick who, when I was retching my guts out into a commode while shaking with chills & fever at that beach house in Hawaii, was screaming at me at the top of his lungs for making the bathroom stink?
Tell me, Sis…did he even pay to go on that family trip??? Wasn’t he there with you, getting shit-faced beside you, while you spouted racist shit to our guests of that same race at my son’s birthday party? Wasn’t he the one bitching about how his pwecious BWM was going to get stolen from in front of my house? Well, at least a thief would have been sober.
Granted, somehow he gave you four great daughters…which I find astounding given that to my knowledge, the only thing that Asshole raised in the past 30 years were scotch glasses, golf-balls, layered-debt and FOX News ratings.
Don’t tell me he’s dying. I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me where you’re planting him either; I don’t want to be fucking tempted. Better that you cremate and jar his miserable ass. Then you can stick it up on your mantle with the remains of Mom and Dad that you’re holding hostage.
Hell, you can just go stick him. A shit like that deserves company.
Mrs. Inthewater had to deal with one of you last night at Jr.High conferences. Your child fucked up, not the teacher. Are you going to follow your pwecious widdle babay around the rest their life to “correct” people that feel they have done wrong, or will you let the child grow up someday and take responsibility for their own actions?
Pull that fucking nipple out of his mouth and let the boy grow up, for fuck’s sake.
“This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.”
WARN notice today. Conflicted out of the lifeboat I was hoping I could scramble aboard. Calls out to headhunters, couple of possibilities, but we will see.