No, the problem with these people, and I was just pre-occupied with having dealt with a similar parent on my way out of the grocery store (don’t let your f’ing kid walk into my cart and then blame me) is that they NEVER take personal responsibility for anything. It is always someone else who needs to change or take responsibility for it. Kid runs out in front of a car and is killed?
SUE
Crime-free? Hardly :). It’s an odd neighborhood - unusually high degree of income mixing, from college professors at UC Berkeley and similar young professionals to the chronically un/underemployed, expensive old Victorians to officially designated low-income subsidized apartment complexes. I’ve never suffered a theft personally, but it’s not like it doesn’t happen. We used to have a crackhouse down the block, thankfully now cleaned up.
I strongly suspect it was just a crime of opportunity - a couple of hoodlums hanging out, noticed the big package, a knock with no response, UPS leaves and they take a chance.
No front lawn, few immediate neighbors. The front of my house is a heavily vegetated brick and cement path behind a six foot redwood fence, with a ~7 foot gate ( usually locked, but not when expecting a big package ), across the street is the backside of an elementary school which takes up half the block on that side and the neighbors on either side aren’t typically around on a workday afternoon. One neighbor is separated by a driveway with really no good un-occluded view of the front, the other is a single-story down below said fence. You could probably butcher a goat in the front and nobody would ever see it. A couple years back, before we started locking the gate regularly, someone was coming in very occasionally to drink a cheap beer ( placed in the appropriate recycling container 
) and smoke a cigarette in privacy.
I’m angry about it, but not particularly freaked out. Doesn’t do much good to get freaked. I’ll just make sure that any future delivery of significance requires a signature.
What is the name of a boy, Alex?
Sorry, couldn’t resist. 
Look co-worker. FUCK OFF ALREADY.
When I am on a call and actively speaking to that person, DO NOT lean over, tap insistently on my shoulder and repeat my name over and over to get my attention. I’m fucking busy, as you should be able to see and hear.
I happen to be extremely sensitive to touch. When you are tapping repeatedly on me, it is very sharp and clear to me, and when I’m having a bad day or am upset, that issue is greatly magnified and that persistent tap is like you’re repeately slamming a cattle prod through my brain. It verges on ASSAULT. In case you have not noticed, every motherfucking time you do it, I round on you with a very angry look on my face and brushing your hand away. It has been all I can do not to have my other hand balled into a fist ready to punch your fucking lights out. Someday I will do that, and I’ll probably get called into the bosses office to explain why I’m angry enough to be ready to beat you silly.
Likewise, how you can do that and be calling my name repeatedly in my ear, with your face one foot from my head and NOT NOTICE THAT I AM SPEAKING TO SOMEONE is completely beyond me. What are you, three fucking years old calling for mommy? Shut your fucking yap and take the extra 0.02 seconds to observe what I am doing before you play your little mommymommymommy game.
Today I straight out told you that I was very tired and slightly ill and needed to do nothing more than zone out while I spent the last 20 minutes of my lunch at my desk. So what did you do? Every fucking 2 minutes you are calling my name and asking me complex technical questions, despite the fact that I kept waving you off, or walking away from my desk, or telling you I didn’t know while sitting there with my head in my hands. Seriously, FUCK OFF ALREADY. I told you I needed to zone out, I told you I didn’t want to think about your question, I even gave you a dirty look, a backhanded wave off and walked away from my desk because I didn’t want you fucking pestering me. AND YOU DIDN’T GET IT.
Seriously dude, our team will be moving desks again sooner or later, as we do on a regular basis. Next week I will be telling our boss that I do not want you sitting next to me precisely because you are bothering the fuck out of me while I am busy with my own calls.
Flipping time changes. Everytime I get used to your time, you change it. Will you just flipping find a good time and stick to it?
adds some poopyhead words because this wasn’t strong enough for the Pit
I am from Indiana and I endorse this message.
Usually I do only go to the good clubs. I only go to the shit ones if there’s some pressing reason. For instance, yesterday was my friend’s 25th birthday and I would have felt like an asshole if I’d cancelled on her, especially since she came to my birthday. Anyway, she tells me we’re going to this club but that it had a strict dress code policy and no trainers were allowed. Warning bells sounded, and, anticipating a shit night, I wrote my little rant.
Sure enough, she’d chosen to take us to this god-awful club filled with wankers and whose proprietors crammed it so full of people that the black hole of Calcutta looked like a spacious timeshare opportunity in comparison. I got abused by a toilet attendant whose sole responsibility, it seemed, was to murmur obsecenities like “Wash your fingers for the mingers” and “No splash[sup]1[/sup], no gash” etc… in a slurred, stroke-y monotone, and who took exception to my refusal to give him a tip just for stuffing a wodge of paper towels into my hands without solicitation. I nearly got into a full-blown punch up with another of her male friends who turned out to be a very, very bad drunk. It was, as predicted, a completely awful night.
I’ve now changed my policy based on last night’s events. Under no circumstances will I go to a club that has a shoe policy, or which bears any other tell-tale signs of being shit (ie. a cocktail list featuring ‘Taboo Woo-woo’, a girls get in free policy, or anywhere promising “The best of the '80s”). Such a place could bear host to the inauguration of a new President or the second coming of Christ, and I’d still probably say “Meh”.
[sup]1 - FYI - Splash=Aftershave.[/sup]
Yes, you’re persecuted and ostracized for no good reason. Shame, that.
Are they uncomfortable? If so, why put them on in the first place?
I’m happier since I started looking at what I was wearing (and doing!) just because I felt I “should”, or for fashion, or because I assumed others wanted/expected me to.
So now I’m saying “Life’s too short to wear starchy shirts tucked into tight pants, pinchy dress shoes, restrictive suit coats, or a tie”. So I stopped… and it turns out no one cared after all.
I was surprised-- I had to ask people “Do you mind that I’m dressing more casual? I could slip on a tie and shave if I have to meet with a client…”
The CEO’s answer: “Oh, I didn’t notice.”
So, everyone, try it!
I started cleaning our house regularly every Friday since I did a massive clean for our Halloween party, and I asked my husband how he liked our new clean house - he hadn’t noticed. Oh well - I like it cleaner anyway. 
I keep thinking that every career decision I’ve made has been wrong.
Looking at the responses to Chefguy, Spazcat etc in just this thread, I’d say you are right.
No cuz, you didn’t go two weeks past your due date with your third baby, you just DON’T KNOW WHEN HE WAS CONCEIVED. Because you were supposedly on the pill when each of your FIVE kids were conceived. Remember?
Also, why the fuck would you say something like that to me now? Do you think it’s funny?
–Sattua, at 39 weeks 4 days
My husband woke me up this morning in the process of turning off his alarm clock so it wouldn’t go off and wake me up. (He gets up an hour earlier than I do, but today happened to wake up before his alarm went off.)
I went back to sleep.
Ten minutes later, his alarm went off.
I didn’t get enough done this weekend - other than having a weird emotional meltdown - I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and my “check engine” light came on this morning. You know what? I want the whole world to just fuck off and leave me alone for a coupla days. Please?
I’m working the 4 of the next 5 weekends and I’m stuck between my program manager and my functional manager.
100% of the time I bill is rebilled directly to the project so I’m really not sure why this is an issue but I’ve spent hours explaining the hours I’m working to my functional manager. The program manager understands the hours and in fact is responsible for them being necessary so I have no idea why the functional manager even cares.
Seriously people I have enough to do without explaining to you why I’m so busy.
My seven-year-old’s birthday party was yesterday. One mom didn’t RSVP for her son until late the night before. Then she showed up and dropped off not only him, but his four-year-old brother. Lucky I had extra supplies, huh? And while I admit that he was one of the best behaved four-year-olds I have ever seen, I still find this totally bizarre. (She also came in and explored our whole house, including the areas we had closed off to the kids, before leaving.) On those occasions when I am forced to bring a different-aged sibling to a birthday party, I check in advance, and I stay there with him so the parents running the party don’t have to babysit him.
RSVPing has totally become a thing of the past. I very politely request that everyone I have invited to a birthday dinner let me know if they’re coming or not so I can make the reservation, and people still refuse to RSVP. If they don’t show up, we’re stuck waiting on them to order; if they do show up, there won’t be room for them on the reserved table. Some of the worst offenders for this are a family of four - yeah, plus or minus four on the reservation makes a difference, assholes! I suspect the mentality is that if you aren’t coming, you don’t have to let anyone know - if you’re reading this and this is what you do, I can assure you that you have made some people very crazy in the past. :mad:
Apparently low-slung roadsters and road-kill raccoons lying in the road do not a good combination make for the underside of your car.
Whoa. I dunno about you, but this is clearly “Just what the fuck do you think you are doing? Please get out of my house before I am forced to take action.” territory with me. You don’t fucking walk into other areas of my house just to scope them out. You don’t mention her entering bedrooms, but a guest, particularly one I do not know well, entering my bedroom to check it out without my invitation is asking for, at bare bones minimum, to be told to leave my house immediately and never return.