I just ordered one from Amazon. I saw one at AutoZone for about $16, but this is better.
I have a bunch of Tim and Neil Finn stuff now but only on cd*. I haven’t been using the Discman much and they don’t fit in my tinier purses. The only thing now is that I would like another mp3 player, because I just like having two. That will have to wait until after vacation.
I’ll be willing to take a cat or two if the freaking job people give me that freaking five-year contract. If I don’t get the bloody motherfucking five-year contract I go back on the market, and I’m sure all that moving around isn’t good for a kitty’s temper.
As for Tony you’ll have to speak with Spanish immigration.
Bolding mine - are you sure it’s the kitty’s temper moving isn’t good for?
What’s bad for my temper is not having slept 40 hours total since last Monday. I’m like little kids, my brain needs its beauty sleep.
Holy hell I’d be a raving lunatic. I’m a little whiny today because I only got 5 hrs of sleep last night.
Holy crap! I was literally looking for one of those to purchase online five minutes ago, and came here for a completely separate rant! Could you perhaps keep me updated on how it works? I’ve heard -very- mixed reviews, and would rather get my hands on one that, y’know, does what it’s supposed to.
But to the rant:
Dad, you’re dying. We know this. You’re not fooling anyone, and lying to yourself isn’t going to buy you any more days. ALS has been destroying you for at least 18 months, and you’re getting towards the end.
I do NOT want you to call me immediately when you get home and are gasping for breath. I want you to calm down, hook up your machine, and get your breathing back to a normal level. I do not want you to call me and then have me ‘hold’ as you gasp and wheeze, then tell me that EVERYTHING IS FINE. Everything is NOT fine, and taking a couple of minutes to get your breathing back to normal levels so you don’t CROAK while talking to me about your day? I’m good with that. I’m more than good with that, and so is -everyone- else except you. You’re dying, dad. And I hate that. And I don’t want you to rush the job just because you want to put forth a front that you’re still just fine.
Warning: Long ranty sneak-brag rant: MY HORRIBLE NEIGHBORS ARE MOVING!!! Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay!
These people moved in about three years ago: the dad (a neurologist), his second-grade son, and his parents-in-law. The wife ostensibly remained behind in another state to “finish her nursing degree” while her parents came here to help with the son.
My son is quite a bit younger, but they seemed to enjoy playing together. As the dad put it, “[My son] is immature, yours is more mature; they get along well.”
Eh, sorta. For the first year they did fine, but when The Wife Arrived, it all went to shit. The son became a perfect brat, nah-nah-nahing my son all the time for things he “couldn’t” do, while he, Neighbor Son “could” do. Kid stuff but annoying. Then he took to hiding from my son in our house, and upsetting him. Keep in mind there’s like a three-year difference their ages.
My son asked to go over and play at their house, which I allowed. I walked him over to make sure it was OK with them. Before The Arrival of the Wife, all was fine. The grandparents were lovely people and, though they didn’t speak much English, we got along fine through smiles and nods. (I baked them muffins when they first moved in and gave them bouquets of flowers from my garden; the grandmother reciprocated with baked goods immediately.) I chatted with the more-fluent grandfather on the darlingness of our boys.
But when She arrived, I got eyerolls when I brought my son to play. Heavy sighs, and “Yes, yes, I GUESS so.” I invited her son to come to my house. He came, infrequently.
Then the trouble started. The dad, with whom I’d gotten along fine with (he even called us early one morning to beg a ride to work when his car didn’t work) suddenly appeared at the door to bless us out when my son “made” his son cry on the trampoline. They didn’t know WHAT was going on over here, no parents in sight, maybe the older kids were babysitting, who knows?? (I have two teens as well.) No, I was right in the house watching them jump through the wide, wide bay kitchen window. I never saw any problems. Suddenly I’m this lax parent that may or may not be around when neighborhood kids come to play and foist responsibility onto my slovenly teenagers. That was the message.
**The last straw **
…was the Day the Son Went Missing. My husband looked for him, drove around the neighborhood looking for him, suggested maybe he was hiding in the house (based on his past behavoior at our house) … nothing. The mother was out driving around when we spotted him attempting to cross a very busy road. We took him home, he refused to come into our yard. Finally we got him upstairs to play Wii with my son while we repeatedly tried to call her. When she got home, she collected him and went home. No “thank God!” No “Thank you!!” No nothing.
Based on this behavior and the nastiness of their kid to my kid, and some other behavior that wasn’t, in isolation, that bad (him telling my son scary stories) I decided that it was best to keep my son away. We stopped taking him over to play and when the kid came over to our house, we were busy.
Message received? Oh hell no. The pair of them presented themselves at our door one night after supper demanding to know why our son was no longer allowed to play with theirs. I repeated my polite, “Well, he’s older than [my son] and it’s probably better…” Trying to be POLITE.
The woman went ballistic. “I allowed your son to PLAY IN MY HOME!!” she yelled. “When you stood in the driveway and fought with your ex-husband I DID NOT JUDGE YOU,” she screamed. (I never, ever fought with my former husband in the driveway! How ludicrous. One time I had an animated discussion with him about something wholly unrelated to our situation, but that’s the only time I could figure out that she must have been peeking and decided I was a screamy white-trash divorcee, or something.)
Her parting shot: her son goes to the Catholic school at the parish where we are members. My husband and I frequently go to daily Mass, and apparently her son told them. “And you CALL YOURSELF A CATHOLIC,” she shrieks at me. “SHAME ON YOU!! SHAME!! SHAME!!!”
Oh, dear God. That was way early last summer. I’ve seen her poor son outdoors maybe twice since then.
But they’re moving away!! To faraway FLORIDA!! Happy days are here again!!!
Dear self: STOP obsessively checking LinkedIn and your e-mail right now. It’s not going to make that recruiter contact you any faster. It’s not going to suddenly result in a job offer. Instead, you’re going to make yourself absolutely crazy and also tempted to stalk those people whose responses you’re waiting on. For all you know, they took the week off because of the long holiday weekend. Or they’re busy. Or you’re just not their top priority. Stop it. Now. Calm down, research the other companies you’re interested in. Take a walk if you need to. But drop the smart phone and log off the e-mail and do something else.
So those goat-fucking suppliers that I complained about last week being over a week late with the delivery of my stuff? They still haven’t shipped.
How the fuck so you stay in business not delivering when you promise?
Must be all them goats, I guess.
I have one. I got it from Radio Shack.
Three funerals in three weeks? Seriously? I’m done - and I’m burning the stupid suit I wear to them. Two were 60 miles away one way - the other was for a 19 yr old kid. This is just too much.
Jeez, Missy2U, that IS a lot to take. 
Dude, I realize you work odd hours, but you KNOW I work an office job. Why the hell are you calling my cellphone at 3pm? And I know, just know that it’s some bullshit that you could’ve emailed me about (which I have no problem checking at work).
Well ma’am. We got your stuff ready to go, but then goats ate it. So we got more and packaged it up again. And the goats ate it.
We’d get rid of the goats, but they’re just so damned sexy.
So a friend gave her private cell phone number to co-workers. Is this common? If I’d done that, there’d be nothing to stop them calling in the middle of the night … except common human decency (so, nothing).
If people at work had my cell number, I’d have to turn my phone off when I went out to eat, or when I went to bed (well, actually, a couple of hours before).
Quickie poll: Hey, mini-ranters, do co-workers call you at home/on your cell?
Hell, I’ve got a colleague that uses company email to send “The Cutest Puppy Video” or “Liberals are Dum” emails. I always want to reply: “You really need to get a Facebook page.” But then she’d cry. Literally.
If she had our phone numbers… [shudder]
A couple people have my cell, they don’t use it badly. I only gave them out in dire circumstances though.
I’ve been called once on the weekends, and only once when I was two beers into the weekend and had to go back to fix something. (I got a ride from the friend who hadn’t drunk anything).
No, but they often have it, since we usually work “on location”; we’re each other’s emergency contacts. My current team includes several people who actually live in town, but often the nearest relative any of us has is hours away; occasionally they may be in another continent. The one time I’ve switched mine off to avoid calls from a coworker it was from a hierarchic superior (not my boss) who didn’t understand the concept of “there’s no point in spending 5h waiting for an email from someone who is not at work and does not let his Blackberry turn into a Slaveberry”.
Back when I worked in small factories (60 people tops), there commonly was a list of worker’s numbers available in the lab so people could be called if there was a company need (the labs are open if production or the warehouse are; other office-type areas are not). Again, you used it for things like “pump number 3 is broken again… get us a mechanic” during off-hours, or to call people and let them know the factory was closed due to the power station being down.
Everything I’ve ordered from Amazon has shipped, so maybe next week i’ll have it all, and i can also have music in my car. The nearest Half-Price books seems to be Naperville, which is an hour away.
Before I was thinking #@$%!!!==+*&! I am going to have to bribe my sister into putting some stuff on tapes for me.
I hate that. My roommate texted me yesterday reminding me what time I had to give him a ride to work (almost two hours after I’m off for the day) and not five minutes later, sent me another text saying “Did you get my text?” Dude, I’m at work. I rarely look at my cellphone while I’m working and then only if I’m expecting something major. You can wait until I get off at 3 for a reply. I was kind of busy *working *when you sent me that text.
(Well, actually I was sitting in a meeting, but still! It was a work-related meeting! At work! Cellphone-free zone!)