I’m surprised no one has started this month’s thread, so I guess I will.
Today’s mini-gripe brought to you by the words “pilling cats can be a real pain sometimes”. Shiva will usually eat his pills in his pill pockets with no problems, but sometimes he sneakily eats around the pills. This morning I found he’d dropped his prednisone dose from … some day or other.
Stupid IBS.
When I order a Subway sammich and ask for “everything”, why can’t they just put everything on it?
I tried that and they swept the floor and added that. It actually made their sub better.
Hallmark’s complete lack of Martin Luther King Jr. Day cards … racist bastards …
Laaaaast Rantmas, I gave you my snark, but the very next day, you gave it away.
I’m giving a piano recital tomorrow with my daughter and I’m goddamn terrified. She and I take piano lessons together because it’s fun and we both want to learn. Stupid me, I figured, “Well, if I expect her to perform in a recital, surely it would be hypocritical of me not to do so myself!” Why the fuck did I ever care about being a hypocrite? As a parent, isn’t that sometimes my job to do what I say but not what I do (yes, I’m being sarcastic)? Also, 42 seems a tad on the old side to be giving recitals.
I keep telling myself that I’ve debated with subject matter experts in my area in front of hundreds of people. Surely I can play a 4-minute piano piece without fucking up too badly? Isn’t there a way out? Violent, explosive vomiting? Anyone?
Oh, well. Just 27 hours from now it’ll all be over for good or for ill and I can look forward to having some friends and their kids over for dinner and drinking a shit load of good wine.
Could you have someone record it and post it so we can see, overlyverbose? (I mean the recital, not the explosive vomiting.)
Good luck!
I have never developed a successful technique for pilling a cat with the actual pill. My Max takes three meds every day. I grind up the pills in a mortar and pestle and mix them with his smelly, disgusting Fancy Feast. This has been working for several years. (If he reads this, I’m screwed.)
My rant: the landlord who owns the house next door to me has had a team of two guys over there for the past three days cutting down every bush, shrub, and sapling in sight. This is an old neighborhood (from the 1920s or so) and it’s shady and lovely. When he fixed up the house to rent it, he cut down all the bushes around it, including a nice loquattree that produced fruit every year, and a healthy rose bush taller than I am. He removed a hedge that ran along side the house and replaced it with bricks. That was about a year ago. The house used to look so inviting from the front, and after the massacre, it’s a plain, white, naked box.
Three days ago, he went on another “trimming” frenzy and had his crew cut down every shrub along one of the side fences. Now in the summer (90-100 degrees most days) there will not be one speck of shade in that yard for the two dogs that currently live there. Okay, not my yard, not my problem… <tries to calm down>
But the worst thing is that at the very back of his yard and my yard (we share a chain link fence) there was a chaste tree that produced sweet-smelling flowers every spring–yesterday his crew cut that one down, too! He claimed it was dead, but it had leaves on it. It filled in the back corner of my yard, because, although it was growing on his side, at least half of the branches hung over on my side. I talked to him on the phone about leaving that one tree, but he said it was dead and a safety hazard and would likely fall over. Bullshit!! He’s some kind of arboreal minimalist who can’t bear to leave a growing plant alone. Hearing that chain saw all day for the last three days has made me nuts!
Oh, and did I mention that he lives in California, so he only sees the house about once a year!!
:mad:
Two days ago at 4:30 in the morning I was rushing to keep our dog from waking my wife and I drove the pinky toe of my bare right foot full-force into solid, unmoving furniture. There was a smacking…or perhaps a cracking…sound. Three toes and about a quarter of the top of my foot are royally purple today, and pretty much everything I do reminds me pointedly of the incident.
Adding to the irony, my wife, who (as some of you may recall) has been recovering through a sequence of bed-wheelchair-walker-crutches since a murderer attacked her in August, keeps offering to get up and get things for me. Somehow I can’t bring myself to complain too loudly about my toe.
My first thought was, “Damn, I wish I would get off my ass and do something like that.” I’m sure there are plenty of people in your audience who will think the same thing.
It’s the first official day of the nightmarish hell that is Christmas, which will extend into the new year. The music has been raising its ugly head since Halloween (or before), but now the cacophony has truly begun.
Frustrated with a young Millenial-aged co-worker. She’s in her mid-20’s and she recently moved out from her parents for the first time and in with her boyfriend and roommates. She wanted the full time position in our department. She begged to be given the chance to prove herself. When she was in danger of not passing her 90 probation, she pleaded and begged and promised to do better. She eventually passed, mostly because there is no one else interested in the position.
As soon as she secured the position, she started slacking off. I’m not sure it’s deliberate, but it is nonetheless evident. She confided in me that working full time is “just so hard” and she doesn’t have enough time for herself any more. She mentioned that she will probably ask to go back to part time after the holidays. Her boyfriend’s cat died Sunday evening and she couldn’t bear to come back to work. She had Monday off, I covered a shift for her on Tuesday, but she was well put out that our manager expected her to come in Wednesday afternoon to cover mine to make up for it. “It’s just too soon” to be back at work after losing a pet. Boss is callous for expecting it. :rolleyes:
Part of me wants her to just quit. Part me wants her to put on her big girl pants and succeed, because she is good at her job when she’s actually working at it.
We use a pill gun. Basically a barrel and plunger setup. It generally works well, but it depends a lot on technique. The trick is to get it past the point where the cat can bring it back up. It helps a lot if you’ve got a cat that’s a lap sitter.
Now, if he goes to all the trouble of vomiting, that’s a different problem.
computer ate my rant.
New, mini-er version.
Khaki pants as work pants suck. I got something ugly and dark colored on the cuff of one during my first fifteen minutes at work today. If I’d been wearing jeans (like yesterday), no one would have known.
And we aren’t allowed to wear jeans again until sometime next year, except for special occasions.
OKAY, listen. Here’s how you get over on them.
Damnit, I just thought of a better title for this thread, and no way will I remember it by next year.
I should have called it, “Og Rest Ye Grumpy, Gentlefolks”.
<pout>
Og Rant Ye Grumpy, Gentlefolks
Even better!
Save May for Jerry Mendelbaum.
How about putting it on your ‘notes’ on your cell phone and saving it for next December