This doesn’t feel like a mini rant at the moment, but I know it is:
Cocksucking motherfucking whoreson printers! Just fucking print you piece of shit! All the colors! And you, Pixel,* stop being a cuntstain and fucking print COLOR, you assharpy!
I already hit one of the printers, which was pointless, but felt really good, but told me it was time to go home before I damage something.
*I have four printers, all named after graphics terms.
Have you considered sacrificing to the Great God Murphy? This can be useful in two ways. First, by propitiating Murphy his minions in our world are more likely to be well-disposed to you. Second, since the methods of sacrifice I’ve found that work best involve sledgehammers, or blowtorches, by arranging for the other minions of Murphy to watch the sacrifices it has a certain ability to motivate the witnesses.
I recommend a nice new toaster for your first sacrifice. 
We have a monopoly in all but name here.
Every phone provider uses Telstra for their infrastructure systems. Same for 99.999999% of internet providers. The only pay TV gig in town is owned by the big T.
What does this mean? Due to a fuckup on Telstra’s end, nearly 12 hours of missing service for both our internet and cable TV today. Thankfully the internet is back on. TV, we’re not so lucky. And our house doesn’t have an antenna installed, so if the cable goes out we lose all channels - including free to air.
I think I have to do a hard thing today.
Background: Because of a domestic violence incident, I don’t see my ex-husband. He only sees our son at a supervised visitation center once a week. The center called a couple of days ago to cancel this week’s visit because the ex is in the hospital with something about his heart. (He had bypass surgery when we were married).
I didn’t tell my son because I didn’t want him to worry. I just said his dad couldn’t make it this week because he was sick. Now my mom’s getting on my case. She says what if Ex dies? I should have someone take my son to see him in the hospital.
I am of the opinion that people like the Ex never die, and I’m sure he’ll be out in no time. (Admittedly I have nothing to base this on). On the other hand, Mom might be right and I want to do the right thing.
Just the thought of calling the hospital makes me want to puke. And if I do, who’s going to take the boy over there? Mom thinks my husband should do it. That’ll go well. “Honey, my mom thinks you should…”
I should never tell Mom anything.
Well, you’ve made MY mini-rant certainly seem mini - I was going to complain because the expensive t-shirt I bought with a gift certificate (the day I buy a $50 t-shirt with my own money is, well, not going to come) is losing all it’s little glued-on decorative thingies. 
I think you have to do what’s best for your son here, not what’s best for you. He might be losing his dad, after all.
Well, I figured out what was wrong with Pixel - apparently the new color ink cartridge was defective. Which pisses me off, cuz we haven’t got very many and every time we order ink it takes three weeks to a month to come in. OTOH, the printer is working now. For now.
No, no, I sympathize. I can barely put the words fifty dollars and tee-shirt together in the same sentence.
I called the hospital and found out Ex is in an intermediate ward between intensive care and a regular room. So see, he’s fine!
I’m trying to get Mom to take the boy.
My coworkers don’t seem to get that ‘extremely fucking cranky’ means ‘just leave me the fuck alone’ It’s PMS, I KNOW it’s PMS, but of course, that doesn’t help one fucking bit. And having to deal with fucking slow ass computers and flaky networks and retarded printers doesn’t help one bit.
If it wasn’t the end of the pay period (which means I have to get mockups done and signed off), I’d just close and lock my office doors.
<files “assharpy” away for future use>
I KNOW! It was a Christmas gift from my mother-in-law, and while I truly do appreciate the thought, the $50 t-shirt was about the only thing I could find in the store that would be completely covered by the gift certificate. That is just not the store for me - I love finding bargains on clothes and getting them as cheaply as possible.
Glad to hear it. How to put this delicately - does your son know his father has serious heart problems?
How many fucking clocks do you have? And you’d think at least one of them would be right.
PC Clocks=14 minutes slow
Wall Clock, Office=4 minutes Slow
Wall Clock, Break Room=3 minutes fast
Clocks on the photocopier- 5 minutes fast.
How hard is it to get the accurate time and set it correctly?
Yeah, but it’s been years since he last had trouble. Last week, Ex didn’t show up for the visit (still don’t know why) and my son kept saying, “How would we know if he died?” Guess he’s got a point.
BTW, got fabric glue?
Stupid piece of junk Netscape 4.78. If I had admin priviliges, you’d quickly find yourself replaced with any modern browser that works on Solaris 9. Can’t even load simple places on the Internet and forget getting anything to actually display properly.
Actually, there’s no reason for PC clocks to be wrong anymore. There are a number of little gizmos you can download to have the computer set its own clock from a nearby cesium atomic clock. I don’t recall how it works in Windows–my Macs do it automatically right out of the box–but I remember it only taking me about 1/2-hour to set up on Windows 2K. It was probably down to 5 minutes on XP (and up to an hour on Vista). You probably want to check it out.
In the U.S., we use nist.time.gov – I don’t know what the UK equivalent is.
This one should be easy to fix. When you select print, click on Print Options, then go to the Color Management tab. There are are few options there. You want to make sure that the “Color” checkbox is checked, and that the default “Greyscale” and “Cuntstain” ones are unchecked. Then edit your registry and add HKEY_DEFAULT_PRINTER_IS_ASSHARPY=0.
You should be all set.
“If you want to make a copy, just set ‘thip, crinkle, and spoit’ to ‘no’.”
If I had any kind of position of power in my office, one of the first things I’d do would be to sort out the fucking clocks. I don’t though. There’s no excuse for any clock to be more than 1 minute off, considering how easy it is to get accurate atomic time information.
I have changed the PC clocks, but 20 minutes or so later the network overrides it. The wall clocks are just to inconvienient to get to, to change without drawing attention to myself.
Clock on the card swipe door access thingy 4 minutes fast.
Clock on the phone 3 minutes slow.
We have the same thing at our office.
My old boss was a bitch about time. Come in 5 minutes late, even though I am salary, and she wanted you to stay 5 minutes after. And no leaving early ever. Not even a minute.
She mentioned to me what time I left once, three minutes early, and I flat out told her I come in by my computers clock and leave by my computers clock. There are 5 clocks and none are set to the exact time and all read something different. I asked if there was a different time piece she would like me to follow. She shut up about it and mumbled something as she left about them getting the time issue straightened out. What a fucking bitch.
As for my own rant I pit compulsive liars. What the fuck is it with them. I just don’t get it and I guess I never will. What makes a person lie about something so trivial? The last lie was about a fish. A fucking $1.25 fish. I had not seen it in the tank last time I was checking out the fish so I asked. I was told it died and not just a belly up one day death but a “it was going to die and it was suffering so I flushed it” death.
I looked yesterday and it is still swimming around. WTF?
I just don’t get it 
My mother and I share a duplex, which she owns and I rent my space from her, sharing the upstairs apartment with my niece. Normally, this is fine. I can see my mother whenever I like, and when I don’t like I simply go up to my own living space. Sometimes, however, I just dislike living with a fucking psycho.
Between MVP, asthma, and working 48+ hours a week I just don’t get the exercise I need and the weight I’d lost last year has been slowly creeping back up on me again. To try to combat this, I decided to start running before work. So, this morning I ran a mile through a really hilly ski-trail behind my house. It’s a great trail and while I was a bit sweaty when I got home, I felt good. My goal is to eventually be able to do thirteen miles. However, as I was coming up to the house my mother and 17 year old niece were in the backyard.
Mom: What were you doing? Did you go for a walk?
Me: I went for a run!
Mom and Niece: WHY?!
Me: …because I’m getting fat and don’t want to be.
Mom: You’re not fat! How much do you weigh?
Me: I weigh 158lbs and it’s just not a weight I’m comfortable at.
Mom: That’s not fat! If you’re going by the BMI, it’s completely inaccurate for muscular body types. And running isn’t going to help!
Me: If I saw muscle definition instead of flab, that’d be fine.
Mom: Well you won’t lose weight running! It’s been scientifically proven that people who exercise don’t lose weight. The only way to lose weight is to eat less.
Me: That’s fine. I can run and eat less crap. It’s simple physics–you put energy into a system, you take it out. If you take out more energy than you’re putting in, there’s a deficit and you lose weight.
And this is where my mother explained to me that what I really needed was to fast and detox, because–once again!–exercise has been scientifically proven to be ineffective.
What you need to do is tell your mom, “I see. And have you tried making sense?” and then run away. I’m sure we don’t need us to tell you that you’re doing the right things, and your mom is - shall we say full of crap? And as for the detox thing, you have kidneys and a liver - that’s all the detox anyone needs. Detox diets are one of the biggest scams going (after insurance for profit).
We’re heading into one of our most frustrating seasons here - the rainy season. See, it rains a lot in Calgary in spring, and our grass grows furiously, like it knows its days are numbered. You see sun in the morning, so you plan to race out and get some grass cut, but by the time you’ve gotten out there, the clouds have rolled in and it’s raining again. Mother Nature is like Lucy with a football - “Think you’re going to mow today? Oops! Not today!”
I’m just about ready to bail our yard.