comma, my never-fail method for finding something I’ve lost is to go buy a replacement. Guaranteed!
Faruiza, I too like the bitchcake. I saw “mellonballers” used as an epithet here recently - I’m gonna use that one, too - probably for other drivers. “Hey, you stupid mellonballer, am I invisible here?”
Two is the number of rants that I shall rant tonight. The number of rants shall not be one, nor shall it be three, but instead a number greater than the first of these but lesser than the second shall be the number of rants I shall rant.
First rant: God DAMN I’m sick of rewriting Office 2003 macros to work with Office 2007. Because the “upgrade” to 2007 broke most – and by “most”, I mean “all” – of the copious VB code I’d written to make everyone in my department’s lives easier, I’ve spent the past week rewriting all of my shit, which there’s no good reason whatsoever that I should have to do. Note to MS devs: the time to make the .Name property of a dialog box reference object include the file path was eight years ago. Since you didn’t bother to do it then, everyone’s come up with their own little two-line script to add the path to the filename. All your little “improvement” did was cause me to spend half my fucking workday cross-referencing function and property definitions trying to figure out why the hell I was getting Invalid Path errors every time I use a dialog box to locate a file, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Vista and Office 2007 are wonderful for those who’ve never used Windows before (which is approximately nobody on Earth), haven’t gotten used to the commands and functions that worked with every single version prior (which is, roughly speaking, nobody who’s used the Office suite since its inception), and haven’t built entire fucking workflows and software packages based on it, as I and everyone else who’s ever bothered to learn a semester’s worth of VBA have done. Speaking for those folks, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for BREAKING ALL OF OUR SHIT and wasting of massive amounts of our time.
Second rant: fuck anyone who cares what I eat. While you’ll never hear me bring it up outside of the internet – I’m not one of those douchewhores who vetoes every conceivable restaurant choice based on my personal preferences – I don’t eat vegetables. Yeah, you heard me. I don’t eat them, and I am SICK AND FUCKING TIRED of hearing how inconceivably horrific that is. When I’m 40 and dying of vitamin insufficiency, which won’t happen because I take vitamin supplements because I don’t eat fucking vegetables but that’s none of your goddamn business, then you can feel free to point and laugh to your little pompous busybody heart’s content. In the meantime, shut the fuck up, you nosy, pretentious, self-superior piles of shit. You can eat cat turds and I won’t say a word; extend me the same courtesy, pay attention to your own fucking plate, and we’ll get along just fine.
Oh, and because it seems to be the issue of the moment, my take on the whole boyfriend thing: “boyfriend” is fine. It means “male I am romantically involved with but have not married”. You can have a boyfriend whether you’re 15 or 85. If you feel it insufficient to describe your relationship with your male companion, that’s all good and well, but let me assure you that no term you pull forth from your colonic region will do a better job of describing it, and everyone else is going to interpret it as “my boyfriend” anyway. Of course, per the above, you have every right to refer to your boyfriend however you wish and tell me to fuck off if I don’t like it; may the wonders of our freedom never cease.
This has been Roland’s Drunken Rants of the Evening. Thanks for reading. 
This rant may be a decade too late, but I still see the damn things all the time: those oval-shaped bumper stickers with two or three letters on them that usually stand for some random place where you vacationed. Why? Nobody can even tell what it’s supposed to mean unless the car is stopped and their eyes are two inches away from the sticker because, if the full name is written on there at all, it’s in six-point text on the bottom of the sticker. Fucking stupid shit…
The funny thing is that they’re supposed to be like country code stickers in Europe… only, they don’t have those anymore.
I know a guy who spent a year or two in Germany and came back with the oval “D” sticker tattooed on his chest. I know, right?
I pit fitted sheets! Burn them! Burn them up in a big towering 100% cotton auto-da-fé! I just wanted to make my bed and go to sleep, and instead I had to spend several minutes wrestling with this stupid, twisted-up, unfoldable monster, just trying to figure out which was the long side, and in the end I never did get it to fit right on the bed! Fitted sheets, I hope you rot in the closet! I hope you become known to the State of California to cause halitosis and genital warts! I hope a goat eats you and chokes on the elastic! You suck!
That’s pure insanity, because I’m one of those damn short people, and all I can ever find is tall sizes. God forbid my pants should be just short enough not to walk on and get dirty and thready. Blah. We need to switch shopping locations, I think.
My rant? I’ve been working here for over four months. This is a call center job, and I provide excellent customer service. I know that I do. I love how it’s only now that you’ve decided, based on the opinion of one sole person, that according to your metrics, I’m just not qualified. I’ve been assisting customers for three of these months; you’d think I’d be asked to leave way before this. The reason I’m not qualified? Because your grading scale is fucked. I would somehow be doing my job better if I pestered the bloody shit out of customers who have already done the research, and know exactly what they fucking want! You’re right, I suck because I don’t ask people why they expect their usage to go up or down, or because I let a customer make a change that I’ve strongly advised against. It’s their fucking account; if they tell me what to do, I’ll tell them whether it’s a good or bad idea, but if they still want to make the change, I’m gonna fucking do it! Gah!
I hate looking for a new job. But I believe I’ll be taking a sick day today and doing just that. I’m awesome, and I know it, and I’m gonna find a company that won’t try to tell me otherwise. Here’s a dick: eat it.
Heehee! I think I’ll try out the mellonballers thing on my friends tonight. See if they laugh. I’ll bet they will. They’re good about laughing at me. 
commasense, this is going to sound ridiculous, I’m sure, but I think it’s funny. In a book I just finished, there was a girl who prayed to St. Anthony (patron saint of lost things) with this: “Tony, Tony, come around, something’s lost that can’t be found.” Try that and report back.
WF Tomba, I’ve found a way to combat at least one fitted sheet problem. Buy striped sheets. See, I have a king size bed. I can never figure out which is the long side of the sheet. I got striped sheets and immediately deduced that if the stripes were heading the correct direction that I had the sheet on right. I’ll probably never buy a solid color sheet ever again! Well, unless I’m smart enough to figure out which corner goes where and immediately label the tag on the sheet for where it should sit.
I would agree with you, except my A51 sticker with the tiny little alien face on it that I got in Rachel, Nevada is just so cute!
The world is full of people walking around who say “I agree with you, but it’s just such a great souvenir of my trip to Myrtle Beach!” and such. People like you are the reason these things proliferate. For shame, featherlou, for shame…
I feel another mini-rant brewing…
Attention people of the Internet:
Zombies, pirates, and ninjas aren’t fucking funny! They never were! You’ve been doing this shit for years. LET IT GO!
That is all. Thank you.
Cute, perhaps, but not as cool as the "Area 51 S4 Groomlake Special Access Security Pass" that I got from the (now defunct) Area 51 Research Center.
Oh, and my mini rant: dinner guests who refuse any foods heated in plastic containers. (They don’t want to get cancer)
Okay, I DON’T agree with you. Is that better? 
(I actually do - my little alien sticker is the only bumper sticker I have ever had on a car.)
Fuck you, Tequila. You can make a night fun as hell, but boy, you make me pay for it the next day. Most of a Saturday is now gone due to sleeping and nursing a hangover. And here it is the next night, almost 24 hours later, and MY HEADACHE STILL ISN’T FUCKING TOTALLY GONE. It’d be a lot easier to not keep you around the house if you didn’t turn my girlfriend into a total freak every time she drank you (not last night, but other nights) :smack:
Fuck you, brain. I’m tired and just about to fall asleep and what do you do? You start playing the theme to Unsolved Mysteries over and over again. :mad:
I Pit idiot custmers
Thank you… do you know anyone who wants a job? We pay good wages, have a great benefits and bonus program, and we STILL can not entice enough people to work for us in this over heated labour shortage market. We have 4 tills running, and have managers operating them.
We have a really talented night stocking crew, and a modern computerised inventory system. Plus we continually restock high demand items during the day. If its not on the hook, or on display, yep, so very sorry, 11 days into the 14 day promotion we are out of it; we know this as we have checked 7 times today. So when we say , “sorry, we sold out of it last tuesday”, we mean it - our profits are not made by lying to you about the availability of an item
You great lumbering unevolved chunk of air wasting future compost. So, you bullied and yelled at one of my staff until she cried. Wow! Yes, we do require ID for cheques, its been a standard policy for most businesses since the 1970’s. Making a 16 yr old girl cry will really want me want to accept your cheque. Wish I could write “Go fuck yourself with your diseased, tiny prick, you poster child for abortion” on the “memo line” of your probably rubber offering.
Thanks for Insiting that FML said you get a 20% discount. He is a close personal friend /relative and you exchange hand made xmas cards. Guess what, I am FML, and I don’t know you from Adam.
just plain wierd … Apparently, you have to drag me outside (after demanding to see a manager) to show me that someone’s dog left a present in the bushes near a side walk in front of the next building over. Yes its very nice. May I offer to send you a picture? That way you can remember its subtle unique glory forever.
[puzzling] Hmm… [puzzling again] What… [puzzling some more] But…
This makes no sense!!!
It’s a subtle form of revenge, that’s it! The customer is trying to drive you insane wondering how anyone could view that as being so important. And it’s missed the target. And now I’m going to go further nuts!
[and on top of all that, now my puzzler is sore! Owww]
I am pissed at captchas that are impossible to read correctly because they are too squiggly.
I condemn manufacturers of perishable food items (e.g. Dannon) who put the pull date on the outer wrappers, but not the individual containers. You have to keep the wrapper in the fridge until the last yogurt is gone, in order to be sure it’s still OK to eat.
Nah, stuff reappears when the spacewarp decides to let it go. You know, that fold in the space/time continuum that stuff vanishes into randomly. Case in point: Papa Tiger searched in vain recently for his cast iron cookware. This is not a small item, mind you; it is a sizeable collection of cast iron pieces stored in a large wooden box. It was nowhere to be found, especially not in the shed where he swore he had put it.
Yesterday the spacewarp decided to release it. Guess where it was? In plain sight in the shed. Of course. Nothing can be done but accept that the spacewarp has a mind of its own. Although if St. Anthony has any control over the spacewarp, he might help you.
Full Metal Lotus, I decided yesterday, from my Calgary perspective, that I’m finished being nice to service people. It’s us the customers against them, and I’m tired of the bad attitudes, the rampant incompetence, the lack of caring about the job they’re getting paid to do, every syllable of body language screaming in my face, “I can get a job anywhere tomorrow, so I don’t have to do SHIT for you!” I will be neutral to them, and tell them when they’ve done something that is actively bad, but the days of nice are over. Let me assure you that my new attitude is richly deserved, from years of bad service just about everywhere.
Sadly, Featherlou, I have to agree with you. I am forced to hire untrained, and unqualified no talents just to have someone who can sometimes, maybe show up somewhat on time, to fart around when not ignoring or actively demonstrating hostility to customers. Nice thing is I got to fire one last week, and I might get to fire one or two this coming week, My policy is that as soon as I find someone better, the assmonkeys can go work for the competition…
I am in Edmonton btw, and our labour shortage is pretty much as bad as you are experiencing in Calgary… I will promise this though… if you ever come into my store, and I get a chance to deal with you, you will find that professional, knowledgable, pleasant and competent customer service still exists.
Regards and Comiserations
FML
I’ve got another one: traffic lights. Not all traffic lights, but some. Specifically ones that are timed instead of having sensors and have apparenlty been set by people who are entirely unfamiliar with the traffic patterns of the intersections they put them in, and in fact, have never even seen an intersection, ever.
There are two in the tiny Harrisburg suburb of Steelton that inexplicably give more time to the side streets than to the main street that runs through town and takes you to Harrisburg. You’ll be driving through town at 3AM and end up waiting for two minutes at each light, but you’ll never see a single car come out one of those side streets. It’s even worse during morning and afternoon rush hours when cars are backed up on the main street for half a mile or more at each light while one car every thirty seconds or so comes trickling out from the side streets. Fix that shit, people!
Then there are the lights that do have sensors, but apparently require an act of Congress to get them to activate. I’ll be sitting there flashing my lights, reversing my car a few feet, going a few feet forward again, and repeating the process ad nauseum, and eventually I’ll get it, but I am completely unable to reliably replicate whatever action actually makes it work.