Dear author,
Please don’t submit your entire manuscript in capital letters.
Sincerely,
The editor
Holy fucking shit!
The fact that I offered to look at your code doesn’t mean I want to sit on AIM all day and talk about the final project for the summer class we happen to both be taking.
I owe money to the freaking world. Bleh.
Oh, and by the way, ignoramuses complaining about ‘having to pay for Obama’s health plan’? Do you fuckers realize you were paying for uninsured people’s ill health one way or another all along? Where were all you penny pinchers when we were spending fucking trillions in Iraq, hypocrites. (Venting, no response needed.)
People at work: a part with a ship date in late 2010 is of no concern to me right now! Do you think I have all these drawings scattered over my desk because I think they look good?!? I’m in the middle of a frickin’ project here!
Okay, it’s a mini, so I’ll keep it to the point.
You moved away from every social contact you had, to another state, because your parents moved there. I know, I know, you said it was because life was cheaper there, and for all I know it was.
Now, your parents aren’t supporting you as well as they used to. I suspect it’s because they can’t; economic times are tough. I can dig that.
However, there’s a time in one’s life that, if one is not unable to, one needs to grow up. I know you’ve considered just about every boss you’ve had somehow ‘beneath’ you (and in one case I even agree), but now, according to your message, you’re out of money, have had some of your utilities shut off, and you and your wife are about to be evicted from your apartment.
I sympathize as far as you are both my friends, and I know what it’s like to be in this situation. HOWEVER… I also know that about a decade ago, this was your situation every, say, three months or so. Back then you had friends who lived within a mile or two of you who’d come and help you out as they could. You removed yourself from said friends. You refused to hold a job for more than a year. You spent every dime you had buying, in essence, ‘toys’ for your apartment, and refused to save or budget ANYTHING.
I know damn well I’m soon going to get the call in which you insinuate how rough things are. I empathize. I can’t help you. I’m going to feel like hell because of it, too. But really, dude, you need to grow up. You need to take responsibility, ESPECIALLY financially, for your life. I know it’s hard. I don’t enjoy doing it myself, but I -do- it. You need to learn to do it, too.
And dude, I’d see you more often if you hadn’t moved to another state. Just sayin’.
Where is that? I wanna go look! :eek:
What is the deal with women (and it’s always a woman) showing up for a plane flight carrying a pillow, blankie, stuffed animal, and/or slippers? I’m talking late teens to young adulthood here, not kids. And there’s always some BB-balled dork walking behind her lugging her carry-on as well as his own. Listen, Princess, I know you need your beauty sleep, but you’re really not gonna get the solid, delta-wave rest you crave on a puddle-jump between Denver and St. Louis.
Counterpoint to Hyperelastic: Yesterday at the San Fransisco airport, I was watching a family wandering through the airport. Mom: carrying small purse-type bag, oblivious. Dad: carrying small purse-type man-bag, oblivious. The frickin’ five year old girl is gamely struggling along behind them with the maximum-size-for-a carry-on-plus-a-few-inches rolling suitcase, as well as her personal bag slung over her shoulder. I understand giving children as much responsibility as they can handle, but making them carry your luggage?
Hm, I’d cut them some slack. I know when I was a kid I -wanted- to do things like that, showing how much of a ‘grown up’ I was. YMMV.
Actually, I thought about that, but the kid looked like she was really having a hard time of it. The suitcase probably outweighed her.
Never underestimate the tenacity of a five-year-old!
When I was a little older than that, I’d insist to my mother that I was having fun in the swimming pool and wasn’t cold, even though my lips were blue. (It was a family reunion, and it was boring outside the pool with the grown-ups!)
I could see a five-year-old pulling a suitcase that is obviously too big for her, all the while insisting that she’s fine with it (and possibly throwing a tantrum if it were taken away from her), rather than admitting that she’s too small to pull the suitcase.
Another rant. I hate it when bad days collide with your SO. Last night, despite my husband’s promise to be home in time for dinner - he’s worked until 11 this Monday and 3 days last week - he called to tell me it would be another late night. I was on my way home from picking my son up from daycare after a mad dash from work, looking forward to seeing my husband and getting some childcare relief so I could lie down. At that point, his phone died. So I took the kid home, made him dinner and collapsed on the floor next to him because I’d been having stomach issues all day and was sapped from the constant bathroom runs. (I work about an hour from home and the problems didn’t start until I was almost at work, so I had to wait until they died down a little before I could leave.)
Suddenly, my husband shows up, expecting everyone to run to him and greet him with hugs and kisses because he’d managed to come home early, but all I could do was smile up at him from my position on the floor and inform him, “I’m sorry - I didn’t think you were coming home, so I didn’t make dinner for us,” while our three-year-old ignored him in favor of his trains.
My husband, who apparently had a raging headache, stomps into the family room to brood while I suddenly have to get up and run to the bathroom. I come back in, stumbling a little (pregnant women are not graceful; sick pregnant women are even less so) and am promptly accused of being overly dramatic. Crying ensues (did I mention I’m also emotional lately?), my husband gets exasperated and finally I go to bed after an idiotic, circular conversation.
Today I’m greeted with puffy eyes, a headache like that experienced after a hangover and I’m freaking starving and have been all day. I still haven’t talked to my husband this morning (he didn’t come to bed until 2 and was still in bed when I left with our son) and I don’t really want to go home this evening.
Yes, of course. So why do we have to spend a trillion dollars more?
Some of us were against that, too.
Well, fuckery damn and no surprise, the 'pod is now just a paperweight. Data recovery might be an option, if I had a spare £300 or so. Fuck fuck fuck. This isn’t anyone’s fault - it was old, as iPods go, the guy at the Apple store was sweet, but it’s *all *my music, and it’s all gone. I can’t buy another one - I don’t have the money, and I can’t see a point on the horizon when I will. I hate being in debt, I hate the fact that both pairs of my jeans (and I HATE the fact that all I’ve done this year is get fatter and fatter, so my comfy jeans are now tight, and my tidy black pair that made me feel good now don’t fit over my fat arse) have got holes in them, so I need to buy more, but with what money? And I need to go back to NZ next year for mum’s birthday, and christ, that’s another grand, and I don’t know, this is small beef, next to so many people’s problems, I know, but I’m sad and angry and have no one to rant to except to you, fine people of the Dope.
And one more thing, Londoners looking for rooms. What in hell is so bad that you don’t want to live with me and my flatmates? We’re clean, we’re fun, we have wifi. So stop organising to come look at the rooms and never showing up, you fuckers!
I really really hate when I post in this thread and say that I’m venting, no response needed, and someone finds it necessary to respond as though this is a goddam debate.
My best friend’s house was robbed ceiling to floors while she was on a business trip. The fuckers even took out her refridgerator, leaving the icemaker’s water supply hose to flood her kitchen, utility room, and dining room. She’s living with her sister, traumatized and in shock, while her floors are repaired, all via homeowner’s insurance.
Just for future reference, avoid all VCAs like the plague. I don’t know for a fact that they are all useless money grubbers, but enough are that I am not longer willing to take the chance.
Give Tahoe a hug for me!
Perhaps if your vent wasn’t ignorant and had been covered many times, in at least tw threads, that wouldn’t happen?
Tough shit. The Boards don’t work that way. If I post “liberals are ignorant shitheads, but I don’t want anybody to respond and I’m not looking for a debate”, I don’t expect it to work.
Thanks, will do. 
That experience with the VCA was a pitting all its own, if I just had the energy. What scumbags and what a filthy office. I don’t understand how someone who becomes a vet could stoop so low.