Honestly, it made me so mad today that I could barely contain myself. Since I know I have a temper and I’m not certain I want to quit or get fired by saying something really intemperate, I’m waiting a day until I calm down. Then I will tell him that I need him to accept my answer when he asks how I’m doing, and why.
Yeah, I have a hard time negotiating the space between doormat and raging asshole.
Bwahahahah!! Outstanding! 
Funny you should ask. I have had my thyroid checked twice in the last ten years, and both times nothing shows up. I have more than one symptom of a busted thyroid, but nothing seems to be wrong with it. I guess I’m just a rotten bitch with no physical ailment to blame it on. 
Dear Sir.
Bruno is quite possibly the most offensive film our theater has ever shown. As such, we are required to strictly enforce the rule that minors (under 17) MUST be accompanied by a guardian. When I inform you of this, swearing at me and running away, sending your kids into the theater, will not help. Since we don’t have enough staff during a weekday matinee for an usher, they will get into the theater. However, it being a weekday matinee, the theater is fairly empty, and, once there’s a break in the line, I will go and kick your kids out, and you will have to come back and get them. It’s really a lose-lose situation.
Asshat.
And arthritic adults. I am so sick of gardening products (in particular) that fucking HURT to open dammit.
My answer to this (unless it’s the opening of a conversation with a friend or something instead of just a greeting or possibly a greeting) is always “super!”… it means pretty much the same thing as “fine” without inviting “that’s not a real answer!” responses.
Pre-emptive rant: Okay, I can already see how it’s going to be. Every tribute to Walter Cronkite is going to include the gratuitous “And everybody in broadcasting today SUCKS!” Just like when Johnny Carson died: all of a sudden, everyone else on late-night TV also sucked rocks. Is it possible, maybe, perhaps, to praise one person without devaluing everyone else?
You know what? I usually like to buy from local places, but not when they suck out loud. I went to your fine music store on Monday, looking for a simple chromatic tuner. You told me that you had an order coming in, and you’d call me around 1:00, when you got the tuners. You called me at 8:00 on Tuesday. 31 hours after you said you’d call! Okay, fine. As long as you have the tuner I want, I’m good. What’s that? You’re about to close? Fine, most stores are already closed at this time. But don’t call me to tell me this as you’re closing up! Oh well, I’ll come in tomorrow. Oh, you’re closed on Wednesday? Fine, I’ll come in Thursday.Good? Good.
Here I am, it’s Thursday, I’m ready for my tuner. Yes, I did inquire about one on Monday. Yes, I was told that the tuners were in. They’re not? Well that’s funny, it’s almost as if I was lied to. Would I like you to call me when the tuners are in? Well, that would be nice. If only I could count on the tuners actually being here. So no, I would not like you to call me. I’ll go to the big old Long & McQuade, where I should have gone before. They have a crazy buiness strategy called “stocking the products your customers want”. Seems to work for them.
I like my name. It’s balanced, it’s mellifluous. My parents did a good job of picking it. It is not the subject of this mini-rant.
Sometimes, when people meet me and hear or read my name, they comment that it’s a pretty name - which it is. I appreciate the compliment. That’s not the subject of this rant.
There’s another thing that people do when they hear my name. See, my last name is of non-English origin and my first and middle names emphasize the ethnicity of my last name. To give an example, if I were talking about an Irish name, it isn’t Bridget Colleen O’Laughlin. It’s more along the lines of Kate Riley or Mary Shannon. Enough that people might legitimately think “that name sounds ‘Irish’” And really this isn’t even about the people who voice that thought.
The rant is for the people who go that one stupid ass step further and start asking me about Ireland, if my family is from Galway or Cork, and whether I’ve visited Dublin. I’m African American. I’m completely obviously African American. They will never put a picture of me in one of those “can you guess this person’s background?” web tests not just because I wouldn’t sign the release but also because there is no one with working eyes who will ever mistake me for anything other than Black. There is no possible way that a person could rationally think “Irish” when looking at me. The Irish last name is because somewhere along the line, someone Irish owned one or more members of my family and the name got applied.
I don’t get why that isn’t clearly apparent. What is wrong with these people that they would ignore it and start babbling on inanely about Celtic music? Why, at least once per month is my trip to go shopping, check out a book, sign up for a project interrupted by trying to decide whether it’s worth it to explain American naming conventions during chattel slavery?
Really, for small talk, stick to the weather.
Yeah, I think I’m going to use George Carlin’s line exclusively.
“Not, UNwell, thank you.”
Actually, I’ve met a couple of black Irish people (i.e. Irish people of African decent, not the “Black Irish”, who are white) who were completely sick of people assuming that they weren’t “really Irish” because of their skin tone. They had been in Ireland for generations, had Irish names, and Irish accents. Never asked them their opinions on Celtic music, though.
You know what, fuck you. I’m tired of ignorant Americans who assume that European countries have no ethnic diversity. There are many black Irish people.
pdts
Of course there are. The ones who were born and raised there tend to have Irish accents, though. And had you read for comprehension, you’d know that my name isn’t Irish. Try reading more carefully next time.
But, between you and mischievous, I have learned that these people are really just dying to talk about how 150 years ago they could be ringing up people just like today they’re ringing up the objects that I’ll be paying for with MasterCard.
Muffin Pans. $7.00. “Honest dialogues” about race. Priceless.
I’m anticipating the phrase “and that’s the way it is” to be attached to every mention of old Walt. (I have a very vague memory of watching him on the news when I was very young, and there was always black & white footage of bombs falling out of planes - over Germany?)
On behalf of my two neighbors with swimming pools, I will pit the cool cloudy summer we’re having that won’t allow them to have the shrieking 24 hour pool parties that they so look forward to after 6 solid months of winter. This forces them to spend more time at their summer camps, I guess. It’s been unnaturally quiet in the neighborhood.
Maximum shitweek.
I turned 31. It was lame.
Got a 4AM voicemail from my parents. They were having a screaming argument. For some reason, they thought it would be a good idea for me to be involved.
I’m probably going to have to dump my girlfriend. Which is a shame, because other than the weird mercurial intimacy issues, she’s a nice girl and we have great sex.
On the up side, the new Dinosaur Jr. record kicks ass.
Dearest roommate:
I am well aware you got assaulted the other night, and I am sympathetic. I do, however, think that since you know we live in a slightly sketchy area, you were a goddamn idiot for your 1 AM walks, and it was really only a matter of time until something happened.
I also understand that your car died, and I’m sympathetic about that. I’m less sympathetic that you don’t have money to pay for it (because you spend all your money on stinky food and slutty clothes). I’m much less sympathetic that you’re furious to the point of tears that your parents won’t give you over a thousand dollars to fix it, because A) they gave you nearly that much for the car in the first place and B) apparently you lied to them to get that money, told them you were buying Safe Practical Sedan and instead bought Shiny Impractical Convertible.
I also understand that, lacking a particularly functional car, and in light of having been assaulted the other night, you’re not thrilled about walking a couple miles home when you leave work at 10 PM. I am less sympathetic now that you have not asked but demanded to borrow my bicycle, which would leave me without any means of transportation from the time I’d take the bus to work at 8 AM until you got home sometime after 10, and you apparently think that taking cabs is “something poor people do,” which is quite rich coming from someone who was just literally crying to her parents on the phone for money for the car you can’t afford to get fixed.
Jet lag:( having travelled 26 hours and maybe getting two hours of’sleep’ on a full plane with whinney kids. I’m up before four am. Trying to get back on schedule is a bitch.
I hate my job more than I’ve ever hated a job in my life.
I hate that if I quit this job i will never get another that pays as well as this one with the great benefits I get.
I hate that I have to work here for at least 10 more years before I can possibly retire.
I hate this bitch that I work with who I accidently brushed against last week ( even though she was standing in the middle of MY work station ) who had a fit, screaming to everyone that I practically assaulted her instead of resolving her problem with me in a mature manner.
I hate my brand new boss who is basically kissing ass to his boss and doing every little thing by the book which results in him talking to everyone at my level like we are 2 years old.
I hate that the company added extra work to my job, but not enough time to do it in and they wonder why I’m always behind in my work.
I hate that my back hurts from bending down 500+ times a day.
I hate that it’s almost 11pm Sunday night and I need to get my ass to bed so I can wake up at 4:30am to go to the job from Hell!
sigh okay…I’ve vented.
I love that I only have 2 weeks left to work then I get 3 weeks off!! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!
You’re using my good measuring cup as a dog food scoop?
Really?
Mom, if you have to tell something to someone, please do it from within the same room they’re in.
Mom’s cleaning lady who also works for my brother: you have his cellphone; if you need to tell him something, call him.
Both of you, STOP YELLING DAMNIT!
I’ve told them the first two in person, repeatedly. The third, I feel like telling them with a half-brick and that ain’t polite.