I want my husband home from hospital.
They’ve got the computers locked down so you can’t install or change anything. Not that I blame them considering who uses the computers. I’ve thought about getting the portable version of Open Office and installing it on my USB thumbdrive but the computers at school are Macs and my personal computer is a PC and…
Hmm… I don’t know that I’m comfortable leaving them online, but I’ll definitely think about it.
ETA: Huh, I could get AbiWord and install both the Mac and Win version and it’ll take up less space than just the Win version of OpenOffice. Probably cuz it does less, but I just need to be able to type)
Today at work I learned from my supervisor that I am not supposed to donate during our food bank drive we’re having now - I’m supposed to donate at Christmas. I’m starting to think she is less a controlling, micro-managing power tripper and more just plain old crazy.
I also learned that GuanoLad was almost definitely right about her relationship with Excel - I watched her trying to move some stuff around in a spreadsheet today, and holy God, it was like watching a monkey pounding away at the keys. How do you get to be an accounting professional and not know how to INSERT A FREAKING LINE?!? Or how to insert multiple lines at the same time?
Why the hell does the New York Times website keep crapping out on me and failing to load? It’s cutting me off from my source for how self-involved wealthy white people live (a/k/a the Style section), which is my signature time-waster on breaks. How can I find out about the new stylish radiator options, or follow along on a shopping trip for coffee accessories, if the pages refuse to load? Plus, okay, the occasional frontpage news item I’d also be interested in; it would be nice if you’d load those as well.
I pit the ATROCIOUS, CRAPPY, and FEEBLE (my carrier) wireless signal in my new neighborhood. My mobile phone does work at home, except for a dead area along one perimeter of the apartment. And my wireless broadband won’t work at all. If my cable internet access goes down for some reason, I have no internet access at all.
Today I went to a Starbucks in the heart of Culver City, which is adjacent to Palms where I live. There, too…I only got a couple of feeble ticks on the signal indicator, and Early 1990s Style Dial-Up Performance. For a while, anyway, and then I lost my connection.
This is so frustrating. Why is Palms/Culver City such a nearly-dead zone for my mobile phone service carrier?
Compu-FUCKING-Serve, anyone???
Our office full of women is squabbling just like a stereotypical office full of women. Leave me out of it, bitches!
Looking back at my office career, it’s always been the women giving me trouble, and the men leaving me alone and letting me do my job. I think I’m going to move into a male occupation. I’ve had enough of women.
I know. I try not to think that way, but my own sex is embarrassing me!
I’m behind in my reading for ALL of my classes, I did terribly on my last Farsi exam (when the worst grade I had gotten previously in that class was a B+), I never get more than six hours of sleep a night, and most days I eat junk food from the burrito place down the street from my school. Oh, and I need to find an internship for the summer which is a tad time-consuming as well.
Whoever invented grad school should be shot. And then you can shoot me for thinking this would be a good idea.
16 days until spring break and my fabulous Colombian adventure. Can’t come soon enough.
B.O. dude with delicate hint of stale urine ahead and to the left of me, chain smoker dude with decidedly non-delicate aroma of stale tobacco smoke ahead and to the right of me, and then poor me, stuck in the middle trying not to go blurrrgh!. 
I hate feeling queasy.
(At least it was only about 10 minutes from me hopping on the bus to hopping back off, but oh those last few minutes…)
<< Go ahead. Make my breakfaast. >>
My neck is itching so bad, I wanna scratch it, wanna scratch it and it’s driving me mad!!!. I wish I could put some anti-itch cream or something on it.
Okay, wifey, just stay out of the damned project already.
I know you introduced me to your husband, who hired me to liaise between him and the publisher to publish his dissertation. He and I discussed and agreed on my hourly rate/duties and time to be billed to date and, not a week later, you email me asking about both. Maybe he didn’t inform you but still, since he feels you’re an integral part of this project, you shouuld have asked him first before starting over at square one.
Also, the thing is riddled with typos and outright errors. He has also agreed that he wants me to proofread the entire manuscript. Why are you asking me what errors I’ve found? There are about 25 in Chapter 1 alone and I’m only halfway through Chapter 2. Even there, I’ve found the data he discussed doesn’t match the table info he has included.
The kicker? He asked me to write the book jacket text instead of him. I do so and he approves of it, though we agree it has to be shortened. I was at about 1,300 characters (it has to be between 800 and 1200). Can you tell why you sent me new jacket text that is now at – get this – 3,777 characters?
Grrrrrr!
Kat, try Sarna, it works for me with my condition and I can’t scratch anymore. Regular (with menthol), instead of sensitive formula is better.
Maybe he is a werewolf.
Ahhhhhhhh oooooooooooo!
The damned window in my Discovery is stuck in the “down” position and won’t go back up. And it’s raining. And the last time this happened (on the other side), it cost about $500 to fix. I suppose I could just do the ghetto “duct tape and a trash bag” thing, but isn’t exactly my style.
Getting it into the garage was… an adventure. No car had ever seen the inside of my garage before.
Why have I magically gotten bronchitis every single year for the past ten except for the two I was insured? At that time I was magically fit as a horse. But no, I have to get it now, for the second time in the season and right in time for my birthday. This isn’t fair, I quit smoking 7 years ago! Goddammit. I feel like shit.
No, I don’t give a fuck how much it’ll increase my parent’s refund if they claim me as a dependent. They’ve spent a few thousand dollars on my tuition in 2008. Everything else I have paid for, or is in the form of loans which are in my name, or I have an agreement with my parents that I will repay.
But no, they still fucking claimed me, so I don’t get my four hundred dollar refund and instead I fucking owe money. Fucking fuckity fuck.
Check the box on your return that says you can’t be claimed as a dependent. If they claim you anyway, that’s on them.
Just some pointless whining about something that’s worrying me. I know billions of people are worse off than I am, but still… I went to the cardiologist last Wednesday afternoon, feeling fine, just a normal 6-month checkup. Heck, I did four miles that very morning and was feeling dandy. He listens to my heart, he listens to my lungs; that’s normal procedure. He tells me it all sounds fine and my blood pressure and resting pulse are both still real good. As I’m about to head out, he tells me to go in on Tuesday the 10th for a 2-D echocardiogram with doppler. I ask what’s wrong and he tells me nothing is and he just wants to see what’s going on in there.
I get home and read up on the test; he’d given me the basics, but I’m too curious for my own damn good. FSM help me, the list of shit he could be looking for is fucking terrifying. And now I’ve been stewing for a few days about it, trying to keep a positive outlook and trying to figure out what I’m going to do if he decides I need a quintuple bypass or something worse. Damn, I eat right, I exercise daily, I take my medication and this shit just keeps happening. It gets frustrating.
It’s not even the kind of test I can study up for. Oh well, in a week or so I’ll find out what’s up and how painful and expensive it’s going to be. IIRC, Seneca the Younger tells us that disappointment and frustration and anger are rooted in irrational optimism, so I’ll expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised if I’m off the hook. I have to go work out and burn off some of this tension now…
It’s possible your doctor is just trying to get a baseline of your healthy self, so he has something to compare you to later, if the worst should happen.
It’s the same reason women have to get mamograms at forty, so later changes are easier to see.
Here! Here!