My husband’s still in hospital. That means I won’t be able to go in to see him until after 1700, and because I have to leave to get home in time to get to bed at a decent hour (yay wakeup time of 0500) means I’ll only get a couple of hours with him.
Plus people are going to ask. “Is he okay?” “What’s going on?” “Is he okay?” “What have the doctors said?”.
It’s concern for his health and for us, but fuckit. I just don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t ask me questions. Let me get on with my work, do my stuff and get out of here as quickly and painlessly as possible.
If our profiles weren’t tied to the desktop machines we use (semi-roaming profile. It keeps all your programmes in place, but all of your settings have to be re-set every time you change machines), I’d ask to be put away in a spare office, away from everyone for the day. I just don’t want to have to deal with it at the moment.
I wish! Too bad the worst has already happened a few times already. I’m about due for another one, so he’s probably checking if we should intervene ahead of time. In the interim, I just have to keep busy to avoid worrying myself into a panic attack. I did that once several years ago, and thought it was another heart attack. That was embarrasing.
You guys are making my mini-rant seem really insignificant.
I have 139 songs left to burn to finish burning my faves to cds to play in the car - I went to WalMart and got another shitload of blank cds (exactly the same as the first 50 that I burned), and these ones won’t burn on my computer. Heavy sigh. What now? Is my computer being stupid? Are the disks (all 50 of them - I’ve tried three now) defective? I just wanted to finish my project and get on with my life, but nooooooooo, I’ve got to run back to WalMart again.
To the deli meat slicers – yes, all of you: I asked for a pound of hot Genoa salami, shaved. That means that I want 454 grams – or near enough – of hot Genoa salami, shaved. I like it shaved because it’s easier to eat and easier to cut, Genoa being a fairly tough meat and all in the context of a sammich. But never mind that. One pound of hot Genoa salami, shaved. That’s about as straight forward as I can make it, right? So when I ask for a pound of hot Genoa salami, shaved, please do not:
Slice half a pound and then ask me if that’s enough or if I want more.
Slice three-quarters of a pound and then ask me if that’s enough or if I want more.
Slice 400g ask ask me if that’s enough or if I want more BECAUSE I ASKED FOR A FULL FUCKING POUND ALREADY. Your tactic of trying to get me fed up and just agreeing to a lesser amount is transparent and annoying.
Comment on how odd you think the concept of shaved salami is, even if you couch it in terms that make it seem like it’s intriguing. This is just as transparent as stopping before the full weight is cut and asking if that’s enough.
Push harder on the plunger as you slice to compress the meat through the blade with each cut. Do you know what that does? It makes thicker cuts. Thicker is not shaved. I did not ask for thin slices. I asked for shaved.
Sigh heavily half way through cutting the meat, and then at every 50g mark thereafter.
Look, I know Genoa salami is a tough cut. It’s a firm meat with a small diameter, so you have to make a lot of cuts to make a pound of it shaved. I know you probably cringe when you see me come in and pray I won’t order more Genoa. But guess what? It’s your fucking job. Get over it.
God DAMN IT! I finally have enough money for a dog, I found the perfect 9 month old rescue dog within the weight limits, and the realty company refuses to allow more dogs into the property. It seems that in other complexes they had problems with dog owners, so now they are creating a “canine-free” realty company.
So now I pit the realty company and the irresponsible dog owners who fucked it up for me. I have wanted a dog for almost 4 years, looking around and saving up. Now I find the perfect dog at a great time in my life, and I can’t adopt him.
Thank god my lease is up in three months, I am so out of here. Fucking cocksuckers, all of them.
I hate my upstairs neighbors. Seems gal neighbor has a new boyfriend who likes to turn on the bathroom fan at odd times and keep it on for a really, really long time. Once I swear got a strong whiff of ammonia, one time I got air-freshener, one time I think just cigarette smoke right after he turns on that damn fan. Whatever you’re doing in there, why don’t you take it out to your balcony, outside???
Please god, let the ammonia be a perm and not something more nefarious.
Your retching last night, that was a fun thing to wake up to. Then having my apartment smell like shit? That was fun, too. Seriously, the aroma of poo wafting thru my bedroom at good knows what hour as I’m trying to sleep.
You guys are a blast! Can’t wait til you get kicked out!
(Also, why is the lock on our security door taped open?)
We’re chained to our house on Monday nights because of the few things we watch religiously, three of them are on at the same time Monday night. Hey, network programmers - if you actually want people to watch your shows, maybe don’t put them all on at the same time! Yeah, I know, it’s a lost cause - they don’t want us watching, they just want to beat the competition. Idiots.
Goddamn corporate number crunchers! I will try to make this short and coherent, but I have some ‘splainin’ to do to make it understandable.
My husband is an IT peon for The Devil, Inc. Like all employees, he is eligible for a yearly bonus. The base bonus is 5% of his yearly pay, but how much of that he gets is based on how close The Devil, Inc. gets to the yearly goals that are determined by some Upper Demons. When those Demons projected the goals for the 2008 fiscal year, they KNEW that there was no way in hell the company was going to be able to meet those goals, but didn’t want to seem pessimistic. And here’s what really pisses me off - my husband’s job has NOTHING to do with these goals. He’s an IT peon - he gives new employees computers, replaces/fixes broken hardware, crawls around on the floor, etc. He has nothing to do with profit margins, customer retention, customer satisfaction, etc. NOTHING! So basically his bonus is determined by the performance of other parts of the company. And because the Upper Demons screwed the pooch last year, my husband will be lucky to get 5% of his base bonus.
If his bonus was based on his personal job performance, he would get 100% of his base bonus, if not more. He’s been there for almost three years, and has always received exemplary reviews, and has his praises sung by everyone he supports (except for one mean nasty bitch who yelled at him in front of some coworkers and made him cry - she got fired).
Here’s an example: we’ll use a yearly income of $45k, which is close. So his base bonus (5% of gross pay) is $2250. Last year, he got like 85% of that, which is about $1900. After taxes, still not a paltry sum. This year, it’s more like $113 BEFORE taxes. So maybe we can go to dinner at Applebee’s. Fuckin’ bastards.
For the love of ever loving Jesus Mother Fucking Christ God Almighty, STOP SAYING “LIKE”!
Can you not hear yourself saying it every third fucking word!? Quit ruining the word for those who’d “like” to use the word appropriately. Is the depth of your communication skills or your intellectual capacity so shallow that you have to use that word so insanely often?
What!? You’re an English student!? OM Fucking G!
I’m going to end up in prison soon if these (quote-unquote) college students don’t stop using–err–abusing “like.”
This is just about as mini as they get, but it bugs me every so often - people using the word “butter” interchangeably for butter or margarine. I don’t eat margarine; if I’m going to eat something as bad for me as butter or margarine, it’s going to be yummy butter only. Getting margarine when asked if I would like butter is not acceptable, and I don’t want to waste good fat calories on that pale yellow, weak-ass shit (sandwich makers of the world, I’m looking at you). If the choice is “margarine or nothing,” I’ll take “nothing” every time, but don’t fake me out by pretending to provide butter when it’s just margarine.
I don’t know if it’s possible to threadshit a Pit thread, but just in case, I’ll put this here instead.
Anyone whose post in this thread was made in anything other than jest is hereby cordially invited to suck my hairy nutsack long, hard and slowly. If one tenth of all self-righteous judgemental fucksticks spent less time figuring out ways to declare themselves better than everyone else and more time striving toward introspection and actual self-improvement, the world would be a relative goddamned utopia by now.
Yeah, I have my prejudices too, and I’m sure I care about a good amount of stupid shit that isn’t worth it, but that’s my fucking fault, not anyone else’s. I’ve spent years making a continual effort to counteract that sort of bullshit destructive thinking when I find it in myself, and reading about people reveling in it in a thread designed to glorify this baseless, idiotic pretention pisses me right the fuck off.
To the guy at work: Your new cologne/aftershave/what have you makes you smell like a rummy. Please get rid of it.
To the girl working on a speech: You’re doing a report on OCD. Of course you’re going to get psychological papers when you look it up! It’s a psychological disorder! What the hell did you think it was?
To the library catalog: You had to pick now to crash, didn’t you? You couldn’t have waited just one more hour so I would be home and not fielding questions here? Now I’m going to spend the next hour answering 500,000 complaints about why is the catalog down (it does that sometimes), when will it be back up (tomorrow most likely), but I need to search for something now (tough shit, the IT people are human like the rest of us. They know and they’re working as fast as they can.), wah wah wah (bite me).
I checked! Honest!