And one for Jenny and the wimp.
Honestly, it’s more about being in the middle of a fight between my mother and her over what she’s allowed to have. But I do see my mother’s point - it’s one thing for my grandmother to enjoy her last few years bingeing on crap and then die of a heart attack one day. It’s quite another if her legs swell up and get infected and have to amputated, disabling her further rather than outright killing her. And also honestly, my grandma might be trying to play tricks to get tasty foods, or she just might be forgetful. Which is why I’m bitching here and not getting on her case. I have put my foot down though about the list - any arguments about what she can or can’t have I tell her to argue with my mom or her doctor. I just want to buy the stuff and put it away without having to police it too.
I’m slightly claustrophobic, so it’s hard for me to control my irritation when I’m in a small space and people get in the way. I don’t get angry but I do get moody and sarcastic. I sympathize with her, but it’s still irritating to me, whether or not she has a good reason. But I do spend one night a week socializing with her.
I had at one time 5 grandmothers but have only ever had one grandfather. Two are gone now. Two live near me, one of whom I’m close to. My other grandmother and grandfather moved far away, just when I was able to drive to their previous location.
I’m glad I’m not the only one. I’ve thought about an intercom, maybe walkie talkies. But that just opens an while other can of worms doesn’t it.
Well my mom has several of those up her sleeve, but I’ve developed a permanent immunity to them, and most other forms of guilt.
Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if her personality quirks are a symptom of aging or her lung medication or something else. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a clever AI rather than a real person. It’s weird when you’re not sure your Mom would pass a Turing test.
Dearest CoWorker Who Looks Exactly Like Uncle Fester;
I’m so sick of your singsongy voice whenever you try to suck up to coworkers or try to be ‘included’. Your jokes are lame and predictable. Every single day the leaving shift asks if you have any other questions about work. Every single day you ask “send me home?” OH HAHAHA that was funny! And it’s only the 465th time in a row you’ve said it too! It just keeps getting funnier every time!
Stop explaining how our internal processes work to the users! They don’t care if we have to open a ticket then get it approved then send it to the other department blah blah blah they just want their issue resolved. The don’t give two rats asses about how they changed the Windows password schemes to be different than the Novell password schemes. Just STFU and reset the password alright? Stop suggesting a password like ‘crapola’ to users. It sounds painfully unprofessional. You’re 61 for fucks sake! You should know better by now. I mean weren’t you a Unix admin for 10 years? I should know, you tell that story at LEAST twice a week to your captive audience.
And for the love of got get your fucking prostate looked at! When I’m in the handicapped stall doing my constitutional, I don’t want to hear you grunting and making odd sexual noises when you’re trying to take a piss! Just a piss! No man should be that noisy doing bodily functions unless you have a wasabi covered pinecone stuck in your ass and you’re trying to evacuate it.
I find keeping the door open as a sign of openness and friendliness. It’s like saying “I’m here if you want to talk to me or need anything”. You just need to get over your own shyness of not wanting to be seen.
Ask him when he comes out witha straight face “did you enjoy it in there? It sounded like you have a great time”. Although Miss Manners says polite people do not hear sounds coming out of bathrooms.
I hate it when people shout across the house. I hate it when people shout at all.
A lot of people do this too and it drives me nuts. They’re obviously not listening, just paying attention to whatever they’re doing, and they’ll ocassionally nod or say “huh” or “go on” or, the worst, “I’m listening” just to pretend. I just walk away in mid sentence. And if they call me I’ll ask “what did I just say?”. Almost always they have no clue when Y just said. The worst part is I was responsing to what they asked me as I have no interest in talking to them.
I know some women like this. My cousin’s wife is one. The most minor observation is met with a huge act of either joy, anger, sadness or whatever emotion she thinks appropriate. WTF?
Maybe you could make up a master grocery list? I have one myself, which I consult every time I finalize my shopping list. Make sure this list has some tasty treats in it, stuff that she can have without problems. I suggest talking to the aide and asking him/her to make sure that the list gets DONE during his/her visit, just to regard it as another task that does need to be checked off.
If you can afford it, and there’s no allergy issues, buy a bunch of supermarket flowers every now and then on your shopping trips. Most likely, she will be delighted about this.
Being caught between arguing friends or family members is miserable, I agree. I wish I had a real solution for you.
As a user, let me just say YES. I don’t give a shit about how the system works, or what you have to do to get it to work. I just want it to WORK, without me having to fiddle with it. Don’t waste your time and mine by explaining how something works, unless it’s relevant to my use of it. Likely I won’t understand, won’t care, and won’t remember it 30 seconds after you’ve told me. It’s not that I’m particularly dense in this area, it’s that I DON’T CARE. I am glad that there are people who do know and care about how this stuff works. I am not one of them. I just want my computer/system/whatever to work. Please just resolve my issue and I will thank you very nicely and sincerely and maybe send you a lasagna.
The same general principle goes for my car. I just want it to WORK. I don’t care if the frotzinjammer is jammed, just unjam it and let me roll. I don’t want to get into a discussion about pre1971 frotzinjammers, the wingalingabobs that replaced them, and the 1998 legislation that regulated both devices. I just want my car to work so I can get to where I want to go.
Myth?
Yeth. By a mile.
Why do I bother with straight lines if you are just going to screw them up?
Dear co-worker who has shouting arguments with his wife over the phone at work every single day,
I sympathize that you and the wife are having problems. I’m no stranger to relationship troubles myself. I know it sucks. However, the entire office really doesn’t need to hear all the gory details as you shout them into the phone. We rarely speak, other than saying hello to each other in the hall, and yet I know waaaay to much about your marital problems and your sex life (or lack thereof).
Bitch At The Protein Shake Counter At My Gym:
From the first time I visited your little corner of the floor, I was smiling, pleasant, ordered with manners, said please, thank you, and goodbye when the transaction was completed. You were surly, rude, and silent. But it appears you are only that way with me. With other customers, you smile, engage in friendly chit-chat, give a little ‘here you go’ when you hand over their shake, and here’s the biggie- you thank them after the transaction. Which is sort of how it should be.
But with me, all I get is stoney-faced silence and a feeling that I’m taking you away from the cartoons you’re trying to read, or whatever it is you do most of the day.
So, what the fuck? I’ve been nothing but polite to you. If you’re holding out until I put a buck in the enormous tip jar on the counter, you obviously don’t understand the transaction/tip process. If you’re waiting until I show you some interest and flirt with you like all the other juice-heads in the place, get over yourself, sweetheart. You ain’t all that.
Bitch.
I would change that second bit to none of which have to do with you. Unless she’s the one who needs breastfeeding, what a mother does is none of her business. And the fact that she’s never even had kids and feels compelled to judge others makes her in need of a second smack-down, I think. (And I’m pretty rabidly pro-breastfeeding…for me and my own kids and my own breasts).
I’m pretty much on board with all this, but I admit to being amused that this:
closely follows this:
(Enter beautiful waitress from behind billboard): “Yes?”
Kermit: No, wrong myth.
(Exit waitress).
Is that what you were looking for?
A thousand times, yes. Texting is teh ghey.
It also makes people deaf and blind. I have to watch very carefully when driving around campus (I teach at one) so I don’t hit students who bounce right out in front of oncoming traffic because they can’t peel their eyes away from the phone for one freaking second to see if there are cars coming.
To several of the students in one of my classes: As I told you last week, you really need to grow the fuck up and get some manners. You have no business chattering while I’m talking or while your classmates are trying to participate in educational matters that apparently don’t concern you. When I threatened to boot some of you out of class and report the disruption, I wasn’t bluffing. You’ve been better lately, but how long will it last?
To a friend of mine: I am right on the verge of telling you how sick I am of your constant whining and complaining about things that are pretty much all your own fault, your endless self-imposed martyrdom, behaving like a pauper even though you’re loaded, and doing nothing about your compulsive hoarding or your dying appliances, or your serious and very dangerous plumbing and electrical issues. You won’t see a doctor but want to whine about a sore foot or some other issue. You won’t exercise or eat right and then complain about being 50-60 lbs. overweight.
I’m also tired of you acting like a toddler instead of a middle-aged person, which you are–if only chronologically. Every other week, you report that so-and-so (it could be anyone) said something mean, berated you, reduced you to tears, made you cry, hurt your feelings, and so on. Tell them to go fuck themselves, but don’t dissolve into a ball of tears and then act like a child who’s been slighted on the playground.
I don’t want to travel with you anymore. You make everyone late when we’re on a bus trip, make everyone look at all your stupid photos, tell total strangers about your personal problems because I don’t give you enough sympathy, take forever in the shower, and yammer too much. I would pay for a separate room, but since you won’t do the same, I’m stuck with you in close quarters.
Quit griping about your assistant. The fact that he doesn’t respond to your drama and feed your sympathy addiction should tell you that he doesn’t want to hear it from you. I’m sure he thinks you’re insane, and he must be sorry he ever took the job. You picked him out and fought for him because you can’t bear the idea of a female assistant taking the male co-workers’ attention away from you…and now you’re pissed because he doesn’t fuss over you.
And I don’t dare tell you any of the above because it will hurt your widdle feewings and then you’ll whine and cry to anyone you can find about how mean I am.
Dear roomie/sister:
I’m at the end of my rope with you. No, the place doesn’t have to be spotless and cleaned everyday. No i have no problem with it being a mess. I just can’t stand the fucking mold built up and stench coming from the dirty dishes sitting in the sink for the past fucking week (everyweek). I clean up after myself and wash after too. You don’t do much on any of the other things that you agreed were your responsibility.
I have asked you. Confronted you. Suggested that you do a little bit every other day, even not the whole overwhelming chore at once. I am not your fucking maid. You are 30 years old, not a child. You are older than me. Act like it!
I am just as exhausted as you, coming home from work, yet i do my part. You still find the energy to go to the gym 4 times a week, go out all nighters with your friends Fridays ad the weekends. Social life and pass times are great to get your frustration out, i know that. You are not too tired to do them though, then you are in reality not as tired as you claim.
We are siblings, that in itself does not give you the permission to take me for granted. Fuck you.
I know her. She used to be my roommate. For your own sanity, RUN AWAY.
OK. My turn.
Psychotic receptionist at my new doctor’s office: You’ve made it exceptionally clear in the three times we’ve spoken that you dislike me intensely. I have no idea why. Maybe you hate Americans. Maybe you hate my flannel shirt. Maybe you hate thirty-something American women with long black hair and flannel shirts. Maybe you just hate me. Whatever. Can’t you at least try to be professional?
Our first conversation:
Me: I just moved into the area. Here’s my registration for this surgery. Also, I need an urgent appointment.
You: (snatching registration form from me) The earliest appointment I have is on Tuesday. (This is 5 days away.)
Me: I really need to see someone sooner than that. Don’t you have any emergency appointments available today?
You: Yes, but they’re for registered patients.
Me: And I’ve just registered. Isn’t there any way I can be seen today?
You: Come back tomorrow at 8 am.
Me: So… to be seen today, I need to come back here tomorrow.
You: Yes. If you’ll excuse me, I have registered patients to help.
Later that day I received a phone call telling me I’d neglected to sign one of my registration forms and should return to do so. I did, only to be dazzled by your charm once again:
Me: I dropped off my registration form today and forgot to sign something.
You: Your name?
Me: Lyanthya Murphy,
You: (Disappears for about 20 minutes, then returns empty-handed.) You still here?
Me: I seem to be.
You: What for?
Me: I need to sign my registration form.
You: Oh. Your form is lost. Can’t find it anywhere. Besides, you need two forms of ID to register.
Me: What sort of ID?
You: TWO FORMS of ID!
Me: Yes, what sort of ID do you accept?
You: Passport and a driver’s license.
Me: I don’t have a driver’s license
You: Well, find something! You need TWO FORMS OF ID!
Me: OK, fine. (I turn and start walking towards the door.)
You: (Shrieking after me) TWO FORMS OF ID!
After two days, I managed to complete my registration and make an appointment. Which led to encounter #3:
Me: I have an appointment with Dr. Lecter.
You: Name? Date of birth?
Me: Lyanthya Murphy, 07/12/1972
You: You have an appointment with the NURSE, not the doctor.
Me: No, I asked for a doctor’s appointment, and my appointment card says Dr McLellan.
You: NO! You have an appointment with the NURSE!*
Of course, this is what happened when I saw the nurse:
Nurse: How can I help you?
Me: I just moved here, and I have ongoing prescriptions that I need to have transferred here from my former doctor.
Nurse: I can’t help you with that. You need to see a doctor for that.
Me: I thought I had made a doctor’s appointment, and here–(I show her my appointment card)–it says “Dr. Lecter”, but the receptionist said my appointment was with you.
Nurse: Hm. (Checks database). You’re right, you’re supposed to see Dr. Lecter.
So, you saggy, wrinkled old crone, why don’t you go stick your head in the toilet until your manners are fit to be seen elsewhere?
*Name changed to protect the guilty.
Hard to do, since I’ve known her 20+ years. However, I and a mutual friend (whom she’s known since infancy) are about to tip right over the edge.
Dear fellow guild officer,
I’m sorry you had a bad day. Truly I am. I like you, and I hope that your day is better tomorrow. But please, kindly refrain from alternating between biting my head off and snarking at me for perfectly innocent comments and observations of the type that I make all the time (without similar negative responses). Given that I had no way to know you had a bad day before you told me, maybe you should consider that I and your fellow officers had no contribution to your bad day and shouldn’t have it taken out on us. If you’re tired and in a bad mood, perhaps you should either not log on at that point, or turn down the invitation to join the raid, citing said bad mood and temporary condition of acute-onset pissiness.
Here’s hoping things are back to normal tomorrow.
Best,
–winterhawk11
Ouch. One thing that sometimes helped with my former roommate was telling her that she could only wail and moan about how everyone in the whole world had done her wrong on Wednesdays after 4 pm. Otherwise I refused to listen, because I actually did have a life of my own and I didn’t want it to revolve around her.
It might be worth a try.