I was in one part of the salon while people were working on the roof of the building, and amongst all the bumping and thumping, we all of a sudden heard a great clatter and ruckus. Somehow the workers on the roof managed to cause the suspended ceiling over about a third of the salon to fall down, bringing live wires with it. The salon ladies were NOT impressed!
ETA: Come to think of it, neither am I - it fell about five feet away from me, over chairs where there was (thankfully) no one sitting at the time.
While I’m happy that nobody got hurt, I must confess that I’m a little disappointed with the story. Where are the women running screaming into the street? Where are the hunky firemen running into the building to save the little old lady who was there to get her hair done for her great grand daughter’s wedding?
What about the hair products falling on the floor and staining the carpets?
Did the salon ladies at least say bad words?
I do have a rant, but it might be a good thing as well. Tony called me and said that he was going to come to our wedding. The formal event that is going to happen in 29 days. For those who don’t know, Tony doesn’t march to the beat of a different drummer. Tony assaulted the drummer, stole the drum, punched his foot through it and then staggered off the field.
We are OK with buying Tony clothes. My Maid of Honor knows that Tony will need someone to watch him and she’s on top of it. I’m the one who will have to drag him to a barber and get his hair cut and I’m the one who will drag him back to his motel room and force him into the shower.
I love the man, but I really don’t think this is something I want to do when everything is snowballing.
The good part is that he’s actually willing to get on a plane. Oh wait, maybe that’s a bad part as well. I can’t put drugs in Tony’s food and then stuff him into a carrier. Anyone have any suggestions as to how I can tip the flight attendants in advance?
I have bronchitis and my second period this month. The old dog is senile and sick and not happy, and we will have him put to sleep Friday and we will miss him so much… but he’s not happy, and we can’t let him be senile and sick and not happy. And my first husband (may Og infest his carpet with fleas) sent me a friend request on Facebook. (Yep, I know we’ve been divorced for 17 years. That’s not really enough time for me to forgive and forget the whole “tried to kill me” thing.)
Does the airline have an “assistance service”? I think most do, nowadays; while you don’t want to sign Tony up for it (he’d freak out), they can be a good point of contact to forward the information to the crew.
One of our groomsmen was also a bit…odd. We assigned a bridesmaid to him for the day leading up to the wedding. Made sure he got haircut and a shave and actually made it to the wedding. She works as an early childhood educator it was a great fit.
Don’t “forgive and forget,” but by all means, DO accept his friend request.
This gives you the ability to bring up his “tried to kill [you]” thing right there on his home page, where all of his current friends can see it. As many times as you want to, and you can use ANY topic at all to shoehorn in an allusion to the event[s].
I suspect that before too long he’ll block you and the problem will have taken care of itself.
Very sorry that you’re having to go through the farewell with your dog right now, but it’s one of the things we dog lovers kinda sign up for when we welcome them into our families.
Hope your current physical ailments go away soon and leave you in comfort.
I wish I could “publicly” accuse the rat bastard on Facebook, but that would negatively affect too many people (our kids in particular,) and I just don’t need any more drama from that man. I’ll just wait for karma to do her work.
And now, just for added fun - we were scheduled to close on a piece of land today. The seller, unfortunately, didn’t get her ducks lined up, and didn’t provide the plat, and there’s an apparent dispute about boundaries and the actual lot size - which we just found out about this morning. (Is it 4.98 acres - per the county? 4.88 acres - per the seller? 4.58? This is critical, because of local ordinances. We can probably get a variance to install a mobile home - until we can afford to build - if it’s really close to 5 acres. If it’s a half-acre short, not so likely.) So the entire sale may fall through…
And we had delayed the K9’s last vet visit until tomorrow, because we were all set to close today, and planned to bury him in a spot on our own land… We can’t delay any longer on poor Mojo, though, so I guess we’ll take him out to the farm after he’s no longer sad and sick and confused.
Now, I really don’t know a lot about cars. But I’m pretty sure that I DO know that when you use the little press-button keychain thingy to lock your car doors from the outside, it is totally NOT NECESSARY to make the horn honk at the same time!* It startles the hell out of me, and it’s so fucking rude.
I hope that all drivers who do that will be sent to a special Hell when they die, a Hell which consists of nothing but a parking lot with a bunch of cars whose horns honk suddenly and loudly at random intervals.
*(Like I said, I don’t know much about cars. If it is, in fact, absolutely necessary to honk the horn when you lock the doors, and it absolutely can’t be avoided, then I retract this rant.)
Depends on the car. On some cars, when you press the lock button once on the key fob, it locks the doors and sets the alarm, thus the honk. On others it locks the doors with one press of the lock button and sets the alarm with a second press. The honk you are hearing is to notify that the alarm is set.
The lazy car drivers want to be able to lock their cars while walking away, and get confirmation aurally, instead of standing there and checking the doors. My car is too old to have one of those, but my partner’s car does that (he bought it used). I supposed the secret to changing the remote’s behavior is somewhere in the doorstop known as the owner’s manual.
While I’m here, a very minor rant about work: we had to take a psychology test at work called, I think, a Predictive Indicator test. It takes all of 5 minutes to take, but that’s not the rant. I hate those kinds of things. They never, ever tell me anything about myself that I don’t already know, and everyone around me already knows. Yes, I’m analytical and socially awkward. I don’t fucking care any more! Stop trying to put me in a box!
In my last apartment, my bedroom was over the neighboring apartment’s garage. One of them would come home in the middle of the night and lock the van. BEEP BEEP. Less than five minutes later the other one would come out to use it. BEEP BEEP. And drive off. 20 minutes later that one is home. BEEP BEEP. The other one goes out to use it. BEEP BEEP. They come back two hours later. BEEP BEEP. All motherfucking night sometimes.
That fucking “Prius for everyone” ad with the awful singing and awful graphics. Makes me want to get the ad team in a room and go all Walder Frey on their asses (if you don’t want Game of Thrones substitute “stabby” for “Walder Frey”).
Oh go fuck yourself subconscious. That dream about a nuclear bomb exploding in the town where I grew up was not a nice thing to do at 4 a.m. My brain is still slightly shuddering in the aftermath of it. And stuff it weather. I have ballet tickets this weekend for the New York City ballet at Lincoln Center. Unfortunately it is supposed to rain like mad that day. So eldest and I shall have to wear our rain clothing and boots instead of heels.
We can’t delay any longer on poor Mojo, though, so I guess we’ll take him out to the farm after he’s no longer sad and sick and confused.