That is quite unfair on your professor’s part, Dr. Girlfriend. It is his damn own fault for not being respondent. What are you supposed do do about it?
Depends on the size of your…“contribution”…to my comfort and well-being.
I prefer single-malt scotch.
Ohhhh, can I be in charge of fixing idiot pet owners…errr…showing them the error of their ways so that they always fix their pets?
I’d be happy to raid Bill’s stash, I happen to know that there is a 50 year old bottle of single-malt scotch in there, along with other goodies.
I think the German shepherd would sort of overwhelm the freezers of either of my refrigerators… 
Besides, I have horrible memories of my (slightly insane) mother doing something similar. I had a pet iguana, which I “inherited” from my kid sister when she and her husband moved overseas. My sister died while they were still overseas, and several years later, the iguana went the way of all creatures. My mom (bless her heart) decided that it would be brilliant to take the iguana to the taxidermist, and then place him beside my sister’s grave. (Never mind that the silly lizard had lived with me for about 80% of his long-ish and happy life.) So Ma wraps him in newspaper and plastic bags, puts him in the big freezer, and forgets about him. Ten years later, I inherited the freezer from my mother - with the very freezer-burnt iguana still entombed. I gave the silly creature a decent burial finally…
Fortunately, we are back on track with the land purchase, with closing now set for next Friday, so I’m keeping poor old Mojo as comfortable as possible for another week.
And if we’re lobbying for jobs with our new Goddess and Master, what kind of gift would put me on the fast track for Sub-Goddess In Charge of Getting the Fuck Out of the Way of Emergency Vehicles? (Or would that fall under Cat Whisperer’s purview?) In addition my husband’s injury from one of those schmucks who don’t know how to slow down and find the right shoulder when approached by a vehicle running code, the past week has seen six metro Atlanta firefighters injured, and two local EMTs and their patient killed. (Ironically, all three of these wrecks were caused by drivers with CDLs, who presumably know the rules of the road and how to apply them.)
PS - I may need to borrow a wee dram from Bill, flatlined.
I’ll reserve that job for you for a while, but if someone else comes along with a better [del]bribe[/del] contribution…
Sold. I dub thee Pet Protector Minion.
I could be convinced that this is important enough for a separate Minion category.
Dude, what’s that smell? Your breath?! Damn. Did someone drop a deuce in your mouth like 20 minutes ago? No? Surely it’s worth two minutes in the morning to brush your teeth and NOT smell like that. Surely you could at least respect the standard 3-foot personal space rule if not extend it to 5 or 6. Or telecommute.
Based on the reactions of several relatives, friends and coworkers who’ve been told to Go Brush Now, most people can’t smell their own breath. A couple of those knew their mouth/stomach had been bothering them but had no idea it smelled like rot/shit, being told it did got them to finally see a dentist or gastroenterologist. A relatively polite way to do it is to offer a mint or sugar-free gum and, if they reject it, state “it wasn’t an offer;” if they accept, most people will be able to decipher an overly-enthusiastic “thank you!”
I wish my mice would stop getting sick: I have 4 mice, one has an incurable respiratory problem; one has suddenly developed a massive tumour; one got an inner ear infection last year, which didn’t respond to antibiotics, her balance has gone weird and her head’s twisted to one side; and the final mouse is just damn fat, and steals food from the mouths of the others.
Also, and probably more importantly, a hearty fuck you to the Jobcentre- I did not recieve any letters saying I had an appointment with their shitty ‘work programme’ provider, but they’re now trying to make me somehow prove this negative, otherwise I get my benefits cut off for 4 weeks. I can probably just about cope and still pay the rent if they do, but it will mean living off rice, and using the very last scrap of emergency savings I have put aside in case of unexpected bills.
I’m seriously pissed off about being put in this position because the post office can’t deliver a damn letter a distance of around 2 miles, plus the shitty work programme people didn’t bother trying to phone either of the numbers they have, or email me to find out why I hadn’t attended, even after I phoned the useless twats and asked why they hadn’t booked me an appointment yet, and was assured that nothing was on the system. It wasn’t on the system because it was apparenly supposed to be on the previous day.
Just to make it even better, apparently two letters for different appointments were sent, neither of which I received, so even if their arbiter does decide I had a legitimate reason for not being there (which I think they pretty much roll a die to decide, and I don’t know if I have any right of appeal), I’ll be having to go through the same thing for a second time in another two weeks.
If they decide that I’m lying on both counts, incidently, that’s a 6 month sanction, in which case I am truly fucked.
I dislike the fact that a lot of my classmates stink. About half of them smoke, and so they smell like smoke. A few of them also smell like body odour, and one of them smells like a mixture of cigarettes, BO, and sour milk. (I understand why someone would smell like BO and cigarettes, but sour milk? 
)
The worst-smelling guy in my class doesn’t even smoke. He smells like excrement.
Bleh.
Thank goodness I sit in a place in class that’s pretty far away from the bad-smelling people. I sit at a table with one other person, who’s a good friend (and who doesn’t smell.)
(Also, I’m only in class 1 or 2 days a week, as I work the other days.)
Preens happily, now is there a way to change my “Member” tag to reflect that?
Lacunae Matata I really laughed at your story of the frozen lizard.
Bill and I were talking about you and Tony last night in a round about way. When Bill was in the late recovery stage after his heart surgery (at about 70%) , he turned into a whiney assed crybaby. Nothing was good enough, nobody was doing anything right. There were times when I just wanted to bitch slap him. Shut up, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!!
From what he said last night, when he wasn’t in a fog of pain and drugs anymore, he had a lot of time to think about his life and the fact that he was mortal. He was scared and resentful that his body had let him down so badly. When he was back to around 90% he turned back into the man that I love.
Catastrophic medical emergencies don’t just do physical damage, they do mental damage as well.
Not a problem…it has already entered our Secret Family Vocabulary, and I got to use it in public today in front of my mother.
Speaking of which, the foo-KWEEs in charge of the hot bar today at the North Raleigh Whole Foods (the new one) can go suck eggs. They keep breakfast items out on the hot bar until 1 PM or so on weekends, which is fine by me. They were in the process of starting the change-out when I arrived today; the crew had removed seven or eight containers, and two people had come out with a cart full of fresh items. They proceeded to spend fifteen minutes trying to figure out where to place the mac & cheese, pushing the heavily-laden cart from one side of the bar to the other as they debated on the best place for the yellow goo. They finally plunked it down in an empty section, switched out the green beans, then pushed the rest of the fresh stuff right back into the kitchen. :mad: WTF??? There were still plenty of empty spaces. They also collected several of the serving spoons – including the one for the mac & cheese – and failed to bring replacements.
(In case you’re wondering why I bother eating there, it’s convenient, the barbeque is tasty, and they usually have an interesting selection of side items.)
flatlined, you can order a custom title in your user CP under “paid subscriptions”, where you pay for membership.
I’ll take tv programming if it’s still available.
Reality TV just got real.
Very mini-rant, but:
Dear friend,
I love hanging out with you. And I would dearly love to have a double-date with you and your husband. However, when I tell you, “Hey, mind giving me a day or two notice so I can find childcare?” I actually mean that. Because giving me four hours’ notice, then getting pissed at me when I have to say no (again) because our babysitter is not available (she’s got a life, too) is really getting old.
Last night you were even more irritated when, after three weeks of trying to get together to see a movie, I finally went to see the movie you and I wanted to see with our husbands on a night when I was actually able to secure childcare. I gave you a call first, of course, in case you’d be able to make it. But even after me calling you Tuesday and sending a follow up e-mail and finally a text, you finally let me know Saturday afternoon that that didn’t work for you and asked me if I could reschedule the babysitter, who was scheduled to show up in three hours.
Then you got pissed at me for seeing the movie you wanted to see? When you knew we had already purchased tickets (assuming you actually read and/or listened to the messages I sent you)? Really? I appreciate that you have a life. But kids tend to complicate things and our babysitter deserves some notice too, so please try to appreciate that as well.
When you’re done being mad, feel free to call and maybe we can do dinner.
Ciao,
overly
Yesterday afternoon I went to the store and bought ingredients for a cheesecake. I spent a good hour making it, baking it, and several hours chilling it. The one piece of it I had after dinner last night was delicious- just right. The other two people that I live with hogged it all up last night while I was sleeping. I feel very petty for being as angry as I am right now about it, but goddamn those motherfuckers to hell. Damn them!
Two people ate an entire cheese cake in one evening? How much do they weigh??
You let them live?
One of them is a teenaged boy. He altogether had three pieces. I had one. The other person had four, which is literally half the cheesecake. It’s that person that I really hope to burn in hell. He is old and suffers from diabetes and heart disease, and I am beginning to see why. If I ever make another cheesecake again, it’s going into the mini-fridge that lives in my bedroom. I only wanted one more piece and I would have been happy to give them the rest. But no. !!
Am wishing the lactose intolerance symptoms from hell on them. Which is almost worse than death at times. 
Wow. Well, that load of saturated fat on top of heart disease – you may not HAVE to punish him. 
The teenage boy owes you about five hours of hard physical labor, I’d say.