Ugh, eyesight problems alone can really make life miserable. You have my sympathy.
One word:Milkman
YOu know, I’ve thought about that, and I don’t even know if they do milk deliveries any more, or who to contact about it. And then there’s the whole “milk freezing on the porch” thing.
I’m not sure where you are located, but many places have it, more than you’d think. They put the cartons in an insulated container, if you don’t want him to directly put it in your fridge. It is minimally higher priced, less than $.25 a gallon for sure, and I more than save on trips to the grocery store. Well worth it, and my milkman is a great guy He also delivers a wide variety of other items, cheese, juice, etc. Another option is a grocery delivery service, like Simon Delivers, but I’m not sure if there is a delivery charge.
We go through a lot of milk with 5 kids, but if for some reason there is a lot left over from the week before, he adjusts what he delivers. I’ve been doing it for about 10 years, and I really can’t say enough good things about it.
I posted this link to a lolcat I made all special like for the “Heroes” thread and got NO response! Not even a courtesy reacharound “heh” comment, NOTHIN’! I realize it’s not the most gut bustin’, side splittin’ ten tons o’fun item in the world but I did take a little time and effort and I’d like a little bit of appreciation, sheesh…
Hey boss! I’m the office manager, remember? I don’t know how to make large web based corporations give us more business, I just manage what we have, y’know? You’re the marketing guy–this is your bailiwick! Shit, at least give me a direction to follow, some idea of what you want to accomplish, some avenue of attack! I don’t have fifteen years experience in this business the way you do, I don’t have your resources, and if you want “something to happen” then somebody needs to “do something” and right now that person is YOU!
Hey there, motherfucker in the lane that has the big sign saying “lane ends, merge right,” guess what? YOUR LANE IS GOING AWAY, AND IT’S YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO MAKE SURE YOU CAN GET OVER INTO THE RIGHT LANE. This does not mean “passive-aggressively maintain speed right next to my vehicle without signalling and ignore the narrowing of the roadway because of course everyone just has to get out of your way automatically,” it means “signal, look for an opening and GET THE FUCK OVER SAFELY!” This is happening way too often and pretty soon I’m just going to sideswipe one of you fucktards so the nice cop that comes can give you a lovely lecture on YOUR responsibility to arrange your own merge without compromising the safety of everyone around you. Considering that you assholes are doing this ON BRIDGES where a wreck will hold up traffic for HOURS I’d say that an impromptu taser demonstration using you for the subject would, in this case only, be COMPLETELY justifiable.
I’ll support you on this, if I can get your support to dealing with those passive-aggressive asshole idiots who change speed to match my changes when I try to adjust my speed to get ahead (or more usually behind) them so I can merge.
I’m so glad that I managed to be late for Thanksgiving dinner at my in-laws’ house. My family doesn’t do that shit. (I’m thankful that K-Mart and Hot Wheels always have an event on the Saturday after Thanksgiving!)
Now, my venting, inspired by the Starbucks water thread:
My family (plus in-laws) vacationed in Hawaii this fall, and my wife and I went out for dinner alone together one night. The restaurant we had planned to go to was closed, so we wound up at Hard Rock Cafe. We decided to get a pair of souvenir glasses–“Hey, why not? They don’t add much to the price of the beer…” When they arrived, they had the HRC logo and location as expected, but also “Save The Planet”. WTF does that even mean? Does it fit in with a hard rock philosophy? It sounds like something that a grade-schooler would mindlessly parrot, and I don’t want it on my souvenir.
A hearty “fuck you” to the guy who pulled a knife on me at 4:48 p.m. at the Old Town trolley station today. Why did he do so, you may well ask? Because his fat, loud, pushy sister refused to wait for people to get off of the very full train before she got on, and I told her to do so.
To paint a fuller picture: this is one of the “new” trolley cars, where bicycles have to be in the middle, basically getting in everyone’s way. I had a bicycle, and everyone else had the choice of waiting for me to move or using one of the other three doors. Letting everyone who is leaving get off, and then everyone who is waiting get on, that is the most sensible way to make it work for everyone. The brassy woman was so eager to get on that she was literally shoving me out of the way so she could climb around my bicycle’s tires, which seems unnecessarily aggressive and unfair to the people behind me who were getting hit with filthy bicycle parts.
Yes, I was less polite than I should have been. I didn’t swear, but I did lecture: not my place, not helpful. I know. I’m not the transit police and I’m not in charge of teaching the world manners. All right, I’ll say it, I was rude. But mild-mannered, standing-up-for-civilization rude. Fuck you for escalating it, fuck you for scaring me, fuck you for reinforcing the stereotype of the young black thug, and fuck you for not pausing three seconds to think about the whole situation. And fuck your sister for her ridiculous sense of entitlement and the stupid notion that an extra thirty seconds on a trolley car that isn’t leaving for another five minutes would make a difference.
(And a mild “fuck you” to everyone who witnessed the scene but did nothing, and also a genuine thank you to Young Thug’s friends who prevented any actual violence. Why are you hanging out with this loser?)
Thankyouthankyouthankyou, MetroNorth R.R., for leaving 3 people fuming on the platform while a 9:20 train just sat still, not opening any doors, then took off. All because no train personnel could be troubled to look out a friggn window just before departure, as one of you almost always does.
you know what really pisses me off? I posted a whole thing about my neighbor ruining my Zen of snow shoveling this morning–and now I can’t find it–because this place won’t let me search a three letter word. The other terms I used in the post, snow, shovel, diesel engine all come up empty. So, I’m either not searching right or it didn’t post (or it’s in an incorrect thread which is embarrassing). Grrrrr.
Cripes. found it. <slinks away>
No problem, those fucktards will be second against the wall when I AM EMPRESS!! Closely followed by left lane traffic monitors. After that comes the weeny little pissants who can’t manage to get across thirty feet of street in less than a minute and a half so they siiiiiiiiiiiiit theeerrrrrrre foooooorrrrr hoooouurrrrsssssss waiting for just that perfect half mile window of complete solitude so they can widdle across the street–completely oblivious to the half mile of backed up traffic behind them, all of whom would also like to get across that street sometime today. After that comes the fools who always slow down by fifteen miles an hour because their cell phone went off who then wamble all over the road because it’s too tough to have phone sex with grandma and still drive a car. I could go on for hours but it’s all been done before I fear…
A co-worker told me yesterday that the holes in the ozone layer are caused by the space shuttle poking holes through it every time it launches and lands. I didn’t think to ask him whether or not the aliens that are constantly visiting us are doing the same. This after he told me that if you put four alternators on an engine running on one volt, you could get four volts back and build a perpetual motion machine. :eek: I’m really glad that I’m done in a week.
Old hat, I know, but criminals really need to find a better line than “I made a bad choice”.
" Telling him, “Not even the collar can protect you from prison,” Judge Janet Bond Arterton ordered a 37-month sentence Tuesday for the Rev. Michael Jude Fay, the Roman Catholic priest who admitted pilfering $1.3 million from the church he had led in Darien…The priest said he was “deeply sorry for this whole situation,” and added, his voice filling the chamber, “I accept full responsibility for my bad choices.”
You didn’t make “bad choices”, you committed a crime, and it may be time to consider whether you are, in fact, a bad person.
Oh, and the cliches did not end there for Rev. Fay.
He continued: “Do not send me to prison. I am already in prison.”
Four walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage, it is true. But look at it this way; you now have the opportunity to perform a few good works in the joint.
Thank you, oh wonderful DC area drivers, for reminding me how utterly incapable you are of dealing with winter precipitation. Oh my God, it snowed two whole inches!
Obviously this means that traffic must become a massive panic-fest in which we a) drive at approximately 3 mph so we don’t get salt spray on our blindness-inducing spinner hubcaps or b) speed like an Indy 500 driver because our massive truck/SUV/Hummer has four-wheel drive, which makes us impervious to black ice and slush. Hey, I’m not the greatest driver. But I grew up here, and even in the land of little snow and school closings for even the hint of precipitation, I know how to handle my car on icy roads. It doesn’t involve speeding.
And a hint to the asshole who tailgated me for three miles when I was trying to do a respectable 5mph over the limit: YOUR FUCKING TRUCK DOES NOT MAKE YOU IMPERVIOUS TO ICE, NUMBSKULL. Get away from my car before I get out at the next stoplight and smash your grill in with my rock hammer.
To the bitchface at the supermarket:
Hi! You see me, standing in the waiting area for the self-scanners? Yeah, the one with the pile of bulky items in her arms, that I have been adjusting while waiting, so as to keep my arm from falling off? I can totally see how me standing there, where I was supposed to wait, would suggest that you and your one pair of elastic waisted velour pants should run right past me to the next open checkout. I mean, wow, waiting in line is for peasants.
Also, to the girl at the end scanner: You were scanning your last item as I walked up, leading me to say a silent (and misguided) word of thanks to the fates. Those words quickly changed tone to annoyance and then curses as your proceeded to spend the next five (no joke) minutes paying your entire bill in change. This, under other circumstances, would have amused me, especially with the Coinstar machine in the background. When my arms are falling off, my sense of humor dies quickly.
To my apartment-mate across the landing: You know what is more annoying than listening to two hour long conversations where over 50% of the content is “honey”, “baby”, “sweetie” or other endearments? Listening to them on fucking Nextel walkie-talkie mode.
Putting steak and cheese on bread does not make it a “cheese and steak sub”, you numbnuts. If it’s cheese melted on steak on bread, it is a cheesesteak. If it is some other combination of food items on a long, baguette-shaped roll, it is a hoagie.
To clarify: This is a sub. This is a hoagie. And this is a cheesesteak. Understand?
(hell if I know why this bothered me when I saw it in the cafeteria. I don’t eat cheesteak anymore, and I can’t very well expect the cafeteria staff [who are all Mexican immigrants] to know, but still, dammit. Cheesesteak is one of very few good things that’s come out of Philly since the Constitution. Stop screwing it up.)
If I can hear what you’re listening to on your MP3 player in the library, then your MP3 player is probably too loud. Far be it from me to criticize another Cure fan, but jayzus.
Minor, but annoying as hell. I went into TCBY earlier this week and as I was leaving I saw one of their posters on the wall. It was one of their ice cream cake desserts with the caption “Have your cake and eat it to”
Yep. ‘To’. Not ‘too’.
How much did they spend designing and printing those without getting them proofread?
Gah. It even hurts my eyes to see it here in the pit.
There are three dumpsters in our building’s garbage room.
The dumpster closest to the door is full.
Instead of using the other two dumpsters, which are literally one step away …
… people have started piling garbage around the first dumpster.
FUCKING MORONS.
Last week the KG teacher sent a note home about sending paper trees for you and you child to decorate together, then send it back in for her to hang in the hallway.
I gathered up supplies, and bought a few things that I knew I would need.
Last night my sister (Whose son is in the same class) calls and demands that I let her borrow my green glitter.
Bwuh? I say? How are you going to borrow my glitter?
Fuck off, says she, just have it ready for mom to pick up tomorrow on her way home.
Fuck off, says I, they do sell glitter at Wal-Mart you know.
She hangs up on me.
So I call her back later. I ask if she would like kelly green glitter, emerald green glitter, spring green glitter, or pine green glitter.
Whatever, says she, any green will do. You have enough.
See, now wait a minute. Just because I am crafty as hell, first off doesn’t mean that I am the borrow a supply person. Fuck, a tube of glitter at Wal-Mart is less than a buck. And second of all, I called back and was a smart ass, sure, but I have a massive glitter supply and have several shades of green. What kind of fucking green glitter would please you rotten bitch?
I hate how everything has to be a competition with her. My daughter’s tree was mostly decorated by her, with minimal help from me. No fucking glitter. She was happy with her Christmas foam stickers, some gold rick rack, and shiny green and red pon poms.
The glitter is mine, mine, MINE!