I heard it the other day and my first thought was, “This kid just told this sob story to the clerk and the guy behind him in line paid for the shoes!” It’s a song about a little ripoff artist!
Happy birthday, featherlou. I suggest books, chocolate, spa treatments, shoes…
I left my cats in the care of my brother and his girlfriend once for four days. The day after I left, they went to see some friends, who “talked them into going camping” for the rest of the weekend. That was years ago and I’m still pissed.
Oy, that seriously sucks. My mother had Lyme years ago, when I was little (turns out she got it from a tick bite when we went hiking on her birthday - worst birthday ever for her). I don’t remember specifics, but I do remember her being miserable with it, and on IV strength antibiotics. Your wife has my sympathies.
**Sierra Indigo ** and eleanorigby – Thanks for the ebay and etsy ideas! I’ll definitely poke around and see what turns up. If not, I can always resort to making my espresso brownies with Bailey’s and chocolate double glazing…
To Idlewild, I *did * tell my mother exactly what I thought of it. Stopping short of “that’s the most damnfool idea I ever saw.” I’m guessing she was trying to change things up in her own very special way because my other sibs are not corporate minions of Satan (yo!), or some reasoning like that.
She’s my mother, but there’s reasons all of us ran away from home very fast.
Yesterday I had to be at work before 7am. I was making good time, too, I was only a minute away when I pulled up behind some guy at a stop sign. There was a left turn lane which he was not in and the main lane which he was in you could either go straight or turn right. Going straight is rare because across the road is a dead end road that leads to a business parking lot. There was a guy stopped at the sign in the middle of the main lane looking like he was going to pull across the street. His car was such a big whale that I didn’t dare risk trying to pull around him to turn right and I had previous experience there with idiots who don’t go in the direction their car is aimed. Well, this guy sat there a while then he went in a totally unexpected direction, HE STARTED BACKING UP!
As soon as I saw the back-up lights I started laying on the horn and he finally stopped but still tapped my front bumper. Fortunately it wasn’t hard enough to cause my air bags to deploy. He finished turning around and parked his car on the other side of the road and I saw he was talking on a cell phone. I got out to look at my bumper he gets out still talking on his cell. Amazingly, there was no damage but that didn’t stop me from yelling at him and asking what kind of idiot backs up at a stop sign without looking behind them? He apologized a couple times then got back in his car and drove off, never once stopping his cell phone conversation.
Now on to two local news stations.
The NBC affiliate has an anchor who is retiring after 30 years. So they are constantly showing some of his old news reports, many include him singing songs he wrote. The old clips are some of the stupidest lackluster reports I’ve ever seen. One showed him wrestling a bear (not very PC these days) and another was an old couple bickering while launching their small boat. This was news? I’m sure that in 30 years he’s done some actual news stories that don’t include songs about balloons or boats. These are the most self-aggrandizing bits of dreck I’ve ever seen.
The local ABC affiliate wants to sensationalize the whole Hulk Hogan’s kid’s car accident so they are advertising that they are going to do a story about street racing. They go on to say how dangerous street racing is for the racers as well as everyone else on the street and they are going to show us by actually taking us inside a street-racing car. So why isn’t it just as dangerous for the public when they do it? Does their being reporters mean that they can’t actually kill or injure someone while getting this story? Isn’t it just as illegal if they do it?
Thanks, Dungy. I bought myself a gorgeous bouquet of roses, a birthday pie, and I’m considering my next step. Spa treatment, eh? I think I’m in need of a pedicure.
We have inspections and such regularly, and the policy I cited is available readily in all of our manuals and in the intraweb and internet versions of them, so I’m pretty sure JCAHO is aware of it.
Wipe you use to wipe the counter and has some blood smears on it = trash. Tube broke in container/bag = biohazard. That’s how they teach us, anyway. I always err on the side of safety even if they yell at me for it, though.
OTOH, you wouldn’t believe the amount of fucking retards that send us down syringes of samples with the SHARPS STILL IN THE GODDAMN THINGS. (Yay, now this response is good for minirants also.)
Better than what I did. I had “words” to describe my feelings after having to listen to that song - of the four-letter and inappropriate for children variety. And I wanted to shoot out the radio tower with a bazooka.
Stupid fucking 6th grade science fair projects that are more of a test of the parents than the kids. Guess what - the kids with 2 parents who have time will do great. The kids with 2 parents that can wing it will do well. The kids with one parent who works their tail off will do poorly. This, like many a school project, is why I will proudly say, “I did a great job in 6th grade, and I can not wait until 7th!”
Fuck - at least my kids work panned out. My neice is stuck making power bars with levels of calculation and inference that can ONLY be done by an adult, rather than an 11 year old. She got to spend the entire weekend making fucking power bars, and writing up all ingredients. Her main takeaway - this totally sucks.
I HATE my life and, mostly, everyone and everything in it. But mostly I hate being second-guessed when I make decisions about something that you have the slightest bit of expertise in. My decision has already been made and action has already been taken. Questioning me now only makes me feel like shit. So, thanks, really, for making me feel more shitty than I already do.
Why for the sake of bloody ears do you have to switch your ringer, no, my ringer to play a fucking song when I call your cell phone? I don’t like to be jarred with Nickelback’s newest hit or whatever. I want it to ring, RING DAMNIT!! What’s wrong with you?
Oh my Og, yes! ::looks at oldest daughter:: When I call you, I want to hear your phone ring, not play whatever that “song” is that you’ve chosen.
Dear Boss:
Did I ruin yesterday for you by not being combative at my evaluation? Poor baby. I’m sorry that I didn’t rise to the bait when you threatened to include my “reprimand” from the twunt in my eval. Maybe you didn’t realize I knew that was an empty threat as I have already spoken with HR and found that the content of the reprimand has been determined unacceptable and cannot be included in my file.
As I told you, I no longer care what you put in my evaluations. After talking to your boss, I’m fairly certain I would have to kill all my co-workers and burn down the building to get fired for not getting along with the twunt and her favorite minion. I hope you got a good talking to for your shitty behaviour towards me. We’re all just waiting for you to retire so we can figure out who the new boss will be and whether we will be staying or running away. You are no longer relevant. Neener, neener, neener.
I don’t have whatever it takes on my computer to hear the song, but I did read the lyrics. This made me grateful that I did not have whatever loaded onto my puter. I find this song to be very odd. (and horrid and yucky but mostly odd). The boy is “poor” (have you ever noticed that in the US, “poor” does not really involve not having shoes? Is this child American?). His mother is dying. But rather than being with her, he is out, buying shoes–surely a strange gift for the dying. This is a useless item that she will not benefit from in any way. Nor will she use the shoes in when she parties with Jesus or whatever happens in heaven.
How is he going to put the shoes on her? It’s hard to put on other people’s shoes, especially when that person is lying there, dying. Does he know how to tie? Or are these FMPs? which adds yet another level of weird to this scenario. How did he get to the store? He’s supposed to be about 6 I imagine: old enough to be out alone, but young enough for the “awwww” factor. How will he get the shoes home? Is he sure they’ll fit? Mom’s feet may be swollen from third spacing–common in some terminal conditions. Or they may be too big–dehydration and wasting be other features of the dying.
I could go on…