Let’s talk about those ridiculous outdoor attention getters that you see on the sidewalk outside stores and small businesses. I’m talking specifically about the ones that consist of a human mascot or effigy painted onto a Dacron tube with arms, which is repeatedly blown up by a gas powered blower. The idea is that it’s supposed to look like a person jumping up and waving his arms to grab your attention.
Well guess what. It doesn’t look like an excited person. It looks like an excited penis. A penis with arms. And, after several weeks with the dirty diesel-fumed air wafting through it, like a dirty excited penis with arms.
I’m so sick of my kitten Maggie knocking things off of my dresser and vanity. I just bought a brand new tube of lipstick, in my favorite shade. I really needed this, and was happy to finally have found it.
Except this morning, when I went to put on my make up, it was nowhere to be found. Then I remembered yelling at Maggie vaguely very early this morning for knocking stuff off of the vanity. She must have knocked the tube around playing with it, and I searched all over my room and couldn’t find it. It’s either hidden somewhere I can’t find it, or knocked down into the furnace vent. A brand new tube. I just bought it. Dammit.
Damn fucking weather-one week it’s warm enough for shorts, fans and open windows. Then, this week, it’s snowing. Snowing. On April fucking 24th. What the FUCK, Mother Nature, you goddamn crackwhore.
Yo, coworker #1 (and the other four idiots participating in what appears to be nothing more than a group circlejerk). In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a stairwell. Stairwells are generally intended for people to walk up and down when going from one floor to another. They are NOT MEETING PLACES - we have groovy cool rooms for that - they are called CONFERENCE ROOMS. I might even go so far as to guess, considering how many groovy cool gadgets y’all have hanging off your belts, that you are important enough to have - eeeek - get ready for it - OFFICES you could meet in! Now get the FUCK out my way and out of my stairwell - I would LIKE to get to my office.
Coworker #2 - nice scent - must you MARINATE IN IT? YES, I am going to work at home the rest of the day - your cologne has given me a migraine. By the way NO, it is none of your business - what I do at home and when I work from home is between my boss and I - and you, not being my boss or in any way, shape, or form related to what I do or who I report to, have nothing to say about it. Get bent and get out of my office.
Husband #1 - well that’s kind of redundant but what the hell - you had BETTER not give me any shit when you pick me up about how I folded your damn laundry anymore - you leave it on the dining room table for crying out loud - you don’t even bother to put it AWAY - either say THANK YOU or DO IT YOUR OWN DAMN SELF. I am perfectly content to leave it in a pile on top of the damn dryer - if your PMS (permanent male suffering) doesn’t ratchet it down a notch or two, you could earn yourself the designation of husband who sleeps on the couch. Try me.
Do I feel better? No. I’m having a really bad day.
To certain posters on a board that shall be nameless, but has a lot of talk about American Idol:
I know that there is a website called votefortheworst.com. I knew about it last season. If I hadn’t, I still would have seen one of the twenty-fucking-five* links that has already been posted. Stop fucking popping into every thread that even tangentially mentions Scott Savol and saying, “Hey guys, do you know about this? [link]” Especially when three different posts on the same page already fucking mentioned it.
*I don’t know exactly how many times it’s been linked. I just know it’s a fucking lot.
Oh fucking hell. What’s up with posting too early, huh? And secondly, what’s up with my stupid inappropriate unobtainable crush? How did this happen? Get out of my head!
Customers. Shut up about The DaVinci Code. Shut up. It’s not a good book. No, really. It’s got some interesting ideas, but no, it’s not original. Stop fucking buying it! Don’t tell me how good it is. Don’t buy the rest of his novels. Don’t return The Line of Beauty because ‘it’s just disgusting sex’. DON’T YOU DARE think that Lucky is the sequel to The Lovely Bones, it says so RIGHT ON THE FUCKING COVER that it’s autobiographical. The COVER, for the love of god. If it was a sequel we’d put it NEXT to The Lovely Bones in Fiction, not way the hell down the back of the shop in NON-FICTION.
Mostly I’m pissed at this stupid crush. Stupid brain.
Amen to that. If I hear one more person tell me about how good and how ‘groundbreaking’ that book was then I’m going to break some ground myself. With their head.
Also, tech support rant. If I ask you what’s happening when you try to get online, don’t tell me what your friend’s brother’s cousin’s best friend Jeff who is studying computer science at uni told you might be wrong with OUR server. I will decide if the problem is on your end or ours, and then I will tell you what we’re going to try and do to fix it! If Jeff is so damned knowledgeable that you’re going to take his word as gospel, then get him to fix it for you.
I hereby pit cups and glasses that have dishwasher water pooling rims around their bases.
([sub]Is it so tough to figure out that that’s a bad idea?[/sub]
Just because your cell phone rings does not mean you are compelled to answer it. It’s OK to let it ring through to your voice mail if you are otherwise occupied. For instance, standing at a urinal in a crowded bathroom at a lacrosse game (or any sporting event, really) is a good place not to answer your cell phone.
In addition, if you do in fact feel compelled to answer it, it is not neccesary to announce to your caller, and the rest of the bathroom, what you are doing at the moment. Starting off a conversation with, “What do you want, I’ve got my dick in my hand?” is not good phone etiquette. Stop acting like your caller is incoveniencing you by happening to call at this time – see above, it’s your choice whether or not to answer your phone.
Finally, if you find that the poor reception on your phone – you’re in a goddamn concrete bunker inside another giant concrete facility – makes it so that your caller does not hear your astonishing breach of manners, you should not take it upon yourself to repeat your error, louder, or continue to make this remark upon leaving the bathroom, as no one else want to hear you yell this either.
On a non “dick-in-my-hand” note, I understand, dear broadband company, that you are upset that I have cancelled your service. However, tonight offered an illustration of why I did cancel with you. After navigating through your idiotic voice recognition software, including repeating a phone number that didn’t actually seem to be sent to the operator I was connected to, I was told that the waybill number for the modem I was returning could not be accepted because all the internet staff was off, five minutes after I made the call. Why, exactly, could you not note this on my account? It’s ridculous bureaucratic crap like this that’s why you’re shedding market share, not just on internet, but to the digital phone people, too.
“Let’s get this cat litter,” Says my husband, He Who Has Not Scooped the Poop. “It’s $2 cheaper than the Brand we usually get.”
“But, it’s not broke, why fix it?” Says I, Scooper of the Poop.
“Well, let’s try it.”
NO, honey, let’s NOT. That shit has the absorbency of a pile of nylon wadded up in a trash bag. We saved $2 at the register, only we’re going through it twice as fast and it works a whole order of magnitude worse than the usual stuff.