Yesterday, I was in a minor car accident. The air bag deployed. So now the car is at the shop to be fixed.
Then, once I got home and settled and was thinking I should eat something, it was 9 pm. And the power went out. And it was humid and warm and sticky. I could open the window and get some mild relief, and have an allergy attack; or, I could keep the windows closed, die of heat, and not have an allergy attack. Power remained off until 3 am. I didn’t get to sleep until 5 am.
This is on top of the usual work stress (too much stuff, not enough time; same old song).
Sometimes, you just wonder when fate will decide you’ve taken enough.
Ugh. Our grant writer waited until the last hours on the last days to submit a grant application. On top of the stuff I had to help her with at 6pm, now she needs a signed copy of our W-9. At 9pm. It’s in the Executive Director’s locked cabinet. Of course he’s not answering his phone and neither is our accountant. Geez. I don’t think this grant is happening, which should have been done or at least this preliminary stuff done a fricking week ago.
“Eaches” is a unit of measure some databases/companies/industries use for countable items. They could have used, say, “units” or “pieces”, but noooooo! They had to come up with something else (SAP has all three, in fact).
Damned confusing too: unless the speaker enunciates carefully, it’s easy to misunderstand the weird unit and the much more common inches. “We need to purchase our services in inches?”
Grandma would have liked it if I bought her house. I would have liked to be able to buy her house. Grandma is running out of money; my offer to buy the house was rejected (at official-appraisal value, which currently is about 30% above market, paying installments equal to Grandma’s old folks’ home payments) because Aunt Vam and Cousin Pire think they can get twice as much if it is sold to a stranger: any information coming from me is suspect, since they’ve decided I’m trying to rip them off. Aunt Vam’s counterproposal was that she’d move into the flat (that I’m already renting, at market value) bringing her coffeemaker and her sandwichmaker and her… not pay a dime, not do any housework (including not doing her own laundry), and look for an appraiser for Grandma’s paintings.
My counter-counterproposal is that the locks have been changed; once Aunt has an appraiser, she can let us know so we can be here to open the door. And, since now I’m not expecting payments of several K/month, I feel much more free to select the projects I like and not necessarily those paying enough to have that much available money.
I see how that might not be clear, what with it not even being English.
He says “how many eaches” or “sold as packs of 10 or eaches” instead of “each” or “per piece,” like eaches is the plural of each.
Nah, I do remember SAP having something like 60 units of measure to choose from, but here it’s not the ERP unit of measure, it’s the text description. Every time I see it I change the text, and I’m waiting to be called out for my mistake. :rolleyes:
Maybe on the heighth thing I can start asking him for the weighth per piece?
Don’t wish for menopause. Seriously. I had surgically-induced menopause last year and it SUCKS. There are so many shitty things about it, but the worst is my memory. I used to have a great memory and now my short-term memory is…what were we talking about?
The Boy (2.0) is a senior in high school. A large part of me thinks I’ve failed him, because he’s really entirely too responsible and “with it” for a 17-year-old. And most of me is so very proud of the man he is becoming. And then there’s that bit of me that remembers the sweet little fat baby he was, and hurts because he is becoming exactly the person I hoped he’d someday be. And Girl 1.0 got a new job today, and Boy 1.0 got his scholarship renewed, an Girl 2.0 is a freshman in high school and is blossoming, socially and academically. And I’m just feeling old. Old and proud of my offspring. But what happened to those sweet little chubby babies? When did they get taller and smarter and wiser than me?
On to the actual mini-rant: If, by some chance, you happen to be an adult living in someone else’s house, with someone else paying the bills, buying the food, putting fuel in your vehicle and making sure that you have toilet tissue and electricity and wifi? Please consider playing along with the house rules: 1 - Clean up after yourself, and 2 - no food in the bedrooms, please. And it’s downright couth and shit to join in with the gang if the folks who are housing you and footing your bills also prepare dinner and invite you to join in the meal. Excusing yourself with “but I waited for everyone else, and the food was all gone when I emerged from the bedroom” is a big ol’ load of crap. If you wait an hour past meal time, yeah - the food is all put away by then.
Also, depression sucks. PMS sucks. Menopause and hot flashes suck. All together? Yep. Sucks.
My current pet peeve–and that’s only because I’m seeing these far too often (meaning more than zero times)–is the prevalence of the following misspelled expressions:
[ul][li]every day = yes, this can be the correct spelling, but it’s not always the correct spelling (see next entry). When used as an adjective, the correct spelling is everyday.[/li][li]everyday - yes, like the previous entry, this can be the correct spelling; however, it’s not always the correct spelling. When used as an adverb, the correct spelling is every day.[/li]everytime - WTF? I really do wish this had just appeared once, in which case I could understand it as a typo of sorts. But, no! I’ve seen this repeated numerous times, from many people.[/ul]
Hot flashes here, until I got onto HRT. Peri-menopause started when I was around 38 :eek: and I wasn’t dx’d until a few years later.
Oh, it’s a joy. The acne cysts! The thinning hair! The lack of sleep! The night sweats! The crazed mood swings! The rogue single, weirdly thick and blacm witchy chin hair that lies dormant for months, then suddenly grows 3" while you’re commuting to work, so it can stick out and get the most exposure before you see it in the ladies’ room mirror and pluck it out.
I’d rather still get my period.
ETA: Monty, I hate when Microsoft “corrects” my useage of “every day” when it’s completely correct.
Scrabble has a lot of words that aren’t really in use today. “Heighth” is at about the level of using “their” instead of “there.” It’s still widely regarded as a mistake.
What makes it complicated is that it was an acceptable variant for a while, or so Grammar Girl says (citing the OED).
Oh, and I still say “amongst.” Feel free to throw tomatoes at me.
My current pet peeve–and that’s only because I’m seeing these far too often (meaning more than zero times)–is the prevalence of the following misspelled expressions:
[ul][li]every day = yes, this can be the correct spelling, but it’s not always the correct spelling (see next entry). When used as an adjective, the correct spelling is everyday.[/li][li]everyday - yes, like the previous entry, this can be the correct spelling; however, it’s not always the correct spelling. When used as an adverb, the correct spelling is every day.[/li][li]everytime - WTF? I really do wish this had just appeared once, in which case I could understand it as a typo of sorts. But, no! I’ve seen this repeated numerous times, from many people.[/ul][/li][/QUOTE]
There seems to be a general trend towards spelling two-word phrases as compound single words (that are still valid words, but incorrect in that particular context.)
Examples:
“mouthful” - “Don’t talk with your mouthful.”
“anyway” - “Do it anyway you can.”
So, things a spell-checker won’t catch.
And let’s not even get started on the trend that’s seeing “atleast” and “eachother” being spelled as one word.
Dear Chase Bank: I appreciate all the mail you send to this address to your good customer James Johnson. I would, however, like to point out a couple of minor facts:
My name is not James Johnson.
James Johnson moved from this address in 2001. Which, if my math is good, was 14 fuckin’ years ago!
I have written you twice to correct this, but apparently reading letters from peons is not a skill taught at the highest levels of corporate management.
The next letter I get is going to get sent to as many places in the Hierarchy that I can find and will be addressed: Dear Useless (Fornicator of Swine)…it will hopefully proceed downward from there.
It’s been 12 years since I last lived in New England, so I don’t know if it’s this particular area, or if it’s the entire region now, but when I lived in Boston, drivers were extremely good about yielding to pedestrians. But you people SUCK AT IT. When you have a red light, the proper response is to come to a complete stop at the light, look for other traffic AND PEDESTRIANS, then proceed into the intersection if clear. DO NOT ROLL THROUGH THE CROSSWALK! I swear, since we moved here two weeks ago, 95% of the time I have tried to cross on a walk signal I have had to stop to avoid the cars rolling through the crosswalk.
On the other hand, I have gotten very good at making sure the drivers realize they should have yielded to me and at giving them the Evil Eye Of Death.
For a company I do ad-hoc work for when they’re offering a location near me and I have absolutely nothing better to do, one of their representitives sends out weekly emails, (for at least 6 months now), always headed with
“PLEASE CAN YOU STATE YOUR NAME AND ID NUMBER AS EMAIL ADDRESSES ARE DIFFICULT TO DICIPHER. ALSO PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU INCLUDE THE DATE OF THE COUNTS.”
Ignoring the fact it’s phrased a question but has no question mark, as that is a common error, I just can’t understand how she can keep sending it out with “DICIPHER”. I even anonymously emailed her because it bugged me so much, I got no response and next week no change to the email. :mad:
No, Facebook, I would not like to wish my dead grandmother a happy birthday, but thanks for reminding me that she died just a few weeks ago. Jerks. I’ve been having enough trouble with my depression this week, I don’t need your help.
At least now I know how to request a memorial page. Judging by the number of birthday wishes and “when are you moving back to Virginia? we miss you!” messages, a lot of people don’t know that she’s never going back to Virginia, or visiting them.
I got a call from my gf yesterday around 6 pm that hay was going to be delivered around 7:30. Blech. I immediately began whingeing to my fellow beer drinkers. Two buddies offered to come lend a hand in exchange for dinner. Yay!
So they followed me home. I’m 57, both of my helpers are older than I am. I began preparing the barn, moving the 30 or so bales left over from last year. My buddies played with the horses and chickens.
Then the hay arrived. My gf still wasn’t home. The farmer’s wife was on the truck, tossing bales down to us with ease. We then carried each bale into position and stacked it. My buddies acted like they thought the bales were being thrown maliciously, ducking and weaving out of the way instead of “catching” them. The second the farmer’s wife released a bale she was grabbing for the next, so she never noticed.
After we finished, Mr Farmer came up to the house so I could pay him. He asked where I picked up my “farmhands”. I told him and we had a good laugh.
Minutes after the truck left, my gf drove up. We ordered pizzas. My farmhands gorged on pizza and drank most of our beer. Never again.
