Three words: reoccurring lice infestation.
oh and my microwave that’s been installed for all of two months is dead. That’s what we get for buying a NIB from craigslist and try and save a couple of hundred dollars, I guess. 
Yes, you fucking moron, usually when you bring a random girl you’ve never met before she steps off the train to sleep in our living room for a week it’s nice to notify your roommate (me). Not to mention our landlord, who I bet will be just thrilled to hear that this girl insists on it being 60 degrees in our living room, regardless of the fact that it’s August in Maryland…
Fresh chocolate chip cookies were brought in by a coworker. They’re terrible, they taste soapy, and the chips are crappy flavorless sub-Hershey faux-chocolate. How hard is it to screw up a CCC?
Goddamnit, if you insist on spending the entire time we’re hanging out together texting your boyfriend, just go over and see him! Over the course of the movie we were watching, you must have checked your phone 6 or 7 times!
It’s one thing to check your phone at natural breaks, like at the end of the movie, but don’t spend the whole time carrying on another conversation. I hate how people think this is acceptable.
We’re all familiar with the almost miraculous facility of Cafe Society to find that book you kind of remember from a long time ago based on one or two small points of information.
It’s going to be a lot harder from now on. “I remember it was a kind of thriller/romance, and there was some kind of supernatural element to it. Oh, and on the cover there was a physically fit young woman who wasn’t wearing too much in the way of clothes, some leather and impractical shoes, and she was holding some kind of a (probably non-firearm) weapon”.
I choose to look on the bright side. Maybe there’s a guy out there, somewhere, who’s making a great deal of money and enjoying the prank of selling the exact same cover to multiple publishers for all of these books.
Stupid back woods state school. Stupid administration. All I want is to take a couple graduate classes as an “unclassified” student. So, I go to apply to the college.
Now, you see, I have a bloody Ph.D. Yeah, you heard it. A god damn, lofty ivory tower degree with a massive dissertation on the shelf. Oughta be worth something, don’t you think?
Or not.
What transcript do they want me to send? The one from my bachelor’s degree.
Hello??? Ph.D.??? What the hell does my undergrad transcript from 20 years ago do for you? How on this blessed green earth does that inform you of my educational background? What, you want my highschool diploma, too? Hey, wait, I might have a second grade report card around here somewhere. I could send that in if it makes you happy.
Morons.
Every other message board on the face of the earth sucks. And they don’t know what “cite” means. Cite your goddamn references on political debates so I don’t have to play Google Guess ‘n’ Check.
There’s no grocery store close to here. It’s not that I live in the middle of nowhere; it’s that I live in the center of the area’s biggest grocery dead zone. I’d like to be able to run to the store without it being twenty minutes one-way without traffic.
Never met my mother, did you, bless her cookie-burning heart?
Update on this burning issue. Y’all want to know how I woke up this morning? When someone banged together what sounded like some bigass cymbals (or possibly two big pan lids) twice. Outside of my window, or close enough to make no difference. At seven fucking forty-five am.
I don’t know why I’m even surprised anymore at this point.
7:45?
If you don’t mind my asking, what line of work are you in that makes rising at 0745 an issue fit for a minirant?
::shudder:: Or my dear brother, who thought warm dough was easier to stir, and would so bring the butter to a *boil *in the microwave? His cookies were par-baked before they even got into the oven. And then he would under-bake them so they’d be “chewy”. They were the nastiest, greasy excuse for cookies ever.
I’m going to guess that like many people in India, they work a bit of a night shift schedule to be on the business hour side of North America’s day.
I mini-pit myself: get off the couch already and get going. You’ve got a to do list a mile long, get to it.
Paying spousal maintenance to the tune of $900 a month to someone who kicked you out of your own home because he is bi-polar and tired of not getting his way all the time SUCKS! Sweet Zombie Jesus, I want our divorce final and our house sold so I can see the end of that road.
What IS it about kitten shit that stinks so much? Not cat shit, mind you, but kitten shit.
Yes, Pop-of-Andrew, you are allowed to have a bad day. And you are allowed to bitch and moan about it. You are not, however, allowed to bitch and moan about it to me.
Not when your bad day consists of the same thing that happens to you every day when you teach online. How many times do I have to tell you that if you hate it that much, you should quit? It’s a second job – we don’t the money that badly.
And not just after I’ve finished a new physical therapy regimen that has added nausea to the lovely dizziness I live with. And certainly not on the day that I had to sit in a hospital with my mother while my Dad had a bone scan to find out if his prostate cancer has spread.
So SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY
Mom, Dad, I love you lots, but you have to stop watching Fox News. I’m a republican too, and I don’t like Obama either, but your credulity is appalling. Obama probably isn’t trying to kill off old people with his health care bill. I really kind of doubt that colleges are going to have to admit more minorities than white students to keep getting funding and that private student loans are being outlawed and only people who agree to government service will get government loans. (by the way, did you forget that I did Americorps*VISTA and wasn’t turned into a commie?) And there’s probably NOT a bill that will require people to be naked at home during the summer to reduce energy costs because we won’t need to use air conditioners…
I say, “Really, can you tell me the name of the bill about X so I can look it up, because I’m not finding anything about it on the internet.” And you say, “O’Rielly wouldn’t say anything that isn’t true because they have fact checkers at Fox to keep them getting sued.” Uh huh… Jesus Christ, would you stop believing every damn thing they say on that channel??! And another thing, I don’t watch those shows more than once in a blue moon. It’s not therefore your duty to tell me everything I missed. Really now, come on.
What you said, only replace “Mom and Dad” with “Darling Husband”. He fucking DVRs Glenn fucking Beck, although he has at least agreed to watch the repulsive lttle troll when I’m not in the room, after I informed him that the sight of that shitwit’s disingenuous lying bleating face gives me an overwhelming urge to heave a brick through the television screen. I didn’t think it was possible for anything to disgust me more than O’Reilly does, but that freaky little psychopathic piece of shit manages it.
Dear coworker, please to be stopping with the vocalising every thought you have. It’s annoying, I don’t need to know you have to pee/need a drink/are going to do something.
Dear mother, this goes for you too, with the addition that when I’m reading when you come downstairs, that means I’m not that interested in outside things. You should understand that, you’re a reader as well.
Seizures – even the small ones – SUCK!!!
I’m assuming you had one recently? Are you ok? I can definitely sympathize with how disappointing that is. I wish there were a way to send seizure-free vibes online.