In the Minnesota woods, when its twenty below zero, its so quiet you can hear Nature whisper… “Die!”.
- approximation of Garrison Keillor
Also keep your faux-vanilla chemical vapors off my bus. You don’t smell like baking, you smell like a can of Glade.
Which brings to mind my mini-rant of the week: whatever idiot decided that cherry cough syrup was a pleasant smell for a public restroom needs to be slapped upside the head. I actually would rather smell shit.
Also - I have a deep appreciation for the concept behind the Red Hat Club, and I thought the poem was charming (the first 20 times I got it in my e-mail, anyway.) That said, you loony broads out in public with your feathered hats and purple t-shirts would not bother me in the least if you’d STFU and stop acting as though your membership in said club entitles you to barge in front of people, speak far more loudly than is required in almost any situation, boss waitresses and waiters around, cackle at your own inappropriate dirty jokes and in general behave with no dignity or manners at all. You’re not doing your cause any favors that way. I’m gonna start calling y’all the Ass Hat Club pretty soon.
OMG the shreiking kids next door! I KNOW it’s a birthday party, I’m trying to be patient I swear to all that’s holy, but you need to STOP SCREAMING NOW. It’s been about 4 hours already- NOTHING IS THAT FUN.
I am about to go over and tell them that whoever is the quietest the longest can have my laptop. Then when they come to collect I’ll beat THEM ALL WITH A BAG OF DOORKNOBS.
My PMS is fine, why do you ask?
Do you have a garbage disposal? If so, run it before you run the dishwasher. I used to have that problem all the time until I figured out that’s what it was - last night’s couscous in the disposal.
Cold weather, plumbing, and RotoRooter. Gah.
Took a wonderfully long hot shower last night - sniff - it was beautiful to not be interrupted by anyone, human or feline. As I’m drying off I hear almost a gurgling sigh from the bathroom sink. Oh hell. Run downstairs to find out that water came up through the drain. It had already drained back down, but plumbing and I are old enemies. Usually I would call Dad to see what he would recommend. But he’s gone. Damn fucking cancer. RotoRooter was out no more than 7 months ago, let’s give them a call. Guarantee expired. Wait - usually we go 2 years before having the system cleaned. Seven months does not equal two years. And as far as that goes when the RotoRooter guy was out last time, he ended having to come back THREE times within a week because he did partial assed jobs of it. It’s because it’s cold out. I can see the venting problem with the cold, but not water coming up. And water continues to go down just fine - no sluggishness draining at all. Gee, you’re willing to schedule an appointment and someone will come out tomorrow sometime? No, I’ll find someone who does it right the first time.
Since the initial pond last night I’ve flushed the toilet once and heard the air come through the sink, but no standing water. The kid took a short shower - and nothing. But dammit, now I’m paranoid. Do I spend the $150 that I really do not have for piece of mind, or go about my day and hope that my basement doesn’t flood until Friday when I get paid??
Speaking of postal-delivery-peoples’ habits, I would like to ask ours to please stop dropping their industrial strength rubber bands on the floor of our apartment building’s vestibule and the steps leading up to it.
I don’t come to your house and throw opened and used envelopes and boxes on your floors, do I?
Besides, these rubber bands could probably be recyled – you know, as in taken back the post office and used again to bundle mail in pre-sorted batches to be picked up by you and delivered.
No wonder postal rates go up every 15.6 minutes.
To the asshat telemarketing firm who called my number four times last Sunday:
For starters, my phone number is on the National Do Not Call List. You are not a charity, nor are you a politician soliciting votes (the fact that they conveniently exempted themselves from the rule is another rant altogether), and I sure as hell have no prior business relation with you pathetic fucks (and never will on the sheer principle that you use this universally loathed method of marketing). Ergo… DO NOT CALL ME!!!
I gleefully reported each and every one of your flagrant violations to the FCC via the web site, noting the time of each call. I hope they slap your sorry asses good and hard with a huge whopping fine that will ultimately bankrupt your piss-poor excuse for a company.
As I noted above, you had the balldacity to call not once, not twice, but four times! Christ Almighty! And on a Sunday, no less! It seems that you can’t find anyone within your firm brave enough to deal with the thousands of enraged, pissed-off and incredibly annoyed and fed-up folks like myself who would scream obscenities in their ears until they bleed, so you resort to using a pre-recorded message of some smarmy cheery-voiced fuckstain telling me how great his service is. You give an 800 number to call. I take note of the number, not to arrange use of the service you were pitching (carpet cleaning) but to tell you rancid pieces of shit what I think of telemarketing and the businesses who rely on it to generate revenue. When directed to leave a voice mail, I get a message telling me that the mailbox is full. Gee, what a surprise! Too bad I couldn’t have been one of the hundreds of people who undoubtedly told you scumlickers to go to the deepest circle of hell and burn.
I love this word! Okay if I appropriate it? I want to work it into every conversation I can!
Go right ahead! I’d be very much honored. 
Dear lady behind me yesterday at the play,
When the actors ask a rhetorical question to the audience, you really needn’t answer. Indeed, the actor is not directing any dialog to you personally, so again, replies are wholly unnecessary.
:mad:
On my to-go order in the plastic bag, stop tying the opening of the bag in a knot. Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to untie that shit? It is approximately 7 billion times easier to tie a knot in a piece of plastic than it is to untie a knot in a piece of plastic. I want to eat my food, not spend 10 minutes trying to get it open.
You need a handy set of scissors, they don’t have to be kitchen shears, go to the craft department/office section of your chosen store and get a pair likethis. 
To my English professor:
I realize one purpose of this class is to learn how to write argumentative essays. It would be dandy to learn how to argue effectively. HOWEVER! I disagree that the phrases “I think” and “in my opinion” are so-called ‘clutter words’. Stating an opinion in a way to make it seem like a fact just goes against the grain of my inner SDMB-trained debater*.
Many insincere apologies in advance for the fact (!) that I’ll use such phrases throughout the remainder of the semester.
*That’s not to say I do debate things, because I don’t. My last great debate (in “real life” and concerning the merit of Eminem’s creativity) occured in 2001. I prefer, now, to take the high road (yeah, that’s it) and avoid any and all confrontation.
Dear coworker,
I could tell that you needed to talk to me since you were standing in my doorway, prancing. So I hurried through my telephone conversation and turned my attention to you.
And then you told me the urgent thing you wanted me to know.
“I saw a car that looked just like yours when I came into work this morning.”
Dearest coworker, there are approximately 200 frillion blue Jeep Liberties in this county alone. There are more blue Jeep Liberties than there are atoms in the universe. I would be shocked if you didn’t see a blue Jeep Liberty every time you got near a road. I will give you a dollar every time you go a day without seeing a blue Jeep Liberty. The only way I will have to pay up is if you lock yourself in your basement for the rest of your life. Win win.
Regards,
Julie
Luxury! I can only afford to make biscuits. And I’m not very talented in the kitchen, so they’re gluey enough that you’d think your intestines were being cemented together. Sadly, they’re not; they churn and churn.
BrattiAtti, I had a professor who was as bad the opposite way once. In a paper about Socrates, I wrote, “Plato was a student of Socrates”. She circled it and wrote “How do you know this?” After I got over my initial incredulity, I decided to set aside the good habits an earlier and better professor had drilled into me and qualify every statement of fact in every essay I wrote for her. It was my last term and I needed the class to graduate. On to rants which are less than 20 years old.
To the job candidates I contacted last month:
[ul][li]If we arrange an interview for you at a time you agreed on, please show up.[/li][li]If we reschedule an interview for you after you called us a few minutes before your original interview asking us to reschedule because your car had broken down, please show up for your rescheduled interview.[/li][li]If you agree to start on a given day because, after talking to the people who did show up for interviews, we thought you were the best candidate for the job, please show up.[/li][li]When I call you to find out why you didn’t show up on the date you were scheduled to start, please don’t tell me it’s because you wanted to check out a better, higher-paying opportunity first. You do realize that, if I hadn’t been so stunned, I would have had the presence of mind to ask you what company that other opportunity was with and put in a call to them.[/ul] [/li]
Also, to our resident lunch thief:
I surrender. I made a ham sandwich on expensive white bread laced heavily with the hottest chili peppers I could find. You apparently ate it without batting an eyelid or letting out a peep. Not only do you have the morals of a cockroach, you apparently have the stomach and the palate of one. You are a lower form of life than I.
'Zactly my point, sweetie. Should scissors really be a required tool to open a bag of take-out food? :dubious:
I’m really getting pissed at the way my English professor throws around the word “prove.” On the first day of class, she said, “I could use the Bible to prove that God exists.” I raised an eyebrow. Could she really succeed where thousands have failed before? She continued, “I could also use the Bible to prove that God doesn’t exist. And that’s the sort of thing that you’ll be doing in your essays this semester.” This theme has continued in every class since.
This semester is going to be unbearable.
They must put it in tough plastic bags. Since I rarely recycle (yes, I know, I’m a mean nasty horrible person who’s destroying the planet) if I have something in a tied plastic bag I usually rip the bag apart.