It’s lunch time bossman. I know, I know you were at home all morning waiting on that <insert continual procession of painter, repairman, architect, gardner, septic tank cleaner outter, window installer, whatever here>. Just because you finally dragged your ass into the office at noon, your prescribed lunch hour for us peons, please do not expect me to skip lunch to accomodate you because you have, again, another appointment with another one of the above listed individuals at 1:30. Sigh and mumble all you want. I’ve got kids, and have perfected the ability to power ignore you.
My office door is only open a thread. I’m eating lunch. When you opened the door, it should have been obvious what I was doing. The “what? are you eating lunch too?” was a tad redundant. I’m also reading up on how to get attuned for Caverns of Time. I’m not fucking surfing porn (although I could, and you’d never know). Further, don’t make me explain to what I’m reading, what WoW is, and stand there with this stupid look on your face as you tell me I’m too old to play games and that I should have a better use of my free time. And do what? Watch TV? Start a continual remodeling of my house? Fuck off.
That’s like that famous line from Patrick Ewing during contract negotiations; “Sure NBA players make a lot of money, but we spend a lot too.” I don’t know what this kind of argument is called (except for “bullshit”).
I’ve reached the conclusion that people aren’t even trying to park correctly any more, and we’re just lucky that people don’t drive up to the front door and turn their car off and get out. Oh, wait, they do.
Hmm … check your local labor laws. That might not even be legal!
My pitting … the damned garage door opener. The frickin’ thing stops working when temperature drops below freezing. So now when I need to get in and out of the garage (with our lovely single-digit temperatures and six inches of snow), I have to manually open and close the garage door. I can’t wait until we get our tax refund - maybe then we can get it fixed!
Coworkers who insist on wearing spindly, high-heeled shoes: Your fashion choices are none of my business, but if there’s a fire and you trip on your way down the stairs or on the way out of the building, I’m going to walk right over your prostrate body.
Along those lines, if there’s a fire, you may find that there’s a little puddle at the bottom of the fire stairs. Hesitate because you don’t want to get your feetsies wet, and I will push you hard.
And what on earth is wrong with Orlando Bloom? :::does fangirly thing with clasped hands and floating hearts:::
However, I can sympathize in theory. On the LOTR calendar in our kitchen, last month was Saruman, and this month is Arwen. Won’t get to Aragorn until March, and Legolas is April or May. Boromir is not even on it!
Eh, I don’t wish him any particular harm or anything, just not the eye-candy I so desire, ie: Johnny Depp. Most distressing is that I just flipped through it, and the next Jack isn’t until freakin’ October!!! I have to make it through three months of Will, three months of Elizabeth, and even Cotton fer pete’s sake.
And about 30 seconds ago, I just found out that one of my last remaining friends here at work quit and walked off the job.
And I still can’t see right through these glasses.
Booster Club President: when organizing a bus trip, the price is determined by dividing the number of seats on the bus by the cost of chartering the bus, then adding the cost of the game ticket. It is not fair for you to charge half-price for “12 and younger” unless you are planning on seating them two to a seat. Most of the Booster Club members planning on going on this trip either do not have children under twelve, do not have children, or are not planning on taking their children on the trip. I do not think it is fair for us to have to subsidize a few members who decide to take their kids.
Just take out the offending month(s). Leave the january picture, take out the january page (which has february’s picture on the back).
Ta–dah!
January’s picture with february’s calendar.
My driving pet peeve is when you are coming onto a freeway, and are trying to merge, and a car moves into your empty space. Then you are stuck, and have to slow down and stop and wait. How hard is it to let people merge at speed?
All I can tell you, Elza, is never come to my office. It’s that cold every day. We have a really crappy HVAC system that can only be set to 60 or 85. Since the few women who would sweat in a snowstorm are incredibly loud and bitchy, the rest of us end up walking around in sweaters, scarves and gloves. (Keep in mind that we’re approaching spring in South Florida – it’ll be 85 outside, but we’ll have to come to work in jeans and sweaters just to keep warm).
I’m having a little peeve with my sister’s wedding. It is the most important thing in the world to her right now; I understand that. But holy crap, I am sick to death of hearing about it. She calls me almost every damned day to talk about it (talk at me, that is), and she isn’t a state your business and get the hell off the phone kinda gal. Fortunately I don’t pick up the phone because of telemarketers, so I just return her calls when I can deal with another hour of listening to the minutiae of her wedding plans.
Latest pain in my ass - she wants us all to have our hair and make-up done together, and be done by 11:00 am on her wedding day, so we can spend the next three hours getting pictures taken in various locations. Lord, she wants us all to traipse around to multiple locations for pictures. I was planning to take a shower, blowdry my hair, curl it a little maybe, do a little make up, and be done with it. I’m just not into that whole girly scene. And the multiple locations thing - it’s your wedding, sure, but IT’S JUST YOUR FREAKING WEDDING! IT’S NOT THE VISITATION OF THE FREAKING QUEEN OF ENGLAND!!!
Whew - think I’ve been storing that up for a little while.
I do not like the office staff at my doctor’s office. I don’t know why they all seem to have the same rude condescending attitude – something I only notice rarely at other doctor’s offices.
We really like our doctor. He’s a down-to-earth guy who comes in and actually chats with you, as one person to another in an easygoing fashion.
My wife stopped seeing him years ago because she felt belittled by the front office staff.
I usually don’t let it bother me, but the other day I went for a quick blood pressure checkup and had the following discussions:
Me: Hi, I’m minor7flat5 and I’m here for my 4pm appointment.
Boss-looking dude: That’s $30
Me: Huh?
Dude: Your copay? $30.
Me: But I haven’t seen the doctor yet. Don’t I pay after?
Dude: We always collect it up front. If we collect it after you see the doctor there will be an additional fee.
Me: That’s strange. This is the first time I have ever been asked up front by you guys – you changed this, right?
Dude: (looking at me as if I had just said the most ludicrous thing) We have always done it this way :rolleyes: .
Me: Ok. Here’s my card.
No big deal right? But he was wrong! If that’s their policy, then just say it and fess up to it being new. Don’t act like I’m weird because I question it even though two months ago I paid at the end of an appointment as I always did before.
Me: Ok. The doctor’s done with me. Do you guys need anything from me?
Boss-looking dude: No.
Me: Do I get some paperwork?
Dude: What do you mean? I guess if you need a note for work we could write something up…
Me: No, I mean the paperwork that says why I came – the stuff I file away at home.
Dude: Why would anyone want that? Everything is in your chart :rolleyes:
Me: Didn’t you use to give some receipt?
Dude: No. We have always done it this way.
Total BS. I have many pink sheets of paper from that very office that tell me why I was there, who I saw, and other particulars.
Don’t feed me a line of bull – you know darned well that your processes changed, so just say so. It’s not what you said; it’s the way you said it. Why do you look at me as if I just asked if the doctor can see my pet chihuahua? And why do all of your co-workers exhibit the same attitude?
I’m pretty new, although I’ve lurked forever and I am well aware that the clogger versus tailgater debate will always end up in a flamefest. I do tailgate when someone is driving slow in the fast lane, especially if they are driving at the exact same speed as the car in the right lane when there is a mile or two of clear highway in front of them. I’ll not bitch anymore, and leave the rant for another day for someone who actually deserves it. Like my friend Bruce.
When you go back, ask for a receipt. When the guy asks why, say you need the pink sheet for your MEP reimbursement. You probably don’t have one, but it will be fun to see what he does.
I pit Newsweek for running a story about how all the attention being given to Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and Nicole Ritchie is having a negative effect on teenage girls. On the cover. If there’s a problem, perhaps you could best express your concern by not aggravating it.
Then you are half the problem. Another driver driving badly doesn’t give you free license to drive badly yourself, no matter how frustrated you are, and tailgating is bad, unsafe driving.
I almost feel bad posting this because most of the country is in a deep freeze right now and where I live it’s going to be 72 degrees today. But here goes:
I show up for an early appointment this morning, get into the exam room and strip down putting on the paper gown they gave me. Yes, I know that we are having unseasonably warm temperatures right now, but it is only 7:30 in the morning! They have the freaking air conditioning on! I was shivering and my feet and hands were like ice cubes. What the hell were they thinking?!
Just because your great grandparents were Irish does not make you Irish. A ton of people do this and, for some reason, it bothers me to no end. And you - you know who you are, with the huge-ass Irish flag in your dorm room and “erin go bragh” on your whiteboard who’s always mentioning Irish you are. It does not mean you should be able to drink more, it does not mean anything. You’ve never even been to Ireland, so SHUT UP ABOUT IT.
My right ankle. My dear, sweet right ankle. I’ve been nice to you since I went for a long run Saturday. Since Saturday evening I’ve done nothing more strenuous than walk on you. So why the fuck do you hurt as if I’ve sprained you? The nurse is just going to tell me to go to the clinic in town to get it X-rayed. I haven’t got A) the desire, B) a ride, or C) the cash for a copay to go to the clinic. So stop hurting!
