Dear new guy at work.
Stop asking me to go out for lunch, hang out with you after work. How many excuses do you have to hear before you give the fuck up and stop asking me. You’re my colleague, not my friend. You’re a pretentious dick, fake, obsessed with all things blingy and good looking. Stay the fuck away from me. Yes all the women in the building want to suck your cock. You the man.
Managing Director of company where I work still claiming innocence over the non-payment of three months salary I’m owed. Constantly claiming “it will go in tomorrow” even now. Apparently trying to lay guilt on me, for my refusing to return to work until it gets sorted out.
Multi-mini-rant:
-My stupid mouse has cursor creep. Pisses me off when I intend on clicking one thing, and the cursor has moved to something else, or won’t ‘stick’ where I need it to be.
-I know you’re probabaly making a left turn somewhere in the next 10 miles, but forthelovamike get out of the left lane!
-Y’know what, husband of mine? It’s really okay to use the same bowl twice. When you go back to the kitchen for a second round of whatever it is you’re eating, why in hell don’t you take your first & now empty dish with you and refill it? You could even give it a quick rinse first. Coming home to find 3 bowls that have obviously been used for the same thing sitting beside your TV chair is guaranteed to make me cranky. AND you know it…
-why must the neighbors practice their target shooting (with cannons, apparently) in the middle of a drizzly Sunday afternoon? Don’t they know that’s naptime?
I dunno about your state, but in MN they have 24 hours from the time you quit or they fire you to cough up your final paycheck or face legal and financial penalties. Doesn’t sound like either one has happened yet, but just sayin’.
My workplace is extraordinarily dusty. We’re in a back corner with just 11 cubes (one is a double for a manager (not ours) and the vents are crap. When I started here, I had a cold and it made it much much worse. Fucking cold lasted a month before I could shake it, because I’d be almost fine at home and then get into work and it’d ‘mysteriously’ get worse. I ended up putting a sign at the end of the row. “Achoo Alley”
Well, I’m not huge on dusting anyway and my apartment has been getting a little thick too, so several weeks ago I went looking for a feather duster. Target, Walmart, grocery store. None of them had them. Just the Swiffer things. Didn’t even bother pricing them.
Well, today I figured I’d better break down and get something, so I go down the aisle and price them. $6-8 for the base unit plus $11.97 for a pack of 16 disposable dusters? WTF? I’m not shelling out that kind of money for this crap! I literally spun around in disgust. And there, right at eye level, were regular feather dusters which had NOT been there last time.
$6.
Ok, $6-8 plus 75 cents a pop for the disposable, versus $6 for the regular one which will last years? How is that even a choice that people make?
Because the feather duster (which I love, btw) brushes the dust off the surface and into the air. In theory it eventually falls to the floor to be vacuumed up, but I bet I breathe a fair amount too. The swiffer things, or any damp or static-y/sticky cloth, will pick up the dust and you can put dust and pad in the trash, or cloth in the wash and the dust is handled once and done. In theory.
I still like using a feather duster though 
Well, for regular dusting of larger surfaces, yeah, I have an old washcloth that I just wet down and wipe. But there’s some places where that doesn’t get into corners or gaps.
Like my keyboard.
You know, I’m getting really fucking tired of some stupid asshole checking my door on an almost daily basis. I was just standing at the kitchen sink 7’ from the door when some asshole walked up, jiggered the knob, slammed on the door and walked away. I waited about 10 seconds, didn’t hear any nearby doors open, then walked out in the hall with a rather large knife in my hand. No one in sight.
The other day I was sitting here at my computer and had left my door unlocked because I had been going in and out doing laundry. Door opens, someone walks in about 3-4’ (just around the corner from me), listens for a second (hears me) and walks back out.
Fucker walks in on me again and this is going to be the House of Flying Kitchen Knifes and Deep Bleeding Stab Wounds.
I blame the stupid motherfuckers at this end of the complex who keep propping open the back door so that their friends can walk in without being buzzed in from the front door, and those stupid criminal friends.
Definitely time to talk to management and the police. Also maybe time to get a pump-action shotgun? Or at least a recording of same? Or a big noisy dog?
Oh, that’s the thing. I got plenty of weaponry laying about. Management at this place (from previous experience) will be like :rolleyes: “yeah sure” and do nothing. Police wise, I got nothing, but I was considering emailing them and asking if there was any increase in burglaries in the complex and telling them about this wandering door checking bullshit. I strongly suspect the teen kid next door and his scummy friend. I have my Fairbairn-Sykes sitting next to me right now and if someone checks the door again, I’m going to be in the hall in less than 5 seconds to see who it is.
Hi. I’m new here. I don’t know any of you, but I’ve been lurking for a while and felt it time to sign up yesterday to comment on public restrooms, oddly enough. So, I need to get this off my chest. Maybe more than a mini-rant, but a rant nonetheless, and I couldn’t figure out where else this belongs. Here goes.
Bipolar Disorder. How I hate you. Won’t you fuck off and die? Oh, you won’t? You’re staying?? Can’t you shrivel into a mass in my head that can pass through some mode of my body and be shat out a series of pores or orifices into the atmosphere for good and disintegrate like most other decent natured pieces of garbage would? Oh, you won’t?? Ok, well how’s this:
You are a shitty roommate in this head of mine. I’m not amused by you. Your jokes aren’t funny to me. You aren’t as witty as you think you are, you aren’t clever and you’re certainly not all knowing. You move in here uninvited, leaving your dirty underwear lying around, ordering me about because somewhere along the line, you couldn’t master a few basic chemical components that it seems everyone else managed to figure out (you poor thing), you contribute nothing of value to this household and you still want control. What gives you the right to barge in here like that? Who authorized your clearance level, dickhead?? Your mood swings and petty needs make me roll my eyes at you. Get a grip, you fickle little petunia you…
If I could legally divorce you, you’d be shit out of luck living under a bridge somewhere. I take these pills to shut you up. I know how much you hate that. I like that you hate it, because you’re truly an asshole who deserves to be pushed back into a corner with your head pinned down. I alter every aspect of my life to accommodate your fucked up priorities as it is, and you still want more. I manage to succeed in small bits and doses IN SPITE of you. Without you, I’m really quite fine. Without you, I could really be quite productive without having to constantly monitor your emotional and psychological dumps. You’re so special, yet you’ve never been able to perform the simple task of cleaning up after yourself. You know, when other people have a rough day, they knock back a couple shots at the bar, sleep it off and go to work the next day. They don’t develop a complex that they’re the 6th disciple of Jesus Christ, you fucking psycho. You can take your strokes of creative genius and all your other wonderful qualities and cram them…wait…you say this is my problem? Yeah, you know what, you’re right. You’re right.
Well just remember this. When we leave this place, I get to go in peace. You’re the one who will have to shut up forever. I’ll have the soft, serene overtures of Mozart trickling amongst my disjointed synapses. Haha, wouldn’t that be grand…but it’s not even the case. I will be granted simple, beautiful, peaceful, magnificent silence. You? LOL. You will shut up, confounded by that same silence, and no one will ever listen to your pathetic, delusional cries for attention again. You will scream and howl with no voice behind it. Zero projection. You will be locked in your own personal hell forever, and I, your wet nurse, your unwilling servant, will no longer pay heed to your demands. FUCK. OFF. How do you like that you bully, you fucking pussy? Enjoy it while you can because your days are numbered.
You’ll never get the best of me either, you unending strand of excrement. You can keep trying, but it’s not going to happen. You have been a worthy adversary, I will grant you that. You took advantage of me when I was young and vulnerable, you snatched the greatest opportunities in life from me before I’d even known or comprehended they’d presented themselves. You won that chapter, and it was an important one. But I have you figured out now. You’re boring to me. You’re a pain in my ass, you’re good for nothing, vile, contemptuous and useless. If you showed your cowardly ass for one second I’d slit your fucking throat with my eyes closed, as if by instinct. It would be that seamless. You know I’ve become stronger than you, too. I can sense it in recent years. I’m growing immune to your venom, but I’ll never let my guard down. I’ve seen the damage you can inflict, I haven’t allowed it for eleven years and I will never allow it again. Not for me, my wife, my family or my friends. You are a douchebag, you think every vulnerability you spot is an opportunity for you to run amok and create another batch of misguided chaos, but I’ll never take my hands off of your throat again. I just want you to know that I’m keeping you under my thumb, and as long as you’re going to insist on squatting where you’re not wanted, let’s make one thing clear: This is my house, and tough as you may be, you’re my bitch, motherfucker.
(this is merely a rant, not a suicidal plea for help or anything of that nature, thanks for listening, sorry for language)
I just broke a tooth. On a piece of lettuce. With Hurricane Sandy knocking on the door. I can’t see the dentist until Wednesday.
<= blacken tooth on left. 
Welcome, and sorry about the “visitor”. You sound like you have it under control, but if you ever feel that slipping there’s plenty of help. You’re not alone.
Huzzah! Wonderful rant.
If you want, you could move it over to the pit and let fly the dogs of invective.
Sounds like THIS is a job for a motion sensor camera!
I got into a car crash today. My fault. I was on a twisty two-lane road with a speed limit of 60 and the person in front of me… I guess slammed on the brakes right behind a curve. I guess they were planning on turning, but no turn signal. I rear-ended them. Fucking hell. Their car is dented in back, but okay. They were able to drive away. My car isn’t.
And I live in my car. I’m fucking homeless. That’s where I live. They took my car away with my clothing and pillow and blanket and dog food… I have house-sitting jobs and so luckily a place to stay right now… until Saturday. And no way to get to work until then. I’m pretty far out- nowhere near any bus lines or any co-workers or anything.
And my best friend moved away. I know that’s kind of an absurd grade school thing to worry about, but she’s the only one I can talk to and she’s a million miles away.
Jesus christ I wish my worthless ass would just die. I can’t fucking do anything right, and now I crash my stupid car? Way to fucking go, Einstein. Lose my school, lose my home, lose my friends, lose my car… fucking worthless.
Well, this is truly mini compared to some of the problems here, but why do all the halloween decorations that require batteries have their battery compartment door screwed on? I remember when there were just tabs to open the compartments - now I have to use a little screwdriver to open them and put batteries in. I had a halloween party this year - picture me putting batteries in about 20 different decorations. Now picture me taking all the batteries out of 20 decorations (because I don’t want to store them with batteries in them). Sheesh.
If they’re toys or could be mistaken for toys or might be fun for a child to play with they have to secure the batteries to prevent children from ingesting them.
Definately doing the right thing for the kitty. It is still really sad tho. The story about the dog makes me cry. I’m such an animal person anymore.
A friends 17 y/o step daughter is making allegations of sexual abuse against her stepfather, she then ran away to live with her real father and stepmother and is making further allegations against them. This is supposdly after being caught with drugs and paraphanalia in her room at Mother/stepfather’s house.
On the hand I and many of our other friends find it hard to belive that he would do something like that, on the other hand having been a social worker I know that abusers are not always the one that creep you out. I additionally have seen so many times when the abused talk about “no one would believe me” and how much pain that caused on top of the abuse. How do you tell which one is lying, who is making up stories to cover their misdeeds?
I have luckily not been involved in any of the conversations about “poor John and Mary” we just know he could not have done this. This is very painful and even more so for the family members involved I am sure.