Go out and throw rocks at the billboard.
If any of the local constabulary challenge you you can just tell them you were trying to click “Like,” but the billboard was too high up.
Go forth and give every medication a try. I’ve lived with pain for 40 years and the things that it does to your mind don’t even approach what it does to your body, so the sooner you get treatment, the later you’ll end up mental.
Also, practice saying “No, I can’t do that”, both to yourself and to others. If that birthday party is something you are doing out of family habit, call and say that you just can’t do it and that you are very sorry. Far better to rest and feel somewhat better than to go and feel worse.
I realized something today. For the first time since I don’t even know when, I have moments of actual peace. Times when I’m not feeling stress from inside and/or out, and it’s because I managed to get to a point where I can balance what my body needs with what the rest of the world needs. Don’t let it take you 40 years to get there!
Frigging WalMart and FedEx are fucking me over this year. Our school runs a holiday gift drive, where families can buy gifts for less fortunate children. My wife found a great deal at WalMart and decided to buy a few winter coats for the kids. Mail order, technically FedEx and Mail order.
Ordered them 2 weeks ago, was quoted a delivery date of late last week. They’re not here. FedEx hasn’t updated their tracking location since last Thursday, when they were approx. a 4hr drive from my house. FedEx says all of their SmartPost stuff is “a few days late”.
Now, I’m going to be too late to donate these coats in time for the gift drive pickup, and need to find new ones to cover the gifts I’ve promised to get.
Texted my niece and said I can’t make it. Texted her mom (my sister) and told her why.
I’m glad you took curly’s advice. I’m sorry for your pain; it sounds awful. 
Cheesesteak, if you have the storage space: you have next year’s charity shopping done ahead of schedule!
Dear husband:
Yes, we combined everything when we got married. We share closets. Our guns share the same gun safes. Our cats use the same litter boxes. When you are out of town, you call me so we can share our days. Sharing is a good thing between committed couples.
However, when you come home with the Martian Death Flu, sharing it with me is not so nice. Drag your sorry coughing, sneezing fever ridden ass up the stairs and sleep with the cats!
Sincerely,
Your loving wife
I held out for as long as I could but I am fucking sick of Christmas. I’m sick of the shitty, repetitive music; I’m sick of the ugly decorations; I’m sick of the forced, fake cheer; I’m sick of people asking me my plans even when they know I don’t celebrate Christmas.
I don’t watch TV, I don’t listen to the radio, and I try to have earbuds in whenever I’m out in public. It’s only the 18th and I’m alreasdy sick of this stupid fucking holiday.
Reminds me of when I’d bring home whatever bug was going around school and give it to my mother.
She took to writing excuse notes for “Typhoid Mary”. 
Back in the Dark Ages, when Fortran programmers roamed the earth, I encountered a programmer who used absolutely no spaces in his code. The variables, the command words, everything all ran together in one blob of letters.
If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result then why would upholding 50 year old embargos and sanctions against a country all of the sudden start working to convince them that communism is bad? It wouldn’t, nothing was going to change unless we change.
sniff Ah romance! 
Anti-Rant: I just experienced a Christmas miracle!
My ex finally obtained a real job and… we received child support!
Yes, our “child” is 21 and there hasn’t been charging on the case in over 2 years - he owes us substantial arrears - and I’m sure it has nothing to do with his upcoming court hearings on his other child support cases. Don’t care, though, I’ll take it!
Regular version:
It’s not the Grammar Nazis that get me, it’s the fucking Grammar Brown Shirts. You pissant little fucks. If someone posts a grammar or style question and includes an example, no one gives two flying fucks about your ability to rewrite the example–that doesn’t answer the question being asked. Sure, one time out of a hundred someone actually is asking how to approach a sentence from the ground up, but most of the time you’re avoiding the question asked. Knock it off. If you don’t know, don’t fucking answer, and don’t fight the hypothetical.
Passive aggressive version:
Its knot the Grammar Nazis that get me, its the fucking Grammar Braun Sherts. Ewe pissant little fucks. If someone posts a grammar or stile question and includes an eggsample, noone gives too flying fucks about you’re ability to reright the exhambple;: that dozent anser the kwestshun being asked. Sure, won time out of a hundred someone actually is axing hau too approach a sentence from the groundup, butt most of the thyme youre avoiding the question asked. Nock it off. If hue don’t no, doughn’t fucking answer, and dont fyte the hyper theoretical.
In the late 80’s, I took over some programs from this older woman who made COBOL variables like;
10-Bobs-House
10-Marys-Cat
Now, COBOL is almost straight English, so the idea is that you make your variables descriptive of what they are. Like;
10-Monthly-Amortization-Percent
Or something like that. WHO THE FUCK KNOWS WHAT BOBS HOUSE IS SUPPOSED TO MEAN? Had to fucking rewrite her entire data sections so people would know what the program was doing.
Seeing all these stories about food places running out of food, my first thought is: Do they not have supermarkets or grocery stores in these cities? They could send someone down to buy some more tortilla shells or cans of refried beans. It’s not unheard of.
Honest to Dog, I once went to a Ruby Tuesday (don’t judge, I love their salad bar,) and they were out of:
Ketchup
Napkins
Drinking straws
Half of their menu
I understand that their menu items come from a company commissary, but this particular restaurant was situated in front of a giant Walmart, and across the street from a Sam’s Club. I asked for the manager, after being told that we couldn’t have straws or napkins, and that my daughter the Ketchup Dunking Queen (seriously, she used to dunk everything except her Cheerios,) couldn’t have any with her fries and chicken tenders, which meant that she wouldn’t eat her meal. I expressed sympathy - I know it’s a PITA when the commissary order gets screwed up - but asked why he didn’t take some cash and go buy the basic supplies. “I never thought to do that!”
Seriously?! That’s Management 101 - if you can fix it, do so right now! :smack:
TheKid used to work at a restaurant well known for their sweet Italian bread. Every morning the owner would bake loaves and loaves of the stuff, but they would sometimes run out. It happens.
However, an Italian restaurant running out of mozzarella cheese? She had to run to the grocery store to get enough to finish the evening more than once. They sucked at ordering.
Luckily, now she’s in a larger kitchen where they actually have supplies. She was shocked when she started there and opened the multiple fridges to see stock.
My wife once went to a local DQ wannabe and ordered a banana split. She heard the cashier and manager discussing in the back that they were out of bananas. The manager sent the server to the grocery store next door to buy some bananas, and finally, after she got back, my wife was given her banana split. The kicker? They forgot to put in the bananas!
I pit low unemployment.
In the past few months Silicon Valley roads have pretty much collapsed during the evening commute. Add some much needed rain, and it becomes intolerable - two hours to go 13 miles last night. It is bad from five to seven, at least.
I don’t pit Silicon Valley drivers - for once. No accidents. Almost no one doing something stupid. Just slog, slog, slog.
Yeah but the real big rant is that the embargo’s purpose has nothing to do with fighting Communism in Cuba, and rant squared for any exiles whose vote depends on who is pro-embargo.