Really minor rants.
I appreciate that Ornette Coleman is a great and important and revolutionary jazz musician - but how come he only wrote one single tune in his whole life and put that same annoying little tune into 3/4 of his compositions?
Also, I got splashed by a bus today. 
Other than that, though, today hasn’t been so bad.
What the fuck am I doing here?
I’m back out in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, with buses that run I think biannually, to celebrate Christmas with my girlfriend’s family.
I hate these people. I really, really, really fucking hate these people. And the feeling is pretty obviously mutual. So what the fuck am I doing here? Why am I even here? I could have told my girlfriend “I’m sorry, hun, I just really don’t feel up to this”, blown her off, and spent Christmas with my landlady and her family. You know, people I actually enjoy spending time with. Who have interesting things to say. Who didn’t chastise my SO for getting up at night to comfort me when I was having a serious mental breakdown because “When you were having problems, he just told you to go get professional help and that’s what you should have told him”.
Oh, you disgusting, ignorant piece of SHIT. Never mind that she may very well have saved my fucking life that night, but you have no fucking clue how hard I tried to help her. I told her to seek professional help because I thought it would help (and yes, I am looking for it for myself, because unlike you, you stupid shit, I recognize that it’s useful!) and only after I had spent a pretty decent chunk of time trying to resolve it myself. And even after I suggested it, I still was there, giving her as much emotional support as you reasonably can despite being 80 miles away.
In short: fuck her family, and fuck spending Christmas with them. I didn’t think it would be that bad until I was face-to-face with her satan of a mother and had to force down my own rising vomit. I don’t know how I’m going to face them tomorrow. I probably won’t. I’ll just sequester myself in her bedroom, and dream of the Christmas party with people I don’t hate that I’m missing for this shit.
Merry Christmas.
Oddly, it’s a thing that comes and goes.
For an extremely mini rant - I love sushi. I kind of like sushi with tempura fried things, usually shrimp, in it. And supermarket sushi is usually on a par with supermarket sandwiches. But why or why do they feel the need to leave the tails on? That makes three pieces in a pack of twelve ungainly little things that can’t be scooped up with chopsticks and popped in the mouth.
The only way to eat them is to pull out the tail portion and bite off the meat, leaving a disemboweled, meatless sushi donut. Those can be eaten with chopsticks, but they have to be smushed shut first or bits will fall out.
What is the point. The tails aren’t that decorative. Even if they were, how much can they add to a plastic tray of supermarket sushi, covered with stickers and paper sealing bands? Do the marketing guys think that we suspect that’s not really shrimp we’re eating if we can’t see a tail or two? The point of the supermarket package is supposed to be convenience while eating, perhaps in non-standard places. Tails are not convenient. Or pretty.
I feel lighter, now. Or I would if I hadn’t just eaten a tray of supermarket sushi.
All my christmas presents for my family and friends are sitting in a warehouse in Laredo, Texas. I finally got my 2005 CRV licensed in Mexico (by the Honda dealer) in September. They promised that the new Oaxacan plates would arrive “in a couple of weeks”. They got here yesterday, leaving me all of 48 hours to drive a thousand miles to Laredo, load everything, get past the line waiting to get back into Mexico, persuade Mexican Customs not to overcharge me, and drive a thousand miles back home.
So I guess everyone will get their presents on Three King’s Day (January 6) which is old Mexican custom anyway.
At least the weather here is perfect as it always is this time of year - cool nights, sunny 80 degree days, 50 mile visibility from the mountainside where I live.
I was trying to help with a description for you. I’m surprised you couldn’t find one. I see you’re in NY (perhaps not NYC?), so I would have supposed that you would have a Sur La Table or other kitchen supply store in the area, but perhaps not.
It didn’t used to bother me, and a while ago I even started a thread asking other people’s opinions and I said it didn’t bother me much, but - the word “stabby” is starting to make me stabby.
Is that word even used outside of this message board?
Though I do seem to have seen it a bit less lately.
Seeing people rant about the word stabby makes me stabby.
Well, UrbanDictionary has a listing…
I hearty fuck you to the Southwest Indian Foundation for waiting until today to tell me that the necklace I ordered for my mother 3 weeks ago is no longer available. :mad: Oh, and they apologized for not emailing me sooner. Fat lot of good that does me the day before Christmas Eve.
How maddening, alphaboi867. I do know how you feel; one year I ordered a musical keyboard for my mom and the company sent the power cord and a note to say the keyboard was backordered. Gee, I loved presenting mom with a power cord for xmas. At least I got the keyboard later; I suppose if the necklace is “no longer available” that means you are SOL. Damn. At least you can show your mom that e-mail as proof of how hard you tried…yeah, that sucks.
Ah yes, I had forgotten how cats like to “help” with the wrapping paper. Silly me, how could I have forgotten something like that?
Oh, there probably is someplace, but not anywhere I know about off the top of my head. I just wanted to be able to go to a Target, or at worst a Williams-Sonoma or something, and pick up a rack for under $30. Sorry I sounded rude to you, but I didn’t mean to be.
GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAA!!! Fuck Christmas!!!
Fuck your Jesus, fuck your god, fuck your wrapping paper, fuck your presents, fuck your cards, fuck your faggy-fucking carols, fuck your trees, fuck your silver bells, Fuck your 12 ladies dancing, 11 pipers laying pipe into each other, fuck your hens, fuck your geese, fuck all five of your rings, fuck your calling birds, fuck your turtle doves, and really really really fuck your fucking partridge in your fucking pear treeeee!
I’m off to the fucking airport, to fucking fly to fucking Philth-a-fucking-delphia to waste time, money, paper, money… did I mention money?? Can’t wait to buy a $19 ham and cheese on stale bread at LAX. At least I’ll be leaving Feliz Navidad-land.
Crappy holidays to all and to all a gooooooood night.
(Yes, I’m the grinch)
Screw you mailman. I’m not tipping you. You didn’t hold my mail when I was on vacation. You frequently deliver me my neighbor’s mail. I have a weekly magazine subscription and half the issues are missing. I ordered five freaking books from Amazon in the last two months. Two weren’t delivered and one was six weeks late.
So feck off.
They can always scrunch the typeface (equally high, but narrower), or leave the details for the under-headline.
So you’re NOT mad at, um, drummers and leaping lord and milk maids and swans?
When I was a kid, there were public toilets in very convenient locations in parks and sports fields and the beach. They may not have been hygienic or safe, but they were functional and open.
Not anymore. Now they’ve all been knocked down, or are kept locked unless there’s an event on. The only ones you can find open are in shopping centres or the occasional fast food joint, which is usually many blocks, if not suburbs, away from the park. They may be clean and safer, but they’re utterly useless if they’re that far away and you get caught short.
Today I got caught short.
Ugh.
HELL NO! I’m angry at the flight delay!! 
Oh good, I’m not the only one with a shitty mailman. Just yesterday I got my new debit card–that should have arrived a month ago. I had to call the credit union and get another one shipped to me, which has already arrived and been activated. I also joined a Christmas book exchange a month ago, and I have yet to receive a book. That’ll probably show up in February, if at all.
I will say that returning misdelivered mail is one of the more benign ways to get to know your neighbors.
But does he bite your mail and blame it on the dog?