Shows you what the fuck I know.
Called my landlord. They’re bringing (another) new refrigerator tomorrow.
::crosses fingers and tries to be optimistic::
Yes, WHEW!
I don’t know what color my eyes are. I’m not blind, nor am I color-blind. This has been bugging me for about a year. Before that, I just sort of assumed they were brown. Then I started looking in mirrors, and realized, no, they were. . .amber? Green? Hazel? Something else entirely. Lo-rez, stick-the-cell-phone-in-front-of-my-eye-pictures weren’t much help.
Then, today, I had a revelation; the new camera has a macro mode. So I used my iPhone flash as a supplemental light. And, guess what? I got some pretty clear pictures of my eyes.
But, guess what? I still don’t know what fucking color they are. I mean, I can say what colors are in there, but not what color, singular, they are. Except I could say “hazel”, but that’s a cop-out, because no one really agrees on what hazel eyes look like. So, one of the questions that should be answered on my freaking driver’s license? I don’t know the answer to it.
Argh!
You have very nice eye lashes.
I have no fucking clue what color your eyes are either. 
Dark hazel: both brown and green are visible. Put hazel on the driver’s license.
Hi, mom. I’m sorry you were upset that the no-smoking hotel caught you smoking in the room. Beyond the lack of consideration for staff and future guests, beyond the lack of respect for the law, beyond all the other obvious things… you’re blaming the maid? Really? Is it her fault you get winded walking up two flights of stairs, too? Or are those your ubiquitous “allergies” ?
Tobacco industry, you have a lot to answer for. She started smoking in the 1950s, and back then you knew things she didn’t. Common sense should have told her not to start, but you really didn’t help, either, and I resent the thousands of dollars she’s given to you and more than that the damage to her health. In her 60s she is elderly in a way that my non-smoking relatives of the same age are not.
Maybe the people YOU know don’t agree, but The Lord Of All Knowlegehas this definition:
“Hazel eyes often appear to shift in color from a light brown to a golden-green. Hazel mostly consists of brown and green. The dominant color in the eye can either be green or light brown/gold.”
That’s not a cop-out. That’s just being multicolored! 
Can’t come in here without something to bitch about so: people I work with, stop assuming I’m obsessed about the royal wedding just because you are. I got married in my fucking jeans, so why would I give a shit what some chick’s dress is gonna look like?
Don’t care about Idol, either. I watch sooo much trash TV, seriously, yet no one I work with watches a single one of the same shows as me. WTF?
I just checked. Rocky had its NYC premiere on November 21, 1976 but was released in the U.S. as a whole on December 3, 1976. The song was #1 for a week in 1977. However, while I see the *Saturday Night Fever soundtrack on this list of top-selling albums (beaten by The Bodyguard *and Dirty Dancing), I don’t see *Rocky *anywhere on there.
Looks like the quizmaster was wrong, wrong, wrong. The only thing he got right was that the theme hit #1.
This is simultaneously disgusting and hilarious.
Ooh, ooh, I got one from Easter, too: Banging a metal fork on a plastic high chair tray in a dining hall.
Yay kitteh!
So *you’re *the one who’s been stealing all our heat. GIVE IT BACK.
Yay!
Hazel. As **purplehorseshoe **observed, that’s what hazel usually indicates–a mix of brown and green or gold. (For instance, mine are brown on the inside with a solid, distinct ring of green on the outside.)
Why must it be so difficult to find scholarships that don’t exclude me in some way?
HA! I knew that complaining would cause me to find one I qualify for - assuming of course that they offer it next year too. With my luck, they wont offer it for the first time in over 15 years.
But, I meet all the qualifications. Yay for being a woman who graduated high school over 10 years ago!
I finally have an appointment with the orthopedist tomorrow afternoon - at which point I will have been managing with an unset, broken foot for 4 days and 8 hours. Even as late as yesterday afternoon, the fucking worker’s comp insurer didn’t have my injury on file, and then today, when the orthopedic practice finally got all of the paperwork, their only workman’s comp doctor is in surgery all day. AAARGH!!!
Did I mention that I broke my foot Saturday morning? And that there may be ligament damage as well? And that so far, I have only been given a post-op shoe (not even a hard boot - just one of these stupid things! Useful as tits on a boar hog for an injury affecting the bone just below my ankle. It’s made to go over bandages and stuff, so the damned shoe doesn’t even touch the area below my ankle, even with the velcro as tight as it will go…)
And I can’t drive, my ribs and hands are bruised from using crutches, I can’t carry the baby anywhere, I can’t walk the dogs, I desperately need to buy groceries, and I need some damned pain medication! Dammit!
White male high school dropout millionaires are such an oppressed class, it’s true. 
How the hell is “broken foot” not something they’d be treating immediately, letting you go to a different facility if the normal worker’s comp person is busy? WTF.
Yeah, what the hell’s up with that. Surely that can’t be legal.
That’s why you have us. GO Team Venture!
Depends on how bad the injury is. I broke my wrist on a Saturday, went to the ER, got a splint on it, and was finally seen on the following Wednesday by an orthopedist, and that was without having to wait for a particular doctor for worker’s comp reasons.
It had been a particularly icy weekend, and anything that wasn’t completely out of place (bonus points for piercing the skin) was not a priority. My wrist was broken but for then, the bone was still in its expected alignment.
Lacunae, didn’t the ER doc give you a prescription? Would you be able to call there and ask for one?
Don’t I wish.
I do know that there are definitely scholarships out there that I qualify for. It’s just frustrating trying to navigate collegefish.org and putting in my specifications, only to have it spit out 60 scholarships I don’t qualify for and 10 that are just looking for my email address to spam me with online school junk mail.
My speech professor just told me that I’d count as a minority if I transferred to a historically black school and there is funding that way. Imagine that. Me, in all my pearly white glory, could actually be considered a minority.
Very sorry you’re going through this, Lacunae Matata. Stories like this can make me stop rolling my eyes at work when I see one of those signs that says “Report ALL Injuries, No Matter How Minor, To A Supervisor”.
Well, at least until the next time I crimp my thumb in a pair of needle-nose pliers.
kitteh update
About a half hour after posting that she’s OK, she went back to hiding and hissing. I checked her out and figured it looked like she’d simply been cleaning her back end to the point of self-injury. Just a bit too raw down there.
A short while later, I found an object near her hiding place. It looked like a yellow-brown dowel about 2" long with flat (slightly concave) ends. When I picked it up, I could see it was composed of hair and plant material. There was a 1" chunk of catnip stalk embedded in the side. She had been, quite literally, plugged. I threw it in the toilet and let it sit for a couple of hours to dissolve. Yup, all hair and shards of catnip stems*.
Allowed her to sleep in my room, which she only did part of the night. When I got up, I found a big pool of urine next to the cat box. Fortunately that is on the tile floor and easily cleaned.
When I got home today, there was some dried urine on the dining room floor. Same thing, hard surface and easily cleaned, so no worries. She went to the box, let out a yelp and came out without doing anything, so I fear there may be another plug coming out sooner or later.
Otherwise she’s fine. Came up on my shoulder when I sat down at the computer and purred.
*I had pots of catnip on the deck last year. There is one pot remaining out there with a dead, dried plant in it. I’m waiting for it to warm up so I can break up the seed heads into the top of it, pull out the rest, and throw a fresh layer of soil over the top. Apparently she’s been eating it. That’ll learn her!
Doesn’t dairy give cats diarrhea? Maybe kitty needs a little milk.
Friend who I am talking to on facebook chat, stop talking to me on facebook chat and CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE for the guy who is passed out after taking some unknown substance earlier on.
She called.
Shit. Fuck. Piss. Ogdamn. Miserable. Whore.
EBS called. She left a message. (And I Don’t Want Her Back In My Fucking Life!!!)
So now she knows For Sure that we know her husband has stage 4 cancer. No, I can’t get him into any clinical trials. My wife can’t either. And with 14 years of beg-borrow-stealing time from people & paying for programs & camps for every day we had to work when our kids were off from school…all while she & hers were busy every single time… we’re fucking well not inclined to drive her/him all over Og & Sundry for medical treatments. I’m sorry he’s dying. I didn’t kill him. And I don’t want either of them back in my life. Somethings said & done can’t be unsaid, undone, or unstolen.
I won’t ask where every picture my father ever took of me since I was born is. I KNOW where the Harrison landfill is.
EBS, you made your choices, you made your bed. You didn’t mind having your mother with Alzheimer’s sign blank checks for you. You bragged about getting Mom’s Florida condo & Fuck The Rest of Us. Well, enjoy. Have a nice life. Just have it elsewhere.
Yes, I’m erasing that message. No, I’m not writing down your number.