My husband had to give his permission for ME to get my tubes tied. He didn’t want to do it, and put it off until I told him that his choice was signing that permission slip, or I’d give him a vasectomy. At home. You might try this tactic.
My husband’s brother decided that since he quits every decent job he ever gets because he gets bored, that he should start his own business. And my stupid husband loaned him money and equipment. And of course BIL has lost money, and one of his workers broke/destroyed the equipment. I really, really need to slap someone upside the head. Several someones, actually.
Writers calling someone an alum leaves a really astringent taste in my mouth. This may be my science teacher background talking here, but how hard is it to write alumnus or alumna?
Also- why do people describe things as “red in color” (or whatever color something is)? If I’m reading your craigslist ad, I’m pretty sure your pickup truck ain’t gonna be red in anything else but color.
I presume (because I don’t often read about people speaking of crickets’ “tails”) that the tail your husband insists that he saw is a rodent of some type. I agree that’s worrisome, but if you change your perspective a bit, you might be able to make some lemonade here.
First, make an affirmative decision to adopt the owner of the tail. Give it a name and a gender, such as “Larry” and “male.” Next time Jiminy wakes your hubby, instruct him to call out to Larry: “Here, Larry! Here, boy! Got a yummy yummy cricket for you behind the dresser! Go get it boy! GOOD boy!”
Once Larry has dispatched the cricket, you can rescind the adoption. *“Here Larry! Come and get the cheese! I’ve put it on this piece of exercise equipment, behind the dresser!”
Say WHAT? When did this happen? When I was a kid, the state mental hospital required my mom to show she had her husband’s permission to go the Charlie Parker route, but that was back in the sixties, not that that excuses anything, but it does put it into some context.
(And “Boo” on him for requiring the threat of physical harm to agree to it.)
Dad died 2 weeks ago. He had alzheimers but he was still doing well and he had a great Saturday and then Sunday he threw up in the morning while getting up, his blood pressure was low, paramedics rushed him to the hospital, he got pneumonia from asphiating the vomit and died on Monday. The paramedics for my neighborhood are jerks. They once made it known that I had overreacted when I called them when we couldn’t get a response from Dad. This time they pushed my 83 y.o. Mom rather than just ask her to please move
Then there is my brother who couldn’t attend the funeral cause “it was too expensive” even though I found a flight for $400 less than he did and he had just got back from a hawaiian vacation. He has a good job making 6 figures and it is his dad. No way do you miss your dad’s memorial service.
Plus can you guess of the 6 of us siblings left, who got to make all the arrangements and all the phone calls? And they said they would help with the expenses, ha haven’t seen that money and don’t expect to. I have told them when we are buring dad in a VA cemetery but have not heard anything from them, so it might just be Mom, my brother who lives with me, me and our pastor and the guys playing taps.
And I wish when someone at work asks me a question and I sorta tear up a bit they wouldn’t insist on hugging me. I will get alot less teary if you just let me be.
And my nephew who is living with us is driving mom crazy, he ain’t doing any chores, and I am doing my best to stay out of the middle of it, but I am going to have to talk to him and lay down the law.
But I do appreciate all those who sent flowers, dad would have loved that.
Vent all you need to, deb2world; everybody else does. I’m sorry for your loss, and I urge you to take care of yourself. If that involves coming here to vent, the PIT is open 24/7.
I went on a road trip up to Connecticut last month. I make this same trip every single month, going to the Mother Ship for meetings.
I rented a car and took along my EZ Pass doodad. I went up the Garden State Parkway and over the Tappan Zee bridge on my way to 95. Two days later I came back the same way I went.
Last week I received an alarming “Notice of Violation” from the New York EZPass folks telling me I had not paid a $5 toll, and that I was going to be fined $25 for the infraction.
I immediately went online to check my EZPass account, just to see for myself that the Tappan Zee toll wasn’t there. But it was!
Upon further inspection, I noticed that they had the correct license plate for my rental, but the timestamp for the infraction was exactly 2 seconds off from the timestamp for my good Tappan Zee toll payment.
I called the number on the form and was quite surprised to speak with a reasonable sounding woman who listened to my story. She told me that the infraction wasn’t even for the TZ bridge—it was for the Throgs Neck bridge. But she couldn’t do a thing about it without evidence in writing, since they are “NY” EZ Pass and not “NJ” EZ Pass.
So, I sent off a copy of my EZ Pass statement.
Why is this system that allows my car to flow seamlessly from state to state still arranged in little fiefdoms behind the scenes, who don’t talk to each other?
How come she couldn’t just look at the transaction I gave her (I told her the number) and make the obvious connection with the bogus Throgs Neck one and fix it right then?
And how in thunder did they say my car was on a different bridge, 2 seconds later? If it were the exact same timestamp, I could understand it—a simple data error—but the slightly different timestamp is puzzling.
Those fuckers who stroll inbetween cars at the traffic light with their buckets collecting for their “cause.” I don’t mind the typical homeless person - I can engage or ignore you if I so desire. But these putzes that insist on dancing next to my window pointing at your bucket - I can assure you that you will never see a cent of my money. I hate acknowledging anyone’s presence at the light. I’m looking straight ahead.
Oh, and the online retailer that I ordered several skullcaps from at the beginning of last month… where the fuck are they?
Well this not really mini but Dear Parents: fuck you.
I am to arrive with your granddaughter for a visit tomorrow and today you get into a fight where somehow dad is attacking mom and she calls 911. He taunts her to call because your an asshole who thinks nothing will happen to you. And so now you are handcuffed and sitting in jail. Mom talked to my sister twice today and didnt mention to her that he was arrested. What a nightmare. She thinks he is going to come back home and we are all going to have a nice visit. What a clusterfuck this is going to be. At 72 youre too old to attacking your wife. She has the early stages of alzeimers. We are so sick of their fighting. Maybe this will put a stop to it all after we all get our first introduction to the criminal court system. I’m not sure but a first appearance or bail hearing is tomorrow that my sisters will be attending. This is fucked up. And my dad is going blind. Fuck you both for not acting your age and getting along. I blame my dad the most for causing all this and a lifetime of painful memories. What a shitty trip this is going to be. I am going to call and see if I should come I’m hoping I can assist my mom and sisters and dad through this. Fucking bastard.
This was back in 1980 or 81, in a military hospital, in both Texas and Mississippi, in a military hospital. The Texas GYN department knew that it was gonna shut down to get remodeled, but they didn’t see fit to inform me of this. Instead, after making me jump through a gazillion hoops, they went ahead and made an appointment…and then, when I was almost going to have the operation, cancelled it, and told me that their surgery facilities were getting redone. Bill got transferred to another base after that, and then I jumped through more hoops.
I’d managed to get pregnant three times in two years, once on the pill, once using foam and condoms together, and once with an IUD. I carried the middle pregnancy to term, and the first and last miscarried 5 and 3 months in. After that, I had no faith in birth control, and decided to use the surest method: abstinence. By which I mean NO sexual activity whatsoever. I think that this was also part of the reason Bill saw the light.
Then you need to construct sentences which she will finish one way, but then you can stop and say “No, I was going to say…” and complete a different way.
Most people don’t have any clue of the distinction among alumnus, alumna, alumni, and alumnae. This is English, not Latin; I’ll take the modern adapted neuter “alum” over an improper “alumnus,” “alumni,” etc. any day.
Restraining yourself from *shouting *it is good, but there’s no reason you can’t *calmly *ask, “Could you please stop completing my sentences?” Politely asking someone to stop rude behavior isn’t rude.
I wish you would stop fucking crying whenever I tell you something you don’t want to hear. You asked whether it would be ok if you stayed in our house for two weeks. I said, no, but come for a week and a half. Yes, I know it’s Easter and that your grandson’s birthday is two weeks later. But remember what happened last time you stayed?
Last time you were at my house (during my son’s birthday), you got sloppy drunk and started to cry because no one was talking to you. Boo-fucking-hoo. Everyone was socializing on the porch and you decided to mope inside and clean my living room instead, stating that no one asked you to come out, so you didn’t feel welcome. Apparently you need a written invitation to go out to my porch. Guess what? You’re not getting one.
Last time you were at my house, you berated my husband for not mowing the lawn, even after he told you the mower was out of gas and he was waiting for me to bring some. Guess what? He doesn’t like you much after that (and the dozens of other little digs you’ve managed to take at him), and I don’t want to have to keep you two separated.
While you’re at my house, you’ll sit on your ass for the full two weeks, sewing and watching TV. Same thing you do at home, different location. Why would you go somewhere else to do that?
I had plans for my son’s birthday. Plans he was excited about. Your stay precludes the execution of those plans. So you can stick around that morning, but you will get your ass off my couch in time for me to take him to the zoo. This is probably the last year I’ll get to legitimately keep him out of school for a birthday. I plan to take advantage of it.
You have managed to ruin or usurp most of the past ten years of holidays and birthdays - my son’s, my daughter’s, and before that, mine. You can have the holidays - I don’t care. But, petty as it may seem, my son is looking forward to his birthday this year and I plan to make it as enjoyable for him as possible. Given that for his third birthday, you insisted on taking him to a Champagne brunch at the Ritz (I’m not kidding) where he was forced to sit still for an hour and a half while you drank yourself silly and guzzled caviar, let’s let him decide what he wants this year, shall we?
I said a week and a half, maximum, and have let you know when we’ll be available. Stop trying to wheedle your way into our plans. When you do that, we all wind up on our asses on the couch all day watching you sew and watch Andy Griffith. Not fucking happening this year.
My condolences. I try to be really understanding of the different ways people handle grief, but when my (adopted) mom died, her own blood sister (my real mother) couldn’t be arsed to get off her fat ass and come to the wake. She has two adult sons, both of whom drive; they couldn’t come either. This really hurt me and pissed me off - they couldn’t even be troubled to make one measly phone call to my dad after she died. What the fuck is wrong with people?
Your mom is emotionally abusive and blackmailing! Stick to your guns. Often people who bend over over and over again to their moms suddenly stop bending when they have kids. You are doing the right thing. Don’t let your kid suffer because of a mean old bat who wants all the attention for herself.
Hey, people in my office who insist on standing and having conversations in doorways and at the top or bottom of a stairway, or in the middle of a narrow hallway, and when I try to get by you give me a look like I’m the one inconveniencing you, and after I’ve squeezed by you move right back where you just were so you can be in somebody else’s way too: There are conference rooms all over this place. And you have a desk, don’t you? Go there and talk. Don’t want to do those things? There’s some empty space right fucking over there! No, not right in front of the printer, you twits! Past the printer, there in the corner. You won’t be in anybody’s way and you can yak all you want. But guess what – nobody ever stands there.