And beverages! (Hopefully of the adult variety.) But don’t you just love people who assume that your time/energy/money isn’t quite as important as theirs? (“Should I call Olives and tell her the party’s cancelled? Nah, I’m too busy, and she surely won’t mind the waste of her evening!”)
You get a phone call hours AFTER the party was supposed to start? And has this person been completely removed from your life? My God, the nerve of people. Sometimes I think you have to believe in karma, that people like her will get rewarded in kind for the things they do.
Would definitely make me think more than twice about accepting any future invites from this person.
It was in the upper 80’s today (after snowing last week). May 1 and I’m sweltering like it’s August. And there are big horrible bugs flying around outside at night bumping into the screens.
That’s all I got.
Dear Admins on the Work at Home Mommy Message Board,
The word fuck isn’t one tenth as offensive as posting jobs that don’t pay minimum wage. Stop censoring the first and condoning the second, you dimwitted twits. This is why you live in Bumfuck Nowheresville, shop for second rate garbage at Wal Mart, send your kids to shitty schools where they learn to write just as poorly as you do and live in a leaky trailer with no medical insurance despite working three jobs.
Sincerely,
Fuck you
P.S. You might also want to stop freaking out about gays
What started out as an allergy attack has now turned into a seriously nasty cold. I’m afraid to sneeze, as I might just explode into a large puddle of goo.
Fuck you, allergies. You lulled me into a false sense of security over the weekend. I didn’t take a single swallow of medication at all and I was totally fine and happy. So of course an extremely busy Monday comes around, and suddenly I can’t work at all because I’m too busy blowing my nose. Even rousing the decongestant troops and launching a full-scale counterattack hasn’t done a damn thing.
This was a former coworker, that is, I left my old internship a couple of weeks ago and my coworker invited me to the party. We had been friends at work, but I hadn’t seen her or talked to her for a couple of weeks since going on summer break.
She said she didn’t have my phone number. I thought she had it, but if she was at work, my former supervisor definitely had it, and it wouldn’t have taken much effort to swing by her office.
In the very least, I would call ahead of time. ‘‘Hi, I’m coming to your party. You’re there, right?’’
The cheesecake is delicious, by the way. It’s one of those smooth and fluffy ones that sticks to the fork.
I am 93.75% done with my masters degree in public policy (the ultra-precise figure is based on the fact that I need to take one more class, which I’ll take care of this summer). As you might guess, one of the major employers for someone with a masters degree in public policy is the government.
The website for all federal hiring, usajobs.gov, is such a fucking disaster, it makes me want to punch the designer of this mess in the face. You can upload a pdf of your resume, but it isn’t searchable, so so you have to then rewrite your whole fucking resume into the usajobs system. Okay, I did that, it was annoying. Then it turns out that pretty much every agency in the federal government has its own internal application system.
Eventually, I’ll have applied for one job with every agency I’m interested in, and they will all have my information and I won’t have to do this bullshit every single time. That day is not yet here.
Frankly, I wonder how the government manages to hire anyone.
The fucking blowhard in front of me at the QFC today.
-
Yells loudly: are there any more cashiers in this store? No wonder I don’t shop here!
-
Gets in line, starts trying to make with the jokey talk with the customer in front of him. She flees.
-
Cashier starts ringing up 2-liter sodas. Guy asks, loudly: What are you charging for those sodas?! They’re on sale!
-
Cashier asks politely if the guy has his “rewards card”. “NO! My phone number is :: blahblahblah::” Cashier types it in, asks him to repeat it, types it again, says “It’s not coming up.”
-
Guy yells: “Take that soda off of there! I’m not paying $8.00 for goddamned soda!”
-
Cashier, looking startled, offers to scan a store card so he can get the discount. At this point, I’m about to step into the fray when another cashier offers to ring me up two aisles down. I can still hear him: “How come my number doesn’t come up?!”
Dear genius:
- It’s not the cashier’s fault that she’s alone at the moment.
- It’s not the cashier’s fault that you are too stupid to carry your card with you or too stupid to remember your phone number.
- The cashier doesn’t set the prices on merchandise.
- You probably shouldn’t drink your fucking breakfast and then go shopping.
- Being an obnoxious asshole is not a calling, you fucking douchebag.
- Believe me, we all wish your number would come up.
You find the designer, I will hold while you punch him, repeatedly. Not only is it horrible, but six months after I pulled my resume, it still sends me emails about openings. No thank you, already go a job.
My personal current beef: schedules, if you print it and distribute it, you should probably follow it. A certain organization that while religious in origin, but now is mostly a low cost fitness and activity center, prints up schedules of what they offer for child care. Then they do not follow the schedule. Next time they can tell the kid why he can’t play ping-pong like he was promised. Ping pong, swimming, basketball, circle jerks, I don’t care, but if you tell five and six year olds that you are going to do something, they are going to expect it. I don’t need the drama, I just want 45 minutes to go abuse myself as payment for ignoring my growing bulk.
What does an evanglical peddling god peddle? Encyclopedias? Self-written encyclopedias, perhaps, if he’s the omniscient type?
Yes, yes, god was the direct object of peddling, not the noun being modified by it. But my way is funnier.
Get her a tubal ligation for Christmas so that she can fuck up a few times and learn things the hard way without being *completely *fucked.
Ah. You didn’t get invited to a party. You got invited to *cater *a party. Potluck-style is all well and good for family gatherings or close groups of friends, but for fuck’s sake, people… if you’re going to host, host. Can’t say I’m surprised a douchy bitch like that would fail to let you know the party was canceled.
Genius.
Website registration pages that offer only those types of security questions that are by nature ambiguous or changeable. “What is your favorite movie?” What, you mean like, right now? How will that help me ten months from now when I’ve forgotten my login credentials? Hmmm, maybe I’ll say Star Trek. Which Star Trek?
“What is your pet’s name?” Well, let’s see, I had three cats, but two died recently. The third is soldiering on but he’s seventeen, so who knows how much longer he’ll be around.
“Who was your childhood hero?” What, you mean like Batman, or are we talking about real people?
I was with you up until there. It’s not a fucking quiz you’ll be graded on. As long as your answer will be consistent, they don’t care what it is. So, yes, you *could *answer Batman as readily as Neils Bohr.
Blame a combination of Monster.com (they’re the ones who actually provide the backend for the site ) and that getting Federal agencies to agree to follow a single format makes herding cats seem easy.
What’s sad is that the current incarnation of usajobs.gov is better designed and a bit easier to use than it was when I was using it to apply for jobs. Uggg.
And for what’s pissing me off - allergies. Just go away already. I’d like to wake up in the morning and not sound like I’m trying to hack up a hairball.
<< Never trust a computer you can’t throw out a window. ~Steve Wozniak >>
Hee. I’m going to have to remember that line for next time I run into one.
Another snowstorm pencilled in for tonight and tomorrow. At least I was able to get out and dig a little bit today. 
If you’re in the right hand turn lane, signaling to turn right off a main drag, and you come to a near stop and start to turn your wheels to make the turn, DO NOT suddenly straighten out and rocket right in front of the person who WAS turning right out of that same street. You almost hit me, you senile piece of shit! And I was just coming out of the fucking auto shop. That would have been real cool.
Oh yeah, please give me a dirty look as you damn near take off my front end. It’s all my fault for being stupid enough to believe someone in the process of making a turn is actually going to do that, not blindly rocket back into traffic.
The thought of following your ass and having a few words with you briefly crossed my mind, but I was following my mother back to my sister’s house.
In the same vein, if you suddenly realize you are in the wrong lane on a busy street, and are about to miss a turn, or head down a street you don’t really wish to be on, DO NOT either suddenly swerve into my lane without signaling, OR stop in your current lane and hold up traffic trying to fix your mistake. Go with the flow of traffic and find your first opportunity to take a different street, do a K-turn without holding up traffic, whatever. You screwed up; it happens. Don’t inconvenience or endanger the rest of us while you try to force your way into a new lane of traffic.
Oh, and DON’T BLOCK THE INTERSECTION! If you aren’t sure if you’ll clear the intersection before the light changes, stay right where you are. If I was a Chicago cop I could solve the city’s budget problems just by planting myself at the intersection of North Ave and Sheffield and writing tickets for blocking the intersection. Our city would have a budget surplus by year’s end.
My sister’s damn kids came over this weekend and ate a lot of the food that I had JUST bought at the grocery store, with my own money. They have free reign of the fridge whenever they come over (I live with my parents) and always end up eating MY food, which I buy with my own paycheck, which is not cheap- soy pudding, Greek yogurt, etc. God, it pisses me off SO. MUCH. The worst is when one eats something of mine, then the other two want one, and then it is gone. Grrrr. I wish my mother would at least monitor what they are taking and make sure it is something she bought. She is a doctor, I am a lowly artist. She can afford to feed 3 kids, I cannot. I can only afford to feed ME.
Also, today at school I stopped to look at a bulletin posted at the top of a staircase. The staircase is nice and wide so that you could easily walk four abreast. Why does this woman stop behind me and sigh and hem and haw until I move? You could have walked around me, lady. Good Lord. I hate people sometimes.
Hell is other people.