Oh, wow, that’s gotta be rough on you. Hope the dinner date helps! No advice, just hugs. (And feel free to PM me when it gets to be too much. I can’t be much help, but I can listen.)
Wait, is this one product or two?
McDonald’s, what the fuck good is one pickle on any sandwich? Niggard, please.
And now, of course, I am filled with rage.
Okay, I’m always filled with rage, but this time I’m going to release thousands of radioactive bees on Gfactor.
Okay, I’m always filled with rage and threatending to release hordes of radioactive bees on people, but this time I mean it.
What was I talking about again?
Bees.
Thank you so much! I hope dinner helps, too. At least maybe it can give us a break from the kids and remind us why we married each other in the first place. We had similar problems when our first was born (minus the expectations); hopefully our current issues will be similarly fleeting, or at least something we can work through.
It was one product. A generous slice of mango laid on a bed of sticky rice doused in coconut milk. Purchased frozen, but after 5 minutes in the microwave, pure yumminess.
And it’s gone, all gone!
{Points finger and laughs}HA ha - you’re it!
That pisses me off too so I always order extra pickles on every hamburger and fish filet sandwiches from any hamburger fast food joint.
I feel the same way when there is a serious thread about some gender-related topic (usually female) and some male poster sticks his head in for the sole purpose of reminding us that he is male and therefore (in case we didn’t know) doesn’t mensutate/need a bra/lactate/give birth/get hit on by construction workers or frat boys as he walks by, etc. and that this topic doesn’t concern him. The best would be the bra/breast threads that I can set my watch to—the moment the thread is started to the moment a male poster offers his own bra-fitting/mammography/mouth-as-a-breast-pump service appears to be about 5 posts.
Be honest: you made up the rant as an excuse to use the line at the end.
And rage. Bees and rage. *Radioactive *bees and rage.
Our bees are probably all dead from the snow and sub-zero temperatures and high winds.
ETA: 
It’s not really pissing me off, but it does make me feel a little better.
I went to my GP this morning to get some blood drawn for my psychiatrist. Basically, I’m trying to get around my insurance and their stupid rules.
I explain this to my GP and she tells me her tale of woe regarding insurance bullshit, both personal and professional. One time her patient got screwed because of the order she listed his complaints in. The nurse who takes my blood told me tales of woe, too.
I wonder if people who work for BCBS have to deal with BCBS bullshit.
Not at all. I’ll admit I did see someone use it in the last couple of days here and borrowed it because it fits perfectly here.
Parsiminous picklage is the latest rage at McD’s, which I’ve noticed in the few times I eat there a year. I can go to Wendy’s or even Subways and get (almost) as many of my beloved pickles as I want. I really like them on burgers, other sandwiches and the fish filet, especially with mustard accompanying (the burger).
Here, in NYC, they try charge you .05 cents for each extra pickle. Fudge that. Cheap bastidges.
Wait, they charge you $0.05 or 0.05 cents? There’s a pretty big difference in those prices. (Like, two factors of ten.)
Fuck. Now I AM pissed off.
I’m trying to find a new place to live, and at my price point all I see is shit-hole after shit-hole. Finally, I get an appointment to see a (on the face of it) great little duplex in a great neighborhood. Am totally looking forward to heading there after work.
Yay! Away from my freak neighbors! A neighborhood I can walk in! A washer and a dryer of my very own!
Nope. Just got a call. It’s rented.
FUCK.
I think my building might have some openings. It’s definitely a neighborhood you can walk in, and you get your own washer and dryer. However, (a) it’s an apartment building, not a duplex, and (b) you’ll have to trade freak neighbors for yuppie scum neighbors.
Dear weather gods: A breeze is nice. A bit of brisk wind can even be nice. Windy days are acceptable.
Over twenty-four hours of winds at fifty miles per hour, gusting at up to seventy-five miles per fucking hour is not okay. The cats are terrified to go outside and I’m sure as hell not going to go for my usual run on hilly dirt roads in fifty miles per hour wind. Why? Because if nothing else, my skin will dry out so fast it’ll just fall off like I’m a snake, only without the new skin underneath, and I’d really prefer not to sandblast my eyeballs.
Don’t tease me. I can’t take it in my fragile condition! 
(I have another appointment set up this afternoon with a craigslist listing that was just put up today. I think the guy was a little suprised at my… sense of urgency. “Can you show it today? I can leave work anytime!”)
I want to check the webmail on our dsl server, and dslextreme.com is down. :mad: