Thank you. I shall use it wisely.
A new one this evening. I know I ought to know better but I was tired and didn’t feel like making dinner.
Dear, Taco Bell:
When you fail to make my burrito supreme with sour cream and I call you on it (because I watch you people like a hawk due to your constant incompetence) do not make my burrito supreme without sour cream again because you thought I was complaining that there was sour cream on the last one. And while I’ve got your attention, I would like to reiterate the other things you you’ve done that you should not do:
- Put rice on my burrito supreme.
- Put icing on my burrito supreme.
- Forget to put beans on my burrito supreme.
- Put beans on my burrito supreme that have been sitting in the tureen so long they’re crunchy.
- Neglect to put a topping on my burrito supreme because you’ve run out and figure I won’t notice the difference.
- Charge me for a similar but more expensive item because you can’t connect the “beef burrito supreme” that I asked for with the “burrito supreme” option on your register and just charge me for something that looks kinda similar and costs 50% more.
You know, now that it’s all down in writing, remind me again why the hell I keep patronizing your establishment? It’s obvious that “training” in your corporate world never appears in a sentence without being followed by “pants.”
I’d say “icing in a burrito” is the kicker, and a sure sign it’s not simple incompetence; someone there doesn’t like you. Are you a prick, by any chance?
Been to more than one TB. Didn’t notice anything that resembled icing, on the menu.
I’m not gonna say what I’m thinking, 'cause its really pretty disgusting.
I think I have a new saying; “Well, that’s just icing on my Burrito Supreme.” I don’t know what it means, but I like it.
Or, “THAT’S NOT ICING!!!” I like that, too.
That’s the thing. There is nothing at Taco Bell that calls for icing. I figure that a shipment of icing bound for Pizza Hut ended up at Taco Bell (both chains owned by Yum! Brands) while a shipment of sour cream ended up at Pizza Hut. So, somewhere, someone was fed Sour Cinnamon Sticks.
But the kicker? The caulking gun they used to apply it toppings was half empty – and I was the first one who complained.
The only time I’m a prick is when some idiot puts icing on my burrito.
Oh, and the saying I took away from that is, “Well, that just frosts my burrito.”
K-Mart deserves to go out of business.
I ordered a badly needed replacement mattress for our trundle bed this morning. I’ve been looking everywhere and the mattresses I saw were easily three times the price K-Mart wanted and that did not include delivery. We are having guests and I need a place for them to sleep. The K-Mart website took the order and set up a delivery time for this week. I just checked my email. They’ve cancelled my order because demand is too high!
Bastards.
I have to start the search all over again. I hate that place.
Another cycling rant.
Did you ever play one of those old street racing games where the object was to avoid pedestrians? Remember how on those old games, the pedestrians would just sort of wander blindly into the street, completely oblivious to the fact that a vehicle was heading toward them at high speed? I learned yesterday that this wasn’t because of the AI limitations of the old games; they were in fact life-like simulations of how the fuckwits here actually behave.
I was riding my bike home last night (Monday) a little past midnight, up a four-lane, one-way avenue (between Ningyo-cho and Kodenma-cho for those of you keeping score). There was little traffic in general and I must have caught a lull in the light cycle because I was the only vehicle on the street. I had my front and rear flashing lights on at full power, was obeying the traffic signals and was traveling at traffic speed (about 35kph). In the space of seven blocks, I had to brake four times because of pedestrians wandering into the street without even looking to see if anyone was coming.
First, the four drunk morons who couldn’t decide which side of the street they wanted to be on and crossed back and forth three times (against the light) as I was approaching them. The one who seemed to be trying to direct his drinking buddies was just wobbling back and forth in my lane the whole time and didn’t even notice me coming until I stopped about two feet away from him.
Second was the wanderer. He was just meandering up the street in the middle of the second lane as if he were strolling through the park, with his back to me and any other traffic coming up the street.
Third was the Very Important Businessman. I could tell he was Very Important because he was engaged in cell phone conversation that precluded checking for cross traffic as he stepped off the curb (again, against the lights). I doubt he ever knew I was there.
Fourth was the delivery guy pushing a dolly with boxes on it. He’d been walking on the sidewalk until he got to an intersection and decided to cross (against the lights, naturally) swinging his dolly out right in front of me.
All I needed was a mother using her baby stroller as a seeing-eye dog and the ride would have been complete. This is why I stay off the sidewalk: if pedestrians are this oblivious in the middle of the street, how attentive are they going to be off it?
I swear one of these days I’m going to mount an air horn on my handlebar. It will either wake these slapheads up or give them fatal heart attacks. Either one will make the streets safer.
To the fuckwits who robbed me today,
I hope you’re satisfied. There was less than $20 in cash in my wallet; meanwhile I’m going to have to bend over backwards and bellydance on one toe through infinite webs of bureaucratic red tape if I’m going to replace my F-1 visa and my I-94 documents. Not to mention my favorite sweater, all the music on my iPod, and the bag itself. I suppose I should say thank you for not beating me and my friend up as well. I hope you get eaten alive by cicadas this summer. Very slowly.
How, how, HOW did I fuck up a recipe for Peanut Butter Cookies? The recipe came from a CHILDREN’S cookbook! My First Baking Cookbook! THIS BOOK IS AIMED AT SEVEN YEAR OLDS! My cookies are not delicious, they are flat and crumbly!
I hate everything. Hate cookies, hate peanut butter. Hate peanut butter cookies. Hate my oven, hate brown sugar. Hate my own stupid self. HAAAAAAAAATE!
And if my brother must drink all my Diet Coke, could he at least replace it? No, of course not. Bah
And on preview, I note that my day has been about a thousand times better than yours, HazelNutCoffee. I handed my wallet over to a Big Scary Man once, and as well as being iconvenient, it made me feel miserable and unsafe; if I’d had everything taken from me, I’d be a mess. I’d offer you a cookie, but trust me, that’ll only make things worse
Porn sites that don’t know the difference between chubby and downright obese.
*Porn site addendum: * laughably fluid definition of “teen” and euphemism-straining application of “mature.”
You are a nice French restaurant, and as such, are not the cheapest place around. No problem with that at all, since I was taking my wife and her sister out to dinner to thank the sister for staying with us and helping us out for the last 8 months.
The food was great, the wine nice. It’s too bad that the two ladies don’t drink or we could have shared a nice bottle. Instead I just had wine by the glass.
So far, so good. And my wife orders juice, without ice, as is her wont. So why the holy fuck can you be so goddamn cheap to bring out a fucking glass two-thirds full and explain that’s how much space would have been taken up with the ice? That’s what? A good 12 cents of juice that you’re not going to spot us because it fucking cost too goddamn much? With a bill of over $200, is that seriously going to put you in the red for the whole fucking night?
Dear morons who live in my neighborhood:
It was 9:45 on a Monday night. Most of us had to get up and work this morning. You think you could lay off the fucking fireworks until the Fourth of July like normal people, assholes?
Thanks for waking my kid up. Twice. I especially appreciate it on a night that he’s finally able to sleep after being sick for two days.
If you end up blowing a finger off, I won’t say I’m sorry.
Your pissed-off neighbor
I would have reduced the tip by a third, telling them it was space that would’ve been occupied with additional tip money if they’d provided reasonable service instead of being such petty money-grubbing fucks.
So in a recent mini-rant thread, I ranted about my neighbor who parks his SUV at right angles, blocking in other cars. Same guy also leaves his laundry in & around the machines for literally days on end. We only have one washer & one drier for the whole building. He’ll actually leave wet laundry down there for days - so when he finally remembers it’s there, he has to wash it again because it’s musty & gross. His problem, but it’s still annoying when I want to do laundry & have to move his piles of clothes around.
Anyway, it seems that SUV Guy is moving. And, according to my husband who’s working at home today, he’s throwing a bunch of crap off of his balcony - 3 floors up. The area he’s throwing into is where we park our cars. Stuff like old notebooks, a laptop, and other things that are probably going to still be there when I get home at 5. Sure, that’s an assumption on my part - but I think it’s a safe assumption considering how long he leaves his clothes in the laundry room. And his clothes are things he wants, this stuff is trash.
He also left a broken futon & mattress by our trashcans as garbage. Our regular trash cans are large, but small enough for one person (hired by our leasing office) to take them to the curb every week. This person will not take large items like this - it’s not their job to do so, as we have “large item pickup” days once a month. And we as tenants are responsible for moving our large items out. So a giant futon is going to be sitting by our trash cans until either someone else in our building decides to drag it out to the curb, or maintenance does something about it.
If all the trash is still there when I get home, I’m calling our leasing office. Maybe they can make him pick it up.
To my slacker BIL…under what rock were you raised that you thought it was appropriate to wear a t-shirt, blue jean shorts, and tennis shoes to my son’s high school graduation???
You didn’t interact with any of the other family…in fact, when my SIL introduced herself to you, you replied with a grunt.
Oh, and for a man with a bad back, you managed to heft my son up for the photo with no problem.
I fear my sister is slipping into White Trash territory.
Dear girl -
The least you can do when you break my heart is to be a bitch to me so I can hate you. 
If the leasing office won’t take care of it, I think I would gladly take all his stuff to the garbage myself to be rid of it and him, in a joyful celebration of “Ding dong, the asshole’s gone.”
Dear coworkers:
I understand my boss (and he is also the boss of one of you!) is an incompetent nincompoop.
I also understand that there is nothing to be done about this.
So could you please stop sighing exasperatedly every time I transfer him back to you? I am the AA, I can’t help it, STOP SHOOTING THE MESSENGER. Sadly you are beginning to act rather like him.
When I am gone from this place you can transfer your own damn calls.