I seriously, seriously want a bagel. An onion bagel. Or - even though I normally can’t stand poppy seeds - a big honking everything bagel, with poppy and sesame seeds falling all over as you eat it and a ton of cream cheese, and there’s that perfect little crust that’s just the right texture and the dense-but-spongy inside and it’s still warm from the oven so the cream cheese kind of melts a little bit and oh god it’s like heaven.
But I’m still living in some godforsaken desert where there’s not a decent fucking bagel shop in the whole godamn state, probably because the air is so stupidly thin hear you can’t bake a goddamn thing right, and I’ve honest to god seen people selling green chile bagels, and the bagels in the grocery store? They’re not even shiny. And I can try and sweet-talk my parents into sending me some bagels, but by the time they get here they’ll have bumped along in a UPS truck for two days and will not be fresh from the oven. So…fuck.
I was in the supermarket today and decided to check my blood pressure at the automated machine. I sit down, put my left arm into the cuff, hit the start button and close my eyes to achieve a zen state, and
That thing reads high, ya know!!
I open my eyes and look up to see Helpful Geezer, who proceeds to explain to me how his blood pressure was elevated on the machine but he went to the doctor’s office and got it measured again, and by gum it was a lot lower, and you just can’t trust these contraptions, and…
Congratulations, idiot, you just knocked my own blood pressure up 20 points.
Monday was an unusually humid day. So today, I decide to finally finish the Pepperidge Farm cookies in the bag I’d been saving. I bite in…
GAH! It’s not crisp at all! It’s all mealy under my teeth! The damn humidity got into the cookies and made them all “waterlogged”! Arrrgh! What a waste of cookie-age!
About half of 3yos are like that IME, though; most grow out of it, or at least soften it enough to become great organizers without driving any coworkers to murder.
Now that is one interesting typo… please tell me it is a typo…
To the idjit whose car kissed the ass of mine this morning: I realize 7:40 or so is not a very wakey-wakey time, but it is the time at which we all go to work every morning. Thankfully, neither the car nor myself sustained injuries, but you know what? It’s been four and a half hours and I still wish it had been legal to punch you in the face, just on grounds of the scare you gave me.
If it was that kind, I wouldn’t be whining about it on the internet. Just today there was a thumbnail sized spider that raced under my fucking desk before I could kill it.
I’m done being patient with the spray applied by the “professionals”, I’m bringing in some raid and spraying Friday before I leave the office. Not putting up with this shit any more.
Probably, but I’m still annoyed that I didn’t even try. I might have had a decent chance for that first one, considering how long they were taking calls. I guess I can make myself feel better on that one because I didn’t know I was right until they gave up and announced the answer.
This is very reassuring. I don’t mind the negotiations, I just don’t want to spend the next 15-to-20 arguing over what the definition of “is” is.
Also: It’s raining today, so I wore my Crocs in the car. When I got to work and started changing into my regular shoes, I found out that one of my lovely cats peed in them. So now I am stuck wearing clown shoes all day. Stupid big calves that don’t fit into rain boots.
One of our other practices has a mass of shit to crank out by the end of this month (i.e., end of day today). I was available as a resource almost all month to help out. So when does someone finally ask for help? Yesterday. So when I find that there are some sort of access permissions fucking up so I can’t get at some of the files I need, there’s no time to sort out what’s going wrong, and someone else has to do the work anyway.
Here’s a thought: pass off some of that stack* a couple of weeks ago *and you wouldn’t be so desperate now.
Oh well, at least it makes *my *morning more enjoyable.
I aim to please! Or piss off. Which then pleases me! So everyone wins, really. If by “everyone” I mean me. So, I guess, everyone who matters? Yes, that will do nicely.
1.) Keep your beads someplace separate from your mother’s.
2.) Tell her that the beads are for your own projects.
Voila.
What kind of retarded-ass system uses passcards with no system for getting temporary ones for contractors or vendors? :dubious: I can’t believe they’d be so stupid as to leave no route other than piggybacking for people who have a legitimate need to get in and out of the building but aren’t permanent employees of the company.
*And *gotten through on top of the other five thousand people calling.
For fuck sake, why does my fucking printer get so confused whenever I try to print an envelope? No paper, my ass! I just put an envelope in there. Suck the envelope part way in and partially print only the to address.
Now the damn thing can’t figure out how to print anything. This happens every time I try to print envelopes!
Like hell you will. I’m not splitting my jackpot with anybody.
It’s not that she can’t get out–it’s that she can’t get back in again on her own. Presumably even if the doors out require keycards to activate regularly, there will also be emergency exits that will let you out but also sound alarms.
Being that I am pretty much the poster child for Type II Diabetes precursors, I knew it was only a matter of time before I hit “prediabetes” glucose numbers. I don’t want to go on medication so I decided to try to control it with an extreme low-carb diet. It is working (yay), but I am so sick of people telling me it is going to get easier and that I will quit craving carbs! No, it isn’t getting easier!! Quit lying to me! I am hungry ALL the time! It has been a month and I would cheerfully sell my children to the devil to be able to eat a pizza or waffles with real maple syrup without my numbers going up. I’m tired ALL the time. I have no stamina which really sucks because the only thing I’ve done right all these years is exercise. Now I can’t last more than half an hour to 45 minutes on the tennis court or the soccer field without being totally out of gas!
So, fantastic that I get to live longer, really sucks that it is going to be a miserable extra few years.
Oh noes a whole MONTH. :rolleyes: I haven’t eaten meat, except for fish, which I picked up again about six years ago, since late 2001 or early 2002, and I was vegetarian for a few periods of time before then that probably adds up to another couple of years. I love meat. Love, love, love it. It’s fucking delicious. Do I still crave a hamburger or a steak or bacon? Hell yes. Has it gotten a *billion *fucking times easier the longer I’ve gone without eating it? Also hell yes. You can’t look at what you’re thinking *a month out *and assume that it’s never going to get any easier.
Oh shut the hell up! I’m too tired and hungry to have to listen to some internet pissant lecture me about meat or something. This is the pit, this is mini-rants, deal with it. When this gets easier, I’m sure I will cheerfully come running back to apologize to you for not being kind, but for now, let me repeat, shut the hell up!
I’ve been at it for a year and a half now. It does NOT get easier. Maybe it does with meat, but if it was going to get easier with carbs it damn well should have done so by now.
That said, if you don’t have some sort of basic taste objection to it, I recommend investing heavily in sugar-free hard candy (and don’t chew it). It won’t make you feel strong or energetic or full, but it’s whole lot easier not to stuff something tasty in your mouth when there’s already something in there.
I know - doesn’t that kind of blow the whole idea of having a security system? I’ve breached it (counts) five times now. I could be anyone - show up at their building with a backpack and act like you belong there, and clean the place out is their security system.
You know, I’m not even sure if the door unlocks when the alarms sound. The last time I did that I was too alarmed by the alarms to pay attention. (And that’s another thing - you might want to tell your new people that pushing the big button marked “EXIT” is not how you get out.)
I think they assume that the receptionist will let all the contractors in (and you have to go back out the front door, too); too bad I start at 8 and she doesn’t. It’s a seriously flawed system.
I aim to please! Or piss off. Which then pleases me! So everyone wins, really. If by “everyone” I mean me. So, I guess, everyone who matters? Yes, that will do nicely.