one foot
two foot
caught foot
fall
That said, let me tell you about something I'm hoping you won't see on Fail Blog:
Yesterday, at work, I fell. My left foot caught on the protective post by the alarm system, and my right foot decided that my left foot should not be having all the fun...and I landed on my knees.
That's right: full on both my knees. It hurt so bad, I did ask that someone shoot me to put me out of my misery.
I've never known any of those people to move that fast in all my days there. And I now appreciate my knees and the work they do. Did you know that your knees work hard to keep you upright, and also in almost every movement you make? Well, nearly cracking a few of my own kneecaps has shown me the truth!
It's utterly amazing that I didn't also land on something hard enough to crack my skull open. The counter by the register, the wooden frame of the hut...I fell directly in the space that is, quite literally, just big enough for a person. I also somehow, brought my arms up to cushion my head, so I wasn't literally eating concrete.
I had to have help to get up, and to walk at first, but I came up laughing--a little public humiliation is healthy. Especially fun was being quizzed on what day it was...which I managed to answer correctly. And when asked if I knew where I was, I correctly responded with, "I'm in Hell." bwhahahahahahahaha
After 30 minutes and an ice pack, the pain wasn't getting better, so I did need to fill out the forms and take the drug test. Told 'em I wouldn't pass it, as I hadn't studied.
Nub, all full of sympathy and compassion for my pain (jokes on you--he was laughing harder than I was) took pictures of me with his cellphone during the drug test. They do the testing in-house and it's basically sucking on a disgusting tasting Q-tip. And keeping your mouth shut. Hence, pictures: proof that I could keep my mouth shut for a full 3 minutes all in a row. Nub then offered to call an ambulance, and to document with more pics. Uh, No.
Anyway, 3 hours at the ER to tell me that I hadn't cracked anything important. But it hurts like hell. The ER nurse informed me that, while taking the pain meds they were prescribing, I shouldn't do anything dangerous--so I said, "Like walking?"
Oh, and for what it's worth, I didn't swear until Nub actually showed up. I didn't swear while lying there in excruciating pain; I didn't swear when getting up; I didn't swear while trying to walk; I didn't swear at the ER when the doc touched my knees. I did't swear when getting the Xrays either. All that not swearing took quite an effort.
No wonder I'm very tired today.
Showing posts with label whiners. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whiners. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
It's Winter, You Dim Wit
So, Cry Me A River came back to work after having her baby (which, contrary to the numerous stories she was telling, is fine.) She's still nutty as a fruitcake, or frooty as a nutcake, whatever.
She doesn't seem to understand that she's working mid-shifts, which means she will be doing breaks. Yes, all day long, all over the front end. If there's an open register, she can be expected to cover at least one break there. It's not rocket-science.
Anyway, she doesn't bring a coat to work--even knowing that the garden center is open, and she'll be spending at least some time covering a break (or two) out there.
(as a side note: last week, she just flat out refused to cover my breaks. She didn't bother to tell anyone that she wasn't going to cover them, she just didn't. Sweet! My breaks became either non-existant or over an hour late. Yes! Fan-flipping-tastic!)
She doesn't have to cover those breaks anymore--I'm sure they haven't bothered to tell her that with or without a coat, she's going to be covering those breaks. I'll just get to go without.
Never mind that two years (or is it three?) that when I was told that the garden center wouldn't be open, and didn't bring my warm stuff, I had to go out there anyway. And I got to freeze (sans straw bale/windbreak) until they got the hut up.
Oh, yeah. It's an equal opportunity kind of place. Sure it is.
She doesn't seem to understand that she's working mid-shifts, which means she will be doing breaks. Yes, all day long, all over the front end. If there's an open register, she can be expected to cover at least one break there. It's not rocket-science.
Anyway, she doesn't bring a coat to work--even knowing that the garden center is open, and she'll be spending at least some time covering a break (or two) out there.
(as a side note: last week, she just flat out refused to cover my breaks. She didn't bother to tell anyone that she wasn't going to cover them, she just didn't. Sweet! My breaks became either non-existant or over an hour late. Yes! Fan-flipping-tastic!)
She doesn't have to cover those breaks anymore--I'm sure they haven't bothered to tell her that with or without a coat, she's going to be covering those breaks. I'll just get to go without.
Never mind that two years (or is it three?) that when I was told that the garden center wouldn't be open, and didn't bring my warm stuff, I had to go out there anyway. And I got to freeze (sans straw bale/windbreak) until they got the hut up.
Oh, yeah. It's an equal opportunity kind of place. Sure it is.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
It's a Time Suck
As if I have the energy for this sort of thing:
The PTA is a time suck. I feel like I spend my life making lists of all the crap I have to get done in a day. At least 1/2 of it involves the PTA. Time Suck doesn't begin to cover it. Seriously.
The computer dying didn't help. I had templates done and stuff that would be reused (lists and such) every month. That would avoid the Time Suck and let me concentrate on the parts that needed done as new every month. Getting a new 'puter and changing the program I was using involved learning the new program, as well as retyping everything.
Not helping the Time Suck.
Add to it how freaking exhausted I am all the time, and the various events and activities we've got going on...the Howler's two activities a week (soccer and AWANAS) are a Time Suck themselves. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.
Anyway, I still have all this stuff to do, and what am I worried about? Posting on the ol' blogs. Why? Because then all 2 of my faithful readers will know that I did not, contrary to what I had hoped for, crawl under a rock to die.
I'm still alive, barely kickin', and now, I'm typing a whinging post.
But, hey, at least I'm not complaining about work.
The PTA is a time suck. I feel like I spend my life making lists of all the crap I have to get done in a day. At least 1/2 of it involves the PTA. Time Suck doesn't begin to cover it. Seriously.
The computer dying didn't help. I had templates done and stuff that would be reused (lists and such) every month. That would avoid the Time Suck and let me concentrate on the parts that needed done as new every month. Getting a new 'puter and changing the program I was using involved learning the new program, as well as retyping everything.
Not helping the Time Suck.
Add to it how freaking exhausted I am all the time, and the various events and activities we've got going on...the Howler's two activities a week (soccer and AWANAS) are a Time Suck themselves. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.
Anyway, I still have all this stuff to do, and what am I worried about? Posting on the ol' blogs. Why? Because then all 2 of my faithful readers will know that I did not, contrary to what I had hoped for, crawl under a rock to die.
I'm still alive, barely kickin', and now, I'm typing a whinging post.
But, hey, at least I'm not complaining about work.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
This Is What a Month of The Snots Does
My Sweetie and I have both been sick since just before Christmas. If it weren't for being alive, we'd be feeling better by now.
I've already ranted about HIM, so let me tell you about US.
Friday, I was so tired I couldn't focus my eyes. I was crumpled on the couch, trying to watch (and hear) the TV. I don't watch much TV, because, well, most of what interests me does not interest my beloved, and he has this delightful man-way of making it impossible to watch anything.
Which is, after all, a good thing, because most of what is on TV is drivel.
But when you're miserable sick, and too tired to focus your eyes, the TV is a beautiful thing. It's distracting, especially if you're watching a Lifetime sapfest or a drivelly sitcom.
The Howler who very much understands grumpy sick Mommy was kind enough to not be shrieking and whining. My Sweetie, who is stressed from work, decides that this would be a good time to pick up the 500 thousand billion pieces of clutter about the house.
The Howler decides she needs the skin peeled off her apple (it was cuter when she would ask us to "cut the crusts off" her apples, but I digress.) I state, loudly, I'll do it on a commercial. He was in the room when I said it.
My Sweetie, who demands a lot of attention, especially if I'm involved in something that he does not find interesting or fulfilling (TV, computer, reading) decides that this is the PERFECT time to ask me about a box that is sitting under the corner shelf--it's been there for 2 solid weeks, and he hasn't thought about it in all that time, either.
So I get mad. Mostly because my head hurts and like any wild animal, pain puts me into claw and bite mode over everything.
I get the crustful apple and take it to the kitchen for decrusting. He follows me, saying repeatedly, "Honey, I said I'd do that." I ignore him, because everything I can think to say to him involves imbedding the decrusting knife somewhere in his body while reciting the F-bomb over and over.
(I should explain here that on the disagreement/fight thing, we do pretty well. If angry, we wait until the anger has subsided a bit, and ALWAYS remember that words, once out, can't be taken back. Even with unpleasant, personal things, we are always careful to treat each other respectfully and lovingly. We BOTH protect our relationship diligently--especially carefully when one, or both, of us is angry. We're careful, but we're honest. There's no silent, submissive, handle with kid-gloves partner here, though.)
A short time later, we discuss this, and being adults, we come to the conclusion that the TV has got to go. It's drivel, and it's a problem. We, the people paying for it, do not get to enjoy it, and therefore, it must go. (We're only half serious in this.)
We discuss how, in the past 8 years, I have been "allowed" to watch exactly ONE TV show regularly whether he liked it or not. Since the end of that, I have been allowed to watch zillions of hours of Spongebob and the Fairly Odd Parents (which I mostly hate, btw) without censure, but if it's a grown-up program of any sort, or worse, a sitcom that amuses me for any reason, I am not to watch it. (and if I get to actually watch it, I'm not allowed to hear it.) He and the Howler are in cohoots on this. It's been HER diabolical plot since the day of her birth. (The funniest part of that is then, Saturday evening, he announces that he's going to go buy an HDTV. While complaining that he doesn't get to watch the TV we currently have. Go figure.)
My Sweetie (bless his heart) will go so far as to get on the phone and have a very loud conversation with his hearing-aidless father while sitting right next to me. He will decide to clear out clutter, rearrange furniture, discuss budgetary issues, question the filing system, and make grocery lists all while in the room with me.
If I remove myself from the main living area room TV, and relocate to a more private, less accessible room in the house, he will FOLLOW ME THERE. He will increase his volume and the need for my vital input. And it's all done DURING THE PROGRAM. Play a jingle or flash to a logo, and WHAMMO! He's silent. Most of TV viewing is of commercials (the drivelliest drivel.)
Then he will be offended and confused when I finally shut off the TV and commence doing something else (usually, when I'm totally angry, cleaning--mostly filing and throwing things out--is a really good release.) He'll then try to placate the angry beast confronting him.
In time, he has improved on his use of the telephone during these times, but what that really means is that he relies, instead, on his unfailing need to clean, straighten, or otherwise purge the house of clutter.
I will admit that it is, in part, my fault. Especially if I'm on the computer, trying to write something (for a blog, or my pleasure, or even as part of my mission from God.) I was in a slump when we met, and began this thing called us, and in all honesty, until recently, it hasn't been all that important.
It's become important again, and even by repeatedly trying to explain and share, because it's not HIS interest and not important to HIM, it's relegated to NON-IMPORTANCE.
Quite honestly, I resent that HIS interests are important, and vital, and mine are, well, classified as "dicking off." I acknowledge I do quite a bit of this "dicking off" anyway, but at the same time, he cannot, even if I spell it out for him, using brightly colored visual aids and charts, determine that what I'm doing is important to me.
I love him, and I can't say it often enough: I have it really really good with him. I don't have to do much by way of housework. I don't have to do much by way of laundry. I work parttime. I get to "dick off" several hours a week, no questions asked. Whatever I want (within reason and budget) I have--including unnecessary office supplies like white-out and multicolored markers, paper and paperclips.
But I do resent what feels very much as if my interests--if they are outside of his interests--are secondary, and are always considered part of my "dicking off." Even if it's the mission from God stuff--which means that if it involves a book, or the computer, it's "dicking off."
No, he doesn't beat me. No, he doesn't verbally abuse me or belittle me. He doesn't really belittle what interests me. He just can't recognize it, see it, accept it as important.
Like I said, eight years ago, there were things about me that weren't important at the time. Now, they're growing in importance again, and he can't seem to wrap his head around the changes.
I don't want to fight with him, but I don't want to give up those things (again) and I really don't believe that I should have to make this kind of choice.
I've already ranted about HIM, so let me tell you about US.
Friday, I was so tired I couldn't focus my eyes. I was crumpled on the couch, trying to watch (and hear) the TV. I don't watch much TV, because, well, most of what interests me does not interest my beloved, and he has this delightful man-way of making it impossible to watch anything.
Which is, after all, a good thing, because most of what is on TV is drivel.
But when you're miserable sick, and too tired to focus your eyes, the TV is a beautiful thing. It's distracting, especially if you're watching a Lifetime sapfest or a drivelly sitcom.
The Howler who very much understands grumpy sick Mommy was kind enough to not be shrieking and whining. My Sweetie, who is stressed from work, decides that this would be a good time to pick up the 500 thousand billion pieces of clutter about the house.
The Howler decides she needs the skin peeled off her apple (it was cuter when she would ask us to "cut the crusts off" her apples, but I digress.) I state, loudly, I'll do it on a commercial. He was in the room when I said it.
My Sweetie, who demands a lot of attention, especially if I'm involved in something that he does not find interesting or fulfilling (TV, computer, reading) decides that this is the PERFECT time to ask me about a box that is sitting under the corner shelf--it's been there for 2 solid weeks, and he hasn't thought about it in all that time, either.
So I get mad. Mostly because my head hurts and like any wild animal, pain puts me into claw and bite mode over everything.
I get the crustful apple and take it to the kitchen for decrusting. He follows me, saying repeatedly, "Honey, I said I'd do that." I ignore him, because everything I can think to say to him involves imbedding the decrusting knife somewhere in his body while reciting the F-bomb over and over.
(I should explain here that on the disagreement/fight thing, we do pretty well. If angry, we wait until the anger has subsided a bit, and ALWAYS remember that words, once out, can't be taken back. Even with unpleasant, personal things, we are always careful to treat each other respectfully and lovingly. We BOTH protect our relationship diligently--especially carefully when one, or both, of us is angry. We're careful, but we're honest. There's no silent, submissive, handle with kid-gloves partner here, though.)
A short time later, we discuss this, and being adults, we come to the conclusion that the TV has got to go. It's drivel, and it's a problem. We, the people paying for it, do not get to enjoy it, and therefore, it must go. (We're only half serious in this.)
We discuss how, in the past 8 years, I have been "allowed" to watch exactly ONE TV show regularly whether he liked it or not. Since the end of that, I have been allowed to watch zillions of hours of Spongebob and the Fairly Odd Parents (which I mostly hate, btw) without censure, but if it's a grown-up program of any sort, or worse, a sitcom that amuses me for any reason, I am not to watch it. (and if I get to actually watch it, I'm not allowed to hear it.) He and the Howler are in cohoots on this. It's been HER diabolical plot since the day of her birth. (The funniest part of that is then, Saturday evening, he announces that he's going to go buy an HDTV. While complaining that he doesn't get to watch the TV we currently have. Go figure.)
My Sweetie (bless his heart) will go so far as to get on the phone and have a very loud conversation with his hearing-aidless father while sitting right next to me. He will decide to clear out clutter, rearrange furniture, discuss budgetary issues, question the filing system, and make grocery lists all while in the room with me.
If I remove myself from the main living area room TV, and relocate to a more private, less accessible room in the house, he will FOLLOW ME THERE. He will increase his volume and the need for my vital input. And it's all done DURING THE PROGRAM. Play a jingle or flash to a logo, and WHAMMO! He's silent. Most of TV viewing is of commercials (the drivelliest drivel.)
Then he will be offended and confused when I finally shut off the TV and commence doing something else (usually, when I'm totally angry, cleaning--mostly filing and throwing things out--is a really good release.) He'll then try to placate the angry beast confronting him.
In time, he has improved on his use of the telephone during these times, but what that really means is that he relies, instead, on his unfailing need to clean, straighten, or otherwise purge the house of clutter.
I will admit that it is, in part, my fault. Especially if I'm on the computer, trying to write something (for a blog, or my pleasure, or even as part of my mission from God.) I was in a slump when we met, and began this thing called us, and in all honesty, until recently, it hasn't been all that important.
It's become important again, and even by repeatedly trying to explain and share, because it's not HIS interest and not important to HIM, it's relegated to NON-IMPORTANCE.
Quite honestly, I resent that HIS interests are important, and vital, and mine are, well, classified as "dicking off." I acknowledge I do quite a bit of this "dicking off" anyway, but at the same time, he cannot, even if I spell it out for him, using brightly colored visual aids and charts, determine that what I'm doing is important to me.
I love him, and I can't say it often enough: I have it really really good with him. I don't have to do much by way of housework. I don't have to do much by way of laundry. I work parttime. I get to "dick off" several hours a week, no questions asked. Whatever I want (within reason and budget) I have--including unnecessary office supplies like white-out and multicolored markers, paper and paperclips.
But I do resent what feels very much as if my interests--if they are outside of his interests--are secondary, and are always considered part of my "dicking off." Even if it's the mission from God stuff--which means that if it involves a book, or the computer, it's "dicking off."
No, he doesn't beat me. No, he doesn't verbally abuse me or belittle me. He doesn't really belittle what interests me. He just can't recognize it, see it, accept it as important.
Like I said, eight years ago, there were things about me that weren't important at the time. Now, they're growing in importance again, and he can't seem to wrap his head around the changes.
I don't want to fight with him, but I don't want to give up those things (again) and I really don't believe that I should have to make this kind of choice.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
OW!
My back decided that today would be a good day to seize--apparently, the response, "Upright and breathing" when asked "How are you?" needed to be stopped.
I am, for the record, mostly upright. And that is thanks to pity on the part of the managers at work. No way I would've been able to stay at work, even for those paltry 6 hours, without a chair. Although, to be fair, it also had to do with the need to cut hours and not having a body to stand in my place.
And still, I'd forget and move the wrong way. OWie!
I'm currently a little buzzed from the muscle relaxers. Niiiiiice. I walk funny, and I actually say, out loud, "Owie." How sad...
Except that I, at least, am not the woman who came in tonight in her pajamas. Maybe she thought it was a dress, but I swear it looked like the nightshirt that Wee Willie Winkie is wearing in EVERY illustation I've ever seen of him.
I am, for the record, mostly upright. And that is thanks to pity on the part of the managers at work. No way I would've been able to stay at work, even for those paltry 6 hours, without a chair. Although, to be fair, it also had to do with the need to cut hours and not having a body to stand in my place.
And still, I'd forget and move the wrong way. OWie!
I'm currently a little buzzed from the muscle relaxers. Niiiiiice. I walk funny, and I actually say, out loud, "Owie." How sad...
Except that I, at least, am not the woman who came in tonight in her pajamas. Maybe she thought it was a dress, but I swear it looked like the nightshirt that Wee Willie Winkie is wearing in EVERY illustation I've ever seen of him.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Explain, Please
In the town where I live, there is a church I will not attend. I left several years ago, and no amount of begging, asking, demanding, backstabbing, or manipulating can get me to go back. (Okay, I've been back for a few services, due to time constraints, but I'll rather travel 40 minutes 1-way to attend the church I moved to, all those years ago.)
This church has, for it's reigning clergy, an attention whore. A man who loves the sound of his own voice, couldn't answer a pointed question honestly, and who has tried to manipulate my family into returning. He's an In-Yer-Face kind of guy. He's all about himself. He does nothing, in my opinion, by way of outreach that does not glorify himself.
I don't like him. (But, I don't make a secret of it either.)
Since the church I do travel 40 minutes one way to attend is the same flavor, and in the same regional collection (referred to as "the diocese") as this man's congregation, I do have occasional contact with him.
That occasional contact usually makes me wonder if I shouldn't find another church--farther away from him, or, at the very least, in a different flavor. (It's like finding out your arch-nemisis is the spokesmodel for your favorite brand of ice cream. Ugh)
Anyway, one of his modus-operandi within our little Christian world is his church's lack of funds, and therefore, his personal lack of funds.
Today, I received his newsletter--the one supposedly put together to have all our collective congregations communicating with each other. In it, there is usually 3-4 pages devoted to the 4 other churches together....and 3-4 pages devoted exclusively to promoting his own church (called "every sneeze and dinner" in my ever-so-eloquent vocabulary).
This month's In-Yer-Face blather has information stating that his church will provide "admission, transportation, and food" to Hershey Park, PA, for any of his congregation who can "earn 20 points" by doing things listed (among them, attending church, a parish sponsored dinner, and participating in various during-service capacities).
What I don't get is how he can stomp about the diocese, proclaiming a total lack of funds in his church--practically begging for everyone else to help foot their bills--and yet, they can cough up $30+ bucks for admission, a couple hundred dollars to rent a bus, PLUS the cost of food (food aint cheap in amusement parks). If a minimum of 30 people "earn" their way to "heaven-cum-Hershey", he and his church are looking at a bill upwards of $1000--even if they get a group discount.
The parish, as a whole cannot pay to have their roof fixed, pay their assessments, or to pay this man the required minimum salary, but they can afford to pay for this? How does that math work?
This church has, for it's reigning clergy, an attention whore. A man who loves the sound of his own voice, couldn't answer a pointed question honestly, and who has tried to manipulate my family into returning. He's an In-Yer-Face kind of guy. He's all about himself. He does nothing, in my opinion, by way of outreach that does not glorify himself.
I don't like him. (But, I don't make a secret of it either.)
Since the church I do travel 40 minutes one way to attend is the same flavor, and in the same regional collection (referred to as "the diocese") as this man's congregation, I do have occasional contact with him.
That occasional contact usually makes me wonder if I shouldn't find another church--farther away from him, or, at the very least, in a different flavor. (It's like finding out your arch-nemisis is the spokesmodel for your favorite brand of ice cream. Ugh)
Anyway, one of his modus-operandi within our little Christian world is his church's lack of funds, and therefore, his personal lack of funds.
Today, I received his newsletter--the one supposedly put together to have all our collective congregations communicating with each other. In it, there is usually 3-4 pages devoted to the 4 other churches together....and 3-4 pages devoted exclusively to promoting his own church (called "every sneeze and dinner" in my ever-so-eloquent vocabulary).
This month's In-Yer-Face blather has information stating that his church will provide "admission, transportation, and food" to Hershey Park, PA, for any of his congregation who can "earn 20 points" by doing things listed (among them, attending church, a parish sponsored dinner, and participating in various during-service capacities).
What I don't get is how he can stomp about the diocese, proclaiming a total lack of funds in his church--practically begging for everyone else to help foot their bills--and yet, they can cough up $30+ bucks for admission, a couple hundred dollars to rent a bus, PLUS the cost of food (food aint cheap in amusement parks). If a minimum of 30 people "earn" their way to "heaven-cum-Hershey", he and his church are looking at a bill upwards of $1000--even if they get a group discount.
The parish, as a whole cannot pay to have their roof fixed, pay their assessments, or to pay this man the required minimum salary, but they can afford to pay for this? How does that math work?
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
But
I love this man I married. I do. I truly, honestly, whole-heartedly do.
But
He drives me insane, and I want to hit him with a heavy pan.
He was sick yesterday. Sick enough to call off work and spent his time snoozing in bed. (I've known him 7 years, and he's called off work 5 times total and each and every time, he was so ill he not only couldn't eat, he could barely stand up.)
He was still sick this morning, so he was off work again--who can work when they're running to the bathroom or swaying instead of standing upright? Yeah, that sick.
BUT
He also spent at least an hour sitting next to me this morning, making this pathetic "eeeenh eeenh" sound. He also spent time standing in my way as I tried to get a cup of coffee, and get the Howler fed, ready, and out the door to school.
We played the shower game, too. I wanted to slap the poor, sick thing stupid. I really did.
He admits he's a whiner when he's sick. I hate to tell him, but he's BEYOND whiner when he's sick.
No. Wait. That's not right.
He's fine when he's sick. It's when he starts to recover that he drives me nuts. Thank God he's going to work tomorrow.
But
He drives me insane, and I want to hit him with a heavy pan.
He was sick yesterday. Sick enough to call off work and spent his time snoozing in bed. (I've known him 7 years, and he's called off work 5 times total and each and every time, he was so ill he not only couldn't eat, he could barely stand up.)
He was still sick this morning, so he was off work again--who can work when they're running to the bathroom or swaying instead of standing upright? Yeah, that sick.
BUT
He also spent at least an hour sitting next to me this morning, making this pathetic "eeeenh eeenh" sound. He also spent time standing in my way as I tried to get a cup of coffee, and get the Howler fed, ready, and out the door to school.
We played the shower game, too. I wanted to slap the poor, sick thing stupid. I really did.
He admits he's a whiner when he's sick. I hate to tell him, but he's BEYOND whiner when he's sick.
No. Wait. That's not right.
He's fine when he's sick. It's when he starts to recover that he drives me nuts. Thank God he's going to work tomorrow.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Where's My Sharp Stick?
I am, as my Sweetie says, the "Queen of Pull-It-Ouch-Yer-Ass", and yet, sometimes, that just doesn't work.
I had a few things I needed to type up and have ready for church tomorrow (today? lol).
I put it off because I am lazy. I put it off because I am a procrastinator. I put it off because I am a glutton for punishment, and, Karma not withstanding, I like pain and humiliation.
Actually, I put it off because I just don't like doing it--and I'm lazy. My PIOYA skills have rarely failed me, and yet, I should have known I was due.
For some reason, I cannot print the last page I desperately need. I have 2 other things I need for tomorrow, but I can, if necessary, skate by on them and get them there later. Not good, but not exactly bad, either.
My Karma caught up with me.
My printer is not working. It says it has a communications error.
I'll be dammed before I start trying to pull things apart and start reconnecting them at 1:12am on Sunday morning.
I'm a glutton for punishment, but I'm not sick.
So what do I do instead? I come here to whine about it--mostly because no one else will listen to me whine (mostly because I don't listen to them whine, but really, how fair an attitude is that?)
I will go to church tomorrow AM, and hope for the best. Then, when we get home, I will find my sharp stick, and poke myself in the eye.
I had a few things I needed to type up and have ready for church tomorrow (today? lol).
I put it off because I am lazy. I put it off because I am a procrastinator. I put it off because I am a glutton for punishment, and, Karma not withstanding, I like pain and humiliation.
Actually, I put it off because I just don't like doing it--and I'm lazy. My PIOYA skills have rarely failed me, and yet, I should have known I was due.
For some reason, I cannot print the last page I desperately need. I have 2 other things I need for tomorrow, but I can, if necessary, skate by on them and get them there later. Not good, but not exactly bad, either.
My Karma caught up with me.
My printer is not working. It says it has a communications error.
I'll be dammed before I start trying to pull things apart and start reconnecting them at 1:12am on Sunday morning.
I'm a glutton for punishment, but I'm not sick.
So what do I do instead? I come here to whine about it--mostly because no one else will listen to me whine (mostly because I don't listen to them whine, but really, how fair an attitude is that?)
I will go to church tomorrow AM, and hope for the best. Then, when we get home, I will find my sharp stick, and poke myself in the eye.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Still Can't Wrap My Head 'Round It
I have posted before about the stupidity and selfishness I see in the World Wide Web. It still amazes me that, for the most part, those who are stupid and selfish never quite get it--and they never get over it.
I suppose that is the charm of being stupid and selfish online; but I also have to say that there's no way these people can be this stupid, this selfish online, and not be that way in real life. That's the part that scares me, but at least she doesn't (to my knowledge) have my real name and address.
This isn't a general rant, this is specifically about one person. She is still insistant that she's moved on, yet, she brags online about every dirty trick she pulls. All over the www. It's insane.
Better yet, she complains if anyone comments that she doesn't seem to be *moving on*. Moving on, apparently, means posting all the crappy things you're doing to keep his nasty, drunken attention; it means doing yourself out of friendships with people who've known the two of you through your entire marriage (if HIS family is supportive of you, but you pull some shitty tricks then they tell you to keep the hell away from them, you know you've sunk pretty low); it means justifying that everything about you is still about him.
She's still saying she loves him and misses him, though. I don't know about *most* people, but I know, for myself, if he treated me as badly as she claims, MISSING him would be more in reference to bad aim, not love.
You're damn right we're not supportive! For God's Sake, Woman! Get some dignity, get some self-respect. We're not applauding because you are an emotionally immature brat throwing a tantrum at the cost of thousands of dollars--some one else's dollars to boot. All it proves is that you are vindictive, crass, manipulative, and unbalanced.
Most of us just want you to please stop posting evidence of how unbalanced you are. You scare us.
I suppose that is the charm of being stupid and selfish online; but I also have to say that there's no way these people can be this stupid, this selfish online, and not be that way in real life. That's the part that scares me, but at least she doesn't (to my knowledge) have my real name and address.
This isn't a general rant, this is specifically about one person. She is still insistant that she's moved on, yet, she brags online about every dirty trick she pulls. All over the www. It's insane.
Better yet, she complains if anyone comments that she doesn't seem to be *moving on*. Moving on, apparently, means posting all the crappy things you're doing to keep his nasty, drunken attention; it means doing yourself out of friendships with people who've known the two of you through your entire marriage (if HIS family is supportive of you, but you pull some shitty tricks then they tell you to keep the hell away from them, you know you've sunk pretty low); it means justifying that everything about you is still about him.
She's still saying she loves him and misses him, though. I don't know about *most* people, but I know, for myself, if he treated me as badly as she claims, MISSING him would be more in reference to bad aim, not love.
You're damn right we're not supportive! For God's Sake, Woman! Get some dignity, get some self-respect. We're not applauding because you are an emotionally immature brat throwing a tantrum at the cost of thousands of dollars--some one else's dollars to boot. All it proves is that you are vindictive, crass, manipulative, and unbalanced.
Most of us just want you to please stop posting evidence of how unbalanced you are. You scare us.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Whiner
What kind of person COMPLAINS to your face about the Christmas and birthday gifts you give them. Okay, not to your face--but loudly, in front of their in laws and your own family?
Yeah. And, that same person is still complaining, weeks later, about how I buy things on clearance and on sale. As if, the thought means nothing, and the fact that he got stuff he can use.
It cost me $12.62 to shut him up.
Today, he was complaining (I was at work, he was in) about how I should have bought him "something he could use, like those space heaters over there on clearance." Yap Yap Yap.
I bought one when I got off work and took it to his house.
He was sheepish.
I hope he drops it on his foot, so he can complain how I tried to break his toe, instead of about how cheap I am.
Yeah. And, that same person is still complaining, weeks later, about how I buy things on clearance and on sale. As if, the thought means nothing, and the fact that he got stuff he can use.
It cost me $12.62 to shut him up.
Today, he was complaining (I was at work, he was in) about how I should have bought him "something he could use, like those space heaters over there on clearance." Yap Yap Yap.
I bought one when I got off work and took it to his house.
He was sheepish.
I hope he drops it on his foot, so he can complain how I tried to break his toe, instead of about how cheap I am.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Squirrel Bait
There was an article in our local paper this week about a mail carrier in the Oil City, PA, area who was attacked by a squirrel.
It made me wonder why there are not more attacks on people by squirrels, at least in the tri-county area I live in.
My mother has the uncanny ability to attract crazy people. I call 'em "Squirrel Bait." These women are nuts.
Their sense of entitlement is surpassed only by their warped sense of reality. Their children, in jail and out, are, small wonder, nutcases themselves--at least from what I hear in the endless parade of stories featuring these people.
One lives on the same street I do. Her adult son, and his preschooler daughter, live with her, in a cramped two bedroom house. She's currently angry because the only *daycare* in the area that provides free busing does not have openings. She refuses to believe that this *daycare* is Head Start, because Wes, her son, told her it's not--even though when Head Start called and left messages for him regarding this, they identified themselves as Head Start.
Wes, apparently, only lies to the police, girlfriends (current and exes), work, and credit card companies. He does not lie to her--even though, in her stories about Life With Wes, there are contradictions galore.
The stories are mind-numbingly the same, and numerous.
Squirrel Bait 1, has lifted off and left town for a while. She is apparently spending time at the home colony in Florida.
There is no rest for the wicked....Enter Squirrel Bait 2.
It's like being forced to watch reruns of really really bad CBS sitcoms--or what I'm getting now, a whole brand new season of SSDT (same stupid, different twit). Of course, it all seems so familiar somehow.
Much like a wild animal caught in a trap, I'm considering chewing my own foot off.
It made me wonder why there are not more attacks on people by squirrels, at least in the tri-county area I live in.
My mother has the uncanny ability to attract crazy people. I call 'em "Squirrel Bait." These women are nuts.
Their sense of entitlement is surpassed only by their warped sense of reality. Their children, in jail and out, are, small wonder, nutcases themselves--at least from what I hear in the endless parade of stories featuring these people.
One lives on the same street I do. Her adult son, and his preschooler daughter, live with her, in a cramped two bedroom house. She's currently angry because the only *daycare* in the area that provides free busing does not have openings. She refuses to believe that this *daycare* is Head Start, because Wes, her son, told her it's not--even though when Head Start called and left messages for him regarding this, they identified themselves as Head Start.
Wes, apparently, only lies to the police, girlfriends (current and exes), work, and credit card companies. He does not lie to her--even though, in her stories about Life With Wes, there are contradictions galore.
The stories are mind-numbingly the same, and numerous.
Squirrel Bait 1, has lifted off and left town for a while. She is apparently spending time at the home colony in Florida.
There is no rest for the wicked....Enter Squirrel Bait 2.
It's like being forced to watch reruns of really really bad CBS sitcoms--or what I'm getting now, a whole brand new season of SSDT (same stupid, different twit). Of course, it all seems so familiar somehow.
Much like a wild animal caught in a trap, I'm considering chewing my own foot off.
Monday, September 11, 2006
This is "Why I Don't Advertise"
I need to seriously vent on this one.
On a forum I frequent, someone mentioned that they had attended church, but their 3 year old just could not sit still.
Several people offered encouragement and suggestions for quiet toys and ways to help their 3 year old last the hour needed for the family to be able to stay through a service.
One genious seems to think that church is an all-adult activity and actually made fun of me for saying that the Howler, at 4 years old, participates in the service and especially enjoys helping with the collection.
First, let me explain.
We are a small church. There are, in regular attendees, about 28 people, including the Howler and the newest family of 3, which includes an almost-toddler. The Howler attended her first service there when she was 6 days old. She has, in her 4 years, missed perhaps a dozen Sunday services.
She knows the Our Father, she is learning many of the simpler hymns and knows the service--what order things come in. She kneels when we kneel and stands when we stand. She is not, however, "church mouse" material, and she does do some talking, and she does sing little made up songs about Jesus and God during service--she sings quietly, and she certainly isn't bothering anyone.
I can honestly say that the oldest member of our congregation (and easily one of the grumpiest people on the planet) misses her when she isn't there. This is a man who admits to not liking his own children and grandchildren when they were children.
Yet, this narrowminded know-it-all loudmouth thinks I attend a "weird church" because my daughter participates in the services as well as she can.
WTF? Jesus himself is quoted as saying, "Suffer the little children to come unto me." Does this Queen of the Dumbed think that he was misquoted?
I highly doubt I'm a model of Christianity, but doesn't her attitude totally go against what we're supposed to be as Christians? I take the Howler to church so that she can be exposed to some terrific and kind people--I'm not sure I'm up to standard needed to produce one myself. The Toad is more active than many adults would ever be, but that's because my sister started taking him (I was a slug and got dragged in reluctantly....discovered something and stayed) when he was 18 months old.
If I had waited until "he was old enough" I'd probably still be waiting.....and neither the boy nor I would have what we have.
I know this is just some judgemental nutjob, but it's still irritating. And it gives those of us who don't advertise, but do try to live up to the Christian name, a bad name.
On a forum I frequent, someone mentioned that they had attended church, but their 3 year old just could not sit still.
Several people offered encouragement and suggestions for quiet toys and ways to help their 3 year old last the hour needed for the family to be able to stay through a service.
One genious seems to think that church is an all-adult activity and actually made fun of me for saying that the Howler, at 4 years old, participates in the service and especially enjoys helping with the collection.
First, let me explain.
We are a small church. There are, in regular attendees, about 28 people, including the Howler and the newest family of 3, which includes an almost-toddler. The Howler attended her first service there when she was 6 days old. She has, in her 4 years, missed perhaps a dozen Sunday services.
She knows the Our Father, she is learning many of the simpler hymns and knows the service--what order things come in. She kneels when we kneel and stands when we stand. She is not, however, "church mouse" material, and she does do some talking, and she does sing little made up songs about Jesus and God during service--she sings quietly, and she certainly isn't bothering anyone.
I can honestly say that the oldest member of our congregation (and easily one of the grumpiest people on the planet) misses her when she isn't there. This is a man who admits to not liking his own children and grandchildren when they were children.
Yet, this narrowminded know-it-all loudmouth thinks I attend a "weird church" because my daughter participates in the services as well as she can.
WTF? Jesus himself is quoted as saying, "Suffer the little children to come unto me." Does this Queen of the Dumbed think that he was misquoted?
I highly doubt I'm a model of Christianity, but doesn't her attitude totally go against what we're supposed to be as Christians? I take the Howler to church so that she can be exposed to some terrific and kind people--I'm not sure I'm up to standard needed to produce one myself. The Toad is more active than many adults would ever be, but that's because my sister started taking him (I was a slug and got dragged in reluctantly....discovered something and stayed) when he was 18 months old.
If I had waited until "he was old enough" I'd probably still be waiting.....and neither the boy nor I would have what we have.
I know this is just some judgemental nutjob, but it's still irritating. And it gives those of us who don't advertise, but do try to live up to the Christian name, a bad name.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Watch My Lips Move
I have to say that the only thing more annoying than a Know-It-All is a Know-It-All Man.
Even the tested and certified dumbest man on the planet can be smart enough to learn that not every time a woman says something that is less than happiness about anything does not mean that she needs advice nor does it mean she's upset.
Men, wise up. Not everything you say is about sex or sports, so why why why would you assume that everything a woman says is about her being upset.
Sometimes, it's just a vent. Sometimes, it's a funny description, and sometimes, by God, sometimes it's just an observation.
Fellas, get a hobby--the more highly educated you are, the more likely you are to need a release that doesn't involve whatever it is you were highly educated in.
Either learn to speak *uterus* or don't bother answering unless you've been addressed by name.
One last thing--and it can't be said often enough--just by virtue of being born with XX chromsomes and having (or having had) a uterus does not, contrary to the word origin, mean that women are hysterical when we speak.
Even the tested and certified dumbest man on the planet can be smart enough to learn that not every time a woman says something that is less than happiness about anything does not mean that she needs advice nor does it mean she's upset.
Men, wise up. Not everything you say is about sex or sports, so why why why would you assume that everything a woman says is about her being upset.
Sometimes, it's just a vent. Sometimes, it's a funny description, and sometimes, by God, sometimes it's just an observation.
Fellas, get a hobby--the more highly educated you are, the more likely you are to need a release that doesn't involve whatever it is you were highly educated in.
Either learn to speak *uterus* or don't bother answering unless you've been addressed by name.
One last thing--and it can't be said often enough--just by virtue of being born with XX chromsomes and having (or having had) a uterus does not, contrary to the word origin, mean that women are hysterical when we speak.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Why Would You Do This?
A woman is married. She raves for years about how wonderful he is. Then, suddenly, she says, "Well, I've had enough of this man. He's a jerk, he's not nice to live with or be around, he treats me badly, and I'm throwing him out!" then, "We're still going to be friends, he'll live here until he has a place. When he moves out, though, most of his stuff will stay until he gets around to getting it."
Now, we're up to "I called him and in kidding around, I asked him if he was seeing anyone. He said 'yes' and I asked how many. He told me 'four' HOW DARE HE? Then I asked him if he was sleeping with any of them, and he said 'yes'! I'm so mad! I told him to come get the rest of his crap. He said he'd get 'round to it, so I told him I'll bring it to him. He threatened me! He said if I did, he'd never see me again AND he wouldn't pay the mortgage!" (btw, we've previously been told that the dump they live in is theirs, debt free. Liar Liar Pants on fire!)
What kind of self-esteem does a person who does this sort of thing have? What would possess you to call up the guy you suddenly claim you hate, he beat you up, and he's an alcoholic and ASK HIM WHO HE'S BANGING?
Seriously. What?
Hmmm. I really hate him. But we're going to just be friends. He beat me up, but he can still live here. He's an alcoholic and he wants the booze more than he wants to be with me, but I call him every week, and TEASE HIM. WTF? How does that thought process work?
Isn't it more normal, if you've reached the place in your sucky relationship to put him out, to put him, and all his shit, OUT? Isn't it more normal, even if you're getting a DIY divorce to ONLY speak to this jerk when you have to?
And if he's such a jerk, and you've lived with him for YEARS, don't you know that he's going to tell you nasty crap, whether it's true or not? Especially if he's a drunk?
Why then, oh, dear God, WHY would you even ASK if he's shagging anyone? Why? And why would you care?
Even if you hit on the ol' crack pipe and then call him, WHAT goes through your head before you open your mouth? "Hey, he's the drunken a-hole who beat me up, and I'm getting rid of his sorry behind. I think I'll JOKE around with him and ask him if he's getting any tail." How many hits does it take to get to the center of a irrational thought?
And then, I can't believe I'm even bothering to think about this, SHE GETS MAD!
Then she gets online and starts posting about it--on several forums!
"OMG! He's so mean to me. He's such a jerk. And now I'M MAD! I'm going to go online and rant about this, so that next week, when I talk to him again, and he pays the mortgage--which I've told them I don't have--I can tell them how sweet he's being and how much I miss him."
But she's mad! Stay tuned, loyal readers. I'm sure, after my response, I'll hear from her soon!
Now, we're up to "I called him and in kidding around, I asked him if he was seeing anyone. He said 'yes' and I asked how many. He told me 'four' HOW DARE HE? Then I asked him if he was sleeping with any of them, and he said 'yes'! I'm so mad! I told him to come get the rest of his crap. He said he'd get 'round to it, so I told him I'll bring it to him. He threatened me! He said if I did, he'd never see me again AND he wouldn't pay the mortgage!" (btw, we've previously been told that the dump they live in is theirs, debt free. Liar Liar Pants on fire!)
What kind of self-esteem does a person who does this sort of thing have? What would possess you to call up the guy you suddenly claim you hate, he beat you up, and he's an alcoholic and ASK HIM WHO HE'S BANGING?
Seriously. What?
Hmmm. I really hate him. But we're going to just be friends. He beat me up, but he can still live here. He's an alcoholic and he wants the booze more than he wants to be with me, but I call him every week, and TEASE HIM. WTF? How does that thought process work?
Isn't it more normal, if you've reached the place in your sucky relationship to put him out, to put him, and all his shit, OUT? Isn't it more normal, even if you're getting a DIY divorce to ONLY speak to this jerk when you have to?
And if he's such a jerk, and you've lived with him for YEARS, don't you know that he's going to tell you nasty crap, whether it's true or not? Especially if he's a drunk?
Why then, oh, dear God, WHY would you even ASK if he's shagging anyone? Why? And why would you care?
Even if you hit on the ol' crack pipe and then call him, WHAT goes through your head before you open your mouth? "Hey, he's the drunken a-hole who beat me up, and I'm getting rid of his sorry behind. I think I'll JOKE around with him and ask him if he's getting any tail." How many hits does it take to get to the center of a irrational thought?
And then, I can't believe I'm even bothering to think about this, SHE GETS MAD!
Then she gets online and starts posting about it--on several forums!
"OMG! He's so mean to me. He's such a jerk. And now I'M MAD! I'm going to go online and rant about this, so that next week, when I talk to him again, and he pays the mortgage--which I've told them I don't have--I can tell them how sweet he's being and how much I miss him."
But she's mad! Stay tuned, loyal readers. I'm sure, after my response, I'll hear from her soon!
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Support Group Members Needed
I love that people think I'm out to get them. Really. I do.
I don't even know some of these people--they are online in forums, and all I have to do it show up and post, and VIOLA! I'm stalking, harassing, and abusing them; I'm unbalanced, need arrested....
It's pathetic.
I don't mince words. I don't make excuses. If I'm wrong, prove me wrong and I'll acknowledge it. But please, don't ever think that you, online person/acquaintence, matter enough to me that I will deliberately try to make you miserable. I don't care about you enough to expend the energy...get over yourself.
I'm not a huggy-kissy kind of person. I'm not going to coddle you in your misery and victimhood. I don't expect others to do that for me. If you post on a forum, or come to me and ask me what I think, I'm going to tell you what I think. No big shocker there--don't act surprised.
Believe it or not, Whiners, it's a good thing. It means you know where you stand with me. If you don't like how you feel when I answer your question, it means you've got some soul-searching to do--don't just shoot off your mouth about how rude and mean I am. That just makes you more pathetic, and, it just may get you laughed at.
More often than not, those who whine about how mean I am are really annoying, cloying, manipulative and passive-aggressive. It's obscene.
Those interested in a Support Group please go to your local dairy. They'll have the proper cheese to go with that whine.
I don't even know some of these people--they are online in forums, and all I have to do it show up and post, and VIOLA! I'm stalking, harassing, and abusing them; I'm unbalanced, need arrested....
It's pathetic.
I don't mince words. I don't make excuses. If I'm wrong, prove me wrong and I'll acknowledge it. But please, don't ever think that you, online person/acquaintence, matter enough to me that I will deliberately try to make you miserable. I don't care about you enough to expend the energy...get over yourself.
I'm not a huggy-kissy kind of person. I'm not going to coddle you in your misery and victimhood. I don't expect others to do that for me. If you post on a forum, or come to me and ask me what I think, I'm going to tell you what I think. No big shocker there--don't act surprised.
Believe it or not, Whiners, it's a good thing. It means you know where you stand with me. If you don't like how you feel when I answer your question, it means you've got some soul-searching to do--don't just shoot off your mouth about how rude and mean I am. That just makes you more pathetic, and, it just may get you laughed at.
More often than not, those who whine about how mean I am are really annoying, cloying, manipulative and passive-aggressive. It's obscene.
Those interested in a Support Group please go to your local dairy. They'll have the proper cheese to go with that whine.
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