Dump in the Litter Box

[happykat]

Crappy, irritating, outrageous, stressful, or anger-inducing things are bound to happen that one just needs to rant about.
Or maybe you're just bitchy.

Drop your shit here and scratch some dust over it.

Lemme start...
Listen up, you living brain donors! Get off your cell, pull your thumb out of your ass, and learn what a red light means. I understand you have important one syllable words you need to tell your massage therapist, but I would rather live. This may be hard for you to believe, but the mirror isn't for checking the rat's nest you call hair or the mile of lip gloss you applied to your over-inflated lips.
I don't care how much you paid for your Lexus or those monstrosities you call boobs. You still have to follow the rules like everyone else. In short: Fuck. Off.

[livius drusus]

/me digs furiously enough to cover the driveway of every crappy cellphone user who ever stopped traffic so they can't get out the garage for a month.

[Legs]

Hey Bitchy Kat! How are you? :wave:

I have nothing to bitch about at the moment, but that can't last long.

[curses]

Oooh, a venting thread. Don't mind if I do.

Dear co worker,

I really wish you'd do your job. No, really. It's been discussed in the past what's expected of you, so why can't you follow through?

Case in point: your broker is harassing me asking if your file is ready to go to the closing table. They've been doing this since Friday morning. I explained to you last week that there was going to be no such thing as a rush file as we only have one underwriter, and she's slammed. I asked you to discuss this with the broker to find out if it was going to be a problem. Judging by the tone of the last email, and the fact they're not talking to the right processor, you haven't. I've asked you again today to discuss this with them, and I have a sneaking suspicion based on past files that you won't. For the record, all correspondance that this particular broker has had with me has been forwarded to the correct person. She's very busy, too. However, dear co worker, you're not that busy. Please do your share.

You make a lot more than I do. I'm not being paid nearly enough to be a target for ire from people I'm not even supposed to be talking to.


/me scratches dust over coworker issue.


There, I feel better. And I'm just bitchy.

[Smilin]

I'll certainly be back to post in this thread when I have something to actually bitch about and then cover up.

[wildernesse]

Ok. Hello, kindhearted and cheap people who shop at the thrift store supporting the domestic violence shelter. First of all, the sign on the door says we close at 3pm on Wednesday. It's actually true and not a complex joke. And since we ask some of you to leave every single week at about 3:30, then it should'nt be that hard to remember. Secondly, all proceeds go to charity, so when I say that little doodad costs fifty cents, pony up and don't gasp and try to whittle me down any more. FIFTY CENTS! If you don't have that much to spare on a doodad, then you shouldn't be buying it. (I'm not arguing about the people who are buying clothes or kitchen wares. I'm talking about people buying the amazing assortment of randomness that other people have donated to the thrift store. One person today bought the legs to something porcelain--it had a screw sticking out of it, and was a half of a set of legs to something--this is not a person I'm complaining about. She paid her 25 cents happily.) Also, don't root around in the boxes that are obviously sealed and stacked up in the back for a reason. It's like a hundred degrees outside, you don't need sweaters!

And dear donors, if you have a 40-pack a day habit, sleep with your incontinent dogs and cats, or habitually vomit all over your clothes. . .well, just throw your things away. Also, we really don't want your used underwear or lingerie. Even though people will buy them. People will buy anything.

[lisarea]

So. We bought the tickets to see Mulholland Drive a week before the showing. My brother and I got there about a half hour early, to make sure we'd get decent seats because it was important to us. We were very much looking forward to seeing it on a big screen again.

I was also looking forward to Keith, the film geek. I like the little geeky film talks he gives before these movies. I missed that this time, though, because you decided to walk in and without hesitation plop down DIRECTLY next to me. We didn't use the aisle seat because there were plenty of seats left, and we didn't want to block the view of the guy behind us.

There were plenty of seats available. No, none of them were as good as the ones you get if you don't mind clearly blocking the view of the guy behind you, I guess. This isn't stadium seating, you know.

But, I figure, fine. There's no law against is, just a social convention. But if there were a law, your perfume would at least be a sentence enhancer. Seriously. What the fuck? It smells like ass. I was trying to be polite, but fuck. Are you SWEATING that shit? Oh, GUH. It smells like that stuff that twelve year old girls get in drugstores. Except, it smells like ALL OF IT AT ONCE or something. How much of that did you even put on? Good thing it only costs $2 a bottle, eh? Wait. I think I've nailed it down. It smells like a whole bottle of that $2 drugstore stuff, plus a whole bottle of ass. Why?

Hey, so maybe I'm just being touchy, OK? I'm going to just discreetly hold my hand over my nose and watch the movie. Oh, I can't tell you how happy I was when Keith said they were showing Lumiere as the short film. I love that movie so much, and I had never before seen it on a big screen. Oh frabjous day!

Hey. So. Um, you guys? Just because it's a silent movie doesn't mean talking's OK. Shut up. Oh, God, no. No. NO. Do NOT TAKE THAT PLASTIC BAG OUT OF YOUR...

You fucking bitch. Oh, good. Fig Newtons, is it? In the nice, crinkly plastic wrapper. Excellent. Way to sneak food into the struggling little art theater. You must be so fucking smart. I can tell from how you keep making little "Uh huh" noises and nodding like some fucking bobblehead at everything. I'm really impressed with how much you know everything. (Oh, except that part, later, where you told your superhot date that the cowboy was played by Billy Ray Cyrus? Not to nitpick or anything, but, um, no.)

Oh, and those were some astute observations you had about that movie. Indeed, I had never noticed before that David Lynch movies were "weird." I'm sure your constant witty banter helped clarify things for all of us. Well, you know, not so much clarify as express in words such things as "Is that the same lady?" and "I think they are gay." You should totally write, like, film critiques and shit.

Anyways, so you know, at first, I just thought you had some kind of skin condition, the way you kept scratching your leg like that. Damn, old lady skin is crepey, isn't it? It sounded like you were opening presents over there or something. It wasn't until I glanced over briefly, that one time your thigh encroached waaaayyyy over into the little corner of my seat I was occupying, that I realized that THAT WASN'T YOUR HAND. Oh, my God. He is seriously sticking his HAND UP YOUR SHORTS, isn't he? Nice. Wasn't he, like, PICKING HIS NOSE just a second ago? IS HE PUTTING THE BOOGERS IN THERE FOR LATER?

Right about then, I caught a little glimpse of my brother on the other side of me. He had his hand up like a blinder, shielding the view, so I wasn't the only one who noticed, either. He also commented on the slapping. What was that, anyway? Why is your date loudly slapping your naked thigh every thirty seconds or so, and why are you letting him? Did you notice how he starts doing it reallyreallyfast every time there's a naked lady on the screen? Because I did.

Anyway, I don't know how you put up with me, all sitting in that little corner of my seat like that for so long. I can certainly understand why you let out that big sigh of relief and plonked your big straw totebag down next to you when I finally got up and moved to a really shitty seat way back in the corner. My neck sure hurt from twisting it trying to get the screen centered in view and all--you know--for that movie I love so much and haven't seen in a theater since it first came out and all, that movie I bought the tickets to a week before and showed up early to see. Hey, I can certainly understand your exasperation at me for not moving earlier so you could have your little picnic and put on that public display of your vestigial mating instincts.

I hope your boyfriend or whatever gave you a really nice "special delivery" in that big mailbox-looking ass of yours after the movie. And I hope it tides you over for a while, too, because they're showing Blue Velvet next week, and I'd really hate to inconvenience you like that again.

[quiet bear]

I had an apple with a bruise on it today. Ew.

[Dingfod]

Cut it out. No, I mean it, cut it out.

[inland wave]

Without going into much detail..

"Secrets"

I dislike them very very much, I don't like keeping them, I don't like knowing about them.
All I want right now is a drink, some sex and a damn vacation........

[Shelli]

That was awesome, lisarea! :lolwat:

Today:

A customer that showed up where I work at 5 minutes till quitting time looking to pay their bill... :rolls: :glare: :tmangry2:

Co-workers who have just listened to my phone conversation and offer their ASSistance.. gah! :asshat:

Customers who call, hang up, and call back bitching because the person they called for didn't pick up their call within five seconds flat. Assholes. :asskick:

[Legs]

All I want right now is a drink, some sex and a damn vacation........

Okay
:genie:

:coconut:


:sex:


:relax::palmtree::hula:

[inland wave]

Legs,
You are so funny and sweet.
Thanks for cheering me up.

[JoeP]

"Secrets"

I dislike them very very much
...inland wave ... you'll hate this one then ... Dingfod is ... your husband!

[inland wave]

"Secrets"

I dislike them very very much
...inland wave ... you'll hate this one then ... Dingfod is ... your husband!


Who told you that?? Rumors, honestly....just like secrets....
The issue resolved itself- the secret that is. I told Dingfod about it this morning. Gawd it could have been a really big mess. Anyway that's over, hopefully people learn their lessons and we can get on with life.

[Legs]

:vibes:

Glad things are better inland wave, I was worried about you :cheered:

[Dingfod]

"Secrets"

I dislike them very very much
...inland wave ... you'll hate this one then ... Dingfod is ... your husband!Damn you, JoeP.

[Dingfod]

All I want right now is a drink, some sex and a damn vacation........

Okay
:genie:

:coconut:


:sex:


:relax::palmtree::hula:We took care of everything but the vacation last night.

[Joshua Adams]

I swear to fucking God, some people.

Dear Joshua Adams,

Your request to send an eCheck payment to XXXXXXXXXXXXXX from your bank account failed because your recipient is currently unable to accept funds to their PayPal account.
Please contact your recipient directly to complete this transaction.


Wtf is that supposed to mean? You posted an ebay auction, with paypal as the only payment method accepted, but you can't accept paypal payments? How does that even work, exactly? Is it full?

[Clutch Munny]

Dear Ma'am. Or Miss or Ms, but your hair looks like that of a ma'am.

In this age of self-awareness and self-reflection, you surely must have reflected at some point on the fact that you are horrifying driver. Your daily driving is obviously punctuated with the squeal of (other people's) tires, the panicked honking of horns by those in the path of your casually wandering vehicle, and the regular jar of curbs under your chronically misaligned wheels. You know these things happen constantly. The possibility must have occurred to you that other people's driving experiences are quite different from yours; that there is something about your particular set of habits and skills that leaves your car dappled like a golf ball even though others are not, and which necessitates your quick and guilty departure from so many parking lots as an unsuspecting owner strolls out of the Starbucks to find the scratch and dent you left in his pristine import.

Taking these factors into consideration, the natural conclusion is that some device for increasing your awareness of your environment, and your ability to react to it, would be an important addition to your vehicle. Unfortunately no such device currently exists aside from the rear proximity detector, which have a limited application and which frankly seem more likely to startle you, leading to still worse consequences. Still, we seem to be in a position to conclude that the least intelligible response to the disaster that is your driving would be to reduce your access to information about the outside world while you are behind the wheel.

This brings me to the central point of my missive. I noticed today, as I narrowly avoided death at your hands, that you have seen fit to hang somewhere in the region of nine rosaries, a Hawaiian lei, a set of miniature fuzzy dice, and a native "dream catcher", from the rear view mirror of your Pontiac. Thus I was led to conjecture on your age and appearance solely from the wisps of your hair showing as you sped away, since your face was wholly concealed by the front view. Since I could not see you through the curtain of Dollar Store treasures that spread their soothing opacity across your windshield, it stands to reason that you could not see me either.

Part of me wants to simply call that a fair cop. How could you be responsible for running my bicycle off the road if you couldn't even see me? It would be pretty unfair to blame you for something happening that you had no knowledge of.

But another line of thought suggests that you might have foreseen the need, however remote, to actually see objects in front of your hurtling mass of metal, at the point when you were first choosing how to construct your papal version of a bead curtain. By that standard, you have to grant that there is at least some room to interpret your decorations, and by extension your driving today, as the action of daft twat whose piety and love of kitsch completely overshadow her regard for the safety of others.

Which is the right conclusion? This is a hard question to settle, I recognize. But while we ponder it jointly, let me suggest an interim solution to the worry most drivers in our city face, whether they know it or not, given your access to a motor vehicle. I propose that you take the jerry-can for the lawn mower from your garage, pour several litres of the fluid into the seating area of your car, and light it on fire.

Some people, vindictive and unpleasant, would request that you be seated in the vehicle, with your seatbelt fastened and your hands tightly roped to the wheel, when the lighting occurs. I scoff at this modest but definite overreaction. What matters is that your vehicle be closely supervised (to prevent the fire spreading) while it burns to the frame and wheels. By this compromise solution I believe we can all feel that we took a bit and gave a bit, and found a middle path that makes everyone happy. Except possibly you, you daft twat.

With all good wishes,

CM

[viscousmemories]

:laugh: :clap:

[curses]

...first choosing how to construct your papal version of a bead curtain:roflcopt: Bravo, sir!

[wildernesse]

Dear WOMAN,

You have some nerve, fighting me for every penny you paid for the junk you bought at the thrift store today, then when I say something about it, telling me that "Well, it's for a good cause, I'm going to use this stuff at the teacher's recycling center". LADY, I am a VOLUNTEER who is working at the thrift store on my DAY OFF from my VOLUNTEER INTERNSHIP for this organization. Don't give me lip about giving toward good causes.

wildy, who is halfway through her 300 hours.

[Miss Shelby]

LOL

I could have used this thread early this a.m. on the way to work. Usually I am on time, even early but this morning I overslept and was late and this is the one day -- I needed to speed--that every law abiding speed limit observing ass wipe got in front of me on the way to work-- even turning where I needed to turn and when I switched lanes, there was some other asshole going the speed limit to slow me down. ( this never happens when I am on time or early)--

I guess it could have been worse-- there were no cement mixers or back hoe drivers in my way.. but still.

Michelle

[Clutch Munny]

300 hours for what, wildy?

[wildernesse]

For my master's, I have to work 300 hours of an internship for a non-profit or governmental agency. It does not have to be unpaid, but most of the paid work is not as flexible or as close as I would have liked. Working part-time and for free, I was able to take a class this summer that helps me out in spring semester and I'm able to schedule around both my classes and trips out of town (and my tiny part time job). You know, so I can have Fridays off to go see RA who lives 6 hours away.

I really like working for my org, but some days I want to pull my hair out.

[Clutch Munny]

Ah, I see. I wondered if it was community service for armed B&E or some such.

[freemonkey]

I noticed a strangely crooked tile in our shower this morning, so I poked it. And it moved.

Tiles are not supposed to move. Turns out, some caulk was missing or something, and water drips got behind the tiles. Who knows how long this has been going on, but the drywall behind it is soaked through in spots, and nasty moldy. :yuck: Neither one of us know how to fix this, but we really can't afford to hire someone. Actually fixing it shouldn't be too difficult.... fixing it the right way will be the tricky part.

Plus, we can't use the shower til we fix it. I'm pretty sure we need to let the area dry before we seal it back up again. Luckily we have another shower. We've never used it, its tiny and dark and in the cat's room.

We were going to just buy a new cheap computer for internet stuff, but now with the shower deal, we probably won't be able to. That's why the fan in the computer we were going to replace is making noise like a jet taking off. :angry:

[wildernesse]

Ah, I see. I wondered if it was community service for armed B&E or some such.

ha! I'm not quite that interesting.

[Shelli]

:shit:

[viscousmemories]

Ah, I see. I wondered if it was community service for armed B&E or some such.
I was thinking the same thing but chalked it up to projection.

[Watser?]

I just went shopping and was riding my bike peacefully (yes, a bike, I'm Dutch, riding bikes is what we do :yup: ) when this idiot bitch fatherhumping daughter of a bitch nearly ran me over :fuming: :pissed: :madrant:

So I cast doubts on her mental faculties and her parental heritage and moved on :D

[curses]

Dear coworkers:

Telling me that the internet's down and I should fix it is not a proper substitute for the phrase "Good Morning". Fer christsakes, I'm not even the IT person. Just because I can fix it doesn't mean that I will before I even get a chance to go put my lunch in the fridge.

Thank you kindly.

[viscousmemories]

Unfortunately, I have to work full-time next week.

Fortunately, that will help me pay my $412.00 electric bill.

[Crumb]

$412.00 electric bill.
You're not growing marijuana are you? :narrow:

[viscousmemories]

Would that I were! Then I wouldn't have to work full-time.

[Shelli]

Fucking credit card companies and the post office!

RAHR!!!!! :fuming:

[inland wave]

I would love to, but I'm to tired to write anything worth mentioning. I'm ready to start my new job!!!!!!

[lisarea]

The phone line to the house is fucking SQUISHED in some stupid junction box or whatever in the neighbors' yard. The dialtone went out early yesterday afternoon, and it will not be back until late tomorrow morning at the earliest. DSL is intermittent, but is kind of mostly working now.

I made a pot of exploding coffee this morning.

We forgot about the milk that had been in the box on the front porch since Monday night. My bruddah and I just cleaned that up.

My right arm doesn't work right, my head hurts, and I just bit my tongue REALLY FUCKING HARD.

I have so much work to do in such little time it's stupid.

Now, my stomach also feels kind of icky.

I can't figure out who I'm mad at.