this coffee tastes like ass
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this coffee tastes like ass
Maybe you should write a column about the stress of writing 8 articles in a week, like a comical thing. Then you get to vent and people will figure out what kind of a job you got, and you boss will understand and lessen the workload and then maybe sugarplum fairies will sprinkle magical dust over third world countries ending hunger....hmm...okay maybe that won't happen....but there's always that tiniest of chance.
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well, my shit can't compare to slarti's, but I need to vent too.
had rehearsal tonight... FIRST DRESS/TECH REHEARSAL. we perform TOMORROW MORNING. we hadn't had our costumes or rehearsed in the space until 3:30 this afternoon. I was told we'd be done by nine. nope. we get a 30 min break at 8 fucking 30. run the show again, get notes, by then it's 11. yeah. THEN I have to put one of my costumes back on b/c there needs to be serious alterations done to it before tomorrow morning. so I have to stay and get pinned and poked and prodded in my crotch and chest (it's a provocative costume), which I try to do cheerfully so they don't put up with a grumpy Esy. I get in my car and fucking lose it b/c it's 11:30 and I won't get home until 12. AND I have to be up by 4 fucking 30 am so I can do my hair and get to school by 8fucking 30. it takes me FOREVER to curl my thick and long hair. and this was a new development made at 11pm. my hair was SUPPOSED to be up in all of my scenes so I didn't need to worry about curling it. and NOW I DO. WTF?!
oh, did I mention that I likely won't get to see my kid any night this week until she's in bed b/c of this shit? I called on break and mom put her on... first words out of her mouth "Mommy, when are you coming home? I miss you." Broke my fucking heart. I only have 4 more days left but I dont know if I have it in me.
had rehearsal tonight... FIRST DRESS/TECH REHEARSAL. we perform TOMORROW MORNING. we hadn't had our costumes or rehearsed in the space until 3:30 this afternoon. I was told we'd be done by nine. nope. we get a 30 min break at 8 fucking 30. run the show again, get notes, by then it's 11. yeah. THEN I have to put one of my costumes back on b/c there needs to be serious alterations done to it before tomorrow morning. so I have to stay and get pinned and poked and prodded in my crotch and chest (it's a provocative costume), which I try to do cheerfully so they don't put up with a grumpy Esy. I get in my car and fucking lose it b/c it's 11:30 and I won't get home until 12. AND I have to be up by 4 fucking 30 am so I can do my hair and get to school by 8fucking 30. it takes me FOREVER to curl my thick and long hair. and this was a new development made at 11pm. my hair was SUPPOSED to be up in all of my scenes so I didn't need to worry about curling it. and NOW I DO. WTF?!
oh, did I mention that I likely won't get to see my kid any night this week until she's in bed b/c of this shit? I called on break and mom put her on... first words out of her mouth "Mommy, when are you coming home? I miss you." Broke my fucking heart. I only have 4 more days left but I dont know if I have it in me.
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this coffee tastes like ass
Sounds harsh esy, but I'd just out perform the hell out of everyone, go home as soon as you can, and believe it or not, all things will work out. It'll be stressful as hell until, but whatever.
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I knew it. I need two forms of identification to get a new ID card, and at present I have zero. I have to go home (like home, home) to get my original birth certificate and I have to order a certified copy of my transcript to prove I am who I say I am.HoodedMan wrote:DAMN it, I lost my ID card on Monday and only noticed today when I went to get another piercing. Now I have to brave the horrors of a DMV customer service center, only to be told that I can't get a replacement because I don't have the right identification documents (I have my original W2, but I can't help that my original birth certificate and Social Security cards are in another city and I only have duplicates.) I'm starting to empathize more and more with NO2ID; not being able to do anything without a photo ID is an unacceptable state of affairs.
... We are not amused.
ACHTUNG! Alles touristen und non-technischen looken peepers! Das computermachine ist nicht fuer gefingerpoken und mittengrabben. Ist easy schnappen der springenwerk, blowenfusen und poppencorken mit spitzensparken. Ist nicht fuer gewerken bei das dumpkopfen. Das rubbernecken sichtseeren keepen das cotten-pickenen hans in das pockets muss; relaxen und watchen das blinkenlichten.
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this coffee tastes like ass
Well, the shitty economy just got a whole lot more personal. My husband got downsized yesterday, along with about six other people we know of at his company (which only has 30 or so employees anyway).
Not sure what exactly we're gonna do.
Also, sorry I didn't get to posting that instance, Love.
Not sure what exactly we're gonna do.
Also, sorry I didn't get to posting that instance, Love.
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I got laid off over a month ago but the site hasn't worked for me since then so I couldn't complain about it. (Not even about getting laid off... the stuff before I got laid off when the job got all sucky and shit.) Just got caught up on the thread, this was a lousy Christmas for a lot of people.
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Damn. Sorry to hear that guys:(
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....Jobcentre. Oh, how I adore thee. Many hours have I spent within your cold, uncaring walls trying to explain that someone who has symptoms that duplicate everything from MS to Fibro to strokes can't actually, y'know, work.
And that's without mentioning the car accident that, despite my claiming otherwise, has crippled me. Because, you know, having smashed-up legs and a fucking car door implant in your side doesn't actually mean everything. It's only a fucking flesh wound, after all.
And now, I get to talk to yet more I-have-a-comfortable-desk-job-so-I-don't-give-a-shit people, either on the phone or face-to-face (probably on the phone coz I can hang up before I punch someone) because you, oh wonderful, caring, understanding Jobcentre, have decided that I am capable of work.
Which means that you will probably attempt to cut off my money. When I, y' know, kinda need it?
Oh, and as for trying to tell me that I ain't feeling the recession as hard as some, oh ye who obviously doesn't follow financial shit WORLDWIDE? YOU try living on less then £100 a fortnight - which is £50 a week - when the price for BASIC fucking living is climbing daily and bills still need to be paid. All I can say is thank god my rent is paid for me, but even then, if the Jobcentre fucks up (which it will) I lose that.
Which means, no flat. No home. I lose pretty much everything.
Yes. I'm not feeling the credit crunch at all. You're lucky I have still got a thread of control over my temper at the moment.
(Sorry about the rant. Really, really needed that.)
And that's without mentioning the car accident that, despite my claiming otherwise, has crippled me. Because, you know, having smashed-up legs and a fucking car door implant in your side doesn't actually mean everything. It's only a fucking flesh wound, after all.
And now, I get to talk to yet more I-have-a-comfortable-desk-job-so-I-don't-give-a-shit people, either on the phone or face-to-face (probably on the phone coz I can hang up before I punch someone) because you, oh wonderful, caring, understanding Jobcentre, have decided that I am capable of work.
Which means that you will probably attempt to cut off my money. When I, y' know, kinda need it?
Oh, and as for trying to tell me that I ain't feeling the recession as hard as some, oh ye who obviously doesn't follow financial shit WORLDWIDE? YOU try living on less then £100 a fortnight - which is £50 a week - when the price for BASIC fucking living is climbing daily and bills still need to be paid. All I can say is thank god my rent is paid for me, but even then, if the Jobcentre fucks up (which it will) I lose that.
Which means, no flat. No home. I lose pretty much everything.
Yes. I'm not feeling the credit crunch at all. You're lucky I have still got a thread of control over my temper at the moment.
(Sorry about the rant. Really, really needed that.)
Those who know, don't say; those who don't, say too much.
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My (NSFW) Art/General Blog || My Trans Blog || My (SFW-ish) Art
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My (NSFW) Art/General Blog || My Trans Blog || My (SFW-ish) Art
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Scummy, you deserve to rant. And you're a far better person than I am.
(I haven't always hung up the phone before practicing my 8 punch combos in the air, imagining they're making contact.)
(I haven't always hung up the phone before practicing my 8 punch combos in the air, imagining they're making contact.)
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One of my friends was arrested Wendesday evening and is most likely going to be charged with a felony. The whole school found out on Thursday since it was all over the news, and we all figured out who it is today. So, I found out it was one of my friends around lunch time.
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I've done that. It's not fun. I didn't eat much, or do anything. Hang in there.Scumfish wrote:
Oh, and as for trying to tell me that I ain't feeling the recession as hard as some, oh ye who obviously doesn't follow financial shit WORLDWIDE? YOU try living on less then £100 a fortnight - which is £50 a week - when the price for BASIC fucking living is climbing daily and bills still need to be paid. All I can say is thank god my rent is paid for me, but even then, if the Jobcentre fucks up (which it will) I lose that.
My whine: stupid windows media player keeps adding all my pictures to the shared library. NO!! STOP IT!! No one wants to see that! And by that I mean my enormous collection of cat photos plus the hundreds of pictures of me gazing soulfully into the camera. I only want to share videos! You piece of shit.
Und die Sonne spricht zu mir
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this coffee tastes like ass
My little Midge had to be put down on thursday.
one name: Bruce Campbell
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So incredibly angry right now.
First off, my manager needs to die, slowly and pref
erably of an especially humiliating disease involving hairloss, loose bowels, and incredible, excruciating pain; possibly televised for my vewing pleasure. I mean, it's bad enough that I'm stacking shit on overtime which she is at least supposed to -ask- before I am made to do it. Don't remember the asking part certainly. But she has to add more. "Fergie, could you tell me why 11 and 14 didn't get done" ..."Eleven wasn't my asile and fourteen -is- done." "No, no it's not, the backstock didn't get ran." Backstock. We had thirteen frigging pallets and she's yammering on about backstock? If it's so important to her she can yank her fat ass up the ladder and do it because at almost thirty minutes after I am supposed to leave you can be damned sure that I'm not doing it. Not after nine dolleys of juice and soup and I don't even remember how many of cereal and the actual -freight- for 14 (soda) and even helping the slowassed bastard on 11 finish what was out on the floor.
Oh, and as I was venting to mother she decides to put me in an even worse mood by pointing out that since I wasn't BSEd it would probably be harder for me to find a job. Gee, is this really what you want to point out to me right now? The fact that I am not just half a semester away from my masters in education at the moment isn't her fault at -all-. And I don't even know why she is rambling at that. I'll get Princeton. The teachers know me, they can vouch for me, the school board knows me, and even actually likes me, the superintendant doesn't give two figs what is going on because it'll be his last year and it isn't like they wanted to hire the guy that had to leave because he was batshit crazy. He was just the -only person- that tried for the job. My competition, they are not many. So wtf, mom, wtf?
And if she comments about me becoming a manager at wal-mart one more time I'm going to have a nice warm mother-sized skin for my bed. It's bad enough when she makes career suggestions on things that wouldn't make me suicidal. I mean, I already know what I want to do, she's what is keeping me from it. At least when she decides I should have gone into massage therapy after getting me to put her back back in I get to put her in some good discomfort and think 'hey, hurt people for a living. Not just for a dominatrix after all.'
Holy but that's a long rant.
[Edited on 25/1/09 by Ferguson]
First off, my manager needs to die, slowly and pref
erably of an especially humiliating disease involving hairloss, loose bowels, and incredible, excruciating pain; possibly televised for my vewing pleasure. I mean, it's bad enough that I'm stacking shit on overtime which she is at least supposed to -ask- before I am made to do it. Don't remember the asking part certainly. But she has to add more. "Fergie, could you tell me why 11 and 14 didn't get done" ..."Eleven wasn't my asile and fourteen -is- done." "No, no it's not, the backstock didn't get ran." Backstock. We had thirteen frigging pallets and she's yammering on about backstock? If it's so important to her she can yank her fat ass up the ladder and do it because at almost thirty minutes after I am supposed to leave you can be damned sure that I'm not doing it. Not after nine dolleys of juice and soup and I don't even remember how many of cereal and the actual -freight- for 14 (soda) and even helping the slowassed bastard on 11 finish what was out on the floor.
Oh, and as I was venting to mother she decides to put me in an even worse mood by pointing out that since I wasn't BSEd it would probably be harder for me to find a job. Gee, is this really what you want to point out to me right now? The fact that I am not just half a semester away from my masters in education at the moment isn't her fault at -all-. And I don't even know why she is rambling at that. I'll get Princeton. The teachers know me, they can vouch for me, the school board knows me, and even actually likes me, the superintendant doesn't give two figs what is going on because it'll be his last year and it isn't like they wanted to hire the guy that had to leave because he was batshit crazy. He was just the -only person- that tried for the job. My competition, they are not many. So wtf, mom, wtf?
And if she comments about me becoming a manager at wal-mart one more time I'm going to have a nice warm mother-sized skin for my bed. It's bad enough when she makes career suggestions on things that wouldn't make me suicidal. I mean, I already know what I want to do, she's what is keeping me from it. At least when she decides I should have gone into massage therapy after getting me to put her back back in I get to put her in some good discomfort and think 'hey, hurt people for a living. Not just for a dominatrix after all.'
Holy but that's a long rant.
[Edited on 25/1/09 by Ferguson]
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this coffee tastes like ass
I think you deserve a little anger there hun. And a horsewhip for you to apply liberally where needed.
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this coffee tastes like ass
So, this first part I'm actually proud of:
I called my friends I talk about in chat to see if I could stay with them.
The ass part:
Both of them are in the office. I got their voicemail.
This is how my luck runs, people. I try to run away and I get to leave a message.
I called my friends I talk about in chat to see if I could stay with them.
The ass part:
Both of them are in the office. I got their voicemail.
This is how my luck runs, people. I try to run away and I get to leave a message.
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this coffee tastes like ass
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I'm so sorry about your truck, Angelique.
I still miss my old TC-3. It was a beautiful little car....even 'though the wheel fell off. My emerald green Escort was a lovely little thing too, but the new one had air-conditioning!!!
I still miss my old TC-3. It was a beautiful little car....even 'though the wheel fell off. My emerald green Escort was a lovely little thing too, but the new one had air-conditioning!!!
R.I.P. Nightcrawler. 1975 - 2010
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Man, I hate to hear about the truck Angelique.
I don't know what magic spells Ford puts on their Rangers, but those little beasts just run - almost - FOREVER!! I still have the Ford Ranger I bought new in 1993. (Dating myself a little here.) Anyway, this past summer, after 278,000 miles, the clutch finally bit the dust and not having any money to replace it, poor Baby has just been a lawn ornament, we mow around once a week. I'm not sure what we're going to do when summer semester begins because there is no way I can take the one car we have left, leave work at 5:00, pick up DD from daycare, deliver her home to DH, and make it to class by 5:20. (DH can't do all the pick ups and deliveries because he's doctor won't release him to drive.) You know, come to think of it, I don't need my truck fixed. I need a freakin' TARDIS - or the ability to teleport. Teleporting would actually be better because then I wouldn't have to spend 45 minutes trying to find a place to park the TARDIS on campus! But, still I'm not picky, I'll take either one...
I don't know what magic spells Ford puts on their Rangers, but those little beasts just run - almost - FOREVER!! I still have the Ford Ranger I bought new in 1993. (Dating myself a little here.) Anyway, this past summer, after 278,000 miles, the clutch finally bit the dust and not having any money to replace it, poor Baby has just been a lawn ornament, we mow around once a week. I'm not sure what we're going to do when summer semester begins because there is no way I can take the one car we have left, leave work at 5:00, pick up DD from daycare, deliver her home to DH, and make it to class by 5:20. (DH can't do all the pick ups and deliveries because he's doctor won't release him to drive.) You know, come to think of it, I don't need my truck fixed. I need a freakin' TARDIS - or the ability to teleport. Teleporting would actually be better because then I wouldn't have to spend 45 minutes trying to find a place to park the TARDIS on campus! But, still I'm not picky, I'll take either one...
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I want to hear more about how it's your mom's fault. I'm nosy. And bored!Ferguson wrote: The fact that I am not just half a semester away from my masters in education at the moment isn't her fault at -all-.
I guess my life is pretty good at the moment. I'm just bored! It's a holiday, and those suck for unemployed people. Friends are gone, except my roommate and I'm worried I'm getting on his nerves so I'm avoiding the main room for a bit.
My last job neglected to pay the ~$700 they said they would if I worked two weeks after the last paycheque. Assholes. I should have run away in the middle of the night! I'm better off anyway than I'd be if I'd quit in the normal way (instead of the backroom deal way) and I wanted out of this job asap so I don't regret going for it, but I'm still going in tomorrow to say, what's up?
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Well, it's not as if I didn't get my money's worth out of Linda, after all. There was a time when I was averaging 300 miles per week on that truck, commuting far and wide to some of my farther flung dance classes, competitions, and performances. We flipped the odometer on Linda and were well on our way to doing it again when the transmission finally gave up the ghost.
Meanwhile, what haven't I been through with that truck? A few offroad adventures because I thought making it to (or in one case getting home from) dance class was worth the risk of a little black ice. A couple very long, anxious trips through blizzards to a workshop in Utah, or home from a competition in Fort Collins. Getting sideswiped by a drunk driver (the dents in the truck bed and cab extension) and worrying that I might not be able to drive it to a major championship in LA. Hitting a 6 point bull elk (not like I haven't told anyone that story before at all!) on the way home from rehearsal. (That accounts for the hole above the headlight and the dents everywhere else.) Linda had survived all that, and it was a stupid transmission problem that took her down!
Sniffle.
I just hope my new Chevy doesn't go through half this insanity.
Meanwhile, what haven't I been through with that truck? A few offroad adventures because I thought making it to (or in one case getting home from) dance class was worth the risk of a little black ice. A couple very long, anxious trips through blizzards to a workshop in Utah, or home from a competition in Fort Collins. Getting sideswiped by a drunk driver (the dents in the truck bed and cab extension) and worrying that I might not be able to drive it to a major championship in LA. Hitting a 6 point bull elk (not like I haven't told anyone that story before at all!) on the way home from rehearsal. (That accounts for the hole above the headlight and the dents everywhere else.) Linda had survived all that, and it was a stupid transmission problem that took her down!
Sniffle.
I just hope my new Chevy doesn't go through half this insanity.
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We had a joint banking account because my scholarship cheque came to my home address and it was faster for her to just put it in the bank there.I want to hear more about how it's your mom's fault. I'm nosy. And bored!
And then, a few months before graduation I look at the bank balance. "Hey mom...why do I suddenly have a very impressive negative balance?" So yeah, she cleaned me out to take care of her own stuff. I'm only now working up the extra money to take the praxis so I can at least teach and then save up for the GRE.
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OMG Ferguson! You have GOT to be kidding! What kind of parent does something like that??
Well, at least when you finally do reach your goals - you can say you did it on your own...
Well, at least when you finally do reach your goals - you can say you did it on your own...
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...Twice. Seeming as you did it on your own once and then over again. ><
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And you're still speaking to her?Ferguson wrote:We had a joint banking account because my scholarship cheque came to my home address and it was faster for her to just put it in the bank there.I want to hear more about how it's your mom's fault. I'm nosy. And bored!
And then, a few months before graduation I look at the bank balance. "Hey mom...why do I suddenly have a very impressive negative balance?" So yeah, she cleaned me out to take care of her own stuff. I'm only now working up the extra money to take the praxis so I can at least teach and then save up for the GRE.
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