so don't ask if you don't want to know
Posts tagged bitching
How NOT to Act Old,
Jun 18th
according to this month’s More magazine. Yes, I have one and only one magazine subscription and it’s for women over 40. Cuz I’ve been over forty for quite some time now.
(And I’ll be paraphrasing for brevity)
1. Don’t wear a watch. I stopped wearing a watch last January because it clunks on my laptop. Where I once was a stickler for being on time, I find I rarely need to pay attention to exact time anymore. I even have to look up the date when I need to know it.
2. Don’t talk about history. Nobody cares about personal memories of my youth. I need to work on this one more.
3. Avoid Direct Confrontation. I cry bullshit on this one. They suggest passive-aggresive whiny ass negotiation. I say politely tell people when you feel they need to do something differently. Yeah, I realize I need to work on the politely part.
4. Don’t Voice Mail. Blow up someone’s phone if you want their attention, and text as a last resort. I prefer not to talk on the phone; I don’t bother to answer if I don’t recognize the number. I prefer text conversations but if you must call, leave an identifier voice message and I’ll probably call you back.
5. Don’t Cook a Roast because only OLD people make roast. Well, I cheat and buy Hormel‘s 4 minute roast beef au jus and throw in some instant potatoes. We like roast!
6. Wax yer crotch. Hey, it’s been a long time since anyone’s been down there so how is anyone to know? I reserve the right to keep my bush as it was meant to be. If you want prepubescent pube areas go for it. I have reason to know child molesters prefer it that way. Oops, just broke rule #2 again.
7-14. Don’t get to work early, don’t feed everyone, don’t watch the time clock, don’t brag about your achievements, don’t be tough, get out of your chair and move around, don’t plan too far ahead, don’t remember everything. Forget old-fashioned professionalism I guess.
15. No Lame Parenting Advice. Shyeah. Right. Have you met my (adult) kids?
16. Don’t be the fuddy-duddy. I gave that up in my divorce.
17. Don’t Block the Aisle. Seriously! And back at you young people, don’t walk down the center of the parking lot aisles or I’ll be tempted to run your skinny ass over.
18-19. Type with your thumbs and don’t yell into your phone.
20. Don’t Fear the Teenager. Just slap ‘em around.
21. Cancel the old people touristy/retirement stuff. Party on!
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Edited to add: If I hadn’t been writing this while SmallChild was “doing” my hair I would have remembered this part. My COMPLETELY bad.
This is a book excerpt in More magazine of a book with the same title How Not to Act Old by Pamela Redmond Satran. I did look for linkage on the More site before I started, but forgot to keep looking when I didn’t find anything.
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Edited again: Upon further research this book is actually a compilation (I don’t thinks that’s the word I want but you get it) of a blog called How Not to Act Old to which I have now subscribed. I need all the help I can get.
Alltel means what exactly?
May 31st
It sure as shit doesn’t mean Allover Telephone… or anything close.
Alltel does NOT have coverage in Las Vegas. Las Fucking Vegas! One of the biggest tourist cities in the US, and I roamed the whole time.
Alltel does NOT have coverage on the entire island of Oahu. Goddamn Honolulu! Again, one of the top tourist places in the US.
Check out their “coverage map” if you can see it. Isn’t that special. Can’t enlarge it, can’t get anything specific, and their color options make it impossible to see the actual differences.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t have service in Atlanta either. Can’t remember.
I did find a way to run Internet on my laptop through my mobile (something called PdaNet) and it worked okay, but at roaming prices it would have probably been cheaper to get the WiFi from the hotel. Guess I’ll find out when the bill is due.
And for the rest of you
May 22nd
My baby graduated last night! My last and final (and only) kid to graduate.
I’m telling you the whole thing was a drag right up til they called her name.
Overcast sky all day we were hoping would hold. No such luck. Just before I got there (an hour early in order to find parking and seating) it started sprinkling. As more and more families were crammed into the stands at the school’s football field the rain continued. Umbrellas fighting for space, too. The old bat in front of me had one of those six foot golfer umbrellas that drained right onto my lap. Not to mention the drunk ass father and grandfather that showed up 5 minutes before the thing started and bitched the whole time about getting wet. Shut up asshole, we’ve been here for HOURS. What ever happened to chivalry, where the menfolk sat in the rain holding seats while the ladies waited comfortably whilst sipping cocktails in the car?
Eventually, yet right on time they started the Commencement. 805 graduates filed ceremoniously down the football field. In the rain. Then there was the standing for the pledge and the longest and most elaborate version of the Star Spangled Banner (I swear they added verses) followed by some slow convoluted America the Beautiful. Just long enough to gather puddles in our seats. Joy.
I was soaked and I had an umbrella! Most of those kids didn’t. But they were cheerful and excited, starting waves when the speeches (of which there were too many considering the weather) ran too long. There were teachers and staff at the end of each row confiscating the beach balls that periodically popped up. Spoilsports.
Finally after an hour of (I’m sure very nice and well thought out speeches and music) droll they started calling names, and it took another half an hour before they got to Ginnie’s. People waited til their kid’s name was called and cheered and then promptly left the stadium. By the time my Walker kid was up, our little group was in a wide open space in the stands so she could see us cheering her.
And by the time I made my way to the back of the field they’d flipped their tassels and the families were let in and she found me before I could find her. She was sooo happy and excited and relieved to have it all over. And soaked.
Why do they line those caps in cardboard? Wouldn’t a slim sheet of plastic be just as cheap and yet hold up better to the elements?
A few hugs and pics later (no dumbass me forgot her camera, I’ll have to wait to get copies from Ashley’s mom) she made that phone call and shit went downhill fast.
And just about the time I was trapped in the mass exodus in the parking lot, the rain stopped. Figures.
Hey Buck!
May 22nd
Last night was the last straw. You screwed up your last chance.
I watched her face, at the moment she was happiest and most excited, as she called you to find out where you were. Because I’m such a bitch I wanted to get out of your way so you could come over and congratulate her. And you weren’t there.
I stood there and watched her face as she was told whatever reason you weren’t there. I’ve never seen anyone so crushed in my life. Her face literally fell. There amid all her friends and people who do care about her, she fell apart. Sobbed.
You cocksucking motherfucking bastard of a so-called father. Prick. Asshole. SOB. Useless whiny piece of shit drunk-ass fucktard.
How could you? I know you hate me and I don’t really give a crap. But when you use that as an excuse to fail as a father that’s on you. YOU MISSED YOUR DAUGHTER’S GRADUATION!
I’m no longer going to encourage these kids to call you any more. I’m done taking the high road and biting my tongue and telling them to try and set up visits. Other than a few snide comments on twitter or here I have not been “trashing you all over the Internet.” Stop using me as an excuse for your own failings as a father. Accept responsibility.
You failed and it’s all on you. There are no excuses.
Opposite times
Mar 1st
Last night was soooo much fun. My friend Sheila’s birthday party! A Mardi Gras themed party even. Being the incredible me I was invited to come a bit early for Marshall’s spectacular chocolate souffle. Every time Marshall comes to town I get to try something different and he’s probably the best cook I’ve known. I love getting special invites to his meals. He made gumbo last night too. I’m trying new foods and I actually almost like gumbo. But I loved the souffle. He put mandarin orange slices and a couple of raspberries on the side. Little touches like that. Presentation. We never went much for presentation but I’m starting to appreciate it.
And the party was fantastic! Dancing in the front room, and plenty of Strongbow for me. Lots of friends, lots of laughing and I crashed there so I wouldn’t have to drive home. Got up (unfortunately too) early this morning and eventually Marshall made us all omelettes.
Yeah, I was toasted and managed to get most of the men and some of the women to show their tits for beads. I dragged people onto the dance floor to loosen them up and flirted ineffectually with just about everyone. That’s me. One young man was especially playful and sweet but I was still alone at the end of the night. Oh well.
ENDOFTHEGOOD
And I get home and my house is trashed, people in the basement, power sucking all over and a nasty sticky mess in the kitchen. I go dump my stuff in my bedroom and some young guy I’ve never seen before is in the kitchen looking for a bowl to feed Kira cereal. Uh, who are you and where is this child’s father? Someone broke the DVD part of my home entertainment system. Someone got into my stash of Thin Mints. Someone leaves bathroom lights on and kitchen lights on and TVs on when no one is around.
And would I like to babysit tonight? Fuck no. He cleaned the kitchen, mopped and vacuumed the floors and bathed the kid and apologized for everything. Including pissing off the neighbor. And they just left for the night.
ENDOFTHEBAD
I have this uber geeky couple living behind me and she’s tromping on my last nerve. The “I hate to be a bother, but,” bitch. If I have to hear one more time how they sleep/work different shifts and how allergic they are to cigarette smoke and how they moved specifically to these apartments because they’re supposed to be non-smoking and they can smell smoke through the fucking walls and she just about had an asthma attack because she can smell cigarette smoke in her bathroom and it’s making her sick and her husband sleeps during the day and he’s choking on the smell and oh yeah we’re too loud… One night she rings my doorbell at 10:30 to bitch because Kira had been making too much noise in the bathtub. Apparently last night she gives Casey shit because they were too loud outside on my patio, which is on the opposite side of the building than she is! So they shifted the party over to Mikey-O’s apartment which is right across from hers – just for spite. She’s right about the non-smoking clause in the lease, which is why I smoked outside and I’ve been bitching at Ginnie to do the same. She’s lazy and thinks smoking in the bathroom with the fan on down there is good enough. Uh, no.
You know, if you’re that sensitive to your neighbors why choose an apartment? Wouldn’t it be better to rent a little stand alone house out in the boonies where nobody will bother you?
Shit, her husband Peter (not cool enough to be a Pete) just showed up at my door to reiterate the lease and no smoking rules and that they were too loud last night and she almost called the police. Fine, call the police cuz I wasn’t even here. The cops will nudge us to be quiet and you to get over it. Whatever.
Don't needle the seamstress.
Feb 25th
I absolutely hate sewing. Yet every so often I get this uncontrollable urge to drag out all my sewing crap and drive myself batshit crazy while fucking up some really nice material.
I have a really nice old sewing machine. A couple of years ago (during my last uncontrollable sewing urge) I had it refurbished. I remember the guy saying it was always better to get this old machine repaired than to buy a new one as the newer models are – like everything else – not built to last.
So I know it’s not the machine. I know it’s me. You know when people say they know just enough about a subject to be dangerous? That’s me. I can load the bobbin, I know the mechanics of the machine, and I can easily figure out patterns and how to get the material into the proper position to get the final product.
I can never figure out how to set the tensions for the material. That’s where the EPIC FAIL happens. I never get the foot tension right, or the thread tension right for the material I’m using at the moment. I don’t even know what this particular material is called to look it up!
I’m converting a long dress I bought years ago and never wore into a shorter dress and then taking the leftover material and making it into a skirt. It’s a handmade dress so there’s no handy tag to tell me what the material is. The skirt part is mostly done, that was just sew in a “hem” and then threading in some elastic. Fine, no problem. But the material kept getting pulled into the hole where the bobbin thread comes out, the seam is missing like every fifth stitch and isn’t tight/even and I’m pretty sure that’s due to the tension settings. Which I played with a billion times and still didn’t get right.
Shit.
All that crappy sewing didn’t matter so much on the skirt, because the seam is all gathered by elastic so you can’t see how bad it is. But now I want to hem the dress and THAT will be obvious if I fuck it up.
I HATE THIS.
I hate not quite understanding the finer points of the project I’m working on. It’s just how I feel about podcast engineering. I can understand the mechanics of how the equipment works but I can’t seem to grasp the finer points of adjusting stuff like gain and mid-range and shit.
Oh well.
