There must be a marked shortage of stupid pills in the universe today. That’s because I think the vast majority of the supply has surely already been consumed.
I offer up these exercises in asinine from today’s headlines to back my theory.
Iran's Leader Sparks Western Walkout at UN Meeting – Um, maybe I missed something but why was this total nut job allowed to speak at a conference on, of all things, diversity? This megalomaniac, who denies that the Holocaust ever happened, wants to “wipe out” Israel, (and the Western World too, if the truth is told). Here. Deny this. And he’s a headline speaker on diversity, why again?
Almost 1 in 10 Young Video Game Users 'Addicted' – WHERE are the parents? Do you know how many pieces a video game in my house would have been in when I was growing up if it had “interfered with school performance, disrupted interaction with family and friends and posed health problems?” Too many to count, that’s how many! And childhood obesity … should that be a surprise when the only thing that these kids are “working out” are their eyes and their thumbs?! Get on your bike. Play outside. MOVE around!
Man Pretending to Fall Off Bridge Actually Falls – I guess you can chalk this one up to inebriation, plain and simple. But still, this takes dumb*ss drunk antics to a whole nother level.
Dog-fighting videos at heart of Supreme Court case – Can’t get to an illegal dogfight in your neighborhood? Well, just get the video instead! WHAT?! Explain to me how the act itself is illegal but selling tapes of it isn’t. This doesn’t have a d*mn thing to do with freedom of speech. It has to do with some sick bastards cashing in on animal cruelty (which is illegal). And videos of a woman in spiked heels crushing small animals? How sick do you have to be to enjoy that?
British singing sensation Susan Boyle offered $1 million to star in porn flick – Sick? Twisted? No. Those adjectives don’t begin to go far enough. Sorry. I’m out of words on this one. Speechless.
A non-professional,faux home improvement blog dedicated to the insane yet diligent do-it-yourselfer,thoroughly peppered with random views and thoughts from me
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Monday, April 20, 2009
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sometimes I Hate Blogger
Like now. When it puts my newest post below yesterday's only because I STARTED it yesterday. Right now, it looks like I didn't update the blog.
Stupid damn program. I should be able to start a draft and it post when I publish it!
Stupid damn program. I should be able to start a draft and it post when I publish it!
Monday, July 28, 2008
A Brickyard Throwdown?
DIY isn’t for everybody. I’ll be the first person to admit that because sometimes, I don’t even think it’s for me.
Most people I know are complimentary of the work I do. They’re very supportive and encouraging. They decry their own abilities when it comes to doing similar things at their own homes. Truth is, I think most of them could do it if they really wanted or needed to. But, they neither need nor want to. It’s just not their thing. I respect that.
Some people, however, can be just plain rude. Last year, while painting the house, I came dangerously close to b*tch-slapping a former colleague whose contribution to a conversation I was having with another colleague about the project, was: “Can’t you just pay someone to do that?” And it was uttered in the snidest of tones.
I wanted to reply with an equally acidic response (pointing out the fact that not everyone makes what she does, and she has a second equally large source of income in her house, to boot) but bit my tongue. I instead calmly said that I don’t like to pay people to do things I can do myself. That leaves that much more in resources available to do other projects or to pay for having things done that are way out of my league. Because, that really is the truth.
Then, over the weekend, there were two more contrasting opinions. First, my neighbor’s girlfriend came over. “That’s looking great,” she said. “I know it’s a lot of work.” Later, as I was wrapping up, one of the “neighborhood walkers” as I call them offered me his two cents. “Kind of taking you a long time, isn’t it?”
The tone took me right back to last year’s slight. Yet, I remained polite. I agreed, acknowledging that masonry, after all, wasn’t my day job. (I mean except for putting up the fence, every minute of available time has gone into this project. Should I set up floodlights and work at night? Hmmmmm …. that’s an idea!)
“Then maybe you ought to let one do it.” His tone dripped with snideness and disdain.
Oh no he didn’t! Even if he thought I was doing the crappiest job he’d ever seen, he did not just say that to me. My dander was not only up, it was doing back-flips. This dude is spoilin' for a brickyard throwdown. (I’ve been wanting to use that word since Ann’s post last week!)
DIY isn’t pretty. It’s messy. It’s time-consuming. It’s costly. And it can be bad for your health if you put your two cents into the wrong project.
(Particularly if you deposit them in earshot of a feisty little woman who is burning up, exhausted and starving – and has an assortment of sharp handtools within easy reach. Not to mention hundreds of bricks.)
Most people I know are complimentary of the work I do. They’re very supportive and encouraging. They decry their own abilities when it comes to doing similar things at their own homes. Truth is, I think most of them could do it if they really wanted or needed to. But, they neither need nor want to. It’s just not their thing. I respect that.
Some people, however, can be just plain rude. Last year, while painting the house, I came dangerously close to b*tch-slapping a former colleague whose contribution to a conversation I was having with another colleague about the project, was: “Can’t you just pay someone to do that?” And it was uttered in the snidest of tones.
I wanted to reply with an equally acidic response (pointing out the fact that not everyone makes what she does, and she has a second equally large source of income in her house, to boot) but bit my tongue. I instead calmly said that I don’t like to pay people to do things I can do myself. That leaves that much more in resources available to do other projects or to pay for having things done that are way out of my league. Because, that really is the truth.
Then, over the weekend, there were two more contrasting opinions. First, my neighbor’s girlfriend came over. “That’s looking great,” she said. “I know it’s a lot of work.” Later, as I was wrapping up, one of the “neighborhood walkers” as I call them offered me his two cents. “Kind of taking you a long time, isn’t it?”
The tone took me right back to last year’s slight. Yet, I remained polite. I agreed, acknowledging that masonry, after all, wasn’t my day job. (I mean except for putting up the fence, every minute of available time has gone into this project. Should I set up floodlights and work at night? Hmmmmm …. that’s an idea!)
“Then maybe you ought to let one do it.” His tone dripped with snideness and disdain.
Oh no he didn’t! Even if he thought I was doing the crappiest job he’d ever seen, he did not just say that to me. My dander was not only up, it was doing back-flips. This dude is spoilin' for a brickyard throwdown. (I’ve been wanting to use that word since Ann’s post last week!)
“Are you volunteering?” I asked. “Because if you are, I could use a mason’s help, though I’m sure my rates are a lot more reasonable. And if you aren’t volunteering, talk is cheap. Very cheap. Effort, now that costs a little more. So I’d put a little effort into continuing my walk.”I don’t know where it came from. (I obviously stunned him. Hell, I stunned myself. ) The look on his face was priceless. He kind of harrumphed and resumed walking. I'd made my point with a limited amount of rudeness.
DIY isn’t pretty. It’s messy. It’s time-consuming. It’s costly. And it can be bad for your health if you put your two cents into the wrong project.
(Particularly if you deposit them in earshot of a feisty little woman who is burning up, exhausted and starving – and has an assortment of sharp handtools within easy reach. Not to mention hundreds of bricks.)
Friday, June 27, 2008
Is It Friday the 13th?
It’s Friday, and ordinarily I would be bordering on ecstatic and wishing everyone “Happy Friday!” But it's starting out more like you'd expect a Friday the 13th to. Today it will be difficult not to just punch people instead. Just chalk it up to sleep deprivation. I think I’ve had 10 hours or so of sleep total since Tuesday, thanks to my household.
Can I just pack them up and ship them all to parts unknown? Just for a few days? (Everyone except Tigger. He can stay. He’s not on my list.)
Toby the Cat, being a male, being an unneutered male for a variety of reasons, has decided most nights this week it would be a great idea to yowl to see if a girl will come visit him. Logical and perfectly acceptable, if it weren’t 1 or 2 a.m. when this starts.
Then there’s Carole, my 65-year-old. To her credit, she regularly gets up and makes Toby shut up. But other nights, she’s worse than he ever dare be. Take last night. When Toby was quiet. That’s when life in a small house sucks because, unless you’re deaf, you hear everything. And I’m on the other side of the kitchen. When a cabinet or drawer is opened or closed, it sounds like someone is coming through the wall. It’s very annoying. Particularly when this occurs at 4:45 a.m. (She regularly does this kind of thing within 30 minutes of the alarm.)
Particularly when this occurs after I’ve only just gotten comfortable again from getting up with Ozzie. Ozzie, who awakened me at 4 by farting in my face. It was one of the most disgusting things ever to awake to that. Now while I appreciate that he woke me up, rather than waking to the alternative, and I appreciate that this was probably not intended, it was no less disgusting.
What was worse – and why he is on my list – is that he didn’t want to come back to bed after things were settled. He went in with Mom. Fine. I just shut my door and got back in bed. Five minutes later … he’s whining and butting the door. I get up and let him in. He won’t come to me to put him up on the bed and he proceeds to pace and pace, flopping momentarily in his own bed and on the floor. Clack. Clack. Clack. I hear his feet on the wood.
I am almost asleep – I still have half an hour before the alarm goes off – and Carole is at it again. Slam. Boom. Pop. Then, from her room, clack, clack, clack of a spoon against a bowl. About that time, it starts to pour outside.
I nestle against my pillow thinking this will drown out all of it and I can grab 30 more minutes. But no.
“Hey,” I hear my mother yell from down the hall. “It’s pouring.”
Gee thanks, ma. I’m so glad you told me as I could not hear the banging of the rain against the window right next to me and come to that conclusion on my own.
In the eternal words of Moe, “Remind me to kill you later.”
Can I just pack them up and ship them all to parts unknown? Just for a few days? (Everyone except Tigger. He can stay. He’s not on my list.)
Toby the Cat, being a male, being an unneutered male for a variety of reasons, has decided most nights this week it would be a great idea to yowl to see if a girl will come visit him. Logical and perfectly acceptable, if it weren’t 1 or 2 a.m. when this starts.
Then there’s Carole, my 65-year-old. To her credit, she regularly gets up and makes Toby shut up. But other nights, she’s worse than he ever dare be. Take last night. When Toby was quiet. That’s when life in a small house sucks because, unless you’re deaf, you hear everything. And I’m on the other side of the kitchen. When a cabinet or drawer is opened or closed, it sounds like someone is coming through the wall. It’s very annoying. Particularly when this occurs at 4:45 a.m. (She regularly does this kind of thing within 30 minutes of the alarm.)
Particularly when this occurs after I’ve only just gotten comfortable again from getting up with Ozzie. Ozzie, who awakened me at 4 by farting in my face. It was one of the most disgusting things ever to awake to that. Now while I appreciate that he woke me up, rather than waking to the alternative, and I appreciate that this was probably not intended, it was no less disgusting.
What was worse – and why he is on my list – is that he didn’t want to come back to bed after things were settled. He went in with Mom. Fine. I just shut my door and got back in bed. Five minutes later … he’s whining and butting the door. I get up and let him in. He won’t come to me to put him up on the bed and he proceeds to pace and pace, flopping momentarily in his own bed and on the floor. Clack. Clack. Clack. I hear his feet on the wood.
I am almost asleep – I still have half an hour before the alarm goes off – and Carole is at it again. Slam. Boom. Pop. Then, from her room, clack, clack, clack of a spoon against a bowl. About that time, it starts to pour outside.
I nestle against my pillow thinking this will drown out all of it and I can grab 30 more minutes. But no.
“Hey,” I hear my mother yell from down the hall. “It’s pouring.”
Gee thanks, ma. I’m so glad you told me as I could not hear the banging of the rain against the window right next to me and come to that conclusion on my own.
In the eternal words of Moe, “Remind me to kill you later.”
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