fuzzybluemonkeys: Evil Hand (zombies)
I made my reservation two weeks ago. In theory, that should have given you time to plan your morning such that you could actually get my U-Box here in a timely fashion. Or at least give me priority over the other things that are making you busy. Like, seriously, you knew this was coming. You're supposed to be a professional business.


Scheduled to arrive at 10am. Actually arrived at 1pm. 3 hours for them to get off their asses and get it here. 1 hour to actually load the damn thing. I did have help from Emmy and her Significant Other. SO got the TV and mattress down, and was amazingly helpful with the dude backing the thing into the parking space. And Emmy (daughter of a professional mover) helped get the rest of the stuff downstairs and packed in the box. I don't watch the show, but I'm feeling all Friendship is Magic right now.

Update the Second:
When I called at 10:30am in a "have you forgotten about me?" capacity, they said 11 or 11:30. When I called at 11:30 in a "where the fuck are you?" capacity, they said 12:30. When I called at 12:30, I got redirected to the central customer service and complained to some people there, who contacted the local dudes and reported back that they were loading it "right now". It finally showed up at 1pm. Packed up by 2pm. Tried to call but rang the extra that means it's going to central and chatted with Emmy instead. Called again later, truck arrived in like 10 minutes. I do not understand the discrepency here. With 2 weeks advance notice we are 3 hours late, with just being called up, we head out right that instant.
fuzzybluemonkeys: Evil Hand (zombies)
My intestines hurt.
So what else is new?
Pain is how they roll (or roil as the case may be).
I can even almost ignore the pain by virtue of it always being there.
But sometimes.
It bothers me.
Like, I just have this screaming rage that builds up inside of me.
Because I am in pain.
And I am always in pain.
And I will always be in pain.
And I cannot remember ever not being in pain.
(If there did once exist pain-free abdominal days of my youth, they are long gone.)
Not only can I not remember such mystical joys as my intestines functioning normally,
(Though I have vague memories of things getting worse in middle school which means they must have once been better, right? Right?)
But I cannot conceive of what it would be like if my intestines didn't hurt.
The notion is too alien.
I cannot imagine what it would entail.
(There is the obvious: a cessation of intestinal pain emanating from my abdomen, but I no longer know what that is like.)
I relate to my abdomen based on how much pain it is causing me at any given moment.
I can contemplate a lessening of pain.
I have experienced varying degrees of pain and less is always best.
But the complete absence of pain is unknowable to me.
And most of the time I am okay.
I can deal with it.
I have always dealt with it.
I will always deal with it.
But sometimes.
It just fucking bothers me.
fuzzybluemonkeys: What big eyes you have, the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad (42)
That feeling when you know there was something you were planning on googling, but you can't remember what the hell it was, so in theory, it's not that important, and you'll remember if it is, but you know it existed and you were curious about it, and now it's gone.
fuzzybluemonkeys: Meg living in captivity. (one girl revolution)
My mom is the scary thing that makes my nightmares nightmarish.
And I just resent it, okay? I want a do-over.
And even in my stupid dream, dad is trying to make excuses for her.
Parenting: You did it WRONG.

fuzzybluemonkeys: Rufus/Bucket of Sunshine (oh the humanity)
I don't know. It went. I said things. Words came out of my mouth. Hopefully they weren't gibberish.
Now comes the wait and see of will they or won't they want an in-person interview.

And I need to stop agonizing over it because it's over and there's nothing I can do and argh and bah and sigh.
fuzzybluemonkeys: Meg living in captivity. (one girl revolution)
Because the rights of hypothetical children that don't actually exist supersede those of living breathing human women.

This post is brought to you by NPR being on in the bookbinding studio, and the fact that I had to put headphones on because it is too early in the morning for me to experience this much rage.
fuzzybluemonkeys: Rufus/Bucket of Sunshine (oh the humanity)
If it can go wrong, it will go wrong. If it will go wrong, there's nothing you can do but deal the the aftermath of wrongness.
fuzzybluemonkeys: Evil Hand (zombies)
No, no, fuck you.


P.S. I didn't think of it until I was driving on an ice skating rink and wondering if I could sue you from beyond the grave, but next time I am totally wearing my Harvard shirt in protest. So there.
fuzzybluemonkeys: Meg living in captivity. (one girl revolution)
or, Why Katy Perry Annoys The Crap Out Of Me

Katy Perry singing her song, "Firework":

People with actual talent (The Backbeats from NBC's The Sing-Off) singing Katy Perry's song, "Firework":

fuzzybluemonkeys: fuzzy blue monkey (Default)
I'm going to run out of Sick Days if I keep using them up at the rate I've been going.

Because given the opportunity, I will stay in bed until 2pm, and I wasn't even sleeping necessarily (though I did doze off and on), it's just that my head feels heavy and my eyes feel better closed.
I did get up around 8:30am to pee and email BMR about the Sick Day, and I'm up now because I figured I ought to eat something, but my head still feels heavy and my eyes still feel better closed.

P.S. Happy Burn You Up On The Ceiling Day! Which is not really happy, but I'm in that sort of mood.
fuzzybluemonkeys: Rufus/Bucket of Sunshine (oh the humanity)
nor am I even vaguely obligated to make you all look less assholish than you actually are.
But I did it anyway by making a card for Jody for everyone to sign.

You do not get cookies for that.

After signing the card, both Man and BMR asked me what else I was doing for Jody's going-awayness (Mick did not ask because Mick is not here for Jody's final week due to an "out of state emergency"*, so he won't even be signing the card). Now, I am doing other things for Jody's last day. I'm making her peanut butter cookies (that I will not be giving to her until the end of the day because otherwise she would be the nice person that she is and share them with the jerkface brigade). I also made a card that is just from me (it was originally going to be the group card, but then I decided it was too pretty to have Douchebag Duo germs on it) with a nice note about how awesome she has been. But seriously, what else am I going to do? The only reason you did the minimum of what you could possibly do is because I provided you with the writing implement and thing to write on, and you want to know what else I'm gonna do? GAH! What I'm gonna do is smack you upside the head, that's what I'm gonna do.

*Based on personal experience working with this man for almost 5 years now, every instinct I own is screaming that this is a load of crap.
fuzzybluemonkeys: I just read the most wonderful story about a beanstalk and an ogre and (oh really)
But I can't, so Fizzgig will have to do it for me.


fuzzybluemonkeys: fuzzy blue monkey (Default)

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