Archives for posts with tag: anger


This morning at the office an email went out stating that the refrigerator would be cleaned out at 4 pm. So imagine my dismay, when I return from my walk at 2:45 and go to get my snack out of the fridge and find the fucking thing empty.

Wait, I had a tote bag with 3 pickle spears encased in double ziplock bags (to prevent leakage) in that fridge this morning. They were nice, plump spears and I was really looking forward to them. I look around a little and find my bag thrown on top of the fridge, sans double zip locked pickles.

The dickhead who cleaned out the fridge, PREMATURELY I might add, actually went INTO my bag to throw OUT my PICKLES. And I call BULLSHIT!

I understand that the fridge needed cleaning, but when you give a deadline of 4 pm, that deadline should be adhered to. It’s what separates us from the animals for Pete’s sake!

Rant Over, and craving pickles.



For years and years I was not a fan of Twitter. I just didn’t get it…throwing a thought out there for nobody to see. Me? I’m more of a Facebook gal…friends and comments and likes and sharing. I love the interactiveness of it. I had a Twitter account, I just rarely used it.

Until the election.

I quickly realized that posting my feelings about then candidate Donald Trump turned my Facebook page into a battlefield of opinions. I didn’t like that. I also didn’t like seeing other people’s crap about Hillary, so I stopped posting political things. And, after unfollowing the majority of my über vocal and misinformed Republican friends on FB, things got a lot better.

But I needed to vent somewhere.

So, I turned back to Twitter. There I could pretty much say whatever I wanted to. I only had 40 or so followers…who was there to offend? I voiced my outrage against Trump and my love of Hillary on a daily basis during the election.

I spent all three Presidential debates at the computer, Tweeting good points and bad, and reading what others had to say. It was very enlightening – maybe there WAS something to Twitter that I had previously overlooked.


And then, numb, afraid and pissed off on November 9, I began my new relationship with Twitter. I began to follow like-minded Americans who refuse to swallow the Orange Kool-Aid. I am hash tagging and retweeting to anyone who will listen to my outrage against Trump’s lies and contradictions.

Twitter is my platform where I can stand up and scream, “THIS IS WRONG!” And I love it.

I’ll still post a few things here and there regarding our liar-elect on Facebook, but I mostly reserve those things for Twitter. Now I just need to get more than 46 followers….


People are annoying me.

In most cases, I know it’s not them, it’s me. My moon isn’t in the 7th house or something, and little things make me want to bitch-slap random strangers.

Take yesterday. I had to make a quick run to the store, and everytime I needed to get something off the shelf or in a cold case, someone was in my way – in my way and not moving. Like the dude with the handtruck full of granola bars blocking all the other granola bars.

Or the old lady that was standing right in front of the Lean Cuisines carefully reading the back of the package. As I stood staring into the case trying to see what they had she did ask if she was in the way, but I told her she was good, because I didn’t really know what I wanted. In those cases, when I am the dope in the way, I move anyway because I know eventually I will be in the way.

She didn’t move. I had to open the next door down and snake my hand way in from the side to get the item I wanted.

But today I got annoyed at someone and it was 100% not my fault. I got assigned to design a gift certificate placard for an upcoming charity event. I work it up quite nicely, and sent a proof to the person for whom it was intended. They email back and ask if it’s 8.5 x 11. I email back, it sure is. They email again saying it looks great. I reply that I have some nice cream card stock I can print it on. They say wonderful.

I go downstairs to the printer, put in the special paper, come back up to my desk to print it, go back down to retrieve the print and bring it to their office. She looks at it and says to me, “Oh, this is horizontal. All the other placards are vertical.”

I inwardly roll my eyes because the proof I sent was clearly horizontal, and reply “That’s an easy fix. I can make it vertical if you’d prefer.”

Then she says, “Can we get any photos to jazz this up?”

I say, “I tried several times to contact them. Nobody ever returns my calls or answers my emails, and the photos online are too small to use.”

To which she replies, “Well this won’t do at all. It needs to be fancier…more attractive looking. You can take this back.”

As I take the finished, now rejected product out of her hands I’m inwardly thinking, “Am I high, or didn’t you just see a proof and approve this thing? If it was not what you wanted why did you approve it? Now I wasted paper and ink and time running up and down the stairs WHEN YOU JUST COULD HAVE TOLD ME RIGHT OFF THE BAT THAT IT WASN’T WHAT YOU WERE LOOKING FOR!!!!!”

Like I said, people are annoying me.

I’m going to make her wait a day or two before I get her another proof. Maybe until Monday. I think I’m suddenly swamped with more important jobs.


A few years ago my husband and I decided to have lunch together. The area where we work, which is a pedestrian mall, has lots of restaurants, and some of them have outdoor eating areas. We got some food from a place that has a great salad bar, and sat at a table at the outdoor eating patio in front of the store.

About 15 minutes later and older gentleman approaches us and says, “I’m not going to make you move, because you’re pretty much done with your lunch, but this eating area for Baggby’s only.”

Baggby’s being the sandwich shop right next to the place where we bought our salads.

I smiled at him and said in return, “I’m so sorry! I saw the plackard in front of this eating area and thought the seating area belong to the place where we bought our lunch.”

He, in turn said quite nastily, “I don’t care what you thought. There is a sign right there (picture him pointing) that says this eating area is for Baggby’s only.” Then he began to rattle off the money he has to pay each month for the spot, and how it’s not spent for folks who don’t support his business.

I stood up and said, while cleaning up my stuff, “well you don’t have to worry about seeing me here again, because if this is the way you deal with an honest mistake, I’d rather eat out of the garbage can than ever buy anything at your restaurant.”

And I’ve stuck to it. Besides, their sandwiches are expensive and completely average. I’ve made tastier sandwiches using Oscar Mayer lunch meat.

Today at my office they are hosting a lunch and learn. I could’ve had a free lunch courtesy of our guest speaker. But he was ordering from Baggby’s.

I proudly passed and brought lunch from home instead. Because even if I wasn’t paying for it, I didn’t want that asshole making one thin dime from me.


All week long our local weathermen were forecasting snow for Friday with a 1-3 inch accumulation. Try to remember I live in Virginia – folks here fly into a total panic at the mention of snow. Our schools will close with an inch’s worth of accumulation, and along with it go any school related activity.

So let’s flashback to Friday morning. With a forecast of 1-3 inches of snow, many schools closed entirely. Our school wisely opted for the early release so buses didn’t have to drive kids home in the snow. However, that early dismissal came with a price.

My oldest daughter had a forensic speech competition the following day. It’s the last competition before regionals and she really wanted to get in some more practice. She  placed 5th & 3rd in her first two meets, and was looking forward to the chance of improving her scores. But with the early school closure, their trip to New Kent to compete flew right out the window. Apparently, the half day made them ineligible to make the trip – some stupid school rule.

While she was bummed, my youngest was super excited. With the predicted snowfall, she may get the chance to use her sled for the first time since last winter. Once off the school bus she settled in with a cup of hot chocolate and waited for the snow to start falling.

She didn’t have long to wait. The snow began falling in tiny little flakes, that at times you could barely see. It kept up for about 2 hours and then stopped. I had heard in an earlier weather report that we would hit a dry spot for about an hour, and then start up again.

By 5 pm we had a generous dusting – perhaps an eighth of an inch – and the weatherman declared the storm over for our area.

Are you kidding me? Seriously? That’s it?

I was really mad. On the one hand I understand that weather is not an exact science, but come on. They couldn’t tell the storm was going to just brush by our area by that morning? Then I had the kids to deal with – both furious for different reasons.

So Mr. Weatherman, let me spell out why you suck. These are the reasons why you need to say “fuck it” to the ratings and actually give us an ACCURATE forecast.

  • People run to the store and buy stuff they may not need in case they can’t leave the house for a few days. You have wasted their money.
  • My husband, who works an hour away, needed to get a hotel room so he didn’t have to worry about a hideous commute the next morning. Anyone, including my daughter with her learner’s permit, could drive on these roads.
  • Think of all the concerts, meetings, plays and other activities that were canceled or postponed because YOU got it wrong.
  • Parents who to work had to adjust their schedules, and therefore lost hours of pay or vacation time because of the forecast YOU predicted.
  • I was forced to spend the night with two crabby kids because you are an utter failure at your job.

Chew on that the next time you see snow coming our way, you incompetent boob.

Short and sweet, I’m pissed off. There will be language in this post…fair warning.

What kind of a soulless shit turns a gun on little bitty kids? Kids whose life consisted of animal crackers, Dora the Explorer and Thomas the Train. What did they do to you, you mentally unstable worthless fuck?

I don’t care what your political views are, something has GOT to be done to prevent sociopaths from getting their hand on guns that can take out entire classrooms in seconds.

Just days ago some cock sucker killed two innocent people in a mall. Over the summer folks were killed at that movie theater. Another turd killed a bunch of people outside the Empire State Building. And those poor people gunned down in the Temple.

I bet I’m not even naming them all. What the fuck? What the fuck is happening in this country? Am I missing something? Why don’t I hear of this happening in other civilized countries in the world? Why is it only OUR country?

People need affordable access to mental health care and we need to buckle down on who we hand guns out to. Fuck the second amendment – if you want to stand behind that then arm yourself with a musket, not an assault rifle.

I thought this shit would’ve ended after Columbine. And then after Virginia Tech. And yet more and more people are getting killed.

It’s getting so that life in the USA is a game of Russian Roulette. You never know if today is the day where you will run into a lunatic who was able to buy a gun at Walmart.

Every year my newspaper does an article on the Virginia Festival of the Book. It is a rather large, literary pow wow here in Charlottesville, VA and draws some decent authors. I have held a huge grudge against this Festival since 2004 and each year when March rolls around I am reminded of the cluster fuck of an afternoon that began my lower lip protruding, arms crossed, “hmph” of an attitude towards the event.

At that time, my husband was the manager of a local venue that was going to host a kid-friendly festival event. Valerie Tripp, the author of the original “American Girl” books was going to speak, and we decided to take the girls. My oldest, who was around 8 at the time, was sort of into the books and we figured it could be fun.

We got there early, and hubby, who was not working that day, helped the festival folks set up chairs and get the room ready. I was busy keeping our youngest, who was only 3 at the time, occupied until the event started, while my other girl waited patiently for the lecture to begin. When people began to arrive, the promoter put out a basket with slips of paper – attendees were to put their names on the paper to be drawn later for door prizes, one of which was an American Girl Doll. I don’t know if any of you out there have a clue about these dolls, but they run around a hundred bucks each, and it was greedily eyed by more than one mother/daughter pair in the audience.

The author was a bit long-winded and rather dry. In short, it was a really boring lecture. My youngest, who was far from the model toddler, got very fussy very fast, so my husband took her to walk around the room. Once the lecture was over, the promoter began drawing names for the prizes. Just seconds before, hubby had told me he was going to take our fussy toddler to the bathroom, which was located just at the back of the room.

When it came time to draw the name for the doll, my oldest and I were surprised and elated when the woman pulled the name of my 3 year old out of the basket. We cried “Yay!” and stood up to claim our prize. The promoter, a very manish looking older woman, scrutinized us and stated, “neither of you look like you could be 3 years old.”

I laughed and said, “Oh, no. That’s my daughter. My husband took her to the bathroom,” as I gestured to the back of the room. The promoter looked at me and said, “Sorry, you have to be present to win.”

My jaw dropped. I said “She’s three. She’s in the middle of potty training, come on… She’s right on the other side of that bathroom door.” The manish woman tilted her head to the side, thought on it a second and said, “I feel like being mean today. Sorry, I’m drawing another name.”

I said, “Are you kidding me?” and scanned the audience, hoping that someone would come to my defense. All I saw was a group of mothers that were all too relieved that their kids still had a shot at winning the coveted doll. I would’ve made a scene – I swear I would’ve, but I didn’t want it to reflect poorly on my husband, so I just walked away while my 8 year old began to cry.

But boy did I write a letter. I found the name of the head of the festival and relayed the whole story to her. I also suggested that the bitter, rule-happy Nazi of a promoter should NOT be scheduled to run any more events Involving children. I actually got a response back from her where she half heartedly apologized, and included some American Girl buttons. Gee, thanks. I had a $100 doll, and I wind up with dollar store buttons.

I spent the next few years kind of getting even. Whenever the festival was scheduled to run in the paper as the cover story, I made sure the cover was either ugly or unflattering to the festival. One year I had a dog reading a book. On another I used a very nerdy, miserable looking girl. The content inside was designed to be boring and misleading. I would use large photos of authors who had very little to do with the festival, and would downplay the big names as much as possible.

They never cared of course, but it always made me feel like I got my little dig in.

The festival is coming up again in our next issue. Even though it’s been 7 years, I’ll still be looking for bizarre, unattractive photos for the cover. Maybe a reading pig….

What the world needs now, is far fewer Biffs

I heard the story of Jamey Rodemeyer today, and it has left me pissed off. Really pissed off. So beware – this post may be harsh.

In case you’re unaware of the story, a 14 year old boy who was bullied for years about his sexual orientation not only in school, but also via social networking sites, killed himself.

To make matters worse, at a school dance a few days after his funeral, fellow students cheered for him during a Lady Ga Ga song, who was his idol. As they tried to remember and honor their friend and fellow classmate, his tormentors chanted “We’re glad you’re dead.”

Who does that? I mean, what sort of soul-less mother fuckers are we creating in this country? How could one person hate another one so much simply because they are gay? Or fat. Or smart. Or odd. When are we going to stop allowing our kids to torture each other?

I was bullied as a kid. There were times it left me terribly depressed. I would not let my parents get involved because I figured it would make me look like a huge weenie. However, I let my older (and bigger and tougher) sister corner the girls who were terrorizing me. She flatly told them that if she heard me mention their names in any way, shape or form, they were going to deal with her and her friends, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

They left me alone after that, but for all 4 years of high school they shot me dirty looks whenever we crossed paths and bad mouthed me at every opportunity.

I wonder if the parents of bullies realize what total assholes they have raised. Do they hear them talking on the phone with friends, berating classmates? Do they see that their little darlings post mean, hateful things on twitter and facebook that are meant to torment someone who is doing nothing to them?

A few years back my oldest told me about a new girl at school who was a bit eccentric – I don’t remember if she had pink hair or piercings or what – but she was what I would call “original.” My daughter told me how she and her friends were mispronouncing her name on purpose – giving it a weird accent point or something to kind of tease her.

And I went ballistic on her. Calmly ballistic, but I let her know in no uncertain terms that I would NOT tolerate her bullying or teasing ANYONE for ANY reason. I told her she should go up to this girl the next day, apologize, introduce herself, and make her feel welcome.

The following afternoon she told me that she had done it, and that the girl was nice about it. I’m not sure if they are friends or anything, but at least she knows my daughter has a conscience …and a soul. I don’t consider myself to be a model parent by any stretch, but more parents need to open their eyes to how their kids treat other people. If they find that their precious angels aren’t so precious or angelic, they need to sit them down and make them stop.

Lady Ga Ga is rallying to make bullying illegal, and I agree totally. Every one of those evil little wads who posted nasty, vicious comments on this boy’s facebook or twitter pages should be found criminally liable in his death. Their parents should hang their heads in absolute and total shame.

For one person to devalue another’s life that much makes me sick. In my book bullies are no different from murderers. They don’t kill the physical body with weapons, but they kill the spirit with words and actions. All the teasing I endured in high school has left me with a lot less confidence than your average gal. It changes you.

If we can’t punish these d-bags criminally, let’s take a cue from classic literature, aka The Scarlet Letter, and make these kids wear a neon, hot pink “B” – for Bully. Or Butthead. Or Bitch. Or Bastard.


I found this link on facebook today. Like it.