Yep, it's the xmas season...

Where everyone's 'gimme' button is stuck on over-drive, and my 'patience' button is stuck on off (thank you, Target, for letting me be employed The Year of the Elmo. It is a human experience I will never forget and that has scarred me for life).

That being said:

Dear nurse.

Trying to use that same christmas consumer 'what do you mean you don't have it I want it give it to me right now' voice on me over back-ordered dressing that you would use on a Target employee over that shitty set of Xmas dishes you have a coupon for? And then huffing 'well you NEED to get some more in right now!' in a tone that suggests you will be howling bloody hell if you don't get it right now (even though you were given something that works just as well in the meantime)?

Not going to work.

It might cause me to lose my job when I punch you right in the face, though.

Cut it out. I still can't shit back-ordered things out of my ass. Using your christmas-stressed voice to try and make me won't work.

Thank you.
Me.

(PS: Yes, I know patients are a lot more important than gifts. Still won't change the fact that I simply cannot get you what you want right this second because there is none to be had.)

ARGH!

Dear Car Gods:

I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I doubt it was worth the price of my brake switch...again.

I am frowny face at you, now. Pleaz to be stopping with the car problems nao? Thank You.

Sincerely,
Anne.


*

So, yeah, the switch went out again. Left the car at work for my engineer friend to look at tomorrow (and the battery needs jumping at this point anyway, and would by morning again, so might as well leave it where it is and see if he can get the new one installed for me before I try moving my car again.). And my boss will drive me to work. Bleh.

Hmmmmmnnnn

New Richie Icons. Yum. :)

Feh...

Okay stomach, cut it out.

I fed you a lobster tail, scallops AND shrimp for dinner tonight, along with some mixed veggies and a (real) cup of hot chocolate for dessert.

You have no business growling and asking for more food.

And I'm not feeding you at 11:30 PM.

No. And that's final.

So quit it.

(And brain, quit providing me with the mental image of a little cartoon tummy with big puppy dog eyes begging for food, wagging it's little intestine end like a tail. It may be cute in that twisted sort of way, but no. Not falling for it.)