I make omelets with unbeaten eggs and have trouble believing someone else didn’t do it sooner and name it. (Fry ‘em sunny side up, add the fillings and fold. The yolks running over the filling as you eat it is AWESOME.)
themotherwaslameanyway
themotherwaslameanyway
I’ve used bagna cauda as a warm salad dressing.
I had the biggest crush on Garibaldi. To this day I love stocky men with blue eyes and dark lashes.
I have a month of unused vacation time that I want to use but will have to put in a ton of unpaid overtime before and after in order to not fall behind on crucial work.
In academia, they tell you to go home to your kid but then use your “lack of dedication” against you when you’re up for a promotion. (I was the person who covered that person’s two maternity leaves and I still said WTF when that happened.)
I don’t think so. My line of logic: I have one friend with a dishwasher who doesn’t use it and she makes a patented BFD about it. I can’t mention my dishwasher’s existence without her mocking me for using mine. This annoys me enough* I’ve mentioned it to a few others, who’ve all replied “WTF? Who has a dishwasher and…
I just need to take the opportunity to say this:
Shit, you just described me. :(
My experience is just my experience. But I’ve found a world of difference in employee support between the corporate world and not. I’m not saying that non-profits are great at it, but at least it’s not what you describe here, which matches my experience at a large for-profit.
She’s even more burned out than I am.
They literally cover this in The Office. “It’s like calling your friends r———d when they act r———d. You would never say that to an actual r——d because that would be cruel!” -Michael Scott
In my opinion, the most masculine trait a man can have is not giving a shit about whether or not anyone else thinks he’s masculine.
It’s entirely possible they’ve changed the policy in the last two years.
I once got trapped in my bedroom by a malfunctioning doorknob that I couldn’t fix because I was drunk AF. I puked AND peed in the wastebasket.
Does Trazodone cause weird dreams? Because last night I dreamed I punched my boss and was distraught in anticipation of being fired.
Squatting behind the open door of broken-down UHaul on the shoulder of I-75 in Ohio in literal sub-zero temps. While my friend stood on the other side of me to shield me with her jacket.
Two years ago I tried to go a step further and remove my credit card info so I would have to get up and get my wallet to buy that case of 24 lint rollers and another five books that I may or may not read some time in the next ten years.
It’s a long story, but the short version is I was an unusual case, it was horribly mismanaged, and for me the “cure” was substantially worse than the “disease.” My takeaways are:
After a minute of mental bedlam, I said “I’m not going to express delight at another’s illness because my mama raised me better than that.” Then I shared the headline with my mama and she laughed.
That’s not the one I meant to link to. I had no idea there were so many versions of this. I can’t even find the one that says “Bobby came home crying because Mrs. Old two blocks over spanked him for throwing rocks at birds. I told him if I caught him doing it, I’d beat his ass even harder.”