That is stunningly tone deaf. Good God. 

This. It’s been really hard to watch people I once considered kind and socially conscious continue to engage in risky behavior because they’re...bored. All people with secure jobs and insurance and housing. I love them, but I certainly do not like them right now and I struggle to imagine hanging out with them in…

My brother caught COVID last month from his mother-in-law, and I immediately gave him shit about it. He works a job that can’t be done remotely, he continues to spend as much time in public as he can (restaurants, shopping, gym, etc.), he used his stimulus check on a home renovation project so he’s had contractors…

It’s a simple feeling of unfairness, compounded by the feeling that others’ irresponsibility is lengthening the pandemic, and even a personal hurt if they’ve personally lost friends and family.

The “scolds” are suffering because irresponsible people are exacerbating the situation, which is leading to a longer epidemic and more deaths. This is literally life and death. It’s not scolding people for cutting the line, or talking in a movie theater. The risk/reward factor here does not compute. Someone’s “need”…

Especially because one of the reason I have to deny myself the pleasures that this person enjoyed is exactly because of behavior like hers. The more people blow off guidelines because they just haaaave to try the cute new restaurant with indoor dining, the more the rest of us don’t get to.

“You’re most likely mad at yourself for denying yourself the pleasures that someone else enjoyed.”

You’re most likely mad at yourself for denying yourself the pleasures that someone else enjoyed.

I’ve had too many loved ones suffer as is from the recklessness of others to feel sympathy at this point. This past weekend, I found out a good family friend ended up going to the hospital as a result of complications. His deadbeat son decided to visit him despite his father basically telling him not to come by. Turns…

Tell your sister I would be happy to contribute to her newsletter. I honestly thought G and B were splitsville, but I guess not. When she asked him “Did you ride a horse here?” all I could think about was this absolute gem of a tune from 2010:

Oh, I know where you’re coming from. It only became illegal to sack someone in the UK for being LGBT (Mr Biblioteca scolded me for forgetting my arithmetic, so I’m going to add a + here) in 2004. That’s only seventeen years ago. (Technically the law was passed in 2003 but it only went into force in 2004)

What does the IRS have to do during third shift??

My first job was as a cashier at a local department store sort of like Target, which no longer exists. My sister had worked here the previous year, and I wasn’t yet savvy enough to realize that if my sister worked there I should work anywhere else but there, or at least deny that she was my sister or that I’d ever…

I’m little younger than you, but people forget how different things were not all that long ago. I had a job in probably 2004 where I had a glowing 30-day review, day 32 they found out I’m gay, and day 33 decided “it just wasn’t a good fit” and let me go. And I’d just had a great review days before, so it was a job I…

My first taxes-from-the-check job was Burger King in the 80s (rust colored poly “velour” uniform era, including visor.) Too small area with too large manager meant always getting “butt swiped” when he had to move between the fryer and drinks machine. Also he said “in the gool!” a lot and I had no clue. One time a…

My first ever job is a job that I actually put out of my memory, purely because it was so fucking traumatic and it’s something I only think about if I allow my mind to go back to summertime 1996 and the disastrous two weeks I spent working for a bank call centre.

I don’t have a great horror story but my first real job when I was 18 was grave digger at the local cemetery where we buried homeless people in card board refrigerator boxes. That was horrible in and of itself.

I worked 3rd shift at the IRS.

My first job was ridiculously mundane and full of exactly what you would expect from selling tickets at a local folk show. Bad jokes, old hippies, people arguing $10 was too much for a concert. Nothing.

Out of school I worked at a 50s-style nostalgia diner. The owner-boss only hired highschoolers and college freshmen, never anyone older than 19-20, even for work that should have been done by professionals or at least somebody with a resume longer than half a page, like in the kitchen. It wasn’t until after I was…