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Thread: The funny RL observations and anecdotes thread RPG omnibus

  1. #501
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    Oh, that was fun. It is freezing cold, and I just spent more time than I should admit fiddling with IRC clients.

    Yes, on DALnet (irc.dal.net) there is a channel named #jizzelbin which I created.

    IRC is, IMHO, completely useless without using something called an IRC Bouncer, which permits the history of chats to be visible during times one is not online.

    There are plenty of ways to set this combination up, but it's pretty hacker-ish, and probably not something the average person would want to do.

    However, on the Android phone, a good client program is AndroIRC (among others, but I like that the best, in addition to Weechat in a TerMux session).

    On Linux I like Weechat and, for a very simple GUI program, HexChat.

    I'm thinking IRC is tedious and useless, unless you're actively online most of the time, or need up-to-the minute chat during some prescribed interval of the day.

    No clue what people are actually chatting about in the bigger channels, but I'm pretty sure it's either disgusting or illegal, or else very boring.

  2. #502
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    well, I got to try out my once-favorite expression (that I only fairly recently copied) in (appropriate) company, and it was not exactly met with the LOLZ I expected. That really does make my pussy dry. Christ, man, "Oh, man, hey, I didn't know, uh." Lighten up, Francis, it's a joke.

    OTOH, I'm pretty sure "the women" are getting a little bit friendlier nowadays, as in the past week or so.

    It's probably some combination of, if they're partnered up, they're getting boned more attentively what with the dark season approaching and ek setera, or, if not, "they" have more of an inclination to seek the company of others.

    NO, I really do insist I'm not a misogynist, nor a complete virgin nerd. Of course it's a generalization, but it is based on up-to-the-moment observation. So, at least for the women I encounter in the wild of the warehouse, namely coworkers, I think it's true.

    And I think I can read people pretty well. Except when I don't.

    OH, on the similar vein of sociological gold, I've observed that at least two separate women, not relations or especially close to me, but women I know on a friendly basis, instantly seem to understand the gesture .... how to describe ... if, say, you hold your LH with the palm at chest-height, thumb facing "north," and with the RH, also in an open palm configuration, roughly parallel to the "line" created by the opposing hand, make a few swift strokes resulting in contact, whether .... OH, fuck it, you know what I mean, a sort of miming of a "pimp slap," in the same way you'd see a jock in the movies pounding his fist into the other hand while blurting out "NERRRRRRDS!"

    Well, they thought it was funny, I guess, each in their separate ways, and in separate contexts, but I was surprised each seemed to immediately get my humorous intent.

  3. #503
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    nm
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 18 Dec 2019 at 12:22 AM.

  4. #504
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    Motherfuckers.

    Well, it is a nylon watch band (although it's apparently made for midgets or ladies — and, confession time, I actually have not very big wrists), and the lady at the jeweler's put it on my Casio MTP-4500D-1AV just to be nice. (Just a quartz watch with a chronograph and a slide-rule bezel: Not an expensive watch, but it suits my purpose, having tradition big hand-little hand analog hands and the chronograph. TBH, the slide rule is a bit superfluous: for the precision, it's really no better than just doing the arithmetic in your head).

    It's not a NATO band, though: those have the extra loop around back so if one of the springbars comes loose, the whole thing doesn't fall in the toilet. Also, $24.95 for that hunk of shit? I admit I chose the green color because the black nylon band was $27.95.

    Oh well, it's fine for now.

  5. #505
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    Here was a new one from today. So, this guy I've talked with a bunch at this bar, he works a few days in the kitchen there. A little older than me, but not by much. Musician guy you know. He always says "Hey, what's up Maestro!" so that's his nickname for me. I can't remember his name so I just call him "Chef" or "Cookie."

    Yeah, so he had a good one today: "So, what's good, Maestro?"

    Me: "what's good?"

    Him: "Yeah, what's good?"

    I never heard that one before. I didn't have a cool answer like "New Orleans red beans rice, pralines and pianos," but I always enjoy hearing new bits of speech.

    ETA And, yes, while my forearms and wrists are plenty strong, they lack in bulk. I make up for it in having extremely strong grip strength and relatively large hands, not to mention large-ish upper arm muscles. It was a problem playing tennis, since one of my strengths was volleying at the net, and despite having a powerful, accurate forehand and backhand, even one-handed backhand, my serve was never what it could have been, despite my height, thanks to poor study habits and underdeveloped muscle bulk in my forearms. Believe you me, I drank milk, lifted, everything.

    Yeah, it is funny in that I can do crazy stupid feats of strength with forearms and wrists, like wrangling dowels loaded with weights of various kinds, or all kinds of stuff, but they just aren't bulky like the biceps and triceps, and the pectoral muscles and those about the shoulders.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 27 Dec 2019 at 11:37 PM.

  6. #506
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    Well, some tailgater (or rather his child bride driving, or someone similarly inexperienced) happened to pull into the same store I was going to after work.

    So, I got to call someone a cocksucker, somewhat sotto voce, but audible.

    Granted, that's not unusual: usually I reserve that language for contract drivers at work who do defective things.

    I'm back! Yeah!

  7. #507
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    This seems to be a continuing theme. Some cockbiting prick was up my ass on a rainy night on what should be a hassle-free highway.

    I turn into the grocery store where I was headed after going to my bank before they closed.

    Of course Mr. Cockbiting Prick Dickless Shithead pulled in after me.

    I was able, through correct use of turn signals through the small parking lot, to end up within fifty meters of his car.

    Even though it was misting gently with rain, I had the satisfaction of having a cigarette while sitting on the hood of my car (N.B., my car, not his or anybody else's), and conspicuously using my cell phone to photograph his vehicle.

    I hope that little prick shit himself and continues to do so. And his child bride or whoever the fuck was in the passenger seat.

    I could see he was considering coming up to me and starting some shit, but apparently nobody fucks with the Jesus. That'd be me.

    Stupid fucking pricks, driving like animals. Where do the fuck do you think you're going, shithead? Ain't nothing up that road except my foot in your ass, you peckerwood.

  8. #508
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    Oh, this gal at work....I really wish I could remember if she was the one who said I looked like Alec Baldwin (not exactly a compliment, but I'll take that over the standard "ZOMG it's Nic Cage!" any day, since I heard that so many times, and am not appreciative especially of men who say that — "yeah, cool dude, he's a good actor, man!") and also mentioned she was married.

    So, anyway, I don't know if this is the same gal or just one, but she has really been pouring it on pretty thick.

    Calling me by my first name, saying "Hi, Jizzelbin [not my actual first name ], and wishing me a Happy new year blah blah.

    It's enough to make me confused.

    In the first place, I'm not sure if it's the same gal — I can find that out easy enough and just ask her to remind me of her name (trust me, that's not uncommon for me to forget names, nor to remedy the problem with a quick question, takes under ten seconds) — in the second place, I wouldn't say it wasn't a ruse a bit on her part, the whole "blah blah...BTW my husband...blah blah." OTOH, she just might be friendly (although in a rather flirtatious way) and just likes the way I roll freight.

    Meh.

    Next time I see her, I can figure it out.

    Speaking of nothing, in my current town there sure do seem to be a number of chunky white woman of impregnable age who seem nevertheless healthy and desirous of male company.

    I'm not complaining a bit!

    Sholem aleichem!
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 01 Jan 2020 at 02:32 AM.

  9. #509
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    I really hope daily use of pseudoephedrine (aka Sudafed, generic name Sudogest) does not have a rebound effect upon discontinuation.

    Yeah, probably not smoking like a chimney and cleaning my domicile once in a while would have an effect as well.

    I don't have no fucking cold like a goddamned infant — fuck it. I'll buy some Mucinex and use that.

    I'm pretty well convinced I have a form of COPD or emphysema, at this point, I just don't want to be blowing my fucking nose for no reason all the fucking time. Yeah, I'll have plenty of time to contemplate my demise while imitating Mikey after that bastard Sterling Hayden punched him (yeah, I know the guy's name in the "book," I just don't want to misspell it).

    Fucking A.

    That's all I have to say about today. Go to the bank, eagle flies on Friday, put gas in the car, bought some Febreze, some smokes, had a few beers and a breakfast out, and then went home and did dishes.

    Fucking A.

    And I'm glad I did it, too.

  10. #510
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    I suppose this is funny, or remarkable.

    So, I always fuel up at this place where cabbies use. No reason, except they're the cheapest price in town, and they don't give you any bullshit about making you go inside and pay next to the Slim Jims and all that bullshit.

    Anyway, so, I ask for forty cash regular, and it's an old buddy from an earlier shift.

    Yeah. so it takes a few minutes for the meter to click and blah blah, "yeah, I have three nephews," "Oh? I have twenty-five, the oldest age, maybe thirty-four,"

    ZOMG, every week or every day I hope to make the sign of peace, but sometimes it is very difficult!

    Perhaps the soul has no age, or whatever. I do not believe in a soul or what-have-you, yet, I practice, but these encounters try my patience!

  11. #511
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    Oh, I suppose this is remarkable. So, I was about halfway through The Irishman, and I ran out of cigarettes.

    See, because it's a long movie, also, and whatever.

    Anyway, I shouldn't probably have been driving, but i did.

    So since i knew only one of the two automatic doors would be working past ten pm, I naturally knew where to park.

    I knew it was a county sherriff's SUV cruiser when I deftly slided next to it.

    I suspected there would be some State or County fellows inside the store. Naturally, right?

    I did NOT expect some caged hell-beast to start barking the second I parked up next to "it's" vehicle and walk to the entrance. Normally animals love me, if not vice versa.

    Of course, I ended up in line behind the county sheriff.

    It was chill, but it reminded me of that scene from Reservoir Dogs, in the bathroom. I was chill, but I think the cashier was more worried than me, like he was mortally frightened or something. I think he thought I was high on weed and would like have a Hunter S. Thompson-style, and probably was relieved when I just asked for some cigarettes and paid in cash and didn't shit my pants when I "noticed" (as in deliberately parked by them and stood behind them in line) the pigs were near.

    It was a funny moment, though.

    I had no reason to not have had my driving privileges revoked, but, well, whatever.

    I unwrapped my cigarettes while the cruiser was moved, turned over the engine, started up the tape deck to Mac's Desitively Bonnaroo, as usual. and proceeded down the highway with zero BAC and no THC.

    Coffee and cigarettes, baby. That and the man upstairs, what gets me high.

  12. #512
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    I did find it amusing just now while vomiting my concoction of whiskey, coffee, and milk into the toilet to notice how often one associates the phonemes "p^" and "m^" with certain biological functions.

    No, I'm not going to do the whole net-ological nerd-crap nor properly notate these sounds in IPA.

    You know damned well what I mean, and it isn't a paper of any sort.

    IIRC Jakobson (sp?) and more recently Reuven Tsur (sp?) as well as Jakobson's direct disciples did suppose a correspondance betweence meaning and utterance.

    Of course, we know of medical doctors who proposed more or less elaborate theories based on some kind of observation, one presumes.

    I simply say that there's probably both (i) some possibility that certain sounds are more appropriate at certain biologically-imperative cues than others and that (ii) it's entirely possible that entire civiizations have been built upon observations of such correspondences.

    And, that is my theory of Christianity, and actually, why I consider myself a Christian.

    QED.

    I might sound drunk, and probably, actually, I really probably could not walk a mile without falling over, but this is not a new thought to me. In fact, it is why I began observing the sacraments of the church after a very long time of abeyance since the age of reason (for me, say, age six? five? seven? i don't know).

    I should not say any more.

    I hope that my thoughts and their expression is not unpleasant to others, but this is what I wish to have said.

    No, I'm not joking. I'm going to try to finish this bottle of whiskey and see if I can have more cigarettes tomorrow before Sunday comes up and I should do mass and whatever which I can't because unclean.

  13. #513
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    And, no, after more than an hour's worth of sobriety, I confirm my findings.

    I think the myth of incarnation is probably somewhat of a side-effect to which we humans must endure. How is it that speech or utterance can resemble a gesture, or a grasp? It is, indeed, the whole of humanity, in nuce. So, while the Jews have a Golem, the Christians have a Christ, and so forth.

    It's a reasonable explanation, I've found.

  14. #514
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    And, how can I possibly, like my superior, Ludwig Wittgenstein, assist the Roman mass and each day of obligation?

    Well, I cannot. I cannot pronounce the Nicene Creed, nor honestly receive the host, so I do not. But I do observe, and with the best of my efforts.

  15. #515
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    All right, I'm sort of getting annoyed at this constant coming up to me at work by mere shift supervisors and my shift manager and them blowing smoke up my ass about "such good leadership," "won't you consider please?"

    Yeah, I get it, you people want some stooge to be a floor supervisor so you can keep the troops in line.

    I appreciate the heavy-handed flattery and glad-handing and all that, but it should be obvious (and is, to the dwindling members of my team) that if I wanted to do that, for no extra pay, and the same hours, I'd have been doing more to that end. I work hard because that's just how I can stay awake and not get bored jacking off. It should be equally obvious I don't give two shits about the rules, except staying barely on the right side of them, and also that I don't cotton to bossing my people around. We're a team, and that's it. I'll step up when needed, and help people out without being told once, but that's it. That's just being a good worker.

    //////////////

    Oh. You know, dammit, I think I almost like this bartender/server at this little microbrewery, except AFAIK she only works Sundays.

    Nothing special, just a pretty nice gal. Quiet, competent, and not a lot of sass. I think she might have terrible taste in music, though.

    Well, that was interesting.

    She does seem a bit frail: not petite, exactly. Probably medium height for a woman, but somewhat frail in bone structure.

    Well, I'm sure that after another few months of me seeing her once a week for about a half-an-hour, I might decide differently.

    I think she was impressed when, on driving out today after lunch, I hooked the tail end of my car on a wire rope and pulled down a few signs in the opposite construction yard.

    It's a way to get attention. I'll have to ask her about that sometime.

  16. #516
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    Gussetted crotch my ass. Fucking bitch ass punk bullshit jeans.

    Where's the motherfucking gussett, supposed to be so great? Yeah I need a hole in my crotch like I need an asshole on my elbow.

    Fucking punk bitches making clothes and shit.

    I think more than thirty or forty uses of a pair of jeans advertised as "for Johnny sixpack on the job" with "gussetted crotch" isn't unreasonable.

    Other than that, they're fine jeans, good dark color, the size is as advertised (36x34), has an extra pocket for .... I'm not sure what it's for. Something workman-like, like a slide rule (or even just a regular ruler or caliper) or some pencils and shit. I suppose a cell phone could fit in there, but I don't like carrying my phone around where it's liable to smash into things. Maybe a hard case for eyeglasses, but I find I need to wear my eyeglasses pretty much all the time to see what nonsense my coworkers are getting up to. Something like that. Pocket calculator. Whatever. Collapsible baton. Knife. Fake ATF badge. Oh, shit: it's for putting prescription sunglasses in a small hard case for when you don't know what the weather's going to be like! Winning!

    Bastard shitheads are losing, though, because of fucking crotch hole developing. Maybe I need a triple gussetted crotch, for those extra heavy days. Well, "pun" only sort of intended we'll see how far it spreads across the crotch.

    I'm preferring the darker jeans as canvas work pants tend to show the sweat around the groin, and it looks like I pissed myself, and I don't always wear a longer shirt to cover up the tainted area. Denim is more forgiving of my man-stains.

  17. #517
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    Oh, for fuck's sake.

    I hardly ever get suckered into these bullshit

    But, yes, so I'm going to buy beer from the grocery store.

    Fine, but plump, grocer, front-end supervisor is manning checkout.

    Yeah, so, she and the guy in front of me and the bagger are just, you know, just like my friendly neighborhood grocer.

    Fucking bitch, "Missy"! Sell that to the tourists!

    I should have got the joke immediately, viz, "That was our union president!" And so forth.

    Goddamned I am a fucking idiot.

    Still, Missy did a fine job. "Did you need smokes today? What'd you quit?"

    She would have made a fine job as a horse. "MIssy." Indeed. That is a horse's name.

    I admit I appreciate that she and the rest of the gals up front (except Jodi, she's awful) know what I smoke and what brand and kind.

    I admit, she snookered me on that one.

    Yeah, I get it, she and the bagger and the old dude in a suit were kind of ... well, it's kind of an inside joke about the previous customer.

    I should have got it, but I wasn't having my thinking cap on.

    Spoiler alert: he was absolutely not the president of any union whatsoever. He was just some guy and they were having a laugh.

  18. #518
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    Why?

    I just want to know why people drive like a horse's ass.

    A simple explanation would satisfy me. A reason. One I could believe that isn't completely ridiculous.

    All I got is: inexperienced and rash.

    I can't explain it any other way.

    I still need explaining why or how some fifty-plus year old "driver" is inexperienced at driving, but that's the best I can come up with.

  19. #519
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    I still want to know about the above post, but it occurred to me to relate a funny story from work yesterday.

    So, yeah, lots of new people, lots of people hired for the Xmas surge either dropped out or I don't know what.

    So anyways, I was just chucking carts around triple-staging stuff during a slow morning. The usual.

    This woman, younger woman, probably in her mid twenties, asked me an odd question, "So, you're Catholic, right?"

    I say, "Well, yeah, I try to attend mass. What gave you that idea?"

    "Well, I just remember, last year you had that [she mimes doing the smudge on the forehead from last Ash Wednesday]. If it's too personal, that's OK"

    Me: "Oh, well, sure. You know, it's just something I do."

    And it goes on for a few minutes, she's like "what church do you attend?" "St. Mary's right up the street."

    I'm not sure what her game was, but she seemed really interested in what I do, where I do it, and all that.

    I think she was a little disappointed that I admitted it's more of a practice and I'm not really a person who goes along through life being zealously trying to convert people. Maybe she was looking for that kind of thing and so forth, like some kind of example of "regular cool guy who does church shit."

    It was just remarkable that someone noticed that kind of thing: yeah, I make the sign of the cross sometimes when I'm frustrated, but I try not to do it in a way that signifies anything to others.

    OTOH, it is a precept of the Church that one is to help others to enter the fold. I just can't do that.

    SO, on the one hand, it was a very charming way of her to ask delicately about the Church, and I was very happy to talk with her and answer questions and so forth, but on the other hand, maybe I didn't act on the "between the lines" thing enough, and perhaps she could have benefitted from some friendly prosletyzation.

    But, honestly, I can't do that: I can just try to be friendly, which it was a friendly just conversation between two coworkers.

    I could have done more to make it seem like the Church wasn't some secret club where people chant Latin, and talk about Neo-Thomism (they don't: that's just how I do it, sotto voce).

    As I see it, it was a missed opportunity to help instruct a fellow person who was clearly curious and interested find someplace welcoming to her.

    But, I'm just not a missionary at heart. Not to mention my lack of faith, and not feeling able to receive the eucharist.

    And I suspect she might have felt a bit embarrassed at revealing a curious side of herself to me.

  20. #520
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    Oh, goddamned motherfuck.

    I have to either buy some new unbalanced "guitar" cables or else resolder some new TS jacks, preferably with right-angle connectors.

    Yeah, I have some extras, but it pisses me off to put more shit on my shopping list.

    Oh. about the girl above: yeah, it pretty much upsets me if I wasn't able to fulfill her needs.

    No, I don't need to fuck every girl I meet, and this wasn't about that. I'm just disappointed that I couldn't have been what she wanted. She really seemed interested in the Church, but, unfortunately, I wasn't up to being some charimsatic leader: all I can tell her is what I'd say to anybody. It's just my hobby and you're more than welcome to come by anytime. I don't think she dug what I had to tell her, and I really do think she was hoping I'd have been more of an "out and proud" soldier of Christ. Sorry, honey, that's just the way it is.

    I feel bad if she was wanting something more, like a coupon to a church picnic or whatever, but that's just not how it rolls.

    ETA But now I have an excuse to buy a proper soldering pencil and a stand: my regular soldering iron is ancient, and doesn't do so good for finer-detailed stuff. It's OK for doing a little guitar cable, but it's time to step up.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 13 Jan 2020 at 06:01 PM.

  21. #521
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    I'm sorry to keep going on about this, but I feel very bad about missing a chance to help somebody who seemed to crave something in her life.

    You'll have noticed that I'm not raving about her sexy body or whatever.

    No, not that I couldn't be interested in that aspect, but that can be for another time.

    I suppose that she was probably baptised as a Christian at some point, otherwise why would she have been all that interested in my own practice?

    All I can say what I could have suggested is that she practice the sacrament of reconciliation (often just called "confession"): I don't know if she was worried about saying the right words or whatever, but I probably didn't help by saying that I like to pray the rosary and the responses to mass in Latin. It's really not important, that, but it gets more difficult for me to put myself in the shoes of somebody in their twenties as I get older. I did mention that I don't always remember every line.

    The rest of the day I saw her again and she pretty much avoided talking to me or even making eye contact.

    For once it wasn't because I made an unwanted advance, or so forth. Probably, I don't know.

    Probably in her eyes I'm just "Catholic guy" but "not good Christian," because of me not witnessing or prosletyzing and admitting I'm not a real Christian, just some "practicing" Catholic.

    Which is fine.

    But, she asked me all those questions, and I answered in as friendly a way as I could.

    And, yes, supposing she sees me this year again on Ash Wednesday, I will probably have some visible sign on my forehead. That's not exclusive to Christians, and especially not Catholics, of whatever rite.

  22. #522
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    Quote Originally posted by Jizzelbin View post
    Holy shit.

    I just interacted with one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in my life, ever. She was a contractor-driver who was having some problems with her phone. Alas, I could not help her, but I did try, you know tried in vain to get someone on the radio who could just do what I asked.
    This was bad.

    It was a ... I think the day before yesterday or something.

    I think she came back.

    I had my eyeglasses on, and I was in charge of her ... "area" ... er...."zone".....never mind.

    It was really bad.

    Like, cartoon wolf with its tongue dragging along the floor.

    I controlled myself, and reasoned with myself that th.........

    never mind.

    There was no reasoning in "myself." I just recalled that it's probably not good to be obviously distracted by a nice-looking broad, so I kept it clean.

    Quote Originally posted by Jizzelbin
    You know, she just looks nice and doesn't seem dumb.
    Actually, about this woman, it is true. She happens to be hearing impaired, as it happens, and she does indeed work the shift after me, doing similar things. Obviously we haven't had long conversations, but she is probably aware that I have an expressive face, when it suits me, and also make deliberate hand gestures when appropriate.

    I wonder how that would work, you know, "romantically." I think pretty well: it would be sort of "opposites attract" kind of thing: I respond almost only to auditory cues, but am very expressive with my hands and eyes, and she would perhaps be about the opposite of that.

    Well, that little thought experiment needs some more thinking, but at least I know her a bit more and vice versa, so we're not on "first name," but more like "hey, hearty nod-of-the-head!" Or whatever.

  23. #523
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    This was not my finest moment. So I'm out in the suburbs, and I happened to notice gasoline at $2.83 per gallon (compared to the $3.19 or so I usually get at the cabbies' place, which is still the cheapest nearest to me). Yeah, I pull up, remembering after the fact that some places won't reach the pump on the opposite side of the car. Which is stupid, of them, but I wasn't sure if this was one of those places or not.

    Yeah, yeah, so the pump lady finally comes out of the attached "convenience" store and says "Wrong side!" OK, that's fine.

    However, in a moment of dickishness, I did pull around to the farthest pump from my original spot, and after waiting about a minute (kind of a long time, with no customers), I figure if I get out of the car and start trying to pump it myself she'd come over. Indeed. I got the gas cap off and laid it on the trunk and...that got her going.

    I'd say that was a meeting of minds: just two assholes gong about their business.

  24. #524
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    Aww... That's good. I think Jen and I at work are having more of a meeting of the minds.

    She's really nice, and funny and casual, and pretty good looking. But, that she's apparently married and has a kid, you know, I've been a little bit slowing my roll down, just because I don't want her to think I'm ... well, I wouldn't say perv-ing, but you know.

    Nah. I think the walls are coming down on both sides.

    You know, we've always been able to be casual and friendly and joke around, trade compliments or figure out solutions to some problems.

    But, you know, getting to the next level of just asking each other's opinions about stuff and such.

    So that's good.

    I mean, I'm not shy about talking to pretty women, but I was a little uptight around her because I didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

    It helps having some work-friends in common, especially since we're a tight crew, and Ra Te**sha knows me pretty well, so she's a good buffer, IRL as well as on the job. I wouldn't say she's a good friend IRL, but we text and stuff out of work sometimes.

    And no, I'm not trying to "get with" Jen, I just like her as a person, and not in a million years am I going on the hunt for women with attachements.

    So, that's good.

    ///////////

    ETA Oh, no, fucking shit no. So I'm catching up on the last few podcasts of "Drew and Natalie's Garbage Brain University." It's some recent episode about CIA and conspiracy theories.

    No.

    That fucking asshole Drew Toothpaste is into that transhumanist bullshit about some AI singularity?

    Like a real person thinks this way, not some moron doing like Roko's Basilisk or whatever stupid shit?

    No.

    No fucking way.

    That is very disappointing.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 04 Feb 2020 at 11:40 PM.

  25. #525
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    Oh, fucking A.

    I'm just going to post this in case anyone in the future has a similar problem.

    Deaf woman?

    I call it CAN woman!

    In your RH, just do Morse code.

    Oh.

    Oh.

    Well.

    I can do it!

    Oh.

    No.

    No.

    No.

    ETA No, I'm not talking about fingerbanging, I was doing like straight-up Morse code. Fail. EETA Even if I tried it with deaf girl, I don't have any reason to think she'd know Morse code. She'd probably slap me. That would be fine, but off topic.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 06 Feb 2020 at 10:09 PM.

  26. #526
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    Oh. I don't know.

    It seems to me that this thread has turned into my blog.

    Well, that's OK, I guess.

    Here's an example of how low down a "man" can get: I think the best feeling in the world is gently holding a woman by one's side.

    Fuck. Shit.

    I'm not supposed to say that.

    Well, fine. My playing of Bach is shit, my scholarship is shit, and so all I got left is handling women, and I might be getting to fat for that.

    But don't bet the house on that!

    Because I'm back!

    I can pocket balls on rickety tables as good as any half-blind man, and I can make off with the deaf girl without knowing more than Morse code, motherfuckers!

    Well, maybe.

    But I think I can, and nobody ever asked me for a refund, honey.

  27. #527
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    Wow.

    Today really opened my eyes to what's probably an actual phenomenon.

    I mean, all right, there was an image or a stereotype in US culture, from, I don't know, maybe the 1840s through the early 1920s. The shiftless person. The lazy.

    It was a real eye-opener, as far as how some (a small number of people) people adhere and self-adhere to that idea.

    No, Maggie's going to keep working that farm, but I ain't doing shit beyond the shiftless shuffle from now on.

    And, actually, it doesn't dissect into races or skin color. There are just a buttload of people who don't and won't haul ass.

    Not me anymore.

    I'll move slightly faster than the slowest person on the crew.

    Fuck 'em. It's not my job to be the boss. It's my job to show up on time and perform my tasks.

    I'm done changing my shirt every two hours.

    I think I work with a bunch of fucking retards.

    Yeah, and it does seem that my eldest nephew is retarded, so fuck you, I'll say what I want.

    Pickaninny Rag was a tune by Joplin, I'm pretty sure.

    Me, now on?

    I'm Gomer fucking Pyle. Fuck ruining my feet, my clothes, for working 10x harder than the lowest 40%. Fuck them. I'm working to rule now, and I can't always hear on the handheld.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 09 Feb 2020 at 10:07 PM.

  28. #528
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    Shit.

    I am still really fucking pissed off at a couple of people on the job.

    Yeah, I am saying I'm that good, but fuck. You. I'm not carrying your load anymore.

    Fucking prick motherfuckers.

    And, yeah, I am that good.

  29. #529
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    Oh. And while I'm here: fucking bitches of the US federal government say I owe them some bills from this year.

    Yeah.

    Well, the refund from last year, plus state refund will make it OK.

    Fucking bastard shit motherfuckers.

    Whatever.

    Cocksucker assholes.

  30. #530
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    Well, there was one from Sunday.

    So I'm doing my rounds and making sure people didn't do anything stupid.

    Yeah, so I hear this frantic call from multiple people, calling my name, out loud. I cup my hand to my ear, because I don't actually hear too good.

    "Can you help these people out?"

    (i) WTF are you talking about? There are three motherfucking employees and I'm still fixing the mistakes they made up there.

    (ii) Oh. I get. I'm supposedly "language guy." I don't know why, because aside from talking to a few immigrant van drivers in French and writing some graffiti in dry-erase markers in Latin, that's not my job. Yes, fine, I explain in pidgin Spanish how to do the "app," for two consecutive cars. No, I don't speak Spanish, you know, I mean, I can understand and speak a bit, and I can read the phone "app" enough to say, "No, no! Perque es no importante! Come se dice in espanol, 'jamais', 'never.' Pero never you comprende touch that button."

    (iii) Congratulations, you cockbiting cunts behind the desk. Put "Johnny on the language" and make him do whatever, and then my actual task gets all fucked up because your people weren't doing their shit.

    And, yes, the two separate cars did all right, thanks to me. Actually, I like the Spanish language, but I just can't speak it or understand it beyond a rudimentary level.

    It was kind of an odd dynamic: each driver had a spouse who spoke a bit more English than the driver.

    Yeah, it's really not that hard to explain things or so forth.

    We had three or four people whose only job is to get those motherfuckers out of the warehouse, on the road, and they call on me?

    Well, good job explaining why we're thirty minutes behind.

    That was the best part of that day: you know, I explained stuff, and used a sort of Spanglish to get the job done, and what's best is that maybe four people total don't think that all norteamericanos are completely dickholes. I mean, probably true, but at least some of us can glance at a smartphone "app" in Spanish and say, "No! Madre de dios, never usted touch that putain merde iejo de puta."

  31. #531
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    Shit.

    I was just fooling around with my flashlight and got a good look at my feet.

    Yeah, har de fricking har, I'm a few pounds heavy, but I can touch my toes and do so every day many times.

    Shit.

    I think I need to find a referral to a podiatrist.

    My feet are all kinds of fucked up. Leaving aside severe, consistent heel pain, and the episode with acute tendonitis of the posterior tibial tendon.

    Mostly they're just fucked up.

    Discolored toenails. Obviously, many places where the nails had broken and healed over, near to the cuticle.

    The leathery hide, abundant callouses.

    No. They're all fucked up.

    I do have a tube of ketoconazole from fixing tinnea versistrata. I can start applying that to my feet.

    Beyond that, I should wash my feet more often, and try the antifungal (it's pretty expensive, and I don't remember the Rx number or whatever) and the old wives' tale about vinegar and so forth.

    I guess I could just call up my regular doctor and get a referral to a specialist, but I don't want to deal with the whole insurance thing, and spending days on the phone trying to schedule shit.

    Dude. My feet are fucked. They've been literally rode hard and put away wet. For years. And this despite my normally admirable job of keeping the feet in good repair, cosmetically, until I started working in this warehouse.

  32. #532
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    And also, what these people don't understand is that not only are my feet probably very literally rotting out from under me, those sturdy companions, but that I despise every single kind of music these people listen to.

    Despise, don't understand, don't want.

    Same thing.

    Shit.

    I'm fucked.

    What would make me happy is to see a coyote eat a crippled groomed pet of someody. A neighbor's pet. For example.

    State tax refund? Likely garnished in toto. Vehicle emissions test? Probably fail. Year? It's a leap year. Ham? No burger.

    Fuck off.

  33. #533
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    Hmmm... I thought it amused me to recursively apply the contents of a package to itself.

    Namely, I had bought a few weeks ago a thing of rubber bands and a box of plastic pushpins.

    Just now I was wondering: goddamned it, where's another container to put these rubber bands in? Must have an empty box or basket around someplace!

    No.

    Loop a rubber band around the bag containing the remaining rubber bands and ....

    THEN!

    Yes! Box of thumbtacks?

    Thumbtack it to the wall!

    Eeez geeniuz, non?

    Si, well, maybe not.

    It amusing to me, anyway.

  34. #534
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    Oh, it was kind of funny at the job, what with having the ashes on the forehead (TBH, it only vaguely resembled a cross after a bit, just kind of a smudge, which, incidentally, a self-described High Eposcalian noted on FB is possible a difference between the two sects).

    ETA I'm talking about yesterday, of course.

    Most people were just full of questions, which, as you know, I like to talk when it's something that interests me, so I was happy to do a thirty-second explanation.

    Really? It seems most people don't know what freaking Mardi Gras or Carnival is? They must know it exists, but to my surprise, I don't think most people really grok why Mardi Gras, for example, is a "thing"!

    Of course it's an excuse for a raging party, but there's a reason for that, you know!

    People are funny!
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 27 Feb 2020 at 08:38 PM. Reason: spec date

  35. #535
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    Well, I didn't "make it to Mass" — in my view, which is that shared by the RCC, one must not receive the eucharist unless one has been reconciled for mortal sins, such as not assisting at a Sunday mass, so...well, it's not my goddamned playbook, but I kind of have a Rain Man thing going where it's one part of my life where I can follow the rules and it doesn't matter either way.

    But I did, before work "make it to" the local cathedral between their Sunday masses have a few quiet moments of reflection.....no, I can't say even that. I basically tried to remember the Latin responses while sitting in a nearly empty, pretty large cathedral. Not huge, you know, but by West Coast standards, of respectable size. Sat quietly and recalled as much of the mass as I could, with responses. Of course I had my copy of Order of Mass in Nine Languages folded up in my jacket pocket, and, of course, had a jacket and tie on. That's just probably something peculiar to me: I don't especially enjoy wearing a necktie these days: my torso is pretty long and it's hard to tie it so you don't look like Lou Costello or something. You have to use the lazy-man's knot and really use every last inch.

    Oh shit. Just...never mind. Have to deal me with my uncle tomorrow. Fuck. Noblesse oblige. Shit.

    Never mind.

    I think I'm going to drop the pedantic thing about kneeling in the direction of the tabernacle before seating oneself in the pew: I'm not sure that's a real "rule" anyway, and certainly nobody else IME, ever, has ever done that. Maybe at the initial font.

  36. #536
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    Goddammit I think I've gone over the edge with the whole RCC thing.

    I'm not apologizing, and certainly I'm not the first. Ahem.

    I mean, I'm not as far gone as "Wapner at Four, definitely going to miss Wapner," but I think a little structured socialization is not so bad.

    Ferchrissake I listened to a guy at a bar after "mass" go on about movies and shit. A guy who was freaking talking to himself about who knows what. Turned out he had a pretty encylclopedic knowledge of movies, including some I'd never even thought about seeing.

    Fuck.

    ETA And yes I didn't feel too bad about this guy who between masses had his sleeping bag in the vestibule, and while I was doing a rosary, I overheard somebody saying....well, I couldn't make out the words, but like "Sir, something blah blah." As I'd finished my session, but during, as I was leaving, obviously he wanted some change and asked for it. I had a few bucks, probably, in quarters, reserved for my high pursuit of the lady of the cue ball.

    I was honest and said I really couldn't do it: I'm saving up for renewal of car registration which is due next week.

    Fuck.

    But I think he was that same dickhole who not two minutes before touched the cathedral's piano: fuck him.

    I'm a bad man, but I think I'm consistently fair.

    Fuck.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 01 Mar 2020 at 11:13 PM.

  37. #537
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    Well that was a motherfucker of a day. As yesterday, work was a jumbled clusterfuck, and as usual, I seemed to be the only person doing anything while everybody else is jerking off.

    That's not true, of course, but by percentages, it might as well be.

    So, that's normal, not noteworthy.

    But I agreed to take my uncle ... I don't know, as like a "companion animal" or something to the grocery store. He drinks a lot and as a result is all fucked up with brain damage and all that, the result being probably depression and anxiety.

    That's fine: I'm glad to be able to help, much as I despise driving downtown in...well, any town, really.

    In exchange he bought me a few groceries, which is fair enough, I figure.

    Just a random comment: he's healthy, trim, and not outwardly in bad shape, especially for a 62 year old who hasn't had a job in probably twenty years and doesn't even go to mass.

    What? How can an adult eat that crap? What he bought was exactly what a 10 or 12 year old boy would probably eat.

    I don't care, but, I mean...what?

    I know he has cookware and a stove, because I gave him some of my old AllClad and we shot the shit afterwards for a bit in his apartment.

    No, it doesn't upset me in the least, and he seems to be none the worse for wear, but, really? Peanut butter sandwiches on bunny bread, and a handful of snack items?

    I'm not claiming to be superior, but it just shocked me.

    Actually it does remind me of one of those Updike "Rabbit" novels, where he brings the whore back with groceries and she says something like "You like to eat kind of bland, huh?"

    Well, whatever floats the wagon, I just usually do the supermarket solo and don't pay attention to what other people chow down on.

  38. #538
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    Well that was a motherfucker of a day. As yesterday, work was a jumbled clusterfuck, and as usual, I seemed to be the only person doing anything while everybody else is jerking off.

    That's not true, of course, but by percentages, it might as well be.

    So, that's normal, not noteworthy.

    But I agreed to take my uncle ... I don't know, as like a "companion animal" or something to the grocery store. He drinks a lot and as a result is all fucked up with brain damage and all that, the result being probably depression and anxiety.

    That's fine: I'm glad to be able to help, much as I despise driving downtown in...well, any town, really.

    In exchange he bought me a few groceries, which is fair enough, I figure.

    Just a random comment: he's healthy, trim, and not outwardly in bad shape, especially for a 62 year old who hasn't had a job in probably twenty years and doesn't even go to mass.

    What? How can an adult eat that crap? What he bought was exactly what a 10 or 12 year old boy would probably eat.

    I don't care, but, I mean...what?

    I know he has cookware and a stove, because I gave him some of my old AllClad and we shot the shit afterwards for a bit in his apartment.

    No, it doesn't upset me in the least, and he seems to be none the worse for wear, but, really? Peanut butter sandwiches on bunny bread, and a handful of snack items?

    I'm not claiming to be superior, but it just shocked me.

    Actually it does remind me of one of those Updike "Rabbit" novels, where he brings the whore back with groceries and she says something like "You like to eat kind of bland, huh?"

    Well, whatever floats the wagon, I just usually do the supermarket solo and don't pay attention to what other people chow down on.

  39. #539
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    Well, that was kind of exciting. Never mind. I finally came to terms with a mortal enemy, the "ratchet strap" (I've always known how they work, but mechanical things in general...they give me a pain in the ass unless I've used them a bunch). I've got them figured out now.

    Some dickhead, in the warehouse — not one of our people, but a flex/contract driver, was getting into it with a nice lady down a few spots behind him. All I heard when I was doing shit in the area was him saying "Fuck you!"

    I smiled and gave a little chuckle: I figured they knew each other and they were having a joke. No.

    Mind you, I insult people quite a bit IRL, but straight up like that? I'm pretty sure that is a crime (a misdemeanor) in my state, either menacing or harassment. I know because I've had to talk to the "man" about it before, but I was never charged! And that was with neighbors, near my home, where my wife sleeps, and where my children come to play with their toys!

    Unfortunately, I don't think our temporary supervisor had enough on the ball to want to follow through, but at the least, we can have given him what's called a "ticket" (no shit, that's what they call it) which is for bad contractors: people who don't deliver their packages or whatever other nonsense they get up to.

    I can't have that shit in my warehouse. Fuck, I don't even give a shit, just take it outside, Roid Boy.

  40. #540
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    Unbelievable. I think I misplaced my bank card. Pretty sure I didn't leave it someplace, but wouldn't rule that. It's no doubt somewhere in my car or in a shirt pocket.

    Why would that be? I don't know, because I'm an idiot? Yes, I carry a wallet for that very purpose.

    They can print me out a new card in two seconds flat at the credit union, but I'd have to change every single place I pay bills with the new account numbers. Major hassle, and some of those "companies" take their sweet time updating their records.

    Damn.

  41. #541
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    Well, I am pretty (actually, extremely) glad I got to my credit union before shit apparently started getting real. I had to navigate some suburb traffic and deal with all that, but it was easily done at the time. Nowadays, it might have been more of a problem. Yeah, yeah, the new printed debit card works fine and the account numbers are fine, so ACH transactions are just the same as before.

    I suspect I could be carrier zero in my home state: high-risk occupation, pretty accustomed to having the sniffles, bone aches, and various respiratory problems. Ad the latter, such that about four or five months ago I self-diagnosed with a kind of pulmonary embolysm, of the type that I convinced myself to have an aspirin and see if I woke up.

    The weekend before the 17th March, on Thursday, I'd had an unusually large amount of contact with a few acquaintances and a few strangers. Jello shots were involved. Horrible: who the fuck thinks that's a good "drink"? Disgusting. Yeah, I had several.

    Well that's about usual, whatever. But I happen to work in one of the most inflammatory places there is: in VERY close contact with hundreds of drivers per day, and especially of late, picking up extra shifts which require <0.5m respiratory space with several or more heavily respirating people. For many hours. Including a bit of "petting" with some supposedly "Russian" broad.

    I'll bet you anything I'm patient zero.

    The nephews would have a cool story.

  42. #542
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    Oh fucking A, son of bitch.

    Actually, not too bad at my local grocery store this afternoon.

    They had one of the two entrances (no, don't pronounce it "entranseez" or I'll have to cut somebody) open, with my man the bag boy out front offering carts and wipes and all that.

    Pretty well behaved (no, it does not require an hypostrophe, though it may be added for clarity), given the high proportion of asshole yuppies and the typical time of day during which they thrive, by habit.

    Nobody got in my space and I scruulously avoided the space of others.

    It would appear that Totino's Party Pizzas were among the last to go.

    Meh.

    I grabbed six (they're small and easily carried in one hand) plus two beers, and figured nobody would mistake me for a hoarder.

    I did note with some pleasure that no reusable bags can be used: that's an obvious control, and so I was happy to pay the five cents for a regular bag.

    Really scrupulous work by the front end, as well as by the distributors working the aisles. The chef of the beer aisle seemed kind of a dick to his team, but they were stocking the beer aisle and seemed to be used to that kind of shit from their supervisor.

    The actual employees of the store were about the same: just dealing with a bunch of clueless people. Self-checkout? No problem. My gal A_____ holding down the front end, just like usual.

    Compared to this morning, about six hours ago? Obviously, more people, but there was a bit less tense vibe since a bunch more traffic and there was a procedure in place.

    And this is not a small grocery store, really: one of the worst parking lots and some of the worst drivers I've ever seen, ever. It's soccer mom deville at feeding time, which is about now, and it wasn't that bad.

  43. #543
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    You were pretty lucky in your grocery store. A colleague was telling me that the store near his place, normally one of the nicest in Toronto, reminded him of the time he went to a supermarket in East Berlin in 1986.

  44. #544
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    Yeah, I guess kind of a grim 1980s central European is what seemed about right.

    I don't know anything about it personally, but that is probably about it, from stories I've heard. Roumania was fucking dire, for example. Yes, even in the smaller towns in the nw region and before all that statehood. Don't even.

    Anyway, that's part of what I think of as a whole "trust, but verify" ethos.

    Not part of my own childhood but enough people seem to have been raised in such environments that a bit influenced me in my earlier years as a young adult. I don't believe it's an era worth romanticizing, nor am I capable of such a task.

    //////////////

    Yeah. I did do supposedly a bad thing and break quarantine today.

    I justified it to myself in the weasliest of ways: "I'm an essential worker, and need to be out of my place about four AM tomorrow, so, I'm going to get a bottle of wine and a deck of smokes at the drugstore. I'm going to be practically shoving your delivery driver's dong down my throat or vice versa in five hours, so, fuck off."

    It's an extremely wrong sort of privileged approach to take, and I hope people notice it and are aware. It doesn't matter if it's some tacky Italian costume-shop garbage or a reflective vest, it's wrong and it even looks worse on self-described blue-collar "front-line" people. STFU, you fucking, nurse or EMT or truck driver. Do your fucking job, or don't: that's why you're paid what you are. Replaceable. ATC? Do it or don't. Sanitation? Sure. It's getting done with or without your brave little heroics about the little paramedic that could. STFU, garbage girl.

  45. #545
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    Yeah, I think have made a small mistake by starting texting with a girl from the warehouse yesterday, late last night. So, I was listening to all these Sam Cooke records and did a nice little, "How we doing child?" and then back at me "Well Ive been washed in the blood of Jesus, so, it doesn't affect me who you lust over, but you're good and still my friend."

    More or less.

    Yeah, I'm familiar with the more shout-y types of xian congregations, but i never would have picked her out as a holy roller type, unless maybe I drove her to it.

    All right. I can believe that a bit: I was bothering her a bit and she reached back into her old snake kettle and found something that she knew I wouldn't mess with, since she knows I at least pretend to attend mass every Sunday.

    That's why she's my friend: pretty smart lady.

    I don't know if I want to fuck her or just eat her out or both, but I like the way both me and her got the tempo chilled out.

    I think she's not sure if I'm her kind either, in that way.

    I think we're just going to keep being friends, and that's about good for me.

    ETA The closest church to my work has laid out some impressive guidelines for how to proceed on the following and for near future masses, as well as weekday masses and the stations of the cross.

    Impressively, Fr. Tim has agreed to the reconciliation every day from 1000 to 1150, with a pretty impressive set of instructions on where to line up and all that.

    No. There's not going to be blood of christ and the flesh and all that. I know, you budding young theologians, it's disappointing, but I don't care about that.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 21 Mar 2020 at 04:08 PM.

  46. #546
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    Well that was kind of exciting. Here's my literal word's spoken out loud (yeah, I'm alone in my place, but I still said them out loud!): "what the fuck time is it?" [looks at computer's icon] "oh shit. fuck. shit." [waits a few seconds and realizes it's my weekend now]. "oh. huh. oh. ok."

    Yeah that kind of stripped a bit of varnish off my esophagelea cilia for a few moments. Yeah that's likely spelled wrong.

    Well, I hate to say it, but I did a major round of errands today and if I didn't get the plague, or very probably any number of other viruses, it'll be a miracle. Went to a drug store, filled up tank with gasoline, went to a grocery store, went to the Dollar Store, went to the drug store, went to a different grocery store for prescription ibuprofen and sudogest pick up, went to liquor store.

    I really don't want to say it, but I'm not that pleased with the poors at the grocery store. Yeah, I mean, har fucking har, the whole working class hero thing. It's great you're fucking immune. What the fuck do you think I do every five days of a week? Just STFU: you can show off how cool you are by driving like a shrimp-dick or whatever.

  47. #547
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    Fucking shit.

    I was hopeful after observing several three-day periods of relative rest that the pain in my heel had gone away.

    No. fucking bullshit. I think I have goddamnned plantar fasciitis in the left foot. Fucking shit.

    No, I can't tell any difference with using whatever inserts or comfy pads. It's the same bullshit, and while I can exercise and stretch the relevant fascii, the pain is, at times, unbelievable. None more so than upon waking up and trying to walk.

    Fucking a. This fucking sucks. What, hobble around with a limp? I don't have much to offer the workforce except brute force. I mean, Cisco gave a few months extension for renewal of certs, but let's be real, I got a fucking gimp foot and it's fucking bullshit.

    ETA Yeah, well, I guess I can rise through the ranks and do the whole logistics managemant. Yeah, I've kept my pimp hand strong with spreadsheets and have my soft skills good. Fucking A.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 27 Mar 2020 at 10:55 PM.

  48. #548
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    Oh, I did read a bit today a paper by some guy who managed to, I would call it a manful effort, reject what is to me a horror.

    I would say it's nice to see people rejecting the computational theory of mind. Yes, it's true that many people you might have read or heard about use this kind of model. Steven Pinker, for one. So, it's not about if there are worthy people working under this notion, but on a wrong model. It may or may not matter, but I think it does matter more when people are bleating every day about "AI" and "machine learning" and so forth. That's why we look to Rodney Brooks and not, say, some nerd when it comes to navigating the world.

    What does one say, "When you leave behind a machine and a mouse between a piece of cheese, what do you get? The cheese."

    No, that was a bracing reminder that some people have not left their realms and are still working in theory.

    The fact of the matter is that this issue has been closed for decades, and the result is what's used in, for example, biomedical ontology. Smith, Arp, and Spear have it in their book published by MIT press IIRC.

    But, yes, there are people who "disagree" with the basic ideas of direct realism, more or less, and I quite admire the above mentioned for putting the boots to the ground in the matter of theory.

    I approve. And so does Barry Smith and Roman Ingarden and the Husserl of the third logical investigation.

    ETA IOW we do have structure, but it is of a kind that is best described by formal ontology and various ecological niches. That's the one word summary.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 27 Mar 2020 at 11:46 PM.

  49. #549
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    Oh. Thinking back, that was kind of fucked up, on R 12th Mar of this year. Doing jello shots, playing four-way nine-ball and ending up with a goddamned beautiful girl slinging around my arm in a booth at the bar and she was enjoying my arm muscles.

    Shit.

    And looking straight across the booth at some Russian motherfuckers while their girl is hanging on me and liking my thing.

    Shit.

    She was a good girl. I could have at least fingered her or something. Dammit.

    Yeah, whatever. You don't understand how good she was, physically.

    Eh, whatever. I had worse, maybe I had better. But I should have got a bit more with that one so I'd have a better story to tell. She was good to go. Fuck.

  50. #550
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    All right, fine. That was a bit bragging about how this astonishingly pretty girl couldn't help but attach herself to my arm, which is pretty much made of meat.

    No, it's actually true, but I would never think about bragging about such a commonplace thing.

    I do have a somewhat more more ordinary thing. Deaf girl seems to not think I'm repulsive and doesn't shirk my company. I think she's pretty, but I don't speak her language. The language of love.

    I'm just going to stfu now.

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