Do you know what annoys me?
Everyone gasped just now. She's usually so happy-go-lucky! Actually, that phrase annoys me too. What the fuck does that even mean?
What annoys me is my coffee can be a crapshoot. Heck, I made it too strong today. Or, what the hell, did I just wave the idea of coffee around the coffeemaker today? It's weaker than John Travolta's handshake.
So sometimes I think, hey, I could measure it, and then it'd taste the same every time. Nothing gets past me. Except have you ever read the instructions on your coffee? One scoop for every six ounces of water or something like that. Oh, six ounces! Yes! I'm acutely aware of how many FUCKING OUNCES of coffee I'm putting in.
What the Christ.
They clarify by saying. ""(180 ml)." OH! WELL! AND RIGHT THEN I KNEW! That's clear as a fucking BELL now!
Why can't they just speak English? Why can't they just be clear? Tell me how many scoops to put in for half a pot or a pot, for example. Like I'm supposed to know when I've filled the pot with six ounces of fucking water.
Here's an extremely helpful and cogent tip from a coffee website: To determine the amount of water to be used with fractional amounts of coffee, multiply the weight of the coffee by the following factors: 16 (0.0625 is the inverse factor) to get fluid ounces of water: 16.6945 (0.0599 is the inverse factor) for grams to get CCs of water.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. So now my coffee is a story problem.
So that pretty much sums up my whole life right now. My whole life is a story problem.
In other news, work is still INSANE OH MY GOD, and what I enjoy are A. people who don't read my original emails thoroughly so they write back with more questions THAT WERE ALREADY ADDRESSED and B. people in my non-work life thinking I can talk. I believe I've done a clear job, clear like coffee instructions, of letting everyone know WORK IS INSANE till August. And yet?
"Hey, why haven't I heard from you?"
"Did you see my meme I put on your wall?"
"Hey, can you forward me that stuff we talked about in 1972?"
Oh, fuck off.
I just saw an annoying thing ("she's usually so happy-go-lucky!") on Facebook the other day; it was a meme about how Someone Isn't Avoiding You. Maybe They Have...and it was a rolling list of other things that person might be up to rather than avoiding you, like "personal sturggles" or "physical pain" or "a life."
REALLY? Really? As adults we need to be told that, still? People really think, "Oh, she's avoiiiiiiiiding me!"?? How fucking self-centered can you get?
Oh, and finally, I went to the Apple Store yesterday, and yes, "Store" is capped. I got my cracked screen replaced. and if anyone is thinking, "Say, I sure would like to donate to June today," NOW IS A GOOD FUCKING TIME.
("But, happy-go-lucky!") (June Gardens' Happy-Go-Lucky fund)
The point is, I had to make an appointment at the "Genius Bar," a name that is not at all cloying and WHAT mood, June, instead of just, oh, drop it the fuck off and pick it the fuck up. I'd been told on the phone that they'd have to ship it off, so I called another off-brand phone fixing place, who wanted to charge me "about 30 dollars more" and ship it off for three or four business days.
"Apple wants $129 to fix the screen. What do you charge?"
"About 30 dollars more, ma'am. It's 179."
"That's...fifty dollars more, sir."
It's a sad day when I'm the mathematician in a scenario.
Just now I noticed Lottie sitting still next to my chair, her back to me. Any time she alights, I try to praise her for, you know, actually alighting.
"Look at my sweet girl," I said, scratching her chest, which is getting barrel-y. "What a sweet doggie. See? You can be a good girl!"
As soon as I said that, she turned around and bit my arm.
Anyway, the good news is the young guy at the genius bar looked down my shirt, twice, and I got it back in an hour and a half. The phone, not my bosom. I did not, however, take any photos yesterday as a result of that big 90-minute lapse in phone-having, so in order for this important blog post to have a photo in it to draw in illiterate readers, Ima go into my photos and pick out the 129th photo. Hang on.
Why is June always late for work?