The "I need to vent" thread


Missy

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Oh, trust me, you have no idea. Here are some excerpts, I need someone else's brain to explode too.

“A sailing ship is chamban in Colombian, sampanIn China; a raft, balsa in South America and palso in China; a log raft, jangada in Brazil, ziangada in Tamil”

“I had lived in Malaysia and remembered well how the morning call of Asiatic hens - “kik-kirki-kee' – was markedly different from the 'cock-a-doodle-doo' of their European counterparts. As I lay in bed [in Peru], I recognized the hamiliar 'kik-kiri-kee' and began to wonder how Asiatic rather than European hens had come to be in Peru”

LOGIC, DUDE, LEARNS IT.

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One of my roommates/friends is very likely about to bail out on me. He's going to give me the money for his rent for May, but I have no idea what I'm going to do now. I'm pretty sure I can afford to go a month without his part of the rent/utilities because I have some extra cash. I'll just have to buckle down and not spend money anywhere it isn't absolutely necessary. But beyond that, I don't know. I hope my homebuyer tax credit comes sooner rather than later, but since it's the U.S. government, I'm not holding my breath. But I'm more mad at myself than anything. I should have known he would do this to me, but I figured he's my friend and I should have faith in him. How foolish I art.

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I don't cook for you because you're a fucking slob.

I don't clean up messes I don't cause (we don't want kids, remember?), and henceforth my kitchen/dining area/living room is always, ALWAYS a mess. Usually not food mess, usually just clothes mess (though this is getting as disgusting as food mess might be, lately, as you've started doing this senile-ass thing where you put a load in the washing machine and then FUCKING FORGET IT AND THEN IT SITS IN THERE AND ROTS IN ITS OWN MILDEW!).

No...you hide the food mess.

Like when you spilled a bottle of vegetable oil in the cabinet above the fridge and didn't clean it up. "Oh, I didn't know the top was loose" you say? Well I say this is indicative of a larger pattern of you being really horrible at paying any kind of attention to detail.

The cabinet, weeks later, is still sticky. I can't STAND stickiness. It is a touch sensation I cannot handle, so even if I was so inclined to re-clean a mess you should've fucking fixed WEEKS ago (p.s., I'm not), I couldn't, because sticky things make me hyperventilate and cry. CRY.

I was in the cabinet to look for cider vinegar (p.s., we don't have any) when I discovered this lingering mess. I was going to clean the rest of the kitchen/dining area/living room while the meal I was going to make for you was in the oven, but now there will be no meal, and no cleaning; just a pissy wife who kind of pines for the days when a husband knew better than to fuck around in the kitchen.

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