Archive for the ‘WTF?’ Category

  • While we’re on the subject of creepsters…


    I refer you to yesterday’s gripe about dudes. And yes, I know that not all dudes are bad. As Rahul happily pointed out, these creepsters are just making the rest of you look good! Right?

    Anyway, in light of my gripe yesterday, I thought I should let you all know (as though you’re interested) what happened TODAY:

    I went to Subway, where I ate lunch. Then as I was walking back to the office, across the parking lot, this dude behind me said, “Excuse me, ma’am?”

    So I turned around and said, “Yes?”

    And he said, “Are you single?”

    I rolled my eyes and said, “NO.”

    “Are you in a relationship?” (Because I suppose it’s possible to be both not single and not in a relationship?)

    At this point, I had just turned around and started walking away, but I was almost to my office. I said, “Yeah.”

    He said, “Excuse me?”

    I said, “YEAH.”

    He said, “Well, your husband or whatever is lucky because that is one fine ass you got on you.”

    I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the compliment to my ass, I guess. But c’mon. REALLY? And now that asshat knows where I work.

  • Too far, Netflix. Too far.


    So I’m sure you know by now, right? For the second time in less than a year, Netflix is jacking up the price of membership.

    And you DO have a Netflix account, don’t you?

    Of course you do.

    While their stock climbs and business looks good, they’re now saying that it costs more for them to do business than it did SIX MONTHS AGO.

    Um, no.

    I’m sorry. But no. Last time, they tried to tell us it was because really, they were a company that streamed movies and televisions shows, but they also happened to rent out DVDs through the mail. Even though they started as a company who rented out DVDs through the mail. Even though almost nothing I actively WANT to watch is available for streaming.

    Now, it’s, “Oh, looks like people really want those DVDs! But we can’t mail them! Woe is the shipping!”

    The first time, I was pissed, but willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Sort of. My three-DVDs-at-a-time subscription (with unlimited streaming, which was added at some point while I wasn’t looking) was $16.99. It jumped to $19.99.

    For those of you who aren’t good at math, that’s a $3 increase. All because now they’re a streaming company who rents the occasional DVD…which you’d think would be cheaper, since there’s no shipping of streaming content.

    I promptly went online and dropped my membership to the one-DVD-at-a-time with unlimited streaming option. It was $9.99. So by raising the price, they lost seven of my dollars. Ten, if you count what I would have been paying for the same subscription.

    Personally, I was thinking, “Online streaming? Big effing whoop.” I mean, sure, I’ll watch things streamed on Netflix, but I treat that the way I treat cable. I just surf for shit to watch, looking endlessly, and finally settling on something I never would have watched otherwise, which usually turns out to be dumb or horrifying. AKA, the entire reason I canceled my cable.

    That was in November of 2010. The new rates went into effect in January of 2011, I think. I could look it up, but this is a blog, not the news, and I’m too lazy.

    Yesterday, there was a story on HuffPo, now AOL (ugh), about Netflix pricing again. This time they’ve determined that goshdarnit, people like those DVDs after all! But it’s still really expensive to mail them. So they’re separating the DVD service from the streaming service entirely, and now you have to pay for two separate memberships, if you want both.

    Hold up just an ever-loving second.

    They’re trying to tell me that it now costs TWICE AS MUCH to operate their business as it did SIX MONTHS AGO? No, sir. That’s ass crackers.

    And what are they offering me in return for nearly twice as much money? Not a fucking thing. Damn, I at least expect a reach around when getting it in the ass that hard. They’re not even pretending to offer anything more for nearly twice the price.

    You know what would be super? If they would make it so that you could have different profiles on your account. So that married couples could each have their own queues and such. Or families…with children. But no, Netflix wants you to get two memberships. Or four! Or else have your queue look like Courtney Love’s makeup after a weekend-long bender. And now, if you try to share your membership with someone, you could go to jail! Yay! (Note: people living under the same roof and sharing an account should probably have little to fear…probably. WTF?)

    That would be what we call “a service” for which I would happily pay a little extra. Probably not twice as much, but some. Instead, I’ll be canceling my membership*, before the price increase. I’m not going to pay the same amount for one-DVD-at-a-time and unlimited streaming that I was paying for three-DVDs-at-a-time and unlimited streaming last November.

    Until I see more content I actually WANT to watch, instead of settle for watching, and an appreciable increase in some kind of service you provide? I’m out, Netflix.

    *Technically, I was canceling my membership anyway, but now at least I can go out with a fist of rage!

  • It’s Friday, we should break up – Well…THIS


    I don’t even really know how to begin this post. I’m still in awe (and not in a good way) about the story I just read. And so I’m breaking up with the story, the idea behind the story, the woman in the story, and all the people who are encouraging her.

    I’ve seen a lot of things on the internet in my days. But this? This takes the cake (and the cakefarts).

    Read at your own risk.

    First, I’m shaking my head in disgust that this is in the JOBS section of AOL. Which I’m forced to use because it’s the only email my boss can even sort of understand, even when he tries to paste MS Word files into his email to attach them. I mean, yes, technically this woman is making money, but is this really a JOB?

    I never had anything against fat people. Hell, I’m basically one of them. I mean, not on this level, but I’m certainly no skinny Minnie. However, riding the DART has sort of made me change my mind a slight bit about people who are so fat they can’t get up the two steps to get on the bus. Mostly, because they make me late. Your health is your business, as long as it doesn’t affect me, okay? And I still don’t care about health insurance premiums or anything else, because really, if you want to be fat, that’s your choice. And honestly, I think until we fix the completely broken food industry in this country, nothing is going to change all that much. Until it is cheaper to buy fruit and vegetables than a cheeseburger and french fries, we’re fucked.

    But this? This is pretty disgusting.

    This woman has two children, has been married once, and had a long-term partner once, and she…makes money by getting fatter. She’s using her four-year-old daughter as a food ferry. And, gents, she’s looking for a new partner who is slim and ten years younger than her, so that HE can help feed her, and relieve some of the burden from her daughter.

    This is really the society we live in? This woman makes $100K a YEAR on her website for eating and posting pictures and videos? Yay for capitalism?

    I’m not saying that this woman should be denied health care, although it’s harder to argue that fat people don’t really cause any more trouble when I read that it took 30 people to deliver her last baby. I’m not saying she’s wrong. I’m not saying she shouldn’t have the right to destroy her body if she wants.

    But damn, why would anyone pay to watch that?

    Oh wait…I’ve seen the latest reality television offerings. We’ll clearly pay money to watch people do just about anything.

  • On running.


    Try not to laugh, okay? But I just signed up for half-marathon training.

    I don’t run.

    I have arthritis in my hips. I’m nearly asthmatic. I just don’t run.

    And yet…I’m running.

    Okay, let’s be real. It would be insulting to those who run to call what I’m doing “running.” But I’m out there. My legs are propelling me forward. I’m wheezing. It’s running, damn it.

    What I want to say is this: You people who run? Stop lying. This is not easy, it’s not effortless, and you aren’t “slow.” I’m slow. You wanna know what slow looks like? Come run with me. Do not tell me you’re slow and then tell me you run an 8-minute mile. That may be slow for the Olympics, but it’s not slow.

    Yeah, I’m even looking at you 10-minute milers. And you 12-minute milers. All of you can suck it.

    Oh, I can run at a 12-minute mile pace. For about 8 minutes. Then I will die.

    And the phrase “let your legs do the work” does nothing for me. Nothing. Either I don’t know what that means or you don’t know what that means, but it’s not helping me at all. I’m not running with my hands here. Of course my legs are doing the work. I fail to see how that’s making this any easier, unless you can devise a way that my lungs don’t have to get in on the party.

    Also, that Couch-2-5K you’ve all been raving about? That is bullshit. I’m sorry, but that jump in week three or whatever where you go from running 3 minutes to running 12 minutes? That is not the stuff of couch potato land. And I’m not even a couch potato. And that’s on top of the fact that they pretend that you can do either the distance or time tracks and come out the same.

    Let me break this down for you: If I can run at a 10-minute mile pace? You’re right. I can indeed run three miles in 30 minutes. If I am, however, a couch potato, I probably cannot run a 10-minute mile, NOW CAN I? So if I choose your time method (which is by far the easiest thing to do if I’m running outside and I’ll get to the evil that is the treadmill in a second), I’m just learning to run for 30 minutes and probably ending up about a mile from the finish line.

    No thank you, sir.

    Never mind the depressing fact that I could run for 30 solid minutes and still not cover three miles. Someone get me some happy pills!

    Here are a few of things I have learned in this journey:

    1. Save for a very few out-of-the-box thinkers, there is no one who knows what a “beginner” is in the world of running.

    2. There is such a thing as running too slow, and it is killer on my calves.

    3. When trying to run with someone else, it’s possible that you just might slow each other down instead of speeding each other up.

    4. Not everyone was made for running. If you’re one of us (oh, yeah, I’m a BIG member), this will hurt more than a little.

    5. Read up on running, but then find what works for you. This whole stop/start/run/walk thing? Ain’t my cup of tea. Also, I like distances not time. See above gripe about C25K.

    6. The treadmill is evil. I am not a hamster and I do not want to run for 30 minutes and still be in the same place. No one ever ran a race on a treadmill. Grab your big girl/boy panties and hit the pavement. You’ll thank me later.

    7. Get fitted for shoes. I’m serious when I tell you that shoes are more important than…well, pretty much everything. I mean, besides water and breathing.

    8. Join a local running club. They’re usually pretty cheap, I think, and you could get some cool bonuses; coupons, advice, free races, etc. Plus, then you know there’s someone out there suffering with you (and if you think everyone else is having too much fun, drag one of your friends along). Having scheduled times to run with other people has helped me in the motivation department. Except on Saturday mornings.

    If you think you might want to start running, it’s okay to start slow. Really slow. REALLY slow. Even if you can only run for 30 seconds, you can improve. And running is built with a beautiful reward system. Of pain. No, I keed. I don’t. It’s painful. But it’s easy to tell when you’re improving. A little more time, a little more distance, a little less feeling like death? Those things are all improvements, so reward yourself. With a massage, as all your muscles will be aching.

    And not that you care, but this is my running plan (I’m starting today, so I have no idea if this will work, but I’ve tried all the “expert” advice and just feel like a failure):

    • Figure out how long I can run at my natural pace (which is about a 12-minute mile).
    • Run five days a week. Mondays and Fridays are for resting. Sorry, Christian God, I’m running on Sunday.
    • Add one minute to my time every time I run, if I can. If not, at least run as long as I did the day before. (This will pretty much equal out to me adding on 1/4 of a mile a week, which is pretty typical, and it’s just easier to measure the time outside.)
    • Walk the rest of the way, but do a full 35 minutes every time.
    • Anything I run on the back end is just bonus, and will be done after the 35 minutes.
    • Do this until I can comfortably run a 5K.

    In two weeks, I will also be starting half-marathon training. I know that I can walk 13.1 miles, if I need to, so I know I can finish, even if I’m not a super duper runner yet. The idea of me training for a half-marathon is just…ridiculous. To me. But damn it, I am going to finish it, even if I have to walk.



    Oh, did I mention it’s over 100 degrees outside already? Yeah…death.

  • Monday Morning: DART Story of the Week


    I’m sure that I’ll rant about public transportation more than just on Mondays, but I think for a while, I’ll try to share an awesome story with you every Monday morning. And let’s face it, that’s one less day I have to think about content, right?

    We should get things started off with a bang, too, so I’ll start with the only day that I’ve wished for a car.

    My boss, who can’t remember how to attach files to emails, has a really hard time understanding that the train runs on a schedule. And if I’m not there when it leaves…I can’t get on it. So he’s constantly just asking me one more thing or making endless small talk as I watch my train leave the station.

    The day in question was one of those days. I usually leave the office at 4:00 pm, to catch the 4:13 train. It takes 20 minutes to get to my stop from the office. That day, I had missed the 4:13 and the 4:28 and was running to catch the 4:43. I reached my stop just a little past 5:00 pm and went to wait for my bus. The 5:10 bus.

    Twice in the three months before this day, the 5:10 bus had not shown up at all. Every other time I had to take it, it was very late. And so I sat down to wait.

    And wait. And wait. And wait.

    The buses are on a 20-minute schedule at that time of day. By 5:30, the time for the next bus, I was still waiting.

    And waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

    It was a cloudy, humid day. One of the first hot days of the year. The sky was so swollen with rain, it looked like it might explode.

    Tick. Tick. Tick.

    Finally, at 5:45, when I could have walked home nearly twice (it takes about 25-30 minutes) in the time I had been waiting for the bus, I stalked off toward home.

    About halfway across a parking lot, I saw the bus FINALLY coming around the corner. I ran to catch it at the next stop.

    Safely on the bus, I figured my troubles were over.

    At the next stop, there was a woman waiting. She was not a small woman. She couldn’t climb the two stairs to get on the bus, so the driver had to activate the handicap-person hydraulic system for her. This system is slower than Christmas. The woman finally made it on the bus, sat down and left her walker out in the aisle; she immediately starting having the loudest conversation ever with the bus driver…about coupons. As our bus was pulling back out into the street, the 5:50 bus (of the same route) passed us. It stopped at the next stop and we passed it.

    We, however, got to stop for the CAN! Academy kids. One of whom, who was at most 14, was pushing an enormous stroller with her infant in it. Cue hydraulic system again. When the kids got their kid on the bus, they found themselves at an impasse. The large woman’s walker was still in the middle of the aisle (as was half of herself), and she wasn’t really interested in moving it. The bus driver refused to go until they sorted it out. We sat at the intersection through three lights and the rest of my patience.

    The 5:50 bus passed us once again, as we got underway. We were close to my stop, so I thought, again, that my pain was about to end. I pushed the dingy-bell, requesting a stop. The bus driver…ignored it.

    I jumped up and said, “HEY! That’s my stop.”

    She said, “Well, that other bus is behind me, so I can’t stop there.” It does no good to yell at bus drivers, but keeping my mouth shut was the hardest thing I had done all day.

    I had to get off at the next stop, which meant that I ended up walking half a mile home anyway. And the guy who got off the bus with me?

    “Hey. How you doin’?”

    “Sir, you can fuck off.”

    “Why you gotta be that way?”

    “Because I am having a bad fucking day and you are just going to piss me off.”

    By the time I got home, I pretty much hated everyone. Even myself.

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