Brides, Potlucks and Dildo Defense

Don't worry; this is the closest you'll get to an actual, real live dildo on this blog. You have to go elsewhere for that sort of thing.

New Complaints! New Complaints! New Complaints!

Glorious Complaint #1 (Wedding Shenanigans):

"I have a complaint! I have a friend. We'll call her... "Susan." Susan and I were friends 15 years ago, in high school, after which we drifted apart as high school friends tend to do. Susan recently got in touch, more or less out of the blue, to ask for editorial and design help on her wedding invitations, program, and various other wedding-related materials. OF NOTE: Her save-the-date cards had already gone out. Did I receive one? No I did not.

Now, being a nice and generally agreeable person, I made some very helpful notes on her sheaf of wedding-related materials and sent them back to her.

Did I receive a thank you in return? No. Would you like to know what I received, Internet Complaint Registry? WOULD YOU? Because I will tell you.

Susan's response: "I noticed you didn't mark up Section X. I think Section X is where I need the most help - would you take another look?"

Now, I spend most of my day getting paid to do just this sort of work. Furthermore, I'm a fairly busy person with many and varied interests - eating! lying around! hanging out with my cats! watching inane internet videos! I prefer not to give my valuable skills away for free to just anyone who doesn't invite me to her stupid wedding.

YEAH WELL I DIDN'T WANT TO GO ANYWAY SUSAN. You owe me like at least $15 for those edits, too."

Anonymous Internet Complainer

Glorious Complaint #2 (Fucking Work Potluck):

Today we had a work potluck- an afternoon of "fun" and food and staring uncomfortably across a table into the soulless eyes of coworkers we'd rather not be looking at while choking down hunks of chewy, overcooked chicken and limp pieces of broccoli, soberly washed down with room temperature diet Pepsi. You know- the usual.

Anyway, I was looking forward to a break from the monotony of the working day, except that it never happened. Due to coworkerly and managerial stupidity, my team and I were last to be called out to the potluck, and got there just to find that ALL the FUCKING FOOD was FUCKING GONE. How's that lamesauce for ya?

Pot "luck" my butt.

Roommate the Other

Ohhhh, complainers! You do me proud. 

You know, you can do something about these pesky brides and glutinous coworkers. I recommend the "hitting them with a giant dildo when they least expect it" technique. As you can see below, I am skilled at defending myself from hordes of baboons armed only with an excessively large dildo.

Official Quiz Results! Damn Straight. Thanks, TheOatmeal!

But brides and coworkers aren't baboons. Not legally. Nor are there always giant dildos readily at hand to defend yourself from stationery-crazed bride-humans and potluck rapists.

This is where you need to get a little crafty.

For the overstepping-her-bounds bride, I recommend crashing the wedding. Not 'crashing' as in showing up uninvited and unannounced; I mean driving a Cadillac Escalade into the wedding as it is happening. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and if she won't get your subtle internet hints, she will get it when you drive an Escalade over the top of her bridesmaids and extended family members. It will help if you are drunk and crying.

For the coworkers- the dildo attack would get your point across most effectively, but considering that bringing an enormous dildo to work and hitting people with it might get you fired, choosing a less violent approach is key.

Step 1: Buy a lot of shrimp. Doesn't matter what kind.
Step 2: Separate all the shrimp out into individual baggies and store them in a lunch bag.
Step 3: Go to work as usual, but stay late to 'tie up the loose ends' on this or that project.
Step 4: When all your least desirable coworkers and managers have left for the day, sneak into their cubicles and open the top shelf of their desks.
Step 5: Tape one baggy of shrimp to the underside of their top shelf close to the back, close the shelf and leave everything else as you found it.
Step 6: Repeat in the cubicles of everyone you want to watch suffer.

Within a few days, the putrid smell wafting from these cubicles will be so foul and repugnant, and so difficult to pinpoint, that you make actually live to regret doing it...

Soooo... perhaps a dildo would be best, after all.

Where are my beers? And where is my damn chalupa?

Another day, another slew of lamentations, misery, and delicious, delicious complaints.

"Jessica" contacted me recently to lament her lack of beers. Read:

"To be honest, I'm running low on beers (prayers) for the last week or so, can't focus on my work, and finding it almost impossible to separate my concerns from my complaints."

Excellent complaint, Jessica!

Roommate Sarah registered another complaint as well. Thanks to her recent injury, she is an wealth of top-notch complaints. Read:

"I have another complaint! I don't have any chalupas!"

You read that right. Sarah has no chalupas. She is laid up and gimpy and completely chalupa-free. Jessica has no beers. She feels out of focus and can no longer distinguish between a concern and a complaint.
What can we do for these two beer-less, chalupa-less, internet ladies? 

Election Day Complaints

Here is my list of perfectly valid things to complain about on election day:

1. Voter suppression tactics
2. Facebook Comments
3. Assholes wearing American flag t-shirts
4. Having to work and go to school because Election Day SHOULD be a national holiday, but it's NOT
5. Mitt Romney killed my parents, and is an Alien from Outer Space
6. Roommate Sarah says that Mitt Romney is also responsible for her broken foot. He also clearly does not have a mustache. And he is one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.
7. Referring to #6- All these wacky Christian types assuming that *they* and their friends would be the ones to recognize the Anti-Christ, and that they would of course not be fooled by the Anti-Christ unlike everyone else. While I happen to believe that much, if not most, of Christianity itself is pure fantasy (or science fiction, perhaps? Doesn't "God" live in the sky? That is where the aliens come from...), this particular fantasy is akin to the fantasy that everyone has about being one in a small band of survivors during the Zombie Apocalypse. Of Course you and a few of your friends survived! Duh! 'Cause the actual survivors wouldn't be people who knew a lot about subsistence farming- they would be you and your one friend that likes to go camping sometimes and once saw a mountain lion. You know- survivors. Perhaps this is more of an everyday complaint, after all...
8. The possible erosion of our basic rights under a Romney administration
9. I miss the days when you could safely vote for a candidate based on how funny, weird or entertaining their name was. Idaho still does this. Their governor is named (waaaaait for it... not kidding around here... this is for realz!) Butch Otter. If you will kindly follow the link, you'll find ol' Butch situated in the upper right corner, his woman tucked safely into his crotch. A Man. If this was 1988 and I wasn't 7 years old, I'd totally vote Butch.
10. The last complaint of the Election Day- namely, not enough people are registering official complaints! What, nothing to complain about? Seriously? Can I come live where you live, 'cause it must be nice. No complaints!

What a bunch of jerks.

Broken Feet and those Damn GIFs

Last week, Sarah the Roommate registered a complaint with the Official Internet Complaint Registry. It read:

"I would like to register a complaint! It has to do with my foot. You see, it is No Ordinary Foot. It is a FUCKING FOOT. A FUCKING BROKEN FOOT. It has me hopping hither and thither at all hours of the day and night. It throbs as it pleases. It won't let me drive or walk or skip or stand on my tippy toes or even set it on the floor to be used as a convenient kickstand to prevent tipping over and breaking every damn thing in my path, including but not limited to all other non-foot bones.

My FUCKING FOOT, in other words, is an abusive tyrant worthy of the most withering gazes. However, no amount of looks that could kill have sufficiently killed the throbbing and so I've resorted to prescription pain medication and internet complaining. To no avail."

-Sarah

Sarah, I hear your complaint. It is a valid one and has been duly registered. Having a broken foot would be truly unfortunate, painful, irritating, and 100% complain-worthy. I myself have only ever broken a toe, and that took weeks to register as being actually broken. Breaking a whole entire foot would totally blow giant chunks. Like, I'm puking a little bit right now just thinking about it.

In honor of your broken foot, I have posted a few internet pictures of other people's broken feet below. Know that you are not alone, Oh Roommate Mine.

The Origins of the Internet Complaint Registry

HolyCrapANewBlog!

See, Internet peoples, I have a problem. It is this; while the internet affords one many opportunities to complain, bitch, moan, whine and grumble, it rarely does so in one place. A place dedicated to the fine art of complaining, a place where one does not have to fear being judged for boo-hooing, a place where one can pout and whinge to their heart's delight...

THIS IS THAT PLACE.

I became aware of the need for an internet complaint registry when I posted a complaint to Facebook a few months back and was promptly swamped in other people's complaints. Here is a snippet of that conversation: