I just read...
...something someone sent me about men. There was one line that hit me particularly sharply. It said, “Don’t tell a man everything about yourself, he’ll use it against you later. Damn...that sure is true.
Every man that I’ve ever been with long enough to get into any heated arguments has, without fail, thrown something in my face that they knew would be acutely painful to bring up. My ex husband would actually throw a sexual assault in my face when he wanted to lash out and saying that I was asking for it, and he would toss out some hideous “loose women” aphorism. I never told another soul about that until now.
I always assume that the men who read this are special and very sweet because they must be...right? Why else would they enjoy reading this? I may have been a tad self absorbed when I thought that...guys are guys after all. So, now I’m going to assume that some of them would probably behave that way. My ex could be one helluva nice guy and he did that crap. Why wouldn’t other nice guys? Oh well, that’s all. I just thought I’d point it out...I’m don’t feel like banging that particular drum so I’m gonna just leave it like that and let you think about it.
In the meantime, I tried to e-file myself last night. I finally got to the point where you had to print something, I didn’t know it was an option and I didn’t have the printer hooked up so I had to stop. Damn, that was some tedious work. I actually did it twice, but the first time it just dropped off the computer and asked me to begin again. Yeah, right.
So, I went to another site to do it and that’s when I needed the printer. I could never work with numbers all day, or computers for that matter. I have a sister who works with numbers and computers. I don’t know how those people make it through the day without blowing the computer up. Postal workers seem to run amok but you don’t hear about too many accountants losing their grips. I don’t get that.
When you e-file, you don’t send in your W-2 forms...you just recreate them online. Look at those suckers...there’s a million boxes on each one and every piece of information has to be transferred to the computer and that’s a bitch. The site kept a running tally of my refund. The refund was up to 37 hundred dollars when I added the alimony. That cut it in half. Imagine my disgust.
Oh well. Half of that will come in handy. I have a bunch of bills to pay and things to take care of before I move so it’s nice to have. But, I’m not going to pay bills with all of it, I need a pedicure badly. I’ll treat myself to a couple of prescriptions that I couldn’t afford, pay a few bills and then I’ll be broke again. Life is just so fucking delightful.
I don’t worry about bills as much as most people because I realized years ago that there are times when you just can’t pay them so you get by the best you can and pay them when you can. Apes and gorillas are supposed to be less intelligent than a man but somehow they get by without paying for a three hundred dollar gas bill and I’ve never seen one bitch about it. I hate money arguments...they’re so stupid because you will NEVER turn the argument into cash so there really is no benefit to to bickering in the first place. But everyday, people all over the world argue about money. There have been societies that used salt for legal tender and we use paper. It’s all so arbitrary and there’s never enough of it, whichever currency you’re using. So, I refuse to participate in those arguments. I suppose if a guy had an audience to laugh at my sarcasm and applaud when I said something really clever I would consider it. But, I would have to receive a share of the take.
Now I have to go outside and look at tires. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but the tires are small enough that I can check the whole thing easily. I’m bad with the insides of cars. I can point out a 67 Firebird or a 64 and a half Mustang, but I can’t fix a flat. It looks easy enough to do but men put the metal things on. And, as I mentioned months ago, men apply far too much torque to anything that they screw shut or on that I can’t even open a jar of fricking pickles, there’s no way I’ll get those fuckers off the tires. I change a tire the old fashioned way...I stand at the back of the car with a couple of pieces of the jack and look confused. Works EVERYTIME.
See ya later,
Meg
...something someone sent me about men. There was one line that hit me particularly sharply. It said, “Don’t tell a man everything about yourself, he’ll use it against you later. Damn...that sure is true.
Every man that I’ve ever been with long enough to get into any heated arguments has, without fail, thrown something in my face that they knew would be acutely painful to bring up. My ex husband would actually throw a sexual assault in my face when he wanted to lash out and saying that I was asking for it, and he would toss out some hideous “loose women” aphorism. I never told another soul about that until now.
I always assume that the men who read this are special and very sweet because they must be...right? Why else would they enjoy reading this? I may have been a tad self absorbed when I thought that...guys are guys after all. So, now I’m going to assume that some of them would probably behave that way. My ex could be one helluva nice guy and he did that crap. Why wouldn’t other nice guys? Oh well, that’s all. I just thought I’d point it out...I’m don’t feel like banging that particular drum so I’m gonna just leave it like that and let you think about it.
In the meantime, I tried to e-file myself last night. I finally got to the point where you had to print something, I didn’t know it was an option and I didn’t have the printer hooked up so I had to stop. Damn, that was some tedious work. I actually did it twice, but the first time it just dropped off the computer and asked me to begin again. Yeah, right.
So, I went to another site to do it and that’s when I needed the printer. I could never work with numbers all day, or computers for that matter. I have a sister who works with numbers and computers. I don’t know how those people make it through the day without blowing the computer up. Postal workers seem to run amok but you don’t hear about too many accountants losing their grips. I don’t get that.
When you e-file, you don’t send in your W-2 forms...you just recreate them online. Look at those suckers...there’s a million boxes on each one and every piece of information has to be transferred to the computer and that’s a bitch. The site kept a running tally of my refund. The refund was up to 37 hundred dollars when I added the alimony. That cut it in half. Imagine my disgust.
Oh well. Half of that will come in handy. I have a bunch of bills to pay and things to take care of before I move so it’s nice to have. But, I’m not going to pay bills with all of it, I need a pedicure badly. I’ll treat myself to a couple of prescriptions that I couldn’t afford, pay a few bills and then I’ll be broke again. Life is just so fucking delightful.
I don’t worry about bills as much as most people because I realized years ago that there are times when you just can’t pay them so you get by the best you can and pay them when you can. Apes and gorillas are supposed to be less intelligent than a man but somehow they get by without paying for a three hundred dollar gas bill and I’ve never seen one bitch about it. I hate money arguments...they’re so stupid because you will NEVER turn the argument into cash so there really is no benefit to to bickering in the first place. But everyday, people all over the world argue about money. There have been societies that used salt for legal tender and we use paper. It’s all so arbitrary and there’s never enough of it, whichever currency you’re using. So, I refuse to participate in those arguments. I suppose if a guy had an audience to laugh at my sarcasm and applaud when I said something really clever I would consider it. But, I would have to receive a share of the take.
Now I have to go outside and look at tires. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but the tires are small enough that I can check the whole thing easily. I’m bad with the insides of cars. I can point out a 67 Firebird or a 64 and a half Mustang, but I can’t fix a flat. It looks easy enough to do but men put the metal things on. And, as I mentioned months ago, men apply far too much torque to anything that they screw shut or on that I can’t even open a jar of fricking pickles, there’s no way I’ll get those fuckers off the tires. I change a tire the old fashioned way...I stand at the back of the car with a couple of pieces of the jack and look confused. Works EVERYTIME.
See ya later,
Meg
posted by Meg Kelso | 5:44 AM
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