Darumaka
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    • Darumaka

      A friend of mine in high school had similar combination skin to mine (zitty forehead and chin and dry cheeks) AND her family had the money to send her to a dermatologist, who recommended she use an exfoliating face wash with salicylic acid then treat the breakout prone areas with a benzoyl peroxide topical.  I copied her by trying Garnier Clean+ daily invigorating scrub in the shower and then using Clean and Clear Persa-Gel 10% benzoyl peroxide on my chin and forehead every single night, and in the morning I try to only wash my forehead and chin with the walmart knockoff of Neutrogena oil-free acne wash, and it’s worked great.  I used to get big, painful zits on my chin and lots of tiny ones on my forehead and now I only get them right around my lady times when it’s semi inevitable. Occasionally, around said lady times or when I’m just feeling a bit more oily than usual, I’ll use the Garnier Clean+ blackhead eliminating scrub in the shower instead since it has a higher percentage of the salicylic acid but it’ll suck the life out of your skin so it’s best to go sparingly with it.

    • Darumaka

      I would like to say that as a former McD’s employee, albeit an American one, numbers 1 through 4 are bullshit. No one I worked with gave two fucks about making salt-free fries, it takes like 3 minutes to cook a basket, and as they’re going you just drop a biscuit tray liner in the fry bin and rinse the scoop, easy peasy.  Happy meals took no longer to assemble than a regular combo meal, although it did suck when mommy asked little Jimmy if he wants a cheeseburger or nuggets and Jimmy’s in the back seat screaming that he wants ice cream and nothing else, and mommy won’t make a parental executive decision for him.  Fish sandwiches sure as hell aren’t made to order, at least they weren’t when I worked there. In fact if I wanted a fish sandwich on my break I’d cook it myself because I knew the patties in the UHC had been there for a bit. And again, at least at my store, number 14 is also wrong. Every single bit of waste food at the end of the night was counted by a manager and then thrown in the trash, and only exceptionally nice managers let the employees take any leftovers. I had to beg to be allowed to take some cooked burger patties to the stray cats that hung around the parking lot. Plus who would want to eat the disgusting, soggy, glued together burger that’s sat in the heated buffer thingy for 2 hours and has probably been breeding E. coli, or the dried out pies that have been baking in the dispenser for 8 hours… that shit’s nasty. /pedant out It was fun making up out own food though, as in 16. Tip to any McD’s employee reading right now: chop up a piece of grilled chicken on the grill and pour a packet of buffalo sauce over it. Fry it with some red onions (do they still have those?) Toss a tortilla on a scraped grill platen and sprinkle some shredded cheese on it. Once all the sauce has cooked off the chicken, take the tortilla off and add toppings of your choice, I liked shredded lettuce and tomato. Maybe more, fresh red onion. Add the chicken and drizzle on a packet of ranch nugget sauce, then wrap the whole thing up. That was what I lived on when I worked there.

    • Darumaka

      Seriously, does no one actually watch the people make your food? I used to work at McDs too and people would watch me like a hawk while I made their mcflurries, like they thought I was gonna gyp them on toppings or something. My favorite folks to make mcflurries for were the kids who came in late at night after smoking. Our McDs was connected to a gas station so they knew if they bought a candy bar from next door and asked nicely, I’d blend it up in their mcflurry for them. Learned some weird concoctions that way.

    • Darumaka

      Mine’s fairly mild, and may or may not have actually been perpetrated by Time Warner but one of their contracted peeps, but one summer I was home alone and my lovely but rather slow grandfather came by to mow our lawn because he really fucking loves mowing grass. My stepdad warned him the day before to look out for a buried cable of some kind that we noticed had been exposed due to erosion. We hadn’t had the chance to call the city to come look at it and tell us exactly what it was so we could call the appropriate company to come fix it. He swore he would and just to be sure my stepdad stuck a couple of brightly painted stakes in the ground near it. I was watching TV, messing around on my computer when suddenly the cable and internet go out. My grandpa had mown right over the stakes and chopped the line in half, which we now knew was the cable line. I ran outside and stopped him and called my stepdad, who called Time Warner to let them know what happened. They had a crew out the next day to replace and re-bury the line. Again, I was home alone, and I watched from the window as they used the ditch witch to dig a furrow for the new cable line. Next thing I knew, the power went out. They had cut the buried power line to the house while they reburied the cable line. Again, I ran outside to stop them and called my stepdad, who I swear I heard facepalming repeatedly over the phone. It was an… interesting week, to say the least.

    • Darumaka

      My girlfriend and I were living with her mom in SC. We were both absolutely ecstatic this particular evening because we’d just gotten a call from our realtor. We’d been looking for our own place and finally put in an offer on a cute starter home, and she’d called to let us know it’d been accepted. I’d just hopped into the shower, on top of the world and thrilled with life, until I glanced up and saw the HUGE MOTHERFUCKING PALMETTO BUG (those giant flying cockroaches) staring down at me from the top corner of the shower. I squealed and leapt from the tub, threw a towel around myself and ran to our room to tell her and she just laughed. She’d grown up in Charleston, where palmetto bugs are very common, so she knew how to deal with it. I followed her back to the bathroom and watched her try to coax the thing into a cup so she could set it free. Now, when I first saw it I did not know it was a palmetto bug. I grew up in NC and had not had the pleasure of encountering one yet. I did not know giant flying horror roaches were so common. So when she first started trying to brush it off the tub wall and that motherfucker flew at her I am unashamed to say I screamed again and ran, abandoning her to her fate. She “saved” the palmetto bug, setting it free outside, and laughed at my pansy ass for the rest of the night.

    • Darumaka

      Good luck finding an artist who is willing and able to do the straight line tattoos like the spine and hand outlines. My girlfriend wants a simple 5 line armband around her upper forearm and she’s either been told all the artists in the studio flat out refuse to do it, which I can respect because they don’t feel comfortable with their abilities doing an admittedly difficult piece, despite its simplicity; or she’s been given an exorbitant price for it in order to deter her from agreeing to have it done at the studio.  That said, anyone who knows of a studio in the Rock Hill, SC/Charlotte, NC area who specializes in tattoos like that, hit me up!

    • Darumaka

      Forgive me, it’s been a bit since I read the books, but the gist of it is Percy starts working in the Ministry after Hogwarts and is promoted to work very closely with Cornelius Fudge after the Triwizard Tournament. His father thought that this was because Fudge wanted to use Percy to keep tabs on Harry and the Weasleys, since Fudge didn’t believe Voldemort had returned and thought they were all trying to undermine him as the Minister, and that was the only reason he was promoted so soon at such a young age.  Understandably, this upset Percy quite a bit both because he was quite loyal to Fudge (and also believed that Voldemort hadn’t really returned,) and because he felt like his accomplishments were being belittled, so there was a big fight and estrangement from his family. Here’s a link to Percy’s page on the wiki, in case I didn’t word so good or I missed something: http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Percy_Weasley

    • Darumaka

      The worst hangover I’ve ever had was about 2 years ago, when I was 26. My girlfriend and I were hanging out at a friend’s house with a big group. The goal of this evening was to “level up” our newly-turned-21 friend’s liver by basically drinking all night. We were keeping track of how many shots each person had done with a big piece of lined paper stuck to the fridge. I didn’t like how I was greatly lagging behind everyone in my shot count, and how I did not feel that I was as drunk as everyone else, so I decided to do about 5 or 6 shots of various liquors by myself in the kitchen while the rest watched something on TV. Honestly, the party ended fine. I was well and truly drunk but did not feel any incoming hangover from it.  The rest of the bad decision happened when we got home at 1 am and continued to drink (my girlfriend was the DD, so now that we were home she wanted to enjoy a few beverages herself.) We’d made a big pitcher of sangria earlier in the day for the hell of it, and decided to enjoy a few glasses before bed. I was already basically shitfaced at the time, so a few glasses of wine sounded like no big deal. We finished off the pitcher together, and went to bed. The next morning I wanted to d i e. It was the first and last hangover I ever had where I could not physically get out of bed. Every moment of vomiting/blowing up the toilet was preceded by 10 minutes of me screaming at myself internally to get the fuck out of bed before I puked in it. The party was Saturday night, and I spent all of Sunday in bed and had to call in sick to work on Monday because I was still not fully recuperated.  I don’t care whether you believe that mixing your drinks is an old wives’ tale or not, but to this day I will not have anything else but what I start the night out drinking. If I have a beer first, I will have beer and nothing else, liquor first, liquor all night, etc. And there will be no more drinking competitions in my future. Just remembering this makes my stomach turn inside out.

    • Darumaka

      I just want to say to those people who keep shouting about FURST AMENDMENT RIGHTS GOSH DARNIT: those of us who no longer or never did eat at chick-fil-a because they donate to hate groups are not suggesting they do not have this right. I don’t give two flying fucks if the guy who runs the place believes that traditional marriage is the only “right” marriage, that Reptilians are in the government, or that we all originate from a giant noodle-based god in the sky.  What I DO care about is preventing my meager dollars from going to fund these hate groups by patronizing an establishment who donates a portion of their profits to support them. Do I think this will ever bring said establishment to its knees? No, but I can go to bed at night, secure in the knowledge that I’m not knowingly funding an organization that thinks I, as a gay woman, need to die or be “cured” by a man or otherwise don’t deserve the same rights as a human being on this planet just because I happen to prefer women to men. This is my right as well. Do I really care if anyone else eats at chick-fil-a? Not really. What I don’t understand is how when oreos aired their pro-gay commercial and traditional marriage supporters everywhere immediately claimed they would never buy a single oreo product again - as is also their right, not to support a company they know to be contributing to a cause they do not agree with - they did not realize that is exactly the same thing marriage equality supporters are doing when it comes to chick-fil-a. Funny how it works like that.

    • Darumaka

      YOU need to read the law because it specifically states that tipped workers can be paid as little as $2.13 an hour (at least that was the amount the last time *I* read it) because it’s expected that their wage will be made via the tips. That appallingly low base rate of pay is enough to pay the taxes on their paychecks, if they’re lucky. So when you don’t tip, the waitstaff is essentially either working for free, or if they’ve had a bad night full of shitsnacks like you, paying for the dubious pleasure of serving you.

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