This is super-exciting and I’m so happy for you!
This is super-exciting and I’m so happy for you!
The man who says “We’re pregnant” is definitely worse than the woman who calls him out for saying it. It’s weird, dudes. Don’t say it. “We’re going to have a baby” is such a simple way to say it.
This picky eater doesn’t like nuts or eggplant, though a few of these look pretty good.
#6 They’re just going to give you all the gross-ass candy. Ask my parents who got handed all the black licorice and Mary Janes and Bit-o-Honeys.
Why didn’t you just ask her to get it for you when she got home? The one straight from the fridge would be colder than one that had to go for a ride.
The first time I was asked to mow the lawn when I was about 12, I got on the riding lawnmower and purposefully did such an awful job at it that I was never asked to do it again. Sadly this trick did not work with doing the dishes.
I was horrified reading that. The only time I tuck in a shirt is if I happen to be wearing an A-line skirt that skims over the chubbiest part of me, and I think I own one of those kinds of skirts. Otherwise, that shirt tail is staying owwwwwwt.
Oh, I thought that was a non sequitur about bowling.
Oh, trust me, when I worked in a bookstore, the customers certainly knew when I was having a shit day. But I didn’t suddenly lose a percentage of my pay for the week because of it because the customers weren’t paying the majority of my earnings. So my argument is that if a retail employee gives you bad service and they don’t get their pay docked, a restaurant employee shouldn’t either.
Yes. I’d prefer my manager telling me how to do my job, not a customer. If you have a bad server, you call the manager over and explain the situation, not leave a lecture on the back of a receipt.
You’re 100% every day at your job? Because I know there have been days when I’ve shown up to various jobs feeling awful for whatever reason— got yelled at by my parents at home before coming in or a close relative died the day before or I’m feeling under the weather or a jerk grabbed my ass on the street right before I walked in… I’m glad my job doesn’t dock my pay for being a little surly or sad. So I don’t dock servers. I give them the benefit of the doubt and tip a minimum of 15% or 18%. If they’re awesome, I’ll go higher.
That shouldn’t be the point of tipping but tipping is so ingrained in America that the government thinks servers are going to get enough in tips to balance out that $2.13 an hour, so restaurant owners aren’t required to pay their servers any more than that.
This might not look awful if it actually connected to his sideburns but as it is…… wtf
I don’t know. When I was four, I received a bicycle for Christmas that had a shiny white seat. I marked on the seat with a pen. My parents made me wash the pen mark off and took a picture of me sobbing hysterically while scrubbing. I certainly felt shame and knew I did something wrong. I don’t think four is too young to get it.
I’m a vegetarian who doesn’t like eggplant or mushrooms and can’t handle anything spicier than Chipotle’s onions/pepper mix. I will get behind some hummus and tabouleh, though.
Pumpkin and Pumpkin Spice are not the same thing. Most of the things on this list probably just taste like a combo of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves and allspice. I doubt there’s a trace of actual pumpkin flavor in the majority.
I don’t eat salad dressing and have always asked that the big bowl o’ salad come with dressing on the side. So that’s one way to avoid the “overdressed” issue. I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of salad arriving pre-dressed to begin with. Everyone should be free to apply as much or as little (or no) salad dressing as they want.
Which would be awesome if your town has a locally owned Italian restaurant. But many places only have chains.
One waitress was trying to “pie” another waitress for her birthday. The throwee was right behind me and the thrower missed. So they weren’t aiming for me, but they were still throwing pies in a restaurant with customers everywhere.
I like the drawings but the handwriting is really hard to read.
I mean, I get it. He’s like, your standard definition of good-looking, but he does nothing for me. I can appreciate him as not an ugly person, but there’s no charm or spark to his face, it’s like a painting.
I don’t hate kids, but I prefer not to spend my time around them. I seem to be a magnet for kids and then they want to talk to me and touch me and play with me and I’m like, “Nah, it’s cool, you go do your thing and I’ll sit here sipping my beer and staring off into the middle distance.”
It’s honestly not that awful. My high school didn’t have air conditioning and there were more than a few teachers who refused to open the windows during the hot days of September and May/June because they thought any outside noise would be distracting. So we all sat in sweltering rooms. I think the kids wearing pants and the kids wearing shorts/skirts all suffered the heat equally.
This sounds like a fairly standard dress code. My high school did not have air conditioning either. Our shorts and skirts had to hit you on your leg where your fingertips did when you put your arms down. No tank tops or spaghetti straps, no shirts with gaping arm holes on boys. No offensive t-shirts, which could range from Marilyn Manson concert shirts to shirts featuring the stars and bars. No hats. In middle school, the administrators got a little nuts and started thinking everything was gang-related, so kids were no longer allowed to wear Carhardt jackets (and half the students were of the farming persuasion), no Starter jackets, no writing phone numbers on hands. It got bonkers for a bit. As far as a school not being able to tell you what to wear unless they’re buying your clothes, have fun with that logic in the workplace! It honestly sounds like this school just needs to implement a uniform.
Yeah! I’ve been saving change for a year and just rolled it over the weekend— I’ve got a whole $100! Just think, in only 1,270 years, I’ll have as much money as this dude has!
I got a whole lot of female cousins who would be real into that guy. Just saying.
The outfits on the girls at the “funeral”…
Close, Buzzfeed, but Winter beats Autumn by a nose.
Those goddamn butt scooters were the most terrifying thing about the ’90s.
No one’s asking you to pretend anything, just to keep asinine/offensive questions/comments to yourself and Google.
Yo, I’ll stay and clean this house up, dwarves, because mining is fucking dangerous and you are all crazy for doing it.
I like that #4 has a perfect expression of surprise on his face when the ball pops up.
How do you save someone who hasn’t been born? I’m confused.
I dated a guy who, while thankfully he never physically abused me, basically treated me poorly and made me think basic courtesy from him was me acting “too needy” or “self-involved” to the point that he was constantly flirting with other girls right in front of me and not showing up or even calling when we’d made plans. When he finally dumped me, I honestly believed I would never find anyone else, that that was my once chance and it was gone. If he’d never dumped me, I would have stayed with him forever and took whatever he doled out because I thought that’s what I deserved. Now imagine if he’d started hitting me. I probably would have taken it thinking it was a fair trade to be with my one shot at love.
An app for history nerds that would allow you to take a picture of a landmark and then it identifies the landmark and gives you what amounts to the Wikipedia entry about it and also lets you know if you can go inside (if it’s a structure) and if so, the hours/admission, etc.
I give them credit for owning up to the mistake and actually apologizing instead of issuing a “We’re sorry if anyone was offended” blanket tweet. Here’s hoping the company takes a hard look at their social media team and does some more training.
He’s the best.
This is my husband’s trick as well. I just go through the list and purge. Did it a few weeks ago. Feels wonderful.
Went to dinner with my husband to a Mexican restaurant we really enjoyed. As we got up to pay at the register, I felt something hit me in the back and turned around to see a tin pie plate with remnants of whipped cream in it… where was the rest of the whipped cream, you might ask? All down my back. The pie was apparently meant for the server who had just walked behind me, but the thrower missed. The couple ahead of us who had just finished paying and were DRUNK started laughing and were like, “Oh, it’s Rosa’s birthday! That pie was for her! You should be honored!” Meanwhile, the greasy whipped cream (because it was that canned shit and not real whipped cream) was soaking into my shirt and nobody was offering to do anything to help me. So my husband turned to the cashier and said, “Yeah, we’re not paying for dinner…” and the cashier got the manager and the manager was bewildered as to why this was a problem. We tipped our server who had nothing to do with the incident and left, never to return. RIP, El Vaquero. RIP.
Some kids just hate the car and nothing is going to calm them down. I’ve been in the car with a few of those. Songs work for about 7 seconds, then it’s back to screaming because they’re not being held. Sometimes you have to let a kid just cry it out because otherwise you’d be pulling over every 10 seconds to deal with them.