

This is me with unsaved files in VS Code. Every so often I’d go through and try to clean them up but it stayed around 150 files. I got a new laptop a couple of weeks ago and I’ve slowly crawled back up to about 15-20.
This is me with unsaved files in VS Code. Every so often I’d go through and try to clean them up but it stayed around 150 files. I got a new laptop a couple of weeks ago and I’ve slowly crawled back up to about 15-20.
The red nub on IBM/Lenovo laptops is far superior to a touchpad
I absolutely hate the package management in it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found a cool python project, downloaded it from GitHub then tried to install requirements. And it turns into a huge nightmare of trying to find compatible packages. It’ll be like you need wheel v3.1.0 so I try to install that,.then it’s like no you can’t do that because it’s not compatible with numpy v79.84.1 that you have installed. So then you search and try to find which version is compatible, then install they go to install wheel again,.and it’s like no you need pandas,.so you install pandas but it like sorry I’m not compatible with the version of numpy you installed.
A couple of years back I fell asleep at like 8 PM and slept through to 6:30 AM. Then I fell back asleep around 8 or 9 and slept until noon. When I woke up I didn’t feel tired at all. This had been the first time I felt like that in I don’t know how long
I was watching Best of the Worst from Red Letter Media, the episode where they watched Blood Debts. My wife walked in the room to give me a kiss before going to bed, right when she leans over, lips puckered, ready for a kiss, Mike’s voice breaks through and we both here, “faced with a strong desire to watch a Filipino rape film.” She just freezes, gets this look on her face, and starts cracking up, which then made me start laughing. It was one of those situations where each of our reactions kept making the other person laugh harder and harder.
The clip - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3NTaoheLMvM&t=3560s
We’re currently under contract to sell our house in Texas. 2 more weeks until we close. My wife has been up in CT looking for houses, but the market up there is insane. We’ve put in 6 offers on houses and lost 3 of them. Still waiting to hear on the others. But house or not we are out of Texas at the end of this month.
I honestly believe this one is a gorilla marketing gimmick. Like they purposely went back and removed references to it so any time someone brings up the Mandela Effect their name gets mentioned.
My company has standardized document templates and none of them have Oxford commas. I will go through and add them any time I have to use one.
First thought was, you don’t need to update an Azure. Second thought was tech people really aren’t good at coming up with unique names.
Sushi
My wife and daughter call her su or more commonly su-su
If she’s in trouble then it’s Sushi Maki Roll <Our last name>
I call her Stink Butt because she takes the smelliest poops I’ve ever had the displeasure of smelling and then doesn’t bury them in the litter.
I look him up and down. I’ve seen it a thousand times. He is all bravado and boot jingles. Dressed like he stepped straight out of a Western Warehouse. I could tell those shiny boots had never stepped foot on a ranch. Just puffed-up pride wrapped in a cowboy hat, trying to mask the desperation of someone who’s never been anywhere else. And doesn’t realize he is the one getting fucked by the system.
“You’ll be seeing me soon, huh?” I say, watching his eyes flicker. “Let me tell you something, partner. If you don’t straighten out that attitude of yours—if you don’t drop this little act and do your job like a professional—I’ll find someone else to sell this house.” I let the words sink in before delivering the knife twist. “Maybe a dame.”
His mouth opens, then shuts.
“Oh yeah,” I continue, my voice smooth as the whiskey he probably pretends to drink neat. “I’ll bring in one of those ‘progressive libs’ you despise so much. Maybe someone fresh out of California, with a Prius and pronouns in her email signature. Someone who’ll take your commission, your sale, and leave you standing in the dust.”
His face twitches. The bravado cracks. He swallows hard. His grip loosens on my hand.
“Good talk,” I say, finally letting go of his hand. “Now get to work.”
My wife and I sat across from each other, eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion you don’t shake with a good night’s sleep. The school had made its choice—they put our boy in harm’s way, ignored the words on paper that were supposed to protect him. An IEP, they called it. Just another stack of bureaucracy to them. To us, it was supposed to be a shield. But shields don’t work when the people holding them don’t give a damn.
So we made our choice too. He wasn’t going back. Not to that school. Not to a system that saw him as a problem instead of a person. We are taking matters into our own hands—homeschooling.
And Texas? We were done. Finished. Washing our hands of it. This place chews people up and spits them out, and we aren’t waiting around to be next. Somewhere out there, there had to be a place where education means more than lip service, where kids aren’t just numbers on a budget sheet.
Tomorrow, we meet the realtor. Sell the house. Cut the ties. A clean break. A new start. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll find a place where they gave a damn.
Tums or Pepto will give you instant relief, while you wait for the proton pump inhibitors to kick in.
Karma - there are way too many shitty people who just continue to be shitty because nothing ever comes back to bite them. Meanwhile, people who actually try to help are kicked around the most.
Zebra F-402 - I write really small and their fine tips flow great but don’t run. Plus they’re cheap enough that I don’t care when my wife or kids steal them out of my desk.
Isn’t everyone’s subconscious from Philly?
A few year back, I took my daughter to an urgent care clinic. She was around 2 or 3 years old. While in the waiting room their office phone rang and my daughter jumped and went, “What was that?” because she had never heard a landline ring before.
Inserts disk: click, click, click
“fuck, I knew I should have put that on a CD-RW.”
That is way too nicely built. For the true Gen-X feel you need cinderblocks and plywood.