I’ve had it with these Monkey Fighting Snakes, on this Monday to Friday plane!

OMFG, I hate everything today.

The washer in our building has been broken since well before Christmas. Once it had been broken for two weeks, they magnanimously decided to allow H a key to a different building to use their washer. Alas, they kept his driver’s license (they claim they gave it back, but it’s fucking nowhere to be found) so now we can’t do any more laundry until H gets a new one from secretary of state–or they actually fix the goddamn thing.

See, our lease says we live in a building with a washer and dryer. They don’t give a shit. When I call to say “What’s the holdup, it’s been over a month,” they also don’t care. There’s no recognition that “Oh, that’s gotta suck for people who don’t drive to not be able to do their laundry.” Nope. It’s like they’ve never worked a customer service gig before, and have no idea that sometimes–people just want to know that you give a rat’s ass about fixing their problem. I shouldn’t have to explain, for example, that if they don’t have an answer for me, they need to call me back when they get one.

Also, I had to buy more socks.

I also have a client driving me insane, and who honestly seems to think that I’m sitting around doing nothing any time I’m not doing work for him. He knows very little about the book market or the industry in general–but refuses to take the advice of those who do. I foresee that he’s going to pay me to handle his marketing, then blame me when the book doesn’t sell–even though the reason it won’t sell is that nobody is going to pay $20 for an eBook by someone they’ve never heard of, on a topic that’s on its way out. Cripes!
The AHS finale tonight (which I’m SURE will disappoint), and the general tenor of the internet being…well, it’s the internet. I imagine I don’t have to explain.

I’m not gonna go on and on about this, but if you think that within 48-hours of David Bowie’s death is a good time to call him a “kiddie rapist” because he may have had sex with an underage groupie in the 70’s…fuck you. You couldn’t possibly care about that or you’d have brought it up sometime in the 70’s, or 80’s, or 90’s, etc. But no, you clickbaity sons of bitches can’t wait to garner a few pennies per click off the not-yet-cold body of a man who–even after he knew he was dying, put together something amazing for his fans.
Let me just say that while there is certainly the potential for abuse when adults have sex with teenagers–not all teen/adult sex is rape (you’ll notice that ages of consent vary from state to state) and that people don’t magically go from frightened child-victims to fully competent, informed adults upon the occasion of their 18th birthday (or 17th, or 15th, depending on the state). Moreover, I’m tired of people dictating how other people’s sexual experiences should be judged…or the idea that they should be judged at all. If an individual asks for your help or guidance, you should give it. If they haven’t, stay the fuck out of it.

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