Rant Day! Things That Pissed Me Off, April 2 – April 8

Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the defending champion for the Worst Week of 2018!


It’s a public holiday, I can sleep, I can chill, I’m having so much fun, life is good!


Aaaand they’re turning the water off again. For the entire day this time. Glorious. Nothing I like more than not being able to use my flat that I pay rent for. “But you can use it! Just fill some bottles with water!” You walnut, what d’you think I did? However, buckets and bottles are not the best replacement for an actual flushing toilet. Look, the recession is over, okay, we don’t have to live like it’s the 1930s anymore. Yes, I know, there’s children exploding in Africa that have it way worse than me. Yes, First World Problems. If we can’t even get the First World organised and functioning, how d’you think we’re ever gonna improve the other two, huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

So I do what every entitled Millennial does: I crawl back home to my folks. My parents, who in recent years have morphed into Most Awesome Parents in the Entire World, don’t mind me chilling at their place, getting some work done, or raiding the fridge. Massively better option than hanging around Starbucks for eight hours. Problem is: I’m not good at getting up at 6:30 (waaaaay out my natural rhythm) so I can shower before the water is off until evening, then spending an hour on the subway dragging my huge-ass laptop with me. Not that I didn’t do it, but fuuuuuck did I need sleep.


Still no water to be had in this house. This is the fourth time in two weeks. When are they gonna be fucking done replacing pipes?

Shit, my building is in the paper. No, the actual newspaper. Because this renovation has been going on for nearly three years now.  Hear that? That was the sound of someone’s patience shattering into a million little pieces. And no, it wasn’t me. This time, it wasn’t me. But I’m the nagging pain in the neck who’s calling house management again this week to find out if they know of any other dates this week or in general that the water’s going to be turned off. Because it’s kinda annoying coming home in the evening and squinting around for the tiny bit of paper at the door that’s gonna tell me if I’mma have water tomorrow or no. And what do ya know, house management have no fucking records of anything. They don’t know. They’re gonna tell the foreman to call me back on this (spoiler alert: he doesn’t).

I love the area I live in, but I fucking hate this building. Scaffolding up since spring 2015. And the only thing’s missing is a coat of paint. Meanwhile, down the street, some private company started building an entirely new block of flats in February 2017. People are gonna move in next month. They can build an entire fucking house in 1 1/2 years but can’t renovate one in three years. Someone fucking explain this.

So off back to my parents’ place… which is chill, but the way back in the evening is an absolute nightmare. Subway is late. Okay. I live in a big city, I can live with that. Subway has a problem and won’t stop between a couple stations, one of them happens to be mine. Okay. I live in a big city, I can deal with that. I’ll just get out sooner and take the bus. Subway stands still seemingly forever in every station. I live in a big city, I can deal with that. Subway announces the problem has been solved and we’re going the normal route again. Fucking hallelujah! Praise the gods of public transport! I can get out at my station!

Subway stops in the middle of the route and boots everyone out. This train gets withdrawn from service. Why? No one knows. When’s the next? Ehhhh, it’ll be around. Sometime.

All around me people are sighing, rolling their eyes, calling their loved ones to say goodbye, because this subway station is where we live now. At this point I have been trying to get home for over an hour. This is like one of my nightmares. And when the next train finally arrives, it’s sardine time. Somehow the entire city squeezes into the same carriage as me. And that’s when I realise with horror that I’m standing on the wrong side. I’ll never make it to the right door alive.

Kidding, I do. And just lightly scratched, too! While profusely apologising to everyone on the train. Some of their eyes speak murder. Nothing people hate more than a packed train and someone trying to get out.


Two separate clients decide to play Waiting for Godot with me. Both told me they’re gonna send me their files on Thursday. Guess what’s in my inbox on Thursday: You guessed it, nothing.

Until precisely 9 p.m. And me, being the nicest person on the planet, of course answer that e-mail. And the next one. And the next one. Why am I answering client e-mails until 11 p.m.? Do I hate myself or something? Yes. And also, they had some wishes concerning their files that I have to definitely pay attention to this, yes, you’ll do that exactly like I’m telling you, yes?!

You pay me so I can’t exactly say no.

What’s that? You don’t think it’s professional of me to complain about clients on the internet? There’re of websites dedicated to complaining about customers in the service industry, sit the hell down. Every human needs to vent.


What’s the opposite of the Ancient Mariner? You know, the poem that goes “Water, water everywhere”? Again! Fucking again! How many pipes are there in this godforsaken house that need changing? There has to be a finite number of pipes! Or do we have a wormhole in the basement where the universe’s lost pipes accumulate?

Anyway. Off to the opposite side of town again. Creep into my parents’ apartment like a freaking ninja, I’m so cool.

Start laptop. Laptop kills itself over a Windows update. Freezes completely. Okay, power it down, start it again… Laptop powers up, laptop refuses internet connection. As in, won’t open the fucking menu where the connections are chilling and waiting for one of them to be chosen. Okay, power it down, start it again… laptop has a stroke and only half the screen is working, the other half has the worst case of half-black-half-acid-colours I have ever seen. I can’t see the fucking menu. At this point I just feel like screaming. And launching the thing off the balcony. But the neighbours around here are all elderly people and they get a little shirty when you throw electronics into their gardenias, even if it’s totally justified.

Dad’s doing home office today which is my luck, so I tiptoe over (trying not to make any noise so as not to wake mum down the hall, because mum’s had a wild night featuring riveting historic novels and is still snoring) and ask if I can borrow a computer. My dad, being the engineer he is, quizzes me on what’s wrong with mine for fifteen minutes, then makes a beeline for the thing and starts taking it apart. He has no idea what’s wrong either. So I work on one of his spares, no biggie. He has a dozen. Because he’s an engineer. For an engineer, possessing six different computers of various sizes with various OS is perfectly normal, and I’m starting to see the wisdom in this weirdness. I got all my files in the cloud. No problem. I’m a fucking professional. I feel like crying and pouring a pint of whiskey into my tea. But in a professional way.

Somehow I survive that day, do the usual weekend grocery shopping with Boyfriend – who incidentally is still coughing like he has the Black Plague and refuses to see a doctor – then return to my file… and it’s not in my fucking cloud. This is the version I had this morning, the time stamp is staring me in the face. Like, the only reason cloud technology exists is because it synchronizes automatically, right? So you can use all your files anywhere always, right? Well, someone might wanna tell Microsoft. Because their shit not working. It’s not synchronizing. No, I swear I did everything right. Yes, I saved it to the right folder.

Okay, so maybe I did something wrong, I’m not the most proficient user ever, but doesn’t that make me Microsoft’s target audience? Because their thing is that any idiot can use their products? Methinks they’re not testing on free-range idiots.

I might have accidentally saved the file on his harddrive instead of on my Onedrive, even though I worked online the tnire time. So I, of course, phone my dad. I swear I’ve talked more to my father this week than in the thirty years before that. Explain mine predicament. The problem is, my father has a very specific way of doing things. I tell him, “Okay, I’ve created a shared folder, just find the file, it’s named X, it should have been edited last at around 5 p.m., and drop the file in there.”

He says, “Let me try something.” And I’m glad that my phone plan includes 2000 minutes. Because of course he doesn’t do the simple thing. I don’t get what he wants at first, because he can’t phrase requests. Never did and never will. You have to say things like, “What is the preferred outcome of the action you are looking for?” and then you figure out he’s looking for the Logout button.

So the file is not on his harddrive. It’s gotta be in the cloud. Dad has to check if the thing is really not synchronising. There must be a technological solution. Because this problem could happen again at any time, so there must be a permanent solution. So he checks. And I have to guide him through it, because he’s not the most proficient user ever, either. It’s the blind leading the tone-deaf. That’s the problem when you have two different kinds of autism in the family. Finally have him log in with my account to copy the fucking file I worked on all day over to the folder it should have been in in the first place. And somehow within an hour it actually appears! Glory-fucking-halleluja! But now I’m so exhausted from dealing with this shit that I need to take a Honey Nut Cheerios break! Why do I have Honey Nut Cheerios in my house? They’re pure sugar wrapped in carbs. Yeah, and also they’re the only thing that cheers me up (cheerios me up?).

And at this point I’ve had it with OneDrive. Oh, you don’t wanna work, you half-eaten lobster? Fine. I’ll do it the old-fashioned way. There’s loads of hard-working USB flash drives that would love a job like this.

Shit, at this point I’m ready to get a slate chalkboard. That’s technology you can rely on.

Or maybe I’ll just pour whiskey into my Honey Nut Cheerios and put myself in a coma. But I wanna get paid. So back to work.

Saturday & Sunday

Work, work, work, work, work, Rihannadoesn’thavethisdamnworkload, work, work, work, work, work…

What? There’s no conclusion here, I’m still working! Now shoo, go play or something!


Random Thought Tuesday, Feb 6

Without a doubt the best superpower: manipulating probability. Think about it! What’s the probability that I can fly? Pretty much zero. Okay, let’s up this to 100 %. Woo! What’s the probability of someone giving me a million euros? About 0.5 %. Let’s up that to 100. What’s the probability of me being able to kill someone with a tray? This has super villain possibilities, I like it!

Thoughts You Have While Writing an Academic Paper

Stage 0: Having a topic assigned to you

Okay, this topic. Well, could have been worse. Could do with some instructions, though, but I guess we’re practising academic minimalism again. Time to hit the library!

Stage 1: Primary literature





Weird sex scene.



God, how many more pages?


Dear Author, do you have anything interesting to say in this?


Hella bored.

You, Mister White Heterosexual Protagonist, are a waste of literary resources with your constant existential angsty whining.


Stage 2: Research and secondary literature

Why are all the books I wanted taken? How many people were assigned this topic again? Is this just really popular right now?

Why isn’t this digitalized yet, anyway?

Why isn’t everything digitalized yet?

Why am I not digitalized?

So, online resources… what? Nothing? Try some other search terms…

Nothing? Oh, come on!

There we go, fucking system on the fritz again…

1982?! What the hell kinda old shit is that?

Seriously, library system, would it kill you to open a tab normally?

This one looks promising… no access?! What the hell?

Okay, how about this… 1979, nope. 1985, nope. 1987, also nope. 1974, what the fuck, is there no new research on this writer?

Okay, fuck this, shift the focus of this paper slightly…

There we go. About 25,000 results for the civil rights movement. None of which have anything to do with this writer. You know what, fuck it, I can come up with some bullshit myself.

Stage 3: Reading and selecting quotations

This has nothing whatsoever to do with my topic.

This has nothing whatsoever to do with my topic.

This has nothing whatsoever to do with my topic.

Nice read. This has nothing whatsoever to do with my topic.

One useful quote, sold!

This is okay… but it’s old. Can I quote this even if it’s more than fifteen years old? Welp, I can.

What’s the deal with psychoanalysis in literally everything, why do these ancient fossils see penis everywhere? And what does it say about them that they do? That’s not what the D in Ph.D. stands for, dammit!

So this is the extremely renowned academic my professor likes, definitely have to throw in a quote of his.

Copying machine? Psshh! What you think I have a phone for?

Picture of book page. Picture of book page. Picture of book page. Selfie! Picture of book page. Picture of book page. Picture of book page….

Okay, on to the PDF articles.

New word document, make a nice list of quotations for future reference.

Why won’t this copy and paste!? Come on, I don’t want to type the entire paragraph! Okay, this can be copied and pasted…. aaaand suddenly it’s a completely unreadable font. There’s not enough tea in the world to get me through this.


Hm, this researcher really knows their stuff, but I can’t quote just them. Doesn’t any of the others say the same thing, only different?

You know what, I should just insert a hyperlink and quote the entire article, this some good shit. I wonder what else they wrote….

No, no, focus. Need to select quotes. So which are the most useful?


Stage 4: Writing

Structure… Intro, whatever. Second, characters, because the old fossil who’ll be grading this changed his mind and now he also wants old school general character analysis and narratology like this is some fucking undergrad course. What does this have to do with my topic?! When I said instructions would be nice I meant something useful, like which style sheet you want, or what are your criteria for grading! Okay, next section, my actual fucking topic. Four, no… three subsections. Yeah, I can pull those two into one section. Alright. Conclusion, whatever.

Okay, introduction. “This paper discusses the thing you’re about to read so you might just want to go ahead and do that”.

Nope. I’ll get on with that later.

No one cares about all these minor fucking characters, this is not the focus of my paper, why are you making me do this? I’ll do it later.

Finally, the real stuff. Time to write!

Okay, doing pretty well, and we have… still at least 6000 words to go.



How many times can you say ‘however’?

How many times in a row can you quote the same person?

Maybe I’ll just paraphrase.

Come on, there must be a synonym for this!

Fuck it, quotation it is.

Can’t start two successive sentences with ‘therefore’, dammit, re-write…

I’m so hungry.

Urgh, I want a cake!

“Mentions”, no. “Draws the readers’ attention to”, no. “Deals with”, oh not again. “Discusses”, hell, I just used that! How do you say ‘It’s a thing in this novel’ without actually saying ‘It’s a thing in this novel’?

Is ‘moreover’ even a word?

This sounds stupid. Re-write. Now it sounds worse. Re-write. Oh for the love of… Re-write.

You know what, just quote it.

Seriously, why am I always hungry when I’m writing? How many calories can thinking possibly burn?

What’s that word that sounds like “comprise”?


Maybe I should take a break.

Cat video time!

Somehow the paper did not write itself in the last two hours while I was watching cat videos.

Okay, back to work.

Maybe I should check my e-mail.

Maybe I should check facebook, what if something important is going on?

Actually, this place needs cleaning.

Somehow the paper did not write itself in the last three hours I spent cleaning the entire house.

Why does ‘therefore’ even exist?


If I add emphasis to a quote, do I do that at the end in square brackets or right after the author’s name? I dunno, it looks weird in square brackets.

Why won’t this style sheet tell me how to indicate that I added emphasis?

Why won’t any style sheet tell me how to indicate that I added emphasis?

You know what, fuck it, square brackets it is, even if it looks weird.

Still need 2000 words, time to bullshit my way through character analysis.

“This character…” is really boring. “This character represents…” my will to live throwing itself out of the window. “The main characteristics of this character”, oh my god, you can’t have ‘characteristics’ and ‘character’ in one sentence! “The protagonist is…” obviously an author self-insert. “The female protagonist…” could be replaced with a table lamp because she’s only a love interest, and no straight guy in the history of ever wants to fall in love with an interesting person with like thoughts and ideas ‘n shit.

There’s not enough vodka in the world to get me through this.

I know I had a quote for this somewhere, where the hell is it?!

Things I accomplished today: Won three imaginary arguments. Things I didn’t get done: Work on paper.

I’m going to eat the entire fridge.

Is this English?

Do I even know what I mean?

I don’t know, what is the proposition?

Endemic across regional boundaries, yes, totally.


Maybe I should take a break.

Why is it suddenly two days before the deadline?!

Works Cited Page… I did not actually quote this guy. Neither this one. Nope, this one’s out, too. And this one wasn’t actually that useful. And this one said the same thing as the other guy. Jeez, I hope that’s enough sources.

Wait, where’s that one guy?! Oh, there he is.

Wait, did I forget the one about desegregation?! Oh, there it is.

OH MY GOD, IS THIS THING STILL NOT DONE?! How many more pages do I need?

I don’t wannaaaaa….

Maybe I can get a deadline extension.

But I have this exam the week after, so if I had this out of my way I’d be able to concentrate on the exam a lot better….


Whatever, just type some 700 words on those shitty characters and drop it in the secretary’s office, who the hell even cares.

Wait, why the hell am I only finding this article now?! Oh my god, this is exactly my topic! RE-WRITE!

Are we done yet?

Are we done yet?

Are we done yet?

Conclusion… some bullshit… “As demonstrated”… “clearly illustrates”… “Furthermore”… “Finally, the main point”… Jesus, can’t you just read the fucking thing?

Stage 5: Home stretch

Okay, time to edit out all my mistakes.

Why the hell do I keep typing ‘at least’ as ‘as least’?

Why are keyboards in this order, even?

Who in the hell decided it was a good idea to put ‘i’ next to ‘o’? Which prankster wanted me to keep writing ‘in’ when I mean ‘on’?

Oh fuck, I have this part twice, how did that happen?!

Okay, but now it’s done.


Printer? Hello-ho, printer?



Oh, come on…

Who’s a nice little printer?

Why can’t I just hand in the PDF via e-mail? What year is this, 1403?



Fine, don’t have an office hour, I’ll drop it in the secretary’s office, they’ll get it to you.


See, this is precisely why this kinda shit should to be handled via e-mail!

Oh, so you did get it? Just buried under all the other papers, is it?

Ugh, I don’t even care any more. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the couch, crying into a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.

Wait, did I remember to close the quotation marks in that one quote I shortened?


Random Thought Tuesday, Oct 27

So I’ve been thinking…

Cats. How weird is it that humans keep cats? Like, their big burly dangerous ancestors used to hunt our hairy simian ancestors and now we keep smaller versions of them in our homes, even thought they’re technically no use whatsoever. What is this, some sort of payback? And if yes, whose?

Soul What?

Leaving aside for a moment the pressing question of whether or not a thing like the soul even exists in any scientifically tangible way…

How do I define soulmate? What kind of tired TV trope even is this ‘soulmate’ business?

Okay, so as far as my understanding goes, cultivated by abundant amounts of American movies, a soulmate is That One Person who just ‘Gets’ You (or anyway the person you end up with in act three of every romantic comedy after the Big Terrible Misunderstanding has been cleared up with minimal to zero effort). You know, that instant connection, something-meaningful-to-connect-two-people-for-the-rest-of-their-lives-and-no-one-else-can-ever-be-this-special kind of tired ass bullshit. It’s bullshit because every kind of media would have you believe that your soulmate absolutely has to also be your One True Love.

I like to call this the soulmate romance fallacy. Let’s try an example: Imagine you know this absolutely wonderful person, you’ve known each other for years, you just click, you can talk for hours, if you are apart for a while you fall right back into your old habits when you’re reunited, you have so many things in common, you’re a comfort to each other, you complement and complete each other, you stick to each other’s side in good times and bad alike. But you can’t be in a romantic relationship because you’re both women and heterosexual. Now what? Back to square one?

This obsessive tying of soulmateship and romance is what I see as the principle problem of the entire damn concept. Nothing about the suggestion that a soulmate is the person you like best and that you have the most in common with and that you get along with the best suggests an automatic romantic or sexual connection, yet this is probably the only kind ever to be portrayed in media. So, because I’m notoriously unromantic, I’ll give you some other possible scenarios:

1)Soulmate + Romance

a) You and your soulmate are in a romantic relationship. Everything’s fine, roll the credits.

b) You and your soulmate are in a romantic relationship, but it’s not going well. Despite your many similarities, your sleep schedules crash, you have different ideas what a commitment is due to your upbringing, and your levels of OCD when it comes to household cleanliness are not the same. So what do you do? Break it off like every other relationship that is not working out or stick with it because you feel obligated because after all, this is your soulmate and you’ve seen all the movies and know how it’s supposed to go? Are you still soulmates if you’re not together?

2) Soulmate + Unrequited Love

a) You found your soulmate. For whatever reason, however, you can’t be together. They’re in a relationship. You’re in a relationship. Maybe they’re gay. Maybe you’re not. Maybe you live half a planet away and only communicate online while both of you are happily coupled with someone else. Maybe you live next door but there just is no sexual attraction for any number of reasons. What do you do? Become romantically involved anyway, even though it will not work out?

b) You found your soulmate. You’re in love with your soulmate. They very much do not feel the same for you, even if you are their most important person, they just don’t feel that way about you. So now what? Do you remain friends? Do you get over it? Do you do the awkward fade out? Do you obsessively try to make them fall for you because after all, you’re soulmates? Maybe they are in a relationship with someone else, would you sabotage that so you can be together?

3) Soulmateship vs. The Infinite Irony of the Universe

a) You found your soulmate. But you are not this person’s soulmate. No one ever said soulmateship had to be a mutual thing.

b) Your soulmate was born in a different time than yours, either having died before you two could meet or they are yet to be born, probably when you’re dead.

c) What if your soulmate is not even a human being, but, say, a cat? One of the twenty five you own because you’re convinced you never met your soulmate and opted for the next best thing, namely dying a crazy cat lady/man death? Or maybe it’s a place, or an occupation, or a book, or a culture, or, dunno, horticulture?

d) Your soulmate was born in a different part of the planet, or even on a different planet, and you’ll never meet.

e) Your soulmate is a giant squiggly ten-eyed tentacled alien from planet Zoon but you’ll never find out because you two have absolutely no way of communicating with each other even if you do meet. Star-cross’d lovers indeed.

4) Soulmates and Numbers

a) Where is it set in stone that everyone gets only one soulmate? Who decided this? First door on the right, one soulmate each? I don’t think so. So you have one and then they die, then what? You can never have a soulmate again? You spend the rest of your live in sub-par relationships because, after all, they’re not your soulmates but merely props to fill the void in your sad trampled heeeeaaaarrrrrt, so they can’t possibly be as meaningful?

b) What if you have multiple soulmates at the same time? But not all of them are mutual? And not all of them are in your time or your planet? This is getting pretty confusing.

5) Extra Credit

You’re your own soulmate. Boom!

And that, in a nutshell, is why the entire idea of a soulmate is doomed from birth. Too many variables. Too damn complicated. Also, too damn clichéd, go back to watching The Notebook if that’s what you’re into. Your soulmate sure as hell isn’t.

Rant Day! I’m Getting My Rant Game Back on Track!

Item 1: So I actually got a compliment the other day. In public, no less. And it weirded me out, because, hello, since when do we talk to strangers on public transport?! This is Autism Central, we don’t acknowledge people’s existence until we bump into them! So I’m on the subway, White Lies blaring in my ears, when I feel someone tapping my shoulder. Thinking it’s just a late tourist trying to get to the airport, because that’d be the right line for that purpose, I unplug my ears, turn and say, “Yeah?” And this hipster looking dude with round turquoise Harry Potter-esque glasses says, “Hey, I just wanted to say your glasses are real cool. That’s it, really.” And proceeds back to his corner as I say a slightly baffled, “Okay. Thanks. Yours are nice, too.” And spent the rest of the train ride stewing in my own awkwardness, suddenly questioning the entire universe. Who is this guy? What’s so special about my glasses? Is he doing a Random Act of Kindness kind of project to get more followers on his Twitter feed? Is he tweeting about this now? Is he snapchatting his bros about my glasses?! What just happened?! Does not compute!

Safe to say I’m bad with compliments. Probably because I never get any except from my mom.

Item 2: I got back into Pilates with the end of the heat wave and now I’m hurting in places I didn’t even know could hurt, or, for that matter, were located within my body.

Item 3: I recently found out that my dad and most of the people he knows of the 50+ generation never wrote a single letter of application in their entire life. Not one goddamn cover letter, and those guys ain’t exactly poor. They just knew people who were like, hey, you seem cool, wanna come hang in our brand new office? Like, the first job my dad ever had, he walked out on the second day all like, screw you dickwipes. And it’s like, why are you asking me why I don’t have a proper job when the real question should be, how do YOU even have a proper job?! You didn’t exactly work for it, no pun intended. Fellow millenials, it’s time we take to the barricades! As soon as we can afford any.

Item 4: Mom got her first smartphone and I’m so proud of the progress she made so far, even though she says it’s like having to learn to read all over again. And now dad’s all jealous of me because I’m a better teacher than he is. Right in the generation gap.

Item 5: I seem to be hanging out a lot with my parents, is that normal?

Item 6: I swear job interviews are getting weirder every year. Like, they make you do little tests now like maths and proofreading. What’s next, asking me what kind of animal I’d be if I was an animal? (BTW, the answer is either cat or koala. I excel at sleeping and I’m a picky eater.)

Item 7: The next heat wave is rolling around! Run for your lives! Meet me in Iceland!

P.s.: It’s been over a week and Boyfriend has not noticed the kitten attack.

Random Thought Tuesday, July 14

Y’know, I’ve been thinking…

Piece of advice: If you’re going to wear men’s boxer shorts or boxer briefs as a girl make sure you don’t wear them under skinny jeans, the legs on those fuckers ride up like hell. You gonna be fine with leggings, though.

Now, do you want to know how I know that? I give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.