We just found out our mini-split is the super budget model and it won't do heat. It does have the 'heat' button on the remote, which inspires you to try before you spend an hour googling specs.
We just found out our mini-split is the super budget model and it won't do heat. It does have the 'heat' button on the remote, which inspires you to try before you spend an hour googling specs.
Location: Really deep in the heart of South California Gender:
Posted:
May 2, 2024 - 3:34pm
Isabeau wrote:
No. You haven't.
In fact the recent posts in this forum have given me insight and food for thought.
I can't express how much this level of authenticity means. Whatever fekkin gender.
God, I love you guys.
I love you girls!
Oh wait.
Can I say that without getting into trouble?
Sad stuff. Much more than I've been through.
I would never laugh at those situations. Respect. I was taught well.
A noose? Wow! Some more info?
Loved the moths.
My highlights (low-lights) that stuck out...
â64- â67: Crashed the Schwinn some more. Quit crying from that point on. I was becoming a âmanâ. No room for those antics.
March 2004: My dadâs funeral. From that point on... I cry a bit more. Thanks dad.
March 2017: My favorite cat, Cuda, died.
October 2018: My momâs funeral. Thanks mom.
The last 10 years or so: Songs.
It started with âPast Imperfectâ by Lloyd Cole. Now it seems to be more.
Most songs by The Byrds. âWar Was In Colorâ by Carbon Leaf. âStar Witnessâ by Neko Case. âNever Found The Timeâ by America. âPropinquity (I've Just Begun To Care)â by Michael Nesmith. âFor Emily, Whenever I May Find Herâ by Simon & Garfunkel.â Never Comes The Dayâ by The Moody Blues.
Thereâs more. But I think Iâve embarrassed myself enough for now.
No. You haven't.
In fact the recent posts in this forum have given me insight and food for thought.
I can't express how much this level of authenticity means. Whatever fekkin gender.
God, I love you guys.
Location: Really deep in the heart of South California Gender:
Posted:
May 1, 2024 - 2:25pm
pilgrim wrote:
Oh, make no mistake, I wear this with pride and no negativity was intended
and it may be time to pull this out of the archives:
Remember When You Still Knew Why You Were Crying?
Seems like a long time ago doesn't it? Believe it or not, your sobs once had a direct cause-and-effect relationship with occurrences in your life. Even more surprising, you used to be able to tell when the crying started and stopped. Why not use today to make a list of all those moments in your life when you can remember there being an obvious empirical impetus for your blubbering. Wherever the list stops, draw a line. That's the line between the ability to dream and the feeling that no one ever listens to anyone ever.
Just to give you a template, here's a log mailed in by a 34 year old accounts receivable administrator/former set designer, single. Look familiar?
Age five: Fell down.
Age seven: Ran headlong into the steel bumpered corner of a supermarket produce display.
Age eight: Shoved by dad.
Age nine: Fell off bike.
Age nine and a half: Fell down.
Age eleven: Terms Of Endearment starring Debra Winger, Shirley MacLaine, and Jack Nicholson.
Age twelve: Forbidden to stay out past 10:30.
Age fourteen: Confessed to authorship of secret admirer letter. They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: Fistfight. They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: Funeral.
Age fifteen: Whole world total bullshit.
Age sixteen: Broken up with.
Age sixteen: Confession to authorship of secret admirer letter. Love requited, but not before they all pointed, they all laughed.
Age sixteen: Broken up with.
Age sixteen: Intercourse.
Age sixteen: Confession to authorship of secret admirer letter. Love unrequited, but with discretion.
Age sixteen: Abortion.
Age seventeen: Object of undying love slept with nemesis while I was on vacation with parents. They all pointed, they all laughed.
Age nineteen: Whole world racist.
Age twenty: Drunk. Fell down.
Age twenty: Hit thumb with hammer while stoned. Laughed real hard.
Age twenty: Tripped on acid. Fell down. Devoured by moths.
Age twenty three: Funeral.
Ages twenty three through twenty five: Drunk. Loved friends.
Age twenty five: Broken up with. Began doubting relevance of self to passage of time.
Age twenty six: Saw dog with limp.
Age twenty six: Saw children playing.
Age twenty six: Saw couple unpacking moving truck.
Age twenty six: Saw Titanic starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet.
Age twenty six: Saw garbage. Everywhere.
Age twenty six: Saw sunrise through noose.
Age twenty seven: Just too tired.
Age twenty seven: Found photograph.
What's your list?!
Sad stuff. Much more than I've been through.
I would never laugh at those situations. Respect. I was taught well.
A noose? Wow! Some more info?
Loved the moths.
My highlights (low-lights) that stuck out...
Summer of â59: Pushed the starter button on my parents â53 Pontiac. My mom said âWhen your father gets home... youâre going to get it. Cried before the swat. And a little after. Never did that again.
Summer of â61: Threw some gravel at a passing car with my brother at my parentâs friendâs house on a country road in the early evening. The car turned around and we got busted. I was so embarrassed I cried. When we got home... no swat. My dad set us down and gave us a lesson on respecting other peopleâs property. Ever since then it was ingrained into my mind to never mess with other peopleâs stuff. And never take from them. Thank you dad.
Sometime in â62: Went to my dadâs friends âsand pitâ/ rock crusher plant to practice shooting bow and arrows.
I somehow got fascinated with the rollers on a conveyor belt by spinning them. I jammed both little fingers into the narrow grooves cutting them pretty good and deep. I never did that again. I can still see the scars.
Late summer of â63: Terrorizing the neighborhood on my fairly new Schwinn Sting Ray with a bunch of my friends... and some girls too. I was leading the pack when one of those girls let her bike go into the side of mine. I did a major face-plant into the asphalt. A lady from the house I landed in front of came out and picked me up and cleaned all the blood off. It was everywhere. My dad and mom got me and took me to an oral surgeon. He removed what was left of my right front tooth.
â64- â67: Crashed the Schwinn some more. Quit crying from that point on. I was becoming a âmanâ. No room for those antics.
March 2004: My dadâs funeral. From that point on... I cry a bit more. Thanks dad.
March 2017: My favorite cat, Cuda, died.
October 2018: My momâs funeral. Thanks mom.
The last 10 years or so: Songs.
It started with âPast Imperfectâ by Lloyd Cole. Now it seems to be more.
Most songs by The Byrds. âWar Was In Colorâ by Carbon Leaf. âStar Witnessâ by Neko Case. âNever Found The Timeâ by America. âPropinquity (I've Just Begun To Care)â by Michael Nesmith. âFor Emily, Whenever I May Find Herâ by Simon & Garfunkel.â Never Comes The Dayâ by The Moody Blues.
Thereâs more. But I think Iâve embarrassed myself enough for now.
Nah. âOverlyâ is a judgement call. Go ahead an be emotional, but I wouldnât add the negativity to it.
For my part, in the past few years Iâve developed a severe case of John Boehner Disease. For instance, I went downstairs during a nutrition conference where there were samples during the break. I picked up a slice of fresh watermelon with a good balsamic vinegar drizzled on it, and after the first bite I started weeping uncontrollably. Yes, it was good.
Oh, make no mistake, I wear this with pride and no negativity was intended
and it may be time to pull this out of the archives:
Remember When You Still Knew Why You Were Crying?
Seems like a long time ago doesn't it? Believe it or not, your sobs once had a direct cause-and-effect relationship with occurrences in your life. Even more surprising, you used to be able to tell when the crying started and stopped. Why not use today to make a list of all those moments in your life when you can remember there being an obvious empirical impetus for your blubbering. Wherever the list stops, draw a line. That's the line between the ability to dream and the feeling that no one ever listens to anyone ever.
Just to give you a template, here's a log mailed in by a 34 year old accounts receivable administrator/former set designer, single. Look familiar?
Age five: Fell down.
Age seven: Ran headlong into the steel bumpered corner of a supermarket produce display.
Age eight: Shoved by dad.
Age nine: Fell off bike.
Age nine and a half: Fell down.
Age eleven: Terms Of Endearment starring Debra Winger, Shirley MacLaine, and Jack Nicholson.
Age twelve: Forbidden to stay out past 10:30.
Age fourteen: Confessed to authorship of secret admirer letter. They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: Fistfight. They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: They all pointed. They all laughed.
Age fourteen: Funeral.
Age fifteen: Whole world total bullshit.
Age sixteen: Broken up with.
Age sixteen: Confession to authorship of secret admirer letter. Love requited, but not before they all pointed, they all laughed.
Age sixteen: Broken up with.
Age sixteen: Intercourse.
Age sixteen: Confession to authorship of secret admirer letter. Love unrequited, but with discretion.
Age sixteen: Abortion.
Age seventeen: Object of undying love slept with nemesis while I was on vacation with parents. They all pointed, they all laughed.
Age nineteen: Whole world racist.
Age twenty: Drunk. Fell down.
Age twenty: Hit thumb with hammer while stoned. Laughed real hard.
Age twenty: Tripped on acid. Fell down. Devoured by moths.
Age twenty three: Funeral.
Ages twenty three through twenty five: Drunk. Loved friends.
Age twenty five: Broken up with. Began doubting relevance of self to passage of time.
Age twenty six: Saw dog with limp.
Age twenty six: Saw children playing.
Age twenty six: Saw couple unpacking moving truck.
Age twenty six: Saw Titanic starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet.
Well, those people are crazy...it is fairly well documented on these pages that I am, if anything, overly emotional.
Nah. âOverlyâ is a judgement call. Go ahead an be emotional, but I wouldnât add the negativity to it.
For my part, in the past few years Iâve developed a severe case of John Boehner Disease. For instance, I went downstairs during a nutrition conference where there were samples during the break. I picked up a slice of fresh watermelon with a good balsamic vinegar drizzled on it, and after the first bite I started weeping uncontrollably. Yes, it was good.
On my morning walk to work, I heard a singular, erratic cawing coming from ahead of me. Odd, as the crows have usually departed the city by dawn.
As I passed a parked car, I saw the source hopping around a dead similar. This fellow was distraught over its deceased partner and had stayed behind after the rest of the murder had already left. I donât know if it was a friend, a mate, or a sibling, but the sorrow was palpable.
All I could think of was how my father cared for my mother in her final days and how he continues to mourn her passing a few weeks ago.
I dug out some food from my pack and shared it with the survivor. We locked eyes for a bit and he hopped over and took a few nibbles as tears for my mother and their partner welled up in my eyes.
He lit up into the tree and was quiet for bit before I left them to their own find solaceâ¦as I got a block or so away, the lamentations began again.
Same buddy, same
On my morning walk to work, I heard a singular, erratic cawing coming from ahead of me. Odd, as the crows have usually departed the city by dawn.
As I passed a parked car, I saw the source hopping around a dead similar. This fellow was distraught over its deceased partner and had stayed behind after the rest of the murder had already left. I donât know if it was a friend, a mate, or a sibling, but the sorrow was palpable.
All I could think of was how my father cared for my mother in her final days and how he continues to mourn her passing a few weeks ago.
I dug out some food from my pack and shared it with the survivor. We locked eyes for a bit and he hopped over and took a few nibbles as tears for my mother and their partner welled up in my eyes.
He lit up into the tree and was quiet for bit before I left them to their own find solaceâ¦as I got a block or so away, the lamentations began again.
Same buddy, same
... and then there still are people telling us that animals don't have emotions!
