Whats_your_reasoning

Ah, okay. Hope you like Rocko’s Modern Life!

Agreed, I don’t see it as passive-aggressive, I see it as using proper punctuation. I’m an oldie, though, and most of the people I text know what I mean when I type. If someone were to react negatively to putting a period in a text, I’d implore them to talk to me about it instead of assuming motive that isn’t there. Then if that doesn’t help, well, guess we won’t be texting each other anymore. I don’t have the time or energy to play silly misinterpretation games with someone who can’t communicate like an adult.

My work has a DoorDash account and uses it exclusively. When management decides to order food for us, it has to go through DoorDash.

The other week I was told they'd buy lunch for my team. Thing is, we all have different dietary needs. I was told to pick something for lunch, and when I did I was told, "Oh that restaurant doesn't use DoorDash. Pick somewhere else. Also it's a $10 limit."

Oookay. My lunch being at an earlier time than many in my team, a lot of places that I would order from aren't open yet. I don't do fast food, which limits my choices further. Then you can't put custom information in your order (like, "the #14 sandwich, but with no cheese") which right out of the gate means a lot of options are out of reach. The $10 limit was also ridiculous, as food prices have been rising higher and now even the most basic things will be around $12 minimum. Navigating the site alone was a headache on top of it all, as it isn't intuitive for someone with dietary restrictions. I eventually gave up and told my manager, "I know this was intended as a treat for us, but this is too stressful for me to try to do while I'm also working."

Thankfully, someone else already knew of an option that would work for me, so I went with that. It sucks that although my work place is trying to be inclusive, being limited to DoorDash (and a $10 price ceiling) makes that incredibly difficult. I'd rather just be given the $10 and be done with it.

Okay, who put a camera in my apartment?

Its happening because people’s brains are ‘adapting’ to the short form, brainrot mode of modern social media.

This is what I feared way back when Twitter first gained popularity. I couldn't get into it, because the short character limit made it impossible to explain pretty much anything.

Anyway, I'm with you on this. If you've got something important or novel to share, it's probably going to take some explanation to convey it. Short-form social media leads to shallow conversations. I like depth, I like exploring others' perspectives, and it takes more than 160 characters (or whatever the limits are now) to really reach some subjects.

I say this as someone with unmedicated ADHD - modern people's attention spans are depressing. I still love watching documentaries that are 2+ hours long, even when YouTube tries to push for 30-second clips of garbage. Thank goodness for Lemmy and Mastodon, offering us the chance to really dive deep into conversations that most social media want to clip short.

Nah. It’s not subjective. It’s the result of fucking imbeciles that don’t read.

But isn't that what makes it subjective? Subjective means its meaning is "subject" to the reader's interpretation. It isn't objective, which is when the meaning exists outside such frames of reference.

That is, ending a text with a period isn't a(n objective) rule that always means a particular tone. Instead, it's a (subjective) understanding made by certain readers (who may be making assumptions that the texter didn't intend.)

Off topic, but I want to say that I appreciate you explaining your downvote. Some of the downvotes on here seem entirely senseless and definitely make one wonder, "Why would anyone downvote that?" When people explain their reasoning, not only are they contributing to Lemmy in a more constructive way, but it helps other commenters gain perspective. Thank you for adding your thoughts.

It must be awful across the spectrum. I'm at the other end - most stores don't carry anything near my size. Even the specialty boutiques (which I hate shopping at) might have something for me... in like, one, two, or if I'm lucky, three colors.

I've completely given up on US sizing and buying in stores. I measure myself to get my UK or European size, and order online.

... Which sucks in its own way, because who wants to have to return things through the mail? I'm pretty much stuck with whatever I can get, and I keep using it until the fabric wears and the underwire starts scratching me to the point of drawing blood. Because each bra costs like $60, and I don't have the kind of money to casually drop just for one piece of underwear. Yay, womanhood.

The attempted return wasn't fucked up, but the break-up was. I've alluded to this event in past posts, but haven't told the context of the story. So I guess I'll share. Buckle in, this is going to be a ride.

Once upon a time, I had a terrible boyfriend. I was around 19 or 20 when we got together, and he'd pretty much seduced me from afar - around 1000 miles (1600 km) in fact. He was a musician and came from another country, complete with an accent that I melted for. I hadn't yet known about psychopaths and manipulative behavior from partners, but in retrospect, a lot of things became obvious.

I'd had big plans to vandwell, had already purchased a high-top van older than myself, and was renovating the back to make it more of a living space. I still had a lot of work to do, but not enough money to complete it. Nonetheless, the boyfriend convinced me to move to his city and stay with him while I worked on it. This meant leaving almost all of my family behind. I did have a relative in the state I was going to - but she lived hours away. Nonetheless, I looked forward to visiting her sometime.

After the move, I quickly realized that something was off with this guy. He couldn't follow my thought process at all, nor could I follow his. I distinctly felt as if our brains were wired backwards from each other. We had spent time together before - our big bond was road trips. We'd spent weeks together traveling around the east coast states, as well as a few parts of Canada. But as is common for abusers, moving in with them signals a change. The mask comes off, and boundaries begin to get pushed.

He was a thief. Although I liked how he'd steal cable and make it freely accessible to everyone in his apartment building (because fuck cable companies, and it's cool to help neighbors), I gave pause when he stole milk crates to use in my van. Okay, I figured, a big supermarket can handle a couple missing crates. But then he started offering other stolen things. One thing I needed was somewhere to put a spare tire. One day he told me there's a van in the nearby neighborhood with a spare tire holder on the back. "It'd be really easy for me to remove it and put it on your van," he told me.

But I told him, to paraphrase, "Absolutely not!" He was shocked. Apparently he thought it would be a romantic gesture. Yeah, no, something was definitely wrong here.

The man started getting upset over the stupidest shit. He didn't like that I was vegan. One time he tried to riddle me with, "If you could save a million animals, or save me, which would you choose?" When I refused to answer such a clearly-baited question, he broke down crying and screaming that the answer was obvious. He also developed a strong opinion on how I handle my periods, of all things. I was using a diva cup at the time (for those that don't know, it's a little, reusable silicone cup, inserted like a tampon and washed between uses.) Apparently he didn't like that and tried to insist I use normal pads and tampons. I told him that the moment he starts bleeding out of his genitals, he can decide how to handle it.

Anyway, everything came to a head one night in June. His band was having a huge celebration. It was his birthday weekend, one member of the band got engaged, and two (married) members were celebrating an anniversary.

Unfortunately, I was not in the celebratory spirit. I had been unsuccessful in getting a job since arriving, my money was almost all gone, and to top it all off, my aunt had just died. Remember that family member I said I looked forward to visiting? I was never going to get to see her.

He was well aware of all of this. Still, he begged me to join him. He bragged about all the free drinks he'd be getting, so I figured at leas I'd get some drinks out of it.

Lol, no. Of course not.

The selfish prick didn't offer me a drop. In fact, he straight-up ignored me. He and his friends had said to me to just "forget the bad stuff and have fun," but I can't do that? I ended up in the women's bathroom for a while, trying to regulate myself. When I came back out, I found that fucker in the middle of the crowd, getting a lap dance from the woman who was celebrating her wedding anniversary.

I snapped. I shoved him and yelled at him, because what the ever-loving fuck. Naturally, he and all his friends took issue, so I was all alone. I went over to a quiet spot to cry, where a tone-deaf random girl asked if she could take my picture. Yeah, no, what a ridiculous question.

But the night got worse. See, that guy was my ride to the venue. When the night was winding down, I went to the guy and told him as such. He gave me $4 and said, "Take a bus." I was new to the area, didn't yet have a smart phone (they were still new at the time), and penniless aside from those $4 in my pocket. I didn't know where I was nor how to get back to my van.

I ended up wandering the streets from 2am-5am, waiting at random bus stops so I could ask the bus drivers questions. I eventually figured out that I needed a particular bus, then a transfer to a second bus. By the time the bus I needed arrived, the sky was a vivid magenta, and ladies in scrubs filled the bus stop, ready to commute to the hospital on the mainland for their morning shifts. I joined the throng, kept awake solely by my panic, paying attention to every single stop lest I miss the one I need and end up without enough money for both another bus and a transfer.

Around 6am, I was at the bus terminal, sitting on the curb as homeless people slept on all the benches. At this point I was so tired, I was starting to go numb. Eventually I did make the second bus, got to my van, pulled into a farther parking lot (so as not to be near that guy's apartment) and slept for what felt like forever.

And that, my friends, is the story of the worst night of my life.

The reconnect is much more brief.

Years later, after many more ups and downs (which perhaps I'll write about sometime), I was beginning my foray into polyamory. I made an account on a dating website. Lo and behold, who reached out to me? That same guy. He asked to meet. I said something along the lines of "Lmao not a chance in hell" and blocked his ass.

Since then, I haven't seen nor heard from him. Sadly, he still haunts occasional nightmares.

There are some (admittingly, crap quality) 90-ish minute clips of straight-up old school Nickelodeon on Youtube. The only ads are the ones that originally aired. It's like nostalgia soup for me, and it's pretty clear these are just clips someone set a VCR to record, stored for decades, and then transferred to the internet. Which again, makes for crap quality, but it warms my heart to think that some of this could've been lost footage if not for some random tapes some kid in the 90s recorded then forgot about for many years.

Btw, Pete & Pete still slaps.

“Bugs” even refers to errors on computers. Funny how the pedants don’t go into computer forums and berate the coders for using “bug” incorrectly.

To build on this, this usage is called a non-count noun. Less beer, less water, less air, less sand, etc. all refer to non-countable quantities of some substance. Beer could be counted, if referred to by some metric (“one glass of beer,” “24 ounces of beer”), same as “a bottle of water,” “one tank of air,” “a truckload of sand.”

Which is all to say that you’re right. “Less beer” makes far more sense than “fewer beer.”