I was told that it is not good to use liquid detergent in the washing machine, and I've also been told not to use soap powder.

Do you have any theory about it. I prefer the liquid but now hear it is not good for the machine!

:anyone: help :beg:

Let's start the week with a really silly question.

In England, what's a bumbag?

Some people must be very happy with Michael in the winning position again!

:f1:

I've narrowed the field down to 5 options which are:

1: 365 Amazing Trivia Facts

Quiz yourself every day—and maybe learn a little something you didn’t know the day before. That’s the fun of trivia, and 365 TRIVIA FACTS is the calendar for die-hard trivia buffs. Speaking of which: How did enthusiasts come to be called buffs? Plus nature stuff: How much does the Pearl of Allah, the largest pearl on record, weigh? Movie stuff: Why was the “III” dropped for the film adaptation of the play The Madness of George III? And cuckoo stuff: In Switzerland, what animal brings Easter eggs?

2: Fact or Crap

Fact or Crap: This calendar outsells itself every year. It’s a fact! Based on the hit board game from University Games, the FACT OR CRAP CALENDAR presents an intriguing statement that may or may not be true, on every page. Fact or Crap: Ladybugs are named for the Virgin Mary. Fact—the name, bestowed in the Middle Ages, was originally “beetle of Our Lady.” Fact or Crap: Disney World in Orlando comprises almost exactly the same area as Manhattan. That one’s crap—at 47 square miles, Disney World is almost twice as large. Fact or Crap: The very first refrigerator was built in 1859. Your call.

3: The 365 Stupidest Things Ever Said

Our perennially bestselling black-and-white Page-A-Day Calendar returns with a hilarious year of malapropisms, gaffes, politician-speak, and plain ol’ jaw-dropping stupidity. The corporate: “Free shipping with any purchase when you pick it up at the store.” (BestBuy.com) The Freudian: “As I was telling my hus—as I was telling President Bush.” (Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice) The patently clueless: “Whaddaya mean nepotism? He’s my brother!” (Philadelphia mayor Frank Rizzo, after hiring his brother as fire commissioner) Plus perplexing newspaper headlines, weird menu items, and questionable government logic.

4: The Official Scrabble

Whip your game into shape. For the 100 million Scrabble players, this calendar is like a mini-match every day against yourself. If anyone can craft a challenge for the Scrabble lover’s mind, it’s these two guys—National Scrabble Association executive director John D. Williams and Joe Edley, the only three-time winner of the National Scrabble Championship. Here they present a year of stimulating puzzles and plays. The Name Game. Thinking in Pairs. High-Point Tiles. Four-, Five-, Six-, and Seven-Letter Shuffle. Centerpieces, Extensions, and “Un-Thinkable”: Which word in the list is not an acceptable Scrabble word—Unalive, Unlive, Unbe, or Undead?


5: Wacky Web Sites

A click of the mouse, and instant fun. ItÂ’s a year of the zaniest, most intriguing, and most entertaining destinations on the Web. The scientific: see the surprising effects of drugs on spidersÂ’ web-making capabilities. The mischievous: 500 ways to annoy your roommate. The weird: the self-explanatory ratemymullet.com. The weirder: hatsofmeat.com, where highlights include a brisket yarmulke and a cap made of Canadian bacon. Plus a museum of Ouija board history, spelunking from your desktop, and (donÂ’t try this at home) photographic documentation of what happens when you leave a strawberry Pop-Tart in the toaster too long. You wonÂ’t be able to resist taking a peek

In the case of a tie when I deem the poll to have been running long enough I'll post another poll with just the leaders / winners as options.

Happy polling.

:edit:

Oops, I hope no-one spotted that oopsie

Ek wil só graag agter die spitsoortjie vroetel en oor die koppie streel, van Brakkies, die swart plaashondjie met die een spitsoortjie en die een flapoortjie. Maar Brakkies blaf elke keer verwoed as ek my voete uit die huis sit en bly op ‘n veilige afstand. Poeierstoffies hang agter hom soos hy koes wanneer hy vergeet het om sy afstand te hou. Nee wat, ons is stomgeslaan, want hy ken my mos en buitendien blaf hy nie sommer nie!

Toe gebeur dit.
Dolla klim ewe trots uit die motor met die nuwe blou beesleersstewels wat handgemaak is by die fabriek op Marble Hall. Trots en baie bewus, skop sy so met hulle om die voel te kry... Maar vervaard vlieg sy terug in die motor toe haar plaasmaatjie, Brakkies, ewe skielik histeries aan die blaf gaan! Knipogig vir die vreeslike lawaai, hande oor die ore, bly sy sit…Verstaan nou nie so mooi wat aangaan met dié maatjie wat altyd maar net regsit vir haar omhelsing en nat soene nie.

Dan skielik, verstaan ons wat gebeur Â…..
Brakkies ruik die nuwigheid – beesleer, en loop draaie om Dolla se vreemde blou trappers en my swartes. Dis nog nie bekendheid op sy plaaswerf nie en hy moet sy werf beskerm teen hiérdie vreemde blou bedreiging.

Nés Pa – gaan deur sy eie skrik vir vreemde blou trappers.

Gebore hier op die plaas op die Springbokvlakte en grootgeword by die turfpannetjie by die huis met die twee grasdakrondawels, die ou huis met nog amper net die fondasie oor. Hy kan mooi beduie waar die kombuis met die houtstoof was, die stoepie waar Oupa se bed later jare gestaan het, Ouma se kamer, waar Koelie, wat in die kombuis gewerk het, gebly het. En die beeste, die dieseltrekkers en die lande …Van die brakwater en drinkwater wat aangery moes word. Eintlik moes hy die familieplaas erf ná Oupa se dood, maar elke familie het sy verhale … Wye draaie het hy geloop met die droom van ‘n stukkie grond in sy hart. Nou leef hy van houtsaag en sakkies pak, krippe vol water hou, lyndrade inspekteer, wild voer – nié as baas van die plaas nie, maar as bywoner op sy broer se plaas, die familieplaas. Sy begeerte nóú, om ééndag kop neer te lê langs Oupa en Ouma, onder die ou groot Apiesdoring wat hy geplant het met Oupa se dood. Intussen het die boom grootgeword en die skadu wag …die kliphuis op die hoek van die plaas word sommige nagte baie donker wanneer die asem kort raak en die gekneusde hart moeg, van siekte, sukkel en teleurstelling. Nou is dit nog net pak en intrek by die kinders met hulle kinders, in die dorp, met mure om die huis – ander man se huis. Hy blaf omgekrap vir hierdie vreemdheid; inperking; rook snags sy pyp op die stoep; loop draaie om die gedagte – praat van afstel en bly uitstel.
Máár, hoop op versorging vir ma en haar geluk by kinders en kleinkinders, maak dat hy kom lê by dié vreemde blou trappers en stadig maar seker begin vrede maak met hulle vreemde reuk om later selfs met hulle saam te stap op onbekende paaie, dit sy plaaswerf te maak in die wete dat God sal sorg.

Onthou nog goed my eie skrik vir vreemde blou trappers,
die finale stap van trou, “for better or worse”,
vir ander man se werf myne maak vóór ons verhuis het na België.
Só kan ek hulle opnoem – dié vreemde blou trappers, gróót lawaai en dan uiteindelik, rustig gaan lê in die wete God sál sorg.

:am:

I saw only clouds.... then I saw the unny: and then it disappear and it was only :rainy: clouds, and right now the unny: is out! Wonder what the day will be like.

Enjoy it no matter :rainy: or unny: -shine!

:jive:

Decided to bite the bullet a year ago and learn to drive...... finally.... at long last.
My first driving instructor 2 months in decided to quit and become a Funeral Director. :crylol: Kid you not..........my driving must have made him do it :crylol: Took a few months off , went home to Cape Town, let the bad weather go and then found a new instructor - recommended to me.
6 months later - and much poorer in the pocket (£24 per lesson) - had my own car to practice with for the none paying lessons.
2 months after that i had my test booked -£48 for the test.
They day arrived - today - and off I went in the pouring rain to take my test. Paid instructor £48 (lesson before and then the rent of his car for the test - the cheek
was asked to reverse into a bay - no probs. Reversed round corner - no probs, THREE :curse: hill starts. Drove through city (yes we have one) traffic - HAVING NEVER DONE MORNING TRAFFIC BEFORE- so i went at 25 miles per hour. (Speed limit 30) . Next the Dual carriage way.
Always observing, looking, watching, observing, looking watching,. observing etc.
Got back to station and told I failed.for two reasons
1. Didn't observe, look watch enough and
2. should be at 30 miles per hour not 25 - too slow.
It was a maximum speed limit of 30 mph and ... my neck is still sore.
What can i say, I failed, I hate failing at anything, its just not an option but its happened.
So the moral is look so much in your mirrors that you have no time to look at the road ahead and smash into the bnus that has just stopped. and when it says 30 mph or some such go at those limits and if stopped tell traffic cop that they fail you if you go slower.
Just angry at myself, and the :curse: examiner. I've now got to fork our more money and wait a bit longer before i leave my job for a better one.

Actual letter of resignation from an employee at Zantex Computers, USA, to
her boss, who apparently resigned very soon afterwards!

Dear Mr. Barker,

As an employee of an institution of higher education, I have a few very
basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an
intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your
consistent and annoying harassment of my co-workers and myself during the
commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the few
true genetic wastes of our time.

Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of
everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a
waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired because I
know how to network computer systems, and you were apparently hired to
provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you vainly
attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the hundredth
time. You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple
as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never understand
why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it to you, even
though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what an IP
is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality than you ever will.

You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in
others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have
worked for your interview, but now that you actually have responsibility,
you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for
your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial evolution, you are the
blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Managers like you
are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle. Seeing as this situation is
unlikely to change without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I
am forced to tender my resignation, however, I have a few parting thoughts.

1. When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal for you
to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is "I
prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next
couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to
do it on your own.

2. I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know
every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to get
cute, I am going to publish your "favorites list", which I conveniently
saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do believe that
terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favorably by the administration.

3. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your Mother's
birthday", you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of
yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to erase them like the
techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say, I have never seen such odd
acts with a sauce bottle, but I assure you that those have been copied and
kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of
recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please, I hate having to correct
your mistakes.)

Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my
desk by 8:00 am tomorrow. One word of this to anybody, and all of your
little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public. Never ****
with your systems administrator. Why? Because they know what you do with
all that free time!

Wishing you a grand and glorious day,

Cecelia



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Want to see who's on the other side? Chat via video on Windows Live Messenger!

Received an email from a friend in Israel and she wrote:

"We are experiencing a Sharav here at the moment! That is a hot wind off the desert and is like switching a hairdryer on at full pelt with no stopping until the sun goes down then it is just calmly hot..."

Am I glad I am not there at the moment! :jive:

:daisy:

Attempting things for the first time probably conjures up memories of your teenage years, smoking, drinking, sex, OK, I'm lying about the sex, although I'm certainly making up for lost time, whom I kidding? Well yesterday I attempted something new, in a supermarket and I panicked, and no, it wasn't shoplifting. Our local Tesco has in the last 6 months installed some self-service tills where you scan your own items, you pay, you pack and you disappear. The whole experience is supposed to be as impersonal as on-line shopping. For some reason I've always avoided these tills, rather choosing a counter being staffed by a nice Polish or Latvian girl who somehow manages to smile through the mundaneness of her minimum wage paying job, I suppose some people are just grateful. Well, yesterday I got caught up in everybody elseÂ’s end of month shopping, queues of trolleys getting between me and my Polish check-out girls. Self-service seemed like the way to go and so I approached. Now, I'd regard myself as pretty technology savvy, but on my approach I started having doubts, I mean, how did this whole setup work? Where's the scanner for the barcode, what do you do with loose items like vegetables and rolls? Does it only accept cards? And then it dawned on me, I'd been avoiding these tills in fear of being shown up by housewives and pensioners, who seemed to breeze through. I'm standing in-line, turning the few items in my basket over to find that elusive bar-code, trying to buy some time while I figure the rest of the system out, the queue moves forward and the lady in front steps up to the mark and I try to observe her every move, too enthusiastically, as I encroach on her personal bubble.

'Excuse ME, could you please stand behind the line?' she addrsses me like one would a handbag snatcher.

There's a line? I didn't see a line! I'm filling up with dread. Hope nobody else heard her. Are people looking? My only chance of following this whole process, without having to call for assistance, retreated behind that line. Was it too late to abort this mission? I mean I could pretend I'd forgotten something in isle 16 but that bag of menace didn't give me a chance. No sooner had she paid and departed and a void stood between me and a talking machine, 'Unexpected item on scale', 'Remove item, Remove item, Remove itemÂ…Â…'

I managed a panicked garble of, ‘Where else am I supposed to put my basket?’, half expecting the bloody thing to talk back. I’m not even out of the starting blocks and I’ve balls’d it up.

She must have seen my distress or maybe she just preys on young bucks unaccustomed to new shopping trends, but to the rescue she came, my middle aged, overweight, underpaid Tesco angel, ‘Sir, do you need some help?’ she yells across from her lookout post. If nobody knew there was a newbie on the scene, they did now, as I watched those who had queued up behind me break rank and join neighbouring queues of more shopper savvy customers.