1. My finicky M. Worse than a woman, the M on my keyboard needs to be fondled in just such a way or else you can forget about getting anywhere with it. Buy it a nice dinner, be nice to its mother, it won't matter. Only when tapped at a certain angle during a waxing moon on the second Thursday of the month will this fucker work. I am left with a calendar, a protractor and a myriad of M-less correspondence. And for that I say screw you, M.
2. Football. Really people, it's a fun game but HOLY SHIT. Painting your faces, dressing up in your team's colors, violently supporting your faves by providing statistics and direct references. There's another name for people who do that. Comic-Con. If you discussed Star Trek with the same passion and fervor you did football, you'd kick your own ass.
3. The layman's political soapbox. Most likely, your information is secondhand regurgitated bobkes and very often wrong. It's nice when people care about the world around them, but it's a colossal waste of time when you're just mindlessly repeating what you overheard at the water cooler or read on the Fox News crawler. Think before you forward that email. Stop contributing to the rumor mill. And hey here's an idea, unless you're going to actually do something about it, stfu.
4. The 'just browsing' shopper. You know the one. The one that leaves their cart in the middle of the aisle and then body blocks you while they peruse the items on the shelf as if they were window shopping. The one you get stuck behind that walks so slow your milk expires before you even check out. And they of course show no intention of interrupting their shopping groove for you or anyone else. It's nice to know you have all the time in the world lady, but either move your ass or shove the cart up it. In other words, GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY. The aisle should work like a street: two lanes, two directions. And don't forget which side is yours. This ain't Europe.
5. People who still think it's cool to brag about drinking. Alcohol is to Generation Next what acid was to the Sixties: the cornerstone of a self-aggrandized counterculture engineered to demonstrate apathy and disillusionment. And with the advent of social networks, now we all get to hear about it. Tied one on? Got hammered? Had a bad day so you had an extra glass or two of wine (teehee!)? You're such a rebel! No you're not. You're a putz that still thinks it's cool to brag about drinking. Let me offer some perspective: if you're Joe Scmho in a dirty watering hole at 3:30pm on a Tuesday you're a pathetic loser, but if you're Twittering about how drunk you got after your third raspberry wine cooler... well, you're a pathetic loser. Now start bragging about more important things like how many piercings you have or how many pairs of Converse you own.
And that's what pissed me off this week.
bravo! bravo! Seriously, people who get that excited about football, I simply don't get them. It reminds me of the time I was watching the 2005 World Series. Geoff Blum had just hit a homerun in the 14th to put the White Sox ahead of the Houston Astros....
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