Tonight I’m in one of “those moods” -the kind where my subconscious warns me that I probably shouldn’t write anything for fear of what negative bile will come out of me, but I just can’t resist the impulse so I’ll try to at least keep it M. Night Sham Lon dark, not Nightmare on Elm Street.
Thus I give you a few of the things that I really hate…….
*Middle-aged men and any man over twenty-five with a pot belly who thinks they are reliving the glory days of high school athleticism by playing church basketball. Don’t fight with the refs- it just makes you look extremely stupid and desperate. And please, please, please don’t try to mimic ANY move you’ve seen a pro execute in the last Jazz game. Give it up. You’re old. It’s okay. When you’re resurrected I’m sure you’ll get a second chance at that athletic prowess you thought you had and your mom said you had at 16.
*Webcams. Why would anyone want to communicate over the internet face to face? Isn’t the best thing about IM and email that you have the freedom to say what you want without the strictures of face to face social etiquette? If I want to tell someone (not that I really would, well, maybe to one or two people but they REALLY suck) to go to &*##, I’d do it in an email because I know from past experience that I weaken substantially when I have to look the person I’m ticked at right in the eye and say so. Plus, now that my husband installed the stupid things on our laptops he can “check-in” on me and see that I really don’t get dressed until eleven in the morning everyday.
*Any “chick-clique” made up of women over twenty. If men try to relive high school through weekly b-ball games, women do it through cliques. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t a big fan of girls in high school because of the whole clique thing, and now that I’m older my tolerance for them has gotten even smaller. My best friends outside of my sisters and cousins were always guys, because they didn’t back-stab, hold grudges for a century, or spread malicious gossip about you. I truly believe that women are their own worst enemies. We’ll never be successful in being equal in the workplace or society until we quit trying to tear another down all the time.
*Mice. Just the sight of one on TV almost puts me in a panic attack. They are the nastiest, foulest rodents on the face of the earth. Because of their unfortunate resemblance, Guinea pigs and hamsters are guilty by association.
*Chinese food. Smelling the foul take-out from the dirtiest restaurant in SLC during my second pregnancy just about killed me (I‘m totally serious- a week later they were shut down by the health department.). I can’t even THINK of going into a Chinese restaurant now without subconsciously engaging my gagging reflex. This ban on all Asian cuisine has caused some friction in my marriage, but being the bigger and, might I say, better person that he is, my hubby has acquiesced and no longer even suggests it on date night. But when the King and the kids have the choice to go out sans mom, there’s a 99.999999% chance they are hitting Panda Express. Fox loves their orange chicken, and he’s pickier than I am.
*Leggings under dresses. Why not just throw on a pair of jeans, swoop your bangs and find yourself a sister-wife ladies?
* The phrase “suffers from”, as in “she suffers from migraines” or “he suffers from IBS”. In saying this, no disrespect is intended toward the maladies, as I know they are real and terrible, but that phrase just drives me to insanity. I have a real issue with the copious amounts of whiney verbiage that have been assimilated into our language as Americans. There seems to be an inordinate amount of ways to say “I’m so picked on” or “I’m insecure/unsuccessful/socially retarded because as a child .….” or the best, “my parents didn’t show/give/understand me…”. What was lost when this new vocabulary took root? The language of accountability
Whew, I feel better now that I've expelled all that verbal vomit. I'm all done being a hose-beast now. I promise the next post will be nothing but happiness and joy and sickeningly sweet nonsense.