Thursday, June 26, 2008

Affirmative Action

I often times wonder if people who are chosen for things based on affirmative action find it offensive. One of my very best friends says no it is not offensive, because it is necessary. I ask her these types of questions, because she is of a minority ethnicity, and I know she will one, not be offended, and two, tell me the truth.

I am not a minority, white as white can be, unless you count being a woman in the minority category. So, you're probably wondering why I would be all worked up about affirmative action. It's not because I don't think ethnicities are discriminated again, or because I don't think people from different cultural backgrounds have an unfair advantage. I think both of these things are equally true.

But did you know that when you apply for college, based on your ethnicity and sex, your requirements are different? This offends me. Not as a white person, but as a woman (which in this case is considered a minority). I feel like someone is trying to tell me they don't think I'm as smart as a man--that my ACT or SAT score and GPA doesn't have to be as high, because let's face it, I can't possibly achieve what a man could achieve.

It makes me want to call all of those colleges and tell them to F off. Judge me the same way you'd judge a man! I can take it! I'm just as smart!

So I wonder if people of different nationalities feel the same way--like some people don't think they're good enough to get in on their own merits. Like they aren't as smart as white people, because their scores don't have to be as high to get into college.

I know it makes me mad. And I'm just a white woman.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Oh vs Zero

I have a work ID. It contains the letter O. All of the work IDs at my work contain a combination of letters and numbers. When you call around to different departments, they verify you by your ID before releasing any information to you. Fine with me. Except, every time I call and give my ID, I always say XXX-Oh-XXXX and then the first thing the person asks me is, is that Oh or Zero?

And I want to say, if it was fucking zero, don't you think I would have said zero? Because I didn't, I said Oh. I've had this ID for forever, you moron. I think I would know by now that if it was an actual zero to say zero, no oh.

Just a little thing that makes me mad.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Tight Jeans

Don't you hate it when you wash a pair of jeans and have to put them on for the first time? They're always tighter! Now some ladies might like that, but I don't really like tight jeans--they make me look like I have a muffin top. So, it just makes me cranky when I have to put on newly washed jeans.

If I could, I'd never wash them, but then they could probably stand up on their own.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008


Don't you hate it when you get those yummy bowling alley style nachos and you don't have enough cheese for your chips, and then you pick up the last few chips and find lots of the gooey cheese hiding? AND THEN, you have no chips left to eat the hidden cheese with, and you ate a bunch of chips with just a little bit of cheese on them, not getting the full enjoyment out of your nachos.

Makes me mad every time. You think I'd wise up and look under the bottom chips when I start to run dry on the cheese, but alas, I apparently do not learn from experience.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Friday the 13th

When I was little, even a teenager, every time it was Friday the 13th they would show all of the films. Of course, when I was really young, there were only three, and now there are like fifteen, so it takes much longer to watch. I even remember in the last few years being able to flip the channel to AMC and be guaranteed to see Jason in his hockey mask. But tonight, I come home, on Friday the 13th expecting to find a marathon, and what do I find? Escape from New York. No Friday the 13th. Not on AMC, not on TMC, not on USA...nowhere to be found. What has happened in the world?

Makes me mad.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

elliptical machine

I bought an elliptical machine in lieu of going to the YMCA. I've gone to the YMCA for the past ten years, and it was hard to sign that termination notice of membership. But I am starting on my masters this summer, and my time will be extremely limited with working a FT job and taking classes in the evening. I knew I would not be able to make it to the gym, so I decided to invest in a piece of work out equipment so I wouldn't be constrained by the hours of the gym.

So, now I have my elliptical. And it makes me mad, because now that it's at home, I feel like I have no reason to not work out every single day. Every day, I have at least five free minutes, so in that five free minutes I don't feel right sitting on my fat ass. I feel like I should get on that damned machine and burn five minutes worth of calories. It's wearing me out! Maybe when I'm fit and fabulous from all of my extra working out, I won't be so mad anymore.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Summer Bunny

When it's winter here in the midwest, and I am bundled up like an Alaskan with a coat over a sweater over a long sleeved shirt, I think about summer. I would go so far as to say I long for it. And as it comes round to April, and the days' temperatures start to climb into the mid 70s, I start thinking about pools and margaritas and sun dresses, and I cannot wait for the summer to officially start. I go to sleep dreaming about fishing season, and I wake up thinking about where I'll be camping all summer.

Only here, we have two seasons, winter and summer, with about a week of spring or fall in between. So, those 70s make a quick jump to 90 and then before you know it, it's 100 plus degrees outside. Which means that camping and fishing time fun can really only be had for a couple of weeks, because quicker than you can blink, it'll be hot as Hades. And quickly, I remember why I hate summer. It's like slapping myself in the forehead and thinking, "Oh yeah dumb ass, you hate summer because it's hot." And heat...heat makes me mad.

It's not cranky or a little irritable, it's MAD. I say the F word three times as much in the summer as I do in the winter. It will get so bad that in July, I won't even want to go outside. Not for anything, even shopping. My best friend is always inviting me to go to BBQs and pool parties and camping, and I tell her she's fucking crazy to voluntarily be outside when it's so hot, you can't even pull your pants down to pee, because your pants are stuck to the inside of your sweaty thighs.

There is nothing that makes that heat better--not a pool, not good food, not even the best frozen margarita in the world. Give me some good air conditioning and cable TV and that is how I'll plan on spending July and August (and September and October--it doesn't get cool here until after Halloween).

I always seem to forget mid winter that you can put more clothes on to ward off the cold, but even if everyone walked around naked, it would still be hot as a mother fucker in Oklahoma and the great state of Texas.

So, what does all of this mean? It means I am not a summer bunny. And if you run into me on the street in the middle of July. Stay the hell away. I'm mad.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Ball juggler

So at first, I was going to write about how I get mad at myself for always calling my husband out when he forgets something, and then guess what? He forgot something, and now I'm mad, so instead, I'll write about how the fact that he can remember all kinds of random shit that applies to him and not a fucking thing that applies to me makes me mad.

See, if you knew me at all, you'd know I'm kind of anal. I am the person who juggles fifteen balls at once and never drops one. Well, maybe on a very rare occasion, but for the most part, they're constantly in motion between my hands or in the air. I never forget anything, EVER. I can recite entire conversations I had in 1983 and tell you what I wore on my first day of Junior year. My husband is the kind of person who would have one ball, set it down on the table, turn around to get a drink of water, and forget where he put it. Or even worse, that he was trying to juggle.

Tonight, he was supposed to hook up my brand new photo printer that he got me for my birthday. He had a poker game at 7:30, and he said he would hook it up before he went. But he got on the elliptical machine, and I left to go to a meeting, and I come home, and guess what? No printer. The real kicker is that when I call the man to ask him what happened, thinking maybe it didn't work or something, he blames it not getting hooked up on the fact that I told him to get on the elliptical, and that after that he didn't have time (mind you he was off the elliptical at 6 PM BEFORE I left for the meeting). Of course, what that really means is he forgot. And when I ask him, he confirms just that.

You are probably thinking, why didn't I just hook it up myself? And that answer would be because if I jacked up anything on the computer, he would kill me. Murdered. Dead. On the floor.

If this were a one time deal, it wouldn't be nearly as fucking annoying. But I kid you not, this man forgets everything--except of course, what time poker starts, where the game is, how many people are going to be there, and that he needs to go by the ATM to get his cash out to play. But the photo printer? I bet he doesn't even remember he bought me one for my birthday.

I am sure there are worse qualities to deal with in a husband. Mine is not a cheater or a liar (except about things he forgets) or even an asshole. But I can't imagine the next fifty years having to pin notes to his shirt to get him to do things. Sheesh.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Arrested Development

This was a good show. I mean, really, a good show. It was actually funny and original and interesting every single week. And it got canceled because Americans didn't watch it. They watch a bunch of stupid reality TV crap or sitcoms with a laugh track to let you know when you're supposed to laugh (because they're not funny enough to actually make you laugh). But good TV? Forget it. So, the good shows get canceled, and I get stuck with watching "Farmer Wants A Wife."

It makes me mad.