Jeans

Though I have not written in awhile, I assure you, there are still things that are making me mad. I've just been to busy to jot them down.

But now that classes are nearly over, I've found the time to document my most recent anger inducing moment.

And it's...drum roll please....newly washed jeans. You get your hair done. You get your make up on. You feel like you're looking good. And then you go to pull those jeans out of the dryer and put them on. Now good sense has told you not to dry your jeans in the dryer, but it was an emergency. You needed them. You didn't have time to wash them and then hang them to dry. And so there you have it. You threw them in the dryer. Only now, as you try to squeeze your what now feels like the fattest ass in the world into them, you remember why you don't put your jeans in the dryer. Your muffin top protrudes out of the top. Those jeans that two days ago fit you fine, were maybe even a little on the loose side, now barely button. You bend. You stretch. But try as you might, those suckers aren't budging. They are tight as can be.

And so the girl whose reflection you saw in the mirror five minutes ago, the pretty one, has now turned into the fat, uncomfortable one in the too tight jeans.

Damned dryer. It's been the culprit that's ruined many a night out.

Coupon lady

I am a fan of coupons. I use them whenever possible to save a penny here and there. So, I say this with the utmost respect. Stupid lady in your Escalade, wearing Ugg boots, and carrying the Gucci handbag-- was it really necessary to show up at the grocery store, two days before a snow storm, and fill up your grocery cart, not only in the basket, but also the little shelf that's on the bottom? Apparently, it was. And I can get over that. Really, I can. But it was 5:30, which is one of the busiest times of the day. So, it became much MORE annoying when you had--no joke, folks--$140 worth of coupons. And get this, it wasn't a double coupon day.

So, of course, the twenty minutes I stood behind you while the cashier rang through $140 worth of .50 coupons was annoying. But the icing on the cake? Yep, that was when your last coupon for twenty five fucking cents would not go through and you held up the line for ten more minutes while the cashier called over three other people to try to figure out how to get your stupid ass coupon to go through. I'm sure your saving that .25 is what's helped you get your Escalade, but 5:30 PM two days before a storm is not the time to fuss over .25. If I were not wearing my work name tag, I might have punched you in your face and then pegged you in the head with TWO quarters just to get your fat hiney out of line.

Winter Snow

Yes, jerk face. I can see you have a big ol' truck, hummer, SUV, whatever. I know you think you can navigate the icey roads with the speed and ferociousness of a big jungle cat. But guess what? You can't. Just because you have big tires and a nut sack hanging from your rear bumper doesn't mean your wheels are unaffected by the ice. So, when you go whipping around me, I get anxious. Since your car is also bigger than mine, it's much more likely to kill me if we wind up in an accident. So, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't act like a tard ass and slow your roll.

However, I must admit, that when I see you go speeding past me, and then slide into a 4 foot snow drift and get stuck, a special light goes on inside of me that causes me to smile.

Toilets

I know people who start new businesses that have bathrooms in them--you know, like restaurants, boutiques, etc. think it's really cute to put funny things on the doors. You've seen it. When you go to Mexican restaurants, for example. Instead of "Men" and "Women" they'll put "Caballeros" and "Mujeres." Now, lucky for me, I speak a little Spanish, so I can figure that one out.

But sometimes, I have no fucking idea what is on the door to the bathroom. And so, when I have to pee, and I'm in a hurry to get back to my hot plate of just served food, it really annoys the shit out of me to have to try to figure out which bathroom is for women and which one is for men. The worst is when people think it's cute to put those little symbols on the doors--you know, the one that differentiates men from women based on whether or not their is a plus sign underneath the circle? I sure as hell can never remember which one is which.

And just because I'm eating in a German, French, Italian restaurant, doesn't mean I know your fucking language. So, your cute shit on the doors? Yeah, it's not so cute. I don't like feeling like an idiot when I have to ask someone who works there which restroom I'm supposed to use.

One of these days someone is going to take a piss right in the hall way out of frustration. Call me stupid, I don't care. Going to the restroom should be simple. Stop with the cutesy pie shit. Please.

Exercise equipment

I have only myself to blame. I am so anxious to cover up the time on the cardio machine with my magazine or my towel, I forget to make sure the time is actually going. Nothing sucks more than busting your ass for what seems like 30 minutes only to look at the time and find out your stupid ass machine didn't register when you hit the start button and it actually hasn't even been calculating how long you've been on. The double zero staring back at me always makes me really pissed off. Because then I have to actually push the damned button and start again.

Okay, maybe there are some things that suck more. But it's still pretty shitty.

Cell phones

Contrary to popular belief, there is not a cone of silence that surrounds you every time you use your cell phone. It's like some people think that as soon as they hit that "talk" button, they are in their own special world where their conversations cannot be overheard. And so it goes like this...

Dear WT lady,
I know I'm in the thrift store, and I know it's not the best part of town. So, I came prepared to deal with a little bit of ghetto. However, I do not care what type of shit is going to hit the fan when whoever in the hell you are talking about shows up to pick you up. I don't care that you don't feel well. Apparently, neither does the person on the other end of the call, because you've now repeated yourself five times. They aren't listening. Get a clue. I am mildly curious as to why, if you feel like total shit and just don't know if you can make it to said outing, you feel good enough to go to the thrift store and dig through germ infested clothes. Tip for the future to you, if you are going to say you are too sick to go somewhere, you may not want to tell them you are hanging in the thrift store at 10 AM. It doesn't make sense. It's a good thing most of the people in here appear to be speaking Spanish, because hopefully they don't understand what you are saying, and I am one of the few people who is having to listen to your stupid public tirade. I am quite certain, though, that regardless of the spoken language, if you are in the United States, you understand the word "fuck" especially when it is being shouted repeatedly inside Bargain Thrift. You are ruining my shopping experience. If I wanted to hear your personal business, I would make an effort to get to know you personally. Right now, all I want to do is pay for my shit and get out of the damned store, because I cannot stand to hear you say you don't want to deal with the aforementioned shit hitting the fan because you (again) do not feel well. Apparently, someone didn't learn to use their inside voice.

Love,
the lady carrying the Gucci bag and Prada shoes who is shopping at the thrift store

More about drivers

I swear, I do not understand. Why in the hell do people who are in the wrong give the finger when you honk your horn? For example, someone is changing lanes and almost hits your car. You toot your horn to say, "Hey, I'm over here already. Please don't hit me." Then, they give you the finger and yell some obscenity as if it's your fault you were already in the lane.

Excuse the hell out of me for getting up this morning and occupying the lane you want to move into. I wasn't aware you owned the whole fucking road. Had someone told me, I would have made sure to keep an eye out for your vehicle. As it stands now, I am seriously contemplating playing a version of roller derby with my car as you speed past me with your middle digit stuck up in the air.

Apparently, I am one of the few people left in the world who actually feel bad when I almost hit someone, because I'm not paying attention. I appreciate their horn honk telling me not to get over, because without it, I might have rammed them, causing expensive damage to both their car and mine. That little "toot toot" allows me to get to work on time instead of wasting thirty minutes waiting for police, tow trucks, and exchanging insurance information.

Maybe mouthing the F word and waving an obscene gesture in the air is their way of saying thank you.