cupcakes and zombies

because cupcakes are yummy and people aren't. unless you're a zombie.

Stuff I don’t like…

I have a pretty long drive home from work so it lends lots of time to thinking and naturally over-thinking things, because that’s one of my particular specialities.

So today I started making a mental list of things, silly, and not so silly, that I really don’t like. Just for kicks. These are the silly ones. I’m not in the mood to be serious at the moment.

Like tabs on soda cans. I can’t stand them. I can not actually drink a can of soda without twisting that tab off. I mean, it’s great to have it to open the can and all, but after that, it’s really served it’s purpose, you know? Unless it’s secondary purpose is to poke me in the nose when I am trying to drink. Which is not cool.

We already have established my dislike of Twinkies, in a prior post so I’ll leave that one alone.

How about people who don’t even pretend to reach for the “Door Open” button on an elevator when you’re trying to get on? I mean, at least make an attempt; almost, almost…OOPS…didn’t make it in time. Don’t just stand there and stare at me through the ever shrinking door gap as the doors shut. I am so good at pretending I’ve mastered reaching for the “Door Close” button and pressing it furiously instead while giving my best “OH NO, it’s closing and I can’t stop it even though I’m trying really hard” face. Shh. Don’t tell. And if I work with you, I assure you I would NEVER do that to you.

I am not “cute”. Puppies and kittens and tiny baby seals are cute. They are small and furry and have big sad eyes. They fit in the palm of your hand and blink at you and telepathically say “Love me, I need you, you’re awesome”. I am not small, or furry, nor do I have big sad eyes. While I admittedly do think some people are awesome, I most certainly would not fit in the palm of your hand, nor am I in the habit of sending telepathic messages. So stop calling me cute. I am a grown woman, and except in certain very rare situations, cute should not be used to describe me. I think people do it when they don’t want to hurt your feelings. Like when they tell me “Oh, I like your haircut, it’s so cute”.

Oh, my hair. Yeah. I am not so sure I like that right now. I need to create a dictionary of client to hairdresser translations so I can clarify that “You can take a few inches off, it’s way too long, but I definitely want it below my shoulders” does not mean to cut over 5 inches off so technically it is below my shoulders, but only just so. Well played hairdresser lady, well played. I suppose it will grow back. Eventually. Until then. IT IS NOT CUTE. Try saying that to me and then put me in the palm of your hand and see what happens.

I don’t like when people eat my Pop-tarts. And then don’t tell me. Ditto my Girl Scout cookies, ice cream, or any other treat that I want to save for a special occasion. Particularly when they buy it for me. Here is this delicious snack I bought because I know you like it. You have to eat it within 24 hours because if you don’t, I’ll eat it. The whole thing. And I won’t tell you. Until you really want to eat it and its 9:30 at night and you go to get it and its gone. SURPRISE!

Why do they make support columns that are larger on the bottom? I’m talking about the ones in parking garages. I mean, its like an iceberg, bigger below your line of sight so just when you think you have enough room. SCREECH. HAHAHAHAHA. You don’t. Yes, that has happened to me. Three times. It may have happened recently. It might all be in the same parking garage. Sigh.

And finally-I hate spam that is not even remotely geared toward my demographic. (I also hate Spam the pink meaty spread-no relation). No, I do not want/need Cialis, Viagra, fake Calvin Klein stuff, pretend Uggs, knock-off Prada, and I do not want to mingle with anyone, be they Christian, Single, or Farmers. Really? Have you seen me try to grow tomatoes? I am the opposite of a farmer. No Farmer is going to want to mingle with this. I’m seriously bad luck when it comes to growing stuff. Don’t believe me? Check back over the summer when I’m sure I’ll be blogging about my “Garden of Broken Dreams”.

Damn. I really want a Strawberry Frosted Pop-tart right now.







Comments are closed.