Loathe, Actually

This post brought to you by Kerri Anne’s need to (talk in the third person, yes, and) be honest, mock rant for a bit, and cleanse her emotional palate, because, quite frankly, she has bigger problems on which to chew in the immediate future.

My friend Sizzle is inspiring for many reasons, not the least of which being her affinity for side-stepping the b.s. and heading straight for the heart of the matter, whatever that matter might be. Some of her recent posts, and her exceedingly brave honesty, were a big part of what inspired this post (along with my friend Angella’s recent Rant, The Second), which is why it’s fitting that a recent tweet of hers also inspired the first vex-worthy point I want to make today.

It was her tweet about obnoxious concert-goers–this one, as it were

–that reminded me that people who attend concerts to a) noisily make-out; b) talk talk talk talk while the person is sing sing sing SINGING; c) get drunk and thus, very loud and slurry; d) any or all of the above, are the worst sort of concert-goers, and in my opinion should be banned from ever walking through the door. Now if only someone would invent the technology to detect douchebag levels. Professor?

Other things that make me angsty/annoyed/other unhappy adjectives that begin with “a”:

• Crab. I can’t even tell you how long I’ve tried to like crab (without you making fun of me), but you know what? I just don’t, at all. In fact, I hate crab. The same applies to lobster, which I think tastes remarkably like crab.

• While we’re on the subject of things that once swam/crawled/floated ashore that I don’t want to put in my mouth, I also cannot stomach crawfish (or crayfish). Just the sight of them makes my skin crawl.

• Delusional people. Especially when their love of fallacy affects me negatively.

• Mini-vans. And before you’re all “Hmph! I DRIVE a mini-van,” I figured some of you might. I don’t hate you, just your preferred mode of transportation, and I promise it’s nothing personal. My own parents owned a mini-van for a large portion of my adolescent life, and while I get the concept, and the need, I just think there are plenty of other options nowadays for Vehicles That Tote without having to revert to the van’s ugly second cousin, the one with the voluptuous back-end.

• People who are all “Hi! We’re friends! I like you!” via DMs, emails, etc. etc. and then when you meet them in person they’re totally too cool for (school, and) you.* I take comfort in the fact that 99.9% of the time these people are the same people who have no idea what’s going on in your life, and really don’t care. I take comfort in that fact because it always throws into stark relief the reality that I (and you too, I’m sure!) have some of the best and most hilarious/supportive/crazy/sexy/cool friends a girl could ever ask for.

• The way problems, especially big ones, don’t fix themselves.

• (Fake) self-deprecating posts that all but beg you to compliment the post author on one skill or another that you’re 99% sure they don’t actually possess.

• My inability to keep my inbox under control on a consistent basis. I try to respond to every email I receive in a timely fashion–whether it’s someone just saying hello, a comment from a post, or a “How are you doing?”–and sometimes I fail miserably. If you’re still waiting for an email from me, weeks and weeks (and omg, months) later, I promise I haven’t forgotten. Unless I did. In which case, please feel free to stone me with some strong-smelling spam. (Just not the email kind; see above.)

• Retweeting a tweet wherein someone compliments you, i.e. MaryMPoppins: RT @FunkyFresh @MarryMPoppins is THE BEST, OMG. (If someone else wants to tweet or retweet about how awesome you are, that’s super flattering. You doing it looks a bit…desperate? Silly? Like you really need everyone to know how OMG, GREAT you are?)

• The way new running shoes cause blisters.

• Requesting I be a fan of you or your blog on Facebook a bazillion and one times. I know you can’t imagine that I a) really don’t care and b) have been hitting “Ignore, ignore, IGNORE” the last zillion times you’ve sent the request, but really? You’re sending it again? REALLY? I’m waiting (im)patiently for Facebook to create an auto-electric shock application for people just like you.

• Property management companies that seem to be comprised solely of snotty hosers who don’t like to read emails, speak in coherent sentences, or actually, you know, DO THEIR JOBS.

• The way you’re be driving along, driving along** and then bam! Your car decides it needs to eat a large chunk of your savings in order to maintain its will to live.

• We’ve been over this, but it bears repeating, and anyway, I liked the idea of starting and ending this post with Twitter screen grabs. (Go go gadget symmetry!)

*They’re not actually too cool for (school, and) you, of course, but they will maintain they are, no matter how uncool/a fool they end up looking.

**Quasi-obscure reference to my second favorite scene in Tommy Boy.

To vent is to release (Aren’t I feeling all philosophical today?)

Well, what do you know? A little bit o’ ranting goes a long way in helping me not want to punch the universe in the ovaries.

Now, for a daily dose of Zen to balance my bulleted rant: Columbia River Gorge(ous)

Have anything you’d like to get off your proverbial chest?

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