So I didn’t have anything to complain about for like an entire week. It was only a matter of time before the world came back for the vengeance…
Item 1: To whoever has their music turned up so loud the water in my glass is vibrating like in Jurassic Park: give me your concrete address and say a last prayer. It’s a public holiday. Public holiday means quiet. You should have learned that in preschool. Prepare to meet your maker.
Item 2: Why do I always end up with Foucault, I swear the guy is haunting me.
Item 3: I’m having a completely unfounded pregnancy scare (as in, I just had my period, bitch, those eggs never stood a chance) and it’s ridiculous. I’m on birth control, I come from a family with few kids and some fertility issues, I just had my period, I shouldn’t even be worried, right? I mean… right? I took two pills today, I’m not even sure if you’re supposed to do that, but my panicky brain somehow doesn’t care.
Item 4: Public Transport News: Dear person of female persuasion, I don’t care if you’re pregnant, when you’re on the tube you don’t eat something, then lick all your fingers and the palms of your hand and then hang on to the grabpole. I wish I would have taken a picture of you to show people who ask me why I carry hand disinfectant everywhere. I can forgive the very-obviously-not-wearing-a-bra-thing, but getting your saliva all over everything? Not done. Wait, you smell weird. Waaaaait a minute, are you even pregnant? Be honest now, is that a baby bulge or a wine bulge? It’s 2 pm, you better not be drunk and beset by munchies! Although that would explain a lot.
Item 5: Dear Holy Smoke, you suck even by 90s movie standards and I hate that I had to watch you for a class. Oh, you’re so edgy and controversial because you show a woman pissing? Yeah, well, piss off. Also, am I the only white person in the world who never quite got the whole India craze?
Item 6: Dear Boyfriend: Eat your damned food, like, why do I even cook? Think I’m going to enforce a new rule, you don’t eat your dinner, I ain’t cooking the next day. Hate to sound like grandma but I’m not letting perfectly good food go to waste.
Item 7: House renovating people. First you put up scaffolding until juuuust so below my window, only to ne’er be seen again, now you’re taking up the entire sidewalk way at the other end of the house. Fucking decide!
Item 8: Boyfriend. Again. If I tell you to do something it means I’ve already considered all other options and decided that what I’m telling you now is the best course of action. Everything you say now has already been considered and deemed impractical. Now take the empty plastic box we never use down to the basement, there’s a good manbeast. No, it doesn’t fit up on the shelf. No, it can’t just stay in the middle of the room. No, there’s really no room up there now that I had to re-arrange everything so we have indoor space for the bikes. Oh, you want to try yourself? Suit yourself. I’m going to do laundry. The angriest, most resentful load of laundry ever.
Oh, so it doesn’t fit on the shelf? Well, who’d have thunk?
Item 9: Dear very drunk person at the supermarket: Go be drunk and in the way in the booze aisle, you’re blocking the chocolate. I need that chocolate. Have your arguments with yourself somewhere near the catfood, but stop blocking the chocolate. Tell your troubles to the baking soda, but stop blocking the chocolate. Comment on the arrangement of the condiments, but stop choc-blocking me!
And in non-pissed me off news: Blogging Awards. Guys, I know you mean well and I’m honoured, and I’m grateful that you want to nominate me… but all this re-blogging and question answering and the whole shebang, that’s work and doing stuff and you know how I feel about doing stuff. Thanks for thinking about me but it’s too much doing stuff.