There are few things in the world that are worse than a truly obnoxious person. And I encountered their queen last night.
To set the scene for you: A nice dinner catching up with a friend that had been out of town for a few months. Patio seating, beautiful evening, a giant avo bacon burger, and a cute guy in a soccer jersey sighting. (Sigh...) A nice atmosphere...until....cue Queen Obnoxious the Loud. I had to double take and make sure she wasn't a human megaphone. Nope. That voice box was all natural. She could be the town crier for New York City. Of course, only if the City of New York would consider hiring someone with 2 ounces worth of brains. Sitting 6 feet away, my back to her, I learned:
1. She calls her dad "Daddy" only when she wants something out of him.
2. She was on her way to an AXO party.
3. She only passed Spanish because she gave Professor Montoya a lap dance.
4. She thought Roe v. Wade was a debate about the best way to cross a river.
I might have made a few of those up.
Nonetheless (it's one word, look it up), she was nothing short of horrible.
And this is what leads me to wish that I had a mute button for obnoxious people. Not like that movie "Click" with Adam Sandler. That movie made me want to bitch slap Adam Sandler with Scuba Steve's left flipper, and then force Gatorade down his throat. But the concept of the human-remote is not a bad idea. I would have muted that girl faster than I mute the FreeCreditReport.com guy. He needs to shut up. No one cares that he's serving fish to tourists in T-Shirts. Buy a shredder, shred your receipts, don't shop online without a secure connection, and don't give your SSN out over the phone. If you're not stupid, you won't get your identity stolen, and your credit won't go to shit. Together, we can put this dude out of work. Then, instead of making horrible commercials, he really will have to serve fish to tourists to make a living. Ahhhh, sweet justice.
Back from Tangent Land....this girl was the epitome of annoying. I played cymbals in a marching band for 4 years. I can't hear anything. I wouldn't hear it if my roommate was being attacked by Lord Voldemort in the middle of the night. AND I HEARD EVERYTHING THIS GIRL SAID!
This brings me to my next point. My friend says, "She will never marry." To which I responded: "I hope not. Or at least not before me." And now we proceed into another tangent...
How is it that obnoxious people are in relationships, and I'm single? Maybe my answer to a finding Mr. Right is to triple the "likes" in my sentences, get one of those purse-dogs, and talk incessantly about John and Kate Plus 8. And while we're on the subject of John and Kate, someone needs to tell Kate Gosselin that it's a vagina, not a clown car*.
There's gotta be some reason. Do they lactate draft beer? Do $100 bills fly out of their ears? If you look deep into their eyes, can you catch the latest episode of SportsCenter? I will get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do.
And I'll start looking into getting an ESPN feed installed in my brain. I'll even spring for HD.
*Joke courtesy of my friend whose brain has a shell on it.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I don't need to see your butt crack, thank you.
I have a butt crack, you have a butt crack. All butt cracks are pretty much the same -- some are hairy, some rise higher than others, but really, a butt crack is a butt crack.
I don't need to see yours, thanks.
Unintentional butt crack appearance is just horrifying.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that a random, perfectly timed mooning is absolutely hilarious. Whether it's through a car window, on a river bank, at the Utah-Nevada border agricultural inspection, a commencement ceremony, or your grandmother's 80th birthday party -- the shock factor can be priceless. However, this rant is not intended to praise the random mooner. This is a rant about unintentional butt crack appearance.
WHY, honestly, WHY is this such a regular occurrence? When Joe the Plumber is working on my garbage disposal, I don't need to be introduced to his ass crevice! And why are plumbers always the biggest culprit? It makes me want to lobby the plumbers union and advocate mandatory belt usage in all plumbing jobs. And you can't not look at it. It's there, just waving at you, saying "Hey look at me, I'm an ass crack!" I called you to unclog my sink, not to get a first hand visual of the San Andreas Fault, thank you.
Ugh.
Or what about the girls that ride their bikes around town, with their little butt floss thongs sticking a full fist's length from their pant waist? Um, no Skankasaurus, we don't enjoy it. Or are you just trolling for some skeeze of a frat boy to drop a roofie in your tall-double-shot-iced-non-fat-tuxedo-mocha-no-whip, and take you back to the spank tank to "show you his guitar?" Meanwhile, the roofie kicks in, and he plays some Snow Patrol, and you wake up the next morning only to find yourself bike-of-shaming it home thongless, having lost your string to a thumbtack on his wall, and your dignity to a notch on his bedpost. Way to go, sweetheart you'll go far in this world. And by far, I mean straight to the corner of 5th and K.
And what about Speedo guy at yoga? Yeah, you. You stand right in front so everybody can watch. Aaannnd at the moment you stretch up for Half-Moon, the rest of us see a full moon. I was unaware that I would get an astronomy lesson with my yoga package. As if I weren't nauseous already.
Just say NO to unintentional butt crack. I've never been to Arizona, but I think I've seen enough Grand Canyons to serve me for a lifetime. Cover 'em up, folks.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
So, if I want to be hot, then I have to look like a flooz?
What's up with America's obsession with long blond hair?
I recently attended a wig party. My choice of hair was a long blond wig that I used for a Barbie costume a few years back. My real hair is a medium brown, so the wig was a noticeable difference. I pretty much looked like a floozie. I used to be blond for real, in fact. Yeah, it was scary. My best friend has absolutely forbade me to go blond again. And she's my fashion and image consultant, so I trust that her request is well-intentioned. And while I really have no intention of ignoring her "orders," the comments I received on wig night made me at least consider it:
"Has your dad seen you? You better not let him see you, looking like that." (That one was thanks to a good friend of my father's, by the way.)
"Wow, you should do your hair like that every day."
"Damn girl."
"Wow, sweetie, you look really cute." (My very own mother).
"I'm Daniel Craig, you might know me from the 007 series, will you be my next Bond Girl?"
Ok, so the last one was fake. But that would be be sweeeeeet. [Ranting pauses to Google Image search Mr. Craig in his classic, irresistable tux. Strip poker, anyone?]
Point is -- Thanks, everybody for telling me I'd look great as a skanked out stripper, and that my alter-ego skank image is much preferable to my actual self. That's great for the self esteem. I'll just get myself a good bleach job, pay a few grand for some extensions, lose a few brain cells, learn who these "The Hills" kids are, start using the phrase "Fro-Yo," and make a living at Centerfolds. Too bad I have deep-rooted fears of that place. But that story is for another time, and another place.
And this is where we check off the issue as thoroughly ranted on and say: "Whatever, I'm getting cheese fries." Until I find something new to rant about...you stay classy.
I recently attended a wig party. My choice of hair was a long blond wig that I used for a Barbie costume a few years back. My real hair is a medium brown, so the wig was a noticeable difference. I pretty much looked like a floozie. I used to be blond for real, in fact. Yeah, it was scary. My best friend has absolutely forbade me to go blond again. And she's my fashion and image consultant, so I trust that her request is well-intentioned. And while I really have no intention of ignoring her "orders," the comments I received on wig night made me at least consider it:
"Has your dad seen you? You better not let him see you, looking like that." (That one was thanks to a good friend of my father's, by the way.)
"Wow, you should do your hair like that every day."
"Damn girl."
"Wow, sweetie, you look really cute." (My very own mother).
"I'm Daniel Craig, you might know me from the 007 series, will you be my next Bond Girl?"
Ok, so the last one was fake. But that would be be sweeeeeet. [Ranting pauses to Google Image search Mr. Craig in his classic, irresistable tux. Strip poker, anyone?]
Point is -- Thanks, everybody for telling me I'd look great as a skanked out stripper, and that my alter-ego skank image is much preferable to my actual self. That's great for the self esteem. I'll just get myself a good bleach job, pay a few grand for some extensions, lose a few brain cells, learn who these "The Hills" kids are, start using the phrase "Fro-Yo," and make a living at Centerfolds. Too bad I have deep-rooted fears of that place. But that story is for another time, and another place.
And this is where we check off the issue as thoroughly ranted on and say: "Whatever, I'm getting cheese fries." Until I find something new to rant about...you stay classy.
Some throwback rants to get us started....
Throwback rants. Like those 1970s Kings jerseys that they wear a few times a year to boost apparrel sales. These are some of my old ones. And what a perfect way to start a blog of rants than to show their roots. I give you, my beloved reader(s) (Let's be honest here), my collection of pre-blog rants, with a few new additions.
1. Guys that sag their pants so far down that you can see their entire asses. Buy a freaking belt. You look stupid. And you have a hole in your skidmarked boxers. You know how that trend got started? In prison. Easy access. Swear. Heard it from my mom who heard it from some guy that's apparently a legit source. Think it's cool to act like prisoners? Try dropping the soap in front of a gargantuan lifer named Butch, and see how fast you barter your pruno stash for the nearest belt.
2. People that say the word “irregardless.” I don’t care if it’s been technically accepted as an alternative to “regardless.” This only serves as further proof that the human race is devolving, because we are so stupid that we add words to the dictionary that were made up by people that don’t know how to speak proper English. If you say it in front of me, rest assured, I am judging you.
3. People that have misspelled tattoos. Honestly. Invest in a dictionary before you permanently ink yourself. Here’s your sign.
4. Girls that wear miniskirts and Uggs at the same time. Did you get dressed in the dark?
5. People that end every sentence with “You know what I’m sayin’?” Yes. We do. And it was retarded. You don’t need to ask.
6. People that don’t use vowels in text messages. For the love of some higher deity, texting is not hard. And it takes you less than a second to type out the remainder of the word. This is not acceptable: “lol whn u cming hre I nd 2 c ur fce*” I have come to accept acronyms such as “lol” “omg," "wtf" and “brb”. Those are phrases that would be annoying to type every time you want to cyber laugh, exclaim something exciting, show geniune confusion or disbelief or whenever you have to pee really badly. Even the occasional “u” or “ur” is alright if you’re in a hurry. But anything else is just idiotic. Thanks for textsfromlastnight.com for triggering this rant. Oh, and DFTBA.
7. Girls that insert “like” in between every single other word of their sentence. It like, totally like makes you look, like, hella stupid, and like dumber than a rock. Like, really. Honey, lay off the blonde hair dye, cut up Daddy’s credit card, pop open a Smirnoff Ice, and get a f***ing vocabulary book. Like soon, please.
8. People that cannot correctly use an apostrophe. Apostrophes are correctly used when they are to show possession, or indicate omission in a contracted word. I don’t care if you “really love margarita’s”. You now look stupid because apparently you love something that is possessed by a margarita, but you failed to tell me what that possession is. Now, if you told me that “you really love margaritas”, I would respond “I do too, let’s go have one.” Instead, I’m shaking my head at you, and we’re not going out for a drink. Sure, there are some exceptions, but being a smart ass by trying to point them out by commenting on this rant is not going to get you anywhere. You learned this in the 3rd grade. Were you too busy picking your nose with your #2 pencil to listen to the teacher?
9. Their, there, they’re, your, you’re, two, too, to. Please don’t get me started. See the last 2 sentences of Rant #8.
What pissed me off: PETA writing a letter to Ben & Jerry's asking them to use human breast milk instead of cow's milk for their ice cream.
Oh man, don't get me started on PETA. I don't want any freakin' breast milk in my freakin' ice cream. GROSS. Damn crazy assed hippies. We decided here at the office that the newest flavor would have to be "Mother's Milky Way." DISGUSTING. I hate PETA. I'm having veal for dinner. And I'm gonna go buy a fur coat. And I might even buy a product that was tested on animals. And I'm going to go to the zoo. And I'll make sure to enjoy it. Good, PETA, you make some breast milk ice cream and see how well it sells. It's called capitalism. Go wear your hemp woven clothing and eat your goodamn hummus in some socialist country that won't give a crap about you either. (PS, I actually really like hummus).
June 1, 2009 -- Things that prove that the human race is devolving:
1. Guys that sag their pants so far down that you can see their entire asses. Buy a freaking belt. You look stupid. And you have a hole in your skidmarked boxers. You know how that trend got started? In prison. Easy access. Swear. Heard it from my mom who heard it from some guy that's apparently a legit source. Think it's cool to act like prisoners? Try dropping the soap in front of a gargantuan lifer named Butch, and see how fast you barter your pruno stash for the nearest belt.
2. People that say the word “irregardless.” I don’t care if it’s been technically accepted as an alternative to “regardless.” This only serves as further proof that the human race is devolving, because we are so stupid that we add words to the dictionary that were made up by people that don’t know how to speak proper English. If you say it in front of me, rest assured, I am judging you.
3. People that have misspelled tattoos. Honestly. Invest in a dictionary before you permanently ink yourself. Here’s your sign.
4. Girls that wear miniskirts and Uggs at the same time. Did you get dressed in the dark?
5. People that end every sentence with “You know what I’m sayin’?” Yes. We do. And it was retarded. You don’t need to ask.
6. People that don’t use vowels in text messages. For the love of some higher deity, texting is not hard. And it takes you less than a second to type out the remainder of the word. This is not acceptable: “lol whn u cming hre I nd 2 c ur fce*” I have come to accept acronyms such as “lol” “omg," "wtf" and “brb”. Those are phrases that would be annoying to type every time you want to cyber laugh, exclaim something exciting, show geniune confusion or disbelief or whenever you have to pee really badly. Even the occasional “u” or “ur” is alright if you’re in a hurry. But anything else is just idiotic. Thanks for textsfromlastnight.com for triggering this rant. Oh, and DFTBA.
7. Girls that insert “like” in between every single other word of their sentence. It like, totally like makes you look, like, hella stupid, and like dumber than a rock. Like, really. Honey, lay off the blonde hair dye, cut up Daddy’s credit card, pop open a Smirnoff Ice, and get a f***ing vocabulary book. Like soon, please.
8. People that cannot correctly use an apostrophe. Apostrophes are correctly used when they are to show possession, or indicate omission in a contracted word. I don’t care if you “really love margarita’s”. You now look stupid because apparently you love something that is possessed by a margarita, but you failed to tell me what that possession is. Now, if you told me that “you really love margaritas”, I would respond “I do too, let’s go have one.” Instead, I’m shaking my head at you, and we’re not going out for a drink. Sure, there are some exceptions, but being a smart ass by trying to point them out by commenting on this rant is not going to get you anywhere. You learned this in the 3rd grade. Were you too busy picking your nose with your #2 pencil to listen to the teacher?
9. Their, there, they’re, your, you’re, two, too, to. Please don’t get me started. See the last 2 sentences of Rant #8.
September 25th, 2008
What pissed me off: PETA writing a letter to Ben & Jerry's asking them to use human breast milk instead of cow's milk for their ice cream.
Oh man, don't get me started on PETA. I don't want any freakin' breast milk in my freakin' ice cream. GROSS. Damn crazy assed hippies. We decided here at the office that the newest flavor would have to be "Mother's Milky Way." DISGUSTING. I hate PETA. I'm having veal for dinner. And I'm gonna go buy a fur coat. And I might even buy a product that was tested on animals. And I'm going to go to the zoo. And I'll make sure to enjoy it. Good, PETA, you make some breast milk ice cream and see how well it sells. It's called capitalism. Go wear your hemp woven clothing and eat your goodamn hummus in some socialist country that won't give a crap about you either. (PS, I actually really like hummus).
June 23rd, 2008
I loooove Norah Jones. Love her. Her music is so sensual and calming. And one of the best songs is "Turn me on." At the Farmers' Market today, it was RUINED for me! This crazy broad with a mic and a saxophonist did their "rendition." CRAP. Beautiful song turned into something that made me want to cry out in pain. DON'T cover Norah unless you can do it right. I am extremely disgruntled. THEN her next song was trying to make Joplin's "Piece of my Heart" into a FREAKING BALLAD. NOOOO biatch, it's a rageous "Come and get me, damnit!" tune. IT'S NOT A SAXOPHONE ACCOMPANIED BALLAD!!!! HOW did you ruin JOPLIN and JONES in the same 10 minutes!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!??!!??! BAH! A pox on your house, crazy woman.
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