General Bitching

Things That Probably Shouldn’t Bug the Crap Out of Me… But Do

Thursday, January 16th, 2014

It turns out I’m very easily irritated.

How is anything about these awful pellets enjoyable?

How is anything about these awful pellets enjoyable?

By no means all-inclusive, please peruse the following list and attempt to limit my exposure to the said items unless you would like to a) see my squinty-eyed look of mild outrage (best case) or b) hear all about it in virulent, hyperbolic terms (worst).

1. The expression “Sunday Funday.”

2. Tom Cruise

3. Jujubes or any kind of candy whose only virtue seems to be getting stuck in your molars for three to six hours.

4. Women who pee (or worse) on the seat… and leave it there. WHAT IS THIS, LADIES!? Sure, it happens to all of us from time to time, but for crying out loud: take a little peek while you’re pulling yourself together and wipe it up already.

5. People who get on Facebook and detail every boring, excruciating detail of their morning/workday/dinner/date/dream.

6. #Hashtags.

7. The combination of #4 and #5. When properly melded, they make me want to bite down hard on something… or someone.

8. Any commonly known and loved side dish – mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, rice pilaf – that has been inexplicably and prepared spicy hot without warning. Last time I checked, cayenne is not one of the four food groups.This is presumably done by cooking novices who mistake “heat” for “flavor,” but it’s still inexcusable, People Who Made the Innocent-Looking Taste Bud Destroyingly Hot Thanksgiving Green Bean Casserole.

9. The expression “me time.”

10. Anna Kendrick (an actress who’s not quite famous but in far too many flicks for my taste and whom for no real reason I can put my finger on, I find incredibly hard to tolerate. If she and Cruise ever make a movie, I may just be forced to bomb the opening.)

11. Anyone who thinks they’re getting any portion of my heavily buttered movie theater popcorn. Get yer grubby paw outta there.

12. Dirty diapers on the ground in public places. How does this even happen? Do you throw it out of your moving car or save it up to toss in the Safeway parking lot later or what?

13. People who narrate their inner monologue out loud. Unless you’re expressly talking to me, I don’t need to know.

14. Boxes of chocolate that don’t come with a decoder ring, thus gravely upping the chances that I inadvertently bite into the much-dreaded maple one.

15. Spam email lists I cannot unjoin no matter how many times I opt out.

16. Men who leave the seat up at my place. Do what you want in your own hovel, but put it all down – lid included – at mine. I will give you a candy-coated tale about how this is because the dog likes to drink out of the toilet (he does), but deep down I experience this as some kind of flagrant show of disrespect and that actually has nothing to do with my dog. Lose points at your own peril.

17. Guzzlers. You offer them a drink from your water bottle and they drain it down to the last drop like a frat boy with a beer bong. You know who you are.

18. The expression LOL.

19. People who’ve already read the book or seen the movie and detail all the spoiler moments in the first three minutes even though you didn’t ask them to clarify anything.

20.Laundromats. They’re so depressing, I try to avert my eyes when I walk by them. Matt Groening once summarized the spirit of laundromats perfectly with a sign on the wall of Jeff and Akbar’s: “Suicides No Longer Permitted On Premises.”

21. People who gripe about petty things.
Nah. Just kidding.

 

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Don’t Look at This, Mom

Friday, September 27th, 2013

Scene from my house circa 10:45 p.m. last night.
It’s trapped in my pantry via the weight of my Kitchen Aid mixer.
The plan kind of fizzles out there.

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I Think I Smell a Rat

Wednesday, September 25th, 2013

For days now, I cannot get this song out of my head.

No, not because of my love of the White Stripes or my  ”mostly attracted to, but slightly repulsed by” Jack White crush, but because my house has rats.

(I’m sorry, Mom. I know this is pretty much your worst nightmare. I was hopeful the title might have scared you off.)

The good news is I wasn’t here for the worst of it – although living vicariously through the friend staying at my place’s mortified texts and PHOTOS once she forcibly (fought one

This image was associated with a story about "rat meat sold as lamb in China." So much for tastes like chicken. Or ever eating anything in China. Ever.

This image was associated with a story about “rat meat sold as lamb in China.” So much for tastes like chicken. Or ever eating anything in China. Ever.

on with one of my large kitchen spoons while it came at her and bit scratches into the other end of the spoon) caught two of them on sticky traps will provide excellent PTSD fodder for years to come – or was I?

See, I don’t know.

And I’m not sure what rats smell like, but I keep waking up at all hours and creeping around my house both hopeful (?) and terrified I will discover something and thinking I smell something “weird.”

Here are the facts as they stand:

1. They tore down two dilapidated houses next door. Three days later, I have rats.

2. Despite my $1600 a month plus utilities rent, my landlord is a total slumlord bastard. Nothing is fixed. Nothing gets repaired. The place is probably six months from falling in on itself. He’s also prone to threatening to evict me – or maybe worse. The notes say things like “you won’t like what I’ll do.” Maybe he means release a bunch of rats? – because he hallucinates that he hears the dog howling. At 3 a.m. When the dog is asleep. And I’m home. And the only creatures stirring are a bunch of rats.

3. One of the other renters here in Hell seems to function as a de facto maintenance man, but he is clearly terrified of the prospect of actually encountering one of these buggers. Not exactly confidence-boosting. He recommended I put out a bowl of Pine Sol.

Um, what?

4. My cat doesn’t give a sh*t. He was apparently sitting on the counter a few feet away from two of them (yes. They frequent my kitchen counter and knock stuff down. Which makes me want to firehose this place with bleach.) begging for his supper. Who can blame him? They’re practically his size. Or maybe he thinks I’ve added to the family. Welcome, Ratatouille, Squeaker, and Meningitis!

4. My dog wants to kill, but I don’t really want him developing a blood lust or have the experience of murdering smallish animals inside our 750-square foot house. See: 9-pound cat.

5. Same de facto maintenance guy “plugged all the holes” leading into this place and put some sticky traps under my stove. The rat(s) drug them both across the house, took some dumps on them, shook free (I found the traps face down in the middle of the room) and – presumably – are now trapped inside here somewhere.

6. Arson sounds nice.

 

 

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#1 Pain in the Ass Invention in the History of Time

Monday, August 12th, 2013

Canned cat food.

It’s gross.
It stinks.
It attracts ants, fruit flies and hobos.
It is a chore to dole out and keep fresh and makes my fridge reek in a “what’s gone bad?” kind of way.
Have I mentioned how much the fancy healthy stuff costs!?
I should eat so well.
In short, shit’s a thorn in my side.

Okay, okay.
Maybe not “#1″
And maybe not “in the history of time.”

That’s maybe my autocorrect and all this incorrect garbage it’s learned and how it continually changes correctly spelled words over to nonsense despite the fact that I’ve followed the instructions to clear its memory multiple times.
Forget that it’s learned curse words and foodie terms, I’m sick of the word “the” being changed to tW.
What the hell is that about anyway?

The “reply to all” email function is a pretty huge pain in the ass, come to think of it.
Especially if you’re prone to spouting off.
And especially espeically if you’re prone to spouting off behind (what you think are) other people’s backs.

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A (Wo)Man Needs a Maid

Saturday, July 27th, 2013

So a couple nights ago I had a dream that I had a roommate. She was upset with me because the house isn’t exactly – okay, at all – clean.
At first I felt bad, but then I started to think about it. “When was the last time you cleaned the litter box?” I asked her.
“Never,” she admitted.
“Never!?”

Then I woke up and realized that roommate is me.

Except sub “never” for “twice a month” (ish) and this probably explains why my cat has started peeing in the tub.

In my defense he has two boxes.

But still.

Anyway, take this level of sloth and imagine every other household task in combination with what you now know about the kitty litter and my place is making me loco.

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^^^me circa five minutes ago and looking a bit loco, as it were.

Here’s the thing.
I don’t like to clean.
And it doesn’t help that my dog has been shedding like a mofo.
And Maui is insanely dirty. In addition to being where young people go to retire it is the dirtiest place on earth.
You into black soles of feet?
Calcutta’s got nothing on this little slice of paradise.

Anyway, it’s 2013.
Where’s my flying robot slave?
I neeeeeeeeeeed it.

Mostly to teach the cat to pee in the toilet, but cleaning the tub would be a nice touch while s/he is at it.
And hanging up the giant pile of clean laundry on my bed.
And mopping.
And giving me a haircut.
And dusting this black dust covered hovel.
And making me a grilled cheese sandwich stat.

That is all.
Thank you for listening.

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