PMS: October
October 7, 2007
“Stupid” is a good word.
You know what kills a good rant? Misspelled words. No matter how insightful or eloquently written a rant may be, a single misspelling is enough to make me lose interest. I’m not talking about typos (though people should really proofread themselves); I’m talking about regularly misspelled words, like “definately” and “blatent” and “sulphor”… I mean, really–it’s like giving a great speech and throwing in the word “nucular.”*
Maybe I’m too picky, but I never understood poor spelling.
I have trouble understanding bad handwritings, too (no pun intended). Some people’s handwritings make them look like they’re twelve. Come to think of it, people’s handwritings are quite often a direct reflection of their personalities. Well then… I suppose that explains a lot.
I’m really sick of people blasting music in their cars. I don’t get it; what’s so cool about sitting in a tiny space and having your eardrums hammered by excruciatingly high decibels? Doesn’t it hurt? It hurts even me and I’m sitting in my room, far away from that piece of shit you call a car. I like reggaeton, but at that volume it’s anything BUT pleasant.
It’s also not cool to do it at 8AM. Maybe you should start using Q-Tips.
I think I have bad luck this year; that or the world doesn’t want me to see. After that month-long battle to get my glasses (which I actually never got; I demanded my money back instead–but that’s a whole ‘nother rant, and it’s over so I’ll spare you the details), I’m dealing with my contact lens order that I placed over a month ago and still haven’t received. I’m talking about two different businesses here; so I’m not sure if it’s sheer incompetence, or if there’s a conspiracy of some kind. If the world really doesn’t want me to see…well I suppose I wasted my time learning American Sign Language.
And that just stinks.
* I am not hereby declaring my appreciation for GWB’s speeches; I’m just using his blunder to express the idea that such a mistake can ruin any address, no matter how eloquent–something that his speeches never were.
