Oops, did I just offend someone? Would “dummies” make you feel slightly better, even though they essentially mean the same thing?
Moving on. I meant to write this yesterday, after I got back from the half-assedly shoveled streets of my residential neighborhood.
– After you shovel, you’re supposed to sprinkle SALT on your little piece of concrete so as to prevent the formation of a sheet of ice, should the temperatures drop overnight and freeze the slushy mess left over by bipeds.
– In the same vein, you’re supposed to sprinkle salt AFTER you shovel; what on earth do you suppose a little grain of salt here and there will do in two inches of snow? I’ll tell you what a little grain of salt here and there does in two inches of snow. NOTHING USEFUL. It’ll melt itself a nice little hole of about one inch in diameter AND THAT’S IT.
– And of course if you’re stupid enough to just put the salt and the snow together, I would hope that you’re not dimwitted enough to shovel it all away. Which means that you don’t shovel. BUY A SHOVEL AND GET TO WORK!
Is it icy outside today? Aw, shucks. I hope you enjoy the ice skating arena that you and people like you have inadvertently created! I’ll be working from home in my pajamas if you need me.
I hate people, too. Sometimes I wish that all of humanity would perish just to get rid of all the stupid people, because it sounds more feasible than a selective purge.
Sometimes I get frustrated and I don’t know why, or I know that I shouldn’t feel that way, but it can’t be helped. Some people just irritate the shit out of me, and, in an effort to remain civil and generally not knowing how to express those feelings, I keep everything inside. Until a crappy Sunday comes around and I actively look for various ways of letting it all out.
And so I’m folding paper stars. Origami is very therapeutic. Actually, activities that involve a lot of repetition, concentration, and meticulosity help me take my mind off the bigger things in life.
I want a big jigsaw puzzle.
I want a gigantic coloring book with very tiny details.
I want an endless ball of yarn.
I’d go to sleep and forget about my frustrations, but I took a 2.5hr nap this afternoon — meaning that I’m most likely going to be up for the next four hours or so.
I’m not sure if you can tell; I hate my life right now.
MAN I hate being pissed up at not-even-nine-in-the-morning. And yet the world conspires to tickle my angry bone every chance it gets! Why is it that I’m always up doing laundry at the same time as the most clueless and/or inconsiderate people? Why does the world harbor such unfortunate souls who clearly cannot accomplish a task as simple as laundering?
It pisses me off even more because I can never bring myself to take some jackhole’s clothes out of the washer, even if the cycle’s been over for a good fifteen minutes — and this purely out of my own consideration for his/her clothes, when that person clearly has no consideration for the laundry room rules, or other people for that matter. But that is partly my problem, unlike the following: what am I to do if, after waiting for someone to come retrieve her clothes from two washers and put them to dry, said person walks in and, while measuring another cup of powder detergent, declares that “These two machines aren’t gonna be empty, if that’s what you’re waiting for. I’m sorry, I have to run them both through again, sorry”?
a) go ape shit and make her eat her powder detergent through her nose?
b) bitch and moan and tell her that she should be more considerate of the rules and others in particular?
c) glare at her and walk away?
d) be civil and tell her that “It’s okay, I’ll just wait for my first load to finish, then”?
After running these several scenarios in my head, I figured that d) would be the more reasonable and less damaging option.
With that said, I should probably hurry and get my laundry lest someone else take it out.
You know, I appreciate you standing outside in the bitter cold, working for a cause in which you really believe. What I don’t appreciate, however, is YOU getting all up in my FACE with that stupid binder/clipboard of yours, trying to desseminate all the facts and horrors compiled in your shiny little brochure and gather whatever personal information you need from me.
1. I’m listening to music. Partly because I need to get that song out of my head by listening to it at least 20 times in a row (which never works but hey, I never learn), but mostly to avoid people like you. And you can see that I’m listening to music because my earphones and the wire connecting them to my iPod (product placement WHAT!) are white, thus totally contrasting with my black down jacket that contains many dead birds. Point is, I stuffed my ears with things that emit sound so that I can actually not hear you instead of merely pretending. See that hand in my pocket? It’s turning up the volume. It means get away from me.
2. I’m not looking at you. When did my eyes ever meet yours? Never. I don’t want to look at you because it would somehow be an invitation for you to talk to me, and, in case you haven’t been following, I don’t want you to talk to me. Plus I’m sure you people have some hypnotizing powers, because I always see someone stuck in your invisible tentacles with a pen in hand, scribbling stuff on your binder/clipboard.
3. Not only am I not looking at you, but I’m also frowning. At you. Indirectly. In any case, it’s a meanie face. Don’t come near me.
4. I’m walking uber fast. Am I in a hurry or am I just trying to get away from you? Next time you see me, ask yourself that question. Actually, don’t bother; it’s either one or the other, so either way I can’t and/or don’t want to talk to you.
And despite all this, some of you folks just never learn! Do you do that at bars and parties, too? Jesus jumping up and down…
I don’t care about babies/pandas/polar bears (I actually happen to hate polar bears) enough to stand out there and freeze my ass off in the cold with you. That’s YOUR job; I’ve got mine to do. And, for your information, people who really care don’t wait to be asked on the street by some nagging stranger before giving money; they seek out charitable organizations on their own. Like I do. From the comfort of my home, where it’s rarely below freezing… because, you know, when you ask me to save polar bears in the bitter cold, all I can think of is how nice it would be to have their fur wrapped around me at that very moment.
Or maybe SEPTA just sucks. It’s nearly 11PM and I’m no longer fuming, but I figured I should blog this before it all becomes somewhat irrelevant.
I made two bad decisions in a row this morning — both before 10AM. My plan for today was to get up early and go to the library (at Penn) to get a potentially massive amount of work done. As I painfully tore myself away from bed, my mother told me to stay home and get some more sleep. Not wanting to seem lazy, I got up anyway and headed to the bathroom for a shower. I was so incredibly sleepy, and stood there looking at myself in the mirror, wondering what I should do; I really wanted to crawl back into my warm bed and get another two or four hours of shut-eye. After five minutes of deliberation, I jumped into the shower; it feels better to sleep when you’re clean anyway. A couple minutes later, as you may have guessed, I was wide awake and ready to tackle this hard day’s work.
Fast forward to me walking to the library after having bought a toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese from the local Dunkin Donuts. I have a habit of looking at the windows of a building before I go in, partly to see what’s going on, partly to weigh the situation and see if there’s anything telling me I shouldn’t go in. It’s my paranoid side taking over, I can’t help it. The library looked strangely empty and dim, almost like it was closed. I walked up the steps and tried to discern some silhouettes, but to no avail. I finally got to the glass doors and got a good look in; nobody was there. I tried to open the doors anyway, and, of course, couldn’t.
The library was closed. Of course it was! I had just proven to my mom that I wasn’t a lazy bum, Penn just HAD to shit on my parade.
For some unknown reason, I thought that either Houston or Williams Hall would be open. But as everyone should know, if the library is closed, it most likely means that the University is closed — especially if it’s right after New Year’s Day. I’m just a dumbass, so I walked over to Houston anyway.
It was closed. So I walked over to Williams.
It was closed, too. Duh.
So I called my mother who simply said, “Ha ha haaaa!” It wasn’t even a laugh, like “hahaha!” It was a deliberate attempt to laugh at me. She asked me to go to the Reading Terminal Market to get some shits like apples and bananas, since I was going back east anyway. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get downtown.
Enter bad decision numero dos. Since I was by Williams Hall, I figured the fastest, easiest, and therefore best way to get my ass downtown would be the trolley at 37th street. BOY was I wrong! Who knew that this usually short ride would turn into thirty minutes of unspoken frustration?
After having reached 36th street, the trolley went crazy, beeped real loud, and stopped. There was a big red light on the dashboard (is that what it’s called on a trolley?), and the conductor tried to start again. Once more, it beeped and stopped. He tried another time, with the same result. It was 9:15AM, and the conductor remained strangely silent until another man showed up ten minutes later. The man poked around the trolley for a few minutes, and still nothing was explained to the passengers — and there were about fifteen of us. Interestingly, none of us said a thing nor showed any sign of dissatisfaction. Most were either sleeping or staring off into space; meanwhile, I was contemplating how warm my seat was and how much I liked the fact that SEPTA took care to heat the seats.
Two trolleys passed right by us, heading in the same direction. I wondered why they couldn’t lead us off the trolley to the functional ones.
Fifteen minutes later — that’s 9:40AM — a third SEPTA dude came and finally spoke to us. I couldn’t understand the first two sentences that he said because of his thick accent, but then I heard that we were “on the wrong track” and that if the conductor kept going, we would derail.
Fast forward five minutes, and we’re good to go. Thirty minutes wasted — a solid half hour of my life spent warming my ass up and wondering if my bagel was getting soggy.
On a brighter note, we’ve officially left 2008 behind! 2008, craptacular year, you will most definitely NOT be missed.