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.
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.
Look at you, so posh with your glass of white wine accompanying your brunch; so clean because you’re wiping your fingers and your lips after every bite. It’s too bad you practically destroyed your food. Here are a couple of tips I would like to share with you:
1. You do not put the fried egg IN your croque-madame. It was served to you a certain way for a reason.
2. You do not eat said croque-madame with your hands.
I totally dig the look you gave me, though–that heavily condescending glance that asked me what the fuck I was looking at, all the while doubting that I even knew how to pronounce anything written on the menu.
But remember, you’re at a French restaurant; it’s only sloppy because you’re stupid.
Let’s get a few things straight:
When French people laugh, it does not sound like, “Hon hon hon hon hon!” Yes, we eat frogs. Yes, we eat snails. And you know that cute pet bunny you had as a kid? A French person probably ate it. And it was most likely delicious.
Yes, I’m Chinese. But why you think I absolutely must speak your obscure dialect of not-even-Cantonese I have no idea. Stop talking to me! I have no idea what you’re saying!
I’m not an animal; I won’t respond to your whistling or that annoying clicky sound you make. “Yes, I’m Asian. No, I will not love you long time.”
You can’t speak sign language. Sorry.
“So, how many languages do you speak?” is not an appropriate follow-up question to “I studied linguistics.”
And I don’t walk fast; your ass is just slow.
_____* past couple of days, my Gchat** status has been, “J’attends que le ciel me tombe sur la tête, d’ailleurs je crois que ça va pas*** tarder” (I’m waiting for the sky to fall on my head, and actually I think it won’t be long).
Then, tonight, I picked up the current issue of The Atlantic (theatlantic.com) and the cover read: “THE SKY IS FALLING” (read about it here: http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200806/asteroids)
* “This” or “These”? Google search results in favor of the latter. It’s curious how some people use both structures (“this couple of ___” and “these couple of ___”)—why is there no consistency?
** Sounds better than “Google Talk”.
*** Yes, I know that something’s missing.
And since when does Facebook allow HTML text tags? Exciting.
I guess not.
For every time I watch this ridiculous, atrocious, and unfortunately unforgettable performance, I play the soundtrack of Les Choristes ten times in a row.
I’ve done it so many times and I DON’T KNOW WHY.
ps: Did you just watch that? I’m sorry for polluting your ears.