The Turnpike Types

Driving the NJ Turnpike every weekend for almost 2 years means I've seen almost all types of highway drivers out there.  Here are the ones that annoy me most:


THE TAILGATER- If I'm in the passing lane and haven't realized I'm not going fast enough, I can understand being tailgated.  If I'm the one trying to get a slowpoke out of the left lane, I prefer to flash the highbeams since it's safer.  But there are drivers out there who seem to tailgate for no reason at all.  It's happened to me even while on the rightmost lane.  I look in my rearview, and all I can see is another car's grille.  I have no clue as to what motivates people to drive that close behind me; maybe they're drafting to save gas, or they like to look as if they're being towed.  In any case, those situations make me wish I could install rear-facing high beams.


THE VARIABLE SPEEDER- While not the most annoying of crazy drivers, the variable speeder can be quite infuriating... and confusing.  Most times, I stick to the center lane averaging 75 to 80 mph and will eventually run into someone going about 65 or so.  Without tailgating, I switch over to the left lane in an attempt to pass them.  Once I pass, I plan on going back to the middle.

The problem is, the Variable Speeder will go faster as I try to do so.  Fine, I see they don't want to be passed; to them, passing is a personal insult, akin to having their mom called a whore.  So I'll slow down and end up driving behind them again (at a safe distance).  But if it ended there, I wouldn't be writing about them, would I?  No.  Soon after, the Variable Speeder will slow down, forcing my need to pass them once again.  But this time, I'm determined to succeed in doing so, as I don't want to play this game for the entire trip.  Pretty soon, I'm going just shy of 100 trying to get past this idiot.  Mind you, 100 is not THAT fast to some people, but I have a 128-horsepower 4-cylinder compact.  Going a hundred in that thing is kind of scary.  The thing with Variable Speeders is that I know they're not doing whatever they do purposefully.  They really just have no sense of speed and don't pay attention to other surrounding vehicles.  My guess is that once behind the wheel, they have their blinders on, and all they can see is what's straight ahead, and nowhere else.

THE SPEED ENFORCER- The Speed Enforcers are the self-righteous pricks of the highway.  They are the ones perpetually stuck in the fast lane going a steady 70 when the limit is 65.  The Speed Enforcers are relatively harmless on most occasions.  It is when the road starts to get crowded that you'll fantasize shooting them off the road with a roof mounted .50 cal machine gun.  The Speed Enforcer will not care that a huge line of angry, tailgating cars are behind them, because they believe they need to do their part to keep everyone from breaking the speed limit.  I'm sorry, Speed Enforcer, but the Turnpike cops will only pull over those who hit at least 85 or are driving as erratic as a drunk toddler.  Until then, get the fuck out of the left lane and leave the speed enforcing to them, ok?  Thanks!

THE SHOULDER RIDER aka LINE CUTTER- During rush hour, Turnpike exits are painfully slow and packed.  However frustrating it is to wait 20 minutes just to get back to local roads, there is an unspoken code that we stay in our place in line.  Unfortunately, the Line Cutter believes that the rules do not apply to them, and where they are going is way more important than where the rest of us have to be.  So here I am waiting patiently in my vehicle, when I see someone in my side view mirror riding the shoulder, blatantly cutting in line.  I've always imagined that I would see them in time for me to pull into the shoulder to block their path, making them wait with everyone else.  Unfortunately, I'm always too slow to react, or I hesitate, fearing that the Shoulder Rider is actually a cop in an unmarked car.  When they pass me and I see that it's just another impatient asshole, I chide myself for not having done anything.  I just hope that the cars up front will prevent the Line Cutter from merging in, but inevitably there will be one pussy who lets them through.

THE MULTI-TASKER- Sometimes I find cars that appear as though driven by someone who just downed three glasses of Long Island Iced Tea (always a good choice, except before driving).  I try to keep as much distance from them as possible, especially since they are obviously struggling to stay within the lines.  As I pass them, i can't help but try to see the driver and his condition.  Of course, they're not drunk, but simply preoccupied with other things.

Cell phone users are the most common, then texters, and eaters.  I also see women fixing their mascara or applying other makeup.  I've seen parents turned around to scold children in the backseat.  But the most confounding thing I have seen is someone driving with AN OPEN NOVEL against their steering wheel.  Dude.  Is the book THAT suspenseful?!  And have you not discovered audio books?!  I just don't understand this one.

THE RACERS- I hate these fuckers the most.  These dudes don't realize that the turnpike is not their own personal race track.  I don't care if anyone's going 200, I really don't; as long as they always pass on the left (a la Autobahn rules).  But the Racers are the ones who weave through traffic at high speed without caring about the lanes.  All I know is, if these guys somehow lose control and fly off into a ditch, I won't be calling 911 for them.  In fact, I'd pull over, open their door, point, laugh, then drive off.  If only...

DOMs

They call me Kitten. Sometimes, Doll. On a couple of instances, Little Lady. Yes, you'd be surprised as to how many people still use these pet names like we're still living in the 50s, which probably would've been endearing back then, but just reeks of innuendo in this day and age. There are those who try to get with the times, only to find themselves blocked outside the walls of civilization screaming, Uhhh, daaaaayuuuuum! In loving relationships, this is acceptable. In fact, a significant other throwing a "dayum" my way when I'm all dolled up (though more appreciated when I'm not) is encouraged. But we're talking about the average Neanderthal here, who at the mere sight of meat, slips backwards on the evolutionary scale and drools all over his bib, the worst of them being our overly friendly neighborhood gramps (or anybody over double our age).

Hey buddy, eyes up here, please.

Dirty old men make me shudder with disgust. I hate the whole lot of them--the kind who go, "woot woot" towards a skirt, regardless of whether it's hanging on a pair of legs or drying on a laundry wire; the kind who roar animal noises expecting proper ladies to somehow find it appealing enough to purr back; and the worst of all, the suits who justify looking for affairs with girls less than half their age with mid-life crisis. Seriously, the clubs are already crawling with desperate sleazeballs my age, we don't need an onslaught of drunken men old enough to be our fathers invading our personal space, spitting sweat and 80s pick-up lines in our faces.

As if that's not bad enough, but there's a whole mob of them who think that by watching shows like One Tree Hill, 90210 and Gossip Girl, they can pick up our generation's swagger and slang in a snap. But instead of looking up to the supposed heroes in these fictional settings, they end up taking on the stereotypical role of the idiotic frat-boy villain, suffering from a horrible case of Kiss 'n Tell.

Now, I've played Ice Queen numerous times. I know how to deter the seemingly predatory come-ons of older men. I can even let ogling with jaws dropped and passes at me slide (that is, if you get the picture at the first failed attempt). But if you sit at the next table bragging about your latest 20-something-flight-attendant conquest, your initiation into the Mile High Club, and your "tapping that sweet ass" experience, I swear I could hurl. I don't need the image of receding hairline, hairy beer gut, and sweaty, sagging ass swimming in my head.

I may not be the prettiest girl in the room, but I've had my share of cat calls, and I've been bombarded with disgustingly detailed May-December sexual rendezvous stories, and it's not flattering at all. It's not impressive coming from a guy my age. And it's not any better coming from a man who passed the height requirement at the carnival over 40 years ago. My advice: Unless you look like Richard Gere, David Duchovny or Hugh Grant, save your breath. There might not be a lot of it left lying around anyway.

The Smug Cyclist

I started working in the city this summer, and it requires a five-block walk from the train station to my building.  In my daily walking, I've started to detest a certain thing that's been infecting the city for quite some time: the smug-ass bicyclist (from here on shortened to smug cyclist).

When I'm driving, I hate pedestrians; when I'm a pedestrian, I hate drivers.  But no matter what, I will always hate you smug cyclists.

I understand, you're saving the earth from pollution and reducing your carbon footprint blah blah blah.  But you know what?  I don't live in the city and not everything is within 5 miles of where I live.  But unlike other suburbanites who need a car, I'm not driving a monstrous, gas guzzling SUV;  I drive a small, fuel-efficient car, so I'm at least doing my part.  But you don't see me being all arrogant about it.

I especially hate the smug (or clueless) cyclists who don't know what "share the road" means.  And no, it doesn't mean you can ride in the center of a single-lane road during rush hour traffic.  Yes, I realize not all of Philadelphia's streets have a dedicated bike lane.  Boo-fucking-hoo.  Find the streets that do, because when you're taking up an entire lane going 8 miles per hour with a block-long line of furious drivers behind you, the cops might let it go if someone decides to run your ass over.  Just saying.

I rarely wish harm on anyone, but cyclists bring out the worst in me.  As I see cyclists pass cars with that shit-eating grin because they feel exempt from obeying traffic laws, I imagine them running right into a parked car's opened door or their skinny wheels falling through a storm drain grating, causing them to fly over their handlebars (some of which may not have brakes, because the super-smug of smug cyclists ride on fixed-gear bikes).

And no, I don't want you on the sidewalks either.  You're just as annoying on the sidewalks as the Yuppie moms with their humongous strollers (that's a topic for another day).  I'm just trying to take a nice, quiet stroll to work (sometimes with my headphones on).  I don't need to have the shit scared out of me by some cyclist who doesn't realize the sidewalk is for walking only.  It's crowded enough with other people trying to get somewhere, I don't need some guy on two wheels making it worse.  Plus, your dirty tires could scuff my shoe, and I happen to like my shoes.  Although if scuffing my shoes causes you to crash, it would be worth it.

An Explanation

I feel as though the unadultered hatred may be a bit much for people to be confronted with. We do not hate indiscriminately. There is a method behind the madness. Here's what it really comes down to: if you suck as a person, hatred will be thrown in your direction. There could be a multitude of things wrong with you, but you will not be touched unless we are given reason to do so. You could be the fattest thing in life (LIFE!), and we wouldn't make fun of you. However, if you have a generally annoying personality, we will find reasons to hate you.

Bottom line: If you want to avoid the hatred, it's not about what anyone can possibly use to insult you, it's about you asking for it.

Let's not and say we did.

No Touching Allowed

"Let's touch base."

I hate this phrase. Why do you want to touch base with me? This is not appropriate work conversation. We just work together, we're not friends, why would I let you touch my base? It's really much too forward. I have friends that I've known for years, and they've never even seen my base, much less touched it. All these people at work keep asking to touch it. It's gross. Can't you at least try to get to know me a little bit first? Like, "Hey, how are ya? Wanna get some lunch? Wanna touch base later?" Of course, I'd say no, but at least there's an effort made.

Please stop asking to touch my base, it freaks me out.

Magic Hate Ball: Will Someone Please Think of The Eskimos?

Dear Magic Hate Ball,

I've always had issues with my weight. I was the chubby kid, the "big-boned" teenager, and the easy fat chick in college. At my worst, I weighed about as much as an adolescent walrus. However, I've lost literally hundreds of pounds due to a strict diet, including gastric bypass sugery followed by a severe case of bulimia. I've successfully kept my weight in the range of 200-215 pounds. I'd like to show off my new slimmer body with low-rise jeans, mini-skirts, halter and tube tops, and other summery type clothing. My family is very against this. They say they are supportive of my dietary choices, and they're proud of my weight loss, but they refuse to support my new fashion sense. How can I tell them that this is what I want without alienating them?

Looking At Reflections Don't Offend

Dear LARDO,

I suppose I'm happy for your dramatic weight loss. After all, the female walrus weighs about 1,900 pounds. That's an incredible loss. How did the surgeons ever reach your stomach to begin with? How many interns were there to hold the fat flaps back? You could have fed an Eskimo community for a week. But let's address your question.

There are a number of factors involved in this: your pride in your weight loss, the opinion of your family, fashion, and public safety. I'm glad that you lost 1,700 pounds. Losing the weight of an exceptionally large kindergarten class is quite impressive. In my opinion, however, that gastric bypass procedure is cheating. Instead of bypassing your stomach, you should have just bypassed those hams, cakes, and tubs of lard. That's just me.

But back to you. Your family's opinion clearly means a lot to you. LISTEN TO THEM! They are not only looking out for you, but for the safety of my eyes. For you to wear tiny tiny clothes is a crime against fashion and humanity. There is a reason tiny tiny models wear these tiny tiny clothes: it looks best on them. You don't see Mo'nique wearing the same outfit as Kate Moss, it just doesn't happen. Also, it's just cruelty to the clothes to make them strain like that. A pair of jeans was not meant to fit around a thousand inch waist, that is why god gave us elastic. As for humanity, why would you subject innocent bystanders to such atrocities? It's just mean. Don't you worry about the well-being of my eyes? Seeing so many rolls on one person will send me into a fit of seizures from which I may never recover.

The Magic Hate Ball

I Need a New Job (or Are You Fucking Kidding Me?)

If, for some reason, you've read my older posts, you'll know that I sit in close proximity to the copy room. For this reason (and being at the bottom of the totem pole), I have been asked to make sure the paper trays of all the machines are full in the morning. I have no problem with this. Most days, this consists of coming in, opening the trays, seeing they're full, and then closing the trays. Occasionally, I top off all of the trays with paper. The five seconds it takes to do this is not worth complaining about for days upon weeks.

Today, this has changed. I went in, checked the paper, and went back to my desk. Everything was full, so there's nothing I need to do, right? Wrong. A director came up to me in a fit. (The same director who's asked me check the paper every morning. Because actually putting in paper herself is too labor intensive.) Apparently, the machine was not copying her document. "Why?" I ask. I checked the paper. There are at least 2000 sheets in there. This is what she tells me:

"The machine is warming up."

Are you fucking kidding me? The machine needs to warm up. This is what these super-automated things need to do so that they don't need to be serviced every fucking week. In the time it took for her to tell me about this monstrosity, the machine warmed up and printed her copy. So she walked over and picked up her document, so I, thinking the issue is over, proceed to disregard her alarming ignorance of office machinery. Unfortunately for me, however, she comes back to me and proceeds to complain about these 20 second warm up periods. This is what she says to me:

"I don't understand why the machine needs to warm up. No one's used it all night. Why does it need to warm up?"

Once again: Are you fucking kidding me? Of course it needs to warm up after a night of inactivity. Like me, this thing sleeps at night. Why are you so stupid?! You're the first person to ask anything of this machine today. It needs to warm up! I don't understand what is so difficult with this concept?! How is it that you are able to function in the workplace?! I don't understand!! This downward spiral was interrupted by another one of her stupid requests:

"Can you make sure the machine is warmed up all the time? I don't want to have to wait for my copies."

Because I'm not that creative, I ask again: Are you fucking kidding me? This dumbass/asshole/idiot expects me to baby-sit the damned machine all day every day, making sure it's nice and warmed up for her impatient ass. I'm sorry, but this is too fucking much.

When it comes to this kind of stuff, I'm generally a patient person. I don't mind making sure the copiers and fax machines are full. It only takes a few seconds and it helps everybody else who uses them. But I will be fucking damned if she expects me to check up on the machines constantly just so that she doesn't have to wait that extra 20 seconds for them to warm up. She doesn't see any of her superiors/colleagues complaining. They understand the limitations of copy machines. If you're the first person to use it in the morning or after a few hours of inactivity, add a few seconds to your wait. It's not that fucking difficult.

Needless to say, I have begun the search for a new job. I think it will be best for all parties involved. I lose the desire to shoot someone in the face (including myself), and they avoid being shot in the face. Everyone's a winner!

Bitch, please. It aint' that bright.

I have only reaction to this: WHY?! Is it really necessary for sunglasses to be this large? Yes, I understand that cheeks need ultraviolet protection too, but there are creams for that. You could even go the ultra-Asian route and get a little umbrella to carry around when it’s sunny. While I’d still mock it, it’s better than these hideous glasses. While you may think these are attractive, this is what I see:When did it become attractive to look like The Fly? In this case, the experiment was botched even more badly, as you have none of the pre-packaged powers, i.e. sticking to walls, flight, and (in certain cases) the transmission of disease. I know it’s bright outside, and that pesky sun gets in the way, but is it really so bright as to warrant this monstrosity?

Perhaps you believe that your future is so bright that you need shades. Trust me in telling you that this is not the case. If anything, you’ve already peaked and are approaching your twilight years. You don’t need sunglasses when there is no sun. Perhaps you think that wearing these will trick the sun into coming back up:

SUN: Time to illuminate the other side of the world. WAIT A MINUTE! Someone’s still wearing sunglasses over there?! Is my watch right? Should I be lighting up the western hemisphere? I knew I should have gotten this stupid Swatch fixed. Guess I gotta go light up L.A.
MOON: Where is that bastard? He’s late again.

As far as I know, this tactic does not work. Soon after this happened, the moon came over, whipped the sun into shape, and explained the situation: sunglasses are a result of the sun; the sun is not a result of sunglasses.

Once again, I ask: WHY?! Unless you’re an anime character who has somehow transcended the boundaries of paper and animation cels, your eyes cannot be so large as to warrant these obnoxious things. And if you're eyes are that large, you had better be saving the world from evil queens from outer space, or whatever it is that the Sailor Scouts do.

Please.

Just stop.

The Worst Poem in Life (or Why My Brain is Bleeding)

It angers me that people think ownership of a Xanga page makes them competent poets/rappers. Case in point:

i've gotten myself into a terrible mess
issues i've over looked and never adressed
don't think its a game cuz i ain't playin
cuz its a god damn shame, all the shiet u sayin

to be continued...off to muhh fawkin wizzerk

The anger that this inspires in me has no equal. If you can imagine the rage between Lindsay and Hilary, you'll only be skimming the surface of mine. That is how deep this is. Don't think that rage is my only reaction to this, there is also an underlying sadness present. If this is how people are writing today, can you even imagine world politics in the next decade?

US Ambassador to Canada: u muhh fawkin Canadizzles best get the fawk outta alaskerk befour i send a fawkin mizzerk ur way. SUK DEEZ NUTZ MUHH FAWKUHS!

I can only hope that at this point, my home will be the (hopefully) nuclear, not nucular, missle's primary target, gifting me with an instant death. But back to the issue at hand. I'll try my best to discuss this "poem" without succumbing to any fits of rage:

This hurts my brain on so many levels. The left hemisphere of my brain has become a quivering mass of goo. This is perhaps the worst combination of self-delusion, fake ghetto-ness, and bad grammar I have ever seen in my life. And believe me, I know bad grammar.

I’ll excuse some of the misspellings, as there is no spell-check on Xanga (that I know of). Unfortunately, this only applies to such errors as adressed and the lowercase i. I’ll even ignore the ain’t, as this has really become a staple in most American vernaculars. One thing I cannot ignore is cuz. Is because that much of a hassle to type? Even if you want to cut back on the number of syllables, ‘cause is perfectly acceptable. Can you imagine if this child was addressing his cousin (a.k.a. cuz) in any way? That could trigger serious bleeding in my already damaged Broca’s area. Blood is pouring out of my ears just thinking about it. (Even as this is happening, I’ve been able to adhere to the rules of proper grammar.)

Is it really necessary to let us know how exactly to pronounce these words? Why is shit spelled with an e, creating the non-word: shiet? I assume you pronounce this word in two syllables: shi-et. The thing is, if you’re so concerned with economic syllable distribution, why would you add to this already short word? This (let’s call it a) piece flows much better with the single syllable shit, rather than the two syllable shiet. To the “poet/rapper”: It’s amazing how you’ve made this already hopeless piece of shit even worse with the addition of a single letter.

The worst offense is muhh fawkin wizzerk. I understand this is supposed to be a sort of drawled/super ghetto affectation of “motherfucking work,” but is it really necessary to spell it in this manner? The pronunciation of “motherfucking work” should really be left to the reader. Also, in reading muhh fawkin wizzerk aloud, I sound like Rain Man, albeit with a lower I.Q., no math ability, and severe head trauma.

I don't know if I have the ability to address wizzerk, but I will try my best to do so. Why do people insist on adding random Zs (followed by -erks, -izzles, or other forms of literal stupidity) to words in the hope that they can sound like Snoop Dogg? Last I checked, he's the only one who has even a remote chance of pulling it off; and it's only because he's smoked enough marajuana to alleviate all cases of glaucoma in the world: past, present and future.

Oh, dear. My ear canals don't seem to have enough capacity to handle the blood gushing from my brain, so some of the flow is being diverted to my eyes.

Excuse me while I wipe down my keyboard.

(Final Note: Overlooked is ONE WORD! Not two! ONE RWOIg;kl a;kldhg asdlja;a;lsdkjf jspellCHECK!! a;ksdaf asd puiaretj34t698 4t aphga ;hgapwroijajg; 364_+_)sdf/ eju fp syupi jrstij ,r yp nsf$$$ ENGLISH0awt8p ka;lkj45 CLASS poaid a[09a,a]ld!!!!!!!!!!

[Editor's Note: The combination of a blood-soaked keyboard and brain hemmorrhage have rendered i write i temporarily disabled. Please forgive the outburst. We hope she makes a full recovery in the near future.]

Dumbass Directors

I fucking hate people that think you live and die by them. If they need something, they automatically assume that you’d love to do it. And not just that, you’d love to do it right this fucking second!

Why do people think this? Is it because their parents loved them that much? It is a desperate call for attention that their subconscious is directing them to do? Do they simply need catering/pandering all day every day? Who knows? All I know is that these people are fucking annoying and should be condemned to death by a thousand bee stings.

Is it really necessary that I Xerox these 3 pages for you right now? Especially since I’m literally right next to the copy room and in the time it took you to ask this of me, you could have made 10 copies? Why do you insist on wasting my time? Is that a required aspect of your job?

DUTIES - As Director of [Any Fucking Department], you will develop, plan, implement, interpret and direct programs in accordance with necessary policies, guidelines and legal constraints, and to advise/assist management in the administration of these programs/policies. Proper levels of annoyance are a must, especially in roping new hires into boring, mind-numbing work. This includes, but is not limited to: having said employee call thousands of people for no good reason, copying documents that would take you 2 seconds to do yourself, and explain basic computer processes in idiotically simple language. In this position you will work closely with all levels of the organization providing the necessary balance between company and employee advocate.

In case you’re wondering, it is I that suffers under such rule. Just now, I’ve been asked to copy a 3 page document. My desk is literally 10 feet away from the copy machine. Yet one of the directors has stopped here, waited for me to get off the phone, and then proceeded to walk me through the process of copying 3 pages. In all this time, she could have made the copies herself and gotten back to her own damned desk.

Yesterday, she had me take dictation on a three paragraph letter. While this doesn’t sound so bad, she was perhaps the slowest dictator in the history of dictation. For the most part, people have a general idea of what to say when giving dictation. This was not the case. A mere 500 words stretched out into two hours of work. Two hours! A five year old can think of shit faster than that. And afterwards, she had the nerve to ask me to speed up the current project I’m working on. I’d be done a lot faster if you would stop asking me to do shit that barely takes up your own time. Maybe if you cleaned off your desk, you could find your own damned keyboard and type your own fucking letter once in a while.

Do I sound bitter? I hope so, since that’s what I’m trying to convey here.

Introducing the Magic Hate Ball

Dear Magic Hate Ball,

I’ve recently become fascinated with Asian culture and I want to get a tattoo with Asian letters, most likely Chinese or Japanese. I want to honor my girlfriend and get a tattoo of her initials (H.A.G. fyi). The thing is: she doesn’t want to do the same for me no matter how much I insist. I mean, it’s only fair, right?

I Do Idolize Overwhelming Tats

Dear IDIOT,

There are a number of problems with your letter. I’ll make this easier for everyone and just make a list:

1. I’m “guessing” that you’re not Asian, and you probably know, at most, one person of Asian descent, who must deal with your constant greetings of “Nihao!” every damned time they see you. In general, it just makes us uncomfortable, especially if we're not Chinese.
2. Here’s the dirty little secret: Asia is not a country, it’s a continent, dumbass. And if you do realize this, China and Japan aren’t the only ones there. Look at a fucking map for once.
3. There are no Chinese or Japanese “letters.” I’m guessing you want to have very complex, very “Asian” looking characters tattooed on your idiotic skin. Why don’t you find out what something constitutes before you have it permanently embedded into your skin?
4. Just because you want to make a bad decision, doesn’t mean your [soon-to-be-ex-]girlfriend should have to make the same one. Especially after the fact when you find out from the Chinese delivery guy that while your tat is an everlasting homage, it is not your girlfriend, but fried bull testicles.

Part of me wants to recommend against getting this tattoo, as it will be an extraordinary exercise in ignorance and bad decision making. In addition to this, it creates a horrible domino effect in which other ignorant assholes will be impressed by the physical manifestation of your idiocy and acquire their own horrible tattoos. However, the larger part of me (I'd guess around 98%) recommends that you do make the investment and hopes that the result takes up a large portion of your body, thus making it impossible to hide your stupidity from the rest of the world.
In conclusion, I suggest you get the tattoo, then continue to persuade your girlfriend to do the same. Soon, she’ll dump you, and you’ll just be that dumbass with “Fried Bull Testicles” or something equally idiotic on his torso with no girlfriend. Good Luck!

The Magic Hate Ball

Orange is Not the New Tan

When did this become attractive? That shit is gross! Last I checked, orange was not a naturally occurring skin color. I know that people want to be eye-catching to a certain extent, but this is not the way to go about it. Car accidents are also eye-catching, but those are never good things. And like car accidents, it’s hard to tear my eyes away from the horrifying scene.

Clearly, the sun is not responsible for this “tan.” It’s not even right to call it a tan, so I’ll start again.

Clearly, the sun is not responsible for this “orange.” Really, only fruit should be anywhere close to this shade. It amuses me because some unknown spector of the universe has enacted some sort of revenge on her. Since she’s too good for a natural looking tan gained from appropriate amounts of exposure to the sun, she is now the actual color of the sun:

CRAZY LADY: I don’t have time to get a real tan, I want a more concentrated form of skin cancer. Bring on the tanning bed!
SUN: Don’t have time for ME!? We’ll see where that gets you:

CRAZY LADY: At least I’m not pasty anymore.

Remember, there are really only five basic colors of people: black, white, red, yellow, brown. No where is orange on that list. Stop defying nature. It’s not cute.

Stupid Questions

I came in to work today, and sat at my desk. The office is pretty empty today since people that needed to work a conference over the weekend got today and tomorrow off (with pay). So I'm checking my email, and one of the people in Government Affairs who I usually run support for comes right up to me and asks: Are you coming in to work today?

Is she fucking kidding me? It wasn't, "I didn't know you were coming in today,” or anything of that nature. It literally was: Are you coming in to work today? As if I wasn’t sitting at my desk, right in front of her face AT WORK. I had no response for a few moments, and a few seconds later, I just said, “Yeah, I’m coming in today.” What else could I say? Normally, I would have been super sarcastic, but this is someone in a position of authority over me who has the capabilities of making my life miserable. That would be like a waiter interrupting the customer’s meal and asking, “Will you be eating here today?”

No SHIT I’m coming in today.

Asian Clubber Chicks

If you've ever been to an asian club party, then you've definitely seen them before. The asian clubber chick. They're very easy to spot. Anyone who falls under any of these descriptions is a definite clubber chick.

1. They travel in packs- the asian clubber girls never party, drink, or dance alone. They are always in a group of similarly dressed girls ready to impress the crowd with their slutty get-low-to-the-ground dance moves. You will rarely see them dance with anyone outside of their circle of friends. Speaking of dancing,

2. They only dance with their girls- There are four main reasons why they only dance with each other:

• They are bitches: These girls think they are god's gift to men, and therefore, are only willing to dance with guys who these girls think are hot. So unless you have the looks of Brad Pitt, or the charm of George Clooney, you're better off trying to "holla" at the semi-cute drunk girl at the bar, who incidentally, will look better with every shot of tequila you take.
• They are shy: During the rest of the week, many of the asian clubber chicks are actually nerdy college girls studying for their nursing, biology, or finance degree. These asian club parties are their chance to let loose and dance on the weekends. However, with all the time they spend in the library, their interaction with the opposite sex is limited. Not knowing how to approach a guy, they will instead just dance with their girls and hope that one has the balls to come up to them.
• They are closet lesbians: I'm not saying every girl in the group is a lesbian, but chances are, a couple of them might be. They dance with their girls on the pretense that they are too good for the guys at the club, but in reality, they just want to hook up with their girlfriend. As the alcohol starts to kick in, they will become more daring and flirty, hoping to god that their friend is a lesbian as well. Or at the very least, bi-curious. If not, there's always more alcohol.

Guess who's the giver and who's the taker...

• They are straight up ugly: There's a good reason these girls are never approached by the guys. They're just not that pretty. They're not even "kinda cute". Luckily, ugly girls tend to find each other and become friends. At least they have someone to dance with when the guys don't call. Avoid these girls at all cost. With the club's dim lighting and having drank 3 long islands, you may think these girls are approachable. Hopefully, your buddy will come along and save you from this embarassment, because damn it, you'd do the same for them. That's a true wingman.

3. They wear the same outfit- Ok, so they don't wear the exact same outfit, but some variety of the same theme. Regardless of the cold weather, asian clubber chicks will wear a pair of tight-fitting low rise jeans with a flowy top that either reveal their bra-less back or show off their A to B cup-size chests. In summer-time weather, the jeans get replaced by a short skirt, so the world can see their pale, toothpick-thin legs. Not that I'm complaining about cute girls flaunting some skin, but I want to see some style. Show some creativity! These girls spend hours in front of the mirror trying to put the perfect outfit together only to end up looking like every girl at the club.

Wear something different!

5. They cock-block for each other- For every clubber chick, there's a clubber guy. These fellas have no approach to meeting the clubber girls. Instead, they attack guerrilla style and sneak up on these vulnerable girls. Without ever saying "hi" or "hello" the clubber guy will quietly walk up to a dancing clubber chick's open back, grab her waist, and start grinding away.

To defend against these creeps, the clubber chicks watch each other's backs (literally) to prevent any unwanted dance partners. Note how in the above photo, the girl in brown is being held by her female friend, who is gently pulling her away from the attacker. Other methods are used as well, such as dancing in a line as shown below:

In this setup, the weaker girls, who have the most difficulty saying no to the guys, are placed in the middle. The stronger girls, able to defend against most attacks, stand (or dance) on the outside. Only the most brave and daring clubber guys can stand a chance against this sort of cock-block.

And there you have it. Although this list does not cover everything, it should give you a good idea on the asian clubber chick. Next time you're at an asian club party, you know exactly what to look out for. Have fun!

You're Not That Cool

One Thousandth of My Hatred

Why do people insist on acting cooler than they really are? There is no real advantage in doing so. In fact, it makes me hate people that do it. I don’t mean hate as in: I hate when the candy store doesn’t have my favorite flavor of Jelly Belly. This is what I mean: I hate with the fire of a thousand suns. If it wouldn’t land my ass in jail, I would personally rip the aorta from of each of these people with my bare hands, and then mock them by turning it into some sort of finger puppet.

First, let’s define the action of acting cooler than you really are. One who does this abides by the following protocols:

• Purposely seeks out what is currently being labeled as “cool,” irregardless of who is setting these standards.
• Attempts to follow these trends in spite of their natural tendencies/limitations
• Achieves this attempt in a manner in which it annoys much of the population.
• Successfully causes such distaste with the “cool” behavior that those who actually enjoy such things are put off from them.

Hopefully, you will soon be able to recognize such behavior in those surrounding you. Unfortunately, I will not teach you how to rip aortas from people’s chest cavities. (You’ll need to do that on your own time.)

For the purpose of the argument against acting super-cool, I am going to focus on people who are over the age of twenty. While this behavior does inspire hatred for those under twenty, the immediate results of such actions are vastly different. For twenty year olds, I’m going to assume that they’ve finished high school, and have either been in the work force or in college for a year or two. This time period should have provided enough life experience to stop acting like a child and be able to at least fake adulthood. In addition to that, you would think that someone at that age would be able to make their own decisions as to what appeals to them, irregardless of who is touting what is to be labeled “cool” or “uncool.” At this age, they really should just know better.

The best way to convey why these people are to be hated is through example, so here's one to get you started:

The Wannabe Urbanite

If you’re from a suburban gated community where each house has at least one BMW/Mercedes Benz/Lexus in the driveway (‘cause the nicer cars are in the garage), don’t act as though you’re from the ghetto. It’s unbecoming on you, and frankly, you can’t pull it off. Here’s what I think happens in your mind:

• “Hey! Look at what they’re wearing on that horrible/mindless/void of intelligent thought show: TRL! Who cares how ridiculous it looks?! I’m going to do the same! Listen to their unnatural use of urban slang! They gotz mad skillz, dawwwg!
• “I’m gonna talk like that no matter how wack I sound! For shizzle my dizzle. Screw my $150,000 educizzle! I’m straight street(izzle).”
  

Personally, this is what I generally believe people are thinking when they make such poor life decisions. Unfortunately, this internal monologue is only half of the problem. The rest is executed as punishment to the rest of the populace, which is thinking:

• “Look at that chick talking like a fool. Making the rest of us (with $150,000 educations) look like idiots.” OR “Why does she keep quacking? OH! She’s trying to say wack! Dumbass bitch.”
• “That bitch is not wearing the same thing as me. I’m never wearing this outfit again. Who cares that it actually looks good on me and makes her look like a Stomp reject? She’s tainted these clothes forever.

Are you following my logic here? Not only have these girls perverted urban style and culture, they have successfully ruined said practices for others. It is one thing to keep up with the times, it’s quite another to spoil it for everyone else that it actually does work for.

Now that I’ve given you an example, try to identify this protocol in our other entries. Try this one for starters. Go ahead, it’s not that difficult.

It doesn’t really matter what you’re trying to do when you act cooler than you really are. It all comes down to this: There’s a reason most of us don’t pay attention to you, don’t try to attract it by acting like an asshole. When it comes down to it, you’re a show-off, and nobody likes a show-off. Go fuck yourself and leave us alone.

Flip-flops in the Snow

Why do people insist upon wearing flip-flops in the winter? Correct me if I’m wrong, but the extremities of the body are most vulnerable to damage from the cold, so why would you give them the least amount of protection possible? This makes no sense at all.

Are the feet of some completely immune to the cold, while others hypersensitive? This is much more than simple differences in weather preferences. I fully understand that people enjoy different temperatures, and there is a certain range that I think is acceptable amongst most people. Some people are more comfortable in warmer times (anywhere from 75º to 90ºF), while others are in colder times (40º to 50ºF). This is perfectly fine. The problem is when people willingly expose themselves to below freezing temperatures.

Walking around in the snow while wearing flip-flops is simply moronic. I have seen girls running around in the dead of winter (not a fake winter that we’ve had recently with temperature ranging from 20º to 60ºF) in tiny skirts and flip-flops. Given, these were Catholic high school girls, and the skirts were part of the uniform, but I also attended that same high school, and I wore pants and Timberlands. The worst was when said girls would complain about the cold. They would complain about the cold they were experiencing while the bottom halves of their bodies were essentially naked to the furies of winter. Does this make any sense? NO. IT DOES NOT.

In my opinion, the Sluttiness Quotient (SQ) is directly proportional to one’s resistance below freezing temperatures. In the same way that a low IQ can shield one from the awful truths of the world, a high SQ can protect one from the physical onslaught of winter. This does not only apply to girls and their skirts/strappy-sandals/flip-flops, however. We have all seen that group of frat boys in flip-flops playing hackey sack in a field of snow. How do they maintain their balance while essential tissues of their bodies are slowly being destroyed? The rest of us may never know.

February Is Gay

This month sucks. It's only 28 days long. Except every four years when it's a leap year, it has 29 days. Woop-de-fucking-doo.

First let's look at the February holidays. There's Groundhog Day (Feb 2), Valentine's Day (Feb 14), and President's Day (third Monday of Feb). Only one of those holidays gets you a possible day off: President's Day. Most private companies don't give you a paid day off for this holiday. Since it's a federal holiday, those with government jobs get the day off, which means no mail for you!

And Groundhog Day?! Who gives a shit about an animal that checks for its shadow to predict how much winter we have left? What's even more sad is that there are organizations to celebrate this poor-excuse-of-a-holiday. There are people who don't show up for work and don't get paid so they can watch a furry thing come out of the ground. There's certainly better animals that deserve a holiday much more than a groundhog. How about Cow Day? Pig? Chicken? I'd be more willing to celebrate these animals because damn it, they're tasty. Then again, I've never tried groundhog.

And finally, there's Valentine's Day. Who actually loves this holiday? I'm betting only the execs at Hallmark. It IS their holiday after all. What better way to show your love for that special someone by buying them a card with a greeting written by another person, a box of assorted chocolate-covered crap, and a $10 stuffed toy made in some third world country sweatshop? For those who are single, Valentine's day is a brutal reminder that they are alone with no one who loves them. Because of that, they'll celebrate this day in their own fashion by drinking their asses off along with other bitter singles. And the guys who have a valentine are angry because they have to spend their hard-earned money on a dinner for two at an overpriced restaurant.

If I were black, I'd be real angry that Black History Month is February. What, is 30 days just too much?

Hot bitches

you know who they are. they wear nothing but undersized brand name clothing, much of which was not paid for by themselves. they get what they want, and if they dont they whine or pout about it until it happens.

they use the only trait they know of to acquire items and attention: their looks.

all their guy 'friends' are only around them because they wanna bang them. fuck the personality, who needs it? while inside, their self conscienceness wont allow them to be seen any other way other than the way they want to be seen.

do not let them control you.

Rice Rockets Part II

Recently, every rice boy with a bit of cash to dump has jumped on the "Pimp My Ride" bandwagon.


Yep, these are the same dumbasses who put useless shit on the exterior of their cars.

So now, after they've used their parent's money making their car look stupid on the outside, they spend even more to do the same for the inside.

Really, is it necessary to have 5 lcd monitors inside your car? Does every passenger NEED to have their own personal screen? And guess who doesn't have their own screen? The DRIVER! Because you actually need to keep your own eyes on the road! Crazy! I guess it's noble and all that you want to keep your passengers entertained, but why spend all that money for something you really can't enjoy yourself?

Some ricers even put a more expensive flatscreen tv in the trunk, complete with video game system (xbox, ps2, etc.) and DVD player. WHY?!! How often does one need to wait outside of their car for so long that they need to play video games or watch a movie? The only time people spend that much time outside their car is when they get locked out. Here's an idea: take that fancy tv, video game system, and dvd player out of your car's trunk and put it into... your room!

Now I have no problem with people installing a good speaker system in their car. At least that's something that the driver can enjoy. I even like cars with a powerful subwoofer, because that's necessary for a great sound system.

However, some go overboard install over 2 subwoofers... some as many as 6 or 10. At that point, it's ridiculous because you no longer hear music... just bass. Some even put neon lights on their subwoofers, which is completely useless for music. Now you're just showing off. And NO ONE likes a show-off.

You're not that deep.

Why do people insist on writing horrible “poetry” and then putting it online for all the world to see? For example, here’s a lovely tidbit that I recently acquired (and yes, the original font color was pink):

this is because i can spell confusion with a “k”
and i can like it
its to dying in anothers arms
and why i had to try it
its to jimmy eat world
and those nights in my care
when the first star you see
may not be a star
im not your star
isn’t that what you said
what you thought this song meant…

Microsoft Word wouldn’t let me just type in the “poem” as is. I had to go back and insert all(llllllll) of the spelling and grammatical errors (with much difficulty/annoyance, I might add). Before I extrapolate on grammar/spelling, you should know that this person majored in “inclusive elementary education.” That’s right, people! She wants to teach the children of the world and lead them to a better tomorrow! I am outraged. She doesn’t seem to fully realize the function of the apostrophe, much less know that “its” is a possessive pronoun. Furthermore, why would you spell confusion with a “k?” Last I checked, confusion was spelled fine just the way it is. She has no right to disagree with the dictionary. I’ll let the complete lack of capitalization slide, seeing as there have been great poems written without them. But these were works loaded with literary devices, allusions, metaphors, etc. This, on the other hand, is loaded with crap.

Now, I don’t claim to be a literary master by any means, but what does this (piece of shit) mean? Let’s run through it together.

this is because i can spell confusion with a “k”
and i can like it

Why would you like spelling confusion with a “k?” As far as I’m concerned, this lines means nothing, except that you’ll have that annoying red underline in Word telling you it’s wrong. There’s no reason to like it. At all.

its to dying in anothers arms
and why i had to try it

If only she would die, then there’d be a little less crap all over the internet. But, according to this, she did try to die. Clearly she failed, just as she is failing in drawing any emotion out of the reader.

its to jimmy eat world
and those nights in my care

Why jimmy eat world? If you’re going to cite a specific musical group, it’d be best to allude to why, especially if said group has not made a significant, universally accepted contribution to the musical world. Did she spend nights caring for someone while listening to them? Or is “care” a typo, and she really meant they listened to jimmy eat world in her car? The world may never know. This is what bad grammar/spelling does. It makes everything you write questionable.

when the first star you see
may not be a star

If the first star you see wasn’t a star. Logically, there can be no first star. Perhaps she should have written “the first light you see.” That would at least hint at a bit of sense in her unquestionably empty mind.

im not your star
isn’t that what you said
what you thought this song meant…

What I’m getting out of this is a breakup. It’s a classic love story: girl loves boy; boy finds girl idiotic; boy leaves girl; girl tortures others with inane poetry. I say, kudos to the dude for leaving her. That’s one less mind suffering immeasurable damage. The last line implies that he had an idea of what all this means, but is incorrect in his assumption. However, there is no evidence as to an alternate meaning. It’s kind of difficult to have an alternate meaning when there is no initial meaning. Here’s what I think this “song” means: I’m a mindless simpleton who can’t stop obsessing over an old boyfriend. To alleviate my pain, I spread it onto others via my writings. I have no sense of good English and am unable to hit F7, which would fix my language for me. Perhaps I lack dexterity as well as intelligence.

Lesson of the day: If you’re going to post poetry where others can read it, it needs to have something going for it, if not some deeper meaning, then at least good spelling. Clearly, this person has neither. I can only hope that her depression progressed to the point of suicide.