http://tv.yahoo.com/news/toddlers-cuss-word-modern-family-draws-ire-024407751.html
Woah woah woah. Who the hell is this "anti-profanity crusader" Brigham Young University guy? Oh, wow. Nevermind about the show, I need to interview this guy. Or have dinner with him. Even better, he and I need to grab drinks - strong drinks. Strong drinks that transform my mouth into a volcanic eruption of swear words. I absolutely live for this kind of ridiculous person.
It seems as though while I was plotting my weekend bar crawls back in 2007, he was inventing sweet groups like the No Cussing Club. This cannot be serious. I'm looking him up on Facebook right this second. Score - found him. I'm extremely tempted to friend this guy. Should I friend him? I think I owe myself the entertainment of friending him. If I go through with this, I can't promise I won't message him after an evening of drinking homemade wine. There is something exciting about knowing someone will find me completely offensive.
Let's talk about his theory relating swearing to bullying. That's a pretty heavy weight to place on swearing. I would be more adamant to flip it around and say in cases of bullying, more swearing occurs and when bullying increases, swearing increases. Where is my college sociology professor when I need him? He always seemed kind of drunk and definitely liked to swear - maybe he could swear some sociological sense into Mr. BYU.
Nevermind the fact that the young actress isn't even saying fuck, she's saying fudge; the word is going to be bleeped out for effect. Let me cut to the part where I say something so logical and astounding that you will be on an intelligence high for the next 7 hours. If there is something on the television you don't like, then pick up your remote, and change the *fucking* channel. This "crusader" needs to shift his efforts toward actual societal problems.
Showing posts with label crazies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazies. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Minor Irritations
Attention all low talkers, leg twitchers, and snifflers: this entry is for you. Please read on.
Low Talkers - What's that? I can't hear you. No, really, I still can't hear you. Maybe if you mumble whatever it is you need just one more time, I'll be able to hear. Nope, still can't hear you. No, no, no, you don't need to yell, you just simply need to speak clearly. It's called enunciation. You should try it sometime.
Leg Twitchers - Where did this phenomenon originate? It looks like some sort of derivation of pen-tapping. One day I looked around and it seemed like everyone's body was shifting left then right then left then right just enough for me to notice. Is it an anxious mannerism? Is it a way to burn extra calories? Having a physical disability is completely different from what I'm talking about here. Leg Twitchers have no purpose except to irritate me. SIT STILL!
Snifflers - You are the worst. *Sniff* Yeah, I know it's getting chilly outside *Sniff Sniff* and the extreme temperature changes between inside and outside result in runny noses, but it is completely unacceptable. Walk yourself to the nearest restroom *Sniff* and wipe that landslide clean before I take the liberty and hand you 22 tissues myself, like I used to do when I was younger. Believe it or not, I used to be way more obnoxious *Sniff* than I am now. There were multiple times during elementary, middle, and high school when I would get up from my desk in the middle of class, grab the box of classroom tissues, and walk it to the offender's desk *Sniff Sniff* just to put my brain out of its misery.
This has been a public service announcement.
Low Talkers - What's that? I can't hear you. No, really, I still can't hear you. Maybe if you mumble whatever it is you need just one more time, I'll be able to hear. Nope, still can't hear you. No, no, no, you don't need to yell, you just simply need to speak clearly. It's called enunciation. You should try it sometime.
Leg Twitchers - Where did this phenomenon originate? It looks like some sort of derivation of pen-tapping. One day I looked around and it seemed like everyone's body was shifting left then right then left then right just enough for me to notice. Is it an anxious mannerism? Is it a way to burn extra calories? Having a physical disability is completely different from what I'm talking about here. Leg Twitchers have no purpose except to irritate me. SIT STILL!
Snifflers - You are the worst. *Sniff* Yeah, I know it's getting chilly outside *Sniff Sniff* and the extreme temperature changes between inside and outside result in runny noses, but it is completely unacceptable. Walk yourself to the nearest restroom *Sniff* and wipe that landslide clean before I take the liberty and hand you 22 tissues myself, like I used to do when I was younger. Believe it or not, I used to be way more obnoxious *Sniff* than I am now. There were multiple times during elementary, middle, and high school when I would get up from my desk in the middle of class, grab the box of classroom tissues, and walk it to the offender's desk *Sniff Sniff* just to put my brain out of its misery.
This has been a public service announcement.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Bride Crossing Part 2
After a few weeks, I was able to pick up my wedding dress from Chinese Lady. The work was completed beautifully: Chinese Lady agreed that deciding to shorten the gross floor-length to a flattering knee-length was perfect for the look I was going for. Well, no shit Chinese Lady, I always know what's best - ask anyone.
The next step was to drop the ivory gown at the dry cleaners - I drove to another nearby location suggested by Chinese Lady. I walked into the facility, layed the plastic-covered dress down on the counter and said hi. There was no hi, no alternative greeting, no smile, no questions as to what I needed coming from the lady behind the counter. And she looked as though she had not showered in 17 days or visited her stylist for a root touch-up since 1992. If I couldn't trust her to take a shower before work, how could I trust her with my wedding dress? This was the exact moment I realized I didn't like the lady working the counter and our relationship was most likely not going to improve: we're going to call her "Roots" from here on out.
I told Roots that I was was dropping off my dress to be cleaned and pointed out a few marks around the bust area. We went over pricing, what kind of chemicals are used, whether or not the marks would come out, and the date of pickup. I was pretty much running the conversation since all Roots had to say was the ever-helpful, "Uh huh". It was beyond difficult to concentrate and not look at Roots' roots during that interaction. Anytime I meet someone I don't like, the same thing physical reaction occurs: my eyes narrow, my palms become cold and sweaty simultaneously, my heart thumps quickly in my chest, and my brain freezes up. Over the years, I've learned to control these symptoms, but yet they remain. (More about why I hate everyone later.)
Two days later, I strolled in to see Roots with the looming feeling that something big, something small, or just something has happened to my dress. There is reasoning behind my craziness and here it is: Roots brought the lovely ivory cocktail-length beaded bust dress out from the back and hung it on the rack for me to view. My eyes honed in on the bust immediately and saw that the formerly beige beads on the bust area were now virgin-FUCKING-white. My eyes narrowed, my palms sweated, my heart thumped, and I could barely think: Roots and her shitty root job fucked up my wedding dress.
To be continued...
The next step was to drop the ivory gown at the dry cleaners - I drove to another nearby location suggested by Chinese Lady. I walked into the facility, layed the plastic-covered dress down on the counter and said hi. There was no hi, no alternative greeting, no smile, no questions as to what I needed coming from the lady behind the counter. And she looked as though she had not showered in 17 days or visited her stylist for a root touch-up since 1992. If I couldn't trust her to take a shower before work, how could I trust her with my wedding dress? This was the exact moment I realized I didn't like the lady working the counter and our relationship was most likely not going to improve: we're going to call her "Roots" from here on out.
I told Roots that I was was dropping off my dress to be cleaned and pointed out a few marks around the bust area. We went over pricing, what kind of chemicals are used, whether or not the marks would come out, and the date of pickup. I was pretty much running the conversation since all Roots had to say was the ever-helpful, "Uh huh". It was beyond difficult to concentrate and not look at Roots' roots during that interaction. Anytime I meet someone I don't like, the same thing physical reaction occurs: my eyes narrow, my palms become cold and sweaty simultaneously, my heart thumps quickly in my chest, and my brain freezes up. Over the years, I've learned to control these symptoms, but yet they remain. (More about why I hate everyone later.)
Two days later, I strolled in to see Roots with the looming feeling that something big, something small, or just something has happened to my dress. There is reasoning behind my craziness and here it is: Roots brought the lovely ivory cocktail-length beaded bust dress out from the back and hung it on the rack for me to view. My eyes honed in on the bust immediately and saw that the formerly beige beads on the bust area were now virgin-FUCKING-white. My eyes narrowed, my palms sweated, my heart thumped, and I could barely think: Roots and her shitty root job fucked up my wedding dress.
To be continued...
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Crapslist Part 1
Seriously, have you read some of the shit that people post in the "free" section of Craigslist? Go there right now - it's under "for sale". You'll thank me later for the laugh.
Let's review some of the treasures I've been browsing -
Chicken Beverage Coasters: There are so many ways to read this one. Is it a coaster that holds chicken-flavored beverages? Or maybe it is a coaster shaped like a chicken? Or is it a coaster hand-whittled out of slices of chicken? Luckily, there is a shitty photo and it appears to be a set of four crappy circular coasters accompanied by a very large, awkward chicken-shaped coaster holder. The poor papa chicken doesn't even have feet. The insanity! Wait, it gets better. I can only assume this is a passive-aggressive cat lady trying to make a few bucks so she can buy more cats, thus the threatening ALL CAPS lock on certain phrases: "YOU MUST PICK UP" and "TOO MANY NO SHOWS". Idiot.
Dog Bones: This sounds fairly normal, right? Maybe their dog passed and they want the bones to go to a nice home. Apparently these items for sale are not the traditional dog bones I'm thinking of. No no no, these are described as "previously chewed beef femur bones". What the fuck? I'm officially creeped the fuck out. This dude also has an issue with sentence construction and grammar - "If your interested, please tell me how many your interested in if pieces and a phone number". I would rather swallow phosphoric acid then give this creeper my digits.
100 Gallons of Vegetable Oil: OMFG this can't be real. This posting says that this poor schmuck purchased the seemingly empty tank at an auction for "a project" and when he got home it was filled with vegetable oil. How pissed would you be if you were trying to design a spacecraft and when you bought a tank, it turned out to be filled with cooking oil? PISSED! I should give this dude a call, he left his digits for me: "330- 988 - zero five two eight" Thank you Jesus - he typed out the last four numbers - I was growing tired of reading actual numbers anyway.
Stay tuned for Crapslist Part 2.
Let's review some of the treasures I've been browsing -
Chicken Beverage Coasters: There are so many ways to read this one. Is it a coaster that holds chicken-flavored beverages? Or maybe it is a coaster shaped like a chicken? Or is it a coaster hand-whittled out of slices of chicken? Luckily, there is a shitty photo and it appears to be a set of four crappy circular coasters accompanied by a very large, awkward chicken-shaped coaster holder. The poor papa chicken doesn't even have feet. The insanity! Wait, it gets better. I can only assume this is a passive-aggressive cat lady trying to make a few bucks so she can buy more cats, thus the threatening ALL CAPS lock on certain phrases: "YOU MUST PICK UP" and "TOO MANY NO SHOWS". Idiot.
Dog Bones: This sounds fairly normal, right? Maybe their dog passed and they want the bones to go to a nice home. Apparently these items for sale are not the traditional dog bones I'm thinking of. No no no, these are described as "previously chewed beef femur bones". What the fuck? I'm officially creeped the fuck out. This dude also has an issue with sentence construction and grammar - "If your interested, please tell me how many your interested in if pieces and a phone number". I would rather swallow phosphoric acid then give this creeper my digits.
100 Gallons of Vegetable Oil: OMFG this can't be real. This posting says that this poor schmuck purchased the seemingly empty tank at an auction for "a project" and when he got home it was filled with vegetable oil. How pissed would you be if you were trying to design a spacecraft and when you bought a tank, it turned out to be filled with cooking oil? PISSED! I should give this dude a call, he left his digits for me: "330- 988 - zero five two eight" Thank you Jesus - he typed out the last four numbers - I was growing tired of reading actual numbers anyway.
Stay tuned for Crapslist Part 2.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Why The Gas Company Sucks
About a year ago, I got myself into a bit of a predicament involving numbers and money and my general inability to accurately compute "head math". To make a short story long, the issue first began when I submitted the wrong amount of money toward a gas company bill. I was in a hurry for no reason - probably because I was trying to quicken my shit up so I could continue obsessing about the work shoes Rigatoni left by the front door instead of placing them in their designated area - and mistyped on the final page where the payment is submitted online. Immediately after realizing my mistake, I was on the phone with the dreaded customer service department of said gas company. Dun Dun Dunnnnnnn.
Really, there is nothing worse than calling customer service. I mean, nothing.
"Angela" from the gas company and I had a thorough conversation about the situation and I (non-condescendingly) asked for the online payment to be cancelled so I could resubmit the correct amount in a new transaction. There is where the situation went down hill. "Angela" gave me two options: I could either cancel the payment before it hits the account (which will result in a $30 charge) or I could let the payment go through, cancel it, and resubmit it (which will also result in a $30 charge). Huh? At this point, I was just trying to understand my options, which sounded as though they were exactly alike but with different descriptive words being used to identify one from the other. For a minute it sounded like she was speaking Aramaic - which is a dead language that was practiced by Jesus and his minions. I repeated the options back to "Angela" and this is approximately where she tried to out-snark me.
After I decided that I would utilize option B and cancel my payment, "Angela" then told me that I will be "disciplined" if the amount I originally submitted cannot be taken out of my bank account. What is going on here? Hey "Angela", this is why I'm calling you in the first place: the amount I submitted online is about MUCHO dollars too much and that kind of cash isn't in my bank account this week. Listen up, you condescending bitch, do you or do you NOT work in customer service?
I had about enough of "Angela" so I started speaking in monologue form about how I have been with this shitty gas company for five years, all the while never having missed one fucking payment. Then I threw in the bit about how I was less than appreciative that I was being threatened with "discipline" when I was taking the right course of action by calling to sort out the issue in the first place. The motherless bag of shit they call "Angela" told me that beginning next month, I would have to send in a check via snail mail to pay my bill - I would no longer have the priveledge of conveniently paying my bill online. This was my "discipline".
OH NO! THE BIG BAD GAS COMPANY HAS ME LOCKED DOWN WITH DISCIPLINARY ACTION INVOLVING ENVELOPES AND STAMPS! MOMMY!
Seriously, I hope someone shits on her doorstep. What a bitch.
Really, there is nothing worse than calling customer service. I mean, nothing.
"Angela" from the gas company and I had a thorough conversation about the situation and I (non-condescendingly) asked for the online payment to be cancelled so I could resubmit the correct amount in a new transaction. There is where the situation went down hill. "Angela" gave me two options: I could either cancel the payment before it hits the account (which will result in a $30 charge) or I could let the payment go through, cancel it, and resubmit it (which will also result in a $30 charge). Huh? At this point, I was just trying to understand my options, which sounded as though they were exactly alike but with different descriptive words being used to identify one from the other. For a minute it sounded like she was speaking Aramaic - which is a dead language that was practiced by Jesus and his minions. I repeated the options back to "Angela" and this is approximately where she tried to out-snark me.
After I decided that I would utilize option B and cancel my payment, "Angela" then told me that I will be "disciplined" if the amount I originally submitted cannot be taken out of my bank account. What is going on here? Hey "Angela", this is why I'm calling you in the first place: the amount I submitted online is about MUCHO dollars too much and that kind of cash isn't in my bank account this week. Listen up, you condescending bitch, do you or do you NOT work in customer service?
I had about enough of "Angela" so I started speaking in monologue form about how I have been with this shitty gas company for five years, all the while never having missed one fucking payment. Then I threw in the bit about how I was less than appreciative that I was being threatened with "discipline" when I was taking the right course of action by calling to sort out the issue in the first place. The motherless bag of shit they call "Angela" told me that beginning next month, I would have to send in a check via snail mail to pay my bill - I would no longer have the priveledge of conveniently paying my bill online. This was my "discipline".
OH NO! THE BIG BAD GAS COMPANY HAS ME LOCKED DOWN WITH DISCIPLINARY ACTION INVOLVING ENVELOPES AND STAMPS! MOMMY!
Seriously, I hope someone shits on her doorstep. What a bitch.
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