It’s that time again, folks. After my last post’s sob story about being poor, I’ve decided to whine and complain about something ELSE that’s probably within my control if I weren’t too busy whining and complaining about it to fix said problem. Whatever. People that try to sell me that line of crap about “controlling your own destiny” and “put on your big girl panties and deal with it” also annoy me. So, in the spirit of small underpants, here are more annoyances that exist currently in my life.
1. $100 bills. Really, America? First off, no one uses cash anymore. This shortage of cash in people’s pockets also results in a shortage of cash in store registers across the good ole U-S-of-A, making the act of making change a pain in my not-worth-a-hundred-bucks booty. Secondly, when have you ever pulled out a Benjamin and NOT heard the receiver sigh in frustration? Whether you’re trying to grab a taco from one of the many, truck-driving vendors around our fair city or procuring some crack from one of the many, crack-dealing vendors around our fair city, NO ONE HAS CHANGE. I believe this hatred stems from an incident when I was serving tables one day. A lady paid for a $13 check with a $100 bill. As our register notoriously had only $1 and $5 bills (that still didn’t add up to $87) I told her that I would need to run (it was August. In Tennessee. Just a note.) to a totally different restaurant to get change and that I would be right back (this so she wouldn’t think that I was pulling the complete opposite of a dine-n-dash entitled, “Take all of my table’s money.”) I run. I almost twist my knee in an unfortunate run-in with a dent on the sidewalk. I get her change. And this woman? The only woman from the entire table to pay with cash? Left. No. Tip. That day started my hatred of the $100 bill, and while I don’t mind that they exist, just put them in the bank and pay with your check card. And the $50? Don’t get me started. Try counting a stack of twenties and then come up on a $50. I dare you to keep count. DARE YOU!
2. Super-strong paper towels. I’m using a paper towel for one reason – I need a paper towel. If I need to scrub hard water stains, eradicate the unfortunate blood splatters on my shoes, or wax my car, I’m going to use the appropriate cleaning device. The reason I’m using a paper towel is because I probably made a mess too big for a napkin and too small for a beach towel. They’re paper towels. Not Sham-Wows. The world does not need Sham-Wows on a roll.
3. The new trend of putting your offspring into your TV commercial. It’s not okay. Your children are going to grow up constantly being known as the, “Hurt bad? Call my dad!” girl or the poor kids of the Hickory Hollow Kia guy that I’m convinced only do the commercials because they’re afraid dad will go on another, “ride the Ferris wheel until you throw up and THEN decide to do my commercial” bender. And girls forced into the slavery of their dad’s television advertising grow up to be afflicted with a condition I like to call, “Daddy didn’t love me, but I bet this large man holding money out of his car window will.”
4. East Nashville bumper stickers. I get it. You live in the hip on one block/completely ghetto on the next block part of town and you’re proud to still be kickin’ it in your Chuck Taylors. I appreciate the architecture, the culture, and most of the people. But the bumper stickers? Flat-out make me shake my head. They also make the folks that live in other, less-hip parts of town gloat when we can get out of our driveway during a Titans game.
5. The fact that White Castle has chicken rings. While I’m well aware of the fact that chickens also don’t have nuggets, I would really like for someone to show me where the hell the ring comes from on a chicken. Things that are supposed to come in rings: Onions. Circuses. Dances around rosies. NOT CHICKEN. And how am I supposed to dip a chicken ring in a little vat of honey mustard? It can’t be done, my friends. It can’t. Be. Done.
6. YouTube videos of babies. Actually, YouTube videos in general, but lately I’ve been getting a lot of “Have you seen the video of the baby 'saying something funny that will probably be Auto-Tuned and put on iTunes in order to add to the baby’s college fund' video?" Odds are, the baby is doing something most babies do – laughing, drooling, or pooping on something. Also, odds are that since I find YouTube to be an absolute monstrosity of party-killing evil, I will probably hate whatever you’re about to show me. It’s not the babies I hate – it’s the fact that I’m about to lose 3 minutes of my life to watch something that I have probably already seen over the course of my baby-sitting career (which consists of the past 7-odd years since my nephew was born. And then only when my sister, Marian, catches me off-guard with a “So, what are you doing this weekend? Nothing? Watch my children!” conversation.*)
Wow. Reading the last few paragraphs made me realize how much I hate the things I hate. To renew my faith in all things not-stupid, allow me to list some things that make me stupidly happy.
1. Canadians. I fancy the people from “Fake America” frolicking through the streets with their Canadian “bacon” (it’s ham, folks. Canadians obviously have their parts of the porcine variety confused.) on a stick shouting, “Let’s play some hockey, eh?” while the mounted policemen look at them with smiles from atop their gallant horsey. I found out recently that a co-worker on another floor briefly lived in Canada when he was growing up, and so now I can say that I (sort-of) know an actual Canadian! Now, if I could forgive them for Celine Dion, we would be ready to rock n roll with the hosers up North.
2. The fact that you can make ANY dish sound fancy just by listing all of the ingredients. I figured this out the other day when I gave an ostentatiously -long description of what amounted to a quesadilla. I’ve also figured out this is why the people on Top Chef sound so fancy – they’re just naming every single freakin’ part of their dish! For example, a PB&J? “Well, Chef, tonight we have a lovely jam made of farm-fresh strawberries paired with a homemade almond butter on a lovely wheatberry bread. We (they always talk in “we” speak) serve this with a side of fried potatoes paired with a twist on the traditional ketchup (that means you added garlic. Or truffles.) See? Fancy. Told ya.
Unfortunately, per usual, the “happy” list isn’t nearly as long as the “annoying as hell” list, but such is life. Now I’m going to go figure out how to make chicken rings sound gourmet when they’re made of things like “riboflavin-injected triglyceride modules.”
* Remember – if I mention you by name in my blog, it means I love you. Or that you really, really annoy me. So, um, just kidding? Hehe.