[I like to think of myself as a pretty easy going gal, and try not to sweat the small stuff. But sometimes (ok, maybe slightly more often) the general cluelessness, carelessness and overall stupididty of some things and or/people really gets to me. I find that venting is the most efficient way to rid myself of the stress that idiots, wrong meal orders, lack of cell phone ettiquette and cheese flavored products (that don’t even contain any freaking cheese!) induce.
So, in an attempt to avoid an ulcer or an unfortuante road rage incident, I vent to you, dear reader. Please feel free to join in and comment about anything–really, anything–that pissed. you. off. this week. Let it all hang out. I feel you.]
D&G Advertisements: More specifically, the one featured in January’s Vanity Fair (page 9). I just don’t understand; why is Claudia Schiffer orgasming on a very sandy and very hard looking dock? I can think of more comfortable places. Furthermore, if I were wearing an expensive D&G silk…romper(?) and kickass stilettos, I would not want to get them dirty on some grimy beach dock (not that I wear stilettos to the beach). Add to this the two models in tweed suits apparently mentally controlling aforementioned orgasm-girl, the uber-tanned, super muscled old women and body builder in the background, and Dolce and Gabanna have convinced me that strange things will ensue if I ever can afford to buy anything from their 2009 cruise collection.
Mall Traffic Jams. As if the people who stop abruptly in the middle of the walkway to stare at a window display weren’t bad enough, I’ve witnessed a new shopping phenomenon that is just too much to handle: the aggressive shover. Most likely to be found going the opposite way of EVERYONE ELSE, they use weapons of mass disbursement to claw through throngs of people. Watch out for strollers, immense and heavy shopping bags, pointed elbows held 90 degrees from the body and, disturbingly enough, small children. That’s right, one woman held her child at arms’ length to push through a crowd. When you’re getting smacked in the face with 18-month-olds, it’s time to find a new mall.
Being sick on big nights. Namely, New Year’s Eve, which I recently had the pleasure of spending with what I think is a bad case of Avian flu (but my boyfriend is convinced it’s a common cold). It’s not so much fun to spend hours getting dressed up with your friends in your perfect, wonderful New Year’s Eve dress when you sound like Steve Urkel and you feel like someone replaced all the bodily fluids in your head with silly putty. On the bright side, losing one’s sense of smell and taste is a mighty handy tool come time for Tequila shots (it’s always good to have girlfriends who can legitimately convince you of the medicinal properties of Patron). The not so bright side? Try coughing with a wicked hangover. I spent January first with the distinct impression that tiny men were drilling the back of my head with a jackhammer, and that’s not a side effect they warn you about on the back of the Robotussin bottle.
Awkward Run-ins. This always happens when I come home from school for any extended period of time. And it always, always happens when I’m not wearing any makeup. So no, I do not want to stop and make small talk with you, girl who I had AP American History with, like 3 years ago. No, 8th grade ex-boyfriend and 8th grade ex-best friend (both exes for the same reason…hint hint), we should not “do lunch” nor should you use that expression without a hint of irony. And I’m very sorry, friend of a friend’s cousin, but all I want to do is order my ice cream and go back home to the privacy of my room where I can avoid people who I don’t talk to anymore…there’s a reason why we lost touch.
Ok people, what pissed you off last in ’08 and first in ’09?
[ photo courtesy of ohlalamag.com]