A Letter to a Sick Co-Worker

Dear Co-Worker,

I want you to know I like you. I really do! You're nice, hardworking, passionate about our company, and have some really good ideas. You're usually pleasant to be around and, even though you're never the go-to-gal for chocolates, people seem to like stopping in to visit with you on occasion chocolate or no.

Bob in accounting, Mary in sales, Debbie in reception, Les in operations, Carol in IT, and Ben in marketing...they* all think you're swell too!

So you know how you came to work yesterday and today looking as though you were an under-cooked turkey, hacking, sniffling, sneezing, and blowing your nose every 20 seconds? We could all tell you weren't feeling well and we encouraged you to go home. Because we care, yes. We want you to feel better! 

But also...

Bob's got severe asthma. When Bob gets a cold, which is rare thankfully, Bob goes to the emergency room and then is on oxygen for a month afterward because that cold automagically turns into pneumonia.

Mary's undergoing some pretty heavy duty chemotherapy treatment to get rid of that pesky cancer. If Mary gets sick, they'll have to stop treatment right in the middle of the cycle...and then the chemo won't likely work so well. 

Debbie's going on a trip of a lifetime next week - one she and her partner have saved and scrimped and planned for over the course of the last 3 years. If she gets sick, she can't fly and, even if she can fly, she'll be hunkered down in her hotel room for the first several days too exhausted and sick to sightsee. All that time, effort, and money going to waste.

Les's got a brand new little baby - a baby conceived after years of trying and tens of thousands of dollars spent on IVF treatments. A brand new little precious bundle of joy, born 10 weeks early and who has spent the first 6 weeks of her life in the NICU while her wee little lungs develop. He rushes from work right to the hospital to be with his wife and daughter, holding her for just a few minutes is easily the best part of his day. If Les gets a cold, he won't be able to see or touch his daughter for possibly weeks.

Carol, well...remember how Carol had that organ transplant awhile ago? That life-saving organ transplant she'd been waiting for for more than a decade? She's on some crazy immuno-suppressant drugs to keep her body from rejecting that organ. If she gets sick, she's on her way to the ICU. 

We, of course, can't forget Ben. He's HIV positive. Enough said.

And then there's me and the rest of your 90+ co-workers who just really don't like being sick. We don't want to be sick. Being sick sucks...as you well know.

Yet, there you are, sitting at your desk, hacking, sneezing, sniffling and blowing your nose just before you use the copy machine, the printer, the shredder, the file cabinets, the door handles, the microwave, the refrigerator, the restroom, the faucet handles. There you are, in my office, multiple times a day, handing me a stack of invoices to review...invoices you've been coughing all over for the last 3 hours. I know because I listened to you attempt to hack up that lung every couple of minutes and cringed outwardly knowing you'd eventually be standing just where you are saying, "Here you go!" as if you've handed me some incredible gift you're so very proud of.

You aren't winning any medals or awards or even friends by working while you're sick, you know. Management isn't watching you and thinking, "Wow! What a dedicated, wonderful employee!" Management isn't actually paying any attention. If they were, they'd likely tell you to go the fuck home because they don't want to get sick either and the work you do, while extremely important, can wait a day or two until you feel better. It can even be re-assigned to someone else who would gladly take it on as long as they didn't have to say, "Gesundeit!" to you one more time without really meaning it.

Just so you know, while you're crawling through your day thinking you are such a trooper, the rest of us are fantasizing about featuring you as the dunkee at the carnival dunking booth where those of us with a good arm (and my arm can be lethal when necessary) could douse you in a pool of Lysol. And when we aren't thinking about that, we're wishing Human Resources would install a Silkwood Shower we could all partake in at the end of our work day.

Right now, we don't really like you. Right now, we all think you're an asshole.

So just stop it and go home.

Sincerely,

The Staff

* Fictional characters

16 Pet Peevery Lane

Warning: trigger alert

Have you ever interrupted someone while they were talking, telling a story, making a comment, to say something you were so excited to add it couldn't wait until the other person was finished, so you raised your voice over the top of theirs, squashed their words, and made the conversation about what you had to say?

I've done it. On occasion. I do try to apologize for it after the fact.

Have you ever interrupted someone while they were talking to you, telling a story, making a comment, by raising your voice over the top of theirs, squashing their words, and introducing an entirely different topic than the one the person you've just interrupted was discussing?

Think back.

Have you?

Have you ever interrupted someone so often they stop talking altogether? Or were you too deafened by your own voice to notice you were the only one speaking anymore?

Interrupting someone mid-sentence is rude and unacceptable. Rather than focusing on what you might have contributed to the conversation, the person interrupted is left thinking and feeling one of three things:

1)  They are unimportant to you.
2)  They do not have your respect or your attention.
3)  You are a narcissistic jerk in love with your own voice and thoughts.

Just. Stop. It.

Or you might find, eventually, that the only one left in the room listening is you.

15 Pet Peevery Lane

Occasionally, when conversation turns toward the possibility of purchasing a house, Lex and I weigh the pros and cons of staying in The Grotto until we are financially positioned to buy something of our very own.

Generally, the pros column far outweighs the cons column. We love our neighborhood in the heart of the City, we love our neighbors, we love living within cabbing distance of just about anywhere we'd want to go for a martini or three. We even love living in an apartment so aptly named The Grotto. How many can say they live in a grotto like rabbits?

However, there is always ALWAYS one issue firmly planted in the Con category.

Parking.

Our living arrangement does not include any off-street parking. There are no garages, no carports, no designated spaces. It is street parking only in a neighborhood full of other apartment houses all fighting for limited parking.

And, let me just say, I can often be found ranting loudly about terrible parking etiquette...usually directed at a driver hogging two spaces because he found it too much trouble to pull up 4 feet, in effect, adding two extra steps from car to front door and, instead, centers his vehicle with the building entrance without regard to the delicate parking balance in the 'hood.

But this isn't about parking etiquette.

About a week ago, I came home from work, found a decent parking space on the block just west of our house, made sure I gave the car in front of me enough room to be extracted without too much grief but pulling up close enough to allow for two more cars behind me. And then I went into my apartment for the night.

The next day, I went out to make a run to the grocery store and discovered someone had keyed my car - both driver's side door panels - deep enough to scratch gouge through to the space-age plastic.

WTF?!

I was pretty hot under my collar. Because really? Wow. Why? Clearly, I'd angered someone to the point that they'd destroy personal property but I hadn't done anything wrong! Not even slightly!

I let it go though. I realized I drive a 10-year-old car and am grateful I do especially when something like this happens. I decided it wasn't a personal affront and that, no matter the reason, this person's aggression wasn't about me.

And then...

Two days later, it snowed and, in the process of brushing the snow off my car, I discovered the passenger side doors - both of them - had been gouged with the same intensity and hate.

All of a sudden, it started to feel VERY personal.

I had apparently done something so heinous to someone that they would deliberately cause a thousand dollars' (at least) worth of damage to my property.

Not only did this hurt my feelings, the very nature of this passive-aggressive attack against me angered me. If there's a problem, confront me - knock on my door, leave me a note explaining your issue, give me a call. Do something productive to call my attention to this perceived slight I've dealt. Don't just act out in a vicious, physically and financially damaging way to get your point across, assuming I've acted out of malice and retaliating accordingly.

Because I'm not malicious. And, for the life of me, I can't figure out what I might have done to provoke someone into such incredibly mean action.

Why can't we all just get along?!

Inconsiderate, mean people. Sheesh.

This entry written in response to the GBE2 prompt Pet Peeves...of which I have several.

Ask Yourself...

Are you obnoxious?

Here's a quiz to help you decide.

But, just in case you're still not clear, if I'm sitting at my desk with my office door nearly closed while obviously eating my lunch and reading my various news and celebrity gossip sites and you invite yourself in, sit down, and start talking to me about something I couldn't give a shit about in your personal life, you just may be obnoxious. K?

If I wanted to be social at lunch time, I wouldn't hide in my office.

kthxbye

14 Pet Peevery Lane

Oh, apartment living! How I love thee!

I pay my rent and everything else is taken care of for me. Utilities paid, grass mowed, flowers planted, walks shoveled. When there is a maintenance issue, I don't have to hunt and peck via Google and Facebook friend recommendations for a good plumber, good electrician, good exterminator (god damn ants!). I send a quick e-mail to Management and voilá! Problem solved.

Except one.

Other, inconsiderate, tenants.

To wit, behold our common laundry room - one washer, one dryer - shared among 13 units:



This nuclear explosion of laundry belongs to one - just one - person. Please note: you cannot see the pile atop the dryer or the overloaded washer or the folding table littered with dirty underpants off to the left. Again, all belonging to just one person.

What you don't know from perusing this photo is that our laundry room has been invaded by this asshole tenant for over a week. What you don't know is that every folding/setting surface is covered. What you don't know is that the clothes piled high atop the dryer? Were placed there by ME when I needed to get to the washer LAST Sunday.

It was clear the washer had finished its cycle several hours before based on A) the barely damp state and mildewy smell of the clothes within it and B) the bone dry sink into which the washer drains. 8 days those clothes have been sitting waiting to be retrieved.

How long will they wait?

That remains to be seen.

The point is that, People! When you don't live in a big, ramshackle house all by your lonesome and have to share a laundry facility - one with only ONE set of appliances - you should display some modicum of decency and respect for your neighbors by A) removing your clothes as promptly as possible and B) not decorating the laundry room to resemble Goodwill after a particularly fruitful Saturday drop off for 8 damn days!

I can see that clearly this person does laundry perhaps every 38 weeks (randomly selected number). But, you would think, once they'd decided to do laundry, they would follow through until the last washcloth was folded and put away...where it belongs...in their own apartment where I don't have to see/step over/push it aside/handle in all its mildewy glory for 8 damn days!

Is it too much to ask for a little consideration? A little politeness? A little less mess and a lot more yes?

Apparently so.

Now. It did occur to me at some point - I believe yesterday morning when I was, again, trying to fight my way to the washing machine - that perhaps some kind of disaster had struck and the person whose laundry this belonged to had been secretly eaten by wild dogs before they'd had a chance to retrieve their personal belongings from this communal space.

However, there has been no stink of decomposing flesh floating toward the Grotto so, I can only conclude this moron is just a jerk, plain and simple.

Anyone know where I can find a pack of wild dogs to accidentally unleash upon a deserving asshole?

Boo on you, inconsiderate tenant. Boo. On. You.

modchen and #himself? I assume this is not you. <3

13 Pet Peevery Lane

I hate texting.

Initially, I ordered a text messaging package because my adorable niece and nephew refuse to communicate any other way. And, for a long time, I didn't text with anyone other than the two of them. Didn't. Wouldn't. Toh-may-toh, toh-mah-toh.

But then the technology trickled up the age ladder, spreading like cancer, and now everyone's doing it.

And it makes me nuts.

Why?

1) I'm slow at it.
Aforementioned adorable niece and nephew find no end to the amusement of watching me try to type out a text message in the time it takes to drive to the Kansas state line. I suspect our text conversations are painful for them as they wait...and wait...and wait for my responses.

2) I like punctuation and correct spelling.
One of the reasons I'm so abominably slow is because I insist on using correct punctuation as well as spelling out every word. I believe the Idiocracy is going to come via a jumble of indecipherable letters and numbers in 140 characters or less. I wonder if the babel fish has access to the Urban Dictionary? I wonder too what the State of the Union address will be like when it's reduced to a single text or tweet incorporating Prince-speak circa 1986.

3) It's impersonal.
Nothing says, "I care" like attempting to have a conversation via text while busy fixing supper, folding the laundry, watching television and having text conversations with multiple people. I've received text messages not meant for me from people trying to do too many things and talk to too many people all at the same time. Awkward.

Additionally, texting is more of a distraction than it is a connection. Rather than spending 15 minutes talking on the phone, giving undivided - or at least minimally divided - attention to someone we care about is much more personal and appealing than a text conversation that can span hours. And a text message, by its very nature, often is a singular statement: "I'm bored. I'm using you as filler until something good happens."

4) It's unreliable.
I recently experienced a stupid argument over the fact that text messages were sent to me but were unreceived by me. I'm unlikely to leave a text not responded to unless the conversation seems to have reached an end so the idea that I would blatantly ignore someone I had no reason to ignore is asinine. And yet, this person hasn't spoken to me even after I pointed this out to him.

5) Predictive technology.
Cheese Fetus. 'nuff said.

6) No language cues other than what's typed.
Much like with e-mail (and, dare I say, blogging) we are reduced to only what is conveyed via the character limitations. No vocal inflection, no visual body language cues to assist us with context, interpretation. We are only given what words are there to be interpreted by subjective brains. And my brain is VERY subjective. How about yours?

Texting has its usefulness. Like, say, Acr0nym texting me with his standard "Five minutes or so..." head's up of his impending arrival. That's useful.

Or to say, "Hey! I was just thinking about you. Talk later?" That's useful...and nice.

Or to say, "Gang's gathering at Gabor's. Get yer butt down here." Useful! And appreciated! And dammit! Why have none of us texted that in awhile?

But what's not useful is having it become the primary means of communication we've apparently assigned it.

I hate it. I'm not good at it. I have a real need for communication and feedback. And I feel as though my life has become a frustrating series of swypos, predictive text faux pas, and misunderstandings.

Give me the old fashioned way of communicating with friends any day...calling cards and coffee. Let me show you you're important. I'm not sure I can do that in 140 characters or less.

12 Pet Peevery Lane

...aka is it just me or is this crazy?

Here's the situation. A thread on Facebook about a well-known, well-respected artist couple who recently got married started.

Crazy Person: You didn't know she's a homewrecking tart? A musical genius of a homewrecking tart? The man had a wife and three daughters, until little miss "I tattoo my eyebrows" comes along, and WHAM! No more mister family man. Tart.

Me: [Redacted] and his wife had been divorced for quite awhile before he met [redacted]. He has a son and two daughters w/his ex-wife (with whom he remains friends).

CP: Doesn't anyone else think it's sort of a tired cliche? Family man gets successful, leaves wife for tarty musical genius with tattooed eyebrows, etc...

[Later in the thread after irrelevant posts]

CP: So, opinons are only okay if they're in a tabloid?...If you don't like it, don't read my opinion and don't respond.

Me: Your opinion wasn't an issue. The facts you used to assert your opinion were incorrect.

Me: Just in case there's a doubt:

"So let's see: for the record, we separated well over five years ago, did the paperwork on the divorce over a year ago, remain close and supportive, love being parents together and enjoy being friends (and, like in some early seventies sit-com, next door neighbours) more than we did being a married couple." - [redacted] April 11, 2009

CP: As is the assumption that I didn't know about those facts. It's still an opinion. As I said, you don't have to agree. Or respond. And, frankly, I did know about the divorce. Which makes it...still just my opinion.

At this point, I had to back away from the computer screen, slowly, hoping the men in white suits would get the net over her before she could boil anymore bunnies.

W.T.F?!

So...she knew the facts - that the man was divorced from his first wife - separated for 5 years before the divorce was final - prior to meeting his current wife and yet current wife is homewrecking tart anyway?

Because...why again? It must have something to do with the tattooed eyebrows.

And this, boys and girls, is what Lex calls being "impervious to facts"...the resident of the "house" at 12 Pet Peevery Lane.

Having opinions is a great thing! Yes! I encourage everyone to have lots of varying opinions about every topic under the sun! Intelligent discourse cannot exist without opinions and I, for one, love intelligent, thoughtful discourse.

However, having an opinion, sharing that opinion, backing it up with information known to be incorrect, and then attacking anyone who offers up substantiated proof to the contrary while acknowledging that the information is false is...well...fucking crazy.

As in batshit.

As in certifiable.

As in...ohmygawd she's probably a creationist.

Nevermind.

11 Pet Peevery Lane

It's been awhile since we've taken a stroll down this particular lane.

And today, this lane is strewn with fallen autumn leaves, spooky bare-branched trees, howling ghouls, and the smell of apples...

Specifically MY apples, just purchased at the grocery store and tossed about willy nilly like a stack o' potatoes and are now bruised.

This is for you, Grocery Store Check Out People.

I do not like bruised apples, Sir or Ms.

I painstakingly search your bins for the best apples I can find because I particularly do not want any bruises on them. Call me kooky, if you'd like. It is probably just a quirk but biting into a big ol' brown, mealy bruised apple makes me want to, oh, say, vomit.

So when I take the time to thoroughly examine each piece of fruit, bagging them carefully so they don't thump down upon each other, and then reverently place them on your conveyor belt?

Please! For the love a christ, would you refrain from grabbing them carelessly, throwing them with a KAH-THWUMP upon the scale, and then tossing them haphazardly into the bottom of a waiting grocery bag perched on a metal stand?

Now, Grocery Store Check Out People, you have an extremely difficult job. I understand this, truly I do. You deal with 100's of crabby pants'd people day in and day out. You suffer from tendinitis, carpal tunnel, and probably lower back, knee, and hip pain from standing on your feet all day. I appreciate all that you do more than you know. As such, I try to go out of my way to greet you pleasantly, chit chat with you if you seem willing, and remember to say thank you and have a good day...even when you are clearly having a bad day.

But I can't imagine you like buying apples and coming home to find them bruised and broken either...do you?

So why? Why must you treat my treats in such an abusive way? They are delicate - like eggs. They cannot withstand this kind of pressure. They do not deserve such violation.

So please. Please, nice Grocery Store Check Out People. Please take care of my apples.

Thank you for your consideration.

10 Pet Peevery Lane + the Apartment Above the Garage

As we've previously established over the course of the last year, I'm pretty social.

Rarely does a weekend go by that doesn't find me out and about in some capacity. I'm quite busy and important.

But let's look at that sentence.

I believe the operative phrase here is out and about.

I rarely invite people into my personal living bubble.

There are many reasons for this - the obvious one to those who've had the pleasure of entering the Grotto is because my entertaining space leaves much to be desired.

However, perhaps the biggest reason why I don't entertain frequently is that I like my personal living bubble just as it is...unoccupied save for the Lex and the cat.

They're quiet. And they don't bug me.

When I'm at home, I'm decompressing, re-charging my introvert battery if you will. And I don't like being disturbed...

Especially without warning.

So the unannounced drop by-er, needless to say, is a most unwelcome interruption.

Most of the people in my life know this. Mainly because I typically make a point to let everyone know that if they're "in the neighborhood", a phone call with at least 15 minutes' warning is warranted before they are allowed to pop by.

I started having to maintain this boundary years ago - back in high school - when that was just the "thing" people did. You know, that whole I'm-just-driving-around-cuz-I-am-teen-angsty-and-don't-want-to-be-at-home-with-the-'rents-so-I'm-going-to-come-hang-out-and-bug-you technique?

Yeah that.

Go away.

And while certainly as I've aged and my friends have aged and we have actual lives to lead it's gotten much more manageable and less likely to occur, there are still a few who do not heed my boundary and insist on just dropping in whenever they pass my block.

I've stopped answering the door.

And the phone.

Bonus Apartment Above the Garage:

This morning as I was driving home from the grocery, a ginormous poopnoodle¹ cut me off and nearly caused an accident when he made a left turn from the far right lane.

I honked at him, thinking perhaps he hadn't seen me.

He flipped me the bird as though I was the one who'd done something wrong.

And I'm all, you know, hey Poopnoodle! Save that bird for someone who actually deserves it, K?

Because, if anything, you owe me a great big apology wave and possibly cake.


1: Poopnoodle is from Dan Savage's column this week. No, you really don't want to know what it is. But isn't it an awesome derogatory term for someone?

9 Pet Peevery Lane

I'm feeling petty and bitchy tonight.

Hence, I decided to delete two friends off my Facebook friend list.

The first got deleted because she and I haven't been friends in real life since we were 14 and clearly, CLEARLY, based on her recent obsessive liking of FB groups such as "Christ is our LORD and SAVIOR"¹ we have just about...hmmm...zip in common - except that now she's fat too.

The second got deleted because I've been meaning to delete him since I saw him last when he was a complete ass and slobbered all over my face. And no, he isn't a dog. Just an ass. And I was just lazy about figuring out how to go in and edit my friend list.

Tonight though, I'm feeling petty and bitchy which must truly be two of the most motivating emotions ever.

However!

I'm actually not here to talk about FB pet peevery. That, Lovely Readers, would be a much much much longer post.

No.

Tonight I'm here to tell you about my pet peevery of all bottles with a pump action.

I don't buy expensive lotions.

I've tried those fancy schmancy Bath & Body specialty lotions in the past but, you know? Mostly they don't really work any better than plain old every day grocery lotion and they also stink to high heaven...which, you know, that is if heaven actually exists, is pretty high.

So I stick to what I've always loved.

Jergen's Original Scent Ultra Healing Extra Dry Skin lotion.

And I love this stuff. I love the smell, I love the consistency, I love the product^{2 3}.

Do you want to know what I don't love?

I do not love getting to the bottom 25% of the bottle and not being able to dispense anymore lotion out of the pump because the pump straw⁴ doesn't go deep enough to get to the bottom of things.

And because the lid is a pump, I can't up end the bottle to get that last 25% of the lotion in the bottle to run toward the top for easier removal.

This means that in order to use the last 25% of the lotion my hard earned consumer dollars have purchased, I have to - each day - remove the pump, find a non-dusty surface upon which to set it so that the lotion sticking to the pump straw doesn't get nasty, and then bang the open end of the bottle against my palm hoping something will come out...and not in a ginormous lotion-y gob o' goo.

This annoys me...a lot.

Now, I'm sure there's a perfectly good, mechanical explanation as to why the pump straw does not, in fact, reach all the way to the bottom of the bottle.

I have not one single mechanically inclined bone in my body though so I don't know why.

But it would seem to me that if a manufacturer - one that sells an awesome product - wanted consumers to be happy, they might consider solutions to this problem.

It has occurred to me that it's a marketing technique to get people to buy more lotion before they are out.

Unfortunately for them, I hate waste. And I do use every single last drop I can get to in that bottle that costs $6.99 at the grocery. But I piss and moan and grumble every time it gets that low.

And every time I think to myself that I will switch brands of lotion.

A brand that cooperates at the pump level.

Because this is one pump at which I refuse to pay through the nose.




1: The emphasis was not mine...except on CLEARLY.

2: This is not a paid endorsement.


3: Also, if you've never lived in a dry climate, you cannot possibly understand why lotion is so vital to our existence here.

4: Technical term.

8 Pet Peevery Lane

I'm still hot under the collar over this one, Folks.

Have you ever been to Target on a Saturday afternoon?

Specifically, have you ever been to THE Target - the flagship store - in Denver? You know the one, at Colorado and Alameda that's always jam packed on weekend afternoons?

Uh huh.

I'm usually right on top of the grocery shopping thing, choosing to go early in the morning to avoid the crowds. However, today I was feeling extraordinarily lazy and so I got a late start.

A very late start. Like 1 p.m. late.

To my utter surprise, when I turned down a row in the parking lot, there was an open space 3 stalls from the front. So I turned on my blinker and waited patiently for the couple that looked to be in their mid-50's to mosey by the space.

Just as they were almost to the point where I could pull into the space however, the man stopped, pulled the 2 grocery bags he had out of the cart, and then pushed the cart right smack dab into the middle of the parking space.

The parking space in which I was getting ready to pull.

I honked my horn and he turned, looked at me, looked at the cart, and kept walking.

I threw the car into "Park", got out of the car, retrieved the buggy, and slammed it into the buggy carousel...you know, the carousel that was less then 20 feet away.

All the while, he continued to stare at me.

I glared evilly back and pointed straight at him and declared in my most debater-trained voice, "JACKASS!"

Seriously, People. What goes around, comes around. And knowingly, deliberately doing something that inconsiderate because you're too fucking lazy to take an extra few steps?

Target Shopper Rude Man, I'd like for you to meet karma. She's a real bitch. And you deserve every bit of her.

7 Pet Peevery Lane

It's been awhile since we've taken a stroll down the Lane of Pet Peevery, yes?

But tonight! Tonight we have a little something special on this Lane. Something to which, I'm sure, anyone who's ever lived in an apartment building can relate.

Tonight we shall talk about laundry room etiquette.

In my apartment building there are 13 apartments.

And those 13 apartments share 1 washer and 1 dryer.

That's right. One. Uno. Singular.

So when it's time to do laundry, catching the washer and dryer free can be a bit of a challenge.

Especially because some people believe that no one would possibly be inconvenienced if they left their laundry in the machine for hours...occasionally days...before removing their clothing.

Now, I am a conscientious launderer.

I do not start my laundry unless I know I will be available to attend to it immediately following its last spin cycle. And I am fortunate to live right across the hall from the laundry room and can hear the washer spin from my foyer. So I'm pretty much on top of it.

Thus, the idea that someone would come along and remove my clothes and toss them aside willy nilly so that they can get to the machine is extraordinarily rude in my mind.

It's only happened once.

Keeping that in mind though, I'm hesitant to remove anyone else's clothes for the same reason...because it's rude.

Unless, of course, those clothes have been sitting in the washing machine for more than 30 minutes after the wash is finished.

And then? Then I get pissed.

And I do remove clothes from the machine. Especially ESPECIALLY if I'm pressed for time and need freshly laundered underpants because I'm going on vacation!

So if you live in an apartment - or share a washer and dryer with a roommate whereby laundry is not a communal project - do not leave your clothes unattended.

I and your loved ones thank you.

6 Pet Peevery Lane

6:18 a.m.

I'm preparing to merge onto I25 southbound when I notice a car rapidly gaining speed behind me in the entrance lane.

I'm also gaining speed and as my speedometer reaches 60mph - the posted speed limit for that stretch of highway - I signal my intention to merge over to the left when the car behind me, now right on my bumper, swerves around me into the lane in which I was about to merge...

And then proceeds to moderate his speed at 60mph right next to me so that in order to merge and avoid the Exit Only coming up, I must speed up significantly or hit my brakes.

Thank you, Mr. I-Must-Merge-Before-You-Or-My-Head-Will-Explode. It is clearly all about you.

He was driving a Subaru.

5 Pet Peevery Lane

Yesterday morning found me heading up to Boulder on business.

Now, if you've ever had occasion to drive the Boulder turnpike¹ from Denver to Boulder, you know traffic on that particular stretch of highway can be one giant pain in the ass.

So color me surprised when I got on I25 northbound to the turnpike and then on the turnpike itself with top speeds running around 80mph just after 8 a.m. Seriously.

And I'm thinking to myself "fabulous!".

Until...

Just east of the Sheridan exit, when the highway narrows from 3 lanes to 2, traffic stopped dead. D-E-A-D. Dead.

For 20 minutes, we were either at a total stand still or creeping along at 10mph. The only thing I could imagine was a major accident up ahead. How far ahead was anyone's guess - a guess I couldn't make because I couldn't see around the sea of SUVs.

Sure enough though, as I crested a hill, far in the distance west of the Church Ranch exit, I saw the emergency vehicle lights flashing...

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HIGHWAY!²

That's right. The extreme slow down I was experiencing was because too many motorists cannot resist the urge to rubberneck the train wreck. A train wreck that had already been cleared to the side of the road, a tow truck with a car already on it, and no ambulances. In other words, absolutely nothing to see.

*sigh*

Stupid drivers.



1: That would be highway 36 for those of you who don't know.


2: Was that enough emphasis to convey my extreme annoyance?

4 Pet Peevery Lane

There are just some things that are sacred, you know?

Like...one's toothbrush, for instance.

I would hope none of us would walk into someone else's bathroom and go "Oh hey look! A shiny toothbrush! I think I would like to brush my teeth with that brush there."¹ And then do it.

Sacred.

Perhaps even more sacred to me than even the toothbrush though - at least as far as bathroom items are concerned - is my bath towel.

I discovered this at the age of 18 while living with my first roommate - a girl I'd been close friends with up until that point. There was plenty of room in our bathroom to hang two towels right next to the shower. In fact, I insisted her towel should hang closest to it. Both, however, were easily within reach.

So, one morning shortly after moving in, I was horrified to discover as I reached sopping wet from the shower to grab my nice, clean towel off the rack, it was no longer clean...or dry. Neither was hers.

Now, you may be wondering why I found this to be so disgusting. She had, after all, used it fresh upon showering and with soap, I can hope to assume.

Have no fear. I shall tell you why.

I find this particularly disgusting because, no matter how much soap we use in the shower, there are certain bodily areas upon which the sun never shines that cannot ever be 100% clean. And I'm sorry, unless another person and I are uhm...regularly touching each other's "areas" in other ways? I am really not keen on drying myself off with anyone else's uhm...deposits.

It sort of defeats the whole purpose of the shower part. Even if we are intimate.

I never did understand why she used my towel. Even after I confronted her about it and asked her to please please please for to not use my towel, she continued to use it...with alarming frequency. It got to the point I wouldn't keep my towel in the bathroom at all.

So, if there is ever an occasion for you to use my facilities, please respect my towel. We keep an ample supply of bath towels, hand towels, and washcloths handy in a very obvious place. Feel free to singularly use each one. Just...don't use my bath towel hanging on the rack.

And, just in case there's a question, it's the blue one.


1: I have a stash of brand new toothbrushes, razors, and contact lens cases for emergency overnight guests. It's a small hostess kindness I learned from my mother.

3 Pet Peevery Lane or Jane Needs to Take a Big Ol' Chill Pill

Really, Yammy? Ya think?

Yesterday on Postcards from Yo Momma, an entry got posted as follows:

mom: please delete these conversations when we’re done
me: mom, no one can read your gmail
mom: i’m from the nixon era

I thought it was cute. But because I actually pay attention to the world, I also know something about the post-9/11 and Bush era these 2 obviously do not. I know about a little something called the USA Patriot Act which allows the government to spy on its own citizens by reading our e-mail, text messages, financial and medical records and which also gives them access to our telephone conversations and our voice mail messages...without a court order.

I'll admit the Patriot Act really really reallyreallyreally pisses me off.

But you know what else pisses me off even more? Ignorance.

So I posted a comment on the entry. Shouldn't have done it. I know. Opening up can o' worms on a fluff site is asking for trouble. But I did it anyway. I figured it was an opportunity to maybe get one person...just ONE...to open her eyes to the Big Brother reality that is happening, not in 1972 but, RIGHT NOW.

And Yammy responded by saying I needed to take a big ol' chill pill.

Do you know why I loathe ignorance? Because it's people like you, Yammy, who are too busy taking your chill pills and yammering away about stupid BS and not paying attention to the world and the violation of your rights that will ultimately lead to a complete disregard for the Constitution. And maybe, just maybe you'll wonder what ever happened to your 4th amendment rights (look it up, Yammy, I'm sure you have no idea what that one even is because you're too busy watching American Idol) when you're sitting in jail for what you thought was an innocuous (look that one up too) conversation via e-mail and what the feds deemed a terrorist threat.

I hate stupid people.

I'm just sayin'.

2 Pet Peevery Lane

You know how every "news" media outlet nowadays has a website?

And you know how every "news" media outlet's website now offers the ability to create a profile and then post comments on news stories?

I hate that.

I have a list of websites I check almost daily...

The NY Times
Salon.com
Wired.com
sciencedaily.com
Huffington Post
The Denver Post
NPR
Boulder Daily Camera

Among others. Throw in the 30 or so blogs I follow and you might wonder how I have time for anything else.¹

Additionally, I receive e-mail alerts from NPR and CNN for breaking news stories. By the way? CNN is much faster at breaking news.

Now I do read The Denver Post but I like the weather forecast presentation on 9 News better. So, unfortunately, I do find myself perusing the headlines on 9 News each day as well. Which is where I typically run into the Pet Peevery hair removal system.

I swore off reading comments on websites long ago². I swear I did. Usually I'm pretty good at remembering not to do it too. For some reason though, I can't seem to help myself when it comes to the 9 News website. And oh-my-god-of-all-things-stupid-and-ignorant!

Now I believe strongly in everyone's first amendment right to free speech. Really I do. I also know it is my right not to listen to anything anyone else says except my boss and only in relation to work.

But seriously? Seriously folks. I am constantly floored by the stupidity and ignorance filling the comments section of my local news station.

It's like...you give people an anonymous soap box to stand upon and shout political, religious, and social rhetoric at each other over the internet and it gets reduced to a game of dozens (yo momma is so ugly etc) complete with bitch slapping and cat scratching.

It's gotten so bad on that site, 9 News now has a standard practice of locking all comments on any story related to car accidents, sudden death, and alleged child abuse stories. I've even seen them lock comments on sweet human interest stories because commenters cannot help unleashing ugly tongues from the privacy of their homes where Bill O'Reilly is on a 24-hour loop.

Last night, I went to go check the temperature on the 9 News site because, hello, it's like 0 degrees and I like the excitement of seeing how low can it go. Anyway, I saw a headline about the vainglorious Larimer County Sheriff Alderden who was first thrust into the spotlight during the Balloon Boy hoax several weeks ago. Since then, because either the news media has nothing better to do or he's got an E-G-O the size of Texas, he's shown up a lot in other news stories.

The story was about his annual Christmas tree decorating party and the headline was regarding his intention to invite atheists to participate in the party since a number of atheist organizations have requested a cease and desist on the practice. You know, because the separation of church and state is kinda like the law which he was elected to uphold.

And there was a comment that jumped out at me in particular:


Imsoinciteful wrote:
I think it's great! Political correctness is destroying this country...everybody having to walk on eggshells...it's stupid bs. Quit whining. You are in the minority! I'm tired of the crazy few making me feel bad for my beliefs. A-holes!!!

Hmmmm...

There is so much to be pissed about in this brief statement, I can't even begin to start. But I think what gets me the most is that, because atheists and other non-Christian religions are in the minority, it's OK to trump the constitution by allowing an elected official to spend government resources on a Christian practice.

And also note that atheists and non-Christians are also "crazy", in control of his emotions, and are "A-holes" exclamation exclamation exclamation. The A-holes at the end? That's the bitch slap "yo momma".

*sigh*


1: The answer is that I don't read every speck of information posted. Just like I would with an old fashioned newspaper, I skim the headlines and read what jumps out at me.
2: I make exceptions usually for NPR and wired.

1 Pet Peevery Lane

You know, I try not to be too snarky...at least not here. I don't particularly like snark-icism from myself because...well...I consider myself a genuinely nice, caring, generous person. Occasionally though, I experience something that gets me riled and then my thoughts and sense of humor run with big arms down Sarcasm Street. Hey! Who am I to argue with physics¹?

So I'm starting a new semi-regular series of blog posts about my various and sundry pet peeves...of which I have a lot...and of which my occasional snark humor tendencies appear. I suppose I already started it with the post about the drama llama but we won't count that one as I did not officially designate the space for the topic until today.

So yes, anyway! The first post in the Pet Peevery series begins with a Craigs List Missed Connections update.

I've noticed recently - perhaps because of the Halloween holiday season and all the advertising geared toward sexy pirate/teacher/zombie/witch/vampire/cowgirl/nurse/everything-you-can-show-off-cleavage-in costumes - there have been an extraordinary number of missed connection ads posted whereby some guy has seen some random "smokin' hot" girl on the street/at the gas station/in the grocery store/driving past his house he wants to meet². He hasn't talked to her, he knows nothing about her...nor does he really care. All he cares about is how sexy she looks living her life.

I'm pretty certain if I were a "smokin' hot" girl, this would still offend me. Because you know why?

It's shallow. It implies a woman is only as good as she looks. It says this man isn't looking for shared interests, witty repartee, or meaningful, fulfilling relationships.

No no. It says this moron is looking for a "smokin' hot" bod he can get close to to satisfy one aspect of his pathetic little life.

He's probably married³.

Now I know this pet peeve is not an objective pet peeve. I know it's centered around my belief that I am an ORIGINAL⁴ acquired taste - like pâté - which means I get overlooked a lot by men who aren't interested in acquiring a new taste...sticking to the tried and true Applebee's.

But I'm not chopped liver by any stretch of the imagination⁵. I'm not anything they serve at anything nearly so banal as Applebee's either.

I just don't see what's so wrong with being attracted to a woman because she is multi-dimensional? Because she is unique? Because she is unafraid to swim against the current?

Why do these men not care about those things? Or rather...why is it that the single most important quality upon which to base a partner search is how good a woman looks in daisy dukes and a halter?

Do these men really think there is a direct correlation between rock hard gams and fellatio skills? Really? Really? Please.

Gah. Bleah. I feel all ranty and Janeane Garafalo-like now and I totally hate that⁶.

Luckily, I have the most amazing male friends who teach me every day that most men aren't like this. That most men are amazing and open and happy to give a little love to the incredible women in their lives.

1: Newton's First Law of Physics "An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force."


2: Read screw.


3: Because I've seen an awful lot of those missed connections recently too. Whereby the men are trying to hook up with the hot bod because he's in a loveless, meaningless marriage. You know what, Buddy? Your wife probably has something to say about that and has been trying to connect with your bone head for years. So why don't you send HER a missed connection?


4: Score one for me, Mean Nasty Noc Noc Door Boy!


5: Go ahead and groan. I know you want to but I just could not resist it.


6: Even though I love Janeane Garafalo, I don't want to be anything like her.