Here's some tings that bug me.
wHEN i'M TYPING AND LOOK UP TO SEE THAT ALL OF THE LOWER CASE LETTERS ARE IN CAPS AND ALL OF THE CAPS ARE IN LOWER CASE BECAUSE OF ACCIDENTALLY HITTING THE STOOPID "caps lock" KEY
Beverages that only make me perpetually more thirsty for more of the same beverage. Grape juice and lemonade = #1 non-thirst quenching culprits. But I do love them so.
Why, oh why do men frush the terlit as they pee? This seems to only happen at wall urinals and it's the dumbest thing I ever did see. It's like they know the steps, just have 'em in the wrong order. Ladies, I don't know if you do the same; I'm guessing not, as it would involve a reach-back for you. You could possibly do some irrevocable harm twisting something.
Bananas that turn too quickly. There is a 24 hour threshold in which I prefer my bananas: slightly speckled. Just before the point that they start to look like the shoulders of a 50 year old woman who spent too much time in the sun. Iffn' I don't eat them in that 24 envelope, they ripen even more quickly and I'm fucked. I either end up with too many overly matured bananas or not enough perfectly ripe ones. That said, It's banana bread time this weekend!
People that reek of ashtrays and onions that breathe in my general direction. Nuff said.
No matter which music or book store I go to, it always seems that someone's standing in front of the letter I need to look at. Case and point: last night was at Barnes and Noble with a friend. I went to the "D" section of the CDs and 3 people were crowded around it reading every last word on every CD cover. Rest of the music area? Wide open for browsing.
I rent movies and never watch them. And more often than not, I return them late. Why?
Which reminds me. I think it's time that Blockbuster renames their bullhunky "restocking fee" for late movies back to "late fees". You're not fooling anyone. Old is the new new, go back to the old name. We all know you pay your employees the same to restock a late movie as you do the on time ones.
Clients at work that give me their email address with a www-dot before it.
My driver's side wiper is always the first to go, even if I replace both at the same time. Is it because the driver's side wiper is looked at more when driving?
The fact that there's an empty spot where fur won't grow on my left sideburn. Sharpie needs to make a "fur" colored marker (with a fine point, please)
When I need to speak with a contact NOW at work on behalf of a client who is on hold. I press 700 numbers and go through 8 menus only to get their voicemail.
People that make loud suckling noises whilst eating greazy food and suckling their fingers. Your finger is not a teet. There's a time and a place when it can be fun, of course, but eating isn't that time.
Once you open a tube of saltines, if you don't eat the whole tube in an hour or so, they are no longer crispy. Sensitive little devils, those saltines.
No matter how many times I've sat through it, I'll still watch the Time Life infomercial with Barry Williams and that one chick for the Hits of the 70s CD set. I guess you do the best with what you've got when you don't have VH1.
When I clean my glasses and put them on and my finger accidentally touches the lens and leaves a smudge. And by the way Frank, I love you little fella, but please leave the cap of my eyeglass cleaner spray alone.
I have a pound of perfectly good ground coffee which was ground for a drip brew mat-cheen and alls I've got is a French press.
Having to pay 50 cents to put air in my tires at SA.
MySpace sluts that send me a message simply saying sumpin' like "Do I know you?" or "hey, was I at your show last week?" I go to peep their page because, hell, I don't know, only to see an external webcam link and their top 8 which consists solely of muscle doods whose arms and chests make them look like a big dumb sack of oranges. Not to mention they don't seem to know what shirts are.
Neighbors that smell like buttery microwaved cabbage. Not naming any names, and said neighbor is hella nice, but I have to breathe through my mouth when chit chatting in said neighbors apartment and still get a lil' sick.
People that write blogs complaining about stuff because they're bored.
On that note, I'll close this motherfucker out with a poem:
Happy little hampster rolling in his ball,
He didn't see the stairs and he had a tragic fall.
