Thank you all for your kind comments on that last post. I had a rough week, but things are looking better now. My new bow and arrows help. :D
I was going to do a post like that one Amber did ages ago, basically complaining about all my various pet peeves. But most of the ones I came up with are things that piss everybody off (tailgaters, children without manners, racists, animal abusers, etc.), so I thought making a post about it might be redundant in the grand scheme of things.
So instead--aided and inspired by Lil' Sis--I have compiled a list of weird things that piss me off and/or freak me out, and--according to Lil' Sis--are contributing factors to what makes me certifiable.
8. Human Hair.
As I child, I was apparently so disturbed by and terrified of hair (especially other people's), I would freak the eff out if, for example, I had a stray hair on my sleeve, and would run screaming to the nearest adult, so that said hair could be removed.
It's not so much of an issue anymore, except when it comes to Little Sis. For some unfathomable reason, she is incapable of removing her hair from the drain after taking a shower. This causes intense arguments in my house at least twice a week.
7. Having my blood pressure checked.
I would rather have ten shots, or even twenty, than have that thing wrapped around my arm. I don't know what it is, but even the thought of it makes me go all shivery and heebie-jeebie, so I'm going to have to move on because I donwannatalkaboutit.
6. People who are really into politics.
This is probably a common pet peeve, but I'm going to complain about it anyway. You know the kind of person I mean--they could be extreme right-wing New-World-Order-Conspiracy-Theorists, environmental terrorist sympathizers, republicans, democrats, hippies, Cthulhu worshipers, whatever--they all drive me nuts because for some reason they MUST get IN YOUR FACE about what they think and why, and they'll argue with you until you're laying on the floor sobbing and begging for death. I know people get intense like this about lots of things other than politics, but it's the political ones that tend to piss me off simply because they JUST . WON'T . STOP.
Like at Easter dinner, when Stepmom decided to start telling me why I
should must do it or die and vote republican this year because Obama is
ruining America and blah blah blah. And despite the fact that I did not argue,
that I did not really comment, and all I did was to say that I really have no
interest in politics and couldn't tell you one candidate from the other, she K
E P T G O I N G. The woman who is about
as close to the stereotypical Susie-Homemaker happy sunshine and smiles mother
housewife got in my face and raised her voice at me because I did not leap up
and proudly declare my agreement with her political opinions.
And for the first time in my 27 years, I took a stern tone with my stepmother and told her that I really didn't appreciate her behavior. She apologized to me before I left to go home, so we're good....
....anyway, moving on....
As in the flower. I hate the way they look. I REALLY REALLY HATE the way they smell. I know lots of people find it to be a pleasant flowery sort of scent, but when I smell lilies I immediately think of dead people. Specifically, dead relatives who should not have died at age 19. Sure there are a few other flowers I don't really like that much--irises, impatiens, tulips--but if someone happened to bring me a bouquet of those I would politely accept it and put the flowers in a vase in the kitchen.
But bring me lilies and those disgusting things are going straight out on the compost heap.
4. These people:
A good book is a good book, asshole. Regardless of the size and ages of its fanbase, or the number of Hollywood deals it has generated. Just because you might not like doesn't mean it's a bad book, or that the author of that book didn't work intensely hard to write it.
3. Even worse are these people:
I get this a lot, because apparently my neutral facial expression is one of intense anger. Perhaps it's a hint of what lurks just under the surface, because every time some random stranger (and 99% of the time it's a man) tells me to smile, I want to punch them in the face. And not because they're inconveniencing me personally in any way, but because if they're the sort of person who feels the need to tell random unhappy-looking strangers to smile and be happy, eventually they're going to say it to someone who has a very legitimate reason NOT to smile.
I know I've mentioned it before, but I seem to have to explain this to lots of people very often because FOR SOME BLOODY REASON there's cheese in almost every fricking thing ever when you go out to eat; or go to eat at a friend's house; or the worst ever: when you've been on an airplane for nearly 8 hours and the only options are a sandwich with chicken and cheese, or a sandwich with just cheese.
You're eating smelly sh*t that's made with the combined forces of slaughtered baby cows' stomachs and milk that's so sour it's actually solid. I just don't get it. Even the mere sight of cheese makes me gag uncontrollably, and I can no longer be in a room if there is strong-smelling cheese, or cooking cheese. I actually had to the flee the restaurant where Lil' Sis wanted to have her 8th grade graduation dinner because the odor of cheese was so bad I almost vomited all over the hostess.
You could shred a chalkboard with your nails in front of me. You could scrape your knife and fork on your plate until you're blue in the face. I don't mind.
But dear god PLEASE don't
press that marker to the paper
so forcefully that it makes
There is no faster or more effective way to get Mich to leave a room.
Like for real, that noise can bring me to the point of a seizure.
I had many a run in with teachers over this issue when I was younger. I'm not sure when my hatred of that accursed noise reached its peak, but it came to the point in high school that I would walk out of a classroom if someone was using a marker and pressing it too hard. During my nannying years, all children under my care were strictly banned from colouring with markers. No exceptions. At work (and in all previous office jobs I've ever had), I have removed all markers and felt tip pens and hidden them where Boss can't find them.
......One thing is for certain--I am probably going to have very interesting children...
I have discovered a new band, and I'm in love.