Pet Peeve #33 - Close Talkers

I have no interest on what your last meal was. I don't want to see it on Instagram, and I sure as hell don't want to smell it whilst you're invading my space and talking to me close enough to kiss.

If you're not telling me a secret out of necessity, or kissing me - there is no reason for me to be able to smell or taste exactly what your last beverage was. I'm going to go ahead and say that if you're any closer than a foot from my face you're talking too close to me. I can hear you. I just don't understand why some people feel like they need to be that close to talk. Are my eyes THAT pretty? Are you trying that hard to read my facial expressions? Or is it that you want to smell my last meal? Because that's impossible - I'm holding my breath so I don't have to smell yours, soooo we're at a stalemate here.

If you're within your 1 foot radius and you're a man - you're within head butting distance and I'm listing you as a threat. If you're within this radius and you're a woman - you're within kissing distance and now I'm uncomfortable and probably unwilling to continue the conversation... Or executing kissing phase.

Twitter

Twitter is a crazy bitch’s time to shine. Are you famous? No. Are you crazy? Yes. Do people care what you have to say? No. Will people read what you have to say simply because it is there? Yes. As I said – It’s a crazy bitch’s time to shine.

                Obviously I don’t have access to your timeline, but I think I can accurately guess at least a few recent posts from crazy bitches:

                There is one complaining about loneliness and how much she needs a man in her life. Complaining about how she can’t just meet a good man who will respect her. Well, you have to admire her honesty – but no man who reads that thirsty shit wants any parts of that action.

                There is one ‘complaining’ about how big her tits are. We get it, you have big tits, we’ve noticed. Obviously someone was not given enough attention growing up. Maybe a sibling was born when you were like four and it was cuter than you? Congratulations on all your followers – you earned them with your cleavage ridden avatar. May I recommend some self respect?

                There is a side bitch trying to expose some dude out there. He is somewhere reading your tweets laughing hysterically while his friends dap him up. You think his girl is reading the tweets and is about to confront him. She doesn’t follow you because you’re an idiot.

                There is one posting pictures of cats. We are unsure if they are supposed to be funny or cute. We label them as crazy and creepy. Get friends.

                There is one attempting to be inspirational, however we all know her and she does NONE of what she posts on social media. Practice what you preach – or be real. Choose one.

                There is one posting happy birthday to her “bestest fraaaand evaaaaaa” for the 365^th day in a row. I’ll give you a maximum of 10 best friends – which is a bit rich. And just type in English please.

                There is one posting pictures of her and her booboo kissing. She just got unfollowed. And her boyfriends unfollow button got seriously hovered over. He got a considerate “It’s not his fault.”

                Finally, there is one posting pictures of HIMSELF sleeping captioned, “She play too much, takin’ pictures of me sleep.” There is a MIRROR in the background. Unfollowed, blocked, defriended, number deleted, changed classes, transferred schools, moved interstate. Stop this mess.

                If none of this is on your timeline you have already unfollowed these clowns… Or you’re famous and you follow nobody. If you’re famous tell Diddy I’m a bad boy for life.

Pet Peeve #32 – First Like

First place. A great accomplishment since the very dawn of time. First caveman to arrive back at the cave with food got all the cavewomen. First kid to raise their hand with the correct answer is the smartest kid in the whole wide world. First in a race – gold medal. First in a dog grooming contest – blue ribbon. First place is a good thing, but what you come first in is not always worth congratulations.

                If you are the first person to ever commit mass genocide, do you want a prize? Do you want congratulations? How about a big “Fuck you, Hitler!” from anyone who ever lived for the rest of eternity? “I saw her first!” Oh really? You saw her first? In that case, I’ll just let you have her and I’ll be forever alone. Not going to happen. “I heard that song before anyone even knew about it.” Whoa bro, maybe Drake will be your best friend and give you a million dollars. Pick something meaningful to be first at.

                Some people are so desperate to be first, that they will literally comment “first like!” on photos and videos. I’m sure if they could comment on comments they would do that too. Does that honestly make people proud? Does that provide you with fulfillment? If it does, you need help. I’m going to provide you with a little help myself (free of charge). Get a hobby – something appropriate, I know there are some freaks out there who are like, “But I already masturbate.” I mean a hobby that is generally socially accepted. Anyway, get this hobby. Practice. Get good at it. Enter a contest. Win a prize. Continue to practice. Get better scores/times/distances and give yourself a true sense of accomplishment. “First like!” What a joke.

The Trail

No matter where you are in the world, no matter who you are or who you know, no matter who you sleep with – you will leave a trail. Six degrees of separation is an interesting and dangerous concept and it seems to apply even more when you are hooking up with more than one girl at once. Let me explain:

                You are at a party, single, dancing with a PYT. She’s obviously feeling you so you invite her back to your place. She readily accepts – you know what happens. During the week you get a text from a different girl asking if you want to hang out. Still single, you stupidly think to yourself, “Cool, must be my week,” and you accept. You go get a bite to eat and invite her back to your place. In desperate need of validation, she accepts – you know what happens. Later in the week you go on the date that you have had set up for a couple of weeks. A nice dinner, a movie, and a lighthearted (secretly super competitive) round of mini golf and she is eating out of your hand (pants). After some exciting and illegal public fellatio you brag to your friends the next morning at breakfast. But wait – the waitress is hot and flirtatious. Since you are having such a hot week your friends eagerly allow you to take it from here. After her shift you give it to her in her car in the parking lot. After being exhausted from a long week of being “The Man” you are content with chilling for the next few days. On this vacation you continue to text these girls, all of whom are very excited about the new incredibly charming man they have in their life. Enter: drama.

                The girl from the party went back home after a good night of lovin’ and told her housemate about the incredible guy she just met. The housemate, who has a disturbingly close (borderline incestuous) relationship with her brother, tells her brother how happy she is for her housemate. Her brother, while on his break at the restaurant shares a cigarette with his co-worker and casually mentions his sister’s roommate’s new man. The air-headed waitress has still not caught on. Since her car is getting detailed after the mess you left in it, her friend has to pick her up from work. “What happened to your car?” her friend asks. The waitress giggles and tells her about the stud she met on the morning shift a few days earlier. In shock, the friend laughs and playfully calls the waitress a slut, proceeding to tell her about her date the night before her friend was slain in the parking lot. They are both sluts.

                “Why have none of them stated his name?” you ask. I answer your question with another question, what happened to the girl who texted you to hang out? Enter: the twist.

                The girls, while laughing, hear something interesting on the radio and begin to calm down so they can listen. The DJ is talking about something personal, on the same topic the girls have just been discussing. She describes how she texted a guy she thought was cute purely because she wanted a little action, but he was so charming that somehow she managed to catch feelings. Since she had an emotional tie to this man she felt like she had no problem saying his name on air. She says your name.

                The girls in the car go quiet. They look at each other. “What’s wrong?” they say in unison. “That’s my guy’s name..” they also say simultaneously. The waitress wants to take a detour past her co-workers house. He takes them to his sister’s place to talk to her roommate. They tell the roommate what has happened and the roommate starts crying uncontrollably – The DJ is her sister. They call the sister and put her on speaker to inform her on the situation. Livid, they all textually abuse you. Your phone is going so crazy that the girl lying next to you breathing ever so heavily asks what is going on. You pause, so she knows you are about to lie and snatches your phone right out of your hands. She does not seem to like what she is reading – since she is already back fully clothed. “Damn.” You say out loud. “Damn is right. Cindy (the waitress) is my daughter.”

                Your name is spread throughout town – as a king among men, and a womanizer among women. Enter: free beers for a week and a cold streak for eight months.

                The lesson? Free beers taste much better than the ones you pay for.

Pet Peeve #31 – Look Ma! No Hands!

                Coughing and sneezing without covering your mouth is utterly repulsive, not to mention unhygienic. With a simple hand, elbow, tissue, hanky, or any other tool you can use to cover your mouth you can solve a variety of problems.

                First of all, sneezing looks downright atrocious. If you cover your mouth while you sneeze at least part of that unfortunate face you are making is covered to ease the embarrassment.

                Next we have the projectiles shooting out of your face at 200mph. Nobody wants to see, smell, taste, or feel that shit anywhere near them. If you are a person with bad breath, your sneezes smell like wet dog, feel like a sticky warm cloud of mouth fart, taste like whatever the fuck you have been eating, and look like this:

                That’s frickin’ gross. And all the shit flying from the mouths of these no mouth covering ass, sneezing ass, germ spreading ass, Neanderthals, is now in the air for the rest of us to recycle – yum. So when you sneeze without covering it up, people are walking around sucking you your germs – and so contagion begins.

                If you are in fact considerate enough to cover your mouth when you sneeze, be sure to wash your hands otherwise you have just relieved the whole exercise of any purpose. Let’s be clean please ad thank you.

Head Nod of Regret VS. Inception Head Nod

These two head nods are a powerful form of communication among men. Although they are similar, they mean very different things and no words need to be said to convey the messages of these nods.

                First we have the head nod of regret. This is especially common on Sunday mornings. Picture this: I wake up – my head is pounding – I wipe the eye boogers out of my eye – I take a sip of my bedside water – I realize that my bed feels unusually small – I look to my left and my right – to my right I see the back of a girls head – FROM HERE IT CAN ONLY GO TWO WAYS, KEEP IN MIND WE ARE TALKING ABOUT THE HEAD NOD OF REGRET – because of all of my stirring, the girl moves, she rolls over – I see her face – I discover that not only is she unfortunate looking, but she is a clingy drama queen – I need to pee so I get out of bed – I open the door and head to the bathroom – my housemates door is open – I see some girl in his bed, making herself at home – I go to the bathroom, the door is closed – the door opens before I get a chance to knock – my housemate is obviously going through it – he notices that I am going through it – we give each other a comforting nod that says, “I am fully aware of your situation and I know you are aware of mine, lets never speak of this again.”

                Now we have the inception head nod, also common on Sunday mornings, but seen more regularly throughout the week than the head nod of regret. So picture this: I wake up – my head is pounding – I wipe the eye boogers out of my eye – I take a sip of my bedside water – I realize that my bed feels unusually small – I look to my left and my right – to my right I see the back of a girls head – FROM HERE IT CAN ONLY GO TWO WAYS, KEEP IN MIND WE ARE NOW TALKING ABOUT THE INCEPTION HEAD NOD – because of all of my stirring, the girl moves, she rolls over – I see her face – I discover that she is actually Elle Macpherson in her prime– I smile smugly to myself – I need to pee so I get out of bed – I open the door and head to the bathroom – my housemates door is open – I see some girl in his bed, naked, very naked – I go to the bathroom, the door is closed – the door opens before I get a chance to knock – my housemate is smiling smugly to himself – he notices that I am beaming with self-pride – we give each other a comforting nod that says, “We’ve done it.”

*Head nods start at about 2:45*

                Guys, you know what I’m talking about.

Pet Peeve #30 – Wobbly Chairs/Tables

What kind of amateur hour carpenter builds tables and chairs these days? There is nothing worse than sitting down for a nice meal and then suddenly finding out that you are not at a regular table, but you are in fact sitting down at an earthquake simulator. If I wanted to get dizzy I wouldn’t sit down, no, I would go to a theme park and ride a roller coaster, run around in circles, or drink 30 beers.

                Remember rulers, levels, and try squares? I took a woodwork class in 10^th grade and I could construct a better table and chair than what is currently accepted by the market today. IKEA. Don’t even get me started on IKEA. If you are going to make me put together my own furniture for low, low prices, at least make sure every leg is the same length. My books are for reading, not for leveling out my table so my drink doesn’t slide off it.

                Some of you are going to go ahead and play devil’s advocate here. I won’t allow it. I am completely aware of the legs which have the little cork piece on the bottom in an attempt to fight against the scuffing of tiles. I’ll tell you how good that idea is – about zero good out of ten. When the cork piece inevitably detaches itself from the leg we get a not only a wobbly chair or table, but we get a scuffed up tile. That right there is the definition of an invention gone wrong. The saddest part about it is people still make chairs and tables like this like they are really solving a problem.

                I would rather take up yoga and limber up, move to Japan, and start eating all of my meals on the floor with my legs crossed at mini tables… Those mini tables better not be wobbly though…