Pet peeves

I got a long list of pet peeves and since I am in a pet peevey mood, I'd like to share them all in a passive/aggressive/assertive (only when absolutely necessary will I use assertiveness) way.
I, as an amazing and infallible judge of character, have excellent tastes in all things, especially food, drinks, people, events, activities, sports, friends and last, but not least, pet peeves. Here are only some of my pet peeves:

1. Kicking the back of my chair. I do not understand. There is plenty of ways to use your foot. I don't even mind if you kick your own chair. But, please. Don't tap on my chair all throughout class time. I probably have an inner ear problem, it makes me a little dizzy....and studies are inconclusive, but, I am sure that your tapping on my chair leads to me wanting to punch you in the kidney.

2. Leaving all the electricity on in a room or house.
My dad taught me this one. I learned it from corporal punishment. The sun is there for a reason. IT'S A NATURAL GIFT. This is actually not pointing to anyone in particular. I do this all of the time (hence, why I hate it so).

3. Saying, "I was just gonna say that..." before everything you comment on in-class. I don't know why this bothers me, it just does. For instance:
"Yes, Adam, I see that your hand is up, I am now calling on you."---teacher/professor/discussion leader.
"Oh, well, I was just gonna say that Napoleon was a badass but shouldn't have invaded Russia."---Adam.
_______
Later in the class...
"Yes Adam"---professor
"Oh, I was just gonna say that....women were treated as inferior, per usual."---Adam
_____
POINT IS:
Don't say it. It gets on my nerves, gov'na.

4. Unless you are entering a Podunk town's block party, stop spitting. I am not a fan of spitting. I think it is because it is ever expanding. You never know who is going to do it and where.
Also, every time someone does it (usually a man), another man-type feels they have to do it....BUT BETTER.
Spitting now becomes a sport for these saliva stockers. One must out-do the other by spitting faster, carry more distance and hold more loog in the loogies. Yeah, I said it. Loogie.
I fear for their immune system and intestines---aren't they dehydrated?? Just food for thought.

I'm sure I'll have more pet peeves that I will write about later. DON'T YOU WORRY.

Reading

This post is going to be short and sweet. Just like....short and sweet things.
Anyway, I was reading at the library (again....again......again) and one of my classmates who is in more than one class with me comes up me and says: "Hey, how's it going? Whatcha up to?"
So I say, "Oh, not much is going on. How are you?"
"Pretty good. Have you read that essay for Class number one?"
Then I respond, "Yes."
Then he shoots back another question: "Have you read---"
"---Yes"
Then, "How about---"
"---Probably." (from me).
Moral of the story: I can't stop reading. I think I have read my life away thus far. I just read and then read and then read. I probably have thousands of tiny tiny paper cuts all over my hands from all of the pages I've turned in all of the books I've read. It's gonna burn when I take a shower tomorrow morning.
"AHHHHHHH, it burns......goddamn you History."

library 101

In desperate need to find something to write about, I decided to write about my lovely library gig. I call it a gig because it really isn't a job. It isn't a full time job. It isn't even a part time job. I'm going into the librarian circle. I don't want to be a hostess of books. I just work this gig like a prostitute. I get paid by the hour. I walk circles around the building making sure people know I'm available {for assistance; wink wink} and they can get all of their needs satisfied by asking me. I am a prostitute. A library ho. The library system (and corresponding networks) is my pimp.
Libraries are so different from all the other places I've worked. It is very relaxed at the library. There is no need to upsell anything because we're not selling anything. In fact, we would probably prefer that you not take so many books (and get jam hands all over the book covers). We are here to help....but don't get CRAZY. Take your own initiative. Patron....meet: the computer. Touch it. Get acquainted with it. Press a couple of buttons. Be nice to it....it will be nice to you. DO NOT, under any circumstances, do the following:
Come up screaming about some article on Ebscohost. Don't scream, for one. (For one, Shhh....this is a library and secondly, I am not shy or quiet, so you have met your voice match, blondie. My voice CARRIES. It carries far....it carries long.) Anyway, don't come screaming about some article, I am not researching with you. I don't know what just happened on your computer on the third floor. You haven't even formed a sentence. This is probably the first time you've ever seen my face. And today, I've only been here an hour and a half. I am a student. I do student things. I do not even have a degree yet. They pay me 7 dollars an hour. That's like 1/2 of what they pay kids in Tibet. Lay off.
Also, it might be a good idea to structure your questions, sentences, statements in a way that it non-threatening or offensive. Do not come up threatening to kill by mama, my first born or anyone that I love.
This is how it could go down:
"If I don't have this article in my hand, I will cut out yo motha's face."---mean patron.
"WHAT?!?!?!? How do you cut OUT her face."--me
"I will go inside her face and cut my way out....sucka."---mean patron.
"Wow. That's extensive."---me
"Sure is."---mean patron.
It's just inter-library loan. Like fish in the sea, there is more than one article out there.
--------------TO BE CONTINUED------------

Boyfs, girlfs, dating

If you have ever been in a relationship, I do not pity you.
I am in a relationship (it's a love thing), but when it comes to social interaction and dating faux pas, I am queen.
For one, I don't know how to obtain a man. I am very silly and I really am the strangest person when it comes to flirting. Bears are probably more gracious and subtle. The problem is patience. I don't have it. Some do. I do not.
No patience here.
Another thing is that when I am in a relationship, I always say or do the wrong thing.
For one, the golden rule of dating and relationships is: Do not mention the M or the P words.
I am here to help everyone learn from my mistakes:
Sure, you love him. Sure, he's probably the best thing that has ever happened to you. But, for god's sake: Don't mention weddings, marriage and babies. Nothing turns a guy off of sex like settling down and popping out screaming infants. No sex fo' you: no babies fo' you.
Seriously. I don't know what it is about people, but some are really into ruining relationships (mostly me). This is the time where you can feel sorry for the Englishman. He puts up with a lot.
Also, have you ever met one of those people who are born to settle down.
Like, one of those people who are really smart, stay in on Friday nights, have already done their taxes for this year (it's mid-January), think teachers are really hot and have purchased baby clothes for their future children....they are born to settle down. At first, I pitied them. But, then I realized that it is so much better than the opposite extreme: Falling for a guy on a broken down Harley, sporting a cash-only job, living off of the streets with an awesome mullet and some homemade "tea."
But seriously: back to social problems. Don't talk about M and P. Also, don't talk about your ex lovers. Unless you still love said person, leave the talk in your head, your diary or your amazing blog at blogspot.com.

In case of emergency

If there is ever a fire, flood, storm, tornado or earthquake (or all of those terrorist attacks we seem to have and are worried about) I will be the first to go.
For one, there are so many procedures that I would probably duck and cover under my desk for the earthquake instead of filing out of the building in case of a fire.
Then, there is the instance of me being bored. I can't stand it when I have to sit and wait to be shot. I would probably just gather my things and then peacefully (and hopefully sneakily) head out the back door. I am just too bored and too anxious to wait around in the dark for some teenage boy with daddy issues to come and empty his hunting rifle. I am sorry if this sounds crude, but this is just how it is. Also, I probably would be the first to get a cramp in my leg, stretch it out and then piss the terrorist off or alert the enemy to my/our position.
Lo siento, victims, I got a leg cramp.
I feel like when it comes to everyday life situations, I am like a 74 year old man. I'm stubborn, I don't care that much, I hurt people's feelings when I don't mean to do so, I'm very loud, my voice carries, I complain about the government, how things were better in the good ol' days, I can't sit still, I listen to old timey music and I like to eat my dinner early. I also have this quality where I do not like to do extra work unless it actually needs to be done. Like, I don't like to straighten my closet until I can't close it any more. Another trait is my fondness for Bingo, although that is crossing over into my grandmotherly traits.
Anyway, after hearing about the Haiti situation, I realized that I would be the first to go. I wouldn't want to take cover, I wouldn't lay low to the ground, I wouldn't be responsible or help other young fellows. I would be pissed off because the electric was off and I couldn't watch the news. I am a 74 year old man.

Snotty Snubs from the Snob System

I am here today (and everyday) to blog about my life.
The blog seems reasonable. The blog seems innocent. The blog seems harmless. People who read blogs (that is, not mine, no one reads mine, I am sure of it. Those who do, I love the most, of course) seem nice, harmless and considerate.
This would be INCORRECT.
Blogs are nothing more than a self-indulgent online diary.
And I can't get enough of it.
Every day I think about what I can/should write about in my international blog of mystery. Before I go to sleep, I think about what I could comment on....what about my VERY strange life/events in my life/things I do, that would interest those loyal reader(s).
But beware, future bloggers: everyone is a critic. Everyone knows that to read a blog is to be a critic to a blog/blogger.
I've had a recent revelation. Bloggers (me included) are subject and worthy of attack. But beware: don't preemptively judge bloggers. Like me, I blog not to be pretentious, but to get into the journalism realm. An adviser (aka, the Internet) told me if I wanted to be a writer, I should contribute to the information super highway (the world wide web). I also do it because I like the small-time attention I get and the feeling of contributing to a willing society (aka two to three people--who are the best, ever).
So, all in all. Bloggin' ain't no crime. 'S all good.

Emily

Sometimes, when I'm alone, I start to think about weird stuff. I start to combine different events with people who aren't even in the same state as me.
Like, for instance. I thought I heard gunshots coming from outside the house. I was alone, in Missouri, and I immediately thought, 'When did Emily buy a gun, bullets and then come to my house.'
Why would I think that?
Why would Emily buy a gun?
Why is she not in Illinois?
Why would Emily visit me, guns blazing?
Why would Emily want to shoot at me?
Turns out: Oops, I did it again (thanks BSpears)....I combined two different feelings/events: I combined my lack of friendship/insane loneliness for Emily with the alleged gunshots coming from outside my house.
In the end, I doubt it was gunshots, I think it was someone banging on their car with a blunt object in the middle of the night. Ghetto hos.

Correction: When I was talking about lack of friendship....I meant my lack of seeing friends because I was at home and away from my Bffs.

My Favorite Christmas Songs

I know it's a bit late, but if I don't write this, I think I am going to explode. I have a bone to pick with whomever is responsible for singing/listening to/making popular Christmas songs. You are picking the wrong ones to make popular and glorify. I'm here to set you straight (with passive/aggressive blog posts.)
Here are my under-appreciated favorite Christmas songs:
1. Baby it's cold Outside
Guy tries to convince the girl to stay awhile because it's cold outside (baby)
2. Santa Baby
Girl lists all the extravagant gifts she wants for Christmas: yacht, ring, convertible.
3. I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In
(On Christmas Day, On Christmas Day)
That's the only lyrics I know (or anyone knows), but I still love the song. So catchy.
4. Good King Wenceslas
"...looked out, on the feast of Stephen. When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even." (I had to look these lyrics and spelling up on google). This song, as you might recall, was made popular by Love Actually (Hugh Grant's character sings this song for a bunch of cute, dancing, demanding British girls).
5. Mary Did You Know (that your baby boy)
Kinda preachy, but beautiful. Especially when played with a full orchestra.
6. Rocking Around The Christmas Tree
Thank you, Brenda Lee. I would rock with you any day, home fry. This song's the bomb.
7. Walking in a Winter Wonderland
When I was a kid, I used to play this song year round. Now that I turned 21, I've stopped.

Just for the record: I do NOT like the song about Grandma getting run over by reindeer. Makes me cry every time. I also cry at the song I'll be Home for Christmas (if only in my dreams). Tears. Just writing it makes me have tears.
The worst of them all: Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Why isn't anyone (like Santa, or Mrs. Claus) punishing the other reindeer for being so mean? Why didn't Santa notice Rudolph's gift sooner? I am sure other Christmas nights were foggy....why didn't Santa take notice. Sketchy to me, Santa Claus (if that IS your REAL name).
Another bad song: The Twelve Days of Christmas.
I always get confused, 11 pipers piping, 6 geese a-laying, 5 calling birds?? Not only can I not count backwards from 12, I skip many levels of gifts (maids: skipped, drummers: skipped, turtle doves: non-existent).
Also, by the by, how come Christmas songs are either so happy, or they make me cry and depressed. I guess that's just how the Christmas holiday is.
Anyway, thanks for reading! Catch ya here next time.

Coming to America

My best friend, ARod, came home from Studying Abroad for too many months. I wasn't too worried about my other friend studying in Africa, I knew that that friend had made it back okay. I knew she was coming home sometime in December, but I didn't know when. Instead of calling her directly, I first scouted out the other friends. I must have asked two of my other friends, like, 80 times when ARod was coming home, if she had arrived and what her feelings were toward being home, how she felt, jet lag, happiness, etc.
Of course, after the fourth time of not knowing how ARod was or what her location was, the two bffs got quite tired of answering.
All of the hub bub starting affecting other areas of my life: The Dream Realm.
That's right, folks, I had a dream about ARod's status as a non-U.S. citizen. I dreamt that ARod wasn't allowed back into the country, and not only could she not come back, she wasn't at all unhappy about living in her new country. In my dream, this made me very sad because I like to be missed and I miss her (still). The weirdest part was the fact that the dream was in the perspective of ARod. It was so trippy. An out of body experience, to say the least.
So, here I am, several days past Christmas and I kept receiving and dialing calls to ARod. Phone-tag, I think it's called. This only added to the mounding stress. I could see up-and-coming game shows featuring ARod:
Where in the World is Carmen San ARod
Wheel of Unfortune (because ARod is stuck somewhere, can't get back, and I can't properly receive her calls!!??!?!!!)
Jeopardy (her life's in jeopardy)
Deal or No Deal (making deals with some sleazy Euro-creep for ARod's life/passport back into the country).
The Price is Right (for ARod's passport)
Are You Smarter than A 5th Grader (I'm not, so that's a toughy).
Blind Date (I don't know how this relates, but I don't like it...)
Family Feud (I don't know how this relates either, but it sounds good and I am sure it plays a role).
Anyway, I can't receive her calls/she can't receive mine properly...she may or may not be in danger, I would like to take a nap in peace without the dreams of my ARod in jeopardy.

But then, I called her again, at a reasonable hour and she answered!!!!!!!
All is well. I think the only area that has long-term effects is my sleep pattern. And maybe PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.