This blog is by an easily irritated and provoked person. The messages and thoughts on this blog do not reflect the views of the blogger when she is in a calm, rational state. And no, it is not "that time of the month," you sexist pig.


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Monday, August 20, 2007
Oh, where do I even begin? I ought to begin at the beginning, I suppose.

To the first woman to piss me off at the supermarket:
Don't you dare shake your head at me! If I weren't on a mission to find parking, you and I would have had words and possibly fisticuffs. That's right! Fisticuffs! Sure, it would be okay for you to shake your head at me had I been in the wrong, but I think we all know that I was not. You violated one of the major rules of parking lot etiquette. If you miss the empty space, you do not get to back up, especially when there is a line of cars going into the street trying to get into the lot. But did you move on? No! You backed up and almost hit my car although I signaled to you that there was no way I could back up. And then you dare to glare at me? You dare to shake your head as if to scold me? I would have gone medieval on your ass if I hadn't decided that getting a parking space took priority over justice. You are so lucky. You don't even know how lucky you are.

To the second woman to piss me off at the supermarket:
There is no need to push me with your cart. I mean, I know you're old but it's not like you're completely devoid of sensation and can't tell when your shopping cart hits a soft, fleshy mass. Repeatedly. Just because you're just as pissed off as me (as you clearly were) does not mean that's it's okay to take it out on me. And repeatedly assaulting me with your cart is not going to make the line go any faster. And you know what pisses me off even more? That the mere fact that you are old and that you had oxygen tubes coming out of your nose makes it wrong for me to be pissed at you! That really pisses me off when I'm not allowed to be pissed off.

To the third woman to piss me off at the supermarket:
Hello, hippie lady. While you go through life with a carefree, laid-back attitude, I do not. I am full of rage. RAGE! In response to your statement, "You don't mind if I cut in front of you," I actually DO mind if you cut in front of me. I don't care if you only have one item to buy. Do you think I normally stand in line at a cash register for 20 minutes, waiting my turn, only to let any random person cut in front of me just because they have fewer items? Hint: NO. Stand in line like everybody else! And by the way, lose the hemp skirt...it's not very flattering.

I hate the supermarket sometimes.

Thursday, July 19, 2007
Here are a couple of driving tips from me to you. First, if you don't plan on going faster than 45 mph, DON'T DRIVE ON THE FREEWAY. Seriously, why would you do that? The whole point of getting on the freeway is to get from point A to point B in less time. If you're trying to set a new record for longest amount of time to travel the shortest distance, which I presume is your goal given the snail's pace you have decided to set, then the freeway is just going to decrease your time. You're just hurting yourself. So don't do it. It makes me really, really mad. And bad things happen when I get really, really mad.

"But," you whine, "it's not my fault! I'm not trying to drive slowly. My dinky little ride just can't go that fast!" Well, tough. That's no excuse. If you can't handle the speed, GET OFF THE ROAD. I mean it.

Second, don't be that guy who drives all fast, moves into the number one lane, and then for no reason and with no warning, decelerates well below the speed limit and just coasts at 40mph in the fast lane. DON'T BE THAT GUY. Nobody likes that guy. You know what everyone thinks about that guy? They all think he's a douche bag. Don't be a douche bag. I loathe douche bags. You know what would make him an even bigger douche bag? If, after crawling at 40 mph in the fast lane for a good 7 minutes, he decides to move into the number two lane mere MOMENTS after I, having expended all of my already paltry daily portion of patience, have gone into the very same lane in an attempt to pass him. That is the greatest douche bag move of all.

Monday, March 12, 2007
A lot of drivers in Los Angeles suck; I am well aware of that fact. I can't even count the number of times I've complained about my fellow drivers in this blog, let alone outside of the virtual world.

However, I do not appreciate when people tell me how great the drivers in their hometown are compared to L.A. drivers. Yeah, you know who you are. You are pompous asses. News flash: crappy drivers are EVERYWHERE. A large number of drivers in your hometown suck too. They just suck in a different way. They suck in a way that you "get" because you have spent your entire life driving with their particular brand of suckiness, and chances are, when you're in my hometown, you're the bad driver.

Let's say you're a non-native of Los Angeles driving on the 210 in the fast lane (and yes, down here we prefix our freeways and routes with "the") and some dude is kissing your bumper even though you're careening at a respectable 80 mph. You might be wondering why. Well, the reason is because you're in L.A.! We have a need for speed! We have beaches to chill at, celebrities to rub elbows with, cool restaurants to hit, and tons more stuff to do, and we needed to be there five minutes ago. Sure, kissing your bumper at 80 mph might be uncool, but you know what? When that happens, here's a tip: MOVE OVER INTO THE SLOWER LANE. It's the one to the right of you, in case you're an idiot. Which I think you just might be. If you're not going fast, you don't get to drive in the fast lane. That's just how we roll. Literally. Ok, maybe that was a lame hip hop reference. While you're thinking, "Why is that assclown driving so fast?," the said assclown (as well as all the other Angelenos around you) is thinking, "Who's the assclown who won't move into the slow lane?"

Now, take a Los Angeleno and plunk him down in the Bay Area, somewhere like the East Bay. The speed-focused Angeleno is now completely confused by the "devil may care" attitude of East Bay drivers who apparently don't use the "slower traffic to the right" rule. The Angeleno is driving at an enjoyable 75 mph in what he thinks is the fast lane. Silly Angeleno, fast lanes are for Southern California. No, in the East Bay, you must be prepared for people who will drive 90 mph, just so they can pass you...and then slow to 55 mph FOR NO APPARENT REASON. The "fast lane" could be the right lane. For 2 minutes. After which, it could be the middle lane. Who knows?! An East Bay native is inured to this kind of idiotic behavior whereas the Angeleno is not. The Angeleno doesn't understand the pleasure with which East Bay drivers change lanes and speeds in an intricate and stupid dance only they understand. Did I say stupid? I meant "special."

In short, Los Angeles drivers are not the only ones who suck. You suck too.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006
To the really loud people at Lollicup who were disturbing me: I realize that Lollicup is not a library. I do. Which is why I don't expect you to be completely silent while I sit at a neighboring table, working on my laptop. HOWEVER, that does not mean that it is okay to be speaking at decibel levels normally achieved by jet planes while constantly scraping your metal chairs against the concrete ground and banging your chair legs against each other. Exactly how long does it take to situate yourselves? THIS IS NOT STOMP. Try it again, and you will regret it.

Friday, April 28, 2006
Do people actually expect me to shell out $3.23 and 99/100--which, let's face it, should just be rounded up to $3.24--per gallon for the cheapest grade gas? WHAT THE? DAAAAANG!!! I live in Los Angeles!!! I. Have. To. Drive. Long. Distances. To. Pretty. Much. Get. Anywhere! ARRRRGGGHHHH!!!! This is just ridiculous. I don't care how the pricing works. I don't care about transportation costs being high in the oil industry or whatever it was C-Pow was trying to explain to me. I just care that as someone who lives over 35 miles away from where they work, the amount of money I spend a month on gas could buy me three pairs of really nice shoes...or approximately 300 Filet-O-Fish sandwiches (from McDonald's on Fridays). And no, I cannot use public transportation unless I plan on sitting on a bus for four hours every day. I said it once, and I'll say it again. DAAAAANG!!!

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