Cackling

Something I can't stand:

Unnecessary cackling (including, but not limited to: loud fake laughs, ear-piercing outbursts, deep forced chuckles, blatant kiss-ass guffaws, hellified hoots, ridiculous girly giggles that should have been let go 30 years ago, uncalled-for chortles at entirely inappropriate moments, overemphasized low-self esteem driven whoops, random honks, absurdly drawn out titters when no one else found it funny, hyuckhyukhyahhyuk, howling at something that was slightly funny last week, heart-stopping hollers, building-rattling bellows, etc.)

Worst. Run. Ever. Bugs, high steppin' & a rubber

It was all I could do to take a shower before I poured myself a glass of wine.

Out the door, I knew it was going to be bad, but this was ridiculous. First, it's summer here in Florida and it gets humid and we get these swarms of gnats. Those nasty clouds of those little bugs that you can't even swat away.

So I'm running and eating bugs. Mmm. And I'm trying to get them out of my eyes (there's one that I know is there because I see a little blurry out of the corner, but I can't seem to "find" it). They're in my nose.

I've been running for a few minutes now and I'm starting to sweat. I look down at my chest at all my freckles -- wait a minute... I don't have freckles. Those are more freaking bugs.

OK. So there are bugs. I'm over it. But then I run up on three kids on my sidewalk. They're exercising (bless them for combating childhood obesity), BUT as I'm catching up to them, they start running -- so now I can't pass them. Then they slow down and start doing this high-stepping thing, so I figure I can pass them now.

I pick back up the pace, and they start running again. I'm annoyed. I stop for a minute. They start high-stepping. I run again; gonna pass. They start freaking running again!

I'm not about to run in a pack with these three, and I think it's incredibly rude of them to keep this crap up so I can't get past them. Thanks for crapping on my run. So I turn around.

I'm almost home. At this point I'm not even running anymore. Now I'm just totally defeated and just strolling with my new buggy buddies, looking around at the neighborhood.

Which is when I notice the used condom on the edge by the grass where I'm walking. Well that's just lovely. At least we know they were safe.

I wish I was safe from shitty runs.

UPDATE: The bag of turd

It's here!

So last night after I bagged the bagged turd, I left it outside my front door (no way I was inviting that thing in), with the intent of taking it to the dumpster in the morning.

This morning I leave, grab that poo and put it on the floor in my car to drop in the dumpster down the block -- and drove right past the dumpster. It's not till I park at work that I realize I'm still in possession of said turd.

What now? There's no dumpster around. I'm too nice to litter (besides, then someone would have to grab it a third time and that's just ridiculous). So I decided to...

...wait for it...

bring it into my office... and THROW IT AWAY IN OUR KITCHEN! (In the garbage, of course, but still -- enjoy, everyone)

Hahahahaha.

What? You didn't think I was going to have it stewing in my cubicle's trash can, did you?

The bag of turd

I woke up one morning last week to the beautiful view outside my sliding glass door.

Ah... there's the lake, with the pretty fountain; and there's my bird feeder, with all the pretty cardinals, blue jays, doves, crows, squirrels, the mouse, the duck, and, wait, what is THAT?

It looks like a... um... a Publix bag? Maybe. Closer look: Yup, it's a Publix bag. But why is all knotted and twisted. Oh. Ohhh. Ew. It's a bagged turd!

Someone has had the audacity to toss their turd into my fabulous view!

Now what. It's not like I'm going to go get it. Hell to dah nah I'm not touching someone else's pooch poop. So I wait a couple days. Maybe maintenance will come get it. That's why I pay so much rent, right?

Couple days later, I'm about to name my new turd. Apparently, he's not going anywhere.

Couple more days... Good morning, turd!

Today: Enough! By now it's been festering long enough. I get a garbage bag. I wrap my hands in other bags. I prepare to face the turd.

And I did it! Turd be gone. And to whoever felt like my bushes are a turd dumping ground, don't do it again!!!

Guys who don't get it

An open letter to guys at bars.

Dear Guys at Bars,

Just because I let you buy me a drink, it does not mean I want to give you my phone number. You don't need it because I don't plan on ever seeing you again. If I do give you my phone number, it's because I'm too nice to say no -- you just bought me a drink. Also, if I do happen to give the my real phone number, it's only because of stupid cell phones and the likelihood of you calling my phone right there on the spot so I can "save yours too." P.S. I'm not and I don't.

Second, if you do end up with my real phone number and you call me, and I don't pick up, please don't call again. You look stupid. Especially those who leave a message and I don't call you back. Also, don't text me all the time either. You're clogging up my inbox and it's not like I'm going to text you back.

Third, no, I do not want to meet up for dinner next time you're in town. You live out of town?! How lucky could I be! Now I don't have to worry about accidentally seeing you around and having to play nice. Now go back home like a good boy and check your bank account to make sure you didn't overdraw it with all those expensive drinks you bought.

Fourth, do not call me all kinds of early the next morning to "say hi." Do not call me early -- you're not and will never be on my good morning list. And don't call me to say hi. I said all I had to say when I thanked you for the drink.

And last, no my friends don't want to hook up with your friends either. It was very convenient that we all got free drinks out of the deal, but we were just being nice so we could save a little money. We're all a little broke her (damn gas prices), and we're not above smiling and flirting a little for a free drink (or three).

Thanks for the drink,
--me

P.S. I know you made a point to remember my name and all, but I have no idea what yours is. Thanks for the free drink.

The truck that ran me over

Maybe I should call the cops.

I didn't see it coming and I didn't feel it happen. I have no idea what it looked like, or when it occurred. But I'm pretty sure a truck ran me over.

I woke up this morning awful. I don't understand... I was fine yesterday. Fabulous even. And then this morning, POW! Like a Mack truck just plowed into me while I was sleeping.

In other news: I want a hedgehog.