Tag Archives: Peeves

10 Peeves

I consider myself to be a positive person but I suspect that I am peeved more often than most. I mean, I did create this list of things that bother me. Super positive people probably don’t create such lists. Or if they do, their list probably isn’t 301 items long. And their list probably doesn’t rhyme. Actually, 301 isn’t even the extent of my pet peeves in life. There are MANY more that I either didn’t remember at the time or just couldn’t find a rhyme for. In honor of the 10 on the 10th theme, here are 10 more things that bother me that didn’t make the original list.
10 Recent Peeves
1. Getting a grounder. This is not a baseball reference. A grounder is a special species of zit. If you don’t know what I’m referring to, consider yourself blessed and pray to Jesus that you never experience the hell that is a grounder. But so you can sympathize with me, let me explain.

Trivial Highs and Lows

I do most of my writing while lying in my giant bed, propped up by several pillows and swimming in a sea of blankets. I write at night when I’ve guzzled Mountain Dew during the day and am consequently quite wired and unable to sleep. Or I write on Saturday and Sunday mornings, still lying in bed, eating cookies because I’m typically starving 5 minutes after I wake up. Or I write at Panera when I’m supposed to be grading but looking for ways to distract myself because I slightly abhor grading. Or I write because my blogging friend Kimberly asks her blogging buddies to write about different topics and I use it as an excuse to write about things that aren’t quite as trivial as “movie-going rules.” The latest I wrote for Kimberly was about a teacher who influenced me.

Things that are BUGGING me

“I hate you so much!”
“Why are you here?”
“Please just go away and never come back!”
“How the heck did you get here?”

“I’m frickin gonna kill you!”
“Die suckers!”
“How’s that feel?”
“How do you like me now?”
“Die! Die! Muuuahh ah ah.”
I’ve found myself saying these lines multiple times in the past few months but the most common line I find myself saying is, “FREAKING ANTS!!!” I think the city of Artesia has some weird, mutant ants that have super-ant abilities and abnormally large brains to form these genius strategies to get any and everywhere in our house. How on earth did you get into my completely closed jar of peanut butter? How?
And why? Why are you in my closet on all my clothes? Why? I fear there might be a master, evil plan unfolding in our midst. I understand why you would bombard my roommates delicious homemade cake, but why oh why are you climbing on my pillows?

I came very close to swearing yesterday when I chomped down on a handful of peanut butter MnM’s only to taste that awful, bitter taste unique only to ants. I spewed out the chewed candies and ants saying, “Oh sick, oh sick, oh sick! I’m FRICKIN EATING FREAKING ANTS!” and then noticed that the open MnM bag sitting on my lap was crawling with ants which were spilling out onto my legs. New levels of rage were reached as I went on yet another killing spree.
These brilliant, bothersome boogers have got me thinking. Not deep, intellectual or spiritual thoughts. Just thinking about things that bother me. I listed quite a few here but I have a few more to add.
* The individual stickers on apples. Are these really necessary? I don’t need to be reminded what kind of apple you are. You are red or you are green. That’s all I need to know and I can identify that with my eyes. Those pesky stickers are causing me unnecessary hassle. Now I have to decide- what am I going to do with you? Do I really have to walk ALL the way back to the trashcan to discard of you? I hate that extra walk to the trashcan so please, apple people, can we get rid of the stickers?
* Drivers who hesitate when the light turns green. I know you saw the light change because your brake lights turned off. I don’t expect you to peel out but do you have a bunch of eggs balancing precariously on top of your car? No? Then step on it please.
* The juice on deli meat. What are you? Why do I have to pat my ham dry with a paper towel? And why are you sometimes stringy and gooey? You are weird and disgusting and if I didn’t love ham so much I would avoid you altogether. (quick story: whenever I talk about ham, my brother Trent says, “I love ham,” in a very deep voice. Why? Because he’s mocking me. How? Because when I was in high school I went to the fridge for a post-Thanksgiving snack. I thought I was alone in the kitchen. Not only did I talk to myself, I spoke in my scary man voice with a lisp and said, “I love ham” as I reached for the leftovers. Unfortunately, at exactly that moment Trent had snuck into the kitchen and rolled over laughing.)
* The buzz of a fly. This sound infuriates me. Here you are puking and pooping everywhere you land and now you’re flying right past my ear buzzing your irritating buzz, mocking me and reminding me of your nasty presence. Back off fly. I might not bust out the swatter if I don’t hear you. Speaking of swatters, last week my mom grabbed the fly swatter and started doing slow-motion swinging motions in the general vicinity of the fly. “Seriously Mom? Have you never killed a fly before?” Right as I mocked her she actually made contact with one. I think he flew right towards the swatter because he thought he could land on it since it was moving so slowly through the air.
* The involuntary squeals and squeaks from my stomach digesting food. It’s not grumbling but it’s working hard and making noises that sound way too close to a fart. Unlike a fart, these cannot be controlled or held back. Plus, you can never just ignore this sound. You always have to explain because you know everyone has heard. Point to the belly and say, “that was my stomach.” Although I LOVE when this happens to others, I am not a fan when my own stomach is loud and creating awkward moments that I cannot prevent.
* The spinning colored wheel on macs. I hesitate to complain about this since I can hear Trent’s “I told you so” already. He is an avid PC promoter and mocks us cool mac users and though usually I will defend you to the end, when that little colored wheel starts to spin showing me that it is “trying” to accomplish a task, I want to pull my hair out. I literally yelled at it this weekend to “STOP SPINNING!”
* Unsuccessful snot rockets. I had one malfunction on me during my morning run today and was left running half a block with a giant string of snot swinging from my left nostril. Now the dilemma: do I wipe it with my shirt or my hand? Or do I try to keep blowing in hopes of dislodging the stringy snot? This decision must be made quickly or else the swinging snot will inevitably cling to my cheek. If I do wipe with my hand, where do I wipe my hand? On my shorts or a bush or a wall? I went with wall this morning and was left with an index finger covered in snot AND dirt. Perfect. (This is similar to stringy-spit-syndrome. I hate when I don’t realize my spit has turned to string and I’m left with a giant line of spit stretching all the way across one side of my face.)

Now it’s your turn. I had so much fun reading all your comments about Halloween costumes and candy and even though the comments were mainly from my immediate family after I threatened them, I still appreciated it. This was a simple post to write because apparently, I am easily annoyed and a lot of things have been bugging me lately.

How bout you? What’s been bugging you?

Reality Bites- Things I Don’t Like

Doing chores, loud snores, unjust wars, cold sores, expensive stores, talks of Gore’s, dropped s’mores, huge pores, and rocky shores;
getting scabies or rabies or ridiculously large food babies;
seatbelts, when icecream melts;
men in Speedos, all mosquitos;
gas-inducing burritos, fingers covered in Doritos or Cheetos;
cockroaches, tacky broaches;
stuck behind a semi-truck, hit in the head when I should duck;
trying to talk while crying, planes bouncing around while flying;
discovering lice, trying to make rice or just be nice to has-beens like Bo Bice;
shopping at Sears, the smell of beers, struggling with fears, and unfriendly jeers that bring me to tears;
burning food, acts that are lewd;
a rock in my shoe, stepping in poo, I pity the foo who can’t go do do.
Swarming bees, losing keys, stupid fees, stinky cheese, and a mean brain freeze;
road rage, growing age;
a sore throat, a torn coat, Murder She Wrote, a lost remote, and getting sick on a boat;
mini-vans, failed plans;
unexpected cat scratches, burning my finger on matches;
feeling stressed or depressed or possessed or overdressed;
getting flipped the bird, or hit by a turd, being called nerd, or just plain absurd;
fluffy bangs, frightening gangs;
a song that’s too long, being called wrong or a ding dong;
the high cost of rent, waking cold in a tent;
stepping on snails, insensitive males;
waking up sore, a brown apple core;
stubbing my toe, being told “no”,
ponytails with bumps, faulty gas pumps, cancerous lumps, the term “my humps”, hair of Donald Trump’s, jiggly rumps, and scary old grumps;
numbers that are restricted, kind people getting evicted;
belly flops, hidden cops, blue tootsie pops, old pork chops, designer shops, and tie-dyed tops;
apples that are mushy, seats that aren’t cushy, brothers slapping my tushy;
telling unfunny jokes, trying butterfly strokes, meeting unkind blokes or selfish folks, when anyone chokes or an old pet croaks;
kids rolling their eyes, those with DUIs;
being denied or rudely called wide;
cereal that’s healthy, guilt for being wealthy;
an unsightly mole, a road with a toll, balls that won’t go in the hole, and games with no goal;
invading ants, incompetent rants, running on slants, hearing “no’s” “can’ts” and “shant’s”,
kitty litter, being bitter, pointless twitter and a mean babysitter;
feeling nauseous, driving too cautious, ruining shirts with too many washes;
painful foot blisters, terrifying twisters;
traffic jams, internet scams;
shampoo in my eyes, pointy ends of fries, mean rumors and lies;
the sound of the vacuum cleaner, the words moist, milky and wiener;
acne scars, crashing cars;
kicked in the shin, struggling with sin, losing when you should win, long hairs on my chin and not hitting one pin;
radio ads, diaper-size pads;
milk that’s gone rotten, feeling forgotten;
parking tickets, maddening crickets;
stepping in tar, the crayon smell in my car;
tall, mean horses, tough race courses;
pitting out, lost in route, people who pout or tend to shout;
hiccups that are painful, strangers that are disdainful;
calves getting slapped, lips that are chapped;
chaperoning dances, missing great chances;
birds flying close, the smell of burnt toast;
flying bugs, lost Uggs, cracked mugs, ugly pugs, frightening thugs, car side hugs;
horror flicks, getting ticks, shaving nics, shooting bricks, New York Knicks, a dog that licks, cold fishsticks, and Michael Vicks;
reading maps, waking from naps;
a broken shopping cart, thinking it’s a fart when it’s truly a shart;
earthquakes, Christian fakes, slamming on brakes, going to wakes;
movies that are scary like that bloody scene in Carrie;
hair snarls, food from Carl’s;
awkward blind dates, high airline rates;
hair in my food, people who are rude, or nude, or crude, or have attitude;
smoggy days, airballed treys, LA haze, no pay raise;
honky tonk songs, realizing my wrongs, wearing cheap thongs;
cottage cheese, warts on my knees, dogs with fleas;
cold fingers and toes, caught picking my nose;
dirty looks, Christy Miller books;
pencils that are dull, convos with an awkward lull, pushing a door when it says pull, and eating past the point of full.
Vicious baboons, scavenging raccoons, irksome jazz tunes, and eating gross prunes;
mouth full of soap, burns from a rope, having no hope, worship of the Pope, hearing the word grope, being called a dope, spelling the word taupe, and licking an envelope.
Charlie horses, evil forces;
fixing a flat tire, lint from the dryer;
unnecessary brakers, vexing soccer fakers;
jamming my thumb, when my tongue goes numb, or I’m followed by a bum or have to eat ABC gum and say something dumb.
Water up the nose, the Passion scene with crows, getting kinks in the hose and shrinking new clothes;
sports ending in a tie, getting caught in a lie;
Know-it-alls, refs’ poor calls, getting hit with balls, frightening dolls, embarrassing falls, getting blocked calls, the taste of Halls, overwhelming malls, guilt like Saul’s, and running into walls.
A bounced check or kink in the neck;
getting shots, my hair in knots;
finding blood clots, breaking down in Watts;
pumping gas, stepping in glass;
odor from a skunk, student being a punk;
when people eat off my plate, the feeling when I’m about to be late;
bullies at school, acting “too cool”, trying to soften stool, a dog’s nasty drool, debating a fool or an idiot tool who’ll pee in your pool.
At the doctor’s getting weighed, hot days without shade, the sick scent of Raid, shaving with a dull razor blade;
the smell of Ben-Gay, an awful toupee, discovering my zipper’s been down the whole day;
hypocrits, smelly pits, giant zits, and called a ditz;
reprimands, my man hands;
shoes that hurt my feet, slow walkers crossing the street;
side hugs in cars, melted candy bars;
burning a meal, the face of Seal;
being tailgated or feeling sedated or getting berated;
an SBD, stung by a bee;
small bladders, unstable ladders;
realizing you’re fatter, wasted cake batter;
itchy bug bites, loud cat fights, long sleepless nights, falling from heights, short yellow lights,…gosh, reality bites.