Paulo
Let me introduce Paulo. I CAN'T STAND PAULO!!!! Let me list the reasons why:
1) His name is Paulo
2) He has a stupid accent
3) Every time he calls me, which is a few times a month due to our unfortunate professional association, he introduces himself to me as if we have never spoken to each other before. "Hello, my name is Paulo and I am calling from my stupid company and checking status on..."
Its not his fault his name is Paulo. Its also not his fault that English is not his native language and that even though he speaks it quite well he still has a slight accent. And he has to earn a living, so its not his fault that earning said living involves communication with me, and he is probably just trying to be polite and exercise good phone manners. Paulo is probably a really good person who does a lot of charity work and nurses injured animals back to health. No matter how many times I remind myself of these things, I still hate Paulo. I hate him so much I want to reach through the phone and whack him with a stapler. I want to meet him in person so I can punch him in the face and kick him in the knee. And I am not a violent person.
Birds, And More Specifically, Pet Birds
Birds are evil, wicked creatures who live only to poop on my car. And my house. And my driveway. And the fondest wish of their little black hearts is to poop on my person. I know this, because I can see it in their beady little eyes. Who in their right mind would want such a creature as a pet? People say how smart and cute birds are, but why are they utterly unable to be housebroken, hmmm? And why is it every time I have approached someone's "friendly" and "totally tame" pet bird out of a sense of obligation said bird has bitten me with its sharp little beak? And why are they so stupid that if you cover their cage they think you magically made it night time? You could never get a dog to fall for that. Plus, when you get close, birds are kind of ugly and creepy.
You may classify my feelings for birds as an irrational fear. I will cop to having an irrational fear of horses. I like to look at horses, but I won't go near them because I am afraid they will step on me or bite me. Also because they can smell fear, which makes me worry that if they can sense my fear they are more likely to step on me or bite me, which makes me more afraid, which makes them even more likely to step on me or bite me. That, my friends, is an irrational fear. And I really, really hate birds.
Mom + Carrots + Celery
For some reason, my mother was genetically gifted with a jaw which magnifies the sound of whatever she is eating by 300 times. When she eats carrots and celery, I am fairly confident they can hear her in the next county. She might even be breaking the sound barrier, its that loud. And my mom LOVES carrots and celery. She eats them, literally, all day every day. Again, its not Mom's fault that she has an amplifying mandible; its not her fault she was born with an innate love for carrots and celery. Yet every time she eats them, I feel like baby kittens are dying and Santa Claus isn't real. I have to leave the room before my irrational rage takes over and I yank the offending veggies from her hands shrieking, "WOULD YOU JUST EAT SOME FREAKING APPLESAUCE!!"
People Who Don't Love My Dog
It stands to reason that not everyone is a dog person, or a cat person, or even a bird person (ha!). It also stands to reason that even if you like dogs, you will not like every dog you meet, much like you don't like every person you know. I don't even like every dog I meet. But Sam is the greatest dog ever. Better than Snoopy and Benji combined. He is sweet, friendly, smart, cute, and all kinds of awesome. I may devote an entire blog entry to his greatness. I know it is totally illogical, but when people fail to be impressed by my little buddy, or worse, express open disdain for him, it makes me crazy with rage. Crazy, I tell you.
How can you not love this face?
People Who Promise Me Cheesecake And Don't Deliver
. . . Never mind. I am completely justified in my hatred of these people.
No comments:
Post a Comment