It’s amazing how small things can make us absolutely lose our minds, isn’t it? Like, in theory everything in your life is totally reasonable and fine and you’re not fighting for your survival in Darfur or selling yourself on the street for meth money, so you should be a happy person, right? Right. Well, at least that’s what I think anyway. But sometimes, it is the little things, the tiny injustices in life, that just make you absolutely irrationally freak out. Have a hate spiral, if you will. If this happens to you, you’re not alone. Although it may be hard to believe (humor me), there is an epic amount of shit in this world that drives me up the wall. And so, I give you T-Rex Rantz, Volume 1. I don’t think you are normally supposed to call something Volume 1 until there is a Volume 2, but I’m 100% confident I can find more things that annoy me. Also, I understand if one of your rantz is my tendency to end random words with the letter “z.” Sorry I’m not sorry.
1. The Mustache Meme
I realize that this may make me wildly unpopular, but I do not get why this whole mustache thing is funny. I really don’t. The first time I saw it, I was like meh, that’s cute, moving on. But then it grew. And it grew. And before I knew it, every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small, were drawing mustaches on their fingers and sticking them up under their noses in an entirely uncreative attempt at a hipster facebook pic. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Apparently it all started when a tattoo artist in OHIO (obviously) decided it would be funny to tattoo a mustache on someone’s finger. It wasnot funny, sir.
And as the trend has spread, it has extended to paper mustaches, glasses with mustaches attached to them by chains, and other such international horrors. It is now affecting innocent children. I made my peace with it at first, but this has been going on for well over a year now and we need to stop the madness. Yes, LazyArtistWhoGotTheShaft, I’m looking at you.
2. Facebook Privacy Concerns
I know Facebook has been in the news pretty much forever, but lately it seems like there’s an article pretty much every day talking about some privacy concern people have about Facebook or some new creepy app that they have come out with. For example, CNN recently published an article called “Facebook quietly unveils ‘stalking app.’” A little overly dramatic, I feel, since it’s not like they are automatically installing the app for you or anything.
First of all, in case you weren’t aware, no one is forcing you to be on Facebook. Unlike healthcare, it is not yet government mandated (that one is for you, RDub). You know what that means? It means that no one is stalking you without your own consent. And really, that should pretty much be the end of the conversation right there. No, Facebook doesn’t give a shit about your privacy, and you know why? Because they don’t have to. We’re all addicted so we’re not going to quit anyway, so they might as well sell all our information to the Russians or whatever profits them the most. And I totally get it. Is it right? No. But if you don’t like it, quit Facebook and stop complaining. It’s like people complaining that they are going to get cancer because they smoke so many cigarettes. Don’t smoke then, asshat!
In fact, back in the day when Facebook was for college students only and every change they made seemed like the end of the world, I used to complain about it quite a lot. But then I started to find myself annoying. And I realized that Mark Zuckerberg is the only reason I know how many times some of my high school acquaintances have been divorced or married or how many kids they have had, and that is information I need. And so, I remain his loyal slave, privacy concerns or not.
3. Hot Fudge Foolishness
I damn near had a meltdown over this today, and this incident is actually what inspired this post. Ok, so I’m in Charleston for work today and I stay in a hotel while I’m here. I decide that I will walk to get dinner and some frozen yogurt, because the place is a little under a mile away and I have totally functioning legs. So I enjoy a delicious dinner and then head over to the froyo place. The vanilla isn’t working, which happened last week, but rather than hate spiraling on the unsuspecting teenage employees, I decided to let it slide. I put on all my toppings and then go to put hot fudge on.
Important fact: I love hot fudge. Like I love hot fudge to the point that I have considering going into the froyo place and not getting any yogurt, just getting a cup full of hot fudge and mixing some toppings in. It isn’t the icing on the cake, it’s the cake. Do we understand each other?
I notice that the hot fudge machine is turned around, indicating that the machine may be out of service – my nightmare. Last week when I was there, the hot fudge wasn’t hot because they had just cleaned the machine, but at least I was able to get room-temperature fudge. Surely this could NOT be happening again.
Me: “Um, can I have the hot fudge?”
Sub-Adult: “No, sorry, we just cleaned it.”
Me: “What? Why? You don’t close for two more hours.”
Sub-Adult: “Yeah, um…I don’t know.”
Me: “Well can I have just regular fudge then?”
Sub-Adult: “No, we just cleaned it. We only clean it on Wednesdays.”
SERIOUSLY? Hey everyone, guess what is the only night I am ever in Charleston for work except on rare occasions? I’ll give you a hint. IT’S WEDNESDAY. That means this is going to happen EVERY WEDNESDAY. FOREVER. It took all of my restraint not to throw my
cup of delicious toppings with a splash of frozen yogurt healthy dessert across the store. While I recognize that some might say this is an overreaction, seriously, what are the chances? WHY WEDNESDAY? I’ll tell you why. It’s because God is smiting me, that’s why. I’m pretty sure that God sent ten plagues to Egypt and not a single one of them was as bad as a hot fudge drought.
I am now so enraged that I have thoroughly exhausted myself, so I bid you all fucking adieu. Love you, mean it!
Leave me a comment and tell me about something that irrationally annoyed you today so that I know I won’t be alone in hell.