Thursday, August 31, 2006

Things That Get On My Nerves

You are tall and wearing a giant backpack. Why in the fuck are you standing right in front of the subway doors?

The L train stops at Union Square. You shove everyone near you while self-righteously exclaiming “EXCUSE ME!” Fuck you, lady: EVERYONE GETS OFF AT UNION SQUARE.

You are related to Trey and repeatedly ask if we can come over for dinner Saturday, despite the fact that Trey has had the Saturday night shift for FOUR YEARS. “No,” I say, “I’m so sorry but you know Trey works Saturdays.” Trey’s relation then sighs, to indicate how difficult we are being. “Maybe you guys could come over Sunday morning then?” No, I say, seeing as my husband will have gotten in from work at 6 a.m. Another uncomprehending sigh. I want to say that we would love to be there on Saturday, and would Relation mind just giving us 500 dollars in cash? Because that’s what it costs us to give up a Saturday. I swear, when Baby Minou Langtry-Desolay is born, I am tempted to make visiting hours as inconvienient as possible. “We’d love to have you drop by and see the baby! Can you come at 9:30 a.m. on Tuesday? No? You are at work? Oh…..oh well. We really thought you’d want to see her. “

You are a Friend of Mine who does not understand that hanging out at Trey’s bar on a Saturday night is NOT QUALITY TIME WITH MY HUSBAND. You are a Friend of Mine who thinks that having a gathering at Trey’s bar on Trey’s shift with your shitty-tipping co-workers is a GREAT FUN IDEA.

You are the Divisional Sales Manager of my company, who, although knowing full well I am a vegetarian because I sweetly refused your gift of dinner at V Steakhouse as recompense for my help with the Divisional Sales Meeting, explaining with a big smile that “that is so thoughtful, but we don’t eat meat” has suggested THREE times that while I am in Virginia next week I treat myself to a “fantastic Virginia ham!”

You are the Television, sporting a graphic that reads: “POST-9/11: The New Reality.”

You are another Co-Worker, inquiring about my Band: “How do you monetize that?”

You are my Ovary, radiating pain-waves into my upper thigh, causing mid cycle bleeding for four days.

You are Five O’Clock, and you are Seventy Minutes Away.


Blogger Ashbloem said...

Preach it, sister.

4:17 PM  

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