Snarky and Sweet

Things That Anger Us

I was so torn about what to write about today.  I’ve had a series of awkward experiences that would put Urkel to shame. Like this morning, getting off the light rail I decided that instead of getting in the elevator with the fatties I would carry my bike up the stairs. This led to having a fatty in front of me and going really really slow. THEN when I set the bike down on land I got my ipod wire attached to the pedal somehow making my shuffle pop off my shirt, my head jerk around, and all but fell on my ass. That was at 7:20AM. Then there’s just a whole list of things I’m in a hate-war with.  I decided that rather than bitch about work (it’s boring, the people bitch constantly, yes I see the irony in bitching about bitching, etc.) I will tell you about things that I cannot stand which other people consider odd but which, when you really think about it, are totally hate-worthy. 

Vowel States

Please don’t get me wrong. I love vowels. I love throwing the word “Onamatopoeia” into casual conversation.  It happens rarely but boy when you can toss that out there…heaven.  That said, from time to time when I am in a particular funk at work I will go to www.textsfromlastnight.com and peruse their offerings. It helps me to temporarily forget how much fun I’m not having and how much of an alcoholic I’ve become as approximately 80% of these stories could come from myself or people I’m close to.  (I’d like to blame that on work, too, pleaseandthankyou.) Sidenote: I’m actually annoying myself with how much work gets me down these days. Baaaad sign.  Anyway this little gem made me feel like I’m not alone in the world:

(952): I saw a sign that said worlds largest frying pan next exit. Way to do your fucking part Iowa.

And brings me to my theory: Vowel states: they suck. I classify vowel states as any state that begins with a vowel.  Extra bad if it begins AND ends with a vowel.    There are twelve vowel states: Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, and Utah.  Now I know you’re thinking: “Alaska? Oregon?” but I hold firm on this.  Illinois gave us Chicago but…we have other great, large cities that aren’t as cold or windy and there is nothing else worthwhile in Illinois so Chicago can’t make up for the whole state. Alaska gave us Sarah Palin, Exxon oil spills, and hunting wolves from helicopters.  Oregon I have no beef with but it’s rather far north and rainy and there’s always Washington state.  I do realize that some states, like Mississippi, should by all rights BE a vowel state but you can’t win ‘em all. F U vowel states, you make the rest of us look bad.

Bowling

Then there’s bowling. At the Pavillons in downtown Denver there’s a fancy-schmancy bowling alley called Lucky Strike. A guy recently invited me to bowl, and I said yes because it was only the second date, and therefore still early enough in the relationship to try to be charming, positive, and easy-going. Anyway, when we walked into Lucky Strike, the hostess eyed us as if she was a keeper of some precious secret and needed to assess our worth before sharing it. It turns out there was a fucking 3-hour wait. To bowl! She actually handed us a card and suggested that we call ahead for reservations a couple days in advance next time. Reservations! I repeat, to bowl! I get that Lucky Strike has a bar and some atmospheric lighting, but when you get right down to it, it’s still a bowling alley. You still have to stick your feet in shoes that countless others have worn before you and throw a heavy ball with the hopes of knocking down pins. I can’t decide which is worse: the pretentiousness of Lucky Strike trying to attach coolness to bowling, or the raw and grimy reality of other bowling alleys, with the lingering scent of stale, cheap beer and the ungodly amount of mullets lurking about. I guess if I ever get an overwhleming urge to bowl my little heart out (and please kill me if this ever occurs), Lucky Strike might be the lesser of two evils. At least I can order a strong adult beverage and rest assured that feet of most of the previous shoe-wearers likely belonged to someone who’s didn’t have two first names (Billy Bob comes to mind) and bad teeth.

Birds

I blame Dr. Seuss (and take responsibility for blaming a lot of people in this post. But mostly work for bringing all this anger and bitterness to such prominent levels.  They’re our feathered friends for godsakes!).  He taught me many things (never trust a man named Sylvester McMonkey McBean) about human nature, how to treat others, respecting your parents, life is a journey, and he gave me an intense distrust for birds.  Seriously think about the Sneeches.  They are so cruel to one another.  It’s human nature at its worst.  And I get that it’s a metaphor for treating those of different races and socioeconomic status poorly.  But they’re also BIRDS, and then those birds who turn in Horace the Elephant.  A PERSON’S A PERSON NO MATTER HOW SMALL!  F U right in the A birds.  Your intolerance and general meanness is in no way outweighed by how cute you are when you’re babies.