Runbrags, Dietbrags, and Other Ways to Make People Hate You

If you have to run (exercise, work out, lift weights), could you just shut up about it? I don’t care if you ran 10 miles, 20 miles, or 26 miles… and I don’t care that you beat your best time or that you ran an 8 minute mile or a 5 minute mile. Ugh. Runbrags are the worst. And this business of the 13.1 and 26.2 bumper stickers… Please just stop. Just put a bumper sticker on your car that says “I’m annoying.” …or drive a Prius. Same thing.

Dietbrags aren’t that great, either: “OMG, I totes ate two lima beans and drank some green tea yesterday, and I think I only lost six pounds this week!”

Gymbrags: “I spent three hours at the gym today and got sweat all over my new Lululemon workout gear!”

Richbrags: “I totally think my housekeeper forgot to vacuum the study yesterday. My life is awful.”

We all hate you.


Preternatural Daybreak Imposition

If you have to say hello to me in the morning (note: not recommended before 9 AM), don’t do it while walking by my cubicle. It’s enough for me to recognize that someone has directed a greeting at me, but to have to try to figure out who breezed by my cube… well, that’s just too much. I have precious little energy to spare in the wee hours of the morning, and for you to unceremoniously demand that I devote scarce resources of mental energy to voice recognition based on a one-syllable greeting is simply ludicrous and terribly, well, rude.


If you have to “reply to all” via email, you’d better make 100% sure that you use it correctly. When I take over the world, the “reply to all” button will be disabled until a certification course is passed.

Here are some examples of when NOT to reply to all:

1) An email goes out to the whole firm (or a large distribution list), but it looks like it should have just gone to one person. Do NOT reply to all saying that it probably shouldn’t have come to you. Every person who gets your reply will think that you’re an idiot. And they will be correct.

2) You don’t recognize every single one of the email addresses on the to: and cc: lines. I guarantee that Chrissy’s old accountant doesn’t care that you won’t be attending the Pampered Chef party. As a matter of fact, after you’ve replied to all, the accountant won’t attend the party because she will assume that all of Chrissy’s friends are morons like you. And she’s a big spender… so you pretty much just robbed Chrissy of like $50 in commissions. Nice job.

3) If you’re replying with something sarcastic, mildly offensive, and/or self-promoting. That just won’t end well. Ever.

When can you reply to all? Here you go:

1) When you and your seven bestest friends are emailing about where you’ll be getting together this weekend. (And you’d totally group text, but stupid Maya doesn’t have an iPhone, so her replies go to everyone individually, and that’s just so infuriating…)

2) Group/team projects at work. It’s a good idea to keep everyone in the loop. In this case, more is better, and people can just delete what they don’t need.

The moral of the story: when in doubt, don’t. Just don’t… unless you want everyone to think you’re a moron, you want to write Chrissy a check for $50, and you never ever want to live it down.

Overexposed Oversharers

If you have to overshare every second of your entire life in social media (*ahem* Facebook *ahem*), know that some people do not care. Some of us have happily opted out of all that mess.

Not being on Facebook absolves a person of so much social responsibility. I don’t have to keep track of what’s going on in anyone’s lives unless they’ve gone out of their way to tell me verbally or via text/email. I don’t have to deal with “How could you not know we broke up/repainted the living room/flew to Mars over the weekend?! I posted it on Facebook!!”


1) I haven’t had to see grainy pictures of what’s going on in Brianna’s uterus.

2) I don’t have to be subjected to pictures of people’s nasty feet all summer. (See “Foot Selfies”)

3) I somehow manage to sleep every night without reading descriptions and seeing pictures of the drool puddle your pet (dog? cat? kid? spouse?) left in the hallway.

4) I don’t feel obligated to “like” anything… Not your selfies, not the idiotic picture you took of something you wrote on a lined piece of paper, and not your status update telling the world that you ran half a mile and now you think you’re some sort of an Olympic athlete.

5) Oh…and I don’t have to pretend to enjoy your poetry. (Is it a haiku? A limerick?)

In closing, folks, this doesn’t mean I don’t love my friends and family. I simply don’t want to know what type of body wash they use.