On Roundabouts and Revolving Doors

If you have to pause to think before using a roundabout or a revolving door, you might want to consider sparing the rest of us by simply taking another way. Also, if you feel the need to be that guy who goes too quickly or too slowly through either of the above, please either step aside or drive off the nearest cliff.

Oh! And don’t be the person who runs up the escalator and then is all sweaty and panting on the back of my neck. You clearly don’t understand the 4 steps of separation rule.*

Don’t be the idiot who tries to do some sort of social experiment by standing too close to other people in elevators.** You don’t have your own prank show on TV. You’re not funny, TRAVIS. No one even likes you.

Also, I’m currently super-hating on the lady in the elevator who expects me to push the button for her floor (*raises eyebrows* “9, please.”). She always gives me a weird look when I say, “Ha! Yeah right,” and back away from the buttons. Nothing against elevator operators, but um… yeah, I def don’t look like an elevator operator.

In closing, either participate in society and live by its norms or just get out.

This means you, Travis. And take elevator lady with you.

*Does not apply in airports
**The person who does this invariably smells awful. (Yes, you, Travis.)

Jall-AH-pin-oh Pepparz

If you have to use foreign words (or “borrowed” words into your own language), please don’t mispronounce them. You think you sound smooth and cultured, but you sound like an idiot (or a wannabe douche, and that’s probably worse).

Example: “I’m a huge wine afishonaydo.”

Really? A fish tornado? Do yourself a favor and just say “fan.” Also, drinking wine from a box and/or only drinking Riesling with ice cubes in it doesn’t make you an expert, a connoisseur, or even someone who can has a wine preference. (If I hear you talking about the “nose” of a particular “varietal” of Smirnoff Ice–you moron–I will have to smack you around just a little bit.)

And while I’m on the topic of stupid fans and fans of stupid… Loving Ryan Gosling movies OMG lmao wtf ❤ rotfl totally does not mean you're a fan of the arts. It means you like a mediocre actor with an unwarrantedly huge following of teen girls.

Watch it with designer names, too, slick. Don't try to pronounce Givenchy. Anything you might guess is incorrect. Also, do us all a favor and please stop saying Ralph Lor-EN. It’s LORE-in, like a girl’s first name. (Watch Friends… Rachel knows.)

I’m Not Racist, But…

If you have to make a racist comment because you’re racist, please preface your racist statement with “I’m racist, so…” The whole “I’m not racist, but” thing has been used so much, I just assume people mean it in front of EVERY SINGLE THING they say.

Examples:

I’m not racist, but… “Is it Wednesday?”

I’m not racist, but… “Can I borrow your scissors?”

I’m not racist, but… “Boy, this fried chicken is good!”

I’m not racist, but… “The Faraday constant is equal to approximately 96,500 coulombs.”

Seriously. Thought it was okay to laugh? Racist. …And I can say that because I’m not racist.

SURPRISE! You’re a Moron!

If you have to tell people that you had/have an “unplanned pregnancy,” it had better involve giving birth to Jesus. Pregnancy cannot be a surprise.*

“Oh! my husband/boyfriend/random sexual partner and I were so surprised that we got pregnant!” NO, YOU WEREN’T! AND IF YOU TRULY WERE “SURPRISED,” YOU ARE A COMPLETE IDIOT WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT HAPPENS DURING THE ACT OF SEX.

Here’s an uncomfortable truth: IF YOU HAVE SEX, YOU MIGHT GET (OR DIRECTLY CAUSE SOMEONE TO GET) PREGNANT, YOU INSUFFERABLE MORON.

Don’t sound so shocked. Bang someone at age 17? You might get pregnant. Bang your spouse at age 40? You might get pregnant. WHERE’S THE SURPRISE?!

*disclaimer: this statement does not apply to victims of sexual violence who have been drugged, etc.

You Divide, I Conquer (with words after the fact because I’m a wuss)

If you have to put up a little grocery divider when checking out at Target, you’d better make sure that the person in front of you already has all of his or her groceries on the conveyor belt.

This post is dedicated to the unbelievable [expletive redacted] at Target who, about 15 minutes ago, couldn’t even wait until I had HALF the groceries out of my cart. She threw so much on there that the cashier had to STOP THE BELT AND MOVE MY GROCERIES FORWARD SO I HAD ENOUGH ROOM TO PUT THE REST OF MY STUFF UP THERE. I appreciate that she didn’t make eye contact with me because I don’t think her kid would have enjoyed watching what I would have said and done to her right there in front of all the good folks at Target.

Lady, I want you to know that there is a special spot in hell reserved just for you. …Wait. No. It’s half a spot. I made sure someone put a huge plastic divider and 27 cases of the Lean Cuisine meals you just COULDN’T WAIT TO GET OUT OF YOUR CART in your spot. Enjoy.

So-Freaking-Stupid-Jones

If you have to hyphenate your name, ladies, please have a legitimate reason for doing so. Legitimate reasons are listed below:

1. You’re a doctor who graduated before getting married. Your degree says Jones. Your husband’s last name is Miller. You can be Dr. Jones-Miller.

2. You have (a) kid(s) already and are getting married. (Especially true if he also has kids and/or the two of you intend to have more kids.) You, Ms. Smith, can be Mrs. Smith-Barney.

3. Your last name is at the end of its bloodline. You have no brothers. Your dad, Mr. Williams, is all worked up about it. You have my blessing to be Mrs. Williams-Sonoma.

4. Your husband has passed. You can hyphenate with your maiden name, your married name, and/or a new married name, should you choose to remarry. You have unlimited creative license here. You can be Mrs. Hyphen-Asterisk-Ampersand.

5. You’re a celebrity. Julia Roberts shouldn’t be Julia Moder (and not Julia Lovett, either!). She’s Julia Roberts. Hyphen whatever, but she’s still Julia Roberts.

That’s about it. Vanity hyphenation is stupid. There’s a 99% chance that it doesn’t matter because YOU’RE NOT FAMOUS. If you’re doing it for an inane reason like “so my high school friends can find me on Facebook! omg lol brb ❤ fo realz," you probably aren't bright enough to be reading this blog, so I'm not too worried about offending you.

Please do your part to stop the vanity hyphenation madness. Mrs. Oglethorpeson-Ziminikowski just shouldn't happen.

Park[ing] Backward is Krap

If you have to back into a parking space, please first perform whatever check you feel appropriate to ensure that you are not a woman. Should you, in fact, be a woman, do not attempt to park backward.

By virtue of having two X chromosomes, women lack the spatial awareness and sound judgment required to maneuver a vehicle between two lines when driving forward–let alone when driving backward. (This is especially true if the vehicle being driven is larger than a Honda Civic.)

It always goes like this:

Slow reverse. Abrupt stop. Turn steering wheel completely in one direction. Even slower creep. Long pause. Mirror check. Roll down window. Head out window. Shriek. Shift into park. Open car door. Lean out car door. Sudden realization that seat belt is still fastened. Close car door. Turn steering wheel completely in other direction. Shift into drive. Car turns in the opposite of the intended direction. Abrupt stop. Eyes well up with tears. Pulls out cell phone to ask Facebook friends if they know how to back into a parking space. Checks Twitter. Posts a grainy picture with caption “omg lol drinks last night with Tammy! wtf brb parking.” Looks in rearview mirror. Grabs purse to find mascara…

All the while, I’m sitting there trying to suppress my anger. Fun fact: When I’m in a parking garage, I’m not there to leisurely hang out and have a picnic lunch while you put your lipstick away and try to figure out where the “B for Backwards” position is on your gear selector.

In closing, if you’re a woman who wants her vehicle parked backward in a parking space, just pull your vehicle onto the sidewalk in front of the building and go get Jeffrey on the 22nd floor to park it for you. Trust me… It’ll take less time, it’ll be less frustrating, and the only person who’ll hate you at the end of the day is Jeffrey. (But let’s be honest–he’s only doing it because you hide your ice cream shop punch cards in the ashtray and he can take at least two without you even noticing. Dang, girl… How much ice cream can one person eat?!)

Impudent Presuppositions

If you have to preface it with, “You probably don’t know this, but,” please don’t bother asking me the question. As a matter of fact, please don’t talk to me at all. Ever.

If you really don’t think I’ll know, why in the world are you asking? And if you think there’s a snowball’s chance that I WILL know, why are you insulting me before you ask for my help?

It’s like saying, “You’re probably too fat to climb the stairs” or “You’re probably too short to reach this thing on the shelf.”

Just quit being a jerk…but you’re probably too stupid for that.

All Tied Up in Pink Ribbon

If you have to use a color for your business/cause/marketing, could you not use my favorite color?

Okay, so this isn’t a rant against Susan B. Komen per se, but OH. MY. GOODNESS. I can’t buy a pink pen without it being festooned with a ribbon. Essentially, if you are over the age of seven and want to purchase anything (ANYTHING) for yourself in pink, you’ll be supporting breast cancer (or not supporting it, or supporting an organization that supports it?). Komenitis hasn’t yet affected baby clothes, but that’s probably coming soon.

Want a pink umbrella? Sorry…you’ll have to buy this one with a ribbon on it. Pink water bottle? Ribboned. Pink sports equipment? ALL RIBBONED.

The only safe place left is Victoria’s Secret PINK–a store at which one can purchase many unribboned, rosy-hued items that are plastered with the word PINK, and that’s a lot better than SUSAN B. KOMEN BREAST CANCER SOMETHING RACE FOR CURE RIBBON BOOYAH SOMETHING greeting everyone from your backside. Also at VS PINK, you can buy a neon green shirt that says PINK because THEY ARE UNBOUND BY COLOR NORMS. (It’s also the best place in the universe to study for a Stroop test. Ya with me, psychology pals?)

Imagine if a testicular cancer awareness organization (Susie B. Scrotum Foundation) exploited the heck out of the color blue. Blue jeans would be BALL JEANS. Instead of those stupid “Check your boobs” t-shirts, we’d see “Rub my nuts” t-shirts. Men’s running shoes would have ribbons all over them. And EVERY GOLF ITEM WOULD HAVE A RIBBON ON IT. Now all of those golf euphemisms would really make sense! …I think I’ll stop there.

Leaving Scranton (Out of the Office)

If you have to leave an out of office message on your work email, try to have a sense of humor. I mean, really, no one reads these things anyway, but for the three people who do… Well, you might get a good reply if you write something like this:

I’m out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. Please contact [name] if you need assistance before my return.

If this an emergency, dial 911. This is not an offer to buy or sell securities, void where prohibited, stand behind the white line while bus is in motion, batteries not included, deliberate concentration and inhalation of contents may be harmful or fatal, call before you dig, slippery when wet, consuming raw or undercooked meat may increase your risk of foodborne illness, ring bell for service, do not expose to heat or flame…