Tag Archives: stupid

Hot Flashes vs. Sports Shouting

If you have to work in an office, you’re going to have to interact with other people at some point during your day, and your first interaction will probably be way earlier than you’d like it to be. Despite keeping earphones in your ears until 9 AM and staring at the floor when you go to grab your coffee in the break room, horrible morning people will invariably break the wall of solitude you’ve attempted to maintain.

You’ll be subjected to one of the following scenarios:

  • Women talking – Here’s what you need to know. Conversations involving more than two women always start with a complaint about something: men, kids, the weather, the temperature of the office, any manner of physical ailments (feminine or unisex, real or perceived), or potential injustices in the world. When one woman gloms onto an idea, the rest of the group piles on, and it turns into a rally cry about overcrowding in the shared kitchen refrigerator or some stupid thing like that.
  • Men talking – The average man knows a total of seven things about sports. He will try to interject at least two of these nuggets into every man-conversation he has. Therefore, any attempt to follow men’s sports conversation is an exercise in futility because they all talk over each other, and they’re usually not even discussing the same sport. They’ll just keep getting louder and louder.
  • Men and women talking – This doesn’t actually happen. A woman will say something about waiting in line to pour herself some coffee, and a man will mumble something about free throw percentages, then another woman will ask what he’s talking about, and then a man will say something about the World Series, and a woman will say something about how NFL players beat women, and then somebody from HR will walk by, and everyone will go silent.

So good luck. Avoid other humans when possible, but when you can’t, get coffee in the HR break room.


LOOOOVE on the Internet

If you have to post schmoopy things online about (or to) your significant other, stop. There’s a 100% chance that none of us want to see it.

Single people don’t appreciate you rubbing their noses in it, and people in relationships REALLY don’t like your perceived oneupsmanship. We get it, Amanda. You love John. You LOOOOOOVE John. We know. We KNOOOOOOW.*

And you people with family photos as profile pictures? Ugh. It’s bad enough that you posted ALL 37 LOVELY SHOTS of you, your adoring husband, your sweet children, and your squishy wittle puppy, but now we have to be reminded of how beautiful you all look together in a posed studio shot EVERY SINGLE TIME you post something? Barf.

Why do I hate this so much? …Honestly? I hate to admit it, but it’s because that will never be my life. I’ve come to accept that no one will ever post lovey-dovey things about me online, that I’ll never be in a significant other’s profile picture, and that I will never be on the receiving end of any sort of public declaration of love via social media. No one will ever do the modern-day equivalent of shouting my name from a mountaintop. I get it! BUT JENNY WILL JUST KEEP ON POSTING THAT SHE AND MATT ARE LIKE TOTES HAPPY OMG 4EVAR LOVE BARF BARF LITERAL VOMIT.

*and also I’m kind of looking forward to what’s going to happen when Amanda finds out that John is gay

The Female Perspective

If you have to ask for a woman’s opinion because you need a “female perspective,” know that the only thing that’s different from my standpoint is that I can look down and see my tits whenever I feel like it.

When compared with John’s view of the world, what makes my position more interesting/special/important than Charles’s?* Nothing. Sure, I’ve birthed humans, and yeah, I’ve been forced by society to wear makeup every day, cross my legs when I sit, wear a bra no matter what, deal with subtle and blatant sexism, wear pantyhose, thank men for holding doors open (even though they only did it so they could check out my rack as well as my ass), curb my sexual appetite so as not to appear unladylike, and be heartily accepting of the “boys will be boys” mentality… 

Hold on. If I had a penis, I wouldn’t have to deal with all of that? People wouldn’t tell me that I was good at something for a girl? Maybe there IS something that separates my life experiences from those of men. …Maybe.

But I can stare at my tits all day if I want to. 🙂

Your move, gents.

* Yes, it’s Charles’s (with an apostrophe followed by an s). Don’t try to cross me on this.


If you have to be vegan, well… there’s really no excuse for it. Just stfu about it. We (and I’m speaking for the entire world here) do not care. Quit trying to sell us your bullshit vegan propaganda.

You can call it vegan leather all you want to, but it’s plastic. And that vegan burger? Honey, that’s a black bean patty. And since we’re being honest, that whole “vegan” thing you’re clinging to so desperately? Yeah, you’re just a vegetarian with weird entitlement issues. And we all know you’re quietly hoping someone will give you some ground chuck in place of that slimy bean situation you’ve got going on over there.

Soy Awesome

If you have to talk about soy, you can’t just say “soy.”

Soybeans, soy sauce, soy milk, soy nuts… All of these things need qualifiers. Why? Soy is a little bitch who isn’t taken seriously. “Soy” means “I am” in Spanish. Soy stuff just whines “but I AM beans” and “I AM milk,” even though we know that shit ain’t legit.

Soy mimics estrogen in the body, so it’s like taking a big ol’ dose of female hormones. Extensive research that I’m pretending actually happened supports the idea that consuming soy will make you a whiny little bitch, too.

Eat real food. Meat is meat, but soy burgers are sitting around trying to Stuart Smalley themselves so you’ll be fooled into thinking they’re actual food.

Badly Breaking Plans

If you have to cancel plans with me, just be honest. And I mean, like, if you wake up on Monday morning and decide you don’t want to do happy hour with me on Thursday night, nut up and tell me that ON MONDAY. “Hey… I decided I don’t feel like getting martinis Thursday. I just don’t want to.” I’m not mad. Hell, I find your honesty refreshing.

When I will get mad, though, is when you take all damn day on Thursday to come up with something that you seem to think is a reasonable excuse for not following through on plans (my cat is sick, I stubbed my toe, I have a headache)–and then cancel at the last minute.

If you can’t bring yourself to be honest and you really wanna pull this shit with me, at least be creative…

  • “I just got an email from a Nigerian prince, and get this… Dude wants to come to the US, and he’s going to send me 5 million bucks for helping him, and the only thing I have to do is wire him like $50k so he can get the process started! I’ve got to head to the bank…”
  • “My in-laws are coming to town tonight, so I am going to literally jump off of a bridge here in a sec. You’ll pick up my car later, right? You can have it. I left the keys on the front seat. Sorry I won’t be able to make it for dinner.”
  • “I accidentally slept with my boyfriend’s twin brother last night and now they’re both here and it’s kind of a situation because I legit can’t tell which one is which, soooo… that’s a no on the beers.”

Dieting Disquisitions

If you have to lose some weight or whatever and you decide to go to the gym and diet, you should probably tell everyone about it.

You should:

  • post #runbrags on Twitter (e.g., “OMG I just totally runned five miles and I’m all sweaty and awesome.”)
  • write long-winded narratives on Facebook about your struggle and how you’re clearly better than everyone else
  • post paleo recipes on Instagram, even though you don’t have a damn clue what “paleo” means
  • go gluten-free because obviously gluten makes your glutes big, and who wants flabby glutes, amirite?!
  • buy shirts with idiotic sayings like “Try to Keep Up ❤ omg wtf lol”
  • wear those stupid shirts with yoga pants to the grocery store so everyone can see that you’re a super-duper athlete

Or you could just shut the fuck up, stop eating an entire pizza at one sitting, and go to the gym.

Yeah. Do that.

Sorry About My Face

If you have to comment on my facial expression when I’m not smiling, don’t make the mistake of assuming anything about my current mood/attitude/level of health.

It has come to my attention that when I’m working/thinking/busy, I don’t always have an ear-to-ear grin plastered on my face. When this occurs and you can’t keep from opening your damn mouth and offering commentary, do us both a favor by not saying any of the following:

  • “What’s wrong?”
  • “You look terrible.”
  • “Are you sick?”
  • “Uh oh… What happened?”
  • “Wake up!”

Hey Janice, I’m relatively certain that you can walk by my office without words dribbling out of your mouth, so why don’t you give it a shot? Thanks.

Alpha Beta Apathy

If you have to yammer on and on about your college experience, maybe try to go light on the bro-ness and your keg stands and brotherhood and reciting the Greek alphabet and your brothers and your stupid-ass nicknames for each other… 

Newsflash:  You are the only one who gives a shit about your fucking Greek letters.

Seriously? You’re a Beta? A Sigma Nu? The fuck is that supposed to mean? You can get the ladies? Last time I checked (right now, actually), you were a 300 lb divorcée with a drinking problem.

So brag on, Brantley Rutherford Doucheville and Hamilton Blarfenburger III… We all stopped listening before you opened your mouth.


If you have to be a fan of something, at least have a reason. Any reason.

You can be a fan of Taylor Swift because you enjoy her music. You can say you appreciate that she writes her own songs. You can simply be a fan of toothpick-shaped, bobbleheaded blonde singers who overuse red lipstick, and that’s okay! That’s a reason!

By the same token, if you’re a fan of a university or a sports team or a sports team at a university, I expect you to have a reason.

So you’re a Notre Dame fan, huh? Yeah! Go Irish! Did you go there? No. Did, like, a good friend or relative of yours go there? Nope. Have you ever been to a football game there? No. Have you ever been to any sporting event there? Um…no. Are you even Catholic? No…at least I don’t think so. What are the symptoms of being Catholic? Would I have, like, a rash or something? Did you grow up, like, right across the street* from the campus? No. …Soooo why are you a fan, then? Derp de derp! Go Irish! Do you want people to think you went to school there, or are you really just a big fan of sparkly helmets, shamrocks, leprechauns, and rapists? Wait… So you’re a fan because you think it makes you look cool or something? Um… Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Growing up, my dad told me that we (the family) are Republicans. …Why, Dad? [Are you sitting down for this? You should really be sitting down for this.] We are Republicans so people won’t think we’re poor. What?!

Don’t be a sign-toting, t-shirt-wearing, fight song-singing, chant-shouting fan of something if you can’t back it up.

*The townie exception applies only if a person grew up less than a mile from campus. If your backyard is practically attached to the football field, you’re allowed to be a fan by proximity.