PEEVES!!!!!!!

Ok so Amelia's post got me so friffed up that I needed to add a few pet peeves of my own to her very agreeable list of annoyances....

SNIFFERS — People who are two inches away from a box of tissues or who could easily go to the restroom and ummm, clear out the sinuses but instead choose to sit there and sniff, making the gurgley, mucus-y sound that all but gives you a visual of the goo that is no doubt running down their throat.

HIGH FIVERS — see previous blog entry

PAPER CUTS — The most insulting of injuries. How can such a simple and barely visible slit cause such nagging pain? The least they could do was bleed significantly. It's a slap in the face if you ask me.

BOX ELDER BUGS — These are the little jerks of the bug family. They don't bite, they don't sting and they don't really offend. But they are there.... and everywhere, in the late fall. But when you kill them you feel like a bully because they never really did anything to you. So they annoy you to act rashly and then when you smash them you feel bad about yourself. They play mind games and it's unacceptable.

CLOSE-TALKERS — It's a self explanatory term and we all know them. The ones I know always seem to be shorter than me so I feel like they are looking up my nose. They make you want to climb the wall, but most of them are crafty and rarely is there an escape. I swear they linger near elevators.


PEOPLE ASKING WHAT YOU ARE EATING (made even worse when asked by a close talker) - I don't know that I have EVER in my life cared what someone else ordered, made, or brought for a meal. But there are always those people who can spot you from 3 miles away and will fight fire and dragons to come over and say "watcha got there?" Two things. a) you have eyes...look down and see for yourself. Why do I have to tell you when it is clearly evident. b) Why do you care? Do you want some? Did you need a bite? Are you going to run out and whip up the exact same thing? If the answer is no to all the above then why do you care. And while we are on the subject.... saying mmmmmmm after you find out what I am eating is for what? Is it your stamp of approval? Am I suppose to say thanks or give you an agreeable thumbs up? I don't know what you want and I don't understand you people so I thank you to keep your distance.


OVER PRONOUNCED Rs and OVER-USED GLOTTAL STOPS — I may as well have just said the Cache Valley or Central Utah accent but I am nothing if not specific. This is a hard one to explain...I suppose it is how the Supreme Court defined obscenity: you know it when you see it ( or hear it in this case). But I gar'ntee that if you go to a local gas station in rural Idaho or Utah or talk to the townies in Logan you are going to hear the over-pronounce Rs and glottal stops. The latter of the two is somewhat easier to define. Webster says a glottal stop is "a speech sound articulated by a momentary, complete closing of the glottis in the back of the throat." Some choose to use it to replace Ts all together...its commonly used in the terms eatin', moun'n, Layt'n, hunt'n, beat'n. You get the point. The glottal stop over-users also are prone to pronouncing the days of the week like Mondee, Tuesdee, Wednesdee etc.

PARENTS WHO THINK THAT YOU THINK THEIR CHILDREN, WHO ARE HOLY TERRORS, ARE CUTE — OK, so you are in the shopping line and some crappy looking kid with popsicle-stained cheeks and a boogery nose is right behind you "standing" with his "mother." He then grabs a hold of the cart and pushes it into your butt. You alarmingly turn around and you get this calm, knowing look from the mom...a look that says "isn't he so cute, he's just at that age where they slam carts into your thigh." She then expects you to return the knowing look that says "oh kids, they are just a treasure, don't worry about the already-developing contusion he just inflicted....assault on perfect strangers is just a part of childhood." Well Momma....you are never going to get that look, not from me. If I had it my way you wouldn't bring Junior out in public until he was 12 and even then on a limited basis. But if you must, I thank you to not assume that I share your oblivious and blind endearment of your child's poor behavior.

I could go on but like Amelia I am too riled. Please feel free to share your own...

The Hoff made me do it

I broke my own rule. I broke a fragment of the code that shapes my foundation and for that I am troubled. But it wasn't a flippant lack of scruples nor a momentary deficit in sanity. I attribute my violation to the Hoff. I high-fived him.
Most anyone who has ever met me knows that I don't high-five. I would delve into the myriad of reasons I refrain from the useless gesture but I fear disparaging those who actually do choose to lift their hands and arbitrarily whack phalanges, instantly making an awkward moment even more awkward. But I won't. Nor will I talk about my theory that those who habitually high-five may or may not have debilitating interpersonal and intimacy issues so therefore jump hand-first into offering a high-five in various social situations to replace a handshake, a hug goodbye or a hearty and conventionally comfortable verbal "good job." Similarly I refuse to discuss why the other category of high-fivers fall into the "cool guy" group and are generally male, tend to use the word 'dude' a lot and high-five loudly and boisterously in public and then look around to make sure people saw their cool high-five.
So allow me to explain my foundational slip. I was sitting on the outside row near the front of the Orpheum Theater in L.A. during Simon Cowell's "America's Got Talent" audition show. Among the three judges of the show were Sharon Osborne, Ozzy Osborne's red-headed main squeeze, and David Hasselhoff. He was tall, caked with make-up and wearing overly tight jeans. He oozed cheesiness and ego and he started high fiving fans intermittently as he walked down the isle to his judges seat. He came nearer and nearer to me and I wasn't prepared to handle what happened next. His arm was raised, standing next to me. I started to raised my hand and that was all I remember. I must have blacked out for a few seconds but the slight sting on my palm stood as proof of my profound self-betrayal.
So for those of you who at one time looked at me as a pillar of conviction I offer a sincere apology and my intention to never let it happen again. The Hoff had taken momentary control with an uncanny power to which I was not yet immune. But I am prepared now. For those who kindly choose to remain my friends, I thank you.

It brought me to tears...

Regardless of whether you are Obama supporter or not his race speech that he delivered on March 18 was one for the books...brave, honest, profound and always inspiring. In light of that, this video got me pretty misty. Ok, on the real I was dripping tears. Though we still have a long way to go, we have come a long ways since Birmingham 1963 and I am in awe at the sacrifices these people made to get us where we are today, where I am today. Check it out.

The Man Cold

I have never seen a more true-to-life portrayal of man-sniffles in my life. IN MY LIFE!!!!

So funny...

Have a nice trip

It has taken four years, but I have done it. I figured out a way to survive the legislature a.k.a. 45 days of bad parking, incessant annoyance and mind-boggling condescension. The session can sometimes be intimidating as it is annoying. You have legislators hating you, blue coats and green coats threatening to have you arrested and a thousand meetings to attend. What's more there is ample supply of the pompous, the snooty, the self-important and entitlement complexes abound. But Thursday, Feb. 7, at around 11:35 p.m. I discovered a way to take the edge off. On the second floor of the capitol on the north side there is a stairwell next to the Senate chamber and is the main one that is used to get from the galleries to the Senate and House floors. (The stairs have a thick lip on them and an awkward landing) I was waiting for a senator to come meet me and was mingling near the stairwell. In the 10 minutes I was there I saw not two, not three, but four people trip, fall or stumble both going up or coming down. There was an annoying lobbyist who took a pretty large fall, an intern with stilettos who fell going up and actually drop some papers, a UHP trooper who let out an expletive and a Trib reporter. It was a fantastic spectacle, a real must see. It was like watching NASCAR...you know if you just hold out a little longer there is going to be a crash...Or like watching gymnastics...don't lie to yourself. You think that last thing you want to see is some leotard junky clothesline themselves on the parallel bars or one of the guys bag themselves on the pommel horse, but deep down that is what keeps you tuned in. Those stairs are a living reminder that we are indeed all just people walking around and regardless of rank or title, based on simple statistics there is a good chance you are going to biff it on those stairs at one point or another. I plan on watching daily...so don't judge. Join in. Before it is all said and done I am hoping to see something like this....

Wild Wild West

This song has haunted me for years and my best friend Angelina sent me this the other day to remind me of it. Its not just the song itself. Back in college Ange, who can out eat anyone I know and still has abs of steel, would get hungry around 3 a.m. Apparently she would get lonely too. On a number of occasions I would wake up to that song blaring in my room. She would use it as a snack alarm to wake me up and once the small seizure that was induced from getting ripped out of a REM cycle was over I would open my eyes to see her standing there with the light on and holding a box of cereal and a few bowls. With 'living in the WILD WILD WEST screaming from the speakers. It wasn't only used for cold cereal hour but as a morning alarm as well. Not that we were really waking up to go to class that year...we mostly watched MTV, did dance work out videos and drove around in her station wagon. Oh those were the days, and that song is tied to some of the most vivid memories of my freshman year of college.