Killing Me Softly

Lots of folks seem intent on teasing the tiger today (not that I’m a tiger or can’t take a fair bit of teasing but it’s a saying). Either that or there is some sign hanging over my head that says “It’s Annoy the Ever-loving Shit Out of Floyd Day – Step Right Up, It’s Your Turn To Take A Poke!”

So, gentle reader, I submit for your consideration the following folks:

1. The “I’m Going to Tell You a Story that Has No Point or Redeeming Value Whatsoever” Person. You know the one – the one who wants to tell you that her daughter had peas last night for dinner. And so I sit here with a feigned look of interest on my face and wait for the point of this titillating legume drama to have a point and then it slowly dawns on me that whatever she last uttered was the conclusion of the story. Apparently, I, being a dumbass, missed that the whole point was that “precious [INSERT QUEER ASS NEW-AGEY NAME HERE] ate her whole plate of peas!”. I digest this information and not wanting the humorless twit to feel awkward (cause that would just be wrong even though by boring me to tears she is committing same said awkward atrocity against me), I then add some little pearl of wisdom like, “Peas are good for you.”

However, what goes through my mind is a little something more like this - Hey, dumbass, catch a clue. Story is not funny and has no point. It does not make your kid cute nor does it make your kid particularly clever. And the fact that you tell this story while chuckling makes me concerned for your mental health and overall well-being. Give me a call when you serve the kid peas and she says, “Suck it, Mom, I’m gonna use my peas as ben-wa balls on my Suzy Pees A Lot Doll”. Now, that’s a story I want to hear.

2. Mr. “Yeah, You Let Me Over In Bumper to Bumper Traffic But I’m Not Going to Give You the Thank You Wave”. Where has civility gone, people? When you are the recipient of a driving courtesy, you need to render the obligatory little thank you wave in your rearview mirror. That’s all I ask. Is it too much? Too much to throw up your little limp wristed, pussy whipped hand? Too tired from running errands for you wife? Well, if it is too much, fair enough but I don’t want to hear you complain when I yell “FUCK OFF” to you even when you seem to have a load full of little girl scouts with you in your minivan – they were late delivering my cookies anyway and their little green uniforms are creepy.

3. The “I Somehow Got Your Cell Phone Number” Bill Collector Guy. You know what, guy? Causing my cell phone to play Jay Z’s Brush That Dirt Off Your Shoulder ring tone in the middle of my quiet-as-a-crypt office does not make me want to pay you any faster. In fact, since you are too chicken shit to leave a message, I don’t even know which one of you jackoffs I’m supposed to pay. I realize in your little harassment manual it says to simply “don’t leave a message, keep calling - the deadbeat has to answer her phone sometime” but I am here to tell you that is simply not true. I managed to avoid the student loans folks for years and let me tell you – YOU ARE NO STUDENT LOAN PEOPLE. While I am a pushover in real life, I play the phone games like no other – I am the master and I have a little secret weapon I like to refer to as “caller ID”. This means suck it, Bill Collector Guy. You’ll get your money when someone dies and leaves me some.

And,oh yeah, family returns from spring break tomorrow....might have something to do with my crankiness today.