2-8-06
Just a little rant while I'm waiting for inspiration for my English paper.
I hate research papers. I mean, I fucking hate research papers. I hate having to figure out where I got what piece of info from, I hate MLA format like hippies hate Corporate America. I hate having to be thrown in, lumped together, stuck with these neanderthal students in my class just because I'm going to a community college. Sure, I'm not the brightest bulb in the box, but I don't need to write my thesis, support, and evidence in three different formats in order to write a paper. I can get an A paper out by just writing an outline, doing some research, tweaking an outline, and typing away. I hate that this ignorant prick teacher has only one thing going for him in life, and that's being a community college teacher. I hate that because all he has going for him is his job, he feels it necessary to treat me like shit, like filth, like trash. We've never met - it's a telecourse. Who is he to talk down to me? I'd like to see that fucker find one other student in this class that can spell and define apocryphal, or tell him who Sisyphus is. If he had any idea what the letters I've been writing to the head of the foreign language department (on a completely unrelated subject) looked like, he'd back the fuck off and give me an A for that project alone. Fucker.
Ok, end rant. Bitching won't get me an A, proving to him that I'm better than he thinks will get me an A. (Unless he's a jealous guy, and gets mad that I can write better than he.)
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2-10-06
For all of you who go into a store five minutes before it closes, or sit around a cafe or restaurant until closing time with complete disregard for the people who work there, here's a big fuck you.
Fuck you for not caring that I have a life to lead, classes to attend, friends to meet, family to help. Fuck you for treating me like I'm insignificant. Fuck you for thinking that your life and your life alone comes before all else - before midterms, before overtime pay for babysitters, before the end of visiting hours at the hospital. Fuck you for assuming that I'm just going home to watch TV. Fuck you for ignoring me and looking at me like I'm nuts when I point out that we're closed and your fat ass is still sitting there, making my day turn into shit.
And for the rest of you with some common decency, and the good sense god gave a box of rocks -- thanks. You're the people whose drinks I *didn't* spit in.
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2-13-06
Dear Other Driver:
I am the driver of the dirty white Escort who just honked at you/cut you off/said that thing about your mother. I am usually a lot more polite behind the wheel, but I found your failure to reach the speed limit/make a left turn while the light was still yellow so I could also make a left turn/use only one lane quite frustrating. In the future, please have some courtesy for the other drivers on the road who might be going to work or school/trying to get their kids from the daycare before overtime charges apply/packing heat and get the hell out of the way.
Thank you. Ass.
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2-22-06
Dear Other Driver:
This morning, as on every other morning, afternoon, and evening since I've gotten my license, I refused to let you into traffic. Usually I'm very nice about it, if someone needs to switch lanes or what have you, I'll let that car in. But you...you pulled into the right lane for the specific purpose of driving in front of me and cutting me off. Who the hell do you think you are? I understand that you think that you're better than everybody else on the road. You are, of course, wrong, but whatever. I don't care if you're a world-class surgeon, or some bigshot CEO, or whatever the hell it is that you are; on the road, you are just one more asshole trying to cut in line. And yes, as a matter of fact, I *was* laughing out loud when I saw the look on your face when you realized, "That bitch isn't letting me in!". Also when you realized "That bitch isn't letting me pass her!". If you're speeding because you're late for work - tough shit. Wake up on time. The rest of us do. Fucker.
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2-28-06
Dear guests at this hotel,
Please don't walk up to me and start talking to me like you know me. I work here, but my job is not to be your new best friend.
Please don't talk over me. If you want directions, stay and listen until I'm done giving you directions. If you walk off in the middle of the directions, I will stop talking. Good luck finding your way to 290 east then, fuckers.
Quit complaining to me about how much we charge for internet access. If you don't like it, don't use it. I really don't care. We charge the same as Kinko's, but our comps are faster, so fuck off. In fact, don't complain about the price of anything - we're a business, not a charity. I know how much these rooms cost per night, and if you can afford that, you can afford our fax rates.
Don't walk behind my counter like you live here. Get the hell away from me, quit reading the papers on my desk.
Don't treat me like I'm stupid, or I will act stupid on purpose, just to make your day harder.
Quit talking loud on your cell phone like nobody is around to hear. It's obnoxious. If you have one of those grating, nerve-wracking "chirping" phones, for the love of whoever, throw it in the toilet...you'll be doing your civic duty by preventing a homicide.
I know that you tip the A/V guys, and you tip them well. You never tip me, despite the hours it takes me to prepare the presentations that YOU fucked up. Even when I'm nice to you fuckers, you just don't give a shit. Bitches.
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3-7-06
Only 36 hours into quitting, and already I miss smoking, the way you miss an ex boyfriend whose departure you know is for the best, but damn, he was good kisser, even if he was emotionally unavailable/an alcoholic/a drug addict/gay...whatever the problem, you still kinda miss the taste of him on your lips.
I already miss the smoking circles you see outside of office buildings; smokers seem to always be able to start up conversations with each other. I miss the smell of cigarette smoke, I truly do, it's one of my favorites.
I miss lighting up, that first sweet drag when the nicotene hits your blood stream and you take that first big, smoky sigh of relief. I miss having guys light my cig at the bar, not that it happened often (chivalry is dead, no kidding, you wouldn't believe), but it was nice.
I miss how the taste of smoke would linger on my tongue and dance with the taste of my first cup of coffee on a brisk autumn morning. I miss the reassuring feel of my Zippo in my pocket. I miss the guy at the gas station where I used to buy my smokes.
Maybe I feel excluded now from a club that shouldn't have so many members to begin with. I see people out on the corner, out behind buildings, out in the world, smoking like chimneys and having a good laugh with other smokers. There's a bond among smokers, a group so hated and unwanted by society that they tax our uniting entity with a ferocity that I find a little oppresive, offensive, obnoxious, so that we can't help but bond with each other.
Perhaps in all of this I mostly miss my youth, when cigarettes were $1.80 a pack and my lungs were fresh and my energy was abundant. Perhaps I miss the people I've known in my fourteen years of smoking, the smokers that I got to know because we had the same bad habit. The old friends, gone now and scattered to the four corners, who I used to get drunk with on the living room floor, just drinking and smoking and listening to music, whiling away my life and my lungs with a reckless abondon that I can no longer afford.
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3-30-06
Dear guests in this hotel:
I am not in charge of the internet service here. I did not choose it, I did not install it, I do not know how to run it. I am nearly 30, working on an Associate's Degree in Spanish, and I had to drop out of *remedial algebra* this semester. I am not a computer programmer or a network engineer.
Do not fucking complain to me about the goddam internet - it's not anything I can change. I *told* you I don't work for the hotel, that our group rents out this space and we're separate entities. The head of the hotel doesn't give a shit what I think; I doubt that man knows my name. If I were in charge of changing anything about the hotel - internet-related or otherwise - do you really think I would be sitting behind this fucking *counter* at 7 in the morning? Don't you think I'd be wearing nicer shoes? How fucking stupid are you? Do people stroll into your office and ask your receptionist to change the policy for executive bonuses? No! Why? Because she has no authority over it, and she likely doesn't get an executive bonus so she probably doesn't give a shit! You ignorant fuck!
And if there is a door, and you're pretty sure it's a door that you're suppose to go through, check to see if it has a sign. If it doesn't have a sign, or need a guest key (like the fitness room), don't fucking open the door. Quit walking into my fucking office after (and before) hours because some sign says "Business Center". If I put a sign under "Business Center" that said "If you can't name the only president of the United States who not only held public office after the end of his presidency, but also swore in two other presidents, then you can turn right around and fuck off, thanks" would you take that as gospel truth as well? You dumb, dumb, dumb fucks.
And again, quit complaining about the price of things. This is not the Motel 6. The rooms here cost $200/night, at least. This is an upscale hotel. We have upscale prices. Get the fuck over yourselves.
[/rant][/gratuitous cussing]
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