Me to a male acquaintance this weekend, upon seeing a wedding party:
"You could not pay me any amount of money to do that again. It's basically, 'make me happy, fix my life, keep my dick wet, and in return you get to be taken for granted every day of your life.'"
Yesterday a woman in a Mercedes beeped at me because I didn't peel out the moment the light turned green. I pulled alongside her while we we both moving, screaming at her at the top of my lungs (that screaming where you use so much breath that you actually lose your voice) that she might want to try growing up and learning a little f**cking patience. She rolled up her windows and avoided being stopped next to me. I was gratified by the terror on her face; I really was.
Our Organizational Development Director (which I've decided is French for "overpaid buzzword jockey with no original thoughts or implementation skills") tried to corral me into becoming the point person to train Belgian Admin Assistants. She did this by copying the head of European Operations on the email in a clear attempt to pressure me. I hit "Reply All," and proceeded to explain that any attempts I'd made stateside to train admins was an informal effort to offset the complete lack of training that I interpreted as a complete abdication of responsibility on the part of the company, and which resulted in me having to spend an inordinate amount of time coaching regional offices rather then doing my own job.
The sound of my upstairs neighbor's voice drives me insane.
I finally responded to my mother's forward of yet another jingoistic, irrational, emotionally charged email on topics ranging from the removal of the word "God" on coins, slamming those pesky "liberals," to trashing Obama because his wife made a comment about her pride in the country. I asked her whether she even remotely knew me, because everything she sent me was in direct opposition to my beliefs. I also suggested that you can't praise unions and slam communists in the same sentence because one was created by the other. I then pleaded with her to read "A People's History of The United States," but I doubt she will unless she runs out of Dean Koonz.
If I hear one more married woman talk about her pathetic husband as though he's a hero because he:
1. Did the dishes without being asked;
2. Ordered pizza rather than let her cook;
3. Spent time with his own kids voluntarily, or
4. Did a load of laundry
I swear to God I will go on a killing spree.
In talking with my friend B--this evening I said, "I knew it was going to be a bad day when I got on my bike and pretty much hated everyone I saw. I'm guessing PMS."
"Yes," she replied, "Except that I find I'm that way pretty much all the time these days."