“Diez Cosas” that Piss the Living Shit Out of Me.

Today, one of my fellow webloggers posted a list of ten things that appeared in their Google search history. I have already done this via Facebook, but I still wanted to make a list of ten things, so I decided (in my standard tradition of overwhelming negativity) to make the following list:

“Diez Cosas” that Piss the Living Shit Out of Me — as follows.

1. the “Acela Express.”
I generally take the MBTA home from school at 3:17. My ticket costs four dollars, and can be purchased once I’m already on the train, so lazy motherfuckers like me can just cut out the step that involves waiting at the ticket window while Amtrak’s not-so-bilingual employees putter around for ten minutes, click their computer mouses in a rather self-important fashion, fix their hair, page someone without any vowels in their name via walkie-talkie, and THEN attempt to get me a ticket. As fun as that step may be.
If I miss the 3:17 MBTA, I have to take the 4:25 Amtrak. This situation blows serious ass for a few different reasons. Firstly, I have to wait around at the train station for the better part of an hour, and there’s no wireless there, and the coffee at Cafe la France tastes like mud. Secondly, there’s this man with a really long pony tail (and khakis and black Skechers) who works at Cafe la France. I don’t know his name… and yet he calls me “baby” and offers to “sweep me off my feet” while he’s sweeping the floor unnecessarily close to my table. Lastly, the ticket costs 12 dollars instead of 4. Which is stupid, but let’s face it: it’s 12 dollars.
But if I somehow manage to miss the 4:25 Amtrak, I have to take the fucking Acela Express.
Now, I realize that “Acela Express” sounds appealing… I mean, it’s “express!” It cuts your travel time in half!
NO. Wrong. There is absolutely no difference between the Amtrak and the Acela except 40 dollars in price difference, a restroom, and a 2-minute decrease in travel time. The rationale behind my hatred is, at this point, self-explanatory.

2. Misleading Default Facebook Pictures.
…I WILL think you’re cute if you look cute in your default profile picture. And I WILL be angry if I click on said picture, only to find that you are truly heinous in every other picture (and therefore in real life.) I mean, I guess it’s good that someone was talented enough to make you actually look cute in ONE PICTURE. And if I were you, I would make that ONE PICTURE my default as well. It just sucks to be on the other end.

3. Personalized Ringtones.
My cell phone STILL plays “Anyone Else But You” when a former love interest calls me. It plays “Halloween Theme” (you know, the one that comes on when the guy in the hockey mask stabs people repeatedly) when my mother calls. It was amusing at first. Now it’s obnoxious. And I’m too lazy to change it.

4. AP Art History.
It’s absolutely unreasonable to expect me to virtually memorize two volumes of Gardner’s Art Through the Ages. I therefore resent you, AP Art History.

5. Being Touched by People I Am Not in Any Way Involved With.
…male or female, old or young: if you’re not my boyfriend, don’t touch me. Don’t touch my arm when you’re talking to me. Don’t pat me on the head affectionately. Don’t put your hand on my leg to get my attention at the dinner table. If I want you to touch me, the sentiments will be readily apparent. Until that time, please refrain.
I will make exceptions for congratulatory / sympathetic hugs… if you make it clear that you’re going in for a hug, and don’t bear hug me like a fucking ninja out of nowhere.

6. When Girls Wear Adult Halloween Costumes to My High School, Which is Entirely Female.
…if you want to wear a sexy nurse outfit in the bedroom with your boyfriend, that’s your prerogative. I, however, truly don’t want to see 98% of your breasts and thighs every time the administration declares a festive dress-up day.

7. Philosophy Majors.
…entirely self-explanatory.

8. The Fact that I am Not Immortal Technique’s Target Audience.
I’m white. I’m seventeen. I’m female. I’m a vegetarian. I plan to attend a liberal arts college. My yard is bigger than my house. I have a hot tub. I enjoy hybrid cars and black coffee. I baby-talk my cat about how different her life would be if she had been born with opposable thumbs. I have never been to Brooklyn. Of course, I’m upset about this: “Bin Laden” makes me want to take up arms and start a revolution, but those sentiments are paralleled with an equal and opposite sense of illegitimacy. And then I just feel foolish.

9. Khakis and Black Skechers.
Your clothing represents who you are… I get it. My clothing, for example, means “I have the build of a 9-year-old boy, and I really like leopard print, and sometimes I wear hats.” People who wear khakis and black Skechers think that their preferred pants and footwear mean “I like metal!” or “I’m a nonconformist!”
…No. Khakis and black Skechers, to me, mean “I’m pasty and ten pounds overweight!” or “I haven’t cut my hair in eighteen months, and it looks unhealthy!” or (the most disturbing of all): “I think khakis and black Skechers actually look good!”

10. People Who Lose the Plastic Mounting Device for their Portable GPS Systems.
No, I don’t want to fucking hold your GPS in my lap while it screams things in an Australian accent. It makes me feel foolish. Also, it makes me nervous when you try to balance the GPS on the cupholder, which is not that sturdy, and then it falls underneath your feet while you’re trying to drive. I feel like that’s not safe. And when you’re smoking a cigarette, switching the radio station, AND trying to program someone’s address into your unmounted GPS, I genuinely feel like I’m going to lose my life. Precious cargo, fuckers.

Blum, blam.