Tag Archives: annoyance

This is why you can’t have nice things.

I dropped my camera.  Autofocus is a thing of the past.  1000 point autofocus sensor that does me no good.  Let’s hope it’s “just” the lens, or an easy fix.  Being that the camera is so new, and I opted out of “dropping” insurance, I am taking it in this week for potential surgery.

This isn’t too bad, as I generally manually focus everything, but goooodbye point and shoot (until fixed).

I am sad.

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The Unit

I have this drive to be fiercely independent, yet I want to know that I will always have someone who can be there for me, should I need it.

Does this mean I use people?  I don’t really think it comes to that, but maybe I am prone to bouts of taking people for granted or pushing them away?

I hate when I am automatically lumped in with someone.  This happens and fills me with rage when I go out and someone asks, “Oh, where is so and so?”  I HATE THIS.  I don’t want to become so predictable that any time I am out I am expected to be with the same people.  I want to be my own person, my own attraction.  I want just being me to be enough.

Sometimes I fight it when I start to feel like I am being grouped in a unit.  I’ll start to be a bad friend, I’ll try to go out and do my own thing, I shut myself off.

Yet there are the times where I have the desire to be part of a “group,” just not necessarily stuck in a group.  I want to know there is someone/some group that will be there for me when I, well, have nothing better to do (as horrible as that is to admit).

How can I be so “independent” yet feel this need to always be able to have someone there?  Am I just stubborn, or do others feel this way?

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The Ham Dilemna

Ninety percent of the time, I absolutely hate ham.  I hate the idea of it, the look of it, the taste of it, the smell of it.


It’s not that I have a problem with pork–I actually love pork.  I’d almost say it’s my favorite meat.  No, wait.  I will say it–pork is my favorite meat.  I love bacon.  I love BBQ pork.  I love tenderloins.  I love porkchops.  You get the point.

But hamHAM?!?!?! No thanks.

My favorite pizza topping is pineapple.  And, of course, people always assume I want ham with my pineapple, or “canadian bacon.”  Ick ick ick.  And I despise ham on pizza to the extent that I won’t even pick it off–it’s residue will RUIN the entire pizza, rendering it unsalvageable.

Another favorite food?  HASHBROWN CASSEROLE.  Probably the best food item on earth.  But, again, people tend to RUIN it by putting chunks of diced ham in it.  Ew ew ewww.  And, once more, the ham chunks render it inedible.  Instead of tasting cheesy potato-y goodness, all I can taste is salt and essence of ham.  No thanks.

But, get this–I love ham steak.  Fried in a pan, with a little brown sugar.  So good.  It’s one of those foods I crave maybe two or three times a year and enjoy very much so when I do eat it.  Why do I like ham steak, which is HAM, but hate lunch meat ham or chunks/cubes/diced ham?  I REALLY DO NOT KNOW.

And then, once in a blue moon (or actually much less often than that–more like a leap year), I crave the unthinkable–lunch meat ham sandwich on a hamburger bun.  Today was one of those days.  And it tasted soooo good.  Tomorrow the idea of it will probably make me vomit.  No joke.

I never crave chunks of ham in an otherwise competent food item, though.  NEVER.

Perhaps one of these days I will understand my bizarre love-hate relationship with ham.  But for now, I will let it continue to baffle me.

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Traumatic Day

Monday nights are supposed to be my “lazy” night–I stop at Red Box, get a movie I’d be too embarrassed to watch with anyone else, and am in my pajamas by 5:30.  That was not the case tonight . . .

This story begins with the early morning.  I had just parked my car at work and was reaching around in my backseat to grab my book.  I lifted up a sweatshirt and there it was, just laying there on the floor:  A DEAD MOUSE.

I felt the urge to vomit, but luckily held it in.  It didn’t smell, and was actually quite a cute mouse, but the thought of it being IN MY CAR, running around over my feet while driving, was enough to make me ill.

All day at work my thoughts would drift back to that mouse and I would feel nauseous.  So bad I couldn’t even go to lunch.

Finally, in the afternoon, I decided to do something about it.  I went and found Janitor, asking him for rubber gloves.  When I went to explain what the deal was, I started gagging.  Again, not so much because I hate mice, but because the idea of mice in my car is gross and disgusting.

Janitor had me pull my car around, and then he used some sort of tongs to pull the mouse’s lifeless body out of my backseat.  Oh, the mouse was named Elliott, after Elliott Smith.  Because, obviously, he wanted to die and was a tortured soul.

After Elliott was disposed of, I promptly ran inside . . . and disposed of the contents of my stomach.

Just the thought of a mouse running over my foot while driving, or pooping all over my car, or nibbling on me . . . UGHHH!

On the drive home, anyone who passed me most of the thought I was crazy.  I’d hear a rustling (I drove with my windows down) and shudder or scream or feel like I was going to barf.  And repeat.  About once a minute.

I got home, grabbed a pair of gloves, and cleaned all the trash and unneeded junk out of my car.  Then I went over to Blake’s and vacuumed it clean.  Luckily, I didn’t find any of Elliott’s friends (Kurt, Hunter, Sylvia) hiding about.

I guess this teaches me for keeping my car as filthy as I have been . . .

BeeBee, my pet mouse in 2002, as opposed to Elliott, the suicidal mouse circa 2009

BeeBee, my pet mouse in 2002, as opposed to Elliott, the suicidal mouse circa 2009

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“Working Hard, or Hardly Working?”

I hate small talk.

I understand that sometimes it serves a big purpose–opening the door to conversations with new people (can’t exactly walk up to someone and go into a monologue about your embarassing moment now, can you?). But for the most part, it is just frustrating.

As I hate small talk, and don’t have the amazing social skills at starting conversations that a few of my friends have, I usually do not go out starting conversations with “new” people. Even though I want to. Instead, I just stick with the same isolated groups of friends and hope that someone else will bring in a new person.

This is part of my goal of “putting myself out there”–I need to start not being afraid to walk up and talk to someone new, or, perhaps more importantly, be more receptive to small talk and not shut down immediately.

Being more receptive to small talk will help me not feel like I come off as a bitch. If I can bear with the small talk and be polite even for a few minutes, I will have succeeded.

Right now, I am trying to be nicer to the janitor at work but I am having such a hard time. However, I think the problem with him goes beyond small talk. For example, he’ll just BURST into my office and say, “WAKE UP!” or “WHATCHA DOING?!” You know, making a very tactful interest. Or he’ll ask me what I’m reading or listening to, then say, “Never heard of it” and make a disgusted face or laugh at me, saying “Now why would you read/listen to THAT?”

Take today for example:
Starts by BURSTING into my office, yelling “WAKE UP!” (I was carefully reading a lease agreement) then asks me if I’m cold because I’m wearing a sweatshirt and a scarf. I say, “No, just comfortable.” And he looks at me like I’m stupid then says, “why would you wear that unless you were cold?” Ummm, because I want to? I promptly looked back down at my work and he got the hint, after making some weird noise. I did thank him for emptying my garbage, though. And the thing is, I know he’s a nice guy and not some creep, but it is SO ANNOYING.

But I will try to deal, and try to be a “nicer” person, and try to be a more engaging conversationalist. Starting . . . now.

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