A few years ago, I went on a couple dates with a guy I had no things in common with, but he was really good looking, so some bad decisions were made. On our first date, we talked about some nerdy things, which made me think that this wasn’t a totally terrible waste of time. He was super into Dungeons and Dragons. While I’ve never played, I’ve always found the concept interesting and potentially up my alley, with the fantasy and board game aspects. I’d be up for trying it out.
We went on a second date, which I was already dreading because of some incredibly needy texting after the first date where he asked me if I liked his outfit and what kind of clothing I like men to wear (I like men who don’t need me to fucking dress them-a future post perhaps because this has come up more often than one would expect). On this date, he gave me a gift, which I thought was sweet if a little soon and somewhat misguided. This gift was a Dungeons and Dragons book, which I was supposed to read before I was allowed to play a game with him. Okay, I guess I’ll give him a few points for calling back to an earlier conversation we had, but like don’t make me do homework in order to date you. A good way to get someone into a game is to have them just play the fucking game. Needless to say, this date was our last.
Maybe six months later, I got a text from him asking for the book back. He told me the price and said that he had another person interested in joining his D&D group. Um no. No No No No NO. Things that are not my problem. I’m keeping it for spite and to teach him a lesson that you don’t go around giving weirdo gifts to people you barely know, and you definitely, definitely don’t ask for them back!
Disclaimer: I am a Jersey girl, so I have a lot of road rage. I will also defend the jughandle until my last breath.
In countries that drive on the right side of the road, the left lane is for passing. It’s also known as the “fast lane.” USE IT THAT WAY!! The left lane is not for jolly jaunts admiring the scenery. That sounds like a lovely afternoon excursion, but not in front of me in the left lane. Whether I am alone, have passengers, or even am a passenger myself, in these situations, I am literally screaming “JUST FUCKING GO/MOVE THE FUCK OVER/EXPLETIVE EXPLETIVE EXPLETIVE!!” (much to the horror of anyone who can hear me). My favorite is when I am yelling and both my window and the window of the offending car are down. I revel in awkward and am not ashamed of my behavior. THEY should be ashamed, which I am happy to point out to them.
If you’d like to drive slower than I am going (I think it’s ridiculous, but I guess that’s your prerogative), I implore you to drive in the right lane. All drivers should use the lane most to the right that you’re able to go at your preferred speed.
Along the same lines, here is my defense of the Jersey jughandle: As I’ve stated in no uncertain terms, the left lane is the fast lane. People making turns slow down traffic. Therefore, especially in a state as dense as NJ, all turns should be made from the right lane, the slow lane.
In short, get out of my way.
There are some people in this world who live like criticizing is swimming to a shark; they have to criticize constantly or they die. The worst part is that they think they’re being helpful, instead of what they really are: hateful and awful. Here’s my rule in these situations: If I didn’t ask for your opinion, you don’t have a right to say anything negative. If I ask “Hey, how do you like my hair today?” you are more than welcome to tell me the truth (kindly of course): “I liked it better with the part on the other side.” That’s fine, and thanks for letting me know. If I don’t ask, though, and you say “Aren’t you going to brush your hair?” you’re an a-hole and have no idea how curly hair works.
So, if you find yourself just itching to tell someone that you don’t think their top goes with those shoes or that painting should go on the other wall, nobody gives a shit. Shut the fuck up. RuPaul says it well (always listen to RuPaul) “What other people think of me is none of my business.” That’s nice to keep in mind when confronted with a hateful a-hole, but someone also needs to tell these a-holes to abide by the rules.
A special note to any man who has ever made any comment to a random woman in a public space, please shut the fuck up forever. As all women know in our bones (#yesallwoman), the second a random man feels entitled to comment on our looks, bodies, outfits, whatever, we are already in danger. It’s just a quick hop from micro-aggression to actual aggression, and don’t make us guess which one it will be.
When using the bathroom, I figured it was common sense (silly me) to make sure everything flushes before exiting the stall. Apparently not.
The issue seems to have gotten exponentially worse since the installation of automatically flushing toilets. It’s like people have decided that they will allow a motion sensor to take over all decision making around this task. “Glad I don’t have to think about that anymore.”
The problem is that one flush is not always enough. Also, some motion sensors don’t properly detect motion (being a teeny tiny human, I’ve had to ask people to walk in front of doors at the grocery store for me to get them to open).
Let’s all just observe the campsite rule in public bathrooms: leave it in at least as good a state as when you found it. That means that there should be no remnants of your visit in, on, or around the toilet. Flush as many times as necessary. Do not leave any toilet paper that your ass may or may not have touched anywhere in sight. Perhaps you made a makeshift toilet seat cover; great, don’t let me see it. Perhaps some toilet paper fell on the floor-it happens, trash or flush it. Perhaps there was some seat sprinkle; don’t let me sit on it. Basically, don’t make someone else deal with whatever you did in the stall.
When in doubt…no! Why is there doubt? There should be no doubt. Just flush the fucking toilet!
I am a self-proclaimed non-baby person, which may be an understatement. I don’t want babies, I don’t like babies, I don’t want to see pictures of babies, and I don’t want to be around babies. When I meet my friends’ babies, I have been known to treat them like cats: pat them on the head a couple times then act like I’m allergic. I also run out of the room whenever something comes out of a baby’s body (Once, someone thought I was running to get a paper towel to help with the cleanup. Nope, I was just running).
I realize that my desire to pretend babies don’t exist in the world is futile, though. I also understand that babies need a whole crap load of crap around them at all times. Given the previous paragraph, I understand if you don’t find me the most objective in the following situation, and maybe I’m not, but fuck it this is how I think the world should work.
My friend and I were eating lunch at Whole Foods, which is already prone to hot mess situations. We were snaking our way through the tight lunch area to an empty table, when the path was blocked with no way around. Two women were sitting at a table, and they placed two baby-filled carriages next to them. Here’s the rub: the carriages were not flat against the table, like a considerate person would do; they were placed perpendicular to the table so that they were taking up the most space possible in a narrow aisle. Please see the figures below for table and carriage placement.
Politely (again, I understand if you don’t believe this intonation, but I have witnesses), I ask if they could please make some room, to which I got blank stares, almost incredulity that I would even suggest such a thing. Thanks to my tiny-ness and flexibility I was able to shimmy passed the blockage. Once my friend and I finally sat down at a table, she said with pride and a giggle “You basically just told those ladies to move their babies.” Yes, yes I did.