Hey there tattle-tale
Nobody likes a squealer
I'll shut your face up
Showing posts with label obnoxiousness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label obnoxiousness. Show all posts
Monday, May 25
I am a dog owner and lover, that is for sure. I love those big brown puppy eyes that gaze up at you with a sweet wagging tail. I love how my puppy (I call her that even though she's 5) gets so excited every time I come home that she almost pees herself, even if I've only been gone 5 minutes.
Yes, dogs really are our best friends... but do you want to know who are not our best friends?
I'll tell you: Dog owners who for some reason believe they are exempt from "the ramassing of the merde." What am I talking about? Pick up your poop for crying out loud. I do it, so can you, it's really not that bad. See, the plastic bag serves as the appropriate buffer between the poop matter and your actual hand, but some of you don't seem to understand this concept. Some of you believe it's okay to let your dog drop one in front of me while I am drinking coffee and then just leave it there as if it were some sort of treasured gift. Newsflash: it's not a treasured gift. At all. So just bend over and pick it up like the rest of us:
Woman with toy dog
You still have to pick it up
Even if it’s small
Yes, dogs really are our best friends... but do you want to know who are not our best friends?
I'll tell you: Dog owners who for some reason believe they are exempt from "the ramassing of the merde." What am I talking about? Pick up your poop for crying out loud. I do it, so can you, it's really not that bad. See, the plastic bag serves as the appropriate buffer between the poop matter and your actual hand, but some of you don't seem to understand this concept. Some of you believe it's okay to let your dog drop one in front of me while I am drinking coffee and then just leave it there as if it were some sort of treasured gift. Newsflash: it's not a treasured gift. At all. So just bend over and pick it up like the rest of us:
Woman with toy dog
You still have to pick it up
Even if it’s small
Saturday, May 16
I used to talk about Marie-France all of the time... a pigeon who somehow managed to find refuge in the gaps between my 300 year old walls. Marie-France would walk around cooing and strutting and doing other annoying pigeon things at all sorts of inappropriate early hours of the morning. I would be comfortable in my bed, enjoying that moment in between asleep and awake when the sheets conform to your body and are softer than they will ever be, and cluck cluck coo coo went Marie-France, waking me from my peaceful bliss. I cursed her name every morning and began considering whether or not it was worth it to punch holes in my walls to find her... and then one day, she was gone. Just like that. It was the first day I noticed that I had slept until 9:30 without interruption that I realized she was mysteriously absent, and that I was mysteriously relaxed and rested. For two years I lived in peace (obviously not counting those times when my guardienne decides 6:00 am is the perfect time to sort the glass recycling), a glorious, pigeon-free peaceful Parisian existence with baguettes and accordion music and berets and strikes. Then, last week, I was up at 6:30 making myself a cup of coffee when I heard a most unsettling scratching noise coming from behind the stove. The sound of claws against loose drywall... and then, I heard the cooing as I formed my angry fists of fury:
Pigeon in my walls
Loud early morning cooing
Murderous rage
Pigeon in my walls
Loud early morning cooing
Murderous rage
Friday, April 24
I have frequently expressed my personal feelings on the Human Cube that is the Paris Metro in the morning... the other day, while I was being compressed between a woman with way too much perfume and an adolescent listening to Rihanna & T.I's "Live your life" way too loud on his iPod (yes, his), when I noticed the man in front of me had begun huffing and puffing in a most disgruntled way. He shimmied his shoulders with a look of panic, not unlike a battered wife, and began looking around at all of the horrible people who were clearly abusing his personal metro space. At this point he began muttering to himself, making annoyed little comments about how people "are" these days.
May I point out that while all of this is going on there's a pregnant woman behind me who can barely breathe and a 10 year old late for school who has one leg balanced on the door frame in an attempt to create more space, not to mention the fact that the movement Disgruntled Man's shoulder shimmy was primarily ricocheting onto my face. After about 4 metro stops like this, he began to raise his "distress level," by which of course I mean "volume." The huffing and puffing turned into a whiny tantrum as he pushed his body in all directions trying to just get the Parisians off of him... except: this man clearly neglected to make the basic observation that THE PARIS METRO IS FULL DURING MORNING COMMUTE. He failed to acknowledge that he is in no way special, and in no way deserves more space than the 80 year-old woman who is holding her cane against the ceiling so that it doesn't get randomly thrown out of the train car.
People like this make me crazy. Or perhaps I should say amused, because it's not worth the effort to go crazy (or as we say in French pete les plombs). People who feel that they are superior enough to get their panties all in a bunch when they are treated just like everyone else, but at the same time don't have the money or initiative to take a taxi. Or walk. Or ride a bike. I mean seriously, Paris isn't that big. Which of course brings us to:
Whiny metro turd
I cannot create more space
Where there is none left
May I point out that while all of this is going on there's a pregnant woman behind me who can barely breathe and a 10 year old late for school who has one leg balanced on the door frame in an attempt to create more space, not to mention the fact that the movement Disgruntled Man's shoulder shimmy was primarily ricocheting onto my face. After about 4 metro stops like this, he began to raise his "distress level," by which of course I mean "volume." The huffing and puffing turned into a whiny tantrum as he pushed his body in all directions trying to just get the Parisians off of him... except: this man clearly neglected to make the basic observation that THE PARIS METRO IS FULL DURING MORNING COMMUTE. He failed to acknowledge that he is in no way special, and in no way deserves more space than the 80 year-old woman who is holding her cane against the ceiling so that it doesn't get randomly thrown out of the train car.
People like this make me crazy. Or perhaps I should say amused, because it's not worth the effort to go crazy (or as we say in French pete les plombs). People who feel that they are superior enough to get their panties all in a bunch when they are treated just like everyone else, but at the same time don't have the money or initiative to take a taxi. Or walk. Or ride a bike. I mean seriously, Paris isn't that big. Which of course brings us to:
Whiny metro turd
I cannot create more space
Where there is none left
Wednesday, April 1: Reader Submission
Today's reader submission comes from "Anonymous".... an Anonymous who clearly resides in the DC Metro area:
Hey, Georgetown a-hole
Your sneer is eclipsed by that
Lame pink popped collar
PS: For those of you not familiar with Georgetown, I have provided this handy and informative photo of The Exorcist stairs
Hey, Georgetown a-hole
Your sneer is eclipsed by that
Lame pink popped collar
PS: For those of you not familiar with Georgetown, I have provided this handy and informative photo of The Exorcist stairs
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