I HATE! Denim on Denim

I have long since known that wearing denim on denim is a crime of fashion. I did not know, however, that there is an official name for this unacceptable practice. Apparently, it's been dubbed the Canadian Tuxedo, which sounds awful even if you don't know what it is.

But alas, I digress. Let me get back on point. The Canadian Tuxedo was suggested to me as a topic I might like to write about (i.e. something I might like to hate) by a dear friend of mine who has been living in Ireland for the past two years or so. I guess I'm to gather that many Irishmen (and don't get me wrong, I would never ever diss my own heritage) have fallen victim to this trend. Perhaps that's why she suggested it? Although, judging from the sheer horrendousness of it (see picture at left - we all remember the 2001 American Music Awards, but unfortunately not for the music or the winners), I would have assumed that this abomination was American-specific.

Regardless, this is definitely something that has been on my radar. Denim on demin, even if the denim matches exactly, is never acceptable. Why wear so much denim? Why not diversify? No one is going to want to look at you if you're wearing the equivalent of a denim jumpsuit. No one is going to know where to look if you're wearing denim from head to toe. It's not just natural. Even the cowboys intermingled a plaid shirt here and there.

And don't even get me started on wearing UN-MATCHING denim on denim. There is no excuse for this. There's nothing I can even say to justify such a thing. This just shouldn't happen. Ever. If you're wearing one wash / color / shade of denim on the bottom, refrain from wearing the jean jacket of a different wash / color / shade. I'm sure there's something else in your closet - another alternative. How about some nice paisly or plaid or gingham? Anything would be preferable to an un-coorindated denim jacket or shirt.

Let me just explain where the problem lies exactly because I'm not sure I'm being 100% clear. When you wear two different washes of denim, a light wash jean jacket with dark denim jeans for example, you look like you were trying to match, but failed miserably. It just looks trashy. You look straight out of the 80s and I think this is a trend, unlike old-school Ray Bans for example, that we never ever want to be reincarnated. And especially if you're wearing a head-to-toe denim get-up and living and/or visiting New York City, you're basically screaming 'I'm a tourist from some bumblefuck town in the Mid-West, please ridicule me mercilessly, rob me, and strip me of dignity.'

So the moral of the story is that unless you're a cowboy that actually needs to wear a matching denim suit for ranching purposes (and even if you are and you do, you should change before leaving the house to attend a public function), then there is absolutely no need to ever wear denim on both halves of your body.

I HATE! Slow Walkers

I just noticed that I am a member of a Facebook group called 'I Want to Punch Slow Walking People in the Head'. And it's totally true. I would indeed like to punch slow-walkers in the back of the head. I don't know what it is about slow things that I hate, but I really do seem to abhor them, don't I? First slow drivers and now this.

But make no mistake; this is no fly-by-night hatred that I'm expressing here. I have always hated people who walk too slow. That's probably because I am always in a rush. I am also a speed walker and slow-walkers just get in my way when I'm trying to get somewhere fast - which, as we just discussed, is always.

My opinion on this issue is similar to my opinion on slow drivers. Be slow, that's fine, but don't obstruct other people's paths in the process. Stay along the side of the sidewalk or street and allow others to pass you. Don't meander along, zig-zagging as if you're the only pedestrian on the New York City sidewalks. People are trying to get around you!

I really hate when I'm stuck behind a slow-walker, but can't go around them because there is an equally slow person coming toward you on the opposite side of the sidewalk. I feel trapped! I get panicky! If you're going to mosey along, just stick to the right side of the sidewalk. It works the same way it works when you're in a car; you stay to the right side of the road, and if you choose to pass, you, momentarily as you pass, move into the left lane to do so. For some reason, on the sidewalks, people feel as if they have license to go back and forth between the different sides of the sidewalk - NO! People seriously have a great deal of difficulty adhering to the simple unspoken rules of the concrete jungle. Everyone knows you're supposed to stay on the right hand side of the sidewalk, but most do not abide by this. Why? How hard is it to do this?????

Side note: If you're walking along and you suddenly stop, I am probably going to walk into you (on purpose). Don't stop suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk. For example, if you were in a car and you suddenly braked, the person behind you would most certainly rear-end you and fuck up your car...badly. Use that as your model. If you must stop to admire the view, tie your shoe, or scratch your ass, move over to the side and GET OUT OF THE MOTHERFUCKING WAY!

I HATE! People Who Walk Around with Bluetooth Earpieces in Their Ears When They're Not on the Phone

I can't believe I haven't blogged about this yet. I've said this before, but I really mean it this time; people who walk around with bluetooth earpieces in their ears even they're not on the phone may be the thing I hate most in the world. Seriously. I get instantaneously enraged when I catch a glimpse of someone walking around with one of those things in their ears - especially if they're not even using it to talk on the phone. It's pathetic, isn't it?


My theory about the recent emergence and influx of the bluetooth earpiece is that super busy business people started using them while driving, walking, exercising - to make multitasking easier and less dangerous. But then people who aren't super busy and aren't important realized that if they wore the earpiece as well, they would also come across to others as super busy and important.


But what I want to emphasize here is that the earpiece DOESN'T MAKE YOU LOOK IMPORTANT! A middle-aged man wearing an 'I Love NY' tee-shirt and Hawaiian print shorts does not automatically transform into a VIP when he slips on the earpiece. It doesn't work like that. The earpiece doesn't have magical powers.


If you must earpiece and are not, in fact, a business person (I will admit that the earpiece leaves both hands open and available to do other things), take it off of your ear once your finished talking! Don't leave it there! You look foolish!


You're a 25 year old Guido trying to sweet-talk a lady? You look foolish with that thing in your ear! You're a 45 year old soccer mom with 4 kids hanging from each of your limbs? You look idiotic with that earpiece on! Your a 30 year old foreign tourist trying to navigate your way through NYC? Take that thing out of your ear right this minute; you are not fooling anyone into thinking you are some important foreign dignitary!



NO!

I'm not sure what exactly it is about this that makes me crazy, but I almost want to run up to everyone I see wearing a bluetooth earpiece and rip it out of their ear and throw it as far as I can. Maybe it's because, when using the earpiece inappropriately, people are basically trying to masquerade as someone or something that they're not. And that really makes me crazy.

I HATE! Unibrows

The above is a still from the footage CNN took from inside the Mormon compound in Texas, right after all the children had been taken and put into protective custody. While this is a very serious issue, that is obviously not what I intend to blog about. I would like everyone out there (all 2 of you) to guess, judging from the above photo, what I will be blogging about today.


You guessed it... the UNIBROW! I will admit that I hate the unibrow and half love it. The thought of having one long eyebrow is so amusing to me that I would possibly be willing to put aside all (or a little bit) of my hatred for it. I think, maybe the line between my love and hate for the unibrow, in fact, depends on whether the wearer of 'the brow' is male or female.


If the wearer is a woman, she is obviously a pimp because if you are a woman and don't know that women should never ever ever have a unibrow, then you're totally living in your own isolated little bubble (i.e. polygamist compound in Texas) and don't care about societal norms and more power to your for defying the modern-day expectations. I mean, I would never sport the uni, but I respect the woman who has the courage to walk around with what looks to be a caterpillar taking a nap on her brow bone.


On the other side of this argument, which I admit is 100% sexist by the way, there is the man who sports the uni - unacceptable! NO woman is attracted to a guy with a unibrow (which is not to say that men are actually attracted to women with unibrows), but seriously fellows, just because you're a guy and you are usually less hygienic then your female counterparts, does not mean you can walk around without tweezing. It's very necessary.


Take this scenario for example: Two of my friends and I were in a pub in Ireland, imbibing an laughing, when we were approached by a nice Irish fellow with the WORST UNIBROW I HAVE EVER SEEN. It was straight across, not even a little less hair in the middle - it was completely the same thickness ALL THE WAY ACROSS. Of course he tried to hit on one of the girls I was with and of course, she couldn't even bare to look to him because of the brow. There was a chance that he could have been a decent-looking fellow if he had had two brows instead of one, but no one could see past the brow. We just laughed and laughed even though we tried not to. And the poor fellow probably had no idea why we were cackling like hyenas. We weren't even trying to be mean, but how can you seriously try to approach a girl with a brow like that? Seriously??




And the thing is, it's very easy to fix a unibrow. All you need is some tweezers. It may a take awhile, but it's as easy as plucking those stray hairs (or thick bush, whatever may the case be) away!

And if the solution is this simple, doesn't that mean there's no excuse for a uni?

I HATE! People with Dumb Nicknames

This is a post inspired by a particular 'friend' of a dear friend of mine. While I have never met this fellow, I dislike him an incredible amount as I do not approve of the way he speaks to this friend of mine. I also recall that he once ran away from my friend because he was chasing down one of his equally idiotic friends who had stolen his pizza - or something along those lines. Regardless, I am not writing to say that I hate him. I hate the fact that this fellow has one of the dumbest nicknames of all time. If someone called me what he is called all the time, I would move to another state and make a fresh start. It's that bad.

I will not reveal this fellow's real name or even his real nickname, but I will give you a comparable example. Let's say, for example, that this fellow's real name is John Jimmy Dean; his nickname, if created using the same process as the real-life nickname, would therefore be Sausagey. The real fellow has a nickname just as dumb and derived in a similarly retarded fashion.

So basically this kid's friends, girlfriends, and probably parents all call him Sausagey. Sausagey! Can you believe it? I hope to God that he doesn't think this is a cool nickname. I hope he doesn't take pride in being called it. I hope, for his sake (and I'm not even trying to be nice here), that the nickname fades as he grows into adulthood. If I had someone in my office nicknamed Sausagey, I would loose my shit every time I had to talk to him. I couldn't take him seriously. Hell, I don't think anyone takes him seriously now!

The message of this post is thus: if your name requires that a nickname be created in it's place, please make it funny or witty or at least not completely idiotic. I don't want to associate myself with anyone named Sausagey - or anyone with a similar nickname. It makes me look bad. And you? Forget about it, Sausagey!

I HATE! When People Use Words They Don't Know the Meaning Of

Teenage girl #1: What did he say?
Teenage girl #2: He just texted me back "touché". Everyone always says that, what does that mean anyway?
Teenage girl #1: Ummm...I think it's like "true that!"

--Nail Salon, Park Slope

The above excerpt from my very favorite website, Overheardinnewyork.com, as used as my dear friend Julie's AIM away message yesterday, reminded me of something I hate (surprise!): people who use words they don't know the meaning of or people who use words in the wrong context. I am certainly not saying that I have never done this before - as small child (I was, in fact, a small child once), I had an expansive vocabulary, but hardly ever used any of the big words I knew in the right context. Pertinent was one of my faves - you can imagine how many ways I found to butcher that one.

My point is that if you're a grown adult, and you don't know the meaning of a word, don't use it while speaking. If you use it in the wrong context, you will sounds like an idiot. Make no mistake about that. I can't even tell you how many times I've heard people use words at inappropriate times and you know that they're only using them in the first place because they think the use of large vocabulary words will make them sound more intelligent. Wrong!

One of the first things I learned in journalism school was that the general population doesn't understand big words and using them in news pieces and articles only confuses viewers / readers. This rule of thumb applies to everyone. You can get your point across effectively using simple vocabulary and if you do this, chances are you won't misuse a word and sound like a complete idiot. And we all know that when you sound like an idiot, no one will take you seriously. Case in point: both my high school and my college were filled to the brim with folks who used big words to fill in where their actual thoughts left off. Classes were filled with students' long-winded comments littered with many mentions of words like erroneously, posthumously, antithesis, and eradicate.

Additionally, using overly complicated and long-winded words when unnecessary makes you sounds pretentious. And generally, no one appreciates or wants to listen to a puffed-up, self-promoting asshole. See example below:

Normal Sentence: Thank you for donating to our charity.

Pretentious or Just-Plain-Stupid Asshole Sentence: I would like to express my immense gratitude for your thoughtful and generous beneficence to our charitable organization.

See the difference? If you want to use complicated words, write a research paper or submit to a literary journal, but don't use that pompous vocabulary in every day conversation, especially if you secretly have no idea what the word you're using means. You're going to get your spot blown up.

I HATE! When People De-Friend You on Facebook

I was a little hesitant to write on this particular topic because I don't really like to broadcast to the world how truly important Facebook is to my life. I'm a little embarrassed of how much time I spend (unintentionally) stalking people through Facebook.

The reason I bring this up is because, yesterday, I was perusing Facebook, just looking around, not cruising for any particular information on any particular person, when I stumbled upon the profile of an old flame. Actually, I didn't stumble upon it; Facebook now has a feature that shows you people you might know based on all the other people you're friends with (creeps, right?). So anyway, this fellow's picture popped up on the right-hand corner of my screen and I couldn't help myself, so I friended him. It wasn't until after I clicked the affirmative button to the question that said "Are you sure you want to friend so-and-so?", that I realized that we actually had previously been friends on Facebook (during our so-called affair), and that he had, in fact, de-friended me after things had ended kind of badly. Basically that "Are you sure?" button is there to prevent people from doing the exact idiotic thing that I had just done.

Then it occurred to me: de-friending someone on Facebook is low. Really low. You have to really really hate someone to de-friend them on Facebook, which is why I have decided that de-friending is definitely not an OK thing to do. It's just totally unnecessary. I remember when I noticed that I had been de-friended by the aforementioned boy; I was crushed and not because I was heart-broken over the end of our "romance". (OK, actually I will admit that that was, in fact, part of the reason why I was so upset, but that's not the point here!) But I wondered, did I disgust him so much that he couldn't even stand to look at my name when it popped up on his Mini Feed? Did he hate me to such a degree that he hated getting a notification that I had changed my profile picture?

De-friending someone on Facebook is the equivalent to saying: "I hate you. Never speak to me again. Your face repulses me." It's harsh! And unless, you really really mean it, you should never do it. It can leave scars.

I HATE! People Who Don't Curb Their Dogs

I am in a particularly foul mood today. My apartment search has basically hit a brick wall and I'm freaking out in a major way. Therefore, I need to find something completely unrelated to bitch about in order to distract myself from thinking about my real problems. What? There's nothing wrong with this; it helps me get my aggression out in a healthy way. The alternative, non-healthy way? Beating someone up.


Anyway, I took a little trip to Dublin, Ireland (with my two future roommates actually - well, they'll only be my future roommates only if we find an apartment, and that looks like a grim prospect at the moment) and while we were there, I noticed a pretty repulsive trend. Nobody curbed their dogs; seriously, there was dog... excrement... everywhere. (Notice my hesitation here - there is something you should definitely know about me - i hate discussing poop and from now on I will refer to the aforementioned substance as DP.) Anyway, I'm talking DP all over the sidewalks. It looked like it had rained DP. It was heinous. You practically had to hop, skip, and jump your way down the street in order to avoid stepping in a big pile of DP. Seriously, I am very squeamish around DP, well actually P is general, but especially DP and the constant presence of DP on the sidewalks and streets of Dublin was just a little too much for me to handle. I couldn't figure out why no one thought letting their digs shit everywhere wasn't an issue. It's totally gross!

So that brings to mind another thing I hate - when people don't curb their dogs. Come on folks! It's a common courtesy. I realize I talk a lot about common courtesy, but really, this is one of those things that you shouldn't even have to wonder whether to do or not. It should be instinctual. No one wants to have to haphazardly navigate the sidewalks just to avoid stepping in your dog's P!

And I don't even want to get into the horror that is stepping in DP - this may in fact be one of the worst things ever! This has happened to me several times in the past and each time, I want to burn the shoes that were unfortunately sacrificed to the DP and then curl up into a ball and cry. I hate DP and I hate ruining a pair of shoes. And this circumstance causes me to face both atrocities. Ah! I can't even think about it anymore. I'm starting to feel nauseous.

The moral of the story is: clean up after your dogs, people! If you're going to insist on having them in the first place, do right by society and clean up after them. I know picking up DP with a plastic-bag-covered hand is gross, but dogs are gross. Deal with it. You can't have your cake and eat it too.

I HATE! Household Pets

Let me first clarify, I actually don't hate all household pets, or even all animals for that matter. Once upon a time (a time when I was much younger, much more naive, and much nicer), I was the proud owner of a turtle named MC Turtle, a guinea pig named Palmetto, and several (the count is probably closer to several hundred) goldfish. And I have a particular (and unexplicable) fondness for elephants.

My hatred is strictly aimed toward household dogs and cats. And, for once, I actually have strong cases as to why I depise them so. Besides the obvious downsides to cats and dogs - they smell bad when not cleaned, they cannot clean themselves, they shed, their fur is allergenic, they have bed breath, they will maul you to death simply because they are excited, they do not clean up after themselves, they crawl into bed with you uninvited, they scratch you in the face while you're sleeping, etc. - I have some very legitimate justifications for my displeasure with these two particular species. I feel like I must explain myself and clear the air in this public forum because every time I mention to anyone that I don't like dogs and/or cats, I am immediately attacked and called a cold heartless bitch. Just because I am not an animal lover does not make me a bad person. See explanations below.

Scaring Scenario One: When I was in elementary and middle school, I had a very close friend named...let's call her CP. I spent a lot of time at CP's house. CP's house, however, was a disaster. She had four dogs at one point, none of whom were ever completely house trained. I can't even tell you how many times we stumbled across one of CP's dog's misgivings on the living room carpet. Her dogs were rambunctious - attacking, jumping, and licking you all over whenever you walked in CP's front door - even if you had just been inside and thay had already given you the sniff-down. I think I may have even been knocked to the ground on a few occasions. These were not small dogs, mind you. The house was covered from top to bottom in dog hair. You couldn't wear dark colored clothing to her house - unless you wanted to walk out visibly coated in labrador hair. I know CP and her family washed and cleaned their dogs, but somehow, they always seemed to be dirty and smell bad. I recall specifically the dogs' disgusting breath and the trauma it reeked on my nostrils. The dogs also always seemed to have that gook in their eyes that they develop when they're sick. I'm talking always and that stuff REALLY grosses me out.

Scaring Scenario Two: There was also another experience that, I think, cemented my hatred of dogs: I dog-sat for one of my friends one summer for a few weeks and basically all I had to do was come into the house twice a day and walk and feed the two dogs. Simple, right? I don't know what I did to those dogs, but literally everytime I came in to feed and walk them, there would be a HUGE puddle of diarea in the middle of the kitchen floor. And it always smelled like death. I'm talking really really horrible. I don't want to get to intricate with the description because I might loose my lunch, but it was runny and emitted the most foul smell I have ever smelled. And just imagine, I had to clean this shit (literally) up EVERY DAY.

Obviously these were very traumatic experiences for me and I maintain that this is what is directly repsonsible for my hatred of dogs.

Scaring Scenario Three: Cats, on the other hand, I am allergic to, so that is the main reason I don't like them. When I'm around cats, my eyes become bloodshot and begin to water, my throat and ears itch, and I sneeze uncontrollably. Attractive, I know.

Scaring Scenario Four: Also, I house-sat one summer for a couple who had a cat (yes, obviously a dumb idea when I'm allergic to cats and obviously something I should never agree to do based on prior experiences, I know!) and over the course of the summer, the house developed an incredibly horrible odor. I could never figure out what was causing it, and I looked up and down and inside and out for the cause of the smell. But when I couldn't locate the origin of the smell, I just automatically assumed it was the cat. That also helped to drop cats down to the bottom of my list.

Scaring Scenario Five: Finally, I once slept over at a friend's house who had just acquired a kitten. The kitten was cute in every way. I had no complaints, that is, until I woke up the next morning to find that my face had been slashed by the cat during the night. Like I literally looked like a cat had attacked my face in the middle of the night. It was not only painful, but embarrassing as well.

So I think this is all the explanation I need to give as to why I am not an animal fan. Totally legit, right?

I HATE! Crocs

I think it's entirely possible that Crocs are, in fact, the ugliest shoes ever invented. (And think I have the right to pass judgment because I'm practically a shoe connoisseur - you can ask anyone.)

My question is this: Why can't people see how truly hideous theses shoes are (...if you can even call them shoes - they're more like floatation devices for the feet)? They're neon foam clogs with a heel strap. Doesn't the description alone kind of make you want to vom? What is so remarkable about this shoe? Why does everyone from Mario Batali to my two-year-old cousin show up looking like they're wearing just the feet from a Sesame Street character costume? I actually believe that Mr. Batali was one of the original proponents of the Croc phenomenon, which is odd considering that he is such a large man, and the two giant pieces of foam-rubber on his feet make his legs look like those toothpicks that hold sandwiches together.

Regardless of who should really be blamed for, i mean, credited with the introduction of the Croc, the shoe has caught on like wildfire, and now I am forced to see this atrocious trend whenever I walk out my front door (and even inside my front door, so to speak, as I recently discovered one of my boyfriend's roommates owns a pair. I almost jumped out of my skin when I came upon them). The company must really be doing well because, to my dismay, a Crocs store (read: a store entirely filled with Crocs - nothing but Crocs) was put in a few blocks from my office and now, everytime I walk uptown, I am unwillingly subjected to the new fur-lined, yes fur-lined, Crocs annoyingly situated in the front window.

Maybe I understand them as a shoe for little kids. They are foam-rubber, which is easy for those members of our society who have not yet fully developed hand-to-eye coordination. You can just slip your foot inside - no laces needed! (Let me just take this moment to note that Crocs are almost in the same family as, if not identical to, clogs and I HATE CLOGS as well; they may in fact be the ugliest type of show ever created. Blog entry to follow.) They seem to be safe for little kids, although I do not understand how a clog-esque shoe stays on your foot as you run. I do also recall hearing a few stories of children getting their Crocs sucked into escalators, but that's just water under the bridge. (It seems the Croc company did a pretty good job of sweeping reports of those incidents under the rug.) And they're colorful, which is something kids are apparently in to. And you can buy these additional little pieces in the shape of flowers or trucks or stars or whatever you want to decorate the outside of the Croc with. (You wanna know how I know all this? I spent an afternoon babysitting my two-year-old cousin / dissecting / studying her three pairs frighteningly overly-adorned of Crocs.) So I get it; they're fun for little kids. Still ugly, but fun... I guess.

But my pain problem with the shoe lies with the other demographic who has seemed to take a liking to Crocs - ADULTS! There is actually no legtimate excuse for any adult to be caught dead wearing Crocs. They may be comfortable (I'm convinced that this is the main reason why the Ugg trend lingered so long), but they are truly hideous and the two simply don't cancel each other out! There are plenty of other comfortable shoes that aren't butt ugly. Not to mention that no one will respect you if you wear Crocs (how Batali gets away with this, I have no idea). They're a child's shoe, if a shoe at all, and any adult who wears these will undoubtedly look foolish and should be endlessly and mercilessly mocked. Crocs are not appropriate footwear; appropriate for saving you from drowning in a firery boat crash, yes, but for wearing, no - not for work, not for leisure, NEVER!

I HATE ! Paris Hilton

My mother always used to say that Paris Hilton is a completely worthless human being – a complete waste of space. I usually tend NOT to agree with my mother on most things, but I must say, this is one of those issues for which our viewpoints are quite similar.

Believe it or not, I really don’t like referring to someone as completely worthless (even that’s a bit harsh for me), so I’ve tried numerous times to come up with something that legitimizes her. I haven’t had any luck. See the internal dialogue I had with myself below.

Hmmm, Paris is famous for being famous, but how did she really generate so much publicity for herself when she doesn't actually have any real credits to her name? For sure, she is a tabloid queen, and definitely garned alot of attention by just being photographed wearing skimpy (and usually hideous) outfits at red carpet events. But how did she even get invited to red carpert events - she isn't particularly accomplished (House of Wax, anyone?) or smart (did she even graduate from high school?) or beautiful (read: wonky eye)?

Oh yes, she is ridiculously wealthy. That's why she gets invited to events. (And just for the record, I do not think that being rich is a legitimate reason to be invited anywhere... unless the event is a charity auction.)

The sex tape is probably what catapulted her into the spotlight – without One Night in Paris thousands of men would never have seen Paris, cloaked in the iridescent glow of a night vision camera, bobbing up and down on top of Rick Soloman (Wait, who is he? Oh yes, he had the balls to marry another great example of humankind - Shannon Doherty).

She did profit off of the sales of One Night in Paris, right? Which means that she must have been involved in the business negoiations. That says something about her intelligence, right? Nah - she probably had someone do the whole deal for her. It was probably the same guy who staged that picture that ran as the US Weekly cover of her 'sobbing uncontrollably' when she found out the tape had leaked.

But then again, she was dumb enough to make the tape in the first place. And honestly, Rick Soloman? Yikes! That guy has probably seen more STDs than Paris, Pamela, and Shannon Doherty combined.

Besdies Rick Soloman and a few other notable unexplicably disgusting-looking men, she has dated some very attractive fellows. (That's not to say I would touch any of them with a ten foot poll after she finished with them though. That's like a guaranteed way to catch an STD.) She was even engaged at one point! That means she must have truly been in love! And that means she is capable of human emotion. Yay! Oh, but wasn't that guy also names Paris (something, unfortunately, which discredits him completely)? And didn't they break up after, um, a minute. And hasn't she been engaged several other times to several different fellows? And didn't all the engagements end up broken? Ok, so also not a great example of her character.

She did have her own reality show! Yes! That was also played a big part in the solidifictaion of Paris as an A-list celebrity. And, it was defintiely on for a few solid seasons. I know people who watched it - I never would because that would be like instant suicide. Ugh, but let’s be honest, the only thing that show did for humanity was make us all less intelligent. I'm not even sure Paris and Nicole can form complete sentences other than the ever-poignant "That's hot". I actually refused to watch the show because it was that incredibly dumb. Putting Paris and Nicole Richie on TV for that many seasons definitely caused detrimental and irreversible long-term mental effects on the American population.

Moving on... Some may consider Paris a fashion icon, but I cannot even pretend to consider this notion. Maybe they mean she is a fashion icon to the blind community. But as far as I'm concerned, only wearing bright pink and neon blue rhinestoned velour hoodies (you know my position on this already) does not qualify you to be a fashion god. Needless to say, Paris should stop wasting her time designing this "designer shoe line". I've seen some of the shoes; they're heinous.

Ok, I have nothing more. I'm exhausted. I tried to legitimize her. I really did, but it's hard to combat the walking STD jokes. I hate Paris Hilton. It makes me cringe when I spot her in my beloved US Weekly. She shouldn't be a celebrity. There should be requirements to become a celebrity and one of them should be that you need to have done something notable or credible - and I'm sorry Paris, you've done none of the above. And being in jail for 5 minutes doesn't count either.

You remain on my Hate list. So sorry :-(

I HATE! Politicians and the ‘Emphasis Fist’

I guess I understand why they do it. You know what I’m talking about – the ‘emphasis fist’. Bill Clinton was a pro at it (and don't get me wrong, I loooooooove Bill, it's just the fist that I don't like). It’s the way a politician kind of balls up his hand as he is trying to emphasize a specific point in a speech. You ball up your fist and strike the air with it as if to say ‘This is where I’m really going to hit this home.’ It’s similar to the hand motion that Donald Trump makes when he’s firing someone on The Apprentice.

I get it; it’s for effect, but having seen it so many times, and we can thank Mr. Clinton for that, it seems a little bit ridiculous. At this point, when I see a politician doing it, it just reminds me of one of those hammer-looking things that you use to pound meat. (And if we're going to get graphic, the motion is most definitely reminiscent of a little sexual thing called fisting. You're going to have to look that one up on your own.)

Come on – surely someone has come up with a hand motion that has been proven to woo voters or prove a point more effectively than the ‘emphasis fist.’ I’m not even entirely convinced it works. When I see a politician doing that during a speech, I just giggle to myself and images of Bill Clinton saying "I did not have sexual relations with that woman!" flash through my mind.

I HATE! People Who Are Loud at Inopportune Times and in Small Spaces

There is a high-level executive in my office that cackles at the top of her lungs several times an hour, every hour, every day. I can hear her all the way down the hall. I jump in my desk chair every time her shrill laughter pierces the air.

Similarly, one of my former roommates could not be quiet if someone bound her mouth shut. I have had to sleep with ear plugs in my ears to drown out the sound of her screaming obscenities at the television late at night. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, she simply did not know how to keep the volume of her voice to a minimum – not even when she was making herself breakfast in the kitchen, which was right next to my room, at 7 AM on a Saturday morning.

Unless there’s a medical condition that I am not aware of, a person should be able to control the volume of his or her voice, and adjust it as appropriate from situation to situation. For example: I do not want to hear from the opposite end of the subway car what your boyfriend said to you when he dumped your ass for another woman. Likewise, I don’t want to hear every little bit of the cell phone conversation you’re having with your co-worker about how horrible your boss is while waiting behind you in the make-your-own-salad line. Similarly, I don’t want to listen to you as you practice the song for your audition tomorrow at the top of your lungs at 1 AM. And I certainly don’t want to hear (from down the hall with my door closed) whatever it is that you’re yelling at the TV about this time.

I have no problem with loud - at the right time. You're at a football game? Be as loud as you want when hurling insults at the opposing team's fans! I love it. You're at a concert? Go nuts screaming at the top of your lungs for that aging former 80s heartthrob. Be my guest! You're wasted and dancing on the top of a table at an out-of-control house party? Let loose and as loudly as possible yell to your pal on the other side of the house to come join you. I have no problem with that! Hell - I'll join you on top of that table.

Those are perfect examples of opportune times to be loud. But I always seem to situate myself next to the guy who is excitedly trying to close the most important deal of his life on his cell phone in a tiny and packed elevator.

I just wish that people would realize that it's not appropriate or appreciated to be loud in a small space. This is not good for anyone's eardrums. It's just like people who drive around with their stereos turned all the way up with their windows up and you, all the way down the street in another car, are pained by the loudness of this music and intensity of the bass. How do those guys even survive driving around like that? They have to be deaf.

Eureka! Maybe volume-control issues are actually a sign that a person is partially or fully deaf? Scientific breakthrough, perhaps?

See, this blog is actually helping to benefit humankind.

I HATE! People Who Stare at You for No Good Reason

Maybe I’m paranoid (and I'll admit that I've been told that on several occasions), but, I swear, I people are ALWAYS looking at me strangely! I'm talking obvious glares here. I don't understand it. I always thought I was a pretty generic-looking person; there's really not that much to look at. I'm not grossly overweight. I'm not stunningly gorgeous. I'm not a ginger kid. I don't have any physical deformity. I'm not a Siamese twin. I generally don't dress particularly wacky or revealing. Truth be told, I'm pretty average looking.

So unless I’m walking around with my face melting off, there’s no excuse for someone I don’t know to grill me for a good 30 seconds as I walk past them. Maybe I’m hideously ugly and no one has ever told me. I guess there's always the possibility that I have an extra head growing out of my neck that I wasn’t previously aware of, but if neither of these is the case, there’s absolutely no reason for me to be generating the menacing glares of so many strangers. It just doesn’t make sense!

I freely admit that I check people out as I’m passing them on the street and certainly I like to people watch while I’m waiting for the subway or riding in a cab, but I NEVER spend more than 5 seconds scoping someone out, and when I do, it’s usually because I’m admiring an outfit or coveting a perfectly groomed mane of hair. Completely innocent.

I will also admit that I've been accused of walking around with a generally nasty and/or mean expression on my face, but I swear, it’s only when I feel I am being glared at that my eyes linger. And if this is the case, I am usually, by that point, giving that particular person one of my signature dirty looks or the stink eye in retaliation.

Needless to say, if I felt that someone was staring at me with admiration, desire, lust, or even jealously, I would walk on by, secretly happy that I had generated such feelings in others, but that scenario just never seems to be the case. It’s always the disapproving look from the middle-aged woman or the death stare from another female twenty-something. Can’t a girl get a break?

Recently, I have developed a new method for handling those who try to bore holes in my head with their eyes – give them a look that’s to say ‘What? Do you have something to say to me? Keep staring at me like that and I’ll rip your head clean off your neck.’ That usually does the job.

I HATE! When People Try to Fit into Subway Seats that Are Too Small for Them

Imagine this: You’re sitting on the end of a three-person seat on the subway. Another person is sitting in the seat at the other end of the three – leaving one seat in between the two of you.

Everyone who rides the subways in NYC knows that subway seats are pretty narrow; they’re not nearly wide enough to fit three normal-sized people across with comfort. Granted, I realize that comfort is probably not one of the MTA’s top priorities, but the narrowness of the seats leads me to my next pet peeve – when someone tries to squeeze into the middle seat when there is clearly not enough room for him or her to do so.

If it looks like there’s not enough room for you to fit between the two already-seated riders, please, don’t try to squeeze yourself in. It will only make everyone uncomfortable - you included.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not complaining about overweight people here. If I board the train and upon assessing my seating options, see the above scenario, and I determine that the empty seat between the two seated riders in not large enough for me to sit in comfortably, then I will remain standing. I won’t even try. And through this blog, I am urging every other MTA rider, big or small, to do the same.

Of course, part of my abhorrence of this scenario comes from my extreme dislike of rubbing up against people I do not know. Even when I just see someone trying to squish in the middle subway seat, I cringe. If I am sitting on one of the end seats in a three-seater and someone wiggles his way between me and the other passenger seated on the other end of the three-seater, I will probably get up and move. I would much rather stand than be sandwiched between two potentially dirty, sweaty, and germ-ridden strangers with bad breath, body odor, and lice looking for a new home. The thought of this makes me want to vomit.

And I don't care if you're offended by my getting up the moment you sit down, practically on me (that's how small the subway seats are); you shouldn't be trying to squeeze your huge ass into the tiny sliver of orange or yellow plastic that remains between me and the person at the other end of the three-seater. I would get up even if Prince Harry himself sat down next to me (and I love me some hot prince ginge). I just don't like touching other people!

But seriously, the point is, it won't kill you to stand for two more minutes until someone sitting in a non-middle seat gets up! People are just so damn lazy! (Note to self: I Hate! Lazy People)

I HATE! Slow Drivers

eccentrichic: dude you HAVE to write about your road rage....seriously....nothing compares to the anger you release when driving behind an abnormally slow human being

So... I definitely have some road rage issues. This I will not deny, but instead will blame on my father - a man with serious road rage (I'm talking driving up on curbs and medians to get around slow drivers). After growing up in such an environment, how could I help but become an aggressive driver? I was powerless to resist. I'm pretty sure I was born with the agressive driver gene. Even when I ride as a passenger in someone else's car, I can feel myself critiquing their driving - urging them silently in my mind to speed up to catch the yellow light before it turns red or to pass the car on their left because the old lady at the wheel is driving too slowly for my liking. No joke, it makes me anxious to drive with other people because I'm not in control of the car.

This lack of control brings me to one of my most lameted pet peeves. For sure, I am the most vocal about this one. Anyone who has driven with me knows that I CANNOT STAND slow drivers. If you want to meander your way down the freeway, that's fine, but don't poke along in the left lane! The left lane is for people who want to drive fast - namely me. I hate it when people drive slowly in the left lane. Well, to be more accurate, I hate it when people drive slowly in ANY lane.

It's not that I think everyone should drive like a speed demon, but I certainly think that it's common courtesy to move out of the way of a fellow driver who is seemingly trying to pass you. If that requires you to pull over to the shoulder because you're driving on a one-lane road, do so! That's all I'm asking for - a little common courtesy, a little human compassion!

If you're a slow driver, perhaps just a cautious one, stick to the right lane and let people pass you! And that brings me to another point: I am also enraged when people are driving slowly, but when you try to pass them, they speed up to prevent you from doing so. This may actually infuriates me to an even higher degree - if that's possible. If you want to drive slowly, drive slowly, but let other people drive quickly and pass you. What's the harm? It's only one car length. It's not going to make much of a difference. And if you're driving slow enough for me to want to pass you, you're not getting to where you're going any time soon regardless.

This discussion kind of makes me want to run someone over with my car...

I HATE! Badly Behaved and/or Screaming Children / Babies

"I hate all children. For other people, it's fine, but not for me." - Karl Lagerfeld

This post requires a disclaimer:

No, I am not the worst person in the world. And no, I do not despise ALL babies and children. When I've voiced my concern over children / babies in the past people have looked at me like I'm Satan's newest recruit. Most children and babies, when behaving properly (read: being seen, not heard), are cute; I wholeheartedly admit and agree to that.

The thing that makes children and babies not cute is when they are misbehaving and/or screaming in public. I HATE that - absolutely cannot stand it. But what makes me ever more steamed, is when parents don't do a thing to deter or prevent their children from lashing out in public places. For example, this weekend, I got onto the subway after wasting an hour or more of my precious time looking at a dump in SOUTH Park Slope (ok, so I was already in a bad mood) and before I could take my seat, my eardrums were pierced by the high-pitched and unbearable screams of a small child sitting in his stroller a couple of yards down the car. These screams went on for several painstaking (and seemingly elongated) minutes and the child's "mother" didn't do a thing to calm the kid down. NOT A THING. She just sat there as her child screamed bloody murder. Obviously, this enraged me and I was all set to jump ship and switch to another car.

I cannot give a lesson in parenting as I am defintiely not a parent, but please people, keep your children in check! If that means keeping a stash of cookies in your pocket, by all means, do it! When your child begins to scream (as children are usually inclined to do), shove a cookie in it's mouth to shut it up. Easy as pie.

And another thing, as a parent, you should make sure your child knows how to behave in specific situations. If you're in a resturant with your kid, he shouldn't be running in circles around the table with food all over his face. He shouldn't be crawling under other people's tables. He shouldn't be ducking in and out of the kitchen tripping waiters left and right. In fact, your child shouldn't be making any noise at all or creating a disturbance of any kind. Children are meant to be seen, not heard.

This may sound mean. You may think me a curmudgeon. I wouldn't be upset if you consider me to have a heart of stone. But listen, I've dealt firsthand with all of the above scenarios and frankly, I've come to my wit's end. There's nothing I'd rather deal with LESS than sitting at a nice dinner trying to ignore the screams and sporatic movements of an unruly child causing a ruckus across the resturant. If you wanna push me over the edge, that might just be the way to do it.

You'd better believe that when I have children (rather I should say IF I have children - and the probability of that is slim to none as I'm pretty sure my uterus would reject an egg attempting to fertilize), they will sit quietly during dinner. They will not run around like maniacs. They will not scream in public, or at all, for that matter. They will be clean and well-dressed. They will not eat their own boogers or do any of the other gross things children are sometimes inclined to do. They will be exhibit perfect decorum and will be attentive to me at all times. And of course, they will never, ever embarrass me with poor behavior.

I HATE! Matching Velour Track Suits

eccentrichic: im going to work but how about matching track suits?
Kelirish18: please elaborate on this matching track suits thing
eccentrichic: like juicy couture
eccentrichic: the velour matching situation
Kelirish18: yES!
Kelirish18: thanks for reminding me that i hate that

As you can see from the above AIM conversation excerpt, I definitely hate matching velour sweatsuits. Let me clarify before I get fully entrenched into my rant: I only hate velour sweatsuits - not ALL sweatsuits. I fully believe in the power of a good sweatsuit; I just have a particulary deep (and unexplainable) hatred for velour in general. (Which is why I posted the above photo of this particulary heinous matching velour gymnastics outfit - You didn't know velour could be so disturbing, did you?)

I can't even put my finger on what it is about velour exactly that makes me want to vomit, but everytime I see any article of clothing comprised primarily of velour, my gag reflex kicks into overdrive. (Just imagine my horror upon once catching a glimpse of a woman traipsing the streets of New York wearing VELOUR LEGGINGS!)

So as you can imagine, matching velour sweatsuits are a no-no in my book. There's absolutely no need for anyone (no matter how JAPpy you are) to be decked out in velour. Do you want to look like a giant stuffed animal - specifically the Velvetine Rabbit? Being covered head-to-toe in a bright pink shade of that horrid fabric is simply not natural. You look like a pipe cleaner. Do you want children to come up to you and try to bend you in all sorts of fun ways? No? Well, ditch the velour tracksuit. You look dumb. Velour is disgusting. Plain and simple. (I'm speaking directly to you, Paris Hilton.)

Oh, and crushed velvet and velour are one in the same. Let's not split hairs.

I HATE! Apartment Hunting in NYC

I'm dieing a slow and painful death and apartment hunting in New York City is the reason why.

A couple months ago I decided to leave my current (and very cushy) living situation in order to move in with two of my very best friends from college. I was greatly looking forward to the move because I do not feel comfortable in my present apartment. I have no ill will against my current roommates; the motivation behind the move was that these two girls are two birds of a feather and very close friends, and while I was no stranger, I simply felt left out - left out of their conversations, left out of their household shopping trips to Target, etc. I did not feel that the apartment was truly my home and therefore, my morale suffered. I decided that moving in with my two of my best gals would be the perfect remedy and since the decision was made, I've been eagerly looking ahead to our May 1st move-in date.

But much to my dismay, it hasn't been all roses and daisies. I GROSSLY underestimated the level of difficulty in finding a new 3 bedroom apartment. I've spent countless hours on the phone with brokers and apartment owners inquiring about apartment listings and trying to arrange viewing times. I've sent 3,290,247,325 emails to apartment listings on Criagslist - most of which went SO VERY RUDELY unanswered. I've dealt with a few real estate companies who have tried to make me pay to just see apartments.

I now know that when a lisiting claims to have 3 bedrooms, this does necessarily mean the apartment has 3 real, already constructed bedrooms. I've become all too familiar with the term "3 bedroom convertible" - a term that should read "This apartment has only TWO already-built bedrooms, but could fit a third if you wanted to spend $1500 to build an additional wall. And by COULD, we mean it's possible to create another bedroom, but you won't be able to fit anything more than your bed inside and you'll feel like you're living in a shoebox."

I can't even count how many times I've been duped by such verbal trickery. DAMN YOU "3 bedroom convertible"!

In addition, THIS CITY IS SO F-ING EXPENSE! It's enough to make me want to run screaming home to murderous streets of Philadelphia. Apartment hunting on a just-out-of-college, assistant's salary (or in my case HOURLY WAGE) is like having a bucket of cold water thrown in your face. Never have I more greatly appreciated the past 21 years I spent being financially supported by my parents.

Finding a three bedroom apartment in New York (and no, I know what you're thinking; we're not being uber picky - we're considering Brooklyn as well) on a budget is not an easy undertaking.

And on top of all of that, please consider that we are three young women trying to find an apartment that is pleasing to all of us. That includes finding a mutually acceptable location - one which allows us each to get to our respective places of work with relative ease. It also includes finding an apartment with three equally-sized and equally-windowed bedrooms. And while I don't give two hoots about the state of our kitchen (as I may actually be the antithesis of culinary master), my two roommates are, in fact, able to concoct meals for themselves and will need a working kitchen.

We also must consider bathroom size (we actually came across a bathroom so small, the sink was on the oustide), if the building has an elevator or is a walk-up (and if so, how many flights up - will), and if each of us will be provided with privacy (all three of us are wifed-up... in the sense that we all have boyfriends and will want to have sex without everyone else being able to hear every movement and every noise - NOT in the sense that we are each someone's wife. It would definitely be weird if each of us was married, but lived together without our husbands...).

Sorry - I'm back on track. Basically, I am going crazy. There is so much to consider and I can't even begin to explain how difficult it has been to try to coordinate three schedules in order to even just view apartments!

We started our search mid-March, in hopes of getting a leg up on the competition. I wanted to find an apartment as soon as we could so I wouldn't have to stress about it, but every broker I spoke to at that point told me that it was too early to look. BUT NOW, I am looking and brokers are telling me it's TOO LATE to find anything good. If i hear "Wow, you're really cutting it close" one more time, I am going to rip all of my hair out of my head. I CANNOT WIN here. It's impossible!

Jesus, I really needed to get that out of my system.

P.S. If anyone wants to give me an apartment, let me know. I maye be homeless in a couple weeks.

P.P.S. Did I mention that I was actually stood up by a broker this weekend? The dude was supposed to show me what I potentially thought could have very well been "The One" (the apartment, not the broker), but he NEVER SHOWED UP! Can you believe it? I feel like I'm hunting for my future husband or something.

I HATE! When People Are Distracted While You're Trying to Have a Phone Conversation

I hate this more than life - no joke. This really may be my Number One Pet Peeve. I realize that I've probably said this about several other of these blog posts, but I am 100% serious about this one.

I ABSOLUTELY CANNOT STAND IT when I'm on the phone with someone, trying to have a conversation, and the person on the other end of the phone is either simutlaneously talking to some else, watching TV, or doing any number of equally distracting things while I frusteratingly struggle (usually in vain) to maintain the verbal exchange.

If I'm on the phone with you, stop talking to your friend who's in the room with you, turn off the TV, stop IMing, or pause your X Box game. If I took the time to call you, you should at least have the decency to stop what you're doing for five seconds while I communicate whatever it is that I have to say to you. I'm not a huge phone person; usually whatever I have to say will only take a few minutes. I'm not expecting to have a long-winded philosophical conversation everytime I call you. It's pretty safe to say that I will never want to have a long-winded philosophical conversation with you. You're not that interesting and frankly, niether am I. So do me the favor of turning off the TV for a moment, telling your AIM partner that you'll "BRB", or momentarily setting the controller down on the table.

Follow these steps and it will save you from my wrath, as this one of those instances where I will inevitably become enraged if I catch on to the fact that you're multitasking while speaking to me via telephone. If you're in the middle of something important (or you can't possibly stop what you're doing for two seconds to talk to me), tell me you need to call me back. I would MUCH RATHER wait a few more moments to speak to you (and we all know I'm the most impatient person in the world), than try to compete with whatever other activity you're engaged with at the time.

On this same note, another easy way to annoy me is if I'm speaking to you and you do not respond. If I've caught you at a bad moment when you're distracted by something else, please give me the "1 Minute Finger" or tell me to hold on or simply say "I'll be right with you". ANYTHING is better than being flat-out ignored. Having dealt with this particular happenstance I-can't-even-count-how-many-times, I'm at the point where, if being ignored by a cashier or salesperson leisurely finishing their personal phone conversation or texting away on a Sidekick while seemingly refusing to look up and acknoweldge my presence, it makes me want to reach over the counter and slap the person in the face.

And I've come close. Just a word of caution.

I HATE! The Intro

eccentrichic: hahahaha im sure u will have PLENTY of material...you hate a lot of stuff

eccentrichic: we could discuss your road rage

eccentrichic: which is on par with your sidewalk rage

Do doubt you've heard the saying 'Don't sweat the small stuff'. I'm pretty sure the guy who coined that phrase, and penned the subsequent best-selling book, made a boatload of money from telling people that getting worked up over insignificant and inconsequential problems is a waste of time and energy.

But I am one of those for whom that cute little saying does not apply. As you can see from the aforementioned AIM conversation excerpt, I sweat the small stuff - BIG TIME. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a strong affliction to many many things and I voice my displeasure loudly and often. Perhaps this is because I have inherited my father's Irish temper. Maybe this is because I stopped taking the Prozac that my therapist prescribed me on my own and never went back to her after that. Or I could just simply be very very impatient.

But for whatever reason, the pet peeve is a specialty of mine and I've spent years accumulating a comprehensive list of all the things, material and immaterial, that rub me the wrong way.

And this blog is the result.

I HATE! Hipsters

I think it's safe to say that living in New York City has made me slightly more sensitive to this particular issue than might be considered normal. My justification is thus: New York City and the surrounding borough of Brooklyn seemingly birthed the Hipster trend and therefore, these two boroughs boast the most concentrated population of Hipsters.

As I work in Manhattan and live in Brooklyn, I literally cannot escape the Hipster influx. But before I get ahead of myself, let me explain, for those of you who have been fortunate enough never to have come across one of these curious creatures, what exactly a Hipster is.

You can normally find a Hipster traipsing or sulking around the Lower East Side of Manhattan, New York University's Washington Square campus, or the Williamburg neighborhood of Brooklyn. The Hipster uniform consists of tight, usually black, skinny jeans topped off with a studded belt and black Converse All-Stars laced up tightly. Band tee shirts, hoodies, or leather jackets tend to complete the look. Dyed jet-black and/or spikey hair and innumerable piercings are optional, but a true Hipster (or a really-dedicated poser) will have all of the above. The Hipster sulks, or sometimes skateboards, around his chosen haunt with an air of superiority, looking down at anyone who doesn't comply with or adhere to THE LIFESTYLE.

Now, to be honest, I'm not sure exactly just what it is a Hipster does, other than shoot non-Hipsters dirty and disapproving looks. I've heard they're artsy and like underground bands and eccentric art, but really, who knows? I think they may like to skateboard as well. I'm sure there are also ALOT of posers who just try to look the part, but, like me, don't really know what the intimate details of being a Hipster entail.

Don't get me wrong - I am accepting of ALL lifestyles. I don't care what you do...as long as you're not an asshole to me as a result. And this brings me to my main problem with the Hipster: no joke, everytime I've encountered one of these so-called Hipsters, I am given a dirty, disapproving, or "You're Beneath Me" look. Just because I don't wear suffocatingly tight black skinny jeans and Converse All-Stars everyday of my life, does not make me a bad person. Just because I don't wear my hair black and spikey doesn't mean I'm not intelligent. Just because I don't rock the studded belt and leather jacket EVERYDAY OF MY LIFE doesn't indicate that I'm not capable of stepping outside the social norm.

As I said, I am no stranger to the Hipster. I went to NYU. I work in Manhattan and I live in Brooklyn. Hipsters are more common than taxis in this city. And I've NEVER met (or even just walked by) a Hipster that didn't shoot me one of THOSE looks. Seriously. I kid you not.

So I pose this question: What makes the Hipster feel as if he is so much better than the rest of us? And also, since the "Hipster Movement" has ballooned into such a huge phenomenon and all "Hipsters" now dress the same, each dressing in the same unisex uniform, doesn't that make them just as bad as the rest of the population?

Thoughts? Maybe I should take on the Hipster persona for a few days and see what new information that leads me to. Perhaps once you put on the combination of the skinny jeans, studded belt, band tee, leather jacket, and Converse you just instantaneously morph into the Hipster, both in appearance and attitude. Maybe it's like Captain Planet..."With our powers combined..." - that sort of thing. For example, instead of saying "Earth, Wind, Fire, Water, Heart" you say "Tight Black Skinny Jeans, Converse All-Stars, Studded Belt, Leather Jacket, Black Spikey Hair" and then it just happens - the Ultimate Hipster appears before you in the mirror. I think I'll try it this weekend. I'm pretty sure I own all the components of the Hipster uniform. (Not that I've ever worn them together!)

Look out world - if you thought I was bitchy and insane normally, it may be about to get ALOT worse...

Hipster Liz anyone?

I HATE! Gross-Smelling Soap

A few weeks ago, I wandered into the bathroom in my apartment to wash my hands (the likely culprit: Newspaper Hands), and instantly I notice that someone has just purchased a fresh bottle of foaming handsoap - which I LOVE...usually. I am a huge huge fan of foaming handsoap - Dial makes a fantastic version - it smells great and the foaming action has such a pleasant effect on me. Who doesn't like foam? Anyway, this particular bottle looked exactly like the Dial version that I love so much, so naturally, I assumed that it was the Dial, and pumped a generous pile of foam onto my hand.

Unfortunately for me, as I began to wash, I noticed that the soap was generating a very unpleasant odor. I'm talking really smelly. Totally disgusting. It kind of smells like what you are trying to wash OFF your hands after you go to the bathroom. I can't even describe it properly because I would never be able to find the words that would do this smell justice. It was simply foul - not what you want (or expect) your hands to smell like after a good wash.

So after realizing that this was NOT the Dial that I'm so over-the-moon about, I immediately ran to the kitchen sink to try to get rid of the horrible smell that the fake-Dial seemingly implanted into the fiber of my hands with dishwashing liquid. I scrub and scrub, but the smell DOES NOT GO AWAY! No joke! I couldn't believe it. I couldn't get rid of the smell!

Anyway, I came to the conclusion that whichever roommate had made the purchase, bought a Dial knock-off. And boy, was it a knock-off. The only way I managed to free my hands from the pentrating smell of the Dial knock-off was by spraying them thoroughly with perfume. What a waste of Issey Miyake!

Needless to say, I have not washed my hands in that bathroom since; I now prefer the kitchen's dishwashing liquid - afterall, it doesn't smell bad AND it gives my hands a streak-free shine.

This mishap caused many hours of wondering just why anyone would manufacture a soap, a product that's supposed to make your hands clean and smelling good - mind you, that smells bad?!?!? When you wash your hands, the reason to use soap is to rid your hands of the germs and possible odors that you might attract when using the restroom. Yes? SO WHY WOULD ANYONE MANUFACTURE A HANDSOAP THAT SMELLS LIKE WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO WASH AWAY? And why would anyone buy it? Why?

Cleary, this is one of the great mysteries of the world.

I HATE! When Your Hair Gets Stuck in Your Lip Gloss

Ah - another one of those pet peeves that is completely out of your control.

It never fails, you spend several highly stressful minutes applying the perfect shade of lip gloss - making ever-so-sure that your lips are evenly glossed and that none of that sticky, fruity gooey-ness has strayed below or above your lip line. You're checking to make sure you've managed to avoid getting any gloss on your teeth - and then it happens.

Whether I'm driving in the car or walking down the street, if I've just applied lip gloss, a gust of wind will inevitably find me and blow my hair onto my face - leaving strands of hair stuck to my perfectly and freshly glossed lips.

My hair could be tied back in the tighest ponytail known to man (and I'm talking jaws of life tight), but at least one strand will ALWAYS manage to break free at that exact moment and find it's way onto my lips. And there it will stay until I can manage to peel the now-greasy strand away and secure it behind my ear.

Maybe I'm particulary peeved by this phenomenon because, having very fine hair, lip gloss will immmediately make my strands look greasy and dirty. And a shampooing will most definitely be needed ASAP. And frankly, my hair, being the thin and overly-processed pathetic mop that it is, doesn't need anymore catastrophes - truth!

I HATE! Wet Pant Legs

If you're anything like me, you stay in bed in the morning until the very last minute - well after your three alarms have gone off. Obviously, I covet every extra moment of sleep I can get, and therefore, I am willing to sacrifice a leisurely morning routine to ensure those 15 additional minutes.

Needless to say, I am always in a mad rush in the morning. I shower quickly. I get dressed quickly (although this is a bit more difficult than anticipated as I never pick out my outfits in advance). I eat breakfast quickly (well, usually, not at all). And when I finally make it out my front door, I never have time to run back upstairs in the event that I forgot something or neglected to lock the front door.

Given my speedy and harried morning routine, I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I don't check the weather for the day either. That being said, you can pretty much bet that when I'm not prepared for certain inclement weather, i.e. freezing rain, torrential downpours, or a blizzard, it never fails to present itself. I can't even count how many times I've walked out my front door, wearing my loveliest pair of suede or leather heels and too-long dry-clean-only dress pants, to find that the clouds have burst open, leaving a flood in my immediate path.

Let's put aside the inevitably ruined shoes for a moment to discuss the wet pant leg issue. I hate, I mean I absoltuely hate, a wet pant leg. There is nothing worse than knowing that no matter what you do - tuck them under, roll them up, get them tailored even - you will wind up at your destination soaked to the shins. It never fails. And after the damage has been done, sitting on a couch or curling up in bed, can't possibly be comfortable, not too mention you're inevitably left with a weird (possibly non-removable) stain on your pant leg from the dirty, probably acidic, rain water.

Obviously the wet pant leg could easily be remedied through a combination of checking the weather in advance and investing in a sturdy, leak-proof set of rainboots. I do own rainboots - two pairs actually. It's that first half of the combo that's the problem.

I HATE! Newspaper Hands

I guess this is something that no one can really control, unless the world's newspaper printers want to rethink the way they've been printing newspapers for hundreds of years. And while I can accept that fact that I may never see the change I so desire, I still do sincerely hate the ink residue that comes off on your hands as you leaf-through and read a newspaper.

It never matters what paper you're reading, when you finish leafing through your chosen periodical, you inevitably find that your hands are covered in a subtle, yet unmistakably annoying newspaper ink-film. This is a phenomenon that I have come to call "Newspaper Hands."

You can't wipe the ink-film off. It will inevitably stain your white shirt. It will leave a black mark on your face. (One that you will probably not even realize you made when you went to rub your eyes or scratch your nose and will remain there until someone is kind enough to tell you it's there. Is it obvious that I've walked around for hours with black smudges on my face and no one's bothered to tell me? I have - and it's embarrassing. Why wouldn't you tell a person something like that? Come on!? But that's an entirely different sitaution that should and probably will have it's own post.) Anyway...back on track - "Newspaper Hands" makes your hands feel dirty and gross - like you can't do anything with your hands until you've washed or Purelled them. It's like your paralyzed!

As annoying as it may be, this is one of the few pet peeves that I have been forced to come to terms with; I understand that printers will never stop using the materials they've been using since this country was founded (isn't the printing press one of the most revered colonial inventions or something like that?), but I do wish that every paper came attached with pair of gloves you could put on before reading - just like a at-home hair coloring kit. Think about it New York Times! I'd appreciate you so much more!

I HATE! People Trying to Board a Train Before You Can Exit

Ok - this may very well be my number one most HATED pet peeve.

It's common sense: let the people who are on the train off before you try to get on - seems sensible, right? But it amazes me, everytime I am trying to exit a subway car, people try to board before I can even get entirely out the door.

Logistically, it would make sense to let those who are trying to exit the train get out before you try to board - when people leave the train car you're want to get into, there will be more room for you. You won't be forced to wiggle your way into that tiny little space between the business man with the beer belly and the sweaty construction woker. Right?

Apparently this logic has not yet occurred to many New Yorkers. I get it - maybe people disregard common courtesy and common sense because everyone is clamoring to grab one of the inevitably few available seats on the rush hour trains. (I can't help but be reminded of kids scrambling to pick up the candy spewed all over the ground from a recently broken pinata.) Or maybe this phenomenon occurs simply because New Yorkers are impatient and rude - something everyone in the world already assumes anyway.

Either way, it makes no sense to me. Let people off FIRST; there will be more room for you when you do finally board the train and it is common courtesy. I think I've established the logic in this sequence of events. Because really, how much satisifaction are you going to get when force your way onto the train like a fish swimming against the current, manage to snag a seat, but slam into and practically knock over the little old lady with the walker trying to get off the train?

Additionally, if it's rush hour and the train is horribly crowded, you can't get on until I get off ANYWAY (unless you want the aforementioned standing room between the beer belly and the sweaty guy) - so why can't you wait a few extra moments? It's like these people will spontaneously combust if they are kept waiting another 7 seconds. You probably just waited 15 minutes for the train! Chill out a few moments more!

If it wasn't already apparent, this is a sitaution that I encounter pretty much every day - and so, I've developed an interesting approach to dealing with this. If I am on the train and we pull into a station and I see that people are standing in front of the door that I will be trying to exit through, blocking my exit path as they ALWAYS do, I purposely, and with as much force as possible without seeming like an aspiring linebacker, walk right into them. If you are going to bumrush and practically trample me trying to get an open seat on the train, I am damn well going to give you a run for your money (and a shoulder to the chest!).