Wednesday, January 21, 2009

I HATE! When People Don't Hold Doors

I really love it when someone lets a door slam in my face. Like I really fucking love it. I'm in no way exaggerating when I say that I get a door slammed in my face at least once a day, sometimes more. The usual culprits are businessmen (whose tailored suits would wrongly suggest that they have at least an iota of etiquette). Often, foreign-language-speaking-tourists are to blame. (Look, I know America is one of the most hated countries in the world [thanks G.W.!], but come on, you can't blame the language / cultural barrier for everything! And by the way, everyone is on to you about supposedly not knowing how to tip.) But the majority of the time, it's just oblivious assholes, New Yorkers, fingers glued to their Blackberries and iPods, who can't take the time or exert the energy to extend an arm and hold the door for the frazzled girl with the monstrous purse, venti coffee, and overloaded weekend bag. (Yep, it happened to me this morning!)

And you know what? It really baffles me, really boggles my mind. How hard is it really to hold the door for someone? Unless you're a paraplegic, this shouldn't be an issue. It shouldn't even command a second thought. It should be a natural instinct, a second nature, if you will. Even if I'm not aware that there is someone walking behind me, I'll still hold the door open a few extra seconds, just to be sure I don't inadvertently slam the door in some unwitting person's face.

Fuck that nonsense about New Yorkers being rude; rude has nothing to do with it. Rude is when I drop my Blackberry on the subway and it lands under another, seated rider's feet and that person doesn't even move a muscle to attempt to bend down to retrieve it for me. Holding a door open for the person behind you is common fucking courtesy. Plain and simple. And no only is it common courtesy, but holding the door for the person behind you also helps promote efficiency, productivity, and the flow of movement. Listen to me! I'm mounting a case for holding doors based on a platform of efficiency. That's how you know humanity is in bad shape!

Hold a door. Prevent a senseless nose job.

I HATE! Improper Yoga Etiquette - Part Deux

The solution is obvious. I should probably never go back to yoga. I simply cannot escape the weirdos. It seems that the yoga studio I attend is a mecca for everything I hate in life. I'm beginning to feel like every time I attend a class, I discover something that is newly infuriating. The thing is, I do actually like the practice of yoga as an form of exercise, given that I've recently found myself to be substantially less motivated to do anything vigorous (save my weekly soccer games). And this really sucks because I just can't seem to escape the seemingly mocking torment of some of the utterly ridiculous behavior I've been witness to during yoga.

Example #1: Excessive and Continual Passing of Gas by Girl on Mat in Front of Me

We all have the same bodily functions. I get it; I can't knock an escaped fart here or there, but look, if you're having some severe intestinal and/or bowel issues, it's probably best NOT to attend a class where you have you ass in someone else's face for the majority of the time. I think that makes perfect sense. If I was having problems with my plumbing, I would 100% avoid yoga at all costs until the issue had been cleared up. I would be utterly mortified if I had the misfortune to accidentally let one rip right into someone's face. Apparently, though, this isn't necessarily common sense.

A few weeks ago, I attended a yoga class during which, the girl on the mat in front of me kept farting - not once, not a few times, but continuously throughout the ENTIRE CLASS. And, pardon the expression, but this gas-passing sounded rather juicy in nature - like there was something chronic going on. Initially, I gave this girl the benefit of the doubt, assuming that her undoubtedly sweaty hands / feet were making weird noises against her rubber mat, but as the noises continued, it became painfully obvious what was going on. And I couldn't believe it! Have a little decorum - and if not on your own behalf, at least avoid yoga for the sake of everyone else cooped up in that hot, sweaty room with you.

Example #2: Being Told Not to Chew Gum By Instructor of Equal Age

I do not go to yoga to be bossed around by the instructors. When I get bossed around or told what to do by someone who does not have authority or seniority to do so, I get angry and getting angry is counterproductive to the underlying goals of yoga. Unfortunately, most of the instructors I have encountered manage to piss me off in one respect or another, but I deal with it because yoga is good for both my physical and emotional well-being and stability. Generally speaking, I have found some qualm about every single one of them; i.e her voice is too squeaky, she doesn't stop talking for two seconds, he speaks in monotone - I'm falling asleep, she goes around 'adjusting' only the males in the class, etc... My most recent encounter, however, takes the fucking cake.

I'm doing my poses, minding my own business, chewing some recently purchased Orbit Sweet Mint (my fave), when this asshat instructor (who one of my roommates refers to as an 'Abercrombie model turned hippie-yoga instructor'), comes over and begins to adjust my pose while uttering the following phrase: 'It might be easier for you if you spit out that gum.' Pardon me? Pardon me? I was in shock. Who did this guys think he was? First of all, he was, most definitely no more than a year or two older than me at that and secondly, when did yoga instructors get free rain to boss their 'students' around like they're fucking teaching remedial middle school math?

Example #3: Things Not to Wear to Yoga 101: Full Make-Up, Jewelry & Halter Tops

The very same day I was forcibly regressed back to middle school, I happened to look behind me while in downward dog and noticed that the woman holding that spot was wearing not only an excessive amount of jewelry (big, dangly earrings, chunky necklace), but also a full face of make-up (perhaps even complete with false eyelashes), AND a halter top (that wasn't haltering anything, if you catch my drift). I'm assuming that this woman must have been trying to impress someone because there is really no other explanation as to why you would show up to yoga decked out with rings on your fingers and bells on your toes. I'm convinced that this woman had some sort of ulterior motive because she wasn't even following the flow as everyone else was; she was totally doing her own thing, which included some pretty complicated poses. Clearly, this woman was not an amateur.

Fact: if you've come to yoga with make-up on, you'd better believe you'll have sweated it clean off before the class is finished. Jewelry could only be an additional annoyance, banging all over the place as you're flipping your head upside down every 3 minutes, and the halter top... I wouldn't even begin to know how to make sense of that. There is such a large margin for error there; I can't comprehend it.

I HATE! Expensive Salads

Sounds a little funny, right? But it's not. This is a serious issue and it's taken me a long time to realize just how detrimental expensive salads have been to my psyche and the toll they've taken on my young, fragile, and financially-insecure life.

Here's my thought: everything that is found in a salad (save eggs, various meat products, croutons, and some other assorted accoutrement) come from the earth (and technically, even those exceptions originate there at some point - take a look at that food chain). This ultimately means that you could theoretically grow all salad ingredients in your backyard, on your farm, or in your window planter. And this is precisely why I cannot understand why salads can cost so much. I could grow all of this shit in my backyard, wash it, cut it up, throw it together, spritz it with some dressing (I just love those Wishbone Salad Spritzers), and bring it to work for lunch instead of dragging my ass downstairs to pay $12 plus for a wonky salad with wilted brown lettuce and ingredients that have been sitting out unrefrigerated for hours on end.

And this nonsense about charging PER ingredient? No, no, no, no, no - completely unacceptable. I could buy an entire avocado for the $3.50 they charge me for the spoonful of browning mush they have the nerve to call guacamole. And if you're going to charge for croutons, at least have the decency to go with the high-end toasted garlic croutons, not those bullshit croutons used to make gloppy Thanksgiving Day stuffing.

Of course, I could probably never actually bring myself to go through the laborious process of growing my own veggies (hating dirt and not having even a window box are probably both serious initial setbacks), but I'm just saying, it's totally possible. I guess that's what these salad places are banking on.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I HATE! Inappropriate Use of Text Message Abbreviations in Non -Text Settings and AIM -Speak in General

emdemas3: kewl

emdemas3: hahahaha

emdemas3: i HATE when people type kewl

emdemas3: and skool

emdemas3: and l8r h8r

This past weekend, my roommate and I had the pleasure of watching a film which should be considered by all to be a truly significant piece of cinematic brilliance: Bring it On: All or Nothing starring Hayden "I have really fat upper arms for such a tiny girl" Panetierre and Solange "I know this is as good as it's going to get for me" Knowles - Smith. Really an excellent, excellent film.

Anyway, I'm sure you know what the basic premise of this movie is: blonde cheerleader (Panties) leaves perfect high school scenario (head cheeleader, quarterback boyfriend, baby blue convertible VW Bug) when her father get's demoted (or something like that, I wasn't 100% sure what was actually happening here) to a job based in minority-centric part of town. Said blonde cheerleader is, initially, taunted by and at odds with the head cheerleader at her new, more ethnically diverse school (cue Beyonce's sister), but then, the two realize they can work together to kick Blondie's old team's asses (oh, Blondie's old friends and boyfriend all turn out to be skanks, basically) in a cheerleading competition hosted by Rihanna (clearly, her appearance in this film is something Rihanna undoubtedly regrets now that she has achieved multi-platinum success).

So, that, in a nutshell is the jyst. Moving on to my actual point. In Bring it On: All or Nothing, Panties and her troup of blonde lollipop-headed cheerleaders speak in text message. Yep, you heard me right; the entire first half of the movie (until Panties move to Crenshaw or whereever), consists of a rapid crossfire of "BRB!," "TTYL," "LMAO," and "OMG" as if these phrases were everyday speak. Jesus, it sounds ridiculous.

Watching that little gem of cinematic magic got me thinking about the use of AIM and text abbreviations, which are both equally unacceptable. When you're writing me a text or an AIM, do not write "kewl" - first of all, it looks like you can't spell and secondly, i thought the purpose of text and AIM abbrevs was so you could shorten the word and wouldn't have to type as many letters. "Kewl" and "cool" HAVE THE SAME AMOUNT OF LETTERS, dumbass! Thirdly, anyone who types "kewl" is automatically an A-Grade Douchebag.

While typing "skool" may save you the trouble of typing one extra letter, let's be serious, the time you save by doing this, does, in no way, balance out how retarded people assume you are because you typed "sckool" instead of "school". Moral: take the extra second to type the "ch". I promise, it'll make you a winner in life.

Finally, I have no comment on "l8r" an "h8r". I will never, ever, in my life spell a word using a letter to lessen the number of strokes I have to make on the text keypad. Yes, "l8r" is quicker to type, but boy oh boy, do you look dumb.

I HATE! Flakes (A Guest Post by Elizabeth Demas)

Since it has come to my attention that I am not the only one who often harbors inexplicably intense and adamant hatred toward specific entities, actions, and people, I have decided to open this blog to guest posts.

Don't worry, there certainly are some stipulations to this new feature. I can't just be having any Johnny Whatshisfacewhoiprobablyhate blogging on this site. Oooooooh no. Guest posts are limited to only those posts that I agree with and only ones written by people I like.

Below, you will find a particularly poignant post articulated by a dear friend of mine, Elizabeth Demas.

I hate tardiness, when people do not show up, don't return calls, texts, BBMs, emails, or don't RSVP. If there is one thing that I find to be excessively unpleasant, it is flakiness. To the perpetrator it may seem like an innocuous blunder, but to me, being unreliable is a fatal flaw, an Achilles heel if you will. It is the antithesis of decorum! If you can't muster up the decency to return a phone call or text, etc. then why do you have a cell phone? Stop saving your rollover minutes and call a bitch back.

Also, don't lie and say, "Ohhh, I never got your text." First of all, unless you still carry around your father's 28 ounce 1984 Motorola DynaTAC phone, you didn't lose my text; it didn't get slipped under a rug anywhere or get dropped between a sidewalk grate. Now, if you had any manners, you would kindly tell the person, "I am sorry; I made other plans", or, put it bluntly, "I don't like hanging out with you." Cut out the middleman, after all, isn't it better than hearing the same guilty pleasure song blasting from your cell phone over and over again or the excessive chirp of your text inbox.

Also, it really irks me when you make plans with a group of people, and one or two people do not show. Instead, they constantly text or BBM you all night asking you your whereabouts, but never actually show. Don't bother me when I am trying to have a drink. Seriously. The last thing I want to do is be typing over and over again the same address of a bar we made plans to go to 48 hours ago. All I want to concentrate on at that particular moment is drinking my Blue Moon, perfectly garnished with an orange slice.

Indeed, the irritation of a flake knows no bounds when it comes to my personal life. I always try to be on time and respond to people. In fact, it's one of the very few times I EVER adhere to a facet of the golden rule, "do unto others as you would have others do unto you." --ED

Monday, January 12, 2009

I HATE! When (You're a Girl) and You Can't Get a Female Bartender's Attention

I don't know if this happens anywhere else in the world, but in New York, bartenders usually tend to exude the attitude that they think that they're God's gifts to the world. (And I don't mean to diminish the immense impact generated by all the great things bartenders do. They may not be saving the rain forest, fighting poverty, or campaigning to end any world wars, but they do dispense copious amounts of over-priced alcohol to happy-hour-clamoring, booze-thirsty patrons.) And in that same vein, it kind of makes me furious when I practically have to throw myself over the bar in order to get a bartender's attention. When there are 40 million people at the bar, practically stepping on top of each other to try to get a drink, obviously I don't take it personally when it takes a few minutes for the bartender to make his or her way over to me. What I do mind, however, is when I am not-so-conspicuously ignored by a female bartender simply because I am also female.

I get it. I get the mentality behind this nonsense. Female bartenders probably assume that bar patrons of the male variety will be more generous tippers simply because of the inherent laws of male / female sexual and physical attraction. But seriously, this infuriates me. A guy may tip a female bartender more because she is hot; I won't deny that, but if a female bartender provides me with good service (no pun intended), I will tip her equally as well as the dude who tipped her based solely on her appearance.

I've been ignored by a female bartender more times that I can count on both hands and it really makes me want to punch a bitch. I'm not particularly hostile to female bartenders from the get-go - I'm not a girl bartender bigot or anything like that; I just don't like to be discriminated against, which, if you think about it, is exactly what this is. I am being discriminated against based on my gender, by a person of my same gender, which is just SO much worse!

Maybe that whole chicks before dicks thing doesn't apply when there's money involved...

I HATE! Celebrities with Two First Names

Shannon Elizabeth. Tom Brady. Katy Perry. Lily Allen. Kevin James. Amanda Peet. Tina Fey. Chris Martin. Tracy Morgan. These are all famous examples of people who have two first names. And, you know, there is just something about people with two first names that irks me. Not exactly sure why this is, but I think it might have something to do with the fact these two-first-name celebrity names are actually stage names and not, these folks' birth names. So I guess my problem with the two-first-name-trend is that, often, celebrities choose to have two first names. I don't know; this just seems odd to me.

Let's take Shannon Elizabeth, for example; her name is actually Shannon Elizabeth Fadal. Why drop the Fadal? I suppose that Shannon Elizabeth sounds more elegant (a la Grace Kelly - who is, by the by, another two-first-namer) than Shannon Elizabeth Fadal. But a) Shannon Elizabeth's photo is probably not what I would find in the dictionary if I were to look up 'elegant' and b) there is just no way that anyone would ever believe that Elizabeth is her real, God-given last name.

Ok, Tom Brady's real name is, in fact, Thomas Edward Brady, Jr. so I guess I don't really have anything to say on this one. But he was an athlete first (and a celebrity second - once everyone noticed how good-looking he was), so he doesn't count. Also, I guess that Brady is one of those baby names that originated as a last name and somehow morphed into a 'trendy' first name (you can thank Miranda's - from Sex and the City - ginger baby for that one). I concede; I won't pick on the Patriots poor crippled quarterback.

Moving on: Katy Perry, birth name Katheryn Elizabeth Hudson. Frankly, I would have stuck with Hudson. The name Perry conjures up images of creepy, pedophilic, bald men, while Hudson makes me think of rambling rivers (or... jeans). Jeans and rivers beat creepster baldies any day of the week. She shouldn't have messed with a good thing; I can't even tell you what I would give to have a normal and (if I do say so myself, a rather pleasant) last name. I think I've made my preference (and point) clear.

Ok, ok, Lily (Rose Beatrice) Allen uses her real name. Like Grace Kelly (this is the ONLY comparison between the two I can and ever will make, don't you worry), she just happens to have tow first names by birth, NOT choice. When used as a first name, I'm pretty sure Allen is spelled Alan. Yeah, this wasn't a great example, but it's still annoying.

Tisk, tisk, Kevin James; I have just discovered that your real last name is Knipfing. Kevin Knipfing. Yes, I can see why you chose to go with a stage name; the alliteration is a bit intimidating, but James? Come on! Why not something more interesting? Why not something that didn't automatically propel you head-first into the two-first-name club? Kevin is just so standard on it's own, I don't see the logic in opting to go with James as a fictional surname. If he wanted to keep the Kevin, I would have suggested going for something like Jamieson in order to reverse the roles of each individual name and balance out the full name as a whole. Or if KJ was dead-set on going with James as a surname, he should have changed his first name to Kennedy or Kissinger or Kavanaugh. I would definitely date a dude named Kennedy James or Kevin Jamieson... Kevin James, not so much.
Amanda Peet's real name actually is Amanda Peet, but just a heads-up, if it had been spelled Amanda Pete, we would have had major problems.

Same goes for Tina Fey. Although her proper name is Elizabeth Stamatina Fey, I guess I can't fault her since Fay as a first name is spelled 'Fay' not 'Fey' even though I should have some beef with her as she totally dropped the name Elizabeth, which is so obviously a national tragedy and straight-up diss to all of the card-carrying Elizabeths of the world.

Chris Martin is Christopher John Martin, but he named his babies Apple and Moses so the man gets no sympathy from me.
Tracy Morgan, Tracy Morgan, Tracy Morgan. While your name is, in fact, actually Tracy Morgan, your parents failed to realize that not only did they give you two first names, but they also gave you two female first names. Clearly this permanent embarrassment has not prevented you from building a full-fledged television career, but I thought I'd point out the awful joke that's been played upon you.

My last few examples were a bit weak, I won't deny it, but I think we can all appreciate what I'm going for here. This is an open letter to all of the parents of the world: Please! If your last name happens to also be a first name, get a little creative with the baby's first name. And no, I'm not talking about naming your kid Pilot Inspecktor or Brooklyn or Princess, just use a little imagination to make sure your kid doesn't end up with two first names. It's lame.
And celebrities, consider this your open letter (I'll keep it brief): When choosing a stage name, think. Be smart. Really try to use those few brain cells that still remain.

I HATE! People Who Lie About Where They're From

During my first year of college, I had an acquaintance who told everyone that he was from Chicago. Chicago, if I remember correctly, is located in the state of Illinois. Later, it was revealed that he was not, in fact, from Chicago, but from a little town in the Hoosier State, good old INDIANA. 

I'm from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. My mailing address is Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. If you look on a map, my house resides well within the Philadelphia city lines.

Given the little tidbits that I've just provided, let's play a game. How many times do you think I've had the conversation below?

Me (usually after an introduction): "I'm from Philly." (Or if I'm trying to be gangsta: "I'm from the Illadelph", "I'm from the 215", or "I'm from the home of World Series Champions the Philadelphia Phillies".)

Fake Philadelphian: "You're from Philadelphia?!?! Me too!"

Me: "Oh, that's awesome. What part of Philly are you from?"

Fake Philadelphian: "Oh actually, I'm from Mt. Laurel, New Jersey." (Or "Camden, New Jersey" or "Bucks County, Pennsylvania".)

Me: Soooo, you're not actually from Philadelphia...

Fake Philadelphian: "No, but I live close."

If your guess is a million, you're right!

So let's clarify something here. Close does not equal within. If you're from Radnor, Pennsylvania, you are NOT from Philadelphia. Look at a map; it's plain as day. Simple. Fact.

Why not just say, "I'm from Glassboro, New Jersey. It's a suburb of Philadelphia."? That way, you're not a) lieing and b) potentially angering any actual Philadelphia-native that is within earshot.

Additionally, have a little pride in your native hometown! If you're from Podunktown, Indiana just say you're from Podunktown, Indiana. There's no shame in it!!! Why try to pass yourself off for something you're not, especially when you're trying to pass yourself off to be from a state that you don't even live in! I can kind of understand saying you live in Chicago, if, for example, you live in Evanston, Illinois (even though I FIRMLY believe that you should articulate those specifics), but there is absolutely NO EXCUSE to claim you're from a city that's not even IN THE SAME STATE as the city that you're actually from. You're misrepresenting and that isn't cool!

I HATE! When Older Women Dress Like Teenagers

This post goes in conjunction with my post about adults wearing clothing adorned with cartoon characters.

We've already established the fact that at a certain age, you inevitably must retire some components of your quickly fleeting youth i.e. belly shirts, low-cut jeans, any article of clothing with a cartoon character emblazoned on it, mini backpacks, platform shoes, cowboy hats, overly-puffy down jackets, anything with fringe on it, etc.
And you'd think this would kind of be common knowledge to the older-set, but you'd really be surprised how many adults think they can get away with acting and dressing like their teenage counterparts. The biggest offenders among this group are older women - specifically the 40 - 65 year-old demographic (and I know that 40 isn't really that old, but let's be honest here, when you're 40, you're no spring chicken).

Case in point: there is a show on a very popular cable network that centers around the work of a high-rolling female matchmaker. She is not completely unfortunate-looking by any means, but I would estimate her age to be somewhere between 40 and 45, and the woman constantly, and I mean constantly, dresses like she's 20 and aging backwards Benjamin Button-style. Short skirts. Tighter-than-is-allowed-by-law-pants. Mini-dresses. Sky-high heels. You get the picture. And like I said, this woman isn't grotesque, but truth be told, she doesn't have the body of the 20-year-old beach volleyball player she is trying to dress like.

And I'm all for women being proud of their bodies etc. etc. , but I just think that women of a certain age should ease gracefully into decorum. You can get away with dressing like a harlot when you're 16, 18, and 23, but at 40 years old, you just look plum-silly trying to rock a leather mini and knee-high boots. I'm even finding that at 23-years-old, I can't get away with wearing what I used to. Let me tell you, my high-school body is NOWHERE to be found and the same goes for the (barely-school-appropriate) corset tops and hip-hugger jeans that were (embarrassingly) once my staple.

Bottom line is this: when you're 40 or 47 or 53 or 61, you really just look ridiculous when you try to pull off clothes made for the Limited-Too clientele. Your teenage years were meant for dressing ridiculously and getting it out of your system. Your high-school style is not meant to transcend into your 40s. And if perhaps I haven't yet hit this point home, please take into account the women on the fabulous show Rock of Love (see photo above) or many of the female guests on Maury. These women, while clearly past their physical primes, are still intent upon resurrecting the clothing of their oh-so-trashy-youth. And while these examples are extreme, I think it makes clear my point.

A little modesty ladies... a little modesty.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

I HATE! When Someone Wrongs You, But Acts Like it was the Other Way Around

You know what really sucks? And before I tell you what it is, let me just say that this is something that is new to me - I've never experienced this before, but I've come to the conclusion that I hate it.

Has someone ever made an about-face in attitude toward you, seemingly out of the blue and without cause or justification? Well, I have and I'm not pleased about it. Let me explain.

Someone that I was once very close with and with whom I have recently parted ways - we don't talk anymore, we're not friendly, no contact at all - which is not necessarily the way I wanted it, but for the sake of making a clean start, I guess it was best. Anyway, I was under the impression that even though we weren't going to communicate on a regular basis, we didn't hate each other - that there was no ill will, especially because if there should have been any ill will generated from this break, it should have come from me. But no, I wasn't feeling any animosity or anger or hatred for this person; I was just trying to adjust to the abrupt change of the absense of this person in my life. Just plugging along, you know. Doing the best that I could. A few times since, this person and I have communicated perfectly amicably and seen each other on one occasion to tie up some loose ends - still with no animosity, no anger.

About a month ago, I found myself in a precarious situation - I was locked out of my apartment at an ungodly hour and couldn't reach either of my roommates. I called everyone I knew to try to find an alternate place to stay for the night, but no one was answering because of the late hour. In desperation (and truly, truly I was reluctant to), I called this person. This person was my last resort and it was beginning to look like I would have to sleep on the street. I called - no answer, which wasn't unexpected, as no one I had called earlier had answered either. Thankfully, the situation worked itself out and I didn't end up sleeping on the sidewalk in front of my apartment building in a cardboard box.

The next day, I alerted this person to my situation the previous evening just so he / she wouldn't think that I was calling at 4 AM with some sort of ulterior motive. In response, I got a response I was not expecting - one which seemed to indicate that this person had ignored my call even though he / she suspected that something might be wrong. More increasingly angry texts followed (even though I tried not to get worked up; you can't hush the Irish temper), but basically I was highly insulted. I was only calling for a favor and nothing more, but I was greeted with what seemed like pure disdain.

I just don't understand what I did to deserve this type of treatment. That was all I could think for the next couple of days. This person acted as if I was the 'bad guy' and that I had done something to wrong him / her, when in fact, as I said earlier, that the blame for the end would certainly have NOT fallen on my shoulders. I just hate the fact that this person has turned things around on me, without rhyme or reason. I did nothing wrong - all I was asking for was a simple favor - one that I was requested our of desperation and something which I would have been glad to do if the roles had been reversed.

But sadly, random and unfounded animosity seems to have reared its ugly head.

I HATE! People Who Can't Push Revolving Doors

Is there some sort of weakling epidemic spreading across the country?

No? Well, I swear to you that every time I try to go into or out of the revolving doors of an office building (or in the subway), the person in front me can't manage to push the door with any force and I, and everyone else behind me end up moving through at the speed of (and not to offend, but I'll quote one of my fave movies here) "a Special Olympics hurtler".

Seriously! I am always caught behind the weakling (petite woman, wrinkly old man, laxidasical tween, or hippie stoner) who can't seem to move the revolving door with any force. I just don't understand it - a revolving door is not that heavy. In fact, these doors were made with the specific purpose of easily allowing a constant stream of people to enter and exit a building at any given time. The doors are made (and I'll capitialize for effect this time) SPECIFICALLY to be easily accessible by ALL - big, small, fat, thin, weak, strong, young, old, etc. (For the love of God, people use the term 'revolving door' as a metaphor - it's supposed to that GD effective.) I don't see any reason why someone would not be able to push a revolving door with ease.

And do you know what I do when the person in front me decides to move through the revolving door like he or she is talking a leisurely Sunday stroll in the park? I bet you can guess. That's right; I give the door an excessivley strong push, as if to say to the person in front of me: 'Move your ass!' I'm actually waiting for someone to trip or fall one of these days. It's priceless to see the look of surprise on the person's face; it's as if they've been jolted out of some hypnotic state.

Wake up, people! Push! Push! Push! Pregnant women do it all the time except it's more painful and less pretty.

I HATE! No Free Refills on Fountain Soda

I'm not what I would call cheap - most people who know me are aware of the fact that I shop often and impulsively. I am not exactly what one would call conservative. But there are certain things that I absolutely cannot stand paying for and one of those is multiple glasses of fountain soda.

We all know that if a restaurant has a soda fountain, it costs the place something along the lines of five cents per each glass of soda. So when a restaurant does not give you free refills on an initial glass of soda that they have the audacity to charge you $3 for, it makes me furious. At $3.00 a glass, the restaurant is already making a huge profit, even if you have more than one glass of soda with your meal. There is nothing like getting a check for meal with which you had three glasses of Diet Coke to find that the establish has charged you $3.00 for each one. I'm not going to lie, it kind of makes me want to stand up and flip the table over with rage.

What's worse is that half the time, the waiter or waitress will just refill your glass without really letting you on to the fact that you'll be paying our of your ass for each and every one of the sodas they bring you.

What are these restaurants afraid of? Do they really think that someone is going to drink so much fountain soda that he or she will put the restauarnt out of business? It's not humanely possible to drink that much fountain soda in one sitting; there is almost no way that a restaurant could lose money by giving away free refills on fountain soda. Just to further prove my point, let's do the math:

1 glass fountain soda (actual cost) = 5 cents
1 glass fountain soda (menu price) = $3
$3.00 / .05 = 60 (glasses)

That means, for a restaurant to actually lose money on a glass of fountain soda, a person would have to drink more than 60 glasses of soda during his / her meal. N-O-T P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E.
And let's say, I drink four glasses of fountain soda with my meal and the restuarant only charges me for the first one:

4 x .05 = .20 (20 cents actual cost to the restaurant for 4 beverages)
$3.00 - .20 = $2.80 (profit)

The restaurant still makes $2.80 in profit - pure profit - even without charging me each individual drink!

In conclusion, I see absolutely no reason why free refills aren't mandatory at every restaurant across the country. If this were 1910 and a glass of soda still actually cost 5 cents, I might be willing to pay for each one, but it's not, and at today's inflated prices, I think free refills are completely reasonable - it's all in the math.