Moving into the warm, summer-type weather always makes me a bit sad. Not because I suddenly have the ability to go outside and partake in recreational activities, but because of all the other people that also venture outdoors in the sun.

Every year it’s as if a mind-control machine tells people, “Hey! It’s warm out! Get out the smallest, most ill-fitting, unattractive clothing you have, and even if they don’t fit you anymore, wear them!” And people obey. And they shouldn’t.

I’ll be the first to admit that I am not a specimen for physical fitness. I am not overweight, but I am definitely not in shape and am far from fit and proportionate. However, I understand that if I cannot button a pair of pants or shorts, then they must be too small and I should not shove my gut into them regardless. If a shirt is so tight that every bump and roll shows, then maybe it’s a size or four too small. And if a shirt is short enough that my stomach is pouring out the bottom like an over-filled water balloon, then a longer and larger shirt is in order.

As with leggings, short shorts and tiny summer shirts are not meant for everyone–the fewer, the better, in fact.

I don’t mean that everyone should walk around in baggy pants and sweatshirts to hide their massive girth, but just dress accordingly. I know not everyone is the same, but I find it hard to believe that some people are actually comfortable in public in some things they wear. Perhaps they are, or possibly they just wear whatever they seem to have regardless of how unwell it fits.

In a society that is obsessed with “healthy eating” and forcing people to follow certain guidelines in some instances, I am the exact opposite. I eat fast food quite frequently, and carbohydrates are by far my favorite food group. I practically live off of them. And so I see absolutely nothing wrong with eating these supposedly unhealthy items that actually aren’t much worse–if any worse–than many other things people say are healthy. It’s about quantity, not quality. So all I ask is that people who abuse the quantity aspect choose appropriate clothing year-round. I don’t even like looking at my own midsection, so I’d rather not see yours if you are thought to be fully dressed.

If you are having an emergency, why is your first reaction to post it for the world to see, rather than dealing with it as the emergency that it is, and possibly notify people of your situation once it is under control?

If I was pregnant and going into labor at this very moment, the last thing I am going to be thinking about is updating my facebook status. I’m pretty sure the anxiety and immense pain of releasing a child from my nether regions would be consuming my thoughts for the foreseeable future.

I don’t feel the need to know of your every move. Everyone occasionally states things they are doing at that moment, or somewhere amazing they went for dinner, or what fun things they are planning for the weekend. And sometimes it’s nice to feel like I actually know what is going on in people’s lives these days. But I really don’t care to see a step-by-step narration of your daily activities, sometimes with pictures of everything involved. I don’t need a picture of you eating a pork sandwich while you announce how fantastically delicious your pork sandwich from Sir Pig-A-Lot’s was last night. And then a picture of yourself on your way home, after stopping at the bar for a screwdriver. OH, but don’t forget that picture of your half-empty glass of mostly orange juice and water mixture that you confused for alcohol. You might as well take a photo of yourself sitting on the john, and announce that you spent 15 minutes and 32 seconds in the bathroom this morning after having 12 cups of coffee. And then post a picture of your “I am the awesomest person in the world” coffee mug, too.

If you are sick, feel free to announce to the world that you are a bit ill, and leave it at that, if anything. I really don’t care to see an update every hour of how you still feel like a pile of crap that was run over by a dump truck three days ago and no one has scraped you up from the road yet. I will just say this: I feel like crap every day of my life. I’m exhausted with headaches every single day. I have bad ankles, bad knees, bad hips, and constant back and neck pain. BUT I know that there are people out there with legitimate problems worse than mine, so why announce my pains to everyone every day, over and over, hour after hour? I just don’t. I’ll complain to myself, but people that do not see me everyday really don’t need to know when my knees hurt. Chances are they will just not care.

If I really felt the need to document my every motion, I would do it here, but I’m really not that interesting, so I avoid doing that. I’d rather document other people.

And people that use “fml” for the dumbest situations possible really tick me off quite a bit. “OMG I just ate the grossest sandwich ever… I don’t think I can ever eat here again… fml.” Really?? Is your life that terrible because you ate something bad? No. It’s not. Now if you crashed your car, your house burned down, and someone close to you died within a short period of time, then we’ll talk. But you stubbing your toe on a table does not warrant the use of “fml”. I apologize for the inconvenience this may cause you in the future of typing your facebook status or twitter updates.

Speaking of forms of abbreviations, the usage of “whatev” or “whatevs” really bugs the crap out of me. It’s 1-2 letters shorter than the actual word. And it’s just as irritating when people say it out loud.

I also cannot stand when people type tings out da way day speek. I mean, fo reelz, I dun feel lik tryin to figur out wut u is tryin ta say. Dis is jus strait up cray. Again, everyone probably already knows if you talk like that in person or not, but do you really need to spell like that, too? Are you just trying to prove how street you are, or are you really just that uneducated? It makes it hard to distinguish sometimes…

In other news, everyone I work with can tell you how much I hate this. People need to tie their shoes. Unless there is a fire or other emergency where you throw on shoes without time to tie them, if you are out in public, tie your shoes. If you are 40-years old and don’t know how to tie your shoes, buy velcro or slip-on shoes. Otherwise you just look like an idiot that can’t tie your shoes. Heck, even some of those little kid/old person curly laces that stay in place after you pull them tight would suffice, as long as there is something holding the shoes on your feet. And if you decide to do that, get some colorful tie-dye ones so you’ll be flashy. Might as well show off that class if you don’t know how to tie your shoes.

I’ll start with words.

I cannot stand the use of the word “hubs” or “hubbs”. Just say husband. Or if you must, hubby. Hubs just sounds ridiculous.

I cannot stand “fur-baby”. It’s not your child, it’s your dog. Regardless of if you consider your pet part of your family–I know I do–it is still not your baby. And fur-baby just sounds stupid. Even resorting to just calling it your baby would be slightly less annoying. Your dog is only a fur-baby to the furry dog that gave birth to it.

If you cannot pronounce something correctly–and it is not due to a speech impediment or disability, but just because you cannot figure out how to speak–just use a different synonym for the word. For example, if every time you say “fulfill” it comes out as “furfill”, just don’t say that word. It makes you look like an idiot.

On a related note, it is supremely irritating when people say “nucular” instead of “nuclear”. There are no letters between the “c” and “l” in this word, so do not pronounce it as if there are. It’s just incorrect. This is a simple case of “learn how to read and sound out your words”.

And on that note, I will update more later…

What happy little elves we are
Though we’d rather be at the bar
We work day and night
For Santa’s big flight
But as karaoke night, WE’D be the star!

The fat man is on his way
He’s loading up his sleigh
But the weight is too heavy
It’s more than a Chevy!
Santa’s eaten too much today

Santa has lost his sock
So he called his good friend Spock
“The logic’s not there,
It’s got to be somewhere!”
And it was hiding in his bright red frock.

C3PO is trimming the Christmas tree
R2D2 is noisy as can be
Santa’s on his way
When they hear Yoda say,
“A Christmas very merry, it will be!”

It’s getting closer to midnight
Santa’s preparing for his flight
He sits on his throne
With a pack of Keystone
And he’s good to go for the night.

If you look out your window at night
Don’t expect to see Santa in flight
He’s too busy napping
After a day job of rapping
With his homie Dr. Dre, what a sight!

Didn’t get much this year,
Just a shirt and a twelve-pack of beer.
Not sure who to thank,
But someone I’ll shank,
So Santa better watch his rear!

Santa is jolly, don’t you ever forget
He’s the roundest man I’ve ever met.
I make sense of the sleigh
As he flies far away,
But how does he fit in that Corvette?

The reindeer are all in a row,
Ready for Santa’s big show.
Rudolph ate a la carte,
And let out a big fart,
Now none of them want to go!

Santa, the dear ol’ fellow
Though he was just being mellow.
He went out one night,
Turned down a big fight,
Now the reindeer all just call him yellow.

Frosty the Snowman came to life one day
With his big snow boots and a stolen hat, he tried to get away
He realized the hand he was dealt
When the sun came out, he began to melt!
So it looks like the cops will not be catching Frosty today.

2. Little red-haired boys are mean. I was terrified everyday of preschool because of the little freckled monster and his blondie best friend.

3. I do not like gummy worms. In first grade, the teacher gave us gummy worms often as a treat or for doing good work. I discovered I disliked them, and because of my fear of any form of confrontation (yes, my social anxiety started at a very young age), I would not tell her that I did not like them, and so I built a pile of uneaten worms inside my desk. One day, the boy sitting next to me, JB, noticed the mash of colorful goodness going stale inside my desk and decided to announce it while telling me how gross it was. I threw them away after that.

4. I am certain that “Achy Breaky Heart” is one of the worst songs ever. No explanation needed.

5. Lines such as “How about a nice cup of shut the hell up!”– my wonderful high school Civics teacher

6. You don’t have to be popular or prissy to be a cheerleader. I was one, and I’m not even cheerful. I did at one time have good abs, though. Those have since gone by the wayside. That doesn’t mean I can’t get them back, right?

7. You wouldn’t think it possible, but you can apparently tie in Tuesdays With Morrie to just about any assignment, including describing how you think Morrie would feel about a particular ethnic restaurant. I probably should have just turned in a blank sheet of paper because Morrie never got back to me about my inquiries.

8. It does not matter how much I try to accomplish, or what plans I make to study, chances are it just will not happen.

9. When you think you have done well, chances are you have done poorly. When you think you have done poorly, it could go either way.

10. Never start swearing angrily if you forgot to turn the loudspeaker off.

11. An instructor that will not yell at you for being unprepared, but will slap you on the arm for doing something good is an instructor that cares.

12. Procrastination really is not so bad. It teaches you to think on your toes, and work quickly toward a greatly shortened deadline.

13. When you are four, and embarrass your father because you refuse to “hop” at the Hop-a-thon in preschool (to the point where he never wants to attend school functions again), he will still be frustrated about it 20 years later.

14. A 1966 Plymouth Valiant is the greatest first car ever. And you will never lose it in the parking lot.

15. Never underestimate the possible dangers involved in dodge ball.

16. I’ve been pushed around a lot throughout my entire life. I have no advice on this, it’s just simply a realization that pisses me off a little bit.

17. Graham crackers and chocolate frosting are delicious.

18. Late night take-out at a university cafeteria was a great idea for insomniacs like myself.

19. There really is nothing like a freezing ten-degree walk clear across a campus at 8am to wake you up.

20. It really is okay to change your college major three times. By the time you graduate, you still won’t know what you want to be when you grow up.

I have some cheap, black boots with furry crap on the inside that I wear to shovel the driveway, or if I just need to run outside quickly but am being too lazy to put on real shoes. But no way am I going to spend $200 on a pair of fuzzy boots.

And I don’t care how warm and fluffy they feel on your feet. If you wear them with a miniskirt they are not going to keep your legs warm. And they are not going to prevent you from looking like an imbecile.
And then there’s the step down from simply furry on the inside to 4-inch hair completely covering the outside so that you look like a yeti.

Yes, I’ve seen at least two or three abominable snowmen wandering around this weekend. When the fur on your boots makes up about 70 percent of the material on your body, you look ridiculous.

In no way am I saying that I am an expert on fashion, because I’m not. I wear Beatles, Spy vs. Spy, and Transformers t-shirts with jeans and bright green running shoes. I’m not much of one to put a ton of thought into what I wear most of the time. I’m just different, but I do try not to look like a complete fool. So why pay so much to get that “I’m a complete conformist to “fashion” norms even though I look stupid” look?

I’d rather not have soggy, snow-covered hair surrounding my ankles all winter long, but if you feel so inclined, go for it. Join the yeti ranks in your leggings and puffy coat that is two sizes too small.

I think I’ll stick to being warm and covered when it’s ten degrees outside.

Just yesterday I encountered not one or two, but FOUR of these craptastic fellas in the basement, waiting to hop into my clean laundry pile and hitch a ride upstairs so they can more easily attack me in my sleep.

As most people know, and as you can tell from what I’ve said so far, I have an oddly ludicrous fear and paranoia of these things. I sense them when they are in the room. I see even the tiniest little bugger when other people have to search even after I’ve pointed it out. And yet I’m so incredibly phobic that I cannot even get close enough to kill one, much less clean up the aftermath. It’s bad. And it’s a good thing I don’t live alone.

However, I will say that the one spider I can deal with are daddy long legs. Maybe it’s knowing that they can’t possible hurt me if they wanted to, or the fact that I used to play with them as a kid. But I’m pretty sure it’s due to the fact that I picture them as a lanky, doofy thing with a cartoon smiling face.

All other spiders are fair game. They can be minuscule, and to me they are terrifying. But the fear does grow the larger the spider is. But I imagine all spiders are out to get me. They know I am more afraid of them than anything in this world, and they thrive on the adventure of encroaching on my safe space, my once bug-free house, and semi-normal basement. But the basement to me is now their space. I cannot go down those stairs without the feeling of something watching me, waiting for just the right moment.

I’m quite certain that these beings could withstand the fiery depths of Hell and return to taunt me. Laugh at my uneasiness and feed off of my anxiety.

Next step: Have a spider-free house. Good luck to me on that one. They always know where I am. And they will come for me.

On the way out, however, I happened to notice the “greeter” of the day. Generally it is one of two or three different people that I recognize as being there ALL the time, and they generally say their own masterfully planned versions of “hello” or “goodbye” that I’ve heard a thousand times, and I pass by and am on my way.

Today it was not one of those textbook, lovable door people. It was an older woman. She had one of those short, old-lady, mushroom top style haircuts, and an awful scowl on her face like she was preparing to take somebody down if they tried to cross her. She was old lady Hitler.

Not only did she have this fowl look on her face, but she was maybe five feet tall. And pushing 90 pounds. Tiny, tiny Nazi lady. Standing with her arms crossed. Like she was a brick wall and you were about to make a swift, strong movement and bust through.

The entire way to the door she stared straight ahead, as if she were staring me down, but was careful not to make eye contact. Didn’t want to look TOO serious.

I still somehow expected to hear the usual “Have a nice day” or “Come back again” or whatever other insanely generic statement she could come up with… but I was sadly mistaken. She just continued to stare. Straight ahead. Not even budge. Or blink. So angry.

She was too mean, too all-powerful to even do her job. Or even crack a smile like it really wasn’t the end of the world, after all. And it made me so very frustrated.

I go to my job everyday, and do my job. Is it so difficult for everyone else to just do the same?

But either way, this little old tyrant woman is probably still standing there, finishing her shift as the “greeter” that doesn’t speak, and simply wants to destroy every human that walks through those magical electric doors.

But this isn’t to say that I don’t have a critical or judgmental side. I do. I won’t lie. I like to talk about and complain about people. Especially people that I don’t know and have no earthly intention of ever meeting.

The other day I saw a woman having a meeting, and she was dressed nice enough, business-like pretty much. But man oh man did she have some orangey, bleached-out puff hair. This along with a ragged, worn-out, fake-tanned face. Now I realize this is common practice for many individuals, and is widely accepted in social situations—although I am not involved in many of those things—but sometimes people just need to say “NO!” to leather face.

Either way, I referred to this woman that I’ve never met as “Crack-head Barbie.” Not to her face, of course. But she looked a little like this:

Well, let’s just say I know someone very… spiritual?.. who happened to hear me say this. And his response was, “Well that’s not very Christian of you. You should listen to one of my sermons”. Then he proceeded to tell me about his anger management sermon he gave, and how I need to get rid of the hate in my heart and fill it with more love.

So I said, “There are just some people that I cannot find love for.” And he continued on to tell me that I should. That he loves everybody. So apparently that means that I should, too.

And how this means that I have anger management problems is beyond me. I am cynical, yes. But angry? With problems managing that anger? Not so much. I do get frustrated and annoyed quite easily, which is probably why I am so completely pessimistic about everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. But I am far from angry.

If I were an angry person, you would probably see remnants of past acquaintances and uncomfortable furniture and faulty kitchen appliances everywhere. And I would be rotting away in a prison cell, or even solitary confinement for shanking someone that bothered me. And that has yet to happen, so I think I’m okay.

I do get a little peeved when I can’t get comfortable on the couch, though. We need some better couches. I guess if I shred them in anger that might be a good excuse? Maybe not a good idea. That would just give the cats a giant pile of shredded fluff to get devoured by, and I don’t feel like digging them out. However, I just imagined destroying them Wolverine-style (X-Men) and that would be awesome.