Don'tcha Hate It...

Okay, let me just say, I'm not a comedian. Sure, every once in a while, I come up with a zinger, but I don't have the comedic stamina to do it for any length of time in front of an audience. That said, I want to make it clear that this is not intended to be one of those lists that seems to become spam fodder in your inbox. These are some things that I've realized really bug me, and I thought I'd share. I'm sure you'll sympathize with a few.

Now, I don't want to make anyone feel bad, not that I think enough people read this blog to make a difference, and not to diminish the people who do read this blog, which I thank you few for, by the way, nor do I wish to imply that I feel as negatively as the word "hate" would indicate, but I hate people who have to preface everything they say with some long, nested, parenthetical disclaimer...which I guess means I hate myself, but let's move on.

I'm not really a phone guy. I think guys in general have been accused of not being "phone people". Because I know I'm not a phone guy, I'm kind of self conscious on the phone. This causes me to speak softly. Well, the point is, I really hate when people call me "ma'am" on the phone. It happens all the time, mostly at work. I don't think I have a particularly effeminate or high-pitched voice. I can only imagine that the people who call me ma'am are picturing me as a 65 year old woman with a lifelong smoking habit. Who knows?

Going along with the idea of being self conscious, I hate missing the opportunity to be friendly to people I don't know. Granted, people I don't know make me a little shy, but it's something I have been working on for many years. One of the things that I think doesn't help is my natural facial expression. When my face is relaxed, I tend to look mad or broody. If may face happens to be relaxed, I'm probably not talking, and if I'm not talking, I'm thinking. Sometimes I get lost in thought, and that's when the missed opportunity to be nice occurs.

Let me give you an example. The other day, I was leaving work for lunch. There was this family in the atrium, and they had this little girl with them. She must've been five, maybe six, and she was wearing a cast. Despite the cast, she was just as happy as could be. As her family left, she stood at the foot of the stairs smiling and waving at me. She was the cutest darn thing...but I only realized that after I had snapped out of my spaciness. I saw her waving bye at me out of the corner of my eye, and by the time I brought my attention to her, her family was calling her out the door, probably to get her away from the guy coming down the stairs looking like a serial killer.

Happens all the time. I'm spacing out, and some friendly stranger nods and says, "Hey." By the time I snap back to reality, the other person is walking off wondering what the hell my problem is. That's me. I got what you call charisma.

Along the same line, I think a lot. So, I have that spacey, broody look pretty frequently. Sometimes, it's more persistent than others. Sometimes, when I'm particularly thoughtful, I'm moody too. Actually, it's probably the other way around; I get thoughtful when I'm moody. Why do I get moody? Who knows? Men have a hormonal cycle too, though it's not nearly as severe as women's. Sometimes, it's just my time of the month, and I get irritable, dammit.

This is an equation for potential disaster. Well, maybe not disaster, but it can definitely be an issue. I know when I'm moody, and I don't like it. Usually there's nothing going on in my life to be moody about. So, I hate it when people start asking me, "What's wrong?" Actually, I don't hate that. What I hate is when people insist that something is wrong after I've told them that I'm fine. They continue to ask if I'm alright, even though I've reassured them that I am.

Don't get me wrong, it really feels good to know that people are concerned with my well being, but when I say I'm fine, please believe me. Even of I just don't want to talk about it, I'll probably want to later. More often than not, though, it's just me being irritable. Trust me, it really isn't worth the worry.

Okay...all this self analysis is making me moody, so let's move on.

I hate garbage water. I know, I know, the last couple sounded so serious. Now I follow up with garbage water? But you don't understand...I REALLY hate garbage water. You know, you're taking out the garbage and then -- Splat! You pull back your hand, which now smells like it's been marinating in rancid banana peel-flavored espresso, or coke-soaked baby diapers, and find that you have nothing to wipe it on because you're outside. Thank goodness for antibacterial hand gel, but you still have to give them a good washing to get rid of the scent of coffee grounds and orange soda.

Another thing that really gets on my nerves is people who drive SUV's as if they were Porsche test drivers. Listen, I'm glad you have enough cash flow to fill up every two miles, but for me, gas is way too expensive to floor it and slam on the breaks at every traffic light. I think that if you're fuel efficiency is rated in gallons to the mile, it doesn't hurt to be a little conservative on the road. Not to mention that if I'm in front of you when you're breaks go out, you're not even going to notice you hit me. Meanwhile, I'm going to be hitching my way to the hospital clutching a steering wheel and a hubcap, the only remains of my car.

I could go on for pages, but I'm afraid you might start to think me a cynic. I assure you that I love more things than I hate. I love my wife. I love my friends and family. I love the quiet hours I spend hacking away at my keyboard. I love sudden, powerful bursts of inspiration. I love tira misu. I love a good Italian Pinot Grigio. I love the universe and all of its fascinating quirks, even the one's that bring about the things I hate. And I love...life.