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Every so often I get tagged in these blogger hostage situations – I’m asked to fill out some sort of questionnaire, invented by an unknown person. I don’t know what happens if I break the chain, but I do know that I don’t want to find out. One day I’ll be enjoying my internet wanderings and then BAM! I’m in the internet, fighting for my very survival, and praying I can return to my home if I do everything right. We’ve all seen Jumanji, it could damn well happen! So I’m going to fill out this list and cross my fingers that I don’t have to fight a wild lion with only a slice of cake as a weapon.

Text box that reads "Don't let the stars fool you, I'm pissed off and I need to tell you about it." The font used has stars dotting the letters randomly

10 Things That Piss Me Off

When a vending machine takes my money but doesn’t give me the snack. I think they need to put a panic button on those machines that connect to customer support via video, so that I can rage against the company responsible for my pain and suffering.

Being really hungry and knowing that nothing in the house can possibly fill the void of the food I am craving. The food always being Taco Bell.

Stubbing my toe into the foot of the bed. I want to fucking scream every time that happens. (I do scream. I scream loud. I once had a neighbor call to ask if everything was ok. Nothing was ok.)

People who tell me they read my blog when they don’t. You do realize that I have a public platform with which to roast you, don’t you?!

Using the last paper towel on the roll. Sometimes I just wipe my hands on my pants to avoid having to replace it. I want magic never-ending rolls and I want them now!

When someone calls me to tell me to call them back. Just writing that sentence pissed me off. STATE YOUR PURPOSE!! I’ll decide if I call you back based on how stupid your request was. (I won’t call you back. I may text you though, but only if you’re not on Twitter. If you’re on Twitter, that is the only way I’ll communicate with you from now on.)

Going to the grocery store. I haven’t been inside one in over a year, yet my mother always insists we’ll ‘pop in’ when she visits me. (No, no we will not. I will order anything you need, and a guy will put it into the car while I sit in the parking lot.)

My squeaky desk chair. I’ve oiled every possible nook and cranny and the damn thing won’t shut up. I guess it motivates me to work efficiently and get the hell out of there!

That excruciating minute when Netflix is loading up for the first time in the morning, but you already know exactly what you want to watch…then you can’t find it because Netflix waved their wizard wand after you turned it off last. I should have added it to my viewing list when I had a chance, now I just have to wander their menus hoping to find the show again. Obviously I do not remember the name or I could just search it. Damn you Netflix!

The ending of Seinfeld. I know, they say go out on a high note, but I’m still miffed. May 14, 1998 – the day before my birthday – Seinfeld aired its final episode. I’ve been slightly pissed ever since.


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