I’m feeling cranky today because it’s my last day of vacation. I’m in the mood to gripe about stuff, so here goes nothing.
It drives me absolutely nuts when someone who does not know me calls me honey or sweetie or darlin’. It sounds so condescending to me. It says, “I can’t be bothered to learn your name.” And as far as I’m concerned, those terms of endearment are intimate and therefore should be reserved for people whom I choose to be intimate with. I do not include the anonymous waitress or the neighborhood mechanic in that circle of intimacy, so please don’t call me baby, darlin’.
Another thing that sets my teeth on edge is when men call their cars or boats or even my drawbridge “she”. As in, “She’s a real beauty, that hotrod of yours.” Assuming that an inanimate object that is completely under your control and will always do what it is supposed to do must therefore naturally be female is an offensive concept to me.
And I hate it when a woman calls another woman “dude”. I just hate that on general principle. It doesn’t make you look cool. It makes you look stupid. I’m not a dude. I’ll never be a dude.
And by the way, not everyone enjoys the smell of cigars; no one wants to hear your music full blast as you drive down the street; science is based on proof so get over it; I don’t want to see your underwear; I’ve never bought anything from a telephone salesman, so stop calling me; my eyes are up here; yes I know I’m fat; it’s none of your business if I’ve accepted Jesus as my personal savior; if you think global climate change doesn’t exist you’re an idiot; if you ask my opinion you should be prepared to hear it; no I don’t have any spare change, so move along; choosing not to have kids doesn’t make me nearly as selfish as allowing your kid to scream in the movie theater does; a disdain for education only reveals your stupidity; perfume and cologne are supposed to be subtle, not an assault; Miley Cyrus is a disgusting girl who is out of control and should be ashamed of herself; yes I disagree with your politics but that doesn’t mean you can call me names; and I prefer my dogs over most humans based on a lifetime of experience.
So there.
Hoo. I feel cleansed.
[image credit eloquentscience.com]

Ditto! I hope you come back refreshed and with renewed energy, ready to tackle what ever comes your way.
Right not I just feel resigned. But I’ll snap out of it eventually.
I had a pet peeve once… it died… I didn’t know what to feed it… I had the same problem with a Playtex living bra… I don’t want to talk about it…
I think pet peeves thrive on angst and irritation. The living bra, well, if you don’t already know, you shouldn’t own one.
They should come with a manual.
And yet most of us are left to learn from scribbles on the junior high school bathroom wall. Tragic.
Tragic, indeed.
Now pardon me while I go and tweet those…
ha.