Pet Peeves 2 – Just my opinion!

Gotcha Calls


How unbelievably unfunny are these? How lame, bourgeois, unoriginal and low brow? But not only that, they actively make me wince with embarrassment whenever I am forced to listen to them, cause as if I’d ever voluntarily put myself through an auditory nightmare such as this. But if, for example, someone else is driving and I can’t ask them to turn it off (my boss), or I have been kidnapped for a huge ransom and am tied up and trapped in the boot of the car yet can still hear the radio or am waiting to pay at a service station, they have the radio on and I can’t escape without being arrested for stealing petrol forever carrying the title of criminal,…then I gag, push my fingers in my ears and go ‘la la la la’ like babe the pig on ecstasy until it is over. Ridiculous, and can you believe that if just hearing one as a once off isn’t enough for some idiots, that you can look up the station on the net and re play them all again...Oh My God. By the way if you’re not sure what Gotcha calls are, they are a series of crank calls like we made when we were 11 and a ½ and used to indiscriminately call people and ask if there are any Walls there? Except longer and less imaginative.

Fussy People

I have absolutely no patience for people who are overly fussy. I think its okay that people have preferences and general likes and dislikes of course, that’s normal and not at all annoying, for example I would send a steak back if it was bleeding like a slaughter yard or burnt to a crisp and I don’t like fried eggs with runny white. I’ll eat an apple no matter what type it is as long as it isn’t flowery or harbouring a worm. But these fucking fussy people give me the shits, especially when I dine out with them. I don’t find it embarrassing at all, although I used to as a kid when my nana would demand the rolls be heated, the butter be soft and that a doggy bag be crafted into an alfoil swan and brought out the instant after the removal of a plate with remaining food still sitting on it. Then, I was embarrassed but I was 12, what the heck doesn’t embarrass you then? No, I just feel for the waiter who runs back and forwards, back and forwards as if this person is the only diner in the place and I feel like saying, ‘Just eat it the fuck up and be grateful’ who the hell are you and where’s your date palm frond fanner person? What runs a close second is people with food allergies or intolerances and tell you continually and when they come to your place grill you about every ingredient in a dish. Bring your own dish of boiled grass mother fucker. I always make sure I have a vegetarian dish and a gluten free dish when the friends of mine come over who are vegetarian and/or have celiac disease. I think that is reasonable. But the other fussy buggers can pack a lunch. I made small quiches at a ‘bring a plate’ function a while ago and a couple of people were eating them and making nice comments and one woman bit into one and stopped as if she found a wad of packaged cyanide in the middle. “Is there bacon in here?”


“Yep.”


She spat it out like a two year old trying a bowl of mashed brussel sprouts.


“Don’t eat pig then?”


“No, I wish you told me. I’m a vegetarian.”


“Yeah, well I’m not. Eat a cucumber lovie.”

Fake Allergies and Hypochondria

This kinda follows on from the last peeve of mine. I know there are real food allergies and this is in no way a swipe at them but it’s the people who one minute have an ‘allergy’ to something so we all cater to their allergy by using non dairy or non wheat and visit them in a plastic bubble at their house, then the next time you see them they are hoeing into that very thing (and sitting next to the exhaust pipe in the gutter taking in that good old carbon monoxide). What is up with that? You can either eat it or you can’t.

I have no patience at all for hypochondriacs. That can make me seem unsympathetic but I will sympathize with the best of them when it is warranted. Hypochondria simply does not fall under that empathy deserving banner (to me). They spend 40 hours a fortnight at the doctors looking for some made up disease they have researched on the net, take up precious time in ED departments and then do it to their children when they come along. These are the pains in the arses that will whinge their whole lives and never get anything but a cold and flu and eventually die at 103 because they over dosed on Tylenol. I know that Hypochondrias is now a diagnosis in the DSM as a somatoform disorder (mental disorder) and that is altogether a different matter entirely but fess up 'fake' hypochondriacs, it's sad and get a life, stop being melodramatic and stop reading the internet incurable disease page based on a small pimple on your left knee cap...and if you don’t, this middle finger is for you!

Moodiness

It’s not that I don’t believe in it, I’m a female. I know what PMS is and have gone from Sybil to, well...Sybil. One minute, a joy to be around (of course) and the next looking for a large blunt object I can use to shut someone up. But I do loathe a sulker and I hate moodiness as a way to communicate. Tell me if you are pissed off or throw something at me. I can’t read what moodiness might mean always but I can have a good argument and sort it out. And when I ask “what's the matter?” and I get “fine” and I ask again an hour later and I get “fine”...I’m not asking again. It’s the silent punishment, moodiness for some and with some people it can happen at anytime. I used to work with someone about 15 years ago who was the moodiest bitch I have ever met. You honestly had no idea when you got to work that day what sort of person you were going to see. Would you be friends today or not? Would there be conversation or not? It just did my head in. I guess I just prefer consistency. I do however fully support a bit of bad mood should something terrible have happened...what I call warranted mood change but the yo yo moody bullshit which I find is often best buddies with moaning and pessimism and just simply irritates me extraordinarily. Build a bridge, take a pill...it is exhausting.