5 posts tagged “rant”

It seemed like an easy idea.  ‘Stop by the grocery store after work to pick up a 12 pack of Diet Coke.’  That’s it.  Heck, I don’t even need to pretend I had less than 10 items to be eligible for the short line. 

I even parked on the Diet Coke end of the store.  In and out.  Sounds almost too simple but it’s just Diet Coke, right?

 

Wrong.

 

I wish it was JUST Diet Coke.  I wish it wasn’t Diet Coke with Lemon, Diet Coke with Lime, Black Cherry Diet Coke (though I’m not clear about why the “black cherry” precedes the “diet coke” but it does).

Maybe I’m in the flavored soda section vs the real soda section?  It’s entirely possible.  After all there is an entire aisle dedicated to our good clear liquid friend: Water. 

 

I made my way down the aisle.  Past the Pepsi fruit match-ups, through the ginger ales and local knock off drinks like “Dr. Rocker”.  I see more Diet Coke products but no plain ole Diet Coke. 

 

Caffeine Free Diet Coke is for pussies and for me when I think I need brown soda with less guilt.  Then there is the latest newbie: Diet Coke with Splenda?  Splenda?  Are you kidding me?  I like my Diet Coke the way it was meant to be: with Nutra Sweet and fully of cancer causing agents that can also shine up a ole penny. 

 

I rounded the corner.  Perhaps a gay ole end cap has my favorite drink on display.  Nope.  What about its' possible teaming up with a bag from the Dorito family?  No dice.  What the hell? 

 

I went up to the Customer Service counter to ask about Diet Coke.  Of course I had to wait through a line of 10 item + violators.  “Aisle 16,” was all I got out of the Customer Service Desk.  I tried to explain that I was there and there was no plain old Diet Coke.  Then they pulled the “Ma’am” card.  I hate being called Ma’am.  Especially when it is said in the same tone as “bitch”. 

 

I convinced them to send a stock person over.  They were not very happy to be digging through the multiple fridge packs of Diet Coke-esque items for me.  On a happy note, they did find one lonely 12 pack.  Naturally it had 2 cans that had exploded and no one bothered to clean it up.  The stock person was happy to announce that since it doesn’t contain sugar, it isn’t sticky like regular soda. 

 

He tried to sell me on getting a 2-litre.  No.  It takes me 2 weeks to drink a twelve pack so I don’t want my Diet Coke going flat on me. 

 

I ended up at the registers.  I ended up getting a 20oz bottle from the self serve.  The same one I could have gotten at the service station down the street from my house.

We've all done it. You get into your groove on a cardio machine and every so often you get a little ass clap escape. It breaks your concentration. First you look around to see if anyone else heard it. Then you take an extra big wiff to secure the area. Thank God it didn't stink.

Unfortunately, YOU did not follow this approach. You were scooting along on the elipitcal reading your Chemistry book- of all things and suddenly a green cloud practically surrounds you like Charlie Brown's buddy, Pigpen.

It was busy at the gym. You couldn't have played it off but you made eye contact. Yep, the lingering gaze of fart guilt. Jesus, Mary- what did you eat? While I tried not to hold your stare, I couldn't help that my eyes began to tear up. I looked around for back up. I thought about abandoning the machine. It will pass, right?

Wrong. For the next twenty minutes you settled in with your Periodical Table of Elements and a beaker of shit flowing out of your ass.

So for all of you gym farters who think it's ok to blow ass, this fart protocol rant if you. Learn it. Live it. Or fuckin' cork it!

I love my little 'hood.  I love that my building is full of friends.  I love that I can park in front of my place without much stress or frustration in finding parking.  I love that people are respectful and know what it means to be a good neighbor.

 

That is until this past week.  This past week the condo rehab courtyard building across the street started to let people move in.  Usually I love to see new people but THESE people are already working my last nerve.  These people are loud.  These people are stingy parkers.  Stingy parkers include 1) anyone who parks and takes up more than one space or 2) has the nerve to park the opposite direction of traffic because god-for-bid they walk an additional block like the rest of us. 

So now I have nosy bad parking new neighbors who are already off my holiday caroling route.  It couldn't possibly get worse, right?

Wrong.  I noticed that one of my new neighbors who is in the line of sight from my living room, has decided to use their new Pella windows to display their Bush hating propaganda posters.  I'm usually all for Bush haters, but do I really need to see this when I just want a nice view of a few trees?

Should I counter?

Is it immature to put up a sign that basically says, "Hey fucker, I don't put my bush in the window and I don't wanna see yours."

Or perhaps a passive aggressive flaming bag of poop on their shitty patio furniture? 

Decisions, decisions...

One thing is for certain- I sure as hell ain't gonna be borrowing a cup 'o Splenda anytime soon.

I know you like your yard nice and neat and free of debris. I know you go out every morning and comb every inch of your grass to make sure any paper or plastic bag that may have made its' way into your yard overnight is quickly swept up into the garbage. I know you think the neighborhood kids make fun of your obsession...

I like a neat yard, but the fucking leaf blowing for 3hrs straight EVERY DAY has to stop! It's November. Leaves fall. That's what they do. They are not out to get you as you seem to think. No one is walking behind you and scattering their leaves on your lawn after you clear a space. No one is sitting up in the tree over your yard shaking the leaves from it's limbs. It's nature. Leaves fall in the FALL. That's why they call it FALL, dumbass.

And the OCD leaf blowing?!?!?! Don't you think if you run out of gas, it's time to give it a rest? Don't you think that blowing the leaves in the street is enough? Why do you feel you need to blow the leaves in the street, then blow the leaves in the street over to MY YARD? Listen dick smack- Knock it off!

I would love to open my window and scream at you but I know you can't hear over your leaf blower. I know if I went over to confront you I would want to wring your scrawny little neck and and jump on your leaf blower until it was crushed into a million tiny little pieces.

So this if for all of you who have the OBSESSED LEAF BLOWING NEIGHBOR. I feel for you.

I guess the days of stumbling my surly ass into the familiar warm setting of a Starbucks is over. I’ll miss the growl of orders from other morning visitors who just wanna fuckin’ cup of coffee. It took you years, but you got us to order YOUR way. I know it’s not a medium latte with soy milk and no foamy stuff and some espresso, rather a grande soy no foam latte with a shot. I get it. I bought scones. I loved that you started to carry MY music at the register. I gave you tips. You remembered me (ok, maybe you just remembered my order). I liked you. I thought you were into me, too.

That is until I got your breakup letter on the morning news. All the signs were there. The Akeelah and the Bee promotion, the high chairs. I thought it was cute. Then I saw the green frappuccino appear. A tasty summertime treat, but not for me. I appreciated the offer.

Now I have to hear on the news, no less, that you are into someone YOUNGER. Who is she? At first I thought it was that bitch who works at the restaurant down the street. Then I learned that you’re one MySpace posting away from being on Dateline’s “To Catch A Preditor!”

Kids? Baby, it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t even go to church so I know it wasn't a priest who made you do it!

I thought you were the last daytime smoke-free adult place I could go without a bunch of kids screaming in my ear. I was wrong. I didn’t want it to end like this.

I’ll mail you back your mugs and chocolate covered coffee beans in the morning.

Signed,
Roomy Iced Venti Coffee, Unsweetened