"Now I'm peeved."
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, trying to figure out exactly what I want to write about. I’m a bit bored with the whole Carrie Bradshaw “let’s write about dating” thing lately and decided that it’s time to explore other avenues of entertainment – at least for the time being.
So I’m lying in bed thinking about post-worthy topics and I start noticing that almost every idea I get involves writing about something that pisses me off. At first I was kind of bothered by that and didn’t really want to admit it; then it kind of became undeniable and I decided to run with it.
And here we are, at the List of Peeves.
The Peeve List is not exhaustive – as if I had to tell you – but it IS serious. Dead, fucking, serious. And it’s so much more than just a simple string of complaints. It’s a grouping of habits that cause me to really wonder about the future of our species. It’s a trip to the very limits of human tolerance. It’s a treatise on the Homo Sapiens sapiens’s ability to annoy.
The Peeve List is the De Niro of bitch lists.
So as you wander through the forest of frustrating scenarios listed below, please take a moment to consider what peeves you, personally. If you come up with anything new hit me up at OkiniiriTori@FavoriteBirdSpeaks.com and I’ll add it to The List.
P.S. After beginning work on this post I realized that I had a lot more to say than I previously thought; so I decided to split the list of Peeves into two parts.
- Part I: Peeves 10 through 6
- Part II: Peeves 5 through 1
Enjoi*
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Peeve #10: Nosy Peeve
I was recently at a casino in Mississippi when I lost my ass and decided to get a player’s card in hopes of getting a free craps bet. Some casinos – like the Imperial Palace – do that, but some don’t (*cough* Beau Rivage *cough*). I, of course, was gambling at the Beau Rivage; so I ended up getting shafted out of my free $10 craps bet and getting stuck with a chance to win a free bet on the slots.
Yes, you read that correctly. A chance to win a free bet on the slots. Well woopty-frickin-doo y’all! Looks like ah got me and the Missus a chance at puttin’ food on the table tonight!
So Apparently you have to go to this kiosk with really good touch-screen response time (read: crazy shitty touch screen response time) and play an adult version of Memory to see how much money you won to bet on the slots.
Now keep in mind that these player’s cards have PIN numbers and whatnot that you don’t want other people to see. So, in essence, swiping your card at one if these kiosks is akin to putting your card in the ATM. Therefore the Polite-Distance-at-The-ATM Rule applies; at least it’s supposed to.
Apparently that memo didn’t get to the woman standing behind me at the kiosk (which was, by the way, my third kiosk attempt due to their state-of-the-art touch screen response systems).
So this old bitch gets right* on my ass while I’m typing all my info in. She’s Standing behind me narrating everything I’m doing to her husband. Loudly.
“Oh Gerald she’s playing a little game! There’s a game! Look she’s trying to find matches in the cards. Oh she just turned over $100, now a $20. Oh that’s not a match. No, no, not a match. That won’t do at all… Oh she matched $10!”
At this point she actually breaks the invisible barrier between us and speaks directly to me.
“You won the $10 on the matching game?! How can I play the matching game? Will you show me? Gerald, she’s going to show us how to play the matchy-game!”
Yep, overall it was a great day. But it was made that-much-greater by the card carrying AARP member with the bad habit of Nosy Peeving.
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Peeve #9: Stating-The-Obvious Peeve
“You reading a book?”
“Doing crunches?”
“Ya sleepin’?”
“Ya eating?”
No. I’m weaving baskets.
Don’t ask me what I’m doing when it’s more obvious than Lindsey Lohan’s coke habit. A stupid question asked randomly does not a good conversation make. Remember that.
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Peeve #8: Red Rover Peeve
These are the people who walk side by side in large groups so u can’t pass them. Typically these people are part of a family unit; and apparently they just love each other so gosh-darned much that they can’t bear the thought of walking in any other fashion than arm-in-arm like a chain-link fence.
The thing that really gets me about this is that it completely breaks my stride. I’ll be walking swiftly – with purpose – and slowly building momentum, when ALLOFTHESUDDEN the Leave-it-to-beavertons swing out from around a corner and completely stride-block me. Okiniiri plays the handicap card in 5…4…3…2…
And ya know what, … my being handicap doesn’t really help the situation much. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there, people. Here’s a little inside information from the Scoliosis Underground: When your spine is crooked, everything is fukt. Which includes the following:
- walking properly
- balancing
- not tripping over your own feet like a jackass
- and bungee jumping.
So when Mr. and Mrs. Never-ending-love just pop out in front me while I’m coasting at 4.8 km/hr it’s not going to be attractive. In all likelihood it will result in my 5’7″ (and quite muscular, might I add) frame pummeling one of your offspring. I may or may not take action to prevent this. I don’t like children and I hate chain-link fences so the odds aren’t really in your favor.
So just consider me the wire-cutter to your chain-link of love, sirs and madams, because the next time I see any of you fuckers in front of me in a public setting I plan to get massively inappropriate. That’s right. No inside-voices here, beech. I will call your asses out. Loudly. Don’t test me. I’ve been taking lessons from a certain geriatric I met in Mississippi….
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Peeve #7: Professor McMoist-Breath Peeve
Some might say I’m an unholy bitch for making fun of the way that some people breathe; but being the proud owner of my very own breathing problem (shout out to mah girl, Scoli O. Sis) I feel that I am somehow immune from any negative stigma that might accompany laughing at the breathing impaired. So here we go.
I had a teacher in high school – let’s call her Mrs. Huffle-Puff – who had a serious issue with her general inhale/exhale cycle. She didn’t have a medical problem, mind you; she just had a being-obnoxious problem. She spoke as if she were constantly out of breath, traipsing about the room huffing and puffing like a goddamned dragon. It really was as if she had an invisible oxygen tank with her that she refused to use. It was ridiculously annoying to watch and constantly broke my concentration. Mrs. Huffle-Puff. What a bitch.
Now we come to the real star of this Peeve: Professor McMoist Breath.
I met the Professor at a summer program I attended at LSU. Suffice it to say that from the first 5 minutes of the very first class I knew I’d encountered Mrs. Huffle-Puff 2.0, Male Edition. He was a kind man with a graying mustache that resembled a Vietnamese broom. This mustache – coupled with his apparently overactive salivary glands – caused him to breathe in a much too audible manner.
Every gust of life-giving air that traveled from our surroundings into his lungs made its presence known to anyone within an 8 yard radius. It was a horrid smacking sound that reminded me of the way your mouth feels when you have severe cotton mouth and try to sound out vowels. ::smack:: wet breath … ::smack:: wet breath … and so on and so forth. Sometimes his nose would join in on the fun and provide an additional gust of air for his mustache to molest.
It was demoralizing. This is a big-deal Peeve. Anyone who’s ever had to sit through a lecture with a professor who has inhalation issues will instantly understand me. We are brothers in arms, my friend. Brothers in arms….
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Peeve #6: Raised-In-A-Barn Peeve
Almost exclusively female, you will find this particular brand of Peeve lurking about in shopping malls and boutiques. She is most likely an old friend (or frenemy) to whom you rarely speak anymore. In rare (and doubly obnoxious) instances she may be someone whom you just met. Whatever the circumstances, be forewarned, this Peeve is extremely rude and completely tactless.
These are the girls who say the things that Girl Code commands we keep silent. She’s the “MythBusters” to all our feminine wiles. The “How It’s Made” to our (supposedly) inexplicable feminine nature. She’s the Andrew Morton to our Tom Cruise. And this bitch does it all completely on purpose.
She’s that social succubus who walks up to you at a party and loudly asks, “you bleach your hair, don’t you?” then follows it up with a quick, “It looks sooo good!” so that you can’t get visibly angry without looking like a bitch yourself. Or maybe she waits until you’re around a large group of men and says something like, “Wow, it seems like you’ve got so much more cleavage than usual. Do you still use those silicone-filled push-up bras?” It’s all very Jurassic Park. “Clever girl, clever girl….”
My most recent personal encounter with our corn-pone friend was in a clothing store that I frequent (misspell Japanese romaji much?) where the Peeve turned out to be the owner/manager. I was browsing around the store and spotted this really cute dress up on a mannequin that I couldn’t reach; so I asked her if she could get it down so I could try it on. She looked at me, looked at the dress, then looked back and me and said,
Manager: “Oh that dress is a large. So….”
Me: “Oh, haha. Yeah that’s too big.”
Manager: “Yeah that would like, never fit you. It’s waaay too big in the chest. You’d never be able to fill that out.”
Me: “….? “
To this day I’m not exactly sure if her comment was due to temporary social retardation or a genuine Raised-In-A-Barn type upbringing; entertainingly enough, I’m also not sure which of those two options I think is worse…
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COMING SOON: Peeve List Part II: Peeves 5 through 1.
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