Let’s be honest, we all have our bad weeks. I’m not talking about anything serious (although those happen, too), I’m talking about those times when tons of little annoyances just add up and the tiniest thing can make you break down into tears of self-pity. Take right now, for example. I should be happy as a clam (which I’m pretty sure means that I should be pretty gosh-darn happy, although I never understood how clams became the mascot for happiness).
I only have 25 days of school left, I actually have a job lined up and all my loved ones are relatively happy and healthy. Despite my numerous blessings, if one more gnat lands on me I am going to throw a fit.
It all started with the garbage truck waking me up an hour before my alarm was scheduled to go off, and it culminated with the girl in my class who doesn’t understand the concept of raising her hand.
I blame it on my pet peeves. I have too many (due to the fact that people do too many stupid, annoying things). In an effort to be more accepting, and a generally happier person, I will use my therapy sessions (aka: my weekly column in which I force all my sappy, unimportant feelings upon an unsuspecting public) to work through the more prominent pet peeves in my life.
Guys who rests their hands on their lower backs. Guess what, guys. When you stand like that, your elbows jut out usually just at the right level to jab me in a very uncomfortable spot. At least take a cursory glance to make sure that no women are in the immediate area. I mean, do you ever see women randomly pull a Captain Morgan and pull their knees up to a dangerous level when you’re right in front of them? My guess is no.
Smokers who don’t respect the bubble. We all have our bad habits. Mine is Chipotle. While I respect that everyone has the right to choose what to do with their own body, polluting the air is not cool. The difference between my bad habit and theirs is that I don’t stand next to someone and spit my half-masticated burrito bowl in their face. If you’re going to smoke, stand downwind from my bubble.
Singing along with the radio. Same rule applies as above. Don’t pollute the air with your rendition of If You Seek Amy unless a) everyone in the car or room is also making a complete fool of themselves by admitting that they know all the lyrics, or b) you can blend in with or sing at a lower volume than the radio.
Removing articles of clothing in public. Only if you’re swimming or being attacked by Red Imported Fire Ants is this appropriate. Walking around without a vital article of clothing (i.e. your shirt) just isn’t cool. Unless you’re Megan Fox or Hugh Jackman, in which case, go for it.
When men harass women about reading Twilight. Yes, it was written for 13-year-old girls. I understand that, but it won’t stop me from enjoying the book. You can explain it to me all you like, but I would rethink that high horse of maturity while you’re still playing video games eight hours a day and laughing at each other’s farts.
Parking. I can’t think of anything more stressful that requires so little energy. The only thing worse than not being able to find a parking spot is thinking you’ve found one only to realize that someone has parked their motorcycle at the very front of the parking spot you were just about to swing into.
People who do impressions of their pet peeves. We all know what it looks like when someone chews with their mouth open or what it sounds like when your tone-deaf friend sings along to the radio. Please don’t remind us. That makes you just as bad as they are.
DANIELLE RAMIREZ is interested in finding out if anyone knows any good practical jokes or stories of successful jokes. If you do, e-mail her at dramirez@ucdavis.edu.
