Disclaimer:  I realize teenagers and the like have a need for speed.  I forgive them.  Once you hit 25, however, you are an official grown-up and are subject to harsh judgment.

Guy on your ass: This guy has a small penis.  There’s no getting around it.  He’s out there trying to show he can dominate somewhere since he can’t do so in the bedroom.  Guys… if you really don’t have a small penis, please realize this is what you’re telling the world when you’re tailgating.  Also, guys who drive like assholes with their girls in the car are asking to be dumped.  It’s a deal-breaker.  If your ego is more important than her safety, that’s a peek into the self-centered jackass you truly are.  Just sayin’.

Woman in SUV on your ass: Poor girl has a husband with a small penis.  She’s got to take her sexual frustration out on someone.  Lucky you.

Woman in mini-van on your ass: This woman is bitter that she gave up her posh job in finance to have kids.  I’m sure her daily affirmations on Facebook try to tell you that being a mom is the greatest thing ever.  But really, she’s just trying to convince herself.

Guy riding crotch rocket on your ass: See number 1, except add in a little confusion about his sexuality.

So the next time you’ve got someone on your ass, don’t get mad.  Decide which of these losers you have on your hands and pity them.  And if that doesn’t work, slow down and really piss them off.  I plan on making a sign to hold up that says, “Yes, I know you have a small penis.”  I’ll let you know how that goes.

Enter the oversharer…

As I approached the girl’s only aisle, I had no idea of the horrors that lay ahead.  I don’t generally dawdle here, but they had rearranged everything… so I had to scan the whole aisle for what I needed.  The oversharer noticed me scanning and felt the need to offer her pearls of wisdom… or rather, offer too much information (TMI).  “These (points to the heavy duty elephant flow pads on the top shelf) are wonderful!  I’ve had a heavy flow since I’ve got these cysts and these are the only things that let me get through the night.”  Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm…

I stood there dazed.  Was she seriously discussing her woman stuff with a total stranger in Target?  I’m guessing she had probably posted it as her Facebook status already, so I was literally the only person left to tell.  The best I could do was offer a weak “yeah” and then quickly make my exit.

It still haunts me… I’m hoping grossing you all out will help me heal.  You’re welcome.

Guys…  if you’re out in the forest shootin’ up deer and skinnin’ ‘possum, then go ahead and have a spit to solidify your manly experience.  But out here in the nice, clean suburbs… keep all bodily fluids to yourself.  Spitting doesn’t make you look manly… it makes you look stupid… and gross.  Stop it.  (Although, blue corvette was already looking stupid and gross sans spit.  Ohhhh snap!)

I was engrossed in reading every sunscreen label in the aisle when she first surfaced.  She had a small boy in the basket part of the cart and a young girl trailing behind.  I made an assumption that she was their grandmother, but this turned out to be false.  They passed behind me in the aisle quietly… then she got to the end and I heard her start fussing.  She had one of those deep, raspy smokers’ voices that gives you the chills.  It turned out that the little girl paused at my cart and was nosing into what I had.  The woman freaked out… not about her rudeness… but about the fact that she had lagged 4 feet behind her mother.  She nagged on and on about how someone would come along and steal her away if she left her side.  Yikes.

Two minutes later, I heard her again.  “Don’t do THAT!  You’re going to split your head open then I’ll have to take you to the hospital for stitches.  Is that what you want?”  Yikes.

Another two minutes went by… “THAT is the most disgusting thing in the world. I can’t believe you just did that.  That’s disgusting.  You are going to get so sick now we’ll have to take you to the hospital.  If you do that again I’m just going to leave you here!”  (I’m guessing he ate a booger or something here… or licked the cart… who knows?)  Then she shouted, “That’s IT!”  The boy began desperately crying and begging, “Please don’t, mama… please!”  “One more time and I’m leaving you here.”  Yikes!

This same conversation happened at least 2 more times… her chastising him for being filthy and disgusting and threatening to leave him.  Then sobs and begging from the child.  These poor kids must be terrified of the world around them.  Everything they touch will result in a trip to the hospital.  Every stranger is a kidnapper.  If they misbehave, their mom will abandon them.  I was sick to my stomach.  I probably should have said something.  =(  If this kid isn’t constructing a “woman skin suit” in his basement by the time he’s 30, I’ll be shocked.

]]> http://snarkykitten.com/2009/07/01/the-making-of-a-serial-killer/feed/ 0 http://snarkykitten.com/2008/12/09/add-the-mailman/ http://snarkykitten.com/2008/12/09/add-the-mailman/#comments Tue, 09 Dec 2008 22:14:32 +0000 Trix http://snarkykitten.com/?p=168 … to my Big Book of Grievances.

He left me the nastiest note this weekend… something along the lines of “Bitch, pick up your mail!” And what’s worse… he kidnapped all my mail and took it back to his lair (the post office). I had to go and wait in a 20 minute line with Toothless Tommy and Stands Too Close Sally.

“I’m here to pick up my mail,” I stated with confidence to the woman behind the counter. “Was it on vacation hold?” she inquired. I shrunk a bit as I murmured, “No, I got in trouble for my mailbox being too full.” She lumbered off and was gone for what seemed like an eternity. I was expecting her to come out dragging one of those huge “fan mail” sized sacks… but it was a modest little bag… just slightly bigger than a barf bag. (Which is so appropriate as my mail makes me want to barf!) I was expecting a lecture, instead she complained about one of the jerks in the back (no doubt, my mailman).

That blasted mailman… he’s forgotten about the time that he left me two books of stamps when I only paid for one… and I returned the extra book to him with a pleasant note. That was the honeymoon phase, I guess. A note alone would have shamed me into being more punctual with my mail… but he had to involve an errand… to the post office! *shudders*

I don’t have any power to do anything in retaliation… and now I have to walk the 10 miles down to my mailbox to pick up my mail every day or my life will be in danger… but I CAN secretly loathe him from afar… and I plan on doing just that. (I’m sure the feeling is mutual!)

Anyway… from the very beginning, the Mac has been trying to hurt me.  The edges on this thing are unbelievably sharp, cutting into my wrists all day long.  My friends laughed at me and called me a wimp… they couldn’t possibly imagine that a company would make a computer with razor sharp edges.  Hmmmm… just mine, I suppose.  But I googled it and discovered that many were experiencing the same issue.  In fact, there are even cushion-type products on the market for just this issue.  There wasn’t much I could do, so I covered the edges with sticky notes (classy!) and learned how to type with my wrists in the air a little more.

Today, however, the Mac lashed out at me and actually drew blood!  I was shutting it down and shoving it in my file cabinet for the night, when it actually sliced my finger open.  That bitch!  This wasn’t even caused by the sharp edges… it was something lethal on the outside of the laptop.  Who manufactures these things?  Ginsu?

So I just want you all to know… if my lifeless body is found at work near my desk… it wasn’t suicide… it was the Mac.