I’m a Big Jerk

I’m a Big Jerk

Dear Diary …

I’m a realistic guy. I got eyes and ears. I see what goes on around me. So I get it … I’m kind of a jerk. It’s OK … I can handle it. But … I would like to make it abundantly clear … it’s your fault. You make me be this way. I’m not a jerk by nature, you just think I am because of the things you do. Or actually … because of the things you DON’T do.

Diary … I think I spend 10% of my existence doing the things I’m supposed to be doing, and then the other 90% is spent hounding other people to do the things THEY’RE supposed to be doing but refuse to actually do on their own. This is why you think I’m a jerk, because I’m the one constantly bugging you to actually do the things you should already be doing.

And I can’t really get into super detailed specifics because if I give you some kind of story, then somebody at work or at home is gonna get all butthurt about it.

“That’s mean … you’re a jerk!”

No … I’m just the guy who’s trying to get you to actually take care of your responsibilities. Trust me … I don’t wanna email you five times to ask you if you’ve done your job yet, but I end up having to do exactly that because if I don’t, YOU WILL NEVER DO IT.

“Oh sorry … I was just so busy.”

Bullpucky! Nobody’s actually busy. And I include myself in that. Because even when I think, “Man I’m busy,” I also manage to squeeze in 45 minutes of Candy Crush at some point in that day. So yeah … there’s time. You just don’t WANNA do it.

Look … I get it … doin’ stuff sucks. I’d much rather do nothing too, but I put my big boy pants on and get the job done. “Hey man, whatever you need. Just let me know.”

No! What I need is you to just do it without me “letting you know.” Who “let’s me know” in the first place? Nobody. So why is it on me to be your babysitter or personal assistant or whatever? Just do it!
See? See how jerky I sound? I don’t wanna be that guy. But you make me that guy!

OK … moving on Diary … I try not to get too caught up in driving-related stuff in the Anger Diary because then I’m just trapped down a rabbit hole of stupidity and I could rant about it for a year and a half. But there’s one type of person I simply don’t understand … and I’m talking about you Captain Slow Turner.

Captain Slow Turner is the same every time … they go toolin’ down the road and decide they need to make a turn, and then they … sloooooowly … graduallllllly …. Carefulllllly … turn.

What is going on with these people?

There can’t POSSIBLY be that many people on the roads driving with a three-tiered wedding cake in the passenger’s seat, but that’s what every Captain Slow Turner looks like when they’re on the road.

Are you scared? Are you sleepy? Or do you just like taking forever to do stuff?

I don’t understand you!!! Explain yourself!!! But that’s the problem … there’s not a human alive that will admit they are Captain Slow Turner. Just like Mr. Left Lane Slow Driver … nobody will ever actually say they’re the one who does it. So even though they’re everywhere … they’re nowhere … and we’ll never get an answer.

Till next time Diary … I say goodbye.

Well Done is NOT Well Done

Well Done Is NOT Well Done

Dear Diary …

Our vocabulary is dumb.  It’s as if when it was invented we were all drunk, and just started labeling things whatever we felt like.  Take, for example, a “well done” steak.  So we take a piece of beautiful meat, place it on the heat, and then hammer the crap out of it until it’s cooked beyond recognition and becomes a chewy gray slab of sadness.  And then we call it “well done!”

Look … you’re free to order your steak to be prepared that way if that’s what you want.  I don’t agree with you, but this is a free country and you have that right.  But I will NOT sit silently by and let you order it with the label “well done.”

If my kid gets an A on their report card … that is a job “well done”

If I hear an amazing song on the radio … that music is “well done”

But if you wanna destroy a steak … that is NOT “well done.” You need to start ordering it “ridiculously overcooked.”  Or you could say … “bad job by me” or something like that.  You can eat it … but you gotta own what you’re doing.

Here’s another thing that’s mislabeled … appetizers.

Now I love me an appetizer, but let’s not act like it’s actually something that somehow magically boosts your appetite for your main course.  All we’re really doing is justifying our desire to eat some kind of delicious food that’s really really bad for us.

Think about it … if I said to you, “Hey there … I’d like you to eat four cheese sticks right now.”

You’d probably say, “Oh man … there is no way … that is just way too many cheese sticks to eat!”

Buuuut …  if I roll them in some breading, deep fry them, and serve them with some marinara sauce, now suddenly you’re like, “Oh hell yeah that’s exactly what I need to get myself ready to eat my dinner!”

This ain’t boosting your appetite or making you more hungry for anything else!  Now … it’s delicious oozy cheese … but again …  mislabeled

And finally .. can we all just band together and agree that there’s no point in labeling medications with flavors on them?  Ain’t none of them tasting like grape, cherry, or bubblegum.  

Call it like it is … purple colored gross medicine, red colored gross medicine, and pink colored gross medicine.  The end.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Drinkin’ the Kool-Aid

Drinkin’ the Kool-Aid

Dear Diary … 

Now … I applaud these companies for their amazing successes.  They make money hand over fist.  They nail their product and their customers love them.  Bravo to you!

That said … I just can’t figure out how we all got talked into drinkin’ the Kool-Aid that Starbucks and Chick Fil-A have served to us.  They have each basically said, “Let’s take a product other people are doing … do it basically as good as they do … but let’s charge more for it and have people sit in giant lines all the time when they buy it.”  Ta-dah … massive success!!

How do they do it? How do they get us to buy into that concept?

Oh … I remember now … the children.  

Get the children to love us, then the parents are powerless to go anywhere else.  It’s brilliant really, because the children get caught up in all the goofy bells and whistles they hear about.

Diary … I had to take my kids to Starbucks over the weekend and my daughter HAD to order a drink that she saw on Pinterest.  So I had to order … wait for it …

“A grande iced coffee with light ice, heavy cream, five pumps vanilla, three pumps caramel, whipped cream and then a caramel drizzle.”

And to answer your question … yes … I felt as stupid saying it as it sounded when you just heard it.

I didn’t think it was possible to confuse the person at Starbucks with an order … but I knew I had pulled it off when I heard … the long pause.

I mean it only took two more back and forths to finally figure it out … and I don’t blame her one bit … this one was all my fault.

But hey … two drinks and some banana bread later and we spent $13 and one of us is laughin’ all the way to the bank on about 12 cents of actual supplies.  

I mean … props to you Chick Fil-A … the last time I had to stop on a road trip and get lunch for the family I think we spent 50 bucks … and I don’t recall seeing a filet mignon anywhere in that bag.  Them vandalizin’ billboard-writin’ cows be sittin’ at home with their filet mignons still in their body and countin’ all their money.

I mean … it’s all good … but why is it always “wait in a giant drive-thru line” good?

I tell you right now … if the ‘Rona becomes the thing that turns this world into the Zombie Apocalypse, I have no doubt that even though all of humanity has been wiped out except for a handful of survivors, the line at the Chick Fil-A drive thru will still be massive.

I could never figure that out on “Walking Dead.” They’re always going around trying to find other survivors … just go to the nearest Chick Fil-A at lunch time … they’re all right there.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye 

Go Home, Nobody Needs You, Part 2

Go Home, Nobody Needs You

Dear Diary …

It’s time for another round of “Go Home … Nobody Needs You!” … we’re done with you so cut it out and get out of the way.

Private accounters. Go home … nobody needs you!

I’m sorry, but I do not appreciate it when somebody follows me on Instagram … gets to see all my awesome pictures … and then I go to their profile and I get … “this account is private.”

Oh is it now Mr. or Mrs. Fancy Pants?

Why is it perfectly acceptable for you to stalk everybody else, but then all of a sudden “oh well you know I just need to keep my own information private.”

No! You follow me? I get to follow you. It should be that simple.

Also, I don’t like being made to feel like a groveling little peasant who has to ask for your approval to follow you back. Sittin’ there all smug with your “pending approval” button where you get to Lord over me and decide if I’m “allowed” to see your precious selfies.

I have a blue check mark next to my name! That means I’m like … important or something … right? I dunno … seems like it is. So you know what? You bow to me and the magic checkmark!!!

Here’s another one … Tattlers … Go home … Nobody needs you!

What is this 4th grade? I’m so sick and tired of grown ass people tattling on other people.

OK … committing a crime? Sure … you can tell the Po-po that, but complaining the HOA because you don’t like somebody’s yard decorations? Mind yo’ business!

I can’t stand “concerned citizens.” They ain’t concerned about anything … they just have too much time on their hands and they spend all day staring thru the curtains of their house trying to figure out who has a permit for their privacy fence or whatever else.

You’re an adult with your own issues and responsibilities … go act like one. Heck … I don’t even like it when kids are tattletales. My own kids come running to me … Isabella did this … Lennon did this … AHHH!!! Don’t care.

Do we not have bigger problems to tackle than this? Go home … nobody wants you!

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye