I almost got run over by a car today. Actually, since I started taking the bus, this happens no less than once a week. Despite being ultra-cautious (I know people who’ve been hit by cars, and I knew a guy who got hit by a bus…there’s a reason for that past tense, capiche?), I am fairly often in the path of some dumbass who either didn’t pay enough attention to see the red light or just didn’t care. Obviously being ultra-cautious about traffic isn’t good enough, so now I am becoming ultra-paranoid.

Another delightful (and I use that word in this context with the definition of “totally fuq’ed up”) experience today was being in the elevator of the building where I work when some asshat who had apparently mistaken the directions on the steak sauce - “marinade for 2-4 hours” - for the directions on his cologne. Besides the simple problem that your particular favorite cologne is probably not everyone else’s favorite cologne, I get to suffer the added bonus of sometimes having migraine attacks triggered by your favorite Eau de Crappe. I’ll be imagining your nasty face as I plunge the Imitrex needle into my flesh, thanks.

Here’s a pretty petty pet peeve - people who use time-specific greetings at the wrong time of day, and think it’s cute. Did you just say “good morning” at 3 pm (that’s 1500 for Lyse)? On purpose? And you work a day shift, so I know it’s not your own personal schedule that you’re referencing? You think it’s charming, or clever. It’s not, bub. It’s idiotic, and it makes me want to slap you into tomorrow morning.

And then there are the people who are so fuq’ing self-centered that they simply have no point of reference for consideration of others. I’m talking about those people who act (in public) like other people aren’t around, probably because they just don’t notice anything outside of their little window of existence! You know the ones - the gabbers on the cell phone at the bus stop or in the lunch room who are blathering on about the gory details of their last dental visit or gynecological difficulties. The numb-nuts who absolutely won’t yield one inch on the sidewalk or down the center aisle of the bus because that’s where they’re walking, and god forbid they should be inconvenienced by anyone else’s occupation of that time-space.

Just one more before I slink away for the evening…the fuq’-tards who seem to think parenting is a spectator sport, who try to verbally persuade little Johnny to stop yelling, stop bouncing, stop running, stop kicking the nice lady…repeatedly, to a ridiculous degree, instead of taking the little terror in hand and making the brat sit down, shut up, and actually be under control (until you can teach the little ogre how to exercise self-control!). Last time I checked, parents are bigger than preschoolers, and children respect “I can make you because I’m bigger” a lot more than “I don’t want to stifle your self-expression but you need to listen to Daddy for the next 10 minutes, so Daddy can explain why that’s not okay.” I sure don’t want to listen to Daddy talk himself blue in the face with absolutely nothing to show for it, so why would little Johnny?!