Everyone has pet peeves. Most people have a small handful of petty annoyances that can set them off. That’s most people. I have so many pet peeves that I have to keep them in other people’s hands. And pockets. So, because of that, I HAD to lay this out there. I mean, it just wouldn’t be ME if I held this in. Actually – it totally would be me since I’m a non-confrontational cowardly ball of twerky spastic non-fun. And you know what they say about holding things in. Actually-do you know? I can’t remember. ANYHOO: Here is a very detailed list of my pet peeves. I am not sitting here assuming that Joe Schmoe, and his brother, Willy Nilly are at home just DYING to know what Tara’s pet peeves are. But, the universe spoke and so I feel compelled to answer. That’s not true at all. But, here’s my list.
So, #11 Dude, I seriously hate when people call me. On the phone. I know, that’s extremely rude and psychotically immature. But, it’s true. I’ve fought it for years. I am not talking about my family members that I speak to on the phone on a consistent basis, (moms and grandmothers are exempt) any of you who have called recently or ever call me (I’m not an honest person, either). I’m talking about people who have my number, know they can text me, but still insist on thinking to themselves: “I LOVE talking to Tara, she’s SO FREAKING hilarious and well-spoken, I just MUST speak to this refreshing intellectual person, STAT!” Nobody ever says that.
I have the strangest habit when I talk on the phone to people that I’m not very familiar with. I pace. I pace the SHIT out of my carpeting and floors. I walk and walk, and walk some more. I’m out of breath, I’m stammering, I’m throwing holy water on my face out of dehydration. Maybe that is the actual reason that I hate talking on the phone. It’s exhausting. I have no explanation for it. If you look real close at my carpeting, you will see that there is a perfect circle etched in there that my pacing activity has worn a shagadelic hole through. My kids will sometimes pat the spot next to the couch or the chair that they might be sitting in, and say: “Mommy, sit here. Relax, Mommy. You’re foaming again. We are scared. Where’s Daddy?” I Can’t! I can’t! I’m pacing. Mommy’s PACING!” …And she can’t stop. Gotta wear out that hole. Maybe this time, sparks will ignite and I’ll fall into the hellish ring of carpeted fire-ish furious anxiety. Or something.
Seriously, just text me. When you RSVP to my kids’ birthday parties? Yeah, just text. When you just have a quick “I just wanted to pick up the phone and call you real quick like because it’s soooo much easier than texting” – just text. When you want to…OMG I just discovered that there’s an actual disorder for telephone phobia. Because I didn’t have enough problems. Count me in. Now I am getting my telephone anxiety groove on.
#10 People at theme parks who break up families. This particular excerpt could have probably fallen into the #4 complaint, but I sort of felt like it deserved its own entry. You know when you’re walking at Disney, or wherevs, tryin’ to catch up with your chronically fast walking husband, and the damn parade is just breaking up, so everyone in the entire theme park is milling about in the middle of the street, you drop something random, but you can’t pick it up because you’re really on the verge of pissing yourself, allst the while trying to cross from one side of the street to the next, and it’s a cesspool of …? Oh. Well, just in case you do, I HATE it when someone falls from the sky, lands right in front of my feet, breaks my pace, cuts me off, forcing me to sidestep and completely debunking my rhythm. I hate when that happens. It happens a lot. I will never be able to fathom why or how a SINGLE adult can just cut off a family, whose obviously trying to frantically stay together, and just have no problem stepping in. Is that a normal occurrence in your life? Do you think that these 5 closely huddled family members who are quite honestly, developing heel spurs, are all just randomly and coincidentally not related or even trekking to the same location? Thank you, because now me and my 2 slow walking kids are 45 kilometers behind my significant other, who is STILL clueless and probably cursing about me to the one child who can keep up with his rigid gait.
#9. People who let their babies and toddlers run over to my table when all I want to do is eat my McDonald’s cheeseburger with my Walkman and headphones on while sporting my super faded acid washed fringy overalls in peace. Seriously, with all this class and sophistication oozing over here, why would you let your youngin’ meander? This interrupted bliss also goes hand in hand for people in general who allow their children to misbehave. Low tolerance have I bad behavior for. That’s my Yoda talk for “Wake the Hell up!” Make your kids mind, damn!!!
#8 Repetitive Noises. For real. I can take one song, one joke, one comment just fine. But, once any of these fun festivities turn into a chant – omg a CHANT – or a cheer – check me out. Check my shit out! And there is just absolutely no way that anyone should sit back and expect me to tolerate any repeated syllables, any songs on full blast repeat, any of my precious, angelic children chanting random phrases over and over, or just loud voices that once my mental capacity has been triggered, my ghastly ugliness becomes unleashed. I just cannot tolerate the insanity. Oh. And chew with your mouth closed, good great balls of shit fire. Please don’t. Just stop.
#7 Getting all up in my personal space. So, I don’t approach people for hugs. Nobody will ever stand up when I walk in the room and think to themselves: “Here comes Tara, getting ready to give me some of her supa fresh lovin!'” Nobody will ever say that. Speaking of personal space, don’t give me a shoulder massage when you’re walking by my desk, especially when I don’t know that you’re even there. Because I will pull out my jujitsu skillz, albeit nonexistent, but your Adam’s apple will be dented for sure after my elbow accidentally grazes against it, especially when I was really going after your spleen muscle.
#6 Constant interruptions. I can’t explain to you normal jerks how annoying it is when someone like me gets interrupted. I can’t just “get back on track,” and shake it off. My thought is gone. Forever. It’s a sole balloon escaping into the atmosphere. Not 99 red balloons. That would be nuts. Does anyone really know what a luft balloon is? So, now I’m mad at myself, and want to gouge out your earlobe as well. I’m already bored by this entry, so just know that if you interrupt my speech or thought patterns, I’m going to be scathing mad.
#5 Cutting in line. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. There are always people who pretend they do not see you or just stand there in the cold cut meat line in euphoric unawareness. I don’t buy into the hype, but it happens. What steams my salamander more than anything is this one specific annual event. My daughter’s recital time. There are unwritten rules that honestly, I think should be not only be written, but displayed in carnival lights. rules. At the end of rehearsal, the parents all wait at the side entrance of a local high school for our kids in the order that we arrived. Okay, Tara waits EARLY at the front entrance in the order that I’ve arrived. All of the other bean heads walk to the very front, congregate around the release station where the owner hands the kids off to those Johnny-come-lately eleventh hour parents, and never once think to themselves: “Dang, Leonard, that was hell-a rude.” Never. I’m pretty sure that nobody likes getting cut in front of. For anything. But, I have a very slim window of tolerance for rude asses that wear sandwich boards with the wording: “I am of the utmost importance, because no one else matters.”
#4 Rude ass crazies: One night last spring I was watching my beautiful daughter’s gymnastics class through the microscopic room as we squinted through plexi glass balancing one half of a butt cheek on the edge of our eight inch thick plastic bone crushing chairs. This most humble of human beings, who was also painfully and morbidly shy, I might add, plants her tuckus right next to me. I get that people need to talk on their cell phones while munching on potato chips at the top of their lung capacity. Who hasn’t? In a room full of spectators, I say to you: “Rock that confidence out, girlfriend. Bravo.” So, my noisy neighbor quiets down and for a fraction of a second, and decides to watch her daughter’s practice. Which is why a couple of us are there. I’m gazing straight ahead, because I do not believe in enabling crazy. Or looking anywhere in its direction. Suddenly, for reasons not known to human kind, the woman loses her balance. While sitting. She did these things in this order: Shrieks, grabs a hold of my right shoulder, attempts to use me as her buffer, jerks backwards in her chair, throwing the systematic line of our fold up chairs off balance, falls forward in her chair, laughs, then stands up to adjust her chair whilst explaining to our back door neighbors how crazy all of that just was. That’s it. Those are all the details. No, I didn’t forget to leave out her absent apology.
#3 When my husband says: “Hey, on Saturday we’re having the ____ family over.” First of all, WHO THE HELL IS THAT? I need to get my talons on some Jolt Cola. Or I need to bolt. Second of all, you’re just trying to get me Baker Acted. And what if said family doesn’t like liberal minded diarrhea mouthed pea brained ADD twits? Third, Fourth and Fifth: I just developed stomach cramps, canker sores and gizzard gonorrhea all at the same split millisecond. No thank you to hosting people at my abode that I’ve never met, that I’ve met once, seen from a distance, heard through the grapevine, or try to stay away from altogether. The gamut pretty much covers everyone. If you think you’re exempt, then your shady friend Tara has told you fibs. I’m certainly not a crazy, sassy super delightful small talker, I’m definitely not going in for a hug, I don’t want to be confined to small spaces, and I’m already tongue twisted and highly embarrassed from the shit I’m about to spew since I’ll still try. I’ll still try really hard. And it’ll hard core fail. Because, never – not even once has the Jones/Smith/Tchaikovsky family (we are very sophisticated) walked away from my stifling hot neurotic mess saying to their spouse: “Wow, Tara is the shiz biscuit.” That’s never happened, ever.
#2 Not saying “Thank you” when I just VERY NICELY held the door open for your slacker ass. Back in the day, me and my very sarcastic mother would always utter in a very inappropriately, way too high pitched tone of voice when someone would have the audacity, AUDACITY!! to actually walk through the door that one of us SO GENEROUSLY held open JUST FOR THEM. “You’re welcome!” How seriously passive aggressive is that? But at the time, it really burned off some of our immature steam.
And here it is folks: The #1 pet peeve that boils my banana sac……..
#1 Judgmental Jackasses. Why is it that these jerks would never get that THIS BLOG PARAGRAPH IS ABOUT YOU! I soooo love Facebook during election time. I get such a warm and fuzzy, and suddenly frigid cold prickly stick up the arse kind of feeling. I stay out of the hype. I have a very tame ego. I don’t even think I have an ego. I’m ego-less. I am also careless, or I could care less, which is the best humanly emotion possible. I couldn’t possibly be any more mild mannered or tolerant. I usually put other peoples’ needs above my own, so when I witness red flag hypocritical, three alarm debauchery, that is when my shit bugs out. See what I did there? I just passively-aggressively passed quasi judgment. Closed minded, judgmental, non-forgiving/accepting holy grailers to me, are pretty low on the food chain. I cannot articulate how many times I’ve seen people update their status with the most vile, upheaving prejudicial statuses, all the while, forging themselves to be an active member of their communal Church, by artificially claiming to be the most self appointed, prominent parishioner, riding the boastful bus to social media. Also, boo to the ignoramous nut jobs who say they just tell it like it is, or are “just brutally honest,” while I’m silently correcting their grammar, waiting for their next ignorantly idiotic status update on how much they just took from the “Jesus loves everyone sermon.” Yeah, check.
Soooo, I’m pretty sure it goes without saying that in general, narcissism, hatefulness, closed-minded pea brains (wink – you know who you are!) rude morons, slacker parents and line cutters are all qualities that most people hate. Those are a given. But, I think that the list, as outlined above, will shed some light as to the crazed, spastic vortex of my ninny noggin. But, the more likely scenario is that people just stopped reading after the first paragraph. Peace.