To the guy in CVS with Rabbit Foot Hair:

Excuse me, guy on line in front of me at CVS: could you please explain to me why you shaved 99% of your head but left a small patch of hair intact on your crown and then dyed that hair green? Is that your good luck chunk of hair or something? Has a bird shat on that spot on your head a record-breaking number of times? I’m really at a loss here. Moreover, why green, the color of fungus, algae and rotting flesh? It’s not even a nice green – it’s more of a sickly chartreuse. Just horrible.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that your ‘cool,’ ‘subversive’ hairstyle looks like something in a movie about bullying where the popular boys glue a gangrenous rabbit’s foot to the back of a nerd’s head while he’s passed out after drinking his first beer at his first party or something. It’s bumming me out just looking at it, and I think you should shave it the fuck off immediately, if not sooner.

The Creepiest Sweater Ever?

The Creepiest Sweater Ever?

This is an actual sweater for sale in a store. I don’t really know what the creature woven into the front of it is supposed to be. It looks like a bunch of different weird things, including a flasher, a cockroach, and a cockroach flasher. My boyfriend thinks it looks like an omen in a scary Japanese movie that would pop out from behind trees and shit to remind you of your mortality. Whatever it is, its red eyes and the fact that it looks like it’s fleeing from a predator seriously give me the heebie-jeebies.

Daily Aggravation 48: Theater Kids

Even though I’m in my mid-twenties now, I still have a strong aversion to people who were known as ‘theater kids’ in high school. Don’t get me wrong – I love creative people, and I have a lot of respect for anyone who can get on stage and perform in front of an audience. There’s a certain kind of creative person, though, that annoys me to no end. You know the type – they always have to be the center of attention, they wear Porkpie hats without any trace of irony or sense of humor, and they enjoy playing improv games at parties. They’re JUST the WORST. 

I had an encounter with a theater kid recently in a clothing store. An Etta James song started playing on the radio, and a girl with a Caesar cut, a nose piercing and vaguely orthopedic shoes on started singing along to it like she was auditioning for “A Chorus Line.” I wanted to turn to her and say, “Excuse me, bitch, but you’re making my eardrums bleed with your overly-confident, loud warbling. I don’t see Simon Cowell in the store with us, do you? No, right? Then SHUT your DAMN MOUTH and get the hell out of here! And PS: Linda Hunt called, and she wants her look back.” 

Daily Aggravation 42: Fat-Induced Steampunk Attire

I’m at that golden weight where nothing fits and I look like a kielbasa in heels when I put on a fancy dress. This is problematic, because I’m going to a family member’s wedding next month (!!!) and I’m obviously going to have to wear a dress to it.

Today, as I grunted and struggled to zip up a hot little number I’d ordered on the internet, I came to the terrible realization that I’m going to have to wear a Victorian mourning outfit to the wedding. Damn you, Caramel Frappucinos! Damn you to hell!

Attention, Woman in Line at Duane Reade:

Hello there, Miss Lady! You know, I can’t really think of a more embarrassing or revolting duo of goods to buy at the drugstore than Monistat and rubbing alcohol. Congratulations on being the 3pm winner of ‘The Grossest Lady in Duane Reade’ Award (and no, you cannot shake my hand)!

Also, there’s a great website called Drugstore.com where you can buy all sorts of crazy things without anyone judging the shit out of you like I’m doing right now. You might want to check it out when you’re feeling more up to task.

Daily Aggravation 14: People who don’t understand Starbucks protocol

I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I’ve been to a Starbucks in every country I’ve visited except France (‘almost’ being the operative word here). Quite frankly, I find the consistency of the Starbucks experience to be soothing: it’s nice and formulaic, just like my favorite crime serials (to use the parlance of 1932). Seriously, and take my word for it, every Starbucks everywhere is the exact same – if I hadn’t had to speak pidgin Spanish at the Starbucks in Barcelona, I would’ve sworn that I was in America. So what’s with people who still don’t get how the line at Starbucks works? Take this morning, for example, when I was trying to get my Perfect Oatmeal on and some Scandinavian dude with a “David the Gnome” beard and tapered sweatpants was having a REALLY DIFFICULT TIME walking in the direction of an arrow (which I’m pretty sure is an activity that even Neanderthals had mastered). He caused a total commotion and kept pulling out his receipt and exchanging words with the barista and it was super weird and irritating. The message of this story is that the Scandinavian guy at Starbucks this morning was a moron.