Complaining Blog

Today when I was going into the DSW there was a dad next door with his little girl and he was screaming at her. Out on the sidewalk in front of everyone full on screaming in her face. He was even using the F word. Apparently she had asked for a toy or something in the store that they were at (a kids store, go figure that she would ask for a toy there). Everyone was totally watching them and talking about how horrible that guy was. But no one stopped him, I can't judge them because I didn't either. But he was huge and obviously angry. What could anyone have done except make him angrier? Now I feel bad that I didn't do anything. Should I have tried to talk to him? Call the police? I feel so bad for that little girl. I wasn't even able to enjoy my shoe shopping because of him. I seriously hope that guy gets genital crabs. And I don't mean the STD kind. I mean actual crabs on his genitals. The kind that have big pincher's.

I hate, I Hate, I HATE  any and all advertisements that get in the way of what I am trying to look at on the computer. Like when you are looking at a website and the little box pops up asking you to take a friggin survey. NO! I will not take your lame survey, Home Shopping Network! Let me shop in peace! Or when you click on a news story but you end up going to the Febreeze site because right as you click on the news the Febreeze pops up and covers the whole page with its advertisement video about a cat!! I HATE IT SO MUCH!!! When are people going to stop being so stupid that this kind of "punch you in the eyeballs" advertising works on them?! Companies wouldn't do it if it wasn't working. I make a concious effort to not buy products with annoying advertisements. Also I am going to start saving Obie and Fifi's twosies and send them in the mail to all the companies that are too annoying. That means you, Geiko!

A complaint. (c/o Annie)


If you are a fence man it is inappropriate to do the following:

-Ask to use the restroom inside someone's home.

-Take the stinkiest dump humanly possible

-Leave poop stains in my toilet


Sick. My bathroom had to be on quarantine until I scrubbed it with bleach 100 times
 
** Seriously, this is the worst thing ever. A stranger pooping in your home?! I would just have to burn the house down. No other options.
 
Thank you for your submission, Annie.**

When people have abnormally big hands it always totally grosses me out. Or big feet. Both equally disgusting. I think I would have embraced the Chinese tradition of feet binding if I would have lived during that time. And been Chinese.

I have another thing to say today. Remember how I complained about the doctor's office? Well, after waiting the appropriate 3,000 years for my appointment, I went, was seen by the doctor, drove across town and had my blood drawn and was done in an hour, start to finish. Then they called me the next morning at like 9:01 with my test results. WHAT?! I sort of forgive you, doctor.

I hope all the smokers hurry up and die. They are making it really stinky for the rest of us.

This is a serious complaint. I've chosen to do on the blog because I've already complained to all the actual people I know and they are sick of hearing it but I don't feel better yet, so I have to blog it out.

Why's everything gotta suck so bad? When will the sucking end? What is one to do to make the sucky stuff suck less? And most importantly, why does everyone keep telling me that other people have sucky stuff too? Is that supposed to make me feel better? It doesn't. I already know that other people have sucky stuff and it doesn't change the suckyness level of my stuff.

I'm tired. Tired, tired, tired, of all the things, and from lack of sleep over dreading and pondering all the things. I'm tired of trying to pinpoint where I went wrong that led me to this point, and trying to figure out how everyone else took the same steps and ended up somewhere else. And I'm tired of comiserating with friends about our problems, feeling better that I have a friend who can relate, and then watching their problem go away, and they are moving forward and their life is getting better, and my problem is still sucky, and it never goes away.

At least I have Woobie and Original Sauce and Little Baby (Justin, Obie, Fifi). They make me feel better most of the time, except for when Little Baby cries too early in the morning and I have to hate her because sleeping in is the whole reason I have dog babies and not people babies and she's ruining it. I still mostly love her. I just shut her in the closet when she's too loud.

That is all. I actually do feel a little better.

Step 2: Call the blood drawing place for an appointment. "Uh, gwe don't hab no appoinmenths.. Ju can jutht com een gwen ju wan." (Apparently they will suck your blood only on a walk-in-basis).

Step 3. Go to blood drawing place and repeat step 3 of 'Doctor's Office, Part 1', doubling the time and stink level. Say a silent prayer of gratitude for internet on my phone. Watch as seven Mexican families with at least 6 children each in tow go before me because the Mexican working the front desk likes them best. They are probably all cousins.

My blood drawing guy, Igor.



Dear Mexi-man in the swimming and hot-tub area of 24 Hour Fitness,

Grey boxer briefs do not count as a swimsuit. Not at all.

Sincerely Grossed Out,

Melodie

P.s. Are you by any chance employed as a leaf-blower? If so, my angry fists have a message for you.

Preliminary side note: When Justin was little he always said that when he grew up he wanted to be a doctor's office or a pair of pajamas. Weird.

I need to go to the doctor. I need some prescriptions renewed and have for some time and I keep putting it off. Because here's what it's like going to the doctor:

Step 1: Call for an appointment. Girl answers the phone. "It looks like we have an opening in October of next year in the middle of the work day- would you like that appointment?" Me: "Do you have anything earlier in the day?" Her: "Our next opening is in January of 2 years post-apocalypse. You'll need to bring your own anti-radioactivity and zombie protective gear. It's at 9am".  Me: "I'll take it!"

Step 2: Wait x years. Put on my foam suit (I got the pattern from Judy) and go to the office. Go extra early to ensure adequate time to navigate the maze and find "Suite 8009.7b". Find office, check in, fill out 29 different papers saying that I will agree to arbitration should the doctor be incompetent, and 134 pages of medical history, all with that little pen with the giant gerber daisy taped to it.

Step 3: Man who smells of pee sits next to me and coughs up furballs, despite the 13 empty chairs in the room. Mexican lady's kids have licked all the magazine's so I can't find out what Cosmo thinks are the 10 hottest things to say to your pool-boy.  After four hours it's my turn to go back.

Step 4: I do not even need to mention the horrors of getting on the scale. Skip straight to when they take me into the doctor room, where I wait another 2 hours. I'm never sure if I'm supposed to sit on the table thats covered in paper, or if I'm allowed to just sit in the chair, or if I can sit on the doctor's spinny stool until he gets there. Luckily there is plenty of time for me to try all three, and sneak some cotton balls into my purse before the doctor gets there.

Step 5: I tell the doctor "These are the prescriptions I want. Please." He says "You probably have either bubonic plague or women's polio. I'm going to need to send you for some tests before I can fill those prescriptions."

Doctors Office, Part 2 coming soon, detailing the gremlin lady who draws my blood for her vampire overlord, and the cost thereof.

Dear Mexi-man,

Since you found it incumbent to weed-whack right outside my bedroom window at the first light of day this morning, I am going to be using that weed-whacker on your stupid face.

Sincerely,

Melodie

P.S. This sentiment also applies to leaf-blowing. I will seriously kill you.

Lets pretend for a moment that you were really committed to... I don't know- becoming an exclusively "tasteful nudes" family photagrapher. You can imagine whatever you want. Just something that is an untraditional and possibly a dumb choice. If you were totally commited to doing it and thought it was the best idea ever, would you care what anyone else said about it? OR, would you get totally defensive and upset when anyone mentioned "Huh, tasteful nude family photographer. That's an unsual choice."? Because if you really thought that it was a great idea, why would you care so much what other people thought?

In case you couldn't tell, I'm having a beef right now with people who make stupid/unusual choices, then get mad when other people remark upon their choice. If they think it such a great idea and have a 37 reasons to back up why it such a great idea, then why must they write an angry blog post about how stupid we all are for not agreeing with their choice? I JUST DON'T GET IT!

If one intentionally chooses the stupid choice, knowing that there are other options out there but they choose stupid anyway, they just need to be cool with the fact that they chose stupid and everyone knows it. There can be no "You are all stupid for not building your home business as a tasteful nudes family photographer" bloggy word vomits. If they need to get all defensive about their choice then maybe they aren't as comitted to it as they are blogging that they are, which makes them look stupid for doing their stupid thing in the first place.