My Ruminations: Me A To Z Dislikes II
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Since I have already done a ‘Likes’ version of Me A to Z, I thought it would be fun to do a ‘Dislikes’ version. This is Part II. Read Part I Here. One of my regular readers commented on Part I “That’s a lot of resentments.” I politely disagreed, saying I just felt passionate about some topics in life. However, I decided that Part II would be a little more lighthearted; there may have been a kernel of truth to what he suggested. And I certainly don’t like the idea of having resentments.
I have done list posts before about me. The first one that comes to mind is a post titled 40 Impressions of Me. Quite a while ago I also wrote A Few Things About Me. So, if you are crazy-excited about learning more about your humble writer, hurry up over to those posts. Writing Me A to Z really made me think about who I am and what I truly dislike about living my life in this crazy world. So, without further ado, here is Part II of my list N-Z.
N-achos. As in soggy ones. You gotta eat those bastards quickly; otherwise, they became nasty soggy and I do not like soggy nachos. As a matter of fact, I think I will use Soggy as my S word in this list. I mean, what good are soggy nachos? You can’t scoop up ANYTHING with them! So, eat your nachos quickly, but not so quick that you end up choking and someone has to perform a heimlich maneuver to save your ass. That would be quite the story around the Thanksgiving table next year.
O-piods. Not because they are highly addictive. But because of the constipation that they cause. I was prescribed Vicodin after the major back surgery I had in ’97. Yeah, that was caused by the following events: I got drunk at a chinese restaurant. I left said restaurant without paying. I was chased by the police. I jumped a fence behind Dunkin’ Donuts. The ground behind the fence was way far away. I fractured my spine. I spent the night in jail. Opioids cause incredibly painful constipation if you abuse them, or if you don’t drink lots of fluids. I know that now.
P-eeing. That’s right, peeing has started becoming a pain in the ass (huh, another p-word concept). Now that I am rounding the corner to 57, peeing has become an interesting event. Sometimes I can’t pee, even though I have to pee. Sometimes it doesn’t go where it is intended (think morning here guys). Sometimes it goes-stops-goes some more. Unpredictable peeing is a pain in the ass.
Q-uarantine. As in the people who refuse to quarantine themselves while we are dealing with a pandemic! It annoys me that this country doesn’t just go into quarantine and be done with this mess, once and for all. Are we just stupid, ignorant, or just don’t care about anyone but ourselves? I know, speak for yourself (but yours truly has pretty much stayed in his house, shops online and uys groceries via Walmart pick-up, and wears a mask if he has to go out, so shut yer blower!) But hey, that’s not the American Way! Just like when 9-11 happened: we were all gungho about waving flags, anti-terrorism, and all that for about 5 seconds. Then we do what Americans do, we went back to binge-watching The Office.
R-esponsibility. Being responsible is a royal pain in the ass! I mean, when I was drinking, all I had to do was sell more cars and ignore paying anyone but the guy at the liquor store and a dealer once in awhile. Sure, I paid my car payment to get to work. But that was mostly it when I was in my last years of embracing alcoholism as much as humanly possible. But now, I have all these RESPONSIBILITIES. Yuck.
S-ogginess. My hate affair with sogginess, I believe, can be traced back to the chicken pot pies we were forced to eat as children. Remember those? I know, they still make them. Talk about scalding hot! The outside crust was fine, but boy did I hate the soggy innards of those things. Come to think of it, I cannot stand soggy bread period. If I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I put peanut butter on BOTH sides, so the jelly won’t seep through the bread and make it soggy. Meatball sub leaking through the bottom, gross! Italian sub with dressing, NO THANKS. However, I do like dipping bread in olive oil, but it’s not the same as some disgusting sub or sandwich that is leaking sauce or dressing. Which is why I NEVER order subs to go or for delivery. I also feel anything soggy, it is deeply troubling.
T-oenails. I have always hated dealing with my toenails. Even when I wasn’t overweight like I am now. They are difficult to get at! Besides that, I have a few of them that are ingrown. Thus, they are painful as all hell! I went to one of those foot spa places. You know the kind. I thought I would get a professional pedicure (don’t laugh guys, they are actually PHENOMENAL, that is if the wonderful ladies there are not all laughing at you and pointing to your feet.) I’ll never walk into one of those again.
U-ndertaker . Somebody has to do it, right? I don’t like the idea of an undertaker. It would mean I’m dead, and that would suck big-time. An undertaker takes your body and puts it under, right? Hmmm, not if you’re going to get cremated! Like I plan on being. Not going to spend eternity lying in the fucking ground, slowly decaying. Nay, really slowly decaying because of all the chemicals they put in me so I WON’T decay so fast. Uh Uh. I’m going into the oven to go back to whence I came: ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Undertaker may be hauling my ass to the Funeral Home, but then he’s gotta roll me on into the furnace. No dirt naps for me, thank you very much.
V-alentines Day. I’m not even going there.
W-eebles. Why the hell would Weebles wobble, but not fall down? I mean, come on. I just don’t understand who made this stupid toy. Get me in a room with him or her! I want to know…no, I DEMAND to know who came up with this and why! When I was a kid I didn’t want things to wobble and not fall down! I wanted them to crash and burn like Evil Knievel’s Motorcycle toy. Anyone remember that? You put this strip within the cycle, pulled it and it would send the cycle off like a bat out of hell. Weebles wobbling, but not falling down…pffsssh.
X-ylophone. Not too many words that are relatable in the X family. But the xylophone. The xylophone, other than the fact that I can’t type the damn word fast, is a stupid toy for little children (and for parents). First of all, it does not make any truly worthwhile musical contribution as far as I can tell. It does create redundant sounds by little boys and girls that make you want to ring it into the backyard, douse it in lighter fluid and watch it burn though! Also, looking up the definition, there are supposed to be TWO wooden mallets to make it worthwhile; why do most that I have seen only come with one??!! Fuck the xylophone.
Y-ankees. Part of why I am partially brain-dead is because, although I grew up in New Hampshire, my father didn’t root for the Red Sox–like every other kid’s father in the neighborhood. Oh no, he was a RABID Yankees fan! What act of the Gods would strike me with this oppression? All my life I’ve had to endure his toxic fanship of the Yankees. And you can bet your ass he was toxic about it. Just like everything else about him. But I digress. Yankee fans are a different breed from the rest of the baseball fans out there. I especially hate it when they continue to revel in the 26 championships they have won in their illustrious history. I will forever ADORE and REVERE the year we came back down 0-4, and wiped that Yankee smirk of those Yankee fan’s faces. Good enough for me!
Z-oos. While it is certainly cool to see a variety of animals you would otherwise only see in pictures and videos, I do not condone the harboring of nature within cages. But caging up wild animals for the sake of human enjoyment does not appeal to me whatsoever. I think zoos should be refuges for hurt or injured animals, but only as a means for nursing them back to health and releasing them.