Friday, November 16, 2007

I'm bringing Hating back

...You say “tag you’re it” after we’ve left each other numerous voicemail messages. Holy shit, how clever of you. Actually, you’re not so clever, because you apparently are not listening to the times I call you, 7 AM, 930 PM, 2AM. You see, I have no desire to speak to you, I’m avoiding you, do you think I’m not in my office at 9AM every single day for 7 weeks? Do you think I’m not hating you at 9AM every single day for seven weeks?

...You pick your ears right in front of me during a one on one meeting. Look guy, that’s the one notch south of picking your nose, but then you bring right back up when you fling it across the room and then wipe it on the desk when flinging fails. I didn’t think I’d ever have to be sending out a memo on the proper rules of decorum while engaging in a business meeting, but apparently I do and apparently I hate.

...You are speaking to me in a meeting and suddenly say, “well, now wearing my corporate hat…” They’re giving out hats now? I want you to think back to when you were 12 years old, now think about how you thought you’re life would turn out, you picturing a baseball player, maybe a fireman, Nope you’re a corporate monkey that uses lame ass catch phrases because you have absolutely no original thoughts, but only original hate.

...You make yet another epic movie about some mythical land that will no doubt have a location called mordor. How many more of these mythical movies can be made and why do they all have to 4 hours long? At what point did the Dungeon Master take control of Hollywood, at what point did people stop beating up said Master and at point did I start hating you?

...You actually create a map of Mordor and post it on the internet, then you are one of the hundred thousand other people that copy that map and post it on your own blog that is dedicated to Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter or Cronicles of Narnia or Hating you.

...You are my girlfriend and tell me your list of “free passes”. It isn’t fair that I went first and it also isn’t fair because you’re free passes would actually do it with you. Something tells me that if you walked up to Orlando Bloom or whatever his name is, that he’d be interested, and I’m not just saying this because you’re my girlfriend either, it’s certainly possible. Me, on the other will never have a chance with Shakira or any of the “free passes”. That said, I’m changing mine, here is my official list:

1. The drunk girl that hangs out at the bar down the street
2. The new intern
3. Profile 378292 on Match.com also known by her screen name “cum have some fun”

Now the playing field is level and now I won’t have to hate.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

All this talk of Blood & Oil, is the cause of all my hating

...You are working at the video game store and ask me if I’m excited about the new “Mario galaxy” game coming out next month. Do I look like the type of person that would be excited about a new video game? I didn’t realize the attire of business suit translated to computer geek, nor did I realize that 30 year olds still play children’s games. So please sir, I’ll take my Guitar Hero III and be one my way; on my way to hate you.

...You immediately try to find fault and discredit a report presentation I’m giving to you, the second I speak. I don’t care that you’re the president of the company, give me at 30 seconds to make my point, but no, this is how you get the upper hand, you put people on the defensive from the get go to take control, I know your game. Just because you look like Statler and Waldorf from the muppets doesn’t give you the right to be a dick, but it does give me the right to hate you.

...You are the person that dials the wrong number, my office number, daily then hangs up. How can you possibly get the same number you are dialing wrong, every single day? Do you even look at what you’re dialing? I know who you are, it’s called caller ID, I’m going to start doing that to you and see what you think about it and then I’ll see what I can hate you about.

...You enter the elevator and say the number of the floor to which you are going. Well apparently I look like I work here don’t I. I didn’t realize they elevator men in non doorman buildings or at all for that matter, they only exist in bad Julia Roberts movies. You didn’t even give me the chance to say what floor you going to, because seeing as I’m standing in front of the buttons, yes I would have been nice, but now that you ASSumed, I can only hate you.

...You are this guy Michael that had my office number before me and apparently gave it out to every telemarketer in existence. I spend half my day picking up the phone, then hanging it right back up, who the fuck signs up for this shit or gives their number out so willy nilly, oh right it’s a work number, a work at which you are no longer employed, a work at which I hate you.

...You pronounce Missouri as Missoura. I know you are the same people that pronounce Louisville as looaville. At what point does the “i” become and “a”? An accent, I understand accents, but this is illiterate, this is retarded and this is hated.

...You are Time Warner Cable. You come to install my cable but then will not run a wire to the bedroom because we didn’t say that initially when moving in. You then send someone out 2 weeks later to run the wire who shows up at 10:30 at night. The wire to bedroom however, gets no reception and of course he has no cable box. I then have to make another appointment to have someone come and drop off the cable box, for which I have to pay $30, even though I offered to pick up the cable box myself. Back to the other TV in living room with the alleged “great” new technology, the cable box rarely works well, cuts out randomly, again I MUST have a “technician” come to the house to change the boxes, however, the technician never shows up and I’m stuck with hating you.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

I hate because I'm unhappy and I'm unhappy because I hate

...You are in the elevator, it stops at a floor that is not yours, you are standing directly in front of the doors, yet for some reason do not understand that you have to move in order for people to get out. You see people cannot exit unless you move, it’s a pretty basic concept. Here’s another shocking discovery, there are other people on this planet aside from you and one more mind bender, I hate you.

...You recline the seat on an airplane before we the plane even starts moving. I know you’ve flown on a plane before, that is very apparent, I know you know that in two minutes the flight attendant is going to come by and stand next to your seat to give you a half frown, half smile look to guilt you into returning your seat to it’s upright position. I also know that you know you are completely pissing off the person behind you (read ME) because you’ve left a total of 2 inches between me, your seat and my hate for you.

...You have a baby, you go on maternity leave, then you decide you will not return to work, then not 6 months later, you’re hanging out in the office with your screaming baby even though you allegedly quit. Listen, I’ve got nothing against babies, what I am against are parents. You’re the woman that sits in the office next to the copy room, that’s all I know about you, yet for some reason you think I give a shit about your baby? The only cute babies are your own, so please don’t bring that kid in the office like it’s show and tell because all you really get is shown my hate.

...You enter the men’s room to see that all the stall doors are closed, but have the sneaking suspicion that one of those stalls is empty, but only one, the one that is housing me. You attempt to open, it appears to be locked, but you’re not the type of man to give up that easy, so you try again. Still locked. You then have the genius idea that if you push harder it will break the door free, still locked. You then hear cries coming from within telling you to go away like some horrible poltergeist trying to keep you and nature apart, so you push harder thinking this will finally let you into the promised land, but all you find is the promised hate.

...You own and worse yet, wear jorts. Now that summer is over, we’re all in a better position to no longer have to witness the dreaded jean short. But the jort wearers are a rare breed, they jump at the chance to showcase their jorts, a 60 degree day is reason enough to break them out and it’s reason enough to hate you.

...You tell me about your elastic expanding dockers pants. Mister, this isn’t something you want to share with the general public, it’s not like we’re old friends, we have a business relationship, that’s it. Now you’ve crossed the line by telling me that you eat so much that your pants expand to meet your expanding waistline, sort of like MANternity pants. Because of this information, we’ve gone from a business relationship to hating relationship.

...You don’t know the proper ordering when making a sandwich. I pray to god that the tortoise of a sandwich maker in my cafeteria is reading this. Once and for all, the proper order is this, bread with mayo or mustard on BOTH sides, cheese if one desires, then meat, then lettuce then tomato cover with other piece of bread, then cut in half. I don’t know how this is so complicated, but I always seem to end with lettuce and tomato on the bottom or meat, the tomato, then lettuce, then cheese. If you know what I’m talking about then I don’t need to explain, if you don’t know what I’m talking about then you are guilty and you are hated.