Friday, March 14, 2008

Me and my hate, we got a relationship

...You wear cordoroys and you have fat chaffing thighs. All day I hear your swooshing thankles roaming the halls. You have to know you can be heard 3 floors away, giving away your position and giving way for my hate.

...You are Valerie Bertinelli. How on earth have you managed to stay in the “news” for like 30 years. You were on One Day at a Time, you were cute, then you disappeared only to re-emerged as some celebrity treat every time you showed up a “Monday night movie” where you played a young woman that was raped yet somehow, because of your strength, overcame tragedy but never overcame my hate.

...You wait in a 15 person line in one of the four Starbucks on your block, then when you get to the register you still don't know what you want. What did you think when you walked into a store that serves COFFEE. How is this different than any of the other 17 times you’ve been in today and how is it different than any of the other 17 time I've hate you today.

...You work at Starbucks and are thoroughly confused when someone orders a medium. You fucking know exactly what I’m talking about, but that $8 and hour really has you brain washed to the point that you attempt to speak another language. Fact, referring to large as venti an intellectual it does not make. Fact, working at Starbucks is not essential to your screenwriting career. Fact, working at Starbucks will get you hated.

...You are the guy on the subway that wears his aviators. Ok, we get it, you're cool. Look at you, so mysterious. I’m sure you look pretty cool when your foot gets caught in the gap and I’m sure you look even cooler when I hate walk into a bathroom and see 14 empty urinals with me at the end, then you proceed to use the one right next to me. Words can't describe my confusion, are you hoping for a peek? Next time you stand next to me, don't be surprised if your shoes get wet and don’t surprised if you get hate.

...You work in an office, yet you still don't know how to use a computer. Computers have been in every office since what, 1995? You've had 10 years to learn that the little picture of a disk in the upper left hand corner means save. How do you still have this job? Why must you ask me every time? I think it's time for a career change and I think it’s time for a hate.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

What we hate in life, echoes in eternity

...You take my gym clothes from a locker in the men’s locker room. Really? A sweaty pair of 6 year old track pants and sweaty hoodie that hasn’t been washed in at least a year. This is what you want to steal? Nothing in the pockets either, you see, I run to the gym, workout, then run home, there’s nothing there except clothes to keep me warm and a blog to keep you hated.

...You name your child after yourself. You are the archetype of arrogance. You are so wonderful that you felt obligated to give your name to your child who will be stuck with it no matter how much he hates you when he’s 17, sort of a constant reminder of your douchiness and a constant reminder of how much I hate you.

...You are at a soup vendor or ice cream vendor and ask for a taste of a soup or flavor. Asking for a taste in and of itself, perhaps not hated, but then holding up a line to meticulously evaluate said flavor by taking multiple “tastes” from the mini spoon provided that clearly represents just enough to place it on the tip of your tongue, well that is hated, just like you.

...You come into my office while I’m eating lunch and attempt to conduct business. Do I come to your office as you shove three slices of pizza into your mouth at the same time? No I don’t, you want to know why? Because whitnessing that will cause me not to eat for a week and also, because I actually respect the fact that you might want to eat in private while you try to get a little work done. I’m minding my own business here, trying to eat, and all you can seem to do is bother me with non urgent shit, so now I’m determined to bother you with urgent hate.

...You put on your blinker then immediately slam on your brakes. Either you signaling way too late or you are 90. whichever the case may be, your license should be revoked. I’m really not a stickler for rules, but I do appreciate some semblance of order in the world. You would seemingly be aware that there is a car behind you, and a rational person would want to avoid having that car slam into the rear of their own, yet you’re a risk taker apparently, you walk that fine line between danger and the insane and I walk the fine line between sarcasm and hate.

...You no longer sell Skippy low-fat chunky peanut butter at my local supermarket. Is this like some massive intervention effort to get me to kick the habit? Ok, I get it, 5 jars a week is a tad excessive, but it’s really a great all purpose food. Perhaps, regaining consciousness at 4 in the morning on the kitchen floor with two empty jars at my side was a warning sign, perhaps. Or perhaps I just know a good thing when I see it and perhaps I know a good hate when I see it.

...You are at a “new” job for more than 3 months and make the comment, “oh I’m new here, I don’t understand”. Being new has it’s perks and it has its limitation. Once you know the notorious bathroom occupant, the office slut, the guy that farts in his office and the spit talker, you lose the right to make the excuse that you’re new and you lose the right to avoid my hate.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

I'm saving all my hate for you

...You are part of a book club. You and your Oprah buddies gather round once a week so you can feel like you’re so intelligent and have such relevance in an otherwise irrelevant existence. You can’t even select books to “read” on your own, you have to have Oprah tell you what to read, god forbid you develop your own thought or opinion, but at least I’ve developed my own hate.

...You say love daylight savings becuse when you get out of work it's still light out. Really? I would have guessed that you enjoy getting out work when it's dark, its cold, its raining, but not just any rain, the rain where it's about 33 degrees and some of it comes down as ice the rest as cold as water in the bottom of a cooler. I'm just saying that's what I would have thought, not that you enjoy nice sunny weather or nice gloomy hate.

...You are running on a narrow, crowded sidewalk and get pissed when people are in your way. That’s a brilliant idea, idea I must say, run where’s it crowded, run on smog infest city streets with exhausts blasting your face, but then get pissed when people are walking on the sideWALK. I am going to stalk you until the next time I see you walking on a crowded sidewalk, at which point I’ll run by you, turn around run by you again, turn around, run by you yet again, I will continue to repeat each time making some sort of obnoxious sound to let you know I’m pissed at you for being in MY way, but never actually stopping to say anything. This is the world in which we have live because of you and this is hate we have live in because of you.

...You enter a men’s room and see an option of 5 stalls, two of contain occupants, the other three have unlocked, half open doors and are clearly unoccupied, you approach the nearest occupied stall (mine) and knock. This of course causes me to have to interrupt the only peaceful 5 minutes of my day with an uncomfortable clearing of the throat and a stern pronouncement that the stall is occupied. Your reckless approach to bathroom behavior is going to get you into trouble one of these days, but for now it’s getting you into hate.

...You feel you can just yell out to people from your cube when you want to talk to them. Go right ahead, there’s obviously no one else trying to do any work and your conversation with every single person of your unending quest to lose 5 pounds (35 to few) is critical information to my day and not just one day, but every single day by day by day by day by day by hate by you.

...You say “I’m hungry for lunch now” when it’s 11:30 and then feel the need to qualify with a snide, “because I get up so early”. You know, we fucking get it, you get in the office early, you work weekends, you work late, you work at home, boo fuckedy hoo. No one is telling you to dedicate every waking hour to work, you my friend are the worker bee, you will never advance because then the work wouldn’t actually get done, you will be surpassed by people younger and less experienced than you, because you can not move work and because you actually do the work while I sit around and hate you.

...You roll down the window of your car, lean out and just say the name of a street to me. And what about this street? Ohhhhhhhh, I get it, you are lost, you need MY help, so you decide to pull over, interrupt me while I’m walking and demand that I help you. You are not even demanding, you are just saying the name of a street as though you’re in a foreign country where they don’t speak the language. How about trying to be a little more considerate of the fact that you’re the one that’s lost, I hold the 30 minutes to an hour of your life in my hands, I can choose to help you or I can choose to hate you.

...You are wearing tight rolled pants. I must admit, I have yet to see this, but we’re dealing with a pre-emptive hate. I’ve seen this 80’s revival go one step too far and it’s only a matter of time before some hipster busts out his “ironic” pair of tight rolled acid wash jeans. Here’s my rational, at a night out in the billy berg, I started to see where things have headed, let’s just say the past 6 months I’ve been more of a hermit, so I re-emerge to find legitimate mullets, tight art deco sweaters, fanny packs, florescent colors and all the other bad styles from the 80’s that should never be brought bad, as a joke or otherwise. But then I saw the deneumont (I have no idea how to spell that), it was a man wearing what appeared to be an all white Z Cavarechi suit, you know a very high waist and very short jacket that is tight at the waist, but that’s not the best part, the best part was the mirrors from a disco ball that were attached to the jacket forming vertical stripes and forming my hate.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

I've abandoned my child! I've abandoned my hate!

...You speak in whisper voice. There are two acceptable whispers, a dog whisperer or to tell me something dirty that can’t be spoken at normal conversational levels. You on other hand speak only in whisper speak, speak the fuck up you self conscious, socially inept, annoyance. Just because you’re dumb, doesn’t mean you should whisper, that only makes me ask you to repeat yourself 7 times. In fact, try not saying anything at all, after which, I’ll try not hating you.

...You respond to the question “how are you” by saying, good, busy but good. No one asked if you’re busy all right, its as though you are telling that other person, they can’t possibly understand the amount of work you are enduring. Certainly not, because apparently you have to chit chat all day on the phone telling everyone you know how busy you are, that must be exhausting. I think you have a checklist of people to call each day of the week to express how busy you are and I have checklist of people to blog each day to express how hated they are.

...You make it a point to let everyone know that you worked “late” the night before. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I was here much later than you, not because I have to, but because I wanted to see what the fuck you actually do, you stayed about 5 minutes past the last person that left, which was 7:05. Wow, that’s a long day, working 930 to 7. Do you have any concept of what it means to work? Not to wear a badge of honor for hours worked, but working 45 hours a week is nothing, try anywhere north of 80 then come talk to me. I feel like I’m on vacation with these BS jobs, I can do your job in about all of 1 hour a week the rest of the time, I just sit around and hate you.

...You say you used to speak Spanish, but not very good. Apparently English isn’t your fortay either. It’s well you fool, well. I guess this means you had 2 years of high school Spanish, right? You’re not some 75 yr old grandma that emigrated from Cuba when she was 15 and stopped speaking the language to assimilate. You’re a 30 yr old fat girl from Long Island that can’t even speak English correctly, you never could speak Spanish, conjugating the verbs ir and ser does mean you once spoke Spanish, it means you only know hate.

...You bang your arm/hand against a table or desk when you are making an emphatic point or listing out items. Oh the life and times of an idiot, sitting amongst the masses is great, you can really connect with the unfortunate segment of the population. I know you worked so hard to remember those 6 words, you’re a champ! You did it all on your own without any note cards, you didn’t even shake your head with each word this time. Please do us all a favor and just go away, just disappear no questions asked, this way, I won’t have to hate you.

...You work in a deli and wear a prophylactic on your hand in hopes of preventing the spread of germs from your poop infested hand, yet when people go to pay, you take their money with said prophylactic covered hand. Do you have any concept of where money has been? No, of course not because, if you did, you would realize that it’s dirtier than a port-o-potty toilet. Try using the glove hand for food, the naked hand for money, and my blog for hate.

...You have asymmetrical hair. You are either on the cutting edge of 2005 fashion ORRRR you have several bald spots and have concocted a creative way to cover your aging scalp. I vote the latter, although I’m sure you are bit of both. You notice some thinning of the hair, some scalp spots, then being that you are too old to be cutting edge, you think of styles of from 3 or 4 years ago and there you have it, there you have me hating you.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

They may take our jobs, but they will never take our hate

...You fire me from my job because of this blog. This is the amalgamation of Jerry McGuire’s treatise, the burn book from Mean Girls and the episode of the Wonder Years when Kevin breaks up with Becky Slater and she tells everyone how Kevin made fun of them. Here’s the deal, I actually say the truth of how a completely mismanaged firm is run – there’s your Mr. McGuire. I call out people for simple truths, from a striking resemblance to a particular muppet, to calling people out for (such as my boss) her complete ineptitude and lack of anything that slightly resembles a human soul – there’s your burn book. Finally, just days after I accept a transfer (the break up), everyone at the firm (that’s referenced in the blog) gets the joy and pleasure of seeing what yours truly said about them when the She-Devil forwards exactly what I said about each particular person, to that actual person – Enter Becky Slater. The funny thing is that this blog is completely anonymous with no reference to anyone by name, no company name, nothing, the only way to know I was talking about She-Devil or anyone else would be for her to know that she is guilty of being hated by me (after tapping into my computer of course).

...You work in any office cafeteria and are completely incapable of preparing food that even remotely resembles my order. You have to ask me about 7 times to achieve only about 50% of my order. I have to play mind games and purposely leave things out thinking you’ll automatically include them and then I have to include things so that you can leave them out and so I can hate you.

...You proudly display your college diploma from University of I Couldn’t Get in Any Where Else, in your office. Congratulations on that one, that’s quite the achievement, I mean your curriculum was more basic than an average high school, but some how you did it. Not only did you graduate, but look at you now, college grad, you’re big time, kudos. Not only do you have that glorious diploma to display, but you even went back to school for a certificate in I Paid $5000 for Two Courses Because I Couldn’t Get In To Grad School There is only one other achievement more worthy of praise, and that is me, hating you.

...You attend a book reading. You go to actually watch a person read to you. This beats out books on tape by miles, it’s as though you have some child fetish whereby someone reads to you like you are still a child. You makes excuses and rationalize this behaviour through your pretentious Q&A session afterwards where you listen to the author pontificate about how much he hates you.

...You come into work and say you have “like ten things to do” and only get to 2 of them. You know why you only get to two of them? Because you sit on the phone telling everyone how busy you are. I swear I started to doubt that anyone is actually on the other end of that line, who can possibly speak for that long without ever taking a breath, not to mention you are in a fucking cube, there are other people around you that are trying to concentrate on hating you.

...You leave your cell phone on ring or even vibrate and are never at your cube. Thank you because I love the interruptions of hearing your cell phone ring every 10 minutes, do your friends have jobs? What I love more than hearing the phone ring is hearing the beeping sound every 30 seconds to let you know you have a new message. You better hurry up to check those messages so you can get mine and find out that I hate you.

Sunday, March 02, 2008

I got my hate set on you

...You arrive at yoga class about 20 minutes early so that you can get the spot right up in front and start your warm ups. Let’s all try to understand this shall we? You are doing yoga, which consists of stretching, so in order to warm up for your stretching, you stretch. I know what you’re really up to, you have to prove to everyone that you know what you are doing and are some sort of yoga expert, thereby making you better than everyone in the class. You know what, you get the gold medal of YMCA yoga class, you deserve it champ, because all the people that actually practice yoga are not doing so during a free class at their local Y, they are only hating you.

...You walk into a coffee room at the office, see 2 or more people and then say “wow, looks like a party”. I’m not sure what kind of parties you go to, but my impression of a party is not 3 people avoiding eye contact as they wait in line for shitty Flavia coffee. My idea of a party consists of lots of alcohol, 3 midgets, a pony, rubber gloves, eye protection and hate for you.

...You are an old 3 foot tall, hobbit shaped woman with cankles the size of my thighs that when walking can barely move, but when you enter a subway you move quicker than LT during his peak coke days as you dash for a seat. Is getting a seat really that important to you? I’ve seen you bulldoze kids and even baby’s in strollers just for that prime germ infested piece of real estate. I hope you’re happy with that seat as you go from 23rd street to 28th street, god forbid you have to stand for 17 seconds and got forbid I commute without hating you for 17 seconds.

...You are waiting in a line and leave a gap between you and the next person of at least 5 feet. This is great, now it looks like there’s a group of people just sort of hanging around either borderline Forrest or not in the line, so the next 3 people that enter the store get in front of you, which means, they’re in front of me, which means, another 5 minutes of life will be spent waiting in a line, which means I hate you.

...You insist on creating an agenda for a meeting that indicates three “action items”. If you are incapable of saying the three things you need to talk about at the very beginning of a meeting, perhaps you don’t belong holding meetings. Its three things, two of which, everyone already knows because that’s why they’re attending the meeting in the first place, the third of course is a detailed explanation of why I hate you.

...You create an agenda for a meeting as the first order of business, you list: Agenda. So you had to create an agenda to tell everyone in a meeting that you’ll be talking about the agenda. This is circular logic, it’s a dog chasing it’s tail, it’s throwing up before you eat, it’s two mirrors facing each other and it’s me hating you.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Rebirth of Hate

...You fire me from my job because of this blog. Oh boo hoo some kid hurt my feelings because I may or may not have been referenced in his blog. Let’s not be so arrogant to think I was even talking about you. In the cases I was, it’s a fucking joke, take that large stick out of your ass and get a sense of humor. In case you hadn’t noticed most of the hate is about myself, my girlfriend, my family, my friends, co workers and random strangers. This is not an actual account of people I hate, except now of course for you.

...You sneeze and make an exaggerated AHHHH, AHHHHHH, CHHOOOOOOOOOOOO. Ok, we get it, you’re here, yay for us. All the prairie dogs are popping up out of their cubes to see that it was the 40 yr old woman that didn’t get enough attention from daddy when she was 12 and now has to disrupt an entire office every time she sneezes, to her dismay this does not attract the desired attention, it only attracts my hate.

...You make a point of telling everyone you worked all weekend, a holiday weekend no less, when someone asks how your weekend went. Hooraay for you, it takes you that much longer to get done what everyone else gets done in less time. You are a model of inefficiency and you are a model of hate.

...You explain 7 times in a 3 minute conversation that you read the material we are discussing “over the weekend”. So what you’re telling me is that you read this during the weekend? You mean that time when people tend to their personal lives, like friends and family, those things that you are apparently lacking and are only capable of tending to my hate?

...You decide that on February 28th it is relevant and appropriate to wish someone Happy New Year. My friends, we are on the brink of something special here, this is it, this is the thesis of my blog. Do people ever think before they get out of bed in the morning? And I do mean that early because it will take you that long to really think about something by the time you open your mouth and by the time I hate you.

...You call me to tell me you are sending me an email. You are a beacon of productivity, if someone needs a job done, you are the person to call. I pray that some day I will be able to understand the reason behind a phone call where you say: hey I’m sending you this email, you will see it, I’d like you to open and read it. I’m going to start calling you to say: Hey I’m writing in my blog, I would like for you to go to my site and be hated.

...You are a rather portly girl at the gym and pull your unimagineably tight spandex up 3 inches beyond your navel to thereby “hide” the rolling hills that are your gunt. Somewhere along the line this misappropriation of spandex got out of control. By covering your rolls with the tight stretchy material, you only accentuate your repulsiveness and accentuate my hate.

...You claim that your brand new paper thin mac book was stolen. Well perhaps that’s because you were just too busy writing your screenplay at hipster friendly version of Starbucks. I know you’re just dying to be the next Diablo Cody, but making sure everyone sees you attempting to make the wittiest piece of entertainment in the last 7 minutes is more important, which is why when you went to get your 4th refill some one swiped your mac book and left you with hate.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Guess Who's Back..

...Back again.

...You can't wait a few more days for the hate to return. It's been 3 months of hate just building, building and building. Building for you.