I Can't Stand It When...(An Original Rant)

It has been a very long time since I went on a full-fledged rant on this blog. 

That changes today.

"I Can't Stand It When..."

...a bird decides to take target practice on my windshield overnight, so when I finally get back to the car 12 hours later and want to run the windshield wipers, it ends up spreading the dried butt-bullets across the entire windshield. Then you end up wasting half of your damn washer fluid just to rub out the mess you just spread...it probably would have been cleaner to just leave the dodo-doodoo untouched! The only thing worse than that is when they actually hit the wipers themselves, because every time I run them after that, it just creates a new white smear across a previously clean windshield. Bastard Butt Birds.

 
...sports fans solely blame the referees for the outcome of a game. I understand that a game can come down to the wire, and that referees are capable of completely blowing a call, including the last play of the game in a tie ballgame. But don't one person tell me that the sole reason their team lost was because of one play at the end of the game. You're telling me as part of your team's game-plan, you planned on turning the ball over 14 times, missing 11 free throws and shooting 38% from the court? Or that you planned to leave those eight runners on base? Or that you were planning on throwing two interceptions and fumbling in the first quarter? Please. The only way I will ever accept that a single call was the sole reason for a change in outcome is if your basketball team shoots 100% from the floor, 100% from the foul line, doesn't turn the ball over, and has at least 10 steals. In that case, I believe you played the perfect game and if a ref blows a call at your team's expense - I'll give it to you. If that doesn't happen...and it never will...then spare me. (Be happy I kept this under ten pages)


...someone calls me at the office during a blatantly obvious busy time and says "Hey, I know you're swamped right now, but...", and then asks for me to do something that is completely unimportant and a total waste of time. I mean, you just admitted yourself that you know I'm swamped at work, but you still felt it necessary to call and ask if I can change your username and password on our website because you don't like the name? Oh yes, please let me drop all the papers currently covering my desk (which, those of you that know me well, know that I hate having loose papers on my desk) so I can tell you what the date is for an event next year because you're worried about conflicts with your family ski trip. If the sentence starts with "I know you're swamped...", it should end with "so good luck" or one hell of a problem.


...someone you don't know leaves you a voicemail, and when they get to the point where they say their number, they do it in the most bizarre cadence in history. There is a standard cadence and grouping that we are all accustomed to when it comes to phone numbers. The good ol' 3-3-4. You know - the area code, first three, and last four. But then there are some people who missed the whole friggin' memo. An example would best illustrate this. "Hey Marc, it's Joe Schmuck. My number is 7-1843-25-312. Call me back." Yeah, cuz that's gonna happen. As soon as he pauses at "7", I get thrown off, and by the time he finishes, I'm not sure if he gave me a phone number or his Social Security Number. Cripes.


...I have to wash a cheese grater. I feel like there is no successful way to do it without missing some cheese or grating my knuckles. I actually don't mind the outside grater so much as I do the inside of the block. On the outside I just rub the sponge with the grain of the holes and it gets the cheese smudges out. But what about those little danglers that then go inside and adhere to the inside of the block? The cheese grater is too narrow for me to reach the top of the inside, so I just blindly rub the sponge everywhere I can reach, and hope that no rebel cheddar is hiding. Ugh. I'm OCD, I know.


  ...I have to clean the garlic press. This has to be the most annoying thing ever. First off, this isn't something you can just blow off, rinse, put it back in the drawer, and call it a day. Obviously there is pressed garlic wedged in the pin-sized holes, and running soap and water over that doesn't do the trick. I end up getting some skewers and punching holes in each of the openings until all the garlic has been flushed from the cursed machine. Then I go with the soap and water routine, cuz the thing still smells like garlic. My wife thinks I'm ridiculous. I'm starting to think you all probably agree with her.


That's it for now. But don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from.