The Girl Who Hates Things

A guy I know once described me as “The Girl Who Hates Things”. And without even realizing what I was saying, I replied, “I hate that description.”
Well, I guess it’s true. I do hate things. I suppose that most of what I hate has one trait in common: it’s based on people’s stupidity. Naturally there are levels of stupidity (I won’t go into anything regarding the structure or hierarchy of stupidity here — at least not tonight), and of course I really cannot/will not tolerate the kind that threatens to give me an aneurysm. So basically I hate the “small stuff” — the kind of stuff they (whoever “they” are) say you should’t sweat. Well, fuck it. I’ll sweat if I like.

  • I can’t stand when people say, “There’s no such thing as a stupid question.” I mean, if you walk in on your dad when he’s busy in his “shop” in the garage, and he’s using a chainsaw to separate your mom from her arms, legs, and such, but hasn’t yet gotten around to actual decapitation, so she can still smile at you even though she’s kinda too stunned to actually speak, and you ask your dad, “Does this mean Mom’s not gonna drive me to soccer practice tomorrow?”, well, I’m sorry, but that’s a stupid question.
  • A few years ago I went out with a guy who seemed smart enough when I met him and who presented himself very well during the hours-long phone conversations we had between the time I first met him and the night we actually got together. (I say “got together” and not “went on a date”, because I don’t think we went out. I think we wound up “hanging in”, but for the life of me I can’t remember most of what we did … and the stuff I do remember I’m not going to talk about. So don’t even ask.)
    This was part of our conversation that night (yeah, we really did talk):

    Me: [something something] facetious.
    Him: Fah— fah— fah— … what??
    Me: Are you being facetious about not knowing what ‘facetious’ means?
    Him: Huh? What what means?
    Me: Facetious.
    Him: Fah— Oh. (pause) No.

    Oh and P.S. … His vocabulary wasn’t the only thing that was lacking. But I can’t remember which disappointment came first.

  • This one is “me”-based. I hate when the counter-person at the gym tells me, “Have a good workout!” and I respond, “You too!” Or when a cab-driver drops me off at the airport and says, “Have a nice time in [wherever]!” and I respond, “You too!” Or when a waiter says, “Enjoy your meal”and I say, “You too!”

That’s all. (And no, please don’t add “folks” to the end of that and do that Porky Pig stuttering voice thing. I hate that.)