Pet peeves part 2

I wrote this post a long time ago and never finished it because it didn't seem right to post something lighthearted when the world had seemingly gone mad. I figured I would get it off my plate now. It is incomplete but may trigger a few smiles.

Apparently, I have a lot of pet peeves. So many, in fact, I could not fit all of them in one post. Herein I reprise my role as the Lovable Curmudgeon, which is a much better role than the Obvious Jerk, the role for which I am known worldwide. Without further ado, I present what you've all been waiting for — part two of Joshua's pet peeves! 

My old-man forgetfulness. I'm sure you've seen some of these pet peeves before. This is why you're seeing them again. 

People who say they have no pet peeves but are clearly pissed off all the time. Just fess up. You hate everyone and everything. See? Feels good. Keep doing it. No, don't. Stop. You're scaring everyone. 

Sick kid. Nothing worse than a sick kid. I would put myself in his shoes and multiply it times 10 if I could undo his sickness. Then again, he's a lot more manageable when he's sick. Almost like a regular kid at normal speed. Hmm.

Balls. Again with the balls? Yes, they still top my list. But, sometime last year ( or perhaps this year, I don't remember), I switched from boxers to boxer briefs, which contain the madness a little better. It's almost like going back to tighty-whiteys, which I have not worn since I was probably 20 years old. Does wearing boxer briefs make me feel like I'm 20 again? Perhaps. I don't know if that's a good thing. 

Salad greens. Most of the time, I throw more than half the box away because it's rotten before I even open it. It shouldn't be called salad greens when the greens are brown or black and oozy. Picking through the greens takes more time than eating them. But at least I won't eat any slimy ones. Yack.

Wet socks and wet feet. I have no words for this. It's the worst feeling ever, especially when you have to endure it all day because you didn't think to bring a backup pair of socks and shoes (and why would you?). Next to this is sand in your shoes. The worst yet is wet socks and shoes and sand in your shoes! You may as well throw them away and go cry in the shower.

Autoplay on Netflix. You can turn it off now! No more wondering what Netflix is showing my kid when I walk away for two minutes.

Sex dreams that end prematurely. Nothing is more frustrating. Can I go back to sleep and finish it? No. I have to lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling and wish the ache away. 

Being rejected in my own sex dream. I hate to one-up myself, but this is worse than the one above. This actually happened. Naked girl in my bed. I touch her. She says no. I wake up, shaking my head. Even in my own sex dreams I get rejected. You've got to be kidding me!

When your chip breaks in the guacamole and you have to rescue it with another chip, but you realize you've altered the chip-to-guac ratio you worked so hard to perfect, which necessitates taking more guac with the new chip, leaving you wondering if the new chip has the structural rigidity to lift the broken chip and its guacamole and the new guacamole. Oh, the humanity! If the new chip breaks, you may as well call it a day. 

When someone calls every flying insect a bee. What, are you four years old? You seriously think every flying insect is a bee? You must be made of honey, then. Only you're not. And neither are all flying insects bees!

TikTok videos on Instagram. I try to scroll past them, but they keep coming. After 1o minutes go by, I realize I haven't looked at anything. I've just avoided those stupid videos.

I'd hate to miss out on TikTok girls having epileptic seizures, but I feel my sanity is more important than alerting the proper authorities to what will surely end in half-naked girls foaming at the mouth and writhing on the floor with their eyes rolled back in their heads. Put some clothes on! The whole world is watching! (Actually, I don't see these anymore. But I guess I did six months ago when I wrote this.)

Staples. Staples are so ... permanent. And you need a dangerous, jaw-like apparatus to extract them once embedded in the paper. What's wrong with a paperclip? Just say no to staples.

Social media. So many reasons. Facebook is idiots vying for constant attention while giving up massive amounts of personal data (data is the new currency), all while being told what to think. Instagram is the same. Snapchat is useless because I open it and have no idea what anyone is talking about. My memory is too bad for an app that erases conversations. Besides that, Snapchat is basically like staring into satan's asshole. Okay, does my Family Dollar app count? I like that one except it apparently thinks I have pets and a woman because it keeps telling me to buy dog food and tampons. Oh, and Tumblr is nice. I can spend hours on Tumblr.

Waking up in the middle of the night. I do this 99% of the time. In the old days, I would go out to the couch and reboot, usually falling asleep in short order. Now I just stay in bed or pee, drink water, and then go back to bed. I figure if I'm awake, I may as well be doing something, so I say my prayers. 

Restaurants that overserve. I really hate wasting food, but how long am I required to keep this desiccated burrito the size of my arm? Should I carry it with me into the wilderness like beef jerky, just in case I get stranded?

Rhetorical fancy. I saw this term in an assignment and did a double-take. It said something like, "Don't resort to rhetorical fancy." In order to resort to such a thing, one would have to know what it is. Perhaps I'm not fancy enough to know. 

Pants that rub the hair off my legs. So, one day while looking at my legs, I realized all the hair had been rubbed off the outside of them. But not the inside. So I have hairy and bald legs at the same time. My dad recently gave me a pair of pants he said didn't fit right or something. Now I think he gave them to me because they rubbed all the hair off his legs, too!

This town. I have a lot to complain about here. But it's just a poor, small town. Maybe I'm too hard on the place. There are a lot of great things about living here (especially if you want to get away from people eight months of the year). We have our own brand of local celebrities. There's a guy simply named Critter (not kidding). There's a girl named Merica. It's not a town you move to if you're used to being pampered. It's a town where you take care of yourself and those around you and eff the rest of em. People here are weird. They're hard. Tough. Kinda mean. The schools are bad (as in, kids ain't learnin' nothin'). The streets are even worse (unless you really like giant potholes). It's a state law that cars have to stop for anyone in the crosswalk, but, let me tell you, you are taking your life into your hands if you cross the street. Best to drive to the post office, even though it's only two blocks away.

Pizza phone. You've seen it. People talking to their phones and holding it like a slice of pizza. I don't know why, but it's just annoying. I'm sure I've done it, too.


Women comedians: They just aren't funny. Why are they not funny? I hate to make generalizations, but here I am doing that. For many years I thought Wanda Sykes was funny. She may still be funny. But Wanda likes women, so she is one step away from being a man. Maybe I should revise and say straight women comedians aren't funny. Can I dig myself a hole any deeper? Yes, I can. Maybe next time.

Thank you for reading! I hope I made someone smile and didn't offend too much.