Category Archives: pet peeves

Also, sticks, stones, AND names are all hurtful, you jackoff.

Do you remember a while ago (a LONG while ago, good grief, how the time has flown, I was almost a whole other person then!) we were talking about adages and idioms and platitudes and proverbs and we learned that they are mostly really, really stupid?

Well, today, I was thinking, huh, this has been a day of stupid. We decided at work it was because of the full moon. That brings out the crazy. I know, I know, you’re all, “that’s just a fallacy!” NOPE. You try answering phones on the day of a full moon. Or working retail. Or working in an emergency room. And you tell me it’s not the truth. I’ll laugh right in your scoffy-scoff face, I will.

And as I was leaving, I told one of my coworkers “good luck,” and she said, “Can’t get any worse, right?” and I said, “Well, no, it totally can, and probably will, let’s be honest,” and she looked at me like I killed her puppy. SHIT. I am totally not supposed to say the things I think of, am I. I’m supposed to play the game and be all, “Right! It’s always darkest before the dawn of the days of our lives!” or something. I would be the shittiest cheerleader. And I’d look RIDICULOUS in those skirts.

So let’s talk, again, about some more of these ridiculous things. And, as an added fun bonus, if you make it ALL THE WAY TO THE END, my little cherry pies, I found some that were INSANE. I know! Are you so excited? You should be.

Let's do this. Let's start doing this.

It’s not you, it’s me

What this is supposed to mean: “You’re not to blame; I’m the asshole.” 

What this really means: “I want out of this relationship, like, yesterday, but I don’t want you to be sad. So I’m going to say the STUPIDEST THING TO EVER COME OUT OF ANOTHER HUMAN’S MOUTHHOLE to attempt to save your precious special snowflake feelings.”

Listen, we’ve all been in a shitty relationship we wanted out of. And we’ve probably all said this, at one point or another. I know I have. I can think of two situations when I did. Once when the guy was planning our wedding before we’d even gone on a date and once when the guy was just not at all physically attractive to me and I didn’t know how else to get out of the situation because the thought of kissing him made me alternately sad and worried.

But it’s never really true, is it? I mean, sure. Maybe it’s MOSTLY you. But also, let’s be honest, it’s also them. You’re not the only one in the relationship. There are two of you. And the other person is, to some extent, to blame for the end of the relationship. Even if they don’t know it. Sorry, other person. But sometimes people don’t click. So, yeah. It IS you. It’s totally at least a little bit you. Sorry.

A better substitute: “It’s you. And it’s me. And it’s us, no longer together. Sorry. Please let go of my arm. And blow your nose, that’s so gross, sniffly.”

What if you COULDN'T have this? That would be a crime. A CAKE crime. That's the worst kind, no joke.

You can’t have your cake and eat it, too

What this is supposed to mean: “You can’t have it both ways.” 

What this really means: “Why are you messing with CAKE? Obviously someone didn’t tell you that cake is SACROSANCT.”

OK, I have never, ever, EVER understood this nonsense. You can’t have your cake and also eat your cake. WHAT? Yes you can. That is foolish. You can have your cake. There’s your cake! Your delicious cake! And then you put that cake in your mouth. And it is delicious and tastes of the most delicious cake. SO EFFING DELICIOUS. What kind of horrible tempter gives you cake, then doesn’t allow you to eat that damn cake? Like, the devil would do something along those lines. That is a devil-like thing to do to someone. Just wrong and evil and wrong. DO NOT MESS WITH MY CAKE DEVIL.

A better substitute: “You can not only have your cake, you can nom on that cake. You can nom on that cake ALL DAMN DAY LONG.”

Yep. More like it.

Good things come to those who wait

What this is supposed to mean: “Be patient, and you will be rewarded.”

What this really means: “Shut up, sit in your corner, and you’ll get EXACTLY what you deserve.”

We’ve all heard this one, right? Often when you’re being told to be patient while everyone around you is getting and grabbing and holding onto the brass rings in life and you’re all, where’s mine? WHERE IS MY BRASS RIIINNGGGG? But those brass-ringy people are all, just sit down, wait your turn, it’ll come to you.

Let me tell you a story. I good-things-waited for my whole life. And the good things? They didn’t come. But once I got proactive? THE GOOD THINGS CAME. Because I put myself out there and I REACHED for the good things. And did I, and do I, get ALL the good things? No. But most? Yes. Yes, I do. Because I work hard for them and I TRY for them.

Stop sitting around and get off your ass and start grabbing for your good things. You’ll be glad you did.

A better substitute: “The only thing that comes to those who wait are bedsores. And also bitterness. And anger. GET OFF YOUR ASS.”

Oh, this is the worst. THE WORST. It needs to be on a t-shirt, so I can burn that t-shirt. Also, what is up with that flower? It looks DEFORMED.

A friend in need is a friend indeed

What this is supposed to mean: “…” (I don’t know. IT’S TOO DAMN CONFUSING.)

What this really means: “Your real friends are only your friends when either you or they are needy? Maybe? SO CONFUSED.”

This has always confused the shit out of me. Who’s the friend? You or them? Who’s in need? You or them? Is it supposed to be this vague? Why is it worded so poorly? If it’s YOU that’s in need, shouldn’t it say, “A friend who helps when you’re in need is a friend indeed?” Or if it’s the friend that’s in need, shouldn’t it say, “A friend in need is a pain in the ass?” I’M KIDDING CALM DOWN. I love helping my friends. LOVE LOVE LOVE. It’s one of my favorite things to do, actually. Shh, don’t tell a soul, I’ll lose my rep as a badass.

And is the friend only your friend WHEN they’re in need? That’s shitty. A friend should be a friend all the time, in good OR bad times. I hate this one. It makes me stabby. Mostly because I love my friends. And I don’t like to ever think of them in need of anything. Now I want to bake them all some cookies in case that’s what they’re in need of.

A better substitute: A friend in need is someone you should help without question. They should return the favor. If it isn’t working like that, maybe re-evaluate what’s going on there. And possibly punch that friend in the head twice.

Heh. Yep.

It’s like comparing apples and oranges.

What these are supposed to mean: “It’s like comparing two things that could not be MORE UNLIKE ONE ANOTHER!!!”

What this really means: “I don’t understand how comparisons work.”

When people say this I want to punch them in the face with one of those giant Q-Tips from American Gladiators.

THEY ARE BOTH FRUIT. Also, they’re both vaguely round; they’re both edible; they both grow on trees; they’re both portable; they’re both something you can easily throw at someone; and they both smell good.

They have more similarities than differences. Why the hell is this such a ubiquitous phrase? Shouldn’t it compare two things that are COMPLETELY different? Circus tents and gravel? Rotting fish and pigeon feathers? I mean, I just came up with those on the fly, I’m sure others could do better.

A better substitute: “It’s like comparing tigers and hotels.”

OK, now for the insane ones. I found these on this weird website with lots of odd phrases from foreign locales and climes.

Ready? I’ve been waiting forever to share these, I’m so excited.

Don't you even poke me, you've only known THE MAN for three years.

“You may poke a man’s fire after you’ve known him for seven years.”

Hee! I love this one because it’s totally a euphemism, if you want it to be. And I usually do. I’m looking forward to knowing some people for seven years so I can POKE their FIRES. If you KNOW what I MEAN. Heh heh.

But let’s pretend it’s NOT a euphemism. Is it really telling you that you’re not allowed to poke a man’s fire until you’ve been friends for seven years? Why seven years? What an arbitrary number. And why is this man so proprietary about his fire? Is a fire so sacred?

This has had me giggling all night long, seriously.

Apparently this is totally a thing. SO WEIRD.

“Better to wear out shoes than sheets.”

Um. What?

If you wear out shoes, you’re…what, walking? Running? Hiking?

If you wear out sheets, you’re…um…well, I guess you could be sleeping. But probably, let’s be frank, you’re engaging in the other activity that takes place in a bed, right? NO NOT CROCHETING. Having all the sex.

So, it’s BETTER to walk or run or hike than screw like a happy bunny?

I’m honestly befuddled here. I don’t know what to even think about this one. The internet says it means “get out of bed and get to work.” I think that’s stupid. What do you all think?

And and and AND. My FAVORITE. From Germany! So you know it’s good.

“In American, half an hour equals forty minutes.”

What? Is Germany accusing us of being slow? What does this mean? KEN KEN KEN KEN why is Germany accusing us of being so slow? I thought maybe it was the opposite and that other countries think we’re all crazy fast and spastic. Now I’m desperate to know about this slow reputation we seem to have.

Ooh, maybe we’re like Slow Donnie and we’re slow in a GOOD way. Oh, that’s the take I’m going with on this one. We’re totally slow in a good way.

(The whole clip is the best thing ever, but skip to 2:18 to see how we’re slow in a good way, if you’re in a time-crunch. Or just a jerk, I guess. WHY DO YOU HATE DAVID CROSS.)

I guess these last few phrases are good; they show America doesn’t corner the market on foolishness. But the exotic foreign foolishness seems fancier somehow. SIGH. When am I going to foreign locales in order to listen to awesome adages and such?

Happy Sunday, people of the world. Stop being silly. Say what you mean. Thanks so much. I don’t want to have to come back here six months from now and take you all to task again. Who KNOWS where my mind would be six months from now. I might be a CIRCUS PERFORMER then. Or a HORSE TRAINER. You never really know, life’s a funny thing with the twists and turns.

Because you’re lonely. Because it’s New Year’s Eve. Because you’ve given up.

I saw a lovely movie this weekend. I don’t want to say what it was, because this is going to spoil it. Some of you that follow me on Twitter already know what I saw, though, so sorry for spoiling. Although, it’s not much of a spoiler. I think you knew, five minutes into it, what the final outcome was going to be.

Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself, here.

I saw a lovely movie this weekend. I laughed, and I cried, and I really enjoyed it. Here, I will link to its IMDb page. Only click if you want to be spoiled. That’s a happy medium, right? Right. Good. It was a really good movie, though, seriously. High recommendation. ALL THE HOT MEN HAPPENED.

It was a romantic comedy, more realistic than most, so I appreciated that. The people weren’t cookie-cutter. Good. Thanks. Appreciated. Some people were assholes. Some people fought. Some situations didn’t end up wrapped in a pretty little bow.

Then, of course, as most of these movies do, the inevitable happened.

The male and female best friends fell madly in love and rode off into the sunset. Well, the proverbial sunset. There was no sunset. But you know what I mean.

Now, I know. I KNOW. This does happen for some people. I don’t know if it was on here I mentioned this before, or on Twitter, or Facebook – somewhere? And I got a few responses from people saying “oh, no, it’ s not a Hollywood falsehood, it really happens, I personally married my best friend because one day I just looked at him and realized he was the one, all along.” I know I talked about this once, many moons ago, back when I was on buggy-as-hell-Blogger. (Speaking of which, last night when I wrote this I updated that post, because Blogger, as always, effed up the formatting. Well, WordPress, because it does that, sent out the link to everyone as if I’d just written it. So, sorry people, who thought I wrote a new post at 9pm last night. It was from July. And sorry if this looks like I’m going where I’ve gone before. It kind of is, and kind of isn’t. I guess it’s expanding upon that post, to some extent. Also, I’m all in a lather. AGAIN. Because of this movie I watched yesterday. And isn’t there a statute of limitations on topics? I blogged about that 8 months ago. I’m allowed to cannibalize it now, right?)

Well, that’s great. I’m glad that works out, sometimes. I really am. I’m just a little more skeptical than that.

I seem to have more male friends than female ones. This is not because I dislike women. The reason is two-fold: one, because I tend to get along with men better, because I’m kind of a tomboy and because I’m kind of totally geeky and because growing up I had very little in the way of strong female role models so I learned most of my social interaction skills from men so I’m more comfortable with them. And two, because I was cruelly bullied from a very young age by a large clique of mean girls at my school (think The Plastics from Mean Girls, only with very tall 80s hair and a lot, lot meaner) so I never quite got over my mistrust of women. I know it’s irrational and I know it’s stupid and I know it’s holding me back. I’m working on it. I really am. I currently have more female friends in my life than I think I’ve had in my entire lifespan combined, if that means anything. I think that indicates growth.

Anyway. More male friends than female ones. I promise I have a point here. The point is this: I don’t fall in love with them. I also don’t turn around one day and say, “ZOMG! There he IS! THE ONE! Whaaaaat? He’s been under my nose all along!” You know why I don’t do this? Because I have NO SQUISHY FEELINGS FOR MY FRIENDS. None. Zip. Zero. Nada.

I love my friends. To the point of distraction, actually. But it’s not romantic love. Is it throw-myself-in-front-of-a-train-for-them love? Yep. Absolutely it is. It takes you a while to get there (except randomly people that jump to the front of the queue, I can’t explain my weird heart or the way it works), but once you’re there, you’re there. And I would throw myself in front of a train for you. I would (ugh, and I hate this) HELP YOU MOVE TO A NEW APARTMENT. I would cat-sit for you. I would babysit for your emo pre-teen. I totally would do these things for you, if I loved you, and you were my friend.

I would NOT take off my clothes and have naked time with you. This is not a thing I would do. No no no. Because it would be, to quote Lorraine from Back to the Future, “Oh ….. I don’t know what it is, but when I’m kissing you, it’s like I’m kissing… my brother.” If I know someone well enough to help them move their porn collection across town or to have nursed them through a hangover or the flu or whatever, I am not immediately switching over to “hey, check out my titties” mode, you know?

Why is this the thing in movies? Is this what we all want? Or, at least, is it what Hollywood THINKS we all want?

Now, listen, I’m not saying people should fall in love with their enemies. Don’t be absurd! Of course you want to fall in love with someone you LIKE, someone you have an affinity toward, someone you have similarities to, etc. Of course you want that. But your best friend? Or at least a close friend? Like in so many movies? I can’t see that working. I just can’t. So why does Hollywood keep doing it? Why do we want to SEE it so badly? Because they wouldn’t keep making these movies if we didn’t want to see it happen.

There’s friend zone, and there’s romantic zone, and never the twain shall meet. No, that’s not true. The twain are meety. You can, and should, be friends with whoever you’re bedding down with. Of course you should! Both before and during the relationship. But best friends for years, then BAM THE SCALES FELL FROM MY EYES and NOW I LOVE HIM OR HER?

Come on, seriously?

Do you know what it seems like to me? Giving up.

Here’s the thing. You already know your best opposite sex friend very well. And he or she knows YOU very well. They know your quirks, the weird things about you that you worry about telling people, the things that you think might make a potential mate go run for the hills. And they still like you. So one day you think, hey, listen, Bob (I made up the name Bob, I don’t know a Bob. Well, no. That’s not true. I know a Bob. I don’t think he knows how to use the internet. That’s safe, then. I can use the name Bob. Sorry, Bob, if I underestimated you and you know how to use the internet. This isn’t about you) knows all my things, and Bob still likes me. And he’s not disgusting-looking. And we’re both single. Maybe Bob and I should give it a go!


Do you value your friendship with Bob? Do you really? Because if you do, DON’T SLEEP WITH BOB. Have you ever heard the saying “don’t shit where you eat?” It’s a SAYING for a REASON.

It’s going to go one of two ways, most likely, except for the very few situations where people told me they did actually marry their pre-romance BFFs. And yay, you guys, I still think the whole thing’s hinky, though. Think about it, those people out there: were you really BFFs? For years? Or did you always have the sneaking suspicion in the back of your mind that you might have a thing for him or her? I’m guessing it’s the latter. I’m looking at the relationships that went from purely platonic to completely coupley right now.

(I know, I know. “AMY! I fell in LOVE with my BEST FRIEND!” Awesome. Actually, I would love to hear from people who DID fall in love with their best friends, because it would make me feel like Hollywood isn’t pulling these movies out of their asses. Also, I like true-life love stories. I like to cry over real things. TELL ME YOUR LOVE STORIES COMMENTERS.)

Here’s the two ways:

1. You sleep with Bob (or Roberta, whatever) and you start a relationship and think THIS IS AWESOME and then the real world crashes in and you realize you were just friends for a REASON. All this together time is INSANE. You don’t even find him or her that ATTRACTIVE. And you always hated the way he or she treated her significant others. And you feel smothered because you know each other so well. So you break up, and not only did you lose your relationship, you lost your BFF. Double suck.

2. You sleep with Bob or Roberta and it is HORRIBLE. You can’t look each other in the eye the next day. You wonder what the hell you were thinking. You’ve lost both your dignity AND your BFF. One and a half sucks.

And, if you think you can just spill your undying love for Bob (or Roberta):

You walk up to Bob or Roberta. You tell them you love them. You’ve always loved them. You will always love them. “Don’t You Forget About Me” plays in your head. Bob or Roberta leans close. This is it. This is your moment.

And Bob or Roberta tells you, nicely, they’ve never felt that way about you, but they treasure your friendship. (I TREASURE YOUR FRIENDSHIP, LISA! Sorry, watched Team America World Police this weekend. HOLY HELL PUPPET SEX SCENE. That is all.) You are embarrassed. You can’t look him or her in the eye ever again. Again, you’ve lost your dignity and your BFF. Also, you eat too much ice cream and emo all over your other friends. This is just totally embarrassing all around. Who looks good with cryface? No one, that’s who.

And, think about it. Are you sure you had romantic feelings for your BFF? Are you SURE? Or were you just tired of being alone, and didn’t want to have to get to know a new person all over again, and this seemed – well, easy? And he’s RIGHT THERE? And he’s cute enough, you know? And you KNOW him. It’s a TIME-SAVER.

We’ve all fallen prey to this, now and then. I know I have, when the Amy you see (fine, the Amy you READ, whatever) before you was a younger, less-wise, more idiotic and starry-eyed Amy. I still feel badly about the guys over the years I’ve decided were “the ones” and then come to find out it was just that I knew them, and it was comfortable, like an old shoe, more so than a romantic thing, and Hollywood duped me into thinking this was the way it was supposed to go and I was tired of being Forever Alone. I thought at the time they broke my heart. Come to find out they were being rational and I was being insane. (What? No, not ME.)

Listen, Hollywood. Enough with the When Harry Met Sally and The Switch and the Zack and Miri Make a Porno and the Some Kind of Wonderful and the Clueless (with the added layer of IT WAS HER BROTHER, EW) and Made of Honor and Reality Bites and movies of this ilk. I’ll give you 13 Going on 30, only because it seemed less forced, and she fell in love with him as an adult, and it was kind of a different situation. Also because Jennifer Garner was so damn cute and Mark Ruffalo was so Ruffalicious.

Do I like to watch them? Oh, shit, yeah, FINE, I’m a sap, I like anything sappy, I love a good cry in a dark movie theater. But I think we can do better. Let’s show it how it really is, once in a while. People falling in love with people who are NOT their best friends. People falling in love with people they meet, randomly, build a NEW friendship with, then a relationship. Can we have that, too? Because that actually would give me more hope than thinking one of my male friends was suddenly going to come up to me all, “Amy, listen, I woke up this morning and thought, I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU.” (Also, KISSING MY BROTHER. And I’d giggle like a crazy person, I wouldn’t be able to help it. Not at all.)

So, movie today? All the men of hotness. But also all the relationship of unrealistic expectations. And that kind of made me cranky. YES FINE it also made me cry. But so do effing M&Ms commercials lately. Me crying is not overly indicative of a hit, let me just tell you right now.

Let’s show things as they actually are? Friends being friends, lovers being lovers, people acting like people? I’d like that a lot. More so as I age. Because apparently the romantic dreamer in me is dwindling away as I get older.

Apparently Allison was right, and when you grow up, your heart dies. Well-played, John Hughes. WELL-PLAYED.

Shut your mouth; try not to panic. Just shut your mouth, if you can do it.

Here we are and it’s the weekend. Listen, has it been the longest week for everyone else, too? No? Just me? GRAND. 

I’ve been having multiple run-ins with hard-to-deal-with people lately. You know the type. They start talking and you IMMEDIATELY want to stab a letter opener in either their mouth hole or your ear hole just to make it stop. Or they send you email and you see their name pop up on your screen and you just want to weep because you know it’s going to make you have to deal with nonsense on a scale not yet even imagined. Or you see them coming and you start scoping out the exits, the hiding places, and running though your list of excuses for escape in your mind. Have you used gallbladder inflammation recently? How about the gout. WILL THEY BUY IT IF YOU SAY YOU HAVE THE GOUT? 

Then I thought, you know, I can’t be alone in this. I see a lot of examples on Facebook and on Twitter and hear from people the complaints of “ZOMGGGGGG I hate this person or that person” or whatever. Most people don’t say they want to stab them in the mouth hole with a letter opener, though. I’m just a little more open about my emotions. Or maybe insane. OR BOTH. 

So today, FOR YOU, and also a little for me, (FINE MOSTLY FOR ME) I did some research on how best to deal with people that make you want to get stab-stab-stabalicious with office supplies. I think this will all benefit us in the long run, don’t you? YES IT WILL. 

Here is an article with ten tips for dealing with annoying people. Now first, I looked up “how to deal with DIFFICULT people” and was NOT pleased with the results. Because apparently, “difficult” people is not the SAME as “annoying” people. “Difficult” people is people who, I don’t know, make you work too hard or something. “Annoying” people are the letter-opener-mouth-hole-stabbees. Good to know. I like to be precise. 

I liked this article because it started with a Jean-Paul Sartre quote about hell being other people. I am TOTALLY DOWN WITH THAT. Other people are totally hellacious. Also the website is Bloomlife Design. BLOOMLIFE. Doesn’t that sound calming and restful like green tea and calm breezes? Totally does. 

So this woman (whose name is ALSO Amy, nice) tells us that we should: 

Remember we are not mind-readers. What? I’m NOT? No, I KID, this is actually kind of awesome. She says that we tend to make up stories in our minds as to WHY the annoying person is acting the way they do. And then we react, based on the imaginary story we’ve concocted. ZOMG, Also Amy! I totally do this ALL THE TIME! For example: a very annoying person I know who never shuts his big yapper so you are caught in these 17 million year long conversations that could be finished in only five minutes if he would SHUT HIS YAPPER? I’ve decided he is lonely, pathetic and sad, and no one loves him or will talk to him, therefore he gloms onto ANY SOCIAL INTERACTION HE CAN FIND and then SPINS IT OUT AS LONG AS HE IS ABLE. Now, do I KNOW he is unlovable, sad, and pathetic? Nope. Made that story up in my head. No idea, really. Just gleaned that from MULTIPLE INTERMINABLE CONVERSATIONS with him. So maybe the next time I talk to him (or am “sucked into a black hole of conversation,” as I like to call it) I should go into it thinking, “This is a person with a LIVELY SOCIAL LIFE! And he has DEIGNED to STOOP to TALK to LITTLE OLD ME!!!!” I think this will make these conversations, which, up until now, are on an enjoyment level akin to being drawn and quartered, SO MUCH BETTER. What. It will. It will, right? 

Stop and breathe. OK, let’s continue on with Mr. Shut Your Yapper. The next time he starts talking, I’m going to just start breathing. Heavily. Panting, almost. Like I’m doing Lamaze. If nothing else, it might scare him off. THESE ARE EXCELLENT TIPS SO FAR. Let’s keep this up, Other Amy! 

Ask yourself, “how is this person reflecting my shadow?” I know, this sounds like annoying dirty hippie crap, right? According to Other Amy, this means we should realize that what annoys us most about the other person is that they’re just doing something WE OURSELVES OFTEN DO. I kind of take exception to this. I NEVER trap people in conversations they don’t want to be in. Because I hate people and don’t want to talk to them. Usually, my conversations are thus: “Here. A thing. You know what to do with it? Good. Problems? Find me. Thanks.” Then I wander off. I mean, if I LOVE you, then I probably talk your ear off. But you’d want me to, if we were friends. Wouldn’t you? Because I’m the most fun and totally scintillating. So I’m pretty sure Mr. Shut Your Yapper doesn’t have my shadow. Unless this is a Peter Pan situation and he STOLE my shadow. If that’s the case, he’d better give that shit back. I don’t like petty thievery. 

Take your own advice! This one is confusing, because it’s telling us not to give people advice. I NEVER give Mr. Shut Your Yapper advice. Why would I do that? It would make our conversation LONGER. Mostly I just nod. And eye the exits seductively. Oh, wait, I just re-read this. It says to think about what advice you’d give the person, then give that advice to YOURSELF. OK, the advice I’d give to Yappy McYapYap is to SHUT  HIS BIG YAPPER and also CONSOLIDATE HIS INFO INTO SMALLER CHUNKS and STOP BOTHERING PEOPLE. Also maybe notice the trapped look in his audience’s eyes when he has buttonholed them into conversations. Buttonholed? Is that right? That doesn’t seem right. Maybe it’s cornholed. Yep, I’m pretty sure he cornholes people into conversations. Now I feel better. Again, as noted above, my conversations in real life are usually terse, as I hate people. Wait, am I supposed to use this information HERE? On my BLOG? I refuse to accept that. That would just make me the saddest. Here is where I blather. I LOVE TO BLATHER HERE. I won’t take that advice, Other Amy. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME. 

Stop writing a script for other people. This is smart: it says if people don’t react the way you expect them to, you shouldn’t get upset by it, because it’s not their fault; they don’t know that you expect them to act a certain way, and it’s not fair of you to expect people to act a certain way, anyway. So I SUPPOSE I don’t get to expect Mr. Shut Your Yapper to STOP WASTING MY DAMN TIME and LET ME GO HOME NOW. I guess it’s too much to ask to expect people to have a clue. That’s sad, but I suppose it’s true. I’d be the best at writing a script, though. Let’s just be clear about that. It would have INTRIGUE and SUSPENSE and MANY PLOT TWISTS. 

Realize when you’re annoyed, you’re annoying. I AM? I don’t think that’s the case. I think I’m PISSED when I’m annoyed. I think I’m RANTY when I’m annoyed. I think I’m sometimes even FURIOUS when I’m annoyed. ANNOYING is a whole different ballgame, now isn’t it? Annoying is when I’m giggly and everything cracks me up when you’re trying to tell me a serious thing like “Aunt Judy fell in a well” or something. Annoying is when I’m exhausted and I keep yawning when you’re trying to get me to pay attention. Annoying is when I can’t stay on topic in a story or say “totally” or “OMG!!!!” way too much in one conversation. When I’m ANNOYED, I’m not ANNOYING. I think the two can be mutually exclusive. 

Ask yourself, “How do I benefit by continuing to be so annoyed?” Ugh, this kind of hippie-dippie granola shit makes me INSANE. I do NOT benefit. I do NOT want to be annoyed. However. HOWEVER. Mr. Shut Your Yapper WILL NOT SHUT HIS YAPPER. How can I NOT be annoyed by this? Frankly, I was hoping this list would be a little more helpful. I’m beginning to wonder if I don’t have anger management issues that would be best treated by a professional. Or if I don’t need a hired assassin to take care of this situation. OH IF ONLY I KNEW A HIRED ASSASSIN. 

Find your tribe. This is nice. Apparently, there are people who spend all day and all night trying to win over the entire world, when they should just find their tribe because those people will NOT need winning over and will just love them. AW YOU GUYS. I TOTALLY have my tribe. Even BETTER, I have MULTIPLE EFFING TRIBES. I have FAMILY tribe and I have THEATER tribe and I have TWITTER tribe and I have BLOG tribe and I have IRL FRIENDS tribe. That’s five tribes. There’s even SPILLOVER from some tribes into other tribes. I’m totally a tribe ho. I guess Rush Limbaugh was right about my sluttishness. I’m not attempting to win anyone over because I am pretty honey badger about that shit at this point in my life. I mean, sure. Is it nice to be liked? Yep. But after an attempt or two that gets rebuffed, I’m like the wind. JUST LIKE THAT PATRICK SWAYZE SONG. I don’t have time for haters right now. I dealt with that for years. I’m not doing it anymore. If you don’t like me, that’s really totally on you. But I don’t need to be around your negative energy, and I don’t have to kill myself trying to win your negative ass over. So I’m outta here, Sally. Go be a complete bitchface on someone else’s watch. I GOTS ME FIVE TRIBES YO. 

Say no when you mean no. OH HELL YES. I really have to get better at this. I have one thing I’m really into right now. It’s all I want to do. But I keep saying yes to ALL THE OTHER THINGS. And they take time away from the one thing I WANT to be doing. Because listen, I like the other things, I do, very much, but they are TIME CONSUMING and also they bring unnecessary people, like Mr. Shut Your Yapper, into my talking space. You know who I want in my talking space? Dumbcat. The Nephew, if he’s visiting. Because other people in my talking space MAKE IT VERY HARD FOR ME TO DO THE THINGS I WANT TO BE DOING. I need to start saying no, and I need to start saying it LOUDER and MEANING IT THIS TIME. 

Remember, others cannot read your mind. What? They can’t? Oh, shit, and here I thought I was all magically projecting my thoughts like a boss. Eff. Here’s the thing. I’m not ASKING that Mr. Shut Your Yapper read my mind. Because I have ASKED him to stop it. Well, I haven’t flat-out said, “Mr. Shut Your Yapper, why don’t you shut that flapping yapper before I stab you with this here letter opener,” but I’ve asked, nicely, in a NUMBER of ways, for him to go to others with his multitudinous issues/problems/complaints/venting sessions/mouthhole flappery. I mean, I don’t want to hurt his feelings. No, that’s not true, I don’t give two good shits about his feelings. But without saying too much, it would be against my better interest to piss this guy off to the point he leaves, because his positives outweigh his negatives. Only by the TINIEST BITTIEST BIT, but they do. No, I’m not asking Mr. Shut Your Yapper to read my damn mind. But how about he picks up some cues, both body-languagey and facial-expressiony? Or actually pays attention when I give him options of other people that might be more helpful than I would? 

I don’t know how overly helpful this website was. It wasn’t the worst thing. But it didn’t magically make Mr. Shut Your Yapper disappear, either. DAMMIT. I was so hoping it would.

So it’s letter openers, hired assassins, or anger management, I guess? Listen, I don’t really have time for all of these things, I’m a busy lady.


Or, man, do I EVER feel a flareup of that GOUT coming on. WHOO THE GOUT. 


Consider this the slip that brought me to my knees

We were discussing Lent the other day on Twitter. I was cheering on some friends who are participating in Lent, while explaining that, although I find it beyond admirable whenever anyone goes through Lent, I no longer participate in the practice, because I am a stubborn ass when it comes to Catholicism. This brought up some curiosity as to why this is.

No, not why I’m a stubborn ass. If you could answer that question, you’d win the prize. I can’t even answer that question. Genetics? Nature? Nurture? My most influential role model growing up was (and remains) the most stubborn man I’ve ever come across in the history of ever; I’m sure that plays a part. My brain just being wired that way? I don’t know. I’m stubborn, and I can, and often am, a complete ass about it. There’s not a lot of rhyme or reason to it. I can’t often explain my actions to myself. Sometimes I even say, “Amy! Stop being such a stubborn ass!” TO MYSELF. It doesn’t often help. I just keep assing along.

No, why I’m a stubborn ass in relation to Catholicism was the question. I’ve touched on it now and again here, a few run-ins I had with various clergy members or things that have happened to me over the years in the church. There was the time I was kicked out of churchschool for standing up to the bully asshole priest who screamed at the Planned Parenthood employee; there was the time I was so mad at the games we had to play in churchschool I refused to participate, and therefore I became an object lesson for the entire congregation.

Neither of these explain why I refuse to go to church anymore. I still attended church after these occurred. I attended church right up until a little after grad school, actually. Then I’d had enough, so I stopped.

Now, before I start this, please bear in mind: I am not attacking the Catholic church, or any church, or any religion (well, except for maybe cults. I’m scared of cults. Or religions that are yelly about things. Or religions that get in my face. Other than that: you go, religion, you go.) This is MY PERSONAL TAKE ON SHIT. If you want to be an asshat and all “YOU HATE GOD” or whatever, you know what, go do that over there, or something, I don’t have time or energy to deal with your shenanigans.

It all came down to this: I could no longer attend an institution that was making me pray, on a weekly basis, for social issues to be resolved in a manner that was opposite to what I believed in.

Sure, there were other things. There was the time there a senile priest chased me out of the confessional screaming “GET ON YOUR KNEES AND BEG FOR GOD’S FORGIVENESS YOU HEATHEN” (wish I was kidding, you guys), there was the evil priest, for whom a special circle in Dante’s inferno is reserved, one where fingernails are pulled out OVER AND OVER AND OVER, who called my mom up at work and called her the Whore of Babylon (yeah, I know, right?) because she and my father refused to donate substantial amounts of money so he could get a new rectory; there was the time that same priest installed a rearview mirror in the confessional so he could see who was making confession even though it was supposed to be anonymous, I assume either for blackmail or gossip purposes. But those were individual incidents, and not indicative of the church as a whole. So I kept going.

Then there was the hypocrisy. I like rules. I approve of rules. I think, as a society, we could benefit from following the damn rules a little more often. But no one was following the effing rules of church, yet people were still GOING. People would be eating Egg McMuffins in their cars in the parking lot, then going in and receiving the Eucharist. THAT’S NOT THE RULE. You’re supposed to fast before you receive the sacrament. THOSE ARE THE RULES. People would only attend a mass here or there, usually the ones where you got goodies, like palms or ashes, and then be all, “Yep, I’m a good Catholic.” You attend ALL the masses and ALL the holy days. THOSE ARE THE RULES. People that I KNEW were horrendous human beings in real life would be at mass on Sundays. I’m pretty sure you were supposed to be at least ATTEMPTING to follow God’s teachings ALL WEEK LONG, not just piously showing up in church on Sunday. RULES. RULES. RULES.

But that was on them, not on me. So I kept going. Good Catholic girl, parents raised me to attend church, I kept going. Not saying I didn’t miss a mass here or there, especially in college when I was too hungover to get out of bed on Sunday mornings, but I made an effort. I tried to do my best. I still believed in what the church stood for, the greater good of it all. I kept going.

Years passed. It weighed on me, more and more. But I kept going.

Then this weird new practice started, and that was when I drew the line.

At the end of every mass, right before we could leave, we all had to stand there while either the priest or a deacon or one of the readers stood up and read off a list of things the church, as a whole, was praying for that week. And we all had to put our arms and hands up in a Sieg Heil salute throughout. No, I’m not kidding. Did I have the only church that thought this was a good idea? There have to be some Catholics reading this. Did your church make you pray for things while Heiling? Was this a thing? Is this still a thing?

So the first time I looked around, trying to catch someone’s eye to share the delicious insanity of “hey, we’re totally doing the Sieg Heil thing, this is cuckoo-bananas, right?” but everyone had dead, dead eyes. Like a cult. Like a dead cult. IT WAS ALARMING. It was grainy WWII news-reel footage of Hitler youth alarming. I did not like it one little bit.

So I just stood there and refused to put my arm up. I wasn’t Heiling ANYONE. I felt like I’d fallen into a bodysnatchers movie.

Then the person reading started reading what we were praying for. Poor people. Cool, I could get behind that. At the end of each statement we were supposed to respond something. At this point, many years later, I have no idea what that is. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, it was “Let us pray.” I don’t know what it was. I barely remember what I wore yesterday. (I’m lying. I wore my Dr. Horrible shirt and it was AWESOME.)

So, poor people. Cool, cool, cool. I mean, I wasn’t Heiling, but I could say “Let us pray” to that. Fine. Then something for more clergy members, or whatever. Some things that I was completely down with and found to be not-at-all-objectionable.

Then we got (and I’m working from memory and imagination, here, so bear with):

“Let us pray for the homosexuals; that they see the error of their ways, and find God. Let them come back to God and realize that the only true love and marriage is that which is found between a man and a woman.”


I mean, I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the church was totally anti-homosexuality. But they didn’t usually SAY it. Not in MASS.

I wasn’t “let us pray”-ing for that shit, no no, not me. Not with over half of the people I loved more than anyone BEING those damn dirty godless homosexuals. So I just stood there, refusing to Heil, refusing to let-us-pray.And kind of getting a head of steam, honestly. And an Amy head of steam is never a good thing. They usually boil over. Someone gets scalded.

Then some other filler shit, then we got:

“Let us pray for the aborted babies, who have been killed, through no fault of their own, by their mothers. Let them enter heaven, whether baptized or not. Let the government see the error of its ways and outlaw this barbaric practice.”


OK, first you attack my best FRIENDS, then you expect me to Sieg Heil away my right to frigging CHOOSE? Nope. Not going to happen. HEAD OF STEAAAAAM. Also, separation of CHURCH and STATE. You aren’t supposed to talk about the GOVERNMENT in here. Yes, yes, that’s not what that MEANS, FINE. Either way. STOP BRINGING YOUR POLITICS TO MY ALTAR.

And everyone else around me, dead, dead eyes, were just standing there, arms outstretched, mindlessly, thoughtlessly “let us pray”-ing. Probably not even listening to what was being said. Not even thinking about what they were throwing their words behind.

That was when I realized: there was a very, very good possibility I think too much to attend mass anymore. Because I overthink EVERYTHING. The rules. What’s being said. What the things being said MEAN. Why we’re doing certain things as opposed to others. Why there aren’t any female priests. Why priests can’t marry. Why there is so much pedophilia in the Catholic church. Why we’re Sieg Heiling to social issues that are the VERY REASONS I choose which political candidates to vote for, or against.

But I thought, maybe this is just a special-occasion thing. Maybe this isn’t going to happen every week. Maybe this is going to happen once in a while, and you can just stand here and 1967 conscientious-objector this shit out and all will be well.

Nope. Every week. Every week the same old “pray for the dead babies” and the “pray for the godless gays” and me standing there looking around the congregation for someone, ANYONE, who wasn’t just Heiling away their soul and not finding a single kindred spirit.

So I couldn’t go anymore. It was over for me. Just, over. Done. Other than once or twice (once because the priest mentioned in the link above was in town, and I wanted to see him because I loved him more than almost anyone, and a couple times for Christmas when my parents’ wheedling became just waaaaay too intense, before I finally put my foot down) I haven’t been back since.

Do I miss it? Yes. I miss the gorgeous ritual of it. I miss the routine. I miss the rules. I miss the pageantry and the iconography and the stories. But the magic of it was gone for me. I can’t stand behind an institution that hates women and believes that homosexuality is evil. I can’t. I wouldn’t put up with it from a politician in office, I wouldn’t put up with it from a friend, and I won’t put up with it from my church.

The worst part is, I don’t believe this is what Jesus would have wanted his church to come to, were he here today. Jesus was a progressive dude. He was all-inclusive. Back in the day, he was friends with tax collectors and whores, who were like the dregs of society, you know? He was the original hippie. And you’re telling me that a church, founded on this man’s teachings, wouldn’t change with the times and accept all people, regardless whether their plumbing’s an innie or an outie or who they choose to bed down with at the end of the night? Really? You think I’m stupid enough to go along with that?

I’ve tried other religions, because I miss the magic. I really do. I miss the belonging and I miss the belief in something. But my heart will always be with Catholicism. See, that’s why I say, don’t even attack me, because this isn’t an attack on Catholicism. I LOVE CATHOLICISM. I do. I just don’t like where it is, as opposed to where it could be. And I can’t, in good faith (heh, pun intended) back that horse.

Do I believe in God, I suppose, is your next question. And that’s a huge one, right? One that most people probably don’t even want to discuss. Well, listen, if there’s ever been a place to discuss it, it’s here, so I might as well get it out of the way. I believe in SOMETHING. I think there’s something out there. I’ve seen too many things happen that are too coincidental to be coincidences. I think there’s some sort of master plan, sure. It’s nebulous, but it’s in place. Somehow. What is it? What the hell do I know, I’m not in the inner circle. Is the higher power God? Jesus? Gaia? Buddha? The Flying Spaghetti Monster? I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW. I don’t know if there’s even a name on it, honestly. I just think there’s something. SOMETHING. And I respect the right of everyone else to believe – or not to believe at all – in their somethings, or their nothings. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else, and as long as you don’t get too shouty about it.

So yes. I’m stubborn as hell. I won’t go to church with my family when I’m home, which upsets them to no end. But it’s not like they think – because I hate the church. It’s not that at all. It’s because if I enter a church for mass, I’d feel like I was a hypocrite, no better than that guy chowing the Egg McMuffin in the parking lot before mass. I can’t stand behind some of their most basic beliefs, so the church is not for me. If it changes? If they decide to change with the times, embrace the social issues that are dealbreakers for me? Stop railing against homosexuality, accept a woman’s right to choose, allow female priests, and allow male priests to marry? Then yes. I can see myself attending mass again. Because I do miss it.

I’m a stubborn ass. I know that. I know that’s true. But I also know I don’t belong in a room of thoughtless people with their hands raised, saluting and praying for things that they aren’t even listening to, one eye on their watches, thinking about getting home for football. I have better things to do with my Sundays. I usually spend them at a theater. That’s a kind of a church, for me. More all-inclusive. More welcoming. And, if done well? Totally a religious experience.

“Throw your hands in the air! Wave ’em like you just don’t care!” NO. No, I don’t think I will. BOSSY. Sheesh.

At this VERY SECOND, I am teching Rumors at my theater. I know, HOW AM I ALSO POSTING THIS. Because I’m staying up in the wee hours Saturday night to write this, I love you all so much I want to squish all your faces, THAT’S HOW.

Amy! What is teching? You might ask. I mean, you might. I don’t know. You might not. You might still be mad at me for all that porn yesterday, what the hell do I know. (BEE TEE DUBS. I totally got linked on a porn site yesterday because of that post. Does this mean I’ve made it? I THINK IT DOES BABY.)

Teching, for those of you who do NOT spend all of their free time at the most awesome place in the world, also known as the theater, means our show opens in a week, so we spend most of the day the Sunday before we open making sure the lights and sound are just right, and then the actors get to act with lights, sound, and costumes for the first time, and the booth ops get to run the lights and sound the first time and see where they might have problem spots, and the director gets to see where he or she might have problem spots, and it is EXCITING and it is EXHAUSTING and there is A LOT OF ACTIVITY and it only makes me want to hide under a table a few times in a day, so that’s alright.

I’m totally the light and sound operator. And the stage manager. Why? Do you really have to ask? Because I rock. That’s why. I’m embarrassed I had to tell you that, honestly. You should just know it.

Also, I made dark chocolate swirl chip brownies for everyone for tomorrow. Again, why? I AM THE AWESOMEST. Yeah, I know. You can send flowers and gifts, if you want. I’ll never turn down a good token of appreciation.

So anyway. I was driving home from work last night (I have a SIDE NOTE about work which I will add in a minute) and I heard two songs in a row that made me think, you know what? I hate bossy songs that attempt to get me to say or do things.

This all ties into I don’t like people telling me what to do. Even SONGS. I don’t like orders. I would really have been a horrible member of the armed forces, wouldn’t I?

I was thinking about how, when you’re a kid, in gym class, they think it’s a good idea to make you sing and dance and frolic along to these totally bossy songs. Like the Hoky Poky. The Hoky Poky is just about the bossiest. It’s got you putting your feet in and your hands in and your head in and shaking like you’ve got epilepsy or something. I was not very compliant in gym class.

Then they’d make you square dance, which was WORSE, because it was a bossy song, but you had to TOUCH A BOY. We were like EIGHT. Touching boys was ICKY. And it would be all “DO SI DO” and “SWING YOUR PARTNER” and “PROMENADE” or whatever the hell and we were all trying to get as far away from our partners as we could but still remain in contact or else our fascist gym  teacher would come smoosh us together like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and laugh and laugh and so you had TOUCHING and you had BOSSERY and you had MEAN GYM TEACHERS. Is it really any wonder that I didn’t want anyone telling me what to do?

Then these songs came on the radio, because (I think I’ve mentioned this before) I can’t listen to the GOOD channels on Saturday nights, because they think it’s a good idea to put stupid programming on like oldies and techno, so I have to listen to the weird retro channel which is the lesser of the evils, and so I get to listen to the songs of my ill-begotten teen years. (ZOMG. Tonight, they played “Heaven” by effing WHITESNAKE. Are you KIDDING me. That was AWESOMESAUCE. I totally sang along to that to the top of my lungs even though I’m tonedeaf. There is no self-respecting child of the late 80s and early 90s who wouldn’t do the same exact thing unless you were brought up in a sequestered cult of some sort.)

OK, first. (Let me just say, I didn’t know what these were and had to look them up. I have no musical knowledge. None. Well, Whitesnake. I know Whitesnake. OF COURSE I DO.)

“Whoomp There it Is”
by Tag Team (really? That seems like…a bad band name choice)
Popular in: 1993

Sample bossy lyrics:

“Party people let me hear some noise”
“Jump, jump, rejoice”
“Wave your hands in the air/shake your derriere”
“Bring it back, y’all. Bring it back, y’all. Bring it back, y’all.”

I think you all know this song. I kind of knew this song. They are always playing this song when they want to indicate “THIS IS SET IN THE 90s” in movies. Also, Wikipedia tells me they play it at sporting events. I wouldn’t know about that. The last sporting event I attended was in 1992. I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS. Go, go, Shamrocks! (YES, my high school mascot was the Shamrocks. I don’t want to talk about it. I SAID I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. Yes. I realize that shamrocks don’t exactly strike fear into the heart of teams like “panthers” and “huskies” and what-have-you. IT WAS A SMALL SCHOOL LEAVE ME ALONE I DIDN’T PICK THE DUMB MASCOT.)

It’s so bossy, damn. It’s telling me to make NOISE and JUMP and REJOICE and WAVE MY HANDS and SHAKE MY DERRIERE (ugh, really? gross) and “bring it back, y’all” and I don’t even know what they want me to BRING back. What’s IT? What am I bringing back? Library books? An undercooked hamburger? This single, purchased by mistake?

Then THIS song happened. And if I thought the bossiness factor was high on the last song, well, HOLY HELL is this one worse.

“Let Me Clear My Throat”
by DJ Kool (ugh, there’s nothing “kool” about spelling “cool” like that)
Popular in: 1996

Sample bossy lyrics:

“Now when I say uh, you say ah Uh. And now when I say hey, you say ha Hey hey. Now when I say uh, you say ah Uh Uh. Now when I say hey you say ha Hey.  Now when I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. When I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. FREEZE. Now all the ladies in the place. If you got real hair, real fingernails. If you got a job, you going to school. And y’all need nobody to help you handle your business. Make some noise. One, two, three, come on now. When I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. When I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. FREEZE. Now to all the brothas in the place. That don’t give a damn about what them ladies talking about. Cuz you just trying to get chummy. Make some noise.”


No, I’m totally serious. This is ALL ONE SECTION. I transcribed this directly from one of those shady lyrics sites online. It gave me a popup to go back to college so now I’m getting my degree as a vet tech. WHAT. It’s TOTALLY LEGIT. This song went on FOREVER on my radio, and I had never heard it before today (that’s because, in 1996, I was busy HAVING A LIFE and GRADUATING COLLEGE and GETTING DRUNK AND MAKING OUT WITH MEN THAT WERE BAD DECISIONS, thank you very much) and this whole SECTION was telling people what to do. And it was LIVE. So people were all “hoooo” and “yeahhhh” in the background and making some noise and it was ANNOYING ME.

Also, “freeze?” Really? Were people doing this in dance clubs or whatever? That seems foolish, right? People would bash into you and stuff and probably pickpocket you while you were frozen. Like GYPSIES. When I was in Italy, people warned me a gajillion times to watch out for the gypsy pickpockets. And listen, I didn’t even see a SINGLE gypsy. I felt gypped. Pun most definitely intended.

And let’s not even talk about the sentence structure up there, seriously. No, I’m serious, let’s not. It’s making my eyeballs bleed.

“Get chummy?” That’s what they were calling it in 1996? I wasn’t calling it “getting chummy.” I was calling it…well, getting drunk and making mistakes, honestly. But I guess that didn’t work with the totally boss rhyme structure, DID IT, DJ Kool.

Then I thought, you know what other song is all bossy? That TLC song “Waterfalls” that one friend of yours used to be obsessed with and listened to on repeat all the time and it was annoying.

But then I looked up the lyrics so I could show them to you and it’s not BOSSY. It’s WEIRD and DISTRESSING. Look. No, really! Look! I will SHOW you!

by TLC (I can’t think of TLC without thinking of that VH1 Behind the Music about TLC where they were interviewing someone about how Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes was a woman scorned and torched her ex’s house and the interviewee was all, “Lisa BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN” in this tone of awe that was HYSTERICAL and my friend and I used to say it ALL THE TIME in inappropriate situations.)

I'm not even making it up. Here's the mug shot. She totally BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN.

Popular in: 1995

Now, I thought this song was bossy because it was all “Don’t go chasing waterfalls” and I was GOING to make some humorous jokes about “well, what if I WANTED to chase waterfalls, TLC” but then I read the lyrics? And WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN THIS SONG.

Do you know what this song is about?


So it tells these two stories. The first is about a mother who can’t control her son and then he gets shot. I think. It’s kind of poorly written.

Then TLC tells me “don’t go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to.” So, are the waterfalls my DREAMS? Or are the waterfalls bad things, like drugs and street crime? If so, why are you calling them waterfalls, which are usually considered good things? This is kind of a mixed message, TLC. LISA BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN.

Then we get ANOTHER story, about how some guy is dying and some woman is to blame and “three letters took him to his final resting place” and I ASSUME those three letters are ESS EEE EXX but what killed him? AIDS? (Or, as my grandmother would say, “The AIDS?”) If so, wouldn’t that be four letters?

Then we get the warning about the waterfalls and the rivers and the lakes and the yadda yadda. I’m still confused. So now don’t go chasing whores, stick to nice girls, I guess? But again, if so, why are you comparing whores to waterfalls? Waterfalls are NICE. And CLEAN. Waterfalls don’t have VD.

Then there’s this INSANELY LONG RANT about rainbows and God and “tootin’ caine into your vein” (I’m not 100% sure the lyrics site spelled any of that right, what’s “caine?” Cocaine? I have NEVER heard cocaine called “caine” in my life. Honestly, the first thing I thought of? Michael Caine) and it is the WORST. It makes NO SENSE.

The best part of it:

“Dreams are hopeless aspirations
In hopes of comin’ true
Believe in yourself
The rest is up to me and you”

Dreams are “hopeless aspirations?” WHAT THE HELL, TLC. Are you trying to inspire people, or make them suicidal? I DO NOT GET THIS SONG AT ALL.

Also, “believe in yourself, the rest is up to me and you.” That doesn’t even make SENSE.

Then it’s more waterfalls and lakes and rivers.

This song won ALL THE AWARDS. Do you think no one was listening to the damn LYRICS? Were they too busy tootin’ caine into their veins?

This song, to me, is saying to not have dreams, because why bother? They are hopeless. But also don’t do drugs. Or have sex with whores. Or get shot in the street. Rainbows seem to be ok. Maybe. That’s a little up in the air. But rivers and lakes? Totally kosher.

I can’t even keep track of all these rules, seriously, I need a damn flowchart.


So, to sum up: songs that tell me what to do are not ok with me. Songs that make a suggestion: possibly ok, depending on how hectoring a tone they take with me. Songs that let me make up my own mind about how to go about my day: we’re cool, songs. We’re cool.

Happy Sunday, my little jellybabies.

(OH SNAP. I totally forgot my SIDE NOTE from up above! OK, here’s the scoop. I think the world would be a better place if, at some point, someone sat each and every human down – not ME, obviously, and not any of YOU, as you are all PERFECT and WONDROUS – and said, “Listen, you are an ADULT now. And as such? You need to TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR OWN SHIT. If you forget to fill your prescription and you realize it’s Saturday and the doctor’s office is closed? So sorry, Charlie. Plan better next time. If you have a colonoscopy on Monday morning and realize SATURDAY AFTERNOON you have no idea how you’re supposed to be prepping for that? Too bad. Play again another time. You lose this round. Plan ahead. It’s part of being an ADULT. In ADULT SOCIETY. If you need to make lists, write shit on a calendar, have pop-ups in your phone, whatever works for you – that’s fine! That’s not breaking any rules! But YOU ARE AN ADULT. And you are expected to behave as such. We are no longer going to pull your ass out of jams from now on. Pull up your big-boy and big-girl pants and TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR LIFE.” Whoo. OK. Just needed to let off a little steam. Much like my disgusting microwave meal I had last night that had a little hole marked “STEAM VENT DO NOT GET TOO CLOSE.” YOU are my steam vent, my friends and readers and possibly enemies who are reading this to make sure I don’t excoriate you online. THANK YOU FOR BEING MY STEAM VENT.)

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