It’s like a Things I Hate grab-bag! Woo!
So, here I go, in no particular order:
The 80’s Fashion Revival. Really, Fashion Industry? The 70’s Revival wasn’t bad enough? Now you have to bombard me with leotards and leg warmers and SCRUNCHIES (!!!) every time I want to read Texts From Last Night? Apparently so, for you are unrelenting in your evil plan. Travesty upon travesty is foisted upon my innocent and unwanting eyes everywhere I go. I am powerless to stop you. You have pulled the day-glo wool over the eyes of the Trendy and Beautiful, for they appear in public spaces clad like Pat Benetar-meets-8th-grade combo meals. They flounce about in their two-toned tights, gold miniskirts and purple ankle boots, their hair large and their eyes painted brilliant azure, with obvious pride. And complete obliviousness to the fact that they look STUPID.
I don’t mind the onslaught of 80’s movies on TV (Breakfast Club and Real Genius RULE), nor the proliferation of 80’s music on my radio (Tainted Love, anyone? What sums up the 80’s like synthesizers and VD?!). But I do mind going shopping and not being able to find anything not made popular by Debbie Gibson. Enough.
Yo Gabba Gabba. The only explanation I can think of for this show is… hallucinogens. Lots and lots of hallucinogens. With a couple of psychotics thrown in. And maybe some Nyquil for good measure. It is MESSED. UP. It makes me want to claw my eyes out with a pasta fork. And my kid loves it. Sigh…
Pretentious Food. I like good food. Heck, sometimes I even like gourmet food. I can appreciate a well-crafted meal by a talented chef using hard earned technique and years of intensive training. I like it when that food is paired with the perfect glass of wine or classic cocktail and I like it when really great ingredients are used. But I HATE pretentious food. How do you know food is pretentious instead of just good, if a little pricey? Portion sizes, capers, and references to infancy. Your portion size will be roughly the amount your hamster consumes for a snack, all dishes on the menu will contain capers, and roughly half of them will feature something of the “micro” or “baby” persuasion. (Now, I do like capers, but seriously. You don’t have to put them in everything.) What bothers me the most is that pretentious food is eaten mostly by people who eat to be seen and not to be full. Stupid pretentious people.
Rutabaga. It smells like feet.
Mealy peaches. You know how you look forward to yummy fresh peaches all year and you FINALLY spot them in the grocery store so you buy some and you’re working yourself up the entire way home because peaches are SO FREAKING YUMMY and you get home and wash one and your heart lifts and tingles as you take a bite and then BLARGH!! It’s mealy! It has the texture of a mouth full of wet sand! What a freaking letdown. I hate that.
Dust covers. I hate buying a nice new book and sitting down to tuck into it only to find that a large piece of stiff, unwieldy paper is doing its darndest to prevent my reading pleasure. It slips and slides and untucks itself from its proper place behind the first and last pages and is just generally about the most annoying invention ever, well, invented. I usually take them off. And promptly lose them. Or they wind up crushed and crinkled under a pile of paper. Completely useless, dust covers. And they don’t even do the job they were created to do because even if I keep them on, the top of the book’s pages still winds up under a layer of… you guessed it, Dear Reader… DUST! Sigh.
There you have it. A few of the things I hate. Maybe tomorrow I’ll post Things I Like just so to give you a reprieve from my consuming negativity.
If you’re nice.