My female readers will be angered by this post because they would like to believe that ballet flats are the perfect addition to their wardrobe because they can wear them with any outfit. Wrong. The only situation where ballet flats are appropriate is in ballet class. The only shoe more minimalist than a ballet flat is a sandal and in my opinion, unless you have webbed feet, stick with the sandal. The genius behind this “shoe” is that their lifespan can’t be longer than 2 weeks. I know people who still have the same sneakers they bought 3 years ago but I’ve never seen anyone wear the same pair of ballet flats for longer than a few weeks. This is because the shoe is about as thick as a sock and uses less fabric.
Actual ballerinas must have been pissed when they saw non-ballerinas wearing these shoes for the first time. A shoe that had been exclusive to them for hundreds of years was suddenly ripped away and given to overweight, frumpy, and unattractive females everywhere. I don’t care if they look great with the designer jeans you bought from Macy’s last week; wear something else. I would rather have you wear those stupid Ugg boots, which rank 3rd on my list of terrible footwear, than ballet flats. I realize that there is a tiny percentage of women out there who are actual ballerinas and they are free to wear their ballet flats proudly but if you are not a ballerina, you better hope that you never meet me in real life.
1) If the person spots you eyeing them they may act like they are searching for their non-existent handicapped parking placard and proceed with an exaggerated look of realization that they left it at home. This is usually followed by the following:
2) The person may pretend to be handicapped while getting out of their car. Limping or faking pain while crossing the parking lot is to be expected. This of course subsides once the person is inside their destination. If the person has kids, they may have informed them of the ruse beforehand. You may see a small child fetching a shopping cart for their “handicapped” parent. This is similar to training a small dog.
3) Upon exiting the building, their eyes will be fixed on the windshield of their car. They could be shopping at a Walmart in downtown Baghdad but nothing can pull their gaze away from that windshield. As soon as they are sure there is no parking ticket on said windshield, you will see:
4) An undeserved sense of accomplishment usually in the form of a smug smile or floaty walk. I’ve seen less emotion on OJ’s face when he was declared not guilty. At this point, they will climb into their mid-80’s compact car or minivan.
Of course it is futile to call someone out on their parking faux pas. They will either ignore you or give you the finger. In both cases, your hatred for them will increase tenfold and burn further into your mind the fact that they have more balls than you do.
I walked to the cash registers to find one person ringing people up. This also infuriates me but that is a post for another day. I parked myself behind an elderly woman who had apparently found the deal of a lifetime as she was buying roughly 20 sweaters in the beginning of June. I waited patiently as she argued clearance prices with the cashier and once the dust settled, he read her the total price. It was at this point that she unzipped her purse and my patience ran out.
Instead of an Amex or a Visa, she pulled out her checkbook. I turned to the man buying socks behind me and he returned the same sunken expression I was wearing. This was not just any checkbook. This was the checkbook of a woman who refused to believe that you can actually pay for things with something other than a sequentially numbered piece of paper with a picture of a teddy bear holding balloons. She even held up the matching checkbook holder with said teddy bear on it, hoping that the cashier would take part in the sheer exhilaration she was displaying at writing a check. Instead, the cashier handed her a pen to speed up this process which this woman promptly refused.
Apparently, women of this caliber can’t write a check using any other pen but the special check writing one they have buried in their purse. At one point I could have sworn she had put her entire head into her purse trying to find this special pen. Once the treasure hunt was over, she began writing the check, verifying the total price which at this point she, along with myself, the cashier, and the 20 people behind me had forgotten. Of course she couldn’t have filled the check out beforehand, at home or in the car, because when I walk into a store with a Target sign, I expect to end up in a Home Depot, or a Bed Bath & Beyond. She must have expected the same.
Finally the check had been fully completed, triple checked, and handed to the cashier. Of course the story doesn’t end there. The receipt is printed and handed to the woman who at this point has realized that her check writing journey has angered the 20 people waiting behind her. At this point the cashier has already scanned my movie and I am ready to run my debit card through the credit card machine which this woman is blocking with her purse. She has decided that instead of parting ways with all of the angry people behind her, she is going to balance her checkbook before leaving the store. The cashier shoots me a look which says, “I’m sorry, if I was allowed to punch her in the throat, I would.” Only after she reburies her checkbook in her purse like a dog burying a bone does she look up and smile as if she’s done nothing wrong.
I understand that if you’ve been using checks for the last 80 years, you may have a hard time transitioning to using plastic but I assure you, if you aren’t able to understand how to use a debit card, you have bigger issues on your hands such as remembering how to feed yourself or making sure you don’t poop in your own pants. Basically what I’m saying is that if you can’t understand how to use a credit card, you need to stay in your house and start sending out for your groceries. Checks should only be used once a month, to pay off your credit cards. You know that credit card commercial where everyone in the store is using their credit cards and then the one idiot pulls out his checkbook and everyone looks shocked? That is pretty much the way it is in real life except that you don’t realize everyone is making fun of you and instead of looking shocked, they want to take the pique polo you are buying and asphyxiate you with it. So for those of you still using checks, stop it.
Now I understand that your band is an escape from your 9-5 job, nagging wife and your rebellious kids who don’t respect their father because he spent their college fund on a Fender but I want you to realize the reality of this situation. You play at a bar on Thursday nights. A bar that doesn’t even have live music on the weekends. They would rather play a jukebox than have your band play live for their weekend customers. I would hope that the people heading out to the bar on a Thursday night are going there to get drunk out of their skulls because any sober person will despise your band for ruining “War Pigs”, “Livin’ On A Prayer”, and “Old Time Rock and Roll” forever. On top of that, ending every Thursday night suck fest with your cover of “Drift Away” makes me want to move away and out of my apartment. Some day I will make my way down to that bar on a Thursday night, earplugs in ear, so I can see if my suspicions are true. Maybe I’ll even get my picture taken with you so I can post it here, or even better, maybe your band will have a Myspace page.
Are you really going to gripe about a 5 cent increase in the price of gas? By the time you are done reading this article, you could have made enough money working to cover that 5 cent increase for a full tank of gas. Unless you are filling up a motorhome, you are complaining about an increase of between 60 cents and a dollar per fill up. I’m pretty sure I’d swallowed that much change by the time I turned 10 years old. I’ll also ignore the fact that if you are filling up a motorhome, a 5 cent increase in gas prices should be fairly low on your budgetary concerns. America is finally catching up to what the rest of the world has been paying for years and you are going to complain about it? You better hope that the next time you decide to talk to a stranger about high gas prices you don’t get a punch in your throat because it might just be me.
People who wear Crocs also like to point out the numerous benefits of wearing these “shoes”. They are unique in that they have special “nubs” on the footbed that help blood circulation. I think I’ve heard of something that also helps blood circulation. It was called walking. At the same time the rubber Crocs are made of is odor resistant. If you have a problem with foot odor, you probably don’t want to be wearing a “shoe” that you don’t also wear socks with and has holes all over it. I suppose that the largest benefit of Crocs is that they reduce muscle fatigue up to 62.6% more than standing barefoot. I’d like to know how much standing barefoot reduces muscle fatigue. You’d think that sitting or laying down would reduce muscle fatigue 100%. Maybe I’ll invent a product that I can tout does just that. I think I’ll call it a bed. Then again, I can’t remember the last time I was standing barefoot long enough to worry about muscle fatigue and I can almost guarantee you that anything you put on your foot reduces muscle fatigue more than standing barefoot.
I truly have to congratulate the person who invented this gift to humankind. They’ve invented a product that looks like someone threw up on their foot and yet people call it fashionable. And by using creative marketing, they’ve convinced people that wearing plastic on your foot will somehow make your feet smell less, solve your blood circulation issues, and reduce muscle fatigue more than wearing socks and sneakers. Brilliant. I extend every invitation to Crocs, Inc. to send me a pair of their fine product so I can melt them in my oven and make a giant bouncy ball that will make my hands smell better and improve blood circulation while reducing muscle fatigue to my arms.
Have you never heard of living life in the fast lane? You can’t live life in the fast lane while simultaneously driving 45 in a 65. Now I understand that you believe driving more slowly with your kids in the car somehow makes you more of a responsible parent but it does not. What it does do is make me want to put a tire iron through your back windshield.
Do you not have places to be? Obviously you do otherwise you wouldn’t be wasting your $4 a gallon gasoline. Are you somehow unique from everyone else in that the laws of time don’t apply to you? Do you have that much extra time on your hands that you leave 10 minutes early so you can drive 20 miles under the speed limit? Somehow I think you get joy from seeing 10 cars lined up behind you; seeing the drivers throwing their hands up in anger; hearing the car horns blaring which can only mean one thing: If you don’t go the speed limit or higher, I’m going to ram your car off the road. The government determines the speed limit because that is a safe speed to drive. If you can’t drive the speed limit because you don’t feel safe doing so, you don’t deserve a drivers license. Get someone to drive you around that is willing to read the speed limit signs properly and not make people want to light your gas tank on fire.
What motivation did you have to paint “Sonic Youth” on the back of your local grocery store? Did you think that people would be impressed every time they drove by, squinting to try and read what you wrote? It’s a good thing you only used one color of spray paint, otherwise people might be confused and think that the McDonald’s you spray painted the side of has a new urban logo. Here is a word of advice, you are not Banksy. When you spray paint the side of a building people do not think, “That guy must be a really cool guy”, they think, “I would like to meet the person who did that so I can punch them in the throat for being so creative”. Anyone can spray paint “Metallica” on the side of a bridge. The next time you think it’s a good idea to “tag” a building, try spray painting your name in perfect Helvetica. Then I might be impressed.
When I’m trying to listen in on the angry conversation you are having with your boyfriend on your cell phone from across the food court in the mall, nothing irritates me more than when you throw a change up and start yelling in Spanish. No longer do I know if you are spouting profanities or telling him you love him with that Latin fire you are so well known for. Yes, I realize you are “chicano for life” but here in the suburbs you say “Mexican American”. If I wanted to learn Spanish I would have done so in Junior High. And trust me, I wouldn’t move to Mexico without either hiring my friend’s little brother who can speak Spanish at a ninth grade level as a translator or pirating the Spanish version of Rosetta Stone. There is a reason that not everyone in America speaks Spanish; because if everyone did, we wouldn’t be America any longer, we would be Latin America.
