So I hate everything and everyone. This isn’t some new revelation. I’ve hated for quite a while. I have been able to drill down my hatred into several subcategories though. And I find that is helpful.
This past Saturday I was heading over to a friend’s house to deliver some of my macamaroni and cheese. She’s been laid up with a kidney stone and I find that massive quantities of grease help with that sort of pain. As I’m attempting to turn left onto a street leaving our subdivision(it’s a joke to call our ghetto a subdivision, but I lack the vocabulary to call it anything else) there was a woman in an Escalade turning left in front of me. I have a stop sign in front of me so I did the moral, just and American thing and stopped. She looked at me like I had just punched her infant child in the face. I waved her to make the goddamn fucking turn. Then I saw the hold up. She was holding a Blackberry up to her head. With her opposite hand. So take your right hand and pretend you’re holding a phone up to your left ear. That’s how she was driving. It took her, and I counted, 45 seconds to make a left turn. Because it’s hard to crank a wheel when you have your arm blocking it. I made eye contact with her and I’m pretty sure she could read my lips when I told her what to do in a no outs, runner on first situation(bunt).
That’s one of my subcategories. Morons who talk on their cell phones and can’t drive while doing it.
I also wish violent, bloody diarrhea upon those bitch constantly about how stressed out they are or how their life is SOOOOOOO rough. I realize I may sound like a hypocrite, but I’ll get to that in a minute. You’re life’s not tough. You don’t have it rough. My grandfather was one of 10 kids. His parents were German immigrants. They didn’t speak English when they came to the US. THEY had it rough. My father worked 30-40 hours a week while taking 20 units in college. In the summer he worked on the railroad. Like building it. He didn’t have a belt, so he used a piece of rope that gave him a gnarly infection from rubbing him raw, AND one of his coworkers was a WWII vet who had flashbacks every night so he’d hid in trees screaming that the Japs were coming to get him. That’s rough. I know a guy who is a single father to three boys. All three boys are in the autism spectrum. One is pretty high functioning. The other two are not. The youngest is something like 10 and still in diapers. That’s rough.
How difficult you find things is all framed around your perspective. My life is a cake walk. I’m fairly healthy. I have a great wife. I have a fantastic job. I get along with just about all my coworkers. I have more friends than I know what to do with. I’m a very lucky guy. So why do I “complain” about things? I think it’s because it reminds me of how I used to be and I hate how I was, and I have no patience for it. Plus, it’s funny.
Oh, and I hate the Sacramento/Anaheim Kings. Seriously. Fuck those guys.