Unreal.

Okay, I know I've joked about "The Real World: Key West" before, but I need to be serious for a second. And also use foul language. Because that was some fucked up shit that aired just now.

I sort of don't even know where to begin. MTV really backed itself into a wall with Paula, I think. They got so used to the Trishelles of the world, who can turn eating disorders and daddy issues on and off, yet still swing Playboy while smiling vapidly and filling out a bathing suit, that they didn't, I think, truly realize what they were getting into with Paula.

That girl is sick. Literally. I think she has a good heart, but she needs serious, serious help, like, more than the usual brand of mess that's been flitting about Bunim-Murray Productions since the dawn of time.

MTV has had to deal with sickness before, and just look to that in terms of how far they have fallen. Take Pedro. Not that I am comparing anorexia to AIDS, but in terms of how the network has handled illness. Back in the days of Pedro, MTV was still trying to produce a legitimate show about The Real World. AIDS is a horrible and unfortunate reality, and Pedro, I think, educated a lot of people on a personal level that had been previously missing from popular culture. And back then, I think that while they did try to cast colorful characters, MTV was still looking for real people, not caricatures of the most ridiculous specimens imaginable.

Also, Pedro was sick in a way that couldn't be reversed with therapy. He couldn't do much at that point besides try and manage his disease, and have good quality of life, and fight for as long as he could. Which he did. Some argued that Pedro was too tragic, too serious for MTV, but I think that back then, hearts were honestly in the right places, and even if they weren't, the end result was what Pedro seemed to want -- people learned about, and hearts were softened to, an epidemic that most affected MTV's main demographic.

The stuff with Paula...first, MTV is so far gone at this point in terms of their casting. I mean, it's obvious that they look for people who are drunk, oversexed, bad-tempered disasters from the get go. That's what the show's devolved into. So someone like Paula seems horribly out of place in that regard. She's obviously not faking the anorexia. Yet, MTV still deemed it appropriate to air a diet pill commercial right in the middle of a Paula-centric ep about her disease! (Thanks to Gael for pointing this out. Scroll down towards the bottom to read.)

And from all evidence, Paula's not lying about Keith's being an abuser. She was absolutely terrifying tonight, with the baby voice -- soooo creepy. And you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she spun the situation, regaining control, telling her therapist, her roommates, herself, that Keith could change. She sank back further and further into the "no one can understand my relationship; no one should judge." She compared Tyler's being gay to...I'm not even sure, exactly. But basically she said that because Tyler had been judged his whole life, he should not judge Keith and Paula. Huh? How is that in any way the same???

The very fact that she is even indirectly painting Keith as a victim here, when he is in fact, NOT AT ALL, is a huge warning sign that she is not in any way able or likely to "not tolerate bad behavior from Keith," as Svetlana seemed to think. She is sick. She needs help. It's great that she's going to therapy, and I do think she is a good person, but that's not the issue. My real issue with tonight's episode is not with Paula. Paula is sick; she's been a victim; she's trying to get help. Yes she should just leave him, but abuse is much more complicated than that, and that attitude doesn't help.

I also don't blame the rest of the cast. They're in way over their heads, and I do think they are trying to do the best they can, for the most part.

My huge, seething hatred tonight is reserved for MTV itself, because besides the things I mentioned above, what I find truly disgusting about tonight's episode was the editing. Did MTV not realize who their "characters" were tonight? Now, I think Tyler's a bitch, but they really amped up the "Tyler as Villain" thing tonight. Tyler was the villain, Jose and Janelle were his cackling minions, John and Zach were the comic buffoons, Svetlana was the sweet confidante, and Paula was the victim princess, trapped high in her tower, kept away from the one she loved, because their romance was so misunderstood. It was a freakin' Shakespeare play over on MTV, which I would normally find funny, but not when a matter like physical abuse is at stake.

If you haven't already, you should seriously read The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker. It was recommended by Sars, and probably one of the most informative books I've ever read -- possibly even life saving. Physical abuse is no joke, especially in romantic relationships. It almost NEVER diffuses, but does often escalate to murder.

From any other network, I'd try to give them the benefit of the doubt, that they were trying to paint abuse as a very complex subject, which it is, or else no one would remain in an abusive relationship. But it's MTV. Now is not the time for them to start with intricacies and shades of gray. Kids watch this show. Young teenage girls. Not that I think they should, but they do. And seriously, if I didn't know better on this subject NOW, at 30, I might walk away from this episode like, "Hmmm, yeah, they shouldn't judge, Keith apologized, he seems nice, those other roommates are just nasty and cruel anyway, they don't understand at all." That is really the last thing ANYone should be thinking here. Keith PUT PAULA IN THE HOSPITAL. More than once!!! And it's not like his anger issues are exactly *well hidden,* he's at the boiling point every time we hear him speak. And the most dangerous and insidious element in abusive relationships is that concept right there -- that "nobody else gets it" but the two in the relationship.

But now, from the looks of things, Paula's back with Keith. They're all smiley and happy on their Myspaces! So, yay! Message: It's okay if your boyfriend hits you, as long as he says sorry and gives you Cristal. And anyone who thinks that he's bad news, well they're just mean! Any doubt? We'll close with the anti-Keiths being as spiteful, petty, and mean as possible, with their burn book! Obviously, they can't understand what it's like to truly love!

MTV sucks even more than I ever realized. Which is saying a lot.

2:30 Awww

So as some of you may know, I've been suffering from a terrible toothache that began midway through my cruise. This has been held at bay over the past week, to varying degrees of success, by: 4 different prescription painkillers, salt water, half a bottle of Chloraseptic, Anbesol (Thanks, Grace!), whiskey, Scotch, brandy, and more ibuprofen than anyone should ever take. I know; I'm Matthew Perry. But the worst part is not that I'm a walking poster for the Betty Ford clinic, but rather that none of it has made a bit of difference. I mean, from the sound of it, I should be drooling peacefully in a corner somewhere -- literally, after the Anbesol! But instead, I have been privileged to little bouts of pain-free existence that disappear without notice and leave me feeling like the inside of my mouth is that scene in the mine with the seven dwarves, although I think there were more than seven in that scene? But wherever they went when hi-ho, off to work they'd go.

Either way. The problem has been exacerbated by God's comedy act, in which it seems every other ad I've proofread since returning to work has been for a dentist of some nature. And can I just say, WTF! I know it's been awhile since I've gone to the dentist, hence the Grumpy/Dopey party in my mouth, but since when do dentists offer private televisions! Massage chairs! Aromatherapy! Like, where are the mud wraps and eye cucumbers, while we're at it! This world scares me.

But my point in writing about all of this is not to make y'all feel sorry for me, although if anyone wants to send some Vicodin et al. my way s/he is more than welcome to! (Just kidding.) (Not really.) It is to share with you the unexpected joys of this thing known as "morning!"

I awoke with a start to see what was the matter, as inside my head there arose such a clatter! And since Dr. von Rockenstein and Chip are staying with my parents, it could only be one thing -- the inside of my head.

HORRIBLE. I couldn't get relief, no matter what I did. And I totally had 2 more hours of sleep I could have gotten! And I was sleepy. (Fitting, I guess, what with the whole dwarf theme.) But no matter what I did, my whole head throbbed and throbbed.

I tried taking 3 ibuprofen. I tried taking half a Vicodin. Kids, don't try this at home! The Chloraseptic spray mocked me, for every time I sprayed it in my mouth, the pain would cease, but then would go away the second I swallowed it.

Yes, I know I'm not supposed to swallow Chloraseptic. I'm not supposed to swallow a lot of things I did this past week! RIMSHOT!

Moving on! So I lay very still, trying to figure out a way to keep the Chloraseptic in my mouth long enough to fall asleep, without succumbing to a John Bonhamesque death, but to no avail. Finally, I had to admit defeat.

I bitterly tore off the covers and stumbled into the shower. What a freaking waste of Vicodin -- on pain. And it didn't even work! And my shower -- what a disaster THAT was! I had to keep hopping out to spray more Chloraseptic in my mouth. This sure isn't going to work in public, I thought to myself. So I tried to breathe and relax myself out of the pain, while I glared at my clothes that were still in the suitcase, thinking that if bending my head down weren't so agonizing, I could totally wear a cute skirt outfit -- conveniently forgetting, of course, that if I felt fine, I would be sleeping in bed until the last possible second, then throwing on a sweatshirt and doing my makeup in the car. For this is how I roll. Literally and figuratively!

Anyway! I did begin to notice some good things about this waking up early phenomenon. For one thing, I got to find out how Veronica Mars got back Polly the Parrot from the rival high school team. For another, I got to deliberately choose a necklace that matched my outfit. I couldn't find it, but that is neither here nor there.

Finally, I was outside, and this is where I broke down and turned to the dark side, ironically speaking. Because seriously, early summer morning is the Achilles' heel for this hardcore night person. And every time I experience one, which is rare, unless I am falling asleep DURING it, I wish that I were a morning person.

And yes, I know it's not summer yet. But you know what I mean. There is that perfect point in the day when the sun has not completely risen to the top of the sky, but things are past the point of full-on dew, and the result is this sparkly, crisp, clean air that manages to feel somehow like every early summer morning you've ever known. It looks and smells fresh, untouched, and like a secret that only a privileged few are getting to share. Actually, I think I like early mornings for that especially -- the secret part -- which happens to be exactly why I love late nights.

There is also something surprisingly lovely about driving to work and knowing that regardless of how many irritating trucks burst out like Christine in front of you, only to slow down about 70 miles for the rest of the one-way drive, you will still not be late to work. In fact, I stopped at Town Bagel, and it was delightfully enough, NOT filled with Plainview ladies and their loud, screaming children! So uplifted was I by the whole thing, that I deliberately picked out a fruit/nonfat yogurt breakfast. To my health! 27-drug cocktail notwithstanding!

THEN! I get to work and man, you can count the cars in the parking lot at 7:45am on...well, two hands, but ya know, it was like a deserted cemetery compared to the Indy 500 I am accustomed to at 8:37 in the morning, when everyone rushes like madmen to the earlier time clock by the cafeteria, just to hedge their bets.

And the reactions of the usual early birds? Awesome! Double -- though unfortunately, not spit -- takes were involved! And it was very relaxing, getting to sit and nestle into my desk without the usual banal chatter coming at me from every direction like suppressive fire.

So maybe I will do this again tomorrow. Actually, since I can't seem to get my stupid dental insurance information, I will probably have to. Only tomorrow will probably be even earlier, since I am out of the aforementioned Vicodin. As far as I understand it, that time of day is less pretty, but more artistically interesting, due to everyone's being either an insane jogger, an insane business executive, or an insane drunk person left over from the night before. Not that I'd know anything about the last one. Actually, maybe I'll just be the last one tomorrow -- same results, but more fun getting there!

(Just kidding.)

(Not really.)


©2006

Outbore. Outannoy. Outshutup.

Dear Terry,

I do like that you should have been gone weeks ago but kept foiling the Smug Casayan plans, but how can you be so unfailingly clueless, interpersonally and strategically??? Take last episode, when you were running down the list of reasons people should vote for you, I was like AHHHH, NO TERRY, NO, you don't say "I provided and worked hard," because who cares, I mean sure you can mention that, but a) you were hardly Richard Hatch with the fish, nevermind your ersatz Tom Westman schtick never brought the tribe back a shark you killed with your bare hands, you just kinda tried. And ANYway, you don't deserve to win 'cause you played Pioneer Man for 39 days -- make the argument that you should have no way made it to final two, yet you did. PRETEND you had a strategy. Grrrrr.

Oh! And while you're at it Terry, don't ever again presume a relationship hierarchy. I thought you basically made good calls in terms of who you took, and you were probably the only person out there who shouldn't have thrown the challenge, but condescendingly telling Aras that marriage trumps mothers -- that's wack. And stupid, because then why didn't you take the only other married couple and give THEM the private room and let Boston play outdoorsman for a night, which would have made much more sense.

Pffft. Oh yeah, and stop rolling your eyes at everything, seeing as you're not ten. Thanks.

~ Judi




Annnndd my thoughts on the rest of the Survivors and jury:


Cirie = LOVE. She should have been gone in the FIRST episode but dodged all the bullets and has played an excellent strategic game. And cracks me up. She's very observant, which is awesome, and a quality that's been sorely missing in this cast of chuckleheads, each of whom was cast over me! But yay, Cirie.

Aras = I thought he was dead in the water when he told Melinda she was going. But, I must give him props for his strategic game. After he stopped with the virtual diagrams of how his alliance was set up (bad!), he seemed, unlike say, TERRY, to know how to play the game (good!). Oh, and he's actually even hotter now that he's pissed and angry and disheveled all the time.

Danielle = Yeahhh. Girl just doesn't do it for me. Not sure why. She just is kinda princess-y, which I never enjoy. Oh and when she was all like "Bobby's not a gentleman" 'cause he used, ya know, the bathroom that he totally won for the tribe to perform a bowel movement...how is that not being a gentleman? HOW, Danielle? Anyway.

Shane = Ah, Shane. He's wackadoo, but I kind of love him, and definitely am not happy that he's gone, 'cause it's gonna be MAD boring now. The stuff I didn't like about him -- his temper and outbursts, he seemed to genuinely try to work on. Not always successfully, but...and man, that was awesome when he made fun of Jeff.

Courtney = Shut up, Courtney. Seriously, WHY does there always have to be that person on "Survivor" who has to act all put out like everyone owed her something, and failed her personally? So, Danielle was your friend. So what? She was supposed to give you a million dollars? Ugh.

Bruce = Aw, Bruce. I'm glad he's feeling better.

Sally = Sally! Step away...from the makeup. Seriously, I don't know why that always happens on "Survivor," with the HookerFace phenomenom of jury ladies. I get that it must feel good to have control over your appearance again, but you are not SIX, and should have ostensibly learned how to not look like Busy Phillips on crack. She's sooo pretty, Sally...I just don't get it. Anyway, I liked her a lot, and was rooting for her. Oh, well.

Austin = Austin is my boyfriend.

So there you have it. I am confused though, because why is it on Thursday and Sunday? Are they really going to have another 2-hour finale with just the Final Three? Because those are VERY VERY boring!

Anyway, it's still an awesome show. But Mark Burnett, have you not been reading my blogs??? CAST ME, already! I will be interesting! I will strategize! I won't quit! I don't have fake boobs! I will never, ever say "head's on the chopping block," because seriously, how annoying! And dude. No WAY could I be more boring than the youngish blondes you usually cast even if I tried REALLY HARD.


©2006

I'm Lost.

Puzzle pieces floating aimlessly around my head, frustrating me! But don't tell me any spoilers. If you do...I'll kill you (Ana Lucia R.I.P.).



Shannon, Ana Lucia, and Libby were all shot in the abdominal area.




Both Shannon and Ana Lucia were shot almost immediately after having sex.




Libby may not have had sex with Hurley, but they were on their first real date.




Boone died while Shannon and Sayid were on their first date.




The only people from the tail section still in "mainstream society" are Eko and Bernard.




Bernard wasn't supposed to be in the tail section.




The Others have only taken adults from the tail section, not the front.




Charlie apparently died too, because I mean, where is he???




©2006

Beer -- It's What's For Dinner!

So last night, I arrived with Javier at Willies ("Mcbrides"), and we were
met with terrible news! Sean and Summer were outside, and greeted us with sad looks.

"Bad news," Sean said. "There's no karaoke tonight."

Noooooooo!!!!!

The four of us went into junkie mode, desperately racking our brains and calling around, trying -- nay -- GETTING our fix, come hell or high water!

Ding ding ding! Gutter, tell 'em what they've won! Babz -- Javier found success! Sean (a different Sean) gave us the heads up on the contest at Lily Flanagan's.

Sean and Summer didn't end up coming. That was sad. But then Babz showed up! That was happy. But then she took 12 hours to drink a Coors Light. That was sad.

But so we went to Lily's and it was pretty empty. Newfound friend Steve, for whom I apparently repeatedly refer to in some (positive) adjective I can't recall, met us there, and the four of us sat in a booth! With pitchers of beer. Amazing! I hate Bud Light, but pitchers of beer in a booth is like, one of my favorite pasttimes! And I only really ever got to do it in Oneonta.

So I was very happy, but the most exciting part was that I had Bud Light in lieu of "meals," 2 mozzarella sticks and a cream cheese jalapeno popper nothwithstanding. Thanks, Javier! Anyway, when I woke up this morning, I weighed 5 pounds less than I did yesterday! HOLLA!!!!!! The Claire Huxtable plan is in full effect! Although I apparently have lost 12 pounds since Monday. I don't know how that works.

Either way, can I just take this moment to say that cream cheese jalapeno poppers are one of the great insidious evils threatening us today? Because you don't know until you bite all the way into it, that's just the nature of the popper. And the last think I want to see when I'm expecting cheddarey goodness is white chunks, you know? God forbid we'd gotten just the poppers instead of the sampler. I would have been heartbroken.

So I really think that Willies needs to get pitchers, stat. And now I am wondering if they have jalapeno poppers, and if so, what kind.

I'm very hungry.




BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Salisbury Stakes

Okay, yes. I am in a mood -- true story! But I am frustrated! It's all encapsulated in my lunchtime adventures. See, I went to see an apartment during my lunch hour. It's in my price range, and there was a balcony! A balcony! I loved that. And skylights! So there was this part of me that got all -- well I can't think of a fitting analogy right now because I am lightheaded (more on that later), but I've been so poor for so long. You know, working hard, two jobs every day, just like Thea, but at least she had a house! I live in the hatch! Which is fine, but now I have to move out by August.

So yay, more moving. U-Haul, how I missed you so. But did you know that it's next to impossible to find an apartment for $900? That's crazy! That's how much I am paying now, and struggling to do so! WTF!

Anyway, I found an ad for this apartment, and though it was in Salisbury, which I had no idea was a town, and though it was not on my beloved Babylon line, it was supposedly close to my job and also, see above, re: skylights and balconies! I used my lunch hour to see it, and first of all, it took a LONG TIME to get there; it was not close to my job at all!

Strike one.

But I got there with no real problems aside from the fact that everything on the radio sucked the whole way, and driving at lunchtime in the sun with some good music is one of my timeless pleasures in life. I know, CD player. But, a) I dont have one, and b) I'm driving my mom's minivan this week (more on that later).

Once at the house, I see that the landlords have a big, huge, barking dog!

Strike two.

Sorry, I do like dogs, but I am afraid of them, due to my nightmares. I have nightmares about airplanes and dogs, mainly, with the occasional whale thrown in for good measure, and while I have yet to experience any whale catastrophes (knock on wood, and BTW, Sea World, please cut it out with your terrifying new commercial, like, I do not wish to see killer whales flying all around the world), my plane dreams are eerily prescient, and I have no desire to tempt fate by shacking up with a big scary dog who has no loyalty to me.

Where was I? Oh okay, so then the lady led me upstairs. Very cute, wooden stairs. Very windy (as in wine-dy, not breezy) and narrow.

Strike three.

Dont get me wrong, I was quite charmed by this. I love wood (yeah yeah, ha ha, stay with me here!) but I've experienced enough couch drama to last a lifetime without actually MOCKING fate by acting like I'm getting my big-ass couch up this Statue of Liberty staircase!

But hey. Maybe I could give my parents my couch and get something from Babz's church, also known as IKEA. Especially after seeing the balcony, which was adorable and lovely! I don't really do the morning thing, but I was having Taster's Choice-esque visions of coffee with my mother on the weekends.

What's the opposite of strike? Oh, a hit! Hit one!

We went inside, and there was a ton of sun! And it was very pretty and homey, with slanted ceilings -- not for everyone, but I love them!

Hit two!

Unfortunately, the stove was very little. It reminded me of my magnet of a stove. Oh, have I ever mentioned that my beloved magnet collection was a casualty of The Non-Storage Incident Of 2004? This seems like the place to do it. RIP, "Wake up little sushi" magnet of awesomeness. But I do have a tiny tiny stove on my refrigerator, and this looked like it.

Strike four!

I really love to cook and bake. I don't do it super often (see above, re: my Thea existence), but this was just too small.

But still...maybe things would balance out. The bathroom was small, with no tub. No strike, no hit, because that's what I'm used to.

There was mad storage everywhere, like I think the guy was preparing for Y2K or something, I mean, there was a stunning amount of shelves, drawers, you name it, built into every single wall!

Hit three!

You can't underestimate storage space in an apartment. Especially for a packrat like myself.

Then there was the bedroom. VERY big, very beautiful. Yay!

Hit four!

Wait.

Wait!

There was no living room. Oh no!

Strike five!

It was so weird! I mean, I've done the whole living room/kitchen combo thing. That's fine. But there was no combo to the kitchen. It was just...a kitchen. And yes, the bedroom was big. Big enough for my couch, even, assuming my telekinetic powers finally kicked in over the next few weeks, and I could get my couch up the wooden stairs. But it -- nooo. Maybe for a hundred less. But man -- the skylights...that balcony...okay, maybe.

"We need a tenant in the next two weeks, June 1st at the very latest."

Strike six!

I actually knew this. But now that I was going to have to get rid of and/or levitate my couch, as well as figure out where in the world to put my computer, this felt overwhelming to me.

Still...MAD storage space

There remained one final, deciding, make-or-break factor. I had to feel out the "Will you be a warden" situation. I very gingerly approached the subject of having people over, using the words "now and then" and "not big parties." She (I say "she" because she never told me her name) --

-- Oops! Strike seven!

I mean, she knew MY name.

But so anyway, she started talking about how they were old (they weren't, I mean they werent going to be going to any raves or anything, but they were MAYBE in their early sixties), and they didn't want loud music, that they "didn't tolerate it from their kids, so (they) definitely wouldn't now."

Strike eight!

Dude, I don't even look like the loud music type! But I'll be damned if I can't bust out some Carrie Underwood et al. while doing my Sing CD in the shower on a Saturday afternoon!

Then she made mention of her current tenant. "Her boyfriend comes up from Georgia now and then..."

"Georgia"?

"...and he stays over, so we don't mind the occasional visitor in moderation, but of course, nothing --"

-- Okay, I honestly don't remember the word she used here, but it carried with it the strong implications of "9 ½ Weeks" being reenacted above her head, but like, "9 ½ Weeks" with, I don't even know. Chain mail or something.

And I don't actually own any chain mail (though I still really would like a sword and also some fencing equipment), I don't need to feel like I'm sneaking boys into my room if I have people over, regardless of who they are. If I can't have sex in my apartment, I might as well live with my parents for free!

I mean, I'm just saying. In theory.

So, yeah. It was all over. Two many strikes. Eight, in fact. Nine, if you include the fact that the directions were not great, and I of course had to get back to work in the most ridiculous way imaginable, due to my previously discussed directional disability. Like, the Meadowbrook Parkway was involved. You don't know all the logistics of this, but trust me, the Meadowbrook Parkway should not have been involved.

Ten, if you count the fact that my mother called on my way back to tell me my inspection bills totaled $778.00. (This was why I had her car -- she took mine in for me, God bless her soul.) Okay, that has nothing to do with the apartment. But I was late getting back to work. So that can be ten.

Eleven, if you count the fact that I still have had nothing to eat today, since I'm low carbing it to sexify (TM Peter Griffin) myself for the cruise and could not stop for salad.

So now I'm hungry, sad, and docked a half hour's pay. And homeless! Not literally, but still. I really, really dont want to move back home again. Not because of my family at all, just out of principle and also because the idea of having a POD in my yard freaks me out a little. Like, something about all my worldly possessions living in a black steel box on the side of my house is a bit unnerving.

And really, all this stopping and starting is taking a bit of a toll on me. I know, such is life, and I am blessed in so many ways...but still. The idea of spending two Christmases in a row at the same place is nice. I'd like to feel like I have a home. And even though my apartment is currently a basement, it was starting to feel a bit like home, what with rounding the corner to my year anniversary there. Oh, well. Maybe my parents can build a balcony outside the computer room.


©2006

Things I Am Just Not In The Mood For Today:

1. Giggling, squealing, and/or baby talk. If I am going to be subjected to coquettish behavior, then Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh had damn well better be involved.

2. Strong arming by my iPod. Seriously, I have 500 songs on it, 30 new ones since last night, so why exactly will it only play Lauryn Hill this morning?

3. Anyone referring to Chris Daughtry as a "rocker." First of all, no. Second of all, what does that even mean???

4. Bad music. Shut up, Rhianna and your horrible new song.

5. Creepy people who just sit there in the bathroom stall silently, like you walk in to use the facilities, and there is just that person next door, and there is palpable tension in the air, that's how badly they want you to leave, and you know, fine, I got your back, Mystery Lady, but at least give a little rustle, or a knock on the metal dispenser, or SOMETHING.

6. Multiple sneezers.

7. Anyone talking to me who is not going to be interesting.

8. "Vote for Pedro" shirts. They're REALLY played out, and weren't that funny to begin with.

9. People who speak in hushed tones right next to you, like they come over to your cubiclemate and they start whispering, I mean, what is that ABOUT? It makes me feel awkward, like I have to not seem like I'm listening, but meanwhile, take your conversation elsewhere, please.

10. Whining.

(Yes, I see the irony.)


©2006