November 8th, 2004

crossness!

(no subject)

You know, despite the existence of Jon Stewart, Princess Diaries books, Rilo Kiley albums and other nice things, there are still many, many things that annoy me. I'm not just talking about the things that send me into a red mist of rage (George W. Bush, Richard Littlejohn, priests who write letters into the I**** T***** about how women should be the moral guardians of the nation, the fuckers who slaughtered lots of seals on the west coast last week). I'm talking about the minor irritations. Well, you know, if by minor I mean "doesn't quite make me want to commit homicide."

1. Ads for mobile ring tones. Actually, these really might deserve to go in the red-mist-of-rage category. I hate them with a firey passion. I particularly hate the one airing non-stop at the moment which features that dreadful, dreadful "Call on Meeeeeeee" single, and also features that song's bad-porn-tastic video. But most of all, I hate the fact that the voiceover tells us that these things cost "six yo yos". Apparently, yo yos are what annoying teenagers call "euros". I think this may be the most irritating slang expression ever.

In fact, I loathe ads for virtually all mobile phone services that are unrelated to actually making straightforward calls. I used to really hate the "get a joke a day in your mobile" ads, but now I find them too tragic for words. Patrick, who finds the fact that I am driven to tears by anything faintly pathetic highly entertaining, gleefully claims that the only people who use that service are the socially inept who hope that knowing a few jokes will help them to make friends. Even typing that makes tears well up in my eyes (seriously), so now every time those ads come on I change the channel. True!

2. Faux-skangers. It's the only way to describe them. And by them, I mean the poncy little southside posh kids in this area who affect working class accents and pretend that they're really tough and intimidating. I'm not saying I'm some sort of working class heroine, but, unlike most of these fools, I've actually met - and am indeed related to - people whose parents earn less than 60 grand a year. So I am decidedly un-intimidated by a bunch of privately-educated morons from Foxrock pretending that their mummies and daddies aren't paying thousands for them to go to grinds in Leeson Street so they can scrape into university. I once sniggered aloud at a bunch of them who turned up at the bus stop, yammering away in their fake accents, because when one of them was in mid-brag about some cool, tough thing he'd done he said, "and then my MUM came along and tore fuckin' shreds off me..." Your mum? Your MUM? The people you're emulating do not call their mothers "mum", posh boy, as you would know if you'd ever actually talked to one of them. I want to force all of those little pricks to live in Darndale for a year and see how they get on. I suspect it would be badly.

3. Cat fluff. You all know I love Ju Ju. But only those of you who have met her in person know quite how fluffy she is. And how much she loves to shed much of that fluff all over the house. I'm going to have to fork out for one of those special pet-hair hoovers, because the normal one isn't up to the mighty challenge of beating the Ju Ju fluff. It forms fluff-balls in corners. It gets on the couch and cushions, even though she is never allowed to sit on either. We only have carpet on the stairs and landing, which is of course where Ju Ju loves to sleep, and just two days after you hoover it there's always already enough fluff on the carpet to make a mini-Ju Ju. I wish we could just, I dunno, shave her. Not that I would! (OR WOULD I?)

4. The people who've been giving out about Ladyfest without actually doing any work for it. And that's all I'll say about them...for now.

That's all for now. In fact, when I think of it, there are more things that send me into a white-hot rage than merely really irritate me. It can't be good for my heart.
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