Kiss Off

So, 2010 is still filled with the things that annoy me:

I’ve only been working for the same organization for three years. Why the security guard needs to examine my ID this morning for ten minutes is beyond me. Genetics study? It was even more exciting when she did it a second time when I came back from lunch. I wish to remind her it wasn’t my lab that was making the crystal meth and selling it for FOUR years while she was ‘on top’ of her job.

I still abominate the Target parking lot in North Wilmington.

If I am standing in front of something in a store and actively checking the price and size, I am going to think you’re an unmannered asshole for stepping in front of me, almost knocking me over, and looking for what YOU want. I am also going to tell you that the world is full of more people than you and you CAN and WILL wait your turn.

The Target pharmacy is still being staffed by unpleasant people who have little command of their native language of English. For example, my name is legible on the script. Why do I then need to re-write it for you? And “I don’t got none.” Are you kidding me?

If you are uncertain about where you are, have all the time in the world, and/or are too inept to drive, don’t be afraid to go to the slow lane so that those of us who do not fall into those categories can safely and in a timely manner get to where we need to be.

It’s 2010, when there are a group of us getting together for happy hour – just reply to the person organizing via e-mail. I don’t care if you are available two weeks from Tuesday or never. I just care what the final decision is and if it’s a go – time, place, and date. Do not get me started on those who reply without any comment because she is too clueless to figure out e-mail.

Don’t bring your fruit cake reject food or any gifts for that matter to the office and think I’ll eat or take the shit you do not want. You know why – I am not the asshole person who re-gifts stuff. No, I actually take the time to spend the money and give gifts that um, people I know and like, um actually would want! If you do not care for my gift, then donate it to the Salvation Army or Haddash if you are a Jew or better yet -- throw it away. I do not pawn your matzoh ball soap or stupid keychains that your secret boi bitch lover suggested to you, onto others. I just light it on fire and get on with my life because you are not that special in the grand scheme of things. I don’t haul it down to the office and put it in the kitchen for others to eat or take because my ass is the size of the Chicago and I’m afraid to have it at my house.

When you are going to sell a $3 item for $56.50 and only sell it at your obscure boutique store – have it the fuck in stock. I am not going to be pleasant when I haul tuckus to the mall (a 25 miles away from me mall because you have like nine total US stores) and lug two teenage kids inside only to get some over weight Oprah Book Club reject smile at me and say, “Oh no, we sold out of those during the holidays and we have not restocked.” It will be met with this kind of thinking: Well bitch, it’s been three fucking weeks since your fucking goyish holiday that is not MY holiday and since you sell smurfing 15 total items in your store, I’d have thought you could put down a bon bon and get the three items I planned to drop about $200 on tonight in your inventory. Me culpa. I used reason and logic.

People who talk about their former employer on day one and day 5000 of a job. If you work with me now, I don’t care how great X company or so-so manager was before you knew me. No, really – I don’t care. Not one iota.

People who spend too much on the spinners and radio for the car they are ‘driving’ around. Instead of spending the money you likely sold dope for or gave hummers without teeth to get shiny spinners on, why don’t you turn down the wretched rap crap, get your damn homework done, and ride the bus that I paid for you to be on this morning. The auto mechanic job you will likely not get for the house painting job that you will, won’t support the unattractive kids you’ll have out a wedlock within a year or two.

So, you want to be a car salesman. You want to sell Volvos, huh? Here's AG tip: know something about Volvos and when AG's boy toy with the fancy car shows up with her at your dealership and gets out of a car most people can only dream of ever seeing, let alone talking to the owner, know that he will eat your lunch and your mechanics with the greatest of ease during the test drives. Warning to my local peeps: Stay FAR AWAY from Union Volvo. The amateur hour that goes on there is fun for about two minutes and then it just turns to sadness.

Oh and the purse was not bought at TJ Maxx discounted. (I saw you staring it down for your boyfriend, even though you tried to convince me you have a wife. I have no issue with homosexuality. Neither should you!) It was indeed brought back from the country it was made in where said boy toy has a house (in addition to the several he has in the United States. One which may or may not be hosting an antique Aston Martin just for one weekend a year for play that was acquired James Bond style.). How do you like me now that I am at the Audi dealer?

How about you take your retina elsewhere? When the phone is not ringing that is AG not calling you or your peeps. Everyone goes slumming once in a while. AG did it twice. AG mistake -- won't happen again. Move on, because there is nothing left to see here unless you want to see the life you were never going to have with the woman who looks better than ever and wouldn't even let you polish her shoes in front of Bloomingdale's on a cold winter day for free while dancing the hora and citing chapter and verse on the complete works of Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Related, I know where you get your NON fine and ugly antique furniture, you losers next to the nasty Christmas shop! I am pleased to see the township bent you over the table and donkey punched both you and the Jesus lovers. AG can scout her own fine antiques without the 400 percent mark-up that you feed to the uneducated hoi polloi of the lesser tribe.

Call me for my social security number. Do it! I won't give you that or my correct birthday. See, I understand the purpose of those. It's called: TAXES. Unless you are Uncle Sam and on your knees -- 201-54-9039 is what you are getting!

Yes, I am in a foul, foul mood and I am spreading the love. I may go back to being the new AG tomorrow but until then -- enjoy the retrenchment cornholes!