As some of you know, there are some things that go on around me that just make me want to hurl myself into an empty swimming pool. Among these things are two that seem to pop up on a regular basis.
The first one is feet. I hate them. I understand their function in our lives, and while I have no desire to saw mine off with a bread knife, I don’t spend copious amounts of time looking at them. In addition, I would prefer that everyone else with feet keep theirs far, far away from me. Men seem to get some sort of morbid fascination out of digging their toes into my personal space, or shoving their feet onto my lap like it’s all perfectly normal in the universe to do such a thing. But am I going to reach down and touch them? Uh, no. So, really, a foot rub is totally out of the question…really, it is. Stop asking me.
Now that we cleared that up, I will venture into my next pet peeve (why is it called this? I like pets…I don’t like these things….anyway). Over-zealous radio personalities make me want to reach through my dashboard to find their grating, loud, voice and rip their vocal chords out through the air vents…and then tie them to the steering wheel and jump out of the car while they are left to crash (wow…I just kind of went with that one…it’s very violent. I am disturbed, I think). Anyway, I hate this. If you are getting paid to talk on the radio, can’t you be less obnoxious? Can’t you speak at a normal volume so that I don’t have to keep adjusting my radio between talk time and music time?
Here’s my point…
Last night on the way home from work, this loud man who I can only imagine is unattractive with unnaturally bleached blond spiky hair, his t-shirt tucked into his acid washed jeans (tight-rolled at the ankles), who spends his Friday nights at the KISS FM events downtown hitting on underage girls…him…this moron…I hate him…he decided to do this thing. He decided to do this thing, on the air, that made the metallic-y spit well up in my mouth.
He had two girls on the air, barefoot, with their feet touching each other’s. And then he had a hillbilly walk in to the studio with a timer. And…are you ready for this?
Are you sure?
For sixty seconds (60. Seconds.) this hillbilly man…after I imagine him removing his wad of chew…(ugh, I so hate this)…
I think I just gave myself an aneurysm.