7 People Who Annoy the Crap Out of Me

1. People Who Talk on Their Cellphones at the Gym - I realize you are in your 20s, and finding out where the weekend party is happening while doing heavy cardio is a great way to keep connected and multi-task, but you are annoying the shit out of me. I'm in my mid-30s, and during the one hour I'm able to eek out at the end of a day that consists of dealing with a wild ass toddler, a more than full-time job, and the million other things, I would like to sweat my guts out in peace. I don't want to know what 'like the dealio is', and mostly, I want you to be struggling as hard as I am while doing this damn machine, so get off the phone and sweat.

2. Obama is a Muslim Emailers - Stop forwarding me your asinine , right-wing, propaganda emails. Much like most of the U.S., Barack's baby boomer parents got divorced, and he was mainly raised by his mother, the white woman from Kansas (America's heartland). If he was truly a Muslim, even that crapfest at Fox News would have uncovered it by now. All you are doing by sending these emails is (a). pissing me off, (b). advancing my theory that you are a mindless idiot who will believe anything, and (c). making me believe that the U.S. is doomed because of dip shits like you. Do you want four more years of this economy? Neither do I, so lay off the Forward key.

3. Celebrity Wannabes - What happened to the good ol' days when celebrity was reserved for people who were talented? Thanks to the reality show genre, any asshole with an interesting face can be famous for 15 minutes. Andy Warhol predicted it years ago, but that lucky bastard died before he had to see this devastation come to fruition. This blog is about as famous as I'll ever get, and that's fine with me. Why can't this young generation of attention whores wake up and realize that being on stage might seem fun, but controlling everything from behind the scenes is so where it's at.

4. Jogging Suited Stay-at-Home Moms - I was a stay-at-home mom for awhile, and I have mad amounts of respect for any lady that decides that raising decent human beings is more important than making money, if they have the luxury of that choice. However, the jogging-suited, busy-body mom really pisses me off. It's not their designer jogging suit, or the fact that they like to stand up all perky in the parents meeting and volunteer to deliver the kosher pizza to the classroom every Wednesday, it's that they give you 'the look' every time you tell them you have a work obligation, so you aren't available to go over the school curriculum with a fine toothed-comb. It's not that I don't care about my kid's education, I do, that's why I send her to a good, private preschool. I pay the teachers to know their shit, and since they all have degrees in early childhood education, and I don't, I'll give them credit for knowing what they know, so get off my ass and stop making mindless small talk with me, so I can get to work 15 minutes late instead of 30 minutes late.

5. SUV Drivers Who Complain About Gas Prices - You annoy me, but you also make me laugh my ass off. You had to be the big man and get yourself an over-priced Hummer, now you are suffering, and it serves you right. Hummers are military vehicles, and you bought one thinking you could impress everyone. You made fun of us tree-huggers with our Prius' and now you are taking a second on your nearly foreclosed house to pay for your tiny penis syndrome vehicle. You made your oil dependent bed, now lie in it (while you still have your house).

6. People Who Hang Out in Triple-Digit Weather, but Still Deny Global Warming - Thank goodness these morons do their denial banter on television, because if they were within a yard of me, I'd shove my heat-stroked foot squarely up their ass. I grew up in the desert part of Idaho, and yet I've seen weather that I would have never thought possible. Super floods, super fires, storms of the century, drowning polar bears, yet you still believe there is no global warming. Yep, it's best if you stay away from me, or they'll have to send a spelunker to find my Vince Camuto wedge.

7. Crabby People Who Go to Shows for Kids, Then Get Mad that Kids are Talking - Last night we went to see Bugs Bunny on Broadway at the Hollywood Bowl. We had a great time until some old bag told my daughter that she was being too loud and was very rude. Rachael is 4 1/2, and for those of you who have been around kids ever, they ask a lot of questions, which Rachael was doing. What do you expect at a show that features cartoons. I know it's the Hollywood Bowl, and people go there for culture, and under normal circumstances, I wouldn't take Rachael, because of her motor-mouth habits, but this was a Bugs Bunny thing for kids as advertised by the promoters at the Hollywood Bowl. It's like going to see Kung Fu Panda and getting angry that the kid noise is disruptive. If you want to experience culture, and bitch out some kid for talking, don't go to things that feature cartoons, you grumpy asshole.

As a note, I went to confront the lady at the end of the show, but she hauled ass halfway through the encore. I guess it's easier to gripe at a small child then it is to deal with a mad mama.

Annie Where Art Thou...and Whilst You Shut Up Please!

I've never had a good relationship with the redheads I've come across. For some reason that particular hair color always belonged to personalities that conflicted with mine. Whether it was Lenny Bisby, the neighborhood bully who threw hot sauce in my face when I was in the second grade, or that chick named Kim who I locked horns with in the 8th grade, truth be told, the only ginger I've ever dealt with on a civil basis was a sweetheart named Michelle who I knew in art school.

Now I find myself loathing all things red-topped once again. This time the subject of my disdain isn't even real, she's an orphan from the depression era 1920's and her name is Annie.

Its a sad and sorted tale, the relationship Annie and I shared. It started back when I was 10. Annie was the tough girl that everyone was quite fond of. She had crazy, red hair and a stinky mutt, but Annie was a talented survivor who made good in the end. I loved her story, and her music, and the cool costumes. I watched Annie over and over again imitating her every move.

Annie and I were inseparable for close to a year, but as with all things in time, she and I grew apart. There were other things coming into the picture; Fraggles, Inspector Gadget, and John Taylor of Duran Duran. My love and affection soon turned towards John, and Annie was all but forgotten; cast aside as an adorable childhood memory.

However, Annie and I weren't through, not by a long shot. Two months ago, Annie re-entered my life, this time befriending my daughter, Rachael. I knew from the moment Rachael saw Annie, she was under the same spell that had captured me 25 years ago. Rachael loves everything Annie does, and all she ever wants to do is talk about Annie. She imitates Annie's tough talk and catch phrases, copies her dance moves, and sings the songs of her beloved Annie, much to my chagrin.

I find myself loathing Annie more and more with each passing day. How could it be that in 25 years my feeling towards Annie could have changed so dramatically? After all, Annie wasn't the one who changed, I was.

Oh, I know...it's the five millionth time I've heard "It's a Hard Knock Life" or perhaps it's the fact that I can't watch anything on TV, because the movie of the day is always Annie. The little redhead is adorable in small does, but 24/7 is more than any mere mortal should have to endure. Sorry Annie, but you grow old with age, same as the rest of us, only we don't get to keep our 'the sun will come out tomorrow' smiles as bright and wrinkle-free.

Best Election Ever

I've already espoused my affection for Barack Obama, so no need to go on further. This will be the best election ever, not because my beloved, yet dysfunctional country, will finally be forced into the new millennium by electing the candidate who is right for the job, not the one they could see themselves having a beer with, it will be the best election ever due to the Cletus factor.

Gas prices have gone through the roof driving people into such desperate means that ignorant-ass, rednecks will be forced to vote for a black guy rather than watch their family starve. This is sad and pathetic, but I choose instead to see the humor in it. I can just see Cletus right now, lumbering up to the votin' booth in his finest Van Halen circa 1980s t-shirt (the one he used to wear to work until one of them illegal Mexicans took his job), looking at the ballot and wantin' like hell to vote for that McCain fella, but Cletus stops, grits his remaining teeth, and punches the card for Obama.

Cletus now knows, what those of us with an education past 8th grade have known for awhile; the Republicans are ineffective corporate whores who don't give a fuck about the working class, and never will, and that by voting for McCain, Cletus won't be able to afford the gas to drive his Chevy to church or the unemployment office. Therefore, as much as he hates blacks (and believe me, Cletus does), he will vote for the black guy, because he can barely afford the payments on his trailer.

If it seems like I'm being elitist and bagging on rednecks a bit too much that is because they deserve it. White, ignorant, Midwestern, Christian, rednecks were the ones who got Bush into office twice. For the far-reaching pain their stupidity has caused my beloved country, they are just going to have to bend over and take my abuse. I just hope like hell they've learned their lesson, then again, for those remaining Cletus-like hold-outs, there will always be a gallon of gas at $5 to push them to, finally, do the right thing.

Highs, Lows & Everything After

It was one of those weeks. The kind that shake you to the core. I envy the life I had before last Sunday, even the life I had Sunday afternoon. I was solid in knowing where everything stood; who was who; and what was what.

I apologize for my vagueness, but what was revealed Sunday night was the kind of thing one takes to their grave, and now all I'm left with is the angst, sadness, and insecurity brought on by the revelation. I cried like I never have before in my life, not even when my mother died in my arms.

Parents die before their children, if they're lucky. It's normal, the proper place in the life cycle. I attended the funeral of a dear friend of the family, who was like family, last Friday, and I shed a few tears, but she had been sick for quite sometime and the writing was on the wall. I left with a certain amount of sadness, knowing that I would miss her, but when she passed, it didn't feel wrong.

This was not the case with the revelation. It was so very wrong. I cried until my chest ached and my eyes were nearly swollen shut. Then I spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning. All I wanted to do on Monday was curl up in bed, in a dark bedroom, and cry, but I had a work deadline that forced me from my heartbreak. I have never been so grateful for work in my life. I could walk through the door of the business and feel that at least one aspect of my existence was normal.

The next few days after were shaky, and each night I cried myself to sleep, but as the week wore on life began to feel a bit normal again. Now here I am a week later. I can't think about the revelation too hard, or I end up in tears. It sneaks up on me from time to time, but I can, once again, envision life returning to a relative state of normalcy.

The hardest part will be the fact that I will carry the revelation in the back of mind for the rest of my life, and I will take it to my grave, but it is necessary in order to ensure that that which is most precious to me remains whole, happy, and continues to thrive.

Again, many apologies for such awkward vagueness, but writing has always been my way of working things out and finding comfort even when it doesn't make sense to others.

All For Naught

Every time I turned around today I saw photo after photo of young faces. They were smiling, handsome, proud, some in uniform, others posed with their spouse. I watched 30 second tributes to them from a variety of news anchors, and was left with great remorse and seething anger.

Memorial Day was established to honor the fallen who gave their lives serving in the military, but were never able to enjoy a hero's welcome. On this Memorial Day I can't feel pride as an American citizen, because the faces on the news are lives that were wasted on an illegal and immoral war that was sold to us, in part, by the very media that was voicing the 30 second tributes.

Where was that mainstream media when the Bush Administration took our military resources from Afghanistan and directed them into the death pit that is Iraq? How come this same media continues to ignore the outcries from U.S. soldiers back from Iraq to four-star generals who criticize the plan for "winning" the war to the families who have to deal with the burden of non-stop deployment and the daily threat of a pending coffin. I know the mainstream media doesn't give much of a damn about the anti-war movement, because the same company that owns the news probably owns a share of another company that manufactures the weapons, but to watch tribute after tribute from the very source that could have gone after the failed policy from the beginning left me with such a feeling of disgust.

As long as this immoral war continues we are disrespecting our servicemen and women. Our government is failing to give them proper leaves, much needed health care, adequate support for their families, and we are all part of this disrespect. Many leaders say that there can be victory in Iraq, but they fail to look at the long history of that region. It is tribal, it is sectarian, and it is occupied by a group of people whose core belief system links death and glory.

If we truly want to honor our military on Memorial Day, then I hope we get it right in 2009 by shaking their hands on U.S. soil when they are all at home where they should be.

Dance Class Wars

My husband sometimes makes a practice of talking out of his ass. Case in point; Rachael was 10 months old when Jeff looked at me and said that there was no reason in the world why she couldn't be in the Nordstrom print ads. Having watched way too many E! True Hollywood Stories about child actors, I was completely against it.

My child is absolutely gorgeous, loves to sing (and unlike the rest of our tone-deaf family can carry a tune), can dance without looking like she's convulsing, and doesn't mind getting up in front of a small audience. However, I'm not too keen on the idea of whoring her whimsical kid instinct out to the highest bidder.

After many banters back and forth between my husband and I, we signed baby Rachael up with a local talent agency (who required a $100 retainer), got the headshots done (which was another $300), and got no calls (I mean zilch, zero, nada). Sometimes as a dig, if I'm feeling a bit bitchy, I'll ask Jeff how much interest that $400 would have earned in a college account by now. I haven't done that in quite awhile, because the whole "my kid could be a star" thought pattern hasn't reared it's ugly head until recently.

We signed Rachael up for gymnastics in March. She went for about a month and a half and got bored with it, so we signed her up for tap and dance classes. She went to two classes and absolutely hates it. My first thought is 'she tried it, she's done, time to move on'. Jeff has a bit of a different approach. Rachael loves to sing and dance, he tells me, so let's make her do the dance classes, she'll get used to it and love them.

All the while, Miss Rachael is telling me that she would to go to karate. Every kid loves to sing and dance, but not all want an audience or a stage. In a culture so obsessed with stardom, and living in SoCal, an area where if you don't have a modicum of stardom, you're not shit, I really don't want to encourage this camera-chasing behavior in my kid. If Rachael prefers kicking someone's ass in karate as opposed to dressing in pink tights and singing and dancing, that's fine with me. In fact, I'm downright proud!

The issue of dance class vs. karate still isn't resolved in the Punk in Suburbia household, so it may be awhile before we have a favorable resolution. Until then I'll be happy buying my kid little doctors lab coats and encouraging her to bandage the dogs then asking her to sing yet another rendition of "It's a Hard Knock Life".

A Few Things I Don't Understand

I haven't had much time for reflexion, since I work way too many hours, but there are little things I've noticed that straight up perplex me. Little ironies that leave me scratching my head and wondering, 'what idiot thought this would be a good idea.' Maybe someone out there has an answer, but I have a feeling many of these things are void of explanation.

Justin Timberlake - Seriously, I don't get it, and I never have. I realize he's not of my generation, so maybe that accounts for something. However, I'm not such an old fart that I can't recognize a handsome young man when I see one. Zach Ephron I totally get, and if I was my niece's tender age, I would be gaga, too, because he's their generation's John Travolta (circa Grease). Justin, though, isn't sexy. His looks are awkward at best, and he has a white guy 'fro, which I'm not saying is a bad thing since I'm married to a guy with a Jew 'fro, but as a general aesthetic rule, white 'fros aren't all that great. His music sucks. From that boy band he used to be in up to his latest over-produced, cultivated-in-a-lab, pop tart CD case of shit, his mark on music more forgettable than anything clever he's ever done, including ripping off Janet Jackson's top at the SuperBowl. If someone could take a moment to explain the whole Justin thing, I would be most appreciative.

Where Does the Bra Go? - I don't know if I don't understand this one, or if it just annoys me, but I went out shopping the other day for a dress to wear to my nephew's Bar Mitzvah, and the question I walked away with was "where does the bra go?" All of the new styles include necklines, straps, and a lack of sleeves, which is fine if your clothing size is single digit, but mine isn't, therefore a natural assumption should be made by clothing makers that once you've crossed the threshold into a non-single digit size a bra is an essential. These clothing makers went to school to learn the fashion industry, so why are they so fucking stupid on this issue! Since the age of 11, I've had boobs, and not tiny, training bra-sized boobs, full on knockers. I sport a size that broads in Newport Beach pay thousands for, yet I can't seem to find a dress that has straps thick enough and strategically placed to hide my bra. I ended up wearing something I bought last October, because it had sleeves. It looked good on, but to some degree I feel a bit robbed.

Gas Tax Holiday - Does Hillary Clinton or John McCain really believe people are going to fall for this bullshit. Their great idea for bringing fiscal relief to millions of Americans is to lift the federal gas tax for the summer. For three months we could save a whole 18 cents! Yippeee! That will definitely off-set the 6 million who have been thrown into poverty since 2000, as well as those trimming their grocery bills in order to afford gas to get them to work. If this is the best solution our so-called "leaders" can come up with, then we definitely need to start an honest discussion about revolution. Barack Obama said that their wonderful gas tax holiday would save Americans a grand total of $30, which is why I'm voting for him. He has been the only one (including the media) who has talked about this being nothing more than populist bullshit, and I respect him for it. I just don't understand why these two power-hungry assholes thought it was a good idea.

Workload - Why am I killing myself working close to 60 hours per week for a salary that falls $15,000 per year short of the California average for someone in my field with my number of years of experience? Frankly, why am I killing myself for any job? I made myself a promise years ago that I would never live to work again, but I've found myself in the same predicament 10 years later. Back then I could afford to make work my life, because I was promoting concerts, loved the music industry, and all I had in my personal life was a family I didn't care to spend time with, and a failing marriage that I was running away from. Now, I have a daughter who is the center of my universe, a husband that I love to be with, friends I like to hang out with, and a family I adore, but I never get to be with them, because work has become my life. I've been postponing having another child, because of work, and I know it's unacceptable. If I didn't like the idea of the business I would have been out after two weeks, but at this point, I don't think ideas are enough to keep me working like a dog and neglecting my family. I just don't understand why its taken me this long to figure it out.