Wash, Skank.


I cannot count on my abacus the number of times that I have watched ladies (I use this term loosely - read on) leave the restroom without washing their hands. Some even stop at the sink and mirror for a few moments; touching up hair, touching up lipstick, touching everything but the soap and faucet, before rushing out into the store to... touch everything else they encounter with their hygienically questionable fingers.

I have meditated on this subject quite often. The soap and water are free... there are often other washers present to provide hygiene-peer-pressure...so what gives? Is it that skanks believe that the toilet paper offers a sufficient barrier between hand and... under carriage? Or do they simply believe that their nether regions are devoid of germs? Either way, I don’t care to sample the fare.

Not washing after the restroom is just rude and those of you who skip the sink and soap are odious slobs.

Locusts, Drought...Cell Phones?
I despise cell phones. And before anyone accuses me of being anti-technology, let me say that I do own a cell phone. I am only a quasi-Luddite. After all, these comments aren’t written on parchment paper with ink and quill, now are they?

It’s not so much the cell phone as it is the cell phone user. Of course, I am not saying that every person with a cell phone is a troglodyte. Just most of you. You know who you are...

Now the list of cell phone abuses is long, dear reader, very long. I will, for time’s sake, keep my complaints at two. But please, feel free to add your own cellular annoyances to the comments portion of this blog.
First and foremost, speaking on a cell phone whilst driving. Who are these people that believe that they are receiving a call of such import that they must handle said call while maneuvering through traffic in a 3 ton hunk of machinery? Folks, your reaction time is hindered.




Better yet, and I have seen this several times, the multi-tasker... this person smokes a cigarette, dials an important number on their phone, AND drives a standard transmission all at once. It’s quite the show watching their cars lurch forward with each grinding gear change as they try desperately to maintain their social status while simultaneously acquiring lung cancer.

The message from these inconsiderate souls is this: "I know that operating a car is a huge responsibility. I understand that driving is a task best managed without distraction. However, I am a self-absorbed ass and do not recognize anyone or anything else around me."

Second... taking calls while dining. Don’t do it. Taking a call while dining says to the person with whom you are breaking bread, "you are not important enough to have my undivided attention". It also says, to people at surrounding tables, that you are insensitive to their dining experience and should be served the bastinado as a final course.

Fear and Self Loathing in America
Being a self loathing American is the latest trend, the hippest hobby, the ‘in’ stance to maintain at social functions... okay, maybe not at 4-H... but you know what I mean.
Apparently, some Americans want to move to England to raise their broods. Of course, I cannot blame them... it looks so intriguing in People magazine, doesn’t it?
Evidently, the moment you set foot to pavement at Heathrow you are immediately shown to your liveried car and from there whisked away to:

a) your countryside cottage
b) your London flat
c)your castle that is in disrepair... but disrepair in a charming English way.

Yes, that’s right, once you arrive in England you have your pick (a, b, or c) of residences. Once you have made your selection you are given an English accent (see Madonna) and taught to queue properly. Having settled in, and having had a spot of tea, you are given a certificate and may begin living the life of splendor that Hollywood royalty says is all the rage. Of course, marrying an English person will help your cause (see Madonna)... and you want to bring some money with you... quite a lot, actually (see Madonna).
(note to self: make sure the tonal quality of the above paragraph is such that reader gets the lack of seriousness)

I am not going to pretend that the thought of calling England home hasn’t entered my mind. I have idealized the notion...but for different reasons; some shallow, others not. Like how wonderful it would be to live in my dad’s homeland. .. or how cool would it be for my kids to have that mellifluous accent? I’ll let you, dear reader, decide which of those two reasons merits the description ‘shallow’.

However, not one of my reasons includes the lambasting of America. After all, what kind fortitude does one demonstrate when abandoning hope, faith, and loyalty during moments of discontent? Now I am not saying that Americans shouldn’t criticize America. Far from that... being able to criticize our country is one of the reasons it’s such a fabulous place. By God, bitch away! Just don’t punch below the belt... and then threaten to ‘move to another country’ (see England).

The thing I find most interesting? When I listen to people who have moved here from England. How much they like it here; how they feel that their opportunities were broadened in America.
Or when I hear of someone who was fortunate enough to come to us from Cuba or Mexico; and what a tremendous amount of love and respect they hold for this country which they now proudly call home. And yes, of course, you will always be able to find people who want to go back to Haiti, etc... but you get the idea.

I guess the grass is never greener, is it?

...but then again, if Gwyneth and Madonna say it’s the place to raise your children... well then, who am I to argue?

Expresshole


An expresshole is someone who uses the express lane to check out... and has more than ten items. You know, the charmer who has 31 items (36 if you count the 6 pack of Tab soda as individual items), checkbook in hand, searching languidly for a pen in the mysterious depths of her pleather purse.

Expressholism is a problem. It's a problem because it is an act of selfish disregard. Disregard for the other patrons, presumably holding ten-or-less items, and disregard for the cashier who must endure the brunt of the ten-or-less patrons' anger at being inconvenienced.

So, what do we do about expressholism? Since I have yet to meet anyone who actually has telekinesis... I guess dislodging them from line and tossing them into the parking lot atop their AMC Pacer is an impossibility. Of course, that, in itself, would be incredibly rude and is not the road we wish to take as promoters of good etiquette.

In lieu of telekinesis I opt for glowering. A good glare and a little brow-knitting. Not as effective as invisibly catapulting the offending party from the queue... but it does make your opinion of expressholism known. Of course, you do not want to employ this technique if the expresshole is a hulking, prison- tattooed Goliath who might wait for you in the parking lot. Naturally you will want to utilize your glower-of-disapproval strictly with the AARP card-holder demographic.. And, even then, you are taking the chance of physical peril.

Expressholes fall into a category of people I lovingly refer to as 'pigs-of-life'.

That said, the best way to combat expressholism is by not being one.

I know that some people want to change the world by beating their opposition about the face and neck with environmental sticks. Of course the same can be said of the other extreme (the ultra conservatives)... However, they seem more difficult to point out as they are not wearing tye-died shirts, listening to the Grafeful Dead, and insisting that astrology has validity.

This blog is not for them. This blog is for the rest of us. Those of us who care about our world... as well as the planet.

We have become a rude bunch... and no, I don't just mean Americans (I'll get into the new hobby of being a self-loathing American later). I mean all of us. This blog is dedicated to pointing out the little rudities that are becoming commonplace in today's society.

If you really want to effect change... If you really want to create a better world for yourself and your loved ones... Then start small. Let's get back to some basic etiquette.

Someting irritating you? It's probably irritating me...

The Hex Files - where rude people get cursed...at.