My neighbors. There’s the one who insists on believing he is a drummer and gleefully bangs away for an hour or more every night. That shouldn’t be permitted in an apartment-style living situation. Especially if you’re so awful that it sounds like someone set a bunch of hyper chimps free with pots and pans and several hard surfaces to throw them against. Also on my list? The asshole who pulled up across the street at midnight and started honking every five seconds for about a minute. Lastly, there is the garage door below us that sounds like the goddamn Nazgûl have arrived every time it opens or closes.
That damned rooster. I don’t know where, exactly, the little bugger lives but I know that it’s close to where I live. And this damned rooster doesn’t just crow once at sunup, oh no. He is at it all the time. I’m tempted to get out there and commit murder most fowl.
All the assholes on the train. All I ask is that people mind my personal space and try not to get into an enclosed area smelling either as though they have not bathed in three months or have marinated nightly in a bath of floral perfume. Minding my personal space means don’t step on me, don’t stick your ass or crotch directly into my face and mind all your dangling shit. Getting repeatedly hit with your bag or laptop case or oversized gods be damned purse is not fun for me. If I push back, take the hint and take steps to correct things. The train is never so full that you can’t rest your backpack on the floor at your feet.
Kooky McRacistpants. Just because she is obnoxious. With the high pitched whispering and the smacky way she chews her gum and the way she acts surprised to see me every day.
People who don’t understand sarcasm. Look, if I make a snide comment to a healer about how I am going to take that hat because it has all that delicious spirit on it, don’t tell me spirit is a useless stat for mages. I think I know that better than you do and am just trying to get a rise out of Zel.
Related: people who think they know everything. Shut your gobs. Spare me the lectures.
Transmogrification. I’m happy you’re all happy and not trying to piss on anyone’s parade. If dress up is your thing, more power to you. It’s just overwhelming to hear about it all the time and see very little discussion about… really anything else.
Related: my inability to get either of the two posts that I want to write to come out in a pleasing and coherent manner. I’ve made several stabs at them, thrown it all away and started over several times, but I’m no closer to having either of them finished. The fail is strong in this one.
Budgeting. Being an adult can be so tedious.
My hair. It’s just long enough that it gets on my neck and annoys the crap out of me and will fall in my eyes if I don’t pin it back. It’s just short enough that I can’t put it in a tail and forget about it. I yearn for the days when I rocked the fauxhawk because at least that was easy.
Lastly, that’s it’s only Friday morning and not Friday afternoon and I have a whole day of scanning paper one sheet at a time to look forward to. And the dream job still hasn’t called me. I swear I’ll be happier once I’m not suffering in temp monkey hell for 40 hours a week.
-Alas the Very Easily Annoyed