Things I’d like to kick in the cojones, v. 2011.02

You (never) asked for it…you got it!  More of my 2011 “cojones list”:

People who try to reach me by calling every possible phone number in quick succession:  This one drives me absolutely crazy.  I’m not going to name names here (although the person most guilty of this offence is commonly referred to in my family as “Dad”), but if it’s not an emergency why is it necessary to call my office phone, then my cell phone, then my home phone?  Seriously.  Why, why, why?  I was leaving work in a hurry on Monday trying to get home before the impending tornadoes when my desk phone rang.  I recognized the number and figured I’d return the call when I got home.  On the way to my car, my cell phone rang.  Same caller.  I finally got home (after driving through the onslaught of rain) and there’s a message on my home phone from said person as follows: “Just checking in.  No big deal, catch you later.”  GAH!!!  I’ll admit that I’m guilty of ignoring phone calls.  One of the benefits of not having kids is that it’s nobody’s damn business where I am or what I’m doing.  But if you need me, just call my cell phone and leave it at that.  You don’t even need to leave a message!  I’ll see that you called and get back to you (eventually).

Journalists:  As the proud owner of a (much wasted) Journalism degree, I’m appalled by the news industry today.  Do you know who determines what news is?  Journalists (and producers and editors et al).  Apparently these douche bags believe that “news” is Lindsey Lohan and Charlie Sheen and John Galliano.  It’s not.  And those “what would you do” shows?   Those aren’t news stories.  If you’re paying people to act from a script, it’s entertainment.  And it sucks.  Here’s a little tidbit to get journalists headed in the right direction:  If the word “rehab” appears in a story, cut it from the program (or the newspaper or any magazine that doesn’t feature gossip).  I’d like to propose that the news industry make a clean break from the entertainment industry and just report the damn news.  You know, world issues and shit.  It’s out there!   

The horizontal lines slowly creeping across my forehead.  What. The. Hell.  I’ll admit that I’ve been hoping for something to distract from the vertical lines that recently appeared between my eyebrows, but this isn’t what I had in mind.  “Aging like an old suitcase” used to be a punch line for me.  Not so much anymore.   Now I know why women of a certain age (i.e. 40’s, like me) wear long bangs.  F*ck you tiny lines.  Don’t even think about turning into wrinkles.  You and I are headed for the championship bout…and you’re going down!  Ding! Ding! Ding!