Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I'm Makin' Some Cop--ies of an Email I Was Sent from the Radio Hosts Who Interviewed Rob Schnei--der.

FM Radio is bad no matter what time of day it is. Morning, noon, night... I don't want to hear the music that is played nor the hosts that play it (except for Adam Carolla of course, whose since gone to iTunes).

However, morning radio programming is particularly bad. Not just bad. It's cheesy; unfunny prank phone calls, arrogant deejays who wear seashell necklaces (even though I can't see them I just know they are wearing seashell necklaces), contests of who can drink the most water without peeing (which just killed a woman) and giveaways to the saddest person in a cubicle.

But, do you know what else is cheesy? Florida. Specifically West Palm Beach, Florida. And even MORE specifically, a radio station in West Palm Beach called WiLD (yes, it's a lowercase i) 95.5 FM. And if you can believe even more cheesy than that? West Palm Beach radio hosts Kevin, Virginia and Jason.

If you haven't heard or seen the misleading headline "Rob Schneider is a Jerk" referring to an interview he had with three of the most annoying, insecure morning radio hosts, it's time I fill you in. The predictable Kevin, Virginia and Jason interviewed Rob Schneider in what may be the worst interview of all time. These comedic geniuses just don't get it. They just don't get it. And if you are sitting there wondering what "it" is they don't get, that means you don't get it either so just stop reading now.

If you do, let's proceed but not before you watch the interview.

You'll notice that Rob Schneider several times says "Nah, forget about it. I'm just kidding around." But these dummy hosts become defensive. One of the radio hosts goes as far as to say "I'm so sick of this crap. Every time we have a comedian here you think you are bigger than life." Now, if I may, I want to interpret what this guy just said. He more or less said "I'm so sick of not being as funny as you. Every time we have a comedian here I realize what a bad sense of humor I have."

I rarely take action against injustice but this was an exception. This interview made me so mad. Madder than when people don't signal. Madder than someone cutting in line. Madder than when people talk at the movies. That said, I had to write an email to the radio hosts expressing my feelings. And, to my surprise I got a response. However, what didn't surprise me was the lack of thought that went into it.

I've copy and pasted it for your viewing pleasure...

My email read:

You wouldn't know funny if The Three Stooges were sitting next to you watching Marx Brothers videos while reading Jerry Seinfeld's book AND listening to George Carlin's audio book.

I thought this was quite witty and paid homage to our comedy heroes.

...And this is what I got back. A clear demonstration of why again, I don't listen to morning radio. Unoriginal, tacky, unfunny FM radio.

Your opinion matters so little to any of us! You are a douche, and you have no idea what you are talking about. You are emailing someone based on bad info... Go jump off a bridge, and hit a few metal pieces on the way down. Dumb ass!

You suck,


Funny Virginia. Because that's exactly what I wanted to do right after I listened to your radio show.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Hello Dead Person. Nice to Meet You. My Name is Insincere.

There is a time and place for all types of behavior. Sincerity. Crying. Lying. Frustration. Even telling Knock Knock Jokes about a Mexican and a Jew. A wake or funeral, specifically is a time and place appropriate for all of the above just mentioned. There are a lot of reasons why this behavior would be appropriate in such a setting.

1. Sincerity; maybe for once you really actually liked this person.

2. Tears; you've come face to face with just how unflattering black is for your skin tone.

3. Lies; the dead guy used to talk incessantly at the movies so you couldn't stand him but you couldn't say that to the grieving widow, of course.

4. A knock knock joke about a Mexican and a Jew may be just what the group of police officers in mourning need.

5. Frustrations; someone just finished the rest of TownHouse brand half cracker/half pretzel hybrid you've been dying to try. Excuse me, meaning to try. 

Sound politically incorrect? Good. It should. Politically incorrect can fly at a funeral because we're human and death is scary, or at least it is for us Catholics. We've got to get through it some how. And, if telling off-color, insensitive jokes is what your little stone heart desires at a funeral, so be it.

But, there is one thing you should never ever do when it comes to death. And, that is go to a wake/funeral just because EVERYONE ELSE IS GOING.

Years back, when I was in high school a fellow student died a very tragic death. And I felt terrible. Genuinely terrible. But I didn't go to his calling hours because 1. His death turned into a popularity contest and popularity has never been my thing. 2. I am not a disingenuous person.

Deciding whether or not to attend a funeral service should be a much bigger decision than deciding to show up at the high school dance or a homecoming football game.

When this student's calling hours took place there was a line down the street for hours. This would have been nice if everyone was there to celebrate his life. However, most people were there to celebrate their own lives and how many more parties they were going to be invited to following the service.

The bottom line is if you're going to use someone's funeral to better your social situation, chances are you're not meant to be very popular in the first place. There are plenty of other things that can make you look cooler than attending a stranger's funeral.

Perhaps work on your personality?

Some people may argue they'll look like jerk if they don't go. I say you look like a jerk if you do go. If you didn't know the person don't go to the wake, don't send a card. And please oh, please don't post your condolences in a Facebook update.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Cops Risk their Lives... Every Time they Drive Home Drunk.

A few months ago on a week long stay in my home town I got stuck playing a game of cards with some of the locals. One of these locals happened to be a town cop. And I knew things were off to a bad start when I said "I would respect small town cops if they spent more time fighting crime and less time planning their next softball game."

But I understand, in a small town like mine, there isn't much crime to fight. Really the only dangers are overweight women in spandex. And to give cops a little credit, that can be quite scary.

And, I don't think I'm overstepping my bounds by saying that small town cops aren't the most open minded folk around (and I use the word "folk" very literally). They are often confused by art, insightful humor, people who live in big cities and to put it politely, black people. And nothing says "I played football in high school" like becoming a small town cop.

And, as many of my fellow stand up comedians would agree, it's better not to tell people you are a comedian because you will get the inevitable "Oh yeah? You're a comedian? Tell us a joke, comedian." My response to this is usually "I don't think you have the intelligence level to understand my jokes... they're not Knock Knock Jokes." And they usually respond by saying "I have this friend who's really funny. He told me this joke the other day. It was something like.. oh how did it go. It was hilarious. Oh I know what it was.. So a Mexican and a Jew walk into a bar..." Then I sit and fake smile at their lack of understanding what a joke is. It's very awkward.

Anyway, to my UNsurprise, the cop, out of everyone said that exact thing. "Oh yeah? You're a comedian? Tell us a joke, comedian." And to him I responded "You're a cop? Now if you were to spell the word 'you're' would you spell it Y.O.U.'R.E or Y.O.U.R.? This is a very telling way to discover someones intelligence level. And, if he chose correctly, I would have thought about possibly telling him a joke. But we never got to that point because he hated me immediately. Which was fine with me, except for the fact my car's license plate was highly visible from where we were sitting.

Now, it's been a while since this incident so I can't remember what happened next. I'm guessing the word fagot was thrown around lightly as well as the 'N' word, and the cop probably crushed about 5 or 6 beer cans on his forehead and once I had had enough I got one more jab in before I left... I said. "Hey Mr. Coppy... Are you going to drive home after you're finished with your 24 pack of Keystone?"

Then I ran like hell..

Now, I don't think all cops are bad. I have respect for the ones who really deal with the big bad guys. But, my respect went down a few notches last weekend when I was pulled over for my first time by the LAPD.

[Note: the following paragraph(s) to come contains all the things I would've like to have said to the cop but I didn't have the balls to so I didn't... The following are responses I wish I could have said but instead I was a sissy]

It was a Saturday, and as usual I wasn't doing anything too exciting. I was just on my way home from dinner when I saw a cop move over three lanes to get behind me. So, of course, I knew what was coming... He got out of his car and shined that ridiculously bright flashlight in my eyes. I said "Sir, please. Remove that flashlight from my eyes so I can see the man I have to fake attraction to."

Typically, he said "license and registration." I was like "yeah, nice line. Really original." And I gave him my license. He starred at it for an unusually long amount of time, like he was looking for something to be racist about. He couldn't find anything (although I do look slightly ethnic in my photo). So, he told me I had a break light out and I said (fake concerned) "Oh, no. Really?" (Which I thought was weird he said that because I had recently got both break lights changed)... And this was his EXACT quote "I wouldn't lie to you." I thought "Wow, what a stand up guy... he wouldn't lie to me. I should date that one."

So, a day or two later I go to get my break light fixed and the guys at the shop are like "Nah, miss yer break lights are werkin' jus fine." (that's how all mechanics speak, even the Mexican ones). So, the cop lied to me. Ridiculous because he said "I wouldn't lie to you." Like he made a point to lie and then made a point to say he wouldn't lie.

But anyway, when I was at the shop to get my break light fixed I figured since I was already there I should just get a quick inspection of my car... it's starting to age slightly. It's weird in Los Angeles cars aren't even allowed to age. So when they inspected it they found that my actual breaks were worn down to about nothing and they were about to go.

So, thank you Mr. Cop for misleading me. If it weren't for your lies, dishonesty, crookedness, deceit and flimflam, I probably would have been killed when my breaks failed on me. You're the reason I'm still alive. You are my untrustworthy hero.

I'll come thank you at your next softball game.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Background Actors are Unintentionally Hilarious. But When You're an Extra for a Yogurt Brand's Webisode it's No Longer Hilarious, it's Depressing.

I moved to Los Angeles about two years ago. And, like thousands of others, I had dreams of stardom. But, as my drive started to dwindle, so did my savings account. One day I made these struggles known to a stranger at an audition. They recommend I look into doing non-union background work. One week later I arrived on set for my first day of background acting. Little did I know, that would be the day I will remember as the day I lost my soul.

I used to believe that mankind was good. But that silly assumption came to an end when I started waiting tables. But it REALLY crashed and burned when I started doing extra work (Note: I purposely don't capitalize "extra." It might give the impression that it's a respectable job).

These extra casting agencies have more applicants than they know what to do with. They lure in suckers like myself using tag lines like "Jump start your career!" The only thing I'm jump starting after doing extra work are thoughts of suicide.

When signing up for background work first crossed my mind I thought "Well, it can't be that bad - flexible schedule, free food, the opportunity to hang out on movie lots and see first hand the way television is made." Doesn't sound bad, right?

Wrong. I'll translate my assumptions into reality for you.

Flexible schedule means 6:00 a.m. call time and 1:00 a.m. release time. Free food means eat away the pain of being a nobody. Hang out on movie lots means don't even think about going near the Star trailers. (And I quote) "you're not part of that world and you're not invited into that world." Stay in holding with the other plebes. And lastly, see first hand the way television is made means witness how music and editing makes these actors look talented.

Once you're on set, no one tries to hide how much background work sucks because the names used for the job: wranglers, holding, extras, background.

For those of you who have never have done extra work or been on a set, a "wrangler" is the person in charge of the extras. But, do they really have to call them wranglers? If I'm not mistaken, an actual "wrangler" is a ranch hand who takes care of the saddle horses. To the director and producers and to everybody who matters, you are the human equivalent of a saddle horse. And believe me, they'll shoot you if you break a leg.

The word "holding" isn't so charming either. While the principal actors are in their heated trailers, extras are set up in an empty building that is in no way made to support human life: no lights, heat, outlets and only a few metal folding chairs for the extras lucky enough to get one.

Finally, the terms "extra" and "background" are used in their most literal form. We are nothing more. We're extra. We're extraneous, inessential, superfluous, unused, unnecessary (thank you to thesaurus.com for that self-esteem bash fest).

As if the terminology isn't dehumanizing enough, extras aren't allowed to eat at the same table as everyone else. Even the P.A.'s get to enjoy their lunch at the table's with salt and pepper shakers and pretty center pieces. Walking with a plate full of food back to holding is the ultimate walk of shame. The people who matter get to watch you slither away back to your black hole of failure with a plate full of macaroni and cheese. It's humiliating.

But what blows my mind most of all are the extras who are more than fine with their position in life. Who are you people? Do you not feel? Do you not cry? Do you not want? Do you not dream? Come on, WAKE UP! Don't let other people treat you like this. Do something more respectable like, stripping.

Doing extra work doesn't make you feel like a loser. It makes you a loser. Until you get cast as the principal actor, stay away from movies, television, commercials and worst of all, webisodes.

Dun dun dunnnn. Webisodes... I just worked as an extra for a webisode for a yogurt brand. Talk about no standards. It's one thing to be on a set with award winning actors. It's another to be on a set of actors worse than you. It'll drive you mad. These crummy actors are the first to walk around with a giant chip on their shoulder, too. "No fraternizing with the extras (animals), we're big time now. We're in a webisode for YOGURT."

All of this is all the more painful because I have, in my short stay in LA, been lucky enough to be cast in a few print ads and television things as featured or principal so I know what it feels like to be on the other side. Until I can be on that side consistently, I will stay away from the Slave-like treatment. (Note: I capitalize Slave-like because comparatively to extra work, it really doesn't sound so bad).

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Hey Subway Stop Trying to be Classy. Your Employees are not "Sandwich Artists"

I eat Subway all of the time and I do so because I am not creative enough to think of any other place to grab a quick bite. And also because my Dad is a firm believer in mediocrity...

And, I'm there so often I know what to expect; turkey with random brown spots, tomatoes with white, unripe centers and bread that smells like my brother's hamper. I'm cool with that.

What I'm not cool with is the fact that you, Subway, try to get away with calling your hourly, minimum wage, ex-convict/illegal immigrant employees "Sandwich Artists." Let me say that again for those of you who didn't hear me. Subway calls their employees "Sandwich ARTISTS." Both you (Subway) and I know that when you call your employees "Sandwich Artists" you really are just insulting your customer's intelligence as well as taking away whatever dignity your hourly employees have left.

I understand you pay for what you get. 4 bucks for a sub, I expect $4 quality. But I also know that if these sandwich artists were actually "artists" they would know that sandwiches should not be made like a hotdog, with the meat and fixings directly straddling the bread so when you fold it in half the insides don't lay flat. My life would be so much easier if I had large breasts and if these "sandwich artists" could just slice the bread all the way in half, pile everything on the lower half and then just cover the sandwich with the other slice of bread so I don't have to eat it like a giant wiener dog. (Please see photo attached for a phenomenon I like to call "The Hot Dog Effect")

Real "Sandwich Artists" come from places like France or Italy or the Culinary Institute of America, not Torrance, CA. Like we let Rachael Ray slide with not being an actual trained Chef but you, Subway are pushing it way too far with this serious title your just so casually tossing around. I think you, Subway, just need to be comfortable and confident with the fact that you are not classy, and you never will be classy. You're like that girl who shops at Forever 21 but walks like she shops at Neiman Marcus.

So, please take down the glamor shots of aged cheeses and aromatic basil from your walls and replace them with pictures of like NASCAR and Shaq. I think people would respect your company a lot more if you just admitted that you're a mediocre fast food joint. And please, change the name of your employees to "Cold Cut Slingers" or "Lucky to Have a Job at all." Remember Subway, if you strive for mediocrity you will never have to feel the pain of failure.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Your Cat is not a He or a She. It's an it.

I can't remember who I was speaking with recently (conveniently for the purpose of this blog post) but I do remember our conversation and the moment that they became incredibly annoyed/offended that I got the sex of their cat wrong, which is absolutely ridiculous. Unless I get the sex of your 15 year old son wrong, relax.

Your cat/dog isn't going out for the football team or signing up for ballet classes so the sex of your cat/dog is useless. They don't have feminine/masculine traits that differentiate themselves from one another so how am I expected to know? It's not like the male cat has a deeper meow or has to shave for work in the morning.

The Sex of a human barley matters anymore, how could it possibly be relevant in the animal world? If the WNBA can exist, gender is clearly no longer pertinent and yet, "(Clearing throat) Sparkles is a HE." "Oh, really? Well, if you didn't give him such a gay name maybe I would've known that." The only way I differentiate gender is by cat and dog. Cats are the girls and dogs are the boys (unless they are a little sissy dogs). So when I see a cat I just assume it's a she, since it's the weaker of the two. And dogs are the dudes clearly, because they are much cooler.

And it's not like the animal knows it's being called a boy when it's really a girl. It can't get offended or get a complex about it's gender. Like the cat says, "I knew my whiskers make me look like a boy, now I'm embarrassed to play outside, the other cats are going to make fun of me."

You may be surprised to find out that I do have a cat and I LOVE "it" more than words and "it" is adorable. My little "it" may have male parts but "it" acts more like a woman, very needy, sensitive and "it" cries a lot. And "it's" sex isn't relevant because I'm not planning on setting it up with the female cat next door to make more little "its". The only thing I and anyone else needs to know about "it" is that "its" adorable and sweet and loves when you pet "it's" chin.

The same person who gets offended when you get the sex of their pet wrong is also the person who gets offended when you get their name just slightly wrong - like really mad. "Umm, actually, it's Christine, I HATE the name Christina." Yes, I know it's a different name but only by one letter.

I don't mind if someone calls me Kirsten when my name is Kristen. Actually, I'd prefer it. It makes me feel like I'm someone else for a few short sweet minutes. Yes, I AM Kirsten, I am strong, confident and cool unlike Kristen who is weak, depressed and scared. I'll take the different name and it's okay if you think my cat is a she.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

A Pilot I was in Just Aired on TLC.

IMDB here I come.

'Dental Chickens' Phrase is No Longer a Mystery to Me... But Why They Think it's Good Advertising Is.

Now, take a look at this ad I've seen a couple of times. I seem to notice this unintentionally hilarious ad on days when I'm frustrated because it usually ads to my confusion toward the world... and today was one of those days because I just got fired from my waitressing job. And you can imagine the low point you hit when someone tells you more or less, you suck at bringing people sodas... but that's a whole 'nother blog for a different day.

Back to bad advertising... See, I consider myself a relatively smart person regardless of what I scored on my math regents. And I, for the life of me could not figure out what "We Cater to Dental Chickens" meant. At first I thought it could mean a number of things like 1. Chickens, regardless that we use them for the eggs need oral care too. Or 2. Business has been slow so we're branching out to the animal world (Hey, in a bad economy, you never know what people will do).

But each of these explanations weren't adding up because of the creepy picture along side of the headline. Now, I understand using a photo of a child because they're young, innocent and lovable to gain positive feelings toward your product... But to include an adult man with a receding hairline as well is a bit, tacky.

As a society we're all very aware of the influx of pedophilia lately. As a result, it's a little touchy displaying an ad where an adult man is uncomfortably close to a young child. In a perfect world, I'd like to think this adult man is the father of this young girl and he's only showing his admiration of his child. BUT, there is a problem with this ideal theory... the girl is walking a fine line between being his daughter and being another race completely... leading us to believe that she's not his daughter at all but a young child he's scooped up on his way to the duct tape and rope shop.

So, for the life of me I just couldn't figure out what this ad was getting at.

But, after posting this image to Facebook I immediately got an explanation. And I said Ohhhhhh I get it. They are catering to those who are afraid of the dentist... thus "chickens."

How could I not have gotten this? Of course I questioned my intelligence for a second but only for a second. Until I realized that I didn't get it because I'm SO smart that I thought "it couldn't be referring to people afraid of the dentist, that's too easy."

A link to their website provided by a helpful Facebook friend showed that some of the ways they cater to 'dental chickens' is by using get this, laughing gas and various types of sedation. In my opinion, if you are so outrageously afraid of the dentist that you require laughing gas or sedation the only people catering to you should be psychiatric doctors. Not dentists.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Please Keep Your Chair in an Upright and Locked Position. Atleast Until After We Crash.

I used to be a good flyer... until I got old enough to realize that the same men who wear Lee jeans are the same men who are responsible for putting my plane together. Actually, I think I realized it in college when I was dating an engineer from France who worked for Airbus, and when he made me Coq au Vin, a popular french dish and it sucked I thought if he can't even get chicken right... how is he going to get the structure of a plane right?

Like I said, I used to be a good flyer. But now I'm a wreck. The only way I make it 30,000 feet in the air is with some heavy doses of Tanqueray. Otherwise I'd have to be restrained in a straight jacket and beat over the head with some middle aged woman's carry-on that CLEARLY should have been checked. I don't drink all year until I get on a plane, then suddenly I turn into Chelsea Handler (with out the successful comedy career of course).

But my biggest beef lies with the people I like to call "Poker Faced" Flyers. They're sitting there so calm, so uninterested like they haven't looked out the window and seen that we are 30 THOUSSSANNDDD FEET above ground and if they have looked out their window they are so above it all because they think "Hey, we are humans, we are foolproof, we are GOD." Listen, confident humans, homosapians have walked the earth for 250,000 years and within those 250,000 years out of all the things that they've known to be natural, being 30 THOUSAND FEET above ground is not one of them. I have had moments where I'd like to stand up, turn around and shout (from first class of course) "Have you people not noticed that we are 30 THOUSAND FEET above ground???!!! Have you all gone mad???

But, despite my terror I get on a plane and I go... because I live 3,000 miles from my family. And don't think I haven't thought about driving all the way from California to New York to go to a cousins wedding for a weekend and then turn right around and drive back 3 days later.

But enough about me, I want to get down to business... I'd like to address one type of person, and you know who are. I'm talking you "Person Who Reclines Their Chair Before the Crew Says You Can." The last time I flew the guy sitting in front of me was clearly an asshole. I knew this because he had a lot of gel in his hair. But not only did he have too much gel in his hair, he had his seat reclined before I even sat down. Which is not only inconsiderate for the person trying to settle into their seat, it's against federal aviation law (yes, I am the federal aviation law police). And despite the crews failed attempts, he was a sneaky bastard and when we took off, his seat was reclined. Hey, inconsiderate dude, please just keep your seat up until they say you can put it back - in an emergency, I highly doubt your seat 2" closer to my face is going to make or break my chances of survival but AT LEAST give me the courtesy of knowing that I will have .1 second more time before I bash my head into the video screen in front of me. Listen, I am a considerate person so I know that if I recline my chair before the crew gives me the go ahead, I will make the guy behind me very uncomfortable because he is probably following the rules and will just be stuck REALLY close to his tray table until he feels it is socially and lawfully acceptable to put his seat back. On one angelic occasion I had a guy actually ASK me if he could recline his seat. It was adorable. He turned around, his little eyes peaking through the crack in the seats and he asked really nicely "Heyyy, do you think it would be okay if I put my seat back?" I was so taken aback by his consideration that despite his bald spot I thought for one brief second, I was in love. Maybe his consideration for other human beings comes from the humility of being a bald guy... who knows?

With in the past year there have, unfortunately been been a string of airplance incidents that have made my fears soar to great heights (or greats depths depending on what way you look at it). But, the biggest tragedy in recent months was the crash of AirFrance Flight 447 where 280 lives were lost. So, maybe I was right? If you can get Coq au Vin right...

Thursday, June 18, 2009

My Idea of a Good Plumber Ad

This is a print ad I did while at Chicago Portfolio School. ... maybe this is why I chose stand-up comedy instead.

I'm Not a Bitch, I'm an Asshole.

Rappers, pleassse… Keep on rapping about “bitches.” I don’t mind…

I don’t consider myself a bitch so I am really not all that offended at your lyrics (is that even what you call words in a rap song?). I am offended however, that all women just tend to get all jumbled up and clumped together into that one word, bitch. And don’t worry this is not going to be one giant “bitching” session that men are the enemy or that rap music needs to reassess it’s terminology. It’s going be the complete opposite actually because Dr. Dre, I’m with you. Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks.

To our credit, not all of us women are bitches. Some of us are “assholes.” Believe me, as a teenager who was picked on by a bunch of bitches I can tell you there’s a difference. No offense to you women out there (even my own lovely mother included) but we are at some or most points in our lives either one or the other. Now, I am not saying that even Mother Theresa was a bitch or an asshole but what I am saying is that her Sisters probably were.

If you are a woman reading this, do you remember at some point in grade school or high school feeling threatened by another girl? If so, you probably acted in 1 of 2 ways. 1. You either said something about her behind her back and had your friend say it to her face for you or 2. You said something about her straight to her face but because she took it like a man, you became life-long friends. If you chose action #1, that means you’re a bitch. If you chose action #2, congratulations, you’re an asshole.

See, asshole women are like gay men. They’re funny, they’re loud, they’re opinionated and most importantly, they’re honest. And I would befriend any woman who’s an asshole in a heartbeat. A bitch? Not so much.

See, Bitches have pink cell phones and small dogs. Assholes have regular cell phones and German Shepherds. Bitches call you “sweety” and “hunny” while assholes call you by your last name or even better, a creative and witty nickname that hits upon your worst quality. Bitches only talk to you if other people are talking to you, assholes talk to you whether anyone else includes you or not, even though they may be telling you your bald spot is starting to show. A bitch would lie to you and tell you your outfit looks good because she wants to look better than you while an asshole would say “bitch, go change your clothes. You’re not walking next to me in that.” A bitch would snicker at your lack of a “name brand education” and tell her friend what a loser you are while an asshole would make a joke about your worthless associates degree but still bank on your success.

Sounding a bit harsh? It’s called honesty and unfortunately the lack of it is beginning to show up in your friend’s wardrobe and your sister-in-law’s new patio furniture. But, fortunately for you, I’m an asshole telling you the truth; get rid of your pink Blackberry Pearl and little shitzu, because it is making you look fat.

Friday, May 1, 2009

A Short and Sour Welcome.

Hi I'm Kristen. Welcome to Sweat the Small Stuff, a humorous blog dedicated to social commentary; the everyday, little things that just don't ad up and drive us (me) insane... Insane enough to blog about anyway.

Of course I find things like aids, hunger, pollution, and North Korea to be terrible, just terrible. However, I just don't find them as dangerous to society as people who don't signal when making a turn, those who get really over zealous with the divider-thing at the grocery store check out, people who recline their chairs on the airplane before they are allowed to, people who don't say "thank you" when you hold the door for them, people who stand on the escalator, people who stop 15 feet short at a red light.... and worst of all, people in general.

I think these are the real injustices of society. Don't sweat the small stuff? Well I'm telling whoever coined that phrase that the reason they didn't sweat the small stuff was because they weren't smart enough to notice it.

And, my fellow social commentators, I'm here for you if you want to vent, add your own experience, post something that annoys you or feel like your next door neighbor needs to be called out for being, well, a typical next door neighbor.

Make yourself at home, snoop around, scan some of the titles, they're pretty entertaining and if you have time... read the blog. And, if you have even more time, subscribe to my blog.