When the going gets tough, the tough get peeved
I’m feeling peevish right now and it’s about a whole lot of things, which has short-circuited my usual reasonable abundance of tactfulness.
I’m peeved with people who use the recycling bin that I maintain at work but who cannot be bothered to rinse out the cans or bottles and remove the bottle lids. I’ve sent out two e-mails detailing (cheerfully and tactfully) how to do this. Don’t you read? Do you live in a pocket universe where recycling is unheard of? Rinse out the freaking bottle or can and throw out the lid. It smells disgusting in there and I have to hand sort all of it. Rude, rude, rude.
I’m peeved with other drivers, particularly tailgaters. I’m gonna tell you right now, you can herd me all you like and I’m not gonna speed up. Not for you. Not for anybody. Why? It’s all about stopping distance, boneheads. If I’m going the speed limit of 50 along my rural road and I see a mother deer and her fawn up ahead, chances are really good I can stop in time to keep from hitting them. If I’m going the 75-in-a-50 miles per hour you’re trying to get me to go, I’ll hit them both and we’re all gonna die.
But I won’t do that. I have PTSD and the reflexes of a race car driver (I took a test at an RV show and that’s what it said); I’ll stop as a reflex because that’s how I’m wired. And since you decided to crawl up my car’s mechanical colon, you will be slamming into the back of my car. If we survive, you will be buying me a whole new car and as many replacement body parts as I require. What’s more, there’s a really excellent chance that you will be spending quality time with Large Larry and the boys or Mean-eyed Muffy and her friends in prison on a charge of vehicular assault. Does that sound like a lovely plan to you? No?
Here’s the deal. I have too much left to do to die or become incapacitated because you had the approximate patience of a wolverine on methamphetamines, so back off, nincompoop. I’m sorry you have the mindfulness of a planaria worm, but stupidity on that scale is not supposed to incur the death penalty for either of us.
I would also like to let all those who patronize or bully me that it’s just by the thinnest of hairs that I am not going all martial arts on your ass. You may be smarter than me (although it’s not likely), richer, older, younger, taller, thinner, have a better job – whatever – but you clearly are not smart or superior enough to notice that none of those things make you better than me. What makes me better than you is that I won’t patronize or bully you, but I’m about a rat’s wheeze away from sucker punching you, so back. Off. Now. Go pester somebody else – or, better yet, go home, read up, grow up and stop picking on anybody, your own size or not.
And while I’m on a rant…
What’s up with all these selfish conservatives? I vaguely remember a Facebook post that proposed a slogan for these pickleheads: “I’ve got mine, what’s the matter with you?” I’d credit the author if I could only find out who said it, but if you’re out there, bless you! You nailed it. That’s the attitude I see from Cruz to Bachman to Boehner to Cantor and all the rest of their ilk. I look at their smug, smirking, ever-so-well-fed faces and think that they have to be the most selfish,unempathetic, compassionless creatures I’ve encountered who weren’t actually unmasked as soulless monsters (think Somali warlords). Are you freaking KIDDING me? You parade around carrying the sword and shield of Christianity, thinking that by borrowing virtue it somehow rubs off on you, and then proceed to puke out verbiage that would literally have Christ turning his back on you (and walking off with his gay friends on his way to feed the homeless).
I’m so freaking fed up with hypocrisy on a level that would deprive little kids with preexisting conditions of healthcare, hungry people of food, people just trying to make a living of enough money to do so. When the rich are ostentatiously offended that the poor aren’t poor enough, that the sick aren’t sufficiently abandoned, that elders aren’t buying enough canned cat food – yeah, I’m peeved.
I’m also really peeved with my friends who have bought this crap, hook, line and sinker, who spew hostilities based on disprovable verbal diarrhea straight from Glenn Beck and his Brain Wrecking Crew that all boils down to the same damned thing – preserving your right not to be your brother’s keeper in any way, shape or form. Well, when desperate people break into your house and raid your kitchen, when they get sick and you catch it, do not whine to me about it. You didn’t just help do this to them – you did it to yourselves too. Creating desperate masses does not generally turn out well – think Marie Antoinette and the guillotine.
But actually, this is okay, since I’m thinking that right now the majority of us are peeved. That it’s not only the usual suspects who are fed up to our wheezing, gasping gills. I’m pretty sure that sane conservatives, Republican moderates, all the people on the other side of the political fence who bring balance to our world if they’re allowed to, rather than being marginalized by these mildew-brained wingnuts – I bet these folks are pretty hacked off as well. And y’know what we’all do when we’re that peeved?
Congratulations, Teapublican Representatives. Enjoy your retirement for life. You’ll be using it far sooner than you think.
Thanks, y’all, for letting me vent. I feel so much better now.