A Girl Gets Cranky

You know, a couple of things have gotten under my skin this past week. These are everyday occurrences, but some reason this week they irritated me like a bad rash on a part of my body that I couldn't reach. Allow me to elaborate.

-Trying to walk on a subway grate in a pair of heels. For anyone who has ever run or walked briskly in a pair of heels over a grate and has become embedded (occasionally landing squarely on their face), you only need to do this once to learn from it. Having done so more than once, I now do my best to walk around them. Inevitably, the oncoming pedestrian traffic will veer away from the grate, forcing me to gingerly traipse across the grate. And I hate walking on my toes.

-Under cooked eggs. I had some this morning and it's just patently wrong. I can say "Make them well done" in a multitude of languages, yet my lack of skill with the Russian language evidently resulted in the runny slop I got today. Only the French like runny eggs and well, they also eat horse.

-A manicure that chips after two days. You'd think some genius would come up with a polish that defies normal daily wear and tear of the hands. But then again, that would put a fair amount of nail salons out of business and I suppose people gotta eat.

-Toile pajamas. Someone was wearing the bottoms as pants on the subway today. Pajamas as outer wear is a subject for another day; toile in pajama form in general principle should be discouraged. The mere sight of this offense nearly caused me to break out in hives.

-Big groups of people outside bars completely blocking the sidewalk, forcing you to wander into the street just to pass by them. What's worse, they are inevitably oblivious to the fact that they are offending the natural flow of traffic and creating foot traffic gridlock. You inconsiderate bastards.

-"Dancing With the Stars." This is one dumb ass show. As I heated up soup for dinner, I saw one routine where a tango was performed to the "Star Wars" theme. The dancers utilized a light sabre as part of the routine. This is like watching a bad Italian satire. Horrific.

-Mutes. These are the people who want to pass behind you in the aisle of a store. They don't say "excuse me" or offer any indication they are standing there waiting for you to move your ass out of their way. They merely stand there with their eyes boring a hole in the back of your head, waiting for you to move. What's worse, when you actually notice them, they whip by you with such disdain you'd think you'd robbed their mother of her pension.

-That nasty cashier at the Intermix sample sale. Honey, I'm sorry you don't take American Express. Yes, I know this is a final sale and non returnable. Hey, did you know Duane Reade is hiring? You'd probably fit right in there.

-Linen. Why do I still buy linen clothing? Yes, the fabric does breathe beautifully but it will always, always, always look like I slept in it for two nights after wearing it for five minutes.

-The plastic bags my bodega uses. They smell so heavily of petroleum products that I believe they could be repurposed as a cooking oil substitute. I am afraid to recycle them--and well, that's the part that irritates me.

-Push ups. I still can't do them well and I'm having trouble accepting that maybe I never will. The denial is making me cranky.

Is there anything on your list this week?