Ask and you shall receive!

See, I promised a slightly less.. er.. serious post and I deliver, faithful readers (all 6 of you - oh hey 6! Thanks guys!). Ah but the topic this evening is not one that brings forth the image of butterflies, ponies and happy homosexuals. No. Tonight we speak of things that darken our horizons with irritation, sour our days and ignite a burning hatred. Today's Top Ten?

Pet Peeves

Dirty Bathrooms

I'm not obsessive-compulsive nor am I remotely related to anything considered overly neat. Organized chaos and that slightly hippie, slightly post-war feel is how I would describe my living quarters aka The Cave. A stray sock here and there isn't going to make me uncomfortable or even slightly inclined to clean up. The bathroom, on the other hand, needs to be spotless. No fluff in the bath tub drain hole, no toothpaste streaks in the sink, no suspiciously short and curly hair ANYWHERE in the room. The bathroom is the one place that, had I lived alone, I would gladly clean out on a regular basis. As luck would have it, I do not live alone. Which means I sometimes come across those damn toothpaste streaks anywhere from the taps to the mirror. All manner of hair is found in all manner of places and it's the best I can do not to start foaming at the mouth and throwing things.

In places other than home, I can tolerate slightly less pristine surroundings. I mean let's face it; if I'm going to pee in the loo at a bar, chances are I'm lucky to be standing upright let alone noting the freshness of the towels or the presence of a toilet seat. I will judge a restaurant on the cleanliness of its facilities. I'm just a little weird that way.

Opening the fridge in the morning and finding the almost-but-not-quite empty milk carton with precisely 2.73ml of milk inside

Picture it. Early in the morning, sun just creeping lazily over the horizon (or, on some unfortunate occasions, nowhere to be seen at all), you make your way to the (spotless) bathroom to take care of business. You think, ah, breakfast is a good idea now. Something to take the edge off the hunger that had been growing for the past 8 hours as you wandered through Dreamland. As you wash your hands, you visualize your favourite cereal, in its usual place on the shelf. You smile and walk (read: sleepily stumble) downstairs. You find your cereal, a bowl and a spoon and set them up on the table. You open the fridge and reach for the blue carton of calcium-filled, cereal-accompanying goodness. It feels strangely light and as you deftly pry open that weird spout thingy and tip it over your bowl, you come to the terrible realization. That was it. That teaspoonful of milk was all that is left. The grief, anger, disappointment and sheer devastation! You fall to your knees, look unto the heavens (or the light fixture) and howl your discontent.

Another side-effect of living with a sibling. See, leaving that less-than-a-mouthful of milk in the carton means that it's not really finished yet. Which saves the poor soul the hassle of walking, nay stretching over to the bin to dispose of the carton. Never mind that there's not enough for a tadpole to make milkshake with; the milk isn't finished yet. The whole thing makes me want to beat the offender half to death with the carton.

Bad spelling and grammar

Please see previous, highly detailed and impassioned post on the subject.

Actually saying 'lol'

You sound like a complete prat, y'know that son? Someone told a joke or passed a funny comment and all you thought to do, instead of actually laughing or saying something along the lines of 'Ha! That was funny!', was to actually utter, phonetically, the commonly used internet shorthand that means 'laugh out loud'? Really? I will resist the urge to slap you with my keyboard but I sincerely hope someone else does instead.

That overly vocal guy at the gym

There you are, sweating and straining and silently cursing those years you spent at your computer instead of, I dunno, moving, and suddenly there is a deafening grunt. You and half the other gym bunnies turn around in an effort to locate the source of this odd noise. After nearly suffering a potentially disastrous treadmill incident, it happens again. This time there is more of a strain to it. You wait till you get off the moving machine this time and take a close look at the other gym goers. There are people doing weights, running, stretching... nothing out of the ordinary. Then you spot him. The guy is like the Energizer bunny on crack. Who's hoarse. Every tiny exertion draws from him a grunt, a howl, a whine or an overly enthusiastic deep breath. He races from one machine to the other like his life depended on doing that one millionth press up, he's soaked in sweat (which obviously leaves a liquid path between the machines he visits) and he sounds like he's going to die. While being mounted and sodomized by a mountain goat with poor eyesight. During the process of giving birth.

Drivers who do not indicate on roundabouts

I cannot stand it. You're driving along at a respectable speed (read: only just breaking the sound barrier), negotiating lanes, pot holes the size of graves and errant pedestrians who are either blind, stupid or both. There's a roundabout in the distance so slowing down is a good idea. Coming to a stop, you have to attempt to make your way forwards at some point, even though your current position offers a lovely view of the two straggly geraniums the local yobs left alive on the centre strip. And the bastards refuse to indicate their intended direction. So obviously you spend something close to several days waiting, as one idiot in a Civic after another takes the turn at nerve racking speed without doing you the courtesy of letting you know that he's not going to drive his pimped out scrapyard reject of a car into your precariously insured vehicle.

Denial

The psychologists will tell you that denial is a coping strategy, something that lets our mind bend itself around things that are too much to accept. Sometimes though, I'm convinced it's simply a way to avoid questions, inconvenience or things that really should be dealt with. The worst? Denying being in denial; refusing to believe that there are things that your head is hiding from you even when the evidence is laid out in neatly numbered rows in front of you. Oh and even better? Denial about really really epically obvious and epically scientifically proven facts. Global warming? U le dik naqa sħana. The AIDS epidemic? Them gays is gettin' uppity again I reckon. The Holocaust? Pfft, conspiracy. Are you freakin' serious?

Being rude to staff

I'm not saying don't tell the guy that you have a rhinoceros bogey in your soup or letting him know he got your order wrong. But there is no need to be rude. Uncalled for venom from restaurant patrons makes me sick. I've witnessed some truly sadistic fucks tormenting staff just because they have to be polite back if they want to keep their jobs. These folks are people too! I'm pretty sure they have better things to do than deal with your petty complaints that are obviously groundless. I'm certain that this job in not what they always dreamt they'd be doing when they were asked, as kids, what they want to be when they grow up. But making an honest day's wage is kind of useful to not starving and not ending up on the street. So whatever their reasons, the staff have a right to decent working conditions at their place of employment. And that does not include fucktards like you complaining because the free basket of bread you were given was not warmed to exactly the right temperature.

Using the Internet solely as a platform to complain/whine/bitch

I love this web culture that's growing like mould around us. It is dynamic and fast-paced and it connects millions of people across the world to share ideas, creations, opinions (that's me right there!) and dialogue. Anything from artwork to recipes to car maintenance manuals, you can find anything if you know how to look for it. And then there are those who use the Internet as nothing but a soap box from which to voice their lamentable circumstances. Boyfriend, weight, best friend, your 5th grade teacher... all the drama comes spewing out from blogs, status updates and even email addresses. Really? You expect someone to take you seriously when your contact email is dyingrosepetalsofdespair@emo.com? I know there is tragedy in the world. You know, thousands of people losing their homes, families and lives after natural disasters, war, disease. Political turmoil turning your countrymen into armed enemies and making you a refugee. You're familiar, I'm sure. Everybody has off days. Some of us can't even explain them. But that doesn't mean that everything you contribute to this vast sea of information has to be a plea for attention and sympathy.

Angled MySpace profile pictures

That dear old social network has been abandoned, left to the tweens and that weird guy Tom who everyone is friends with. But the legacy remains! Even on Facebook, users still insist on using the same formula for their profile pictures. Taken from a slightly titled angle, above the subject, preferably with cleavage showing for the girls and that super cool emo swept-to-the-side do for the boys. Glitter optional.