Let me transfer you...please, let the next person speak English

Don't take a customer service job if your grasp of English is nonexistent.  There's one thing that can set me off for the entire day, and that is a phone call with someone who doesn't understand me and who butchers the English language.  When I need help with something, whether it be a credit card issue, questions about a product purchase, or to place an order by phone, I expect to be connected to someone in the United States.  I know, what a total racist!  Imagine my surprise, when at least 2/3 of the time, I am listening to someone in outer Mongolia attempting to assist me.  How the hell am I supposed to explain myself to you when you barely understand what I am saying?  Basic English knowledge is not too much to ask when you work for an American company and must speak to AMERICAN people on a daily basis.  How dare you get frustrated with me when I won't repeat myself 75 times, in 64 different ways just so you'll understand me?  I have neither the time nor the patience to translate for you.  It's not my job.  When I ask to be transferred to an English-speaking person, don't get all uppity with me, telling me that you are speaking English and that I am talking too fast, have an accent or whatever the hell your excuse is today.  Put an American on the goddamn phone and find a job that allows you to be mute.
Even in supermarkets, I am faced with border-hoppers at the registers who actually think that everyone SHOULD speak Spanish and have the balls to address me in Spanish. Really?  I may understand you, but I'll never admit to it.  Why should I?  This is the United States of America, not Mexico or Cuba.  When I visit your country, I attempt to address you in your native tongue until you let me know that you speak English, as well. And that's a visit!!!  You live here, make American money at an American job, working for an American company, and you think it's perfectly ok to carry on conversations with your homies in Spanglish while assisting me.  Guess what?!  It's rude. It's the same as whispering.  Only because you think nobody else understands you.  I do, and I know when it's about me.  I've actually called a few of you out on it.  How'd that feel?  When you live in my country, speak my language.
When my relatives came here from Italy, they made every attempt to learn English.  They had to...otherwise, they'd be discriminated against.  It may not have been perfect, but their English helped them survive here. Now, we reward these people by giving them government assistance, making the driving test in their native tongue...are street signs in Tagalog by you, they aren't here...and simply allowing them to exist and thrive without making any attempt at assimilating into our culture.
Living in the United States isn't a right, it's a privilege.  Show some respect, or get the fuck out.  Don't speak to me in any other language BUT English, or I'll say loudly and slowly, so you understand, "Are you friggin kidding me right now???"

Organic or call the exterminator...this NY transplant just can't go green

Going green, sounds very Kermit the Froggish to me.  I love the Earth as much as the next chick, but you cannot expect me to recycle every last scrap of paper I crumble up and toss aside.  It's not in me.  Not to say that I don't try to toss a wine bottle or two or three into the recycling bin the association nicely provides for us, but I have been known to shove cans and junk mail into my coffee grind-filled PLASTIC bag from Safeway and lob it into the giant trash bin.  I come from a family that reused margarine tubs for food storage. Margarine and all the tasty trans and saturated fats you can possibly hold!  No fear of CFCs or whatever the hell else you want me to be afraid of by using the wrong type of plastic in the microwave.  Old wonton soup containers served us just fine for leftover spaghetti that would make great spaghetti pie later in the week.  Now you'd tell me to buy the appropriate Rubbermaid containers with the flex-seal nonsense.  Balls.  My money is better spent elsewhere.  Notice I haven't grown an extra set of ears or turned bright yellow from all the chemicals you claim are in the plastics I've used all my life.
Organic just plain fucking scares me.  Fruit and vegetables that look like they've been kicked and tossed across the store just don't appeal to me.  They are not shiny and beautiful, nor do they attract my eye.  Let's discuss the amount of bugs crawling around in those all natural, organic, free-range nasty veggies you swear by, shall we?  Once, I decided to give it a go and bought some organic cauliflower from Whole Foods.  Yes, Whole Foods, I know...the smell of acidophilus and granola is overwhelming.  While attempting to wash and chop the head of cauliflower I noticed something gray moving around.  Upon closer inspection, I found it to be an aphid.  OK, I rinsed it off thinking, "It DID come from the dirt."  And I continued, rinsing more and more of those nasty little bastards down my drain.  I cut the cauliflower in quarters to more closely inspect this potential dinner item.  It was crawling with bugs!!!!  Fuck that noise.  There was no way to rescue this meal.  I tossed that nasty, dirty, filthy, vermin-infested organic produce into the plastic Whole Foods bag it came in, and ran to the dumpster to get rid of the pests.  Even I know that ladybugs eat aphids, so you natural farmers out there, take note!!!  I didn't ask you to spray pesticides since I know it offends your sensibilities...why, I don't know.  Give me chemicals any day over insects in my food.
Keeping on point, what the hell is hemp clothing? And moreover, why the hell would you want to wear it? Isn't rope made from hemp?  What would you want to put that itchy shit on your body?  What purpose does it serve?  Isn't cotton natural enough for you?  Cotton grows out of the ground, it comes from dirt...you hippie freaks loves your dirt and bugs. Wear cotton.  And shave your legs, this is not Europe.  We don't embrace furry appendages here.  And your pits.  Hairy pits are just wrong...and they stink.  Don't believe for a second that using that crystal blob from Toms of Maine is going to mask that odor, my friend.  Hair traps odor, pure and simple.  Grab yourself a chemically-loaded, biologically engineered clinical strength Secret antiperspirant and slather it on, my green friend.  Science is there to help you, allow it.
And don't ask me to hug a tree, are you friggin kidding me right now???

The whine of the stay-at-home mom is ear-piercing

Let me begin by telling you, I have total respect for your choice to stay at home and raise your own children. Nothing pisses me off quite like the breeders who pop them out left and right and expect day cares to raise them because they can't seem to prioritize their own children.  However, and here's where I expect to piss off at least half of the people I know, once you have made that choice, embrace it.  Don't bitch to me.  I've been in your shoes and loved every minute of it.  I'd do it again in a heartbeat if my old ass ovaries could cooperate. My house was always clean, laundry never piled up, I shopped on an as-needed basis instead of doing the mad Costco stock-up, I exercised regularly, cooked every night, and yes...was able to take my child out every day, whether to the park or for a walk, but always something.  I played with her, read to her, took way too many photos...and now you are wondering, is Wonder Woman typing this?  No, just someone who embraced her decision.
All too often I hear griping and moaning from women who have made the same choice I did years ago.  "My laundry is piled up to the ceiling", "I have to run to the market, Target, pharmacy...again!", "If I have to vacuum this house one more time, I'll pull all my hair out", "How can my husband possibly expect a clean house when I have to take care of this needy, screaming child?"  What the fuck?  It's not that hard.  You used to work once.  You knew how to manage your time. You had deadlines. What happened?  Days didn't get shorter since childbirth.  Babies nap, kids play.  Plan your freaking day accordingly.  Don't tell me you don't have enough time.  I will not listen when you tell me that your day is far too hectic and you couldn't possibly get it all done.  Bullshit. The time you spend on Facebook, You Tube, and playing Farmville, Wheel of Fortune, Texas Hold 'Em, watching soap operas, and fuck knows what else is wasted!  The clock does not stand still when you decide you NEED to check your email one more time or check your farm. This is not to say you don't deserve breaks.  We all do, but a break is a limited amount of time, not the entire day.
I went back to work when my daughter was four and none of my responsibilities went away.  I still do the lion's share of the cooking and all of the cleaning. My time IS limited. My days did get shorter with respect to the amount of time I have to accomplish all the same tasks you do.  I made a choice, too.  A choice to be productive outside the house as well as inside.  I'm not gloating or waving my employed flag in your face.  I'm simply saying that what you claim to be impossible, as you sit in your sweats, hair up in a ponytail, face devoid of makeup, glued to your laptop screen, telling the world how hard you have it through your Facebook statuses...may actually be offensive to those of us who have been in your shoes and know that it ain't rocket science.
While I advocate keeping it real, and leaving the sugar-coating off...bitching about your lot in life, while some people only dream of being able to stay home with their kids, but financially cannot do it...pushes even me over the edge.
The next time you post a status on Facebook bemoaning your housework, and I know for a fact you have all goddamn day long to do it...expect my comment to be, "Are you friggin kidding me right now???"

Chew with your mouth closed, table manners are NOT optional

Does this offend you, too?  The sight of someone's partially chewed food bouncing around their mouth for all to see and enjoy.  The sounds of chomping and smacking so loud, you are forced to jam a finger in the ear closest to the guilty party. Now I realize there can be extenuating circumstances, such as a raging cold that blocks you from breathing any other way but through your mouth.  But, for the most part, there are no valid excuses for chewing like a farm animal.  There is nothing preventing you from pressing your lips together while you chew.  It's horrifying these days to go to a restaurant and see someone's teenage daughter wrangling her food around her mouth like she's afraid her lips may actually touch!  Somehow, it's so much worse to watch a girl behave like a slob at the table.  Before you go huffing and puffing and shouting about how boys can display exemplary table manners and it's just as offensive to see a boy act like a pig...hear me out.  Over the years, we've all come to expect slightly more gregarious dinner behavior from the male species.  Don't deny it.  You even have blown off such poor manners using the time-worn, "boys will be boys" blather.  I get it.  Which is why, when I see a girl, wearing more makeup than Lady Gaga, hair straightened to within an inch of its poor unhealthy life, dressed like she may be hitting the clubs after this meal, eating like a caveman...I am completely horrified.

Keeping to the topic, it's not just loud and cavernous chewing that grosses me out.  Use your utensils the way they were intended.  Your fork is not a pitchfork, your spoon is not a shovel, and your knife is not a garden hoe used for dragging your food across the plate. Seeing someone hold their fork in their fist, while shoveling food into their gaping maw is probably the most vomit-inducing sight.  People who refuse to put the spoon into their mouths and prefer the "suck it across the atmosphere" technique should probably never leave the privacy of their own homes. Your mouth is equipped to only hold the proper amount of food that is easily chewed.  This means, for those of you who enjoy the chipmunk style of eating, one fork or spoonful at a time!  Once that bite is in there, you may NOT add more food to the pile.  I don't ever want to see food shrapnel just so you can fill your cakehole to bursting.  Sandwiches are not two bite items.  Watching you shove half of a sub into your yap makes me gag.

How can I forget drinking?!  Cups are wonderful little items, so easy to use.  Yet some people can't seem to grasp the proper usage while drinking. A friend of mine likes to reference gravity when talking about drinking, so I'd like to steal that for use here.  Yes, gravity is your friend.  Tip that cup at your lips and watch the magic unfold.  The liquid pours down.  Easy as pie, right?  Oh no, not to some.  Slurping and suctioning the coffee, soda, arsenic...whatever your drink of choice...across the surface of the liquid and into your mouth is a sound that literally makes my teeth hurt.  Probably from clenching them so tightly as you gear up for next ear-shattering slurp. 

Is it asking too much when I say, keep it closed, keep it quiet, keep it neat?  If you can't manage this, and many of you cannot...I've seen and heard it...I will comment loudly enough for you to hear over your repulsive table manners, "Are you friggin kidding me right now?!?!?"

Is your life really as perfect as your Facebook status?

When did Facebook become a place to explore your ability to write fiction?  When did it stop being the "Social Network"?  Seems that today, everyone fancies themselves entertaining fiction writers.  Not that I don't enjoy your attempts at comedy...that is what you're doing, right?  So many posts about fantastic husbands, perfect wives, and let's not leave out the children.  Oh, these children are geniuses!  Nothing but straight A's for this bunch.  They are five-star athletes, Broadway dancers, and all-around nice kids.  REALLY?!  Does your husband do dishes, vacuum the house, clean out the litter box?  Or does he sit with his hand down his pants, watching the game while you do all those things after work, mumbling under your breath?  Is your wife as lovely as the day you met?  Does she wear nothing but skimpy dresses and heels as she twirls around the house feeding you all the delectable treats she's made for you during the day  Or...and this is probably closer to your reality...you come home to a woman you barely recognize, wearing sweats and one of your old t-shirts, screaming at you to deal with your kids because she's had enough?  Are your kids the stuff that the Brady Bunch writers used as an example?  I'd dare say they aren't.  I'll bet at least one of them swears like a truck driver, belches the alphabet, and has gotten a note sent home from school at least once.
Your vacations look like something out of a travel brochure, but is that really how it went down?  Didn't at least one of you get sunburned to a crisp?  You did go on a boat, right? Not one screaming, chunk-blowing episode over the side?  Come on, your kids didn't attempt to drown each other at least once?  Oh, and aiming your camera out at the water at an appealing angle doesn't change the fact that you are vacationing on the Jersey shore.
Many of you actually think that if you post really deep thoughts about kindness, I'll believe that you are a nice person.  The thing is, in general, I know most of you quite well.  I've heard the gossip spew out of your lips like venom.  Who am I to judge?  I talk shit with the best of them.  HOWEVER, I don't attempt to convince you of my enlightened state of being by posting all sorts of pretty pictures with quotes from the Dalai Lama.  Admittedly, I've been guilty of posting a nicety or two when I've erupted out of a bad place in my life. In general, I prefer to tell it like it is...the grim truth with no fondant flowers.  My ass looks fat today, I dropped 10 pounds of cat food on the kitchen floor and I'm trying to keep the hyperthyroid-driven cat away from what she thinks is a buffet from heaven, my coffee has gone cold yet again and tastes like bad ass...yeah, that's my day in a nutshell.  And I'm not afraid to tell you.  I don't care if you think my life is mundane or even worse, normal! When I read your status, share it with someone in my house who is just as cynical as I, and we share an evil laugh at your lameness...one of us is gonna scream, "Are you friggin kidding me right now?"

Technology at the table...have we forgotten how to socialize?

To piggy back on the lazy parenting topic from yesterday, I'd like to bring up another thought, if you don't mind.  Technology at the table, is it really necessary?  Have our kids gotten so socially stunted that basic rules of engagement no longer apply?  Everywhere I go, I see kids of all ages glued to some sort of technology.  In the car, children play on iPads; riding in shopping carts while playing some hand-held video game; at a restaurant table, they are fixated on a screen, watching a movie.  Seriously?!  Do people talk to their kids anymore?  Is it any wonder they have no clue how to speak to adults, ask questions in class, or have conversations with their friends that don't take place via text?  Are we raising social retards?  The answer is yes.  Yes, we are contributing to the emotional retardation of the next generation.  Boys text girls to ask them to a movie.  No longer do their little hearts beat wildly in their chests as they wait for a girl to pick up the phone.  No longer are we able to discern serious from sarcasm.  Feelings conveyed through emoticons take the place of a sincere, warm smile or hot, salty tears.
Sitting at a dinner table used to be a time for conversation, as well as eating.  This was the moment when people joined together to discuss the events of the day, thoughts, ideas, or share a laugh.  When I see kids sitting at a table, eyes cast downward, reading a screen, I die a little inside.  Children are little people, they deserve your attention.  Talk to them, for Christ's sake!!!  Is it so hard to talk to your own child that you'd prefer to bring a laptop with you to a restaurant so they can zone out to a movie while you engage in yet more adult conversation?  You've been at work all day, away from your little burden.  Can you give them 25 minutes of your uninterrupted attention, or is that too much to ask?  I suppose you'll tell me that it keeps them in their seats, prevents them from running amok. You wouldn't require such advanced technology had you just taught them how...how to sit still, how to carry on a conversation, how to be polite.  Yeah, it's work.  What did you think you were getting into when you had kids?  Was it status?  Was it something you thought you HAD to do?  Did you really think it would be easy?  Were you shocked at the amount of time and effort needed to raise a child?  Sorry to hear your child cramps your style. You made a choice.
Do you know what happens to these kids?  I'll tell you, since I saw the culmination of what being raised by technology does to someone.  One night, while at Tomi, a seafood/Asian buffet joint, I witnessed what I thought was the funniest yet saddest sight I had ever set eyes upon.  Two older teen/young twenty-somethings sitting at the table diagonally across from ours, laptop on the table between them, watching a movie, silently.  These two lovebirds hadn't spoken one word to each other the entire meal.   Is this the new dinner and a movie?!  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Other people's children or are you really attempting to negotiate with a 2 year old???

You!  Yes, you, the one having an intense discussion down on one knee with your toddler.  Did you just descend from another planet?  Do you really believe it's possible to rationalize with your two year old?  Hating to be the one to burst your happy little bubble, you cannot accomplish that goal.  They live in the moment, learn by pushing the limits, and don't understand half of what you are saying.  Yet, every day, I hear someone talking to their little one like a small, retarded friend.  "Dakota, I need you to please sit here for me while I finish this latte,ok, talk on the phone, and then we can go to the toy store or the park, it's up to you, ok?  But first, for your safety, I need you to just sit here, ok?  I will give you cookies and hold your hand, ok?  Then you can choose where we go next, ok?"  Or while walking downtown, right in a busy intersection, it's not uncommon to hear, "Please come back and walk next to me, Hunter, right over here, please.  Hunter, mommy needs you right next to her, please."  WTF?!?!   Did that seriously just erupt from your cakehole?Are you begging a child to behave appropriately? Grab that child by the hand and keep them next to you.  I'm not advocating violence, but for Christ's sake, you are still bigger. Some children actually need a little restraint.  And, NO, I'm not referring to the "pet kid" technique of putting your child on a leash.  You have two hands, use them.
While we are on the topic of appropriate behavior and some form of restraint, I am sick of going to restaurants, whether fancy or casual and having to listen to screaming children running in between tables, causing more chaos than little bulls in a china shop.  When did it become acceptable for children to get up from the table and wander around?  I'm not sure if you like other people's children whizzing past you, knocking your purse over, shrieking like banshees, and disrupting maybe the one time you were able to break away from life and enjoy a meal out...but I sure as shit do not.  Children can be taught from very early on to sit at a table and eat like a human being, joining into conversations when appropriate, and sitting quietly with crayons and paper when no food is presently available.

The fact that you are a lazy parent shouldn't affect me, but it does.  Every mistake you continually make because you are lazy, have screwed up priorities, or waited too damn long to have children, affects the world around you.  Watching you push your five year old in a stroller after you've just changed his diaper and handed him his pacifier makes me physically nauseated.  My eye rolling will be obvious and the huge sigh and snort will be loud enough for you to hear. As you glare back at me with that holier than thou look, I may glare back, or I may make a snarky comment on your lazy ass parenting and inform you that diapers aren't allowed in kindergarten.  You'll huff and puff, maybe assume I have no idea what I'm talking about...until my 16 year old daughter chimes in and tells you that your kid will require more orthodontia than you can afford keeping that plug in his piehole.  You'll storm off, and we will share a hearty laugh at your expense.  And as I look into my daughter's big green eyes, I just know I'll burst out with a very loud, "Are you friggin kidding me right now???"

Your "expert" opinion or been there, done that BEFORE you

Sometimes I share just for the sake of sharing, not because I want your opinion. Certainly not because I was looking for a story-topper.  Yet, some of you, and you know who you are, insist on regaling me with your infinite wisdom and whopper tales.  What I find most entertaining, is not the fact that you want to share, but the fact that even though you are usually far younger than I, your expertise always far surpasses mine.  Your life experiences are vastly superior, and the roads you've taken bumpier.  This is not to say that nobody else has troubles or nobody else may have a valid opinion on a variety of topics.  My point is, and I do have one, that usually a person tells a story, shares a life detail to do just that.  If an opinion or further commentary is required, it's normally requested in the form of, "What do you think?" or "Has this ever happened to you?"
Please don't think that your 16-month-long marriage qualifies you as a relationship expert. When you are speaking to someone who has been married for 20 years, and you attempt to tell them how to "manage" a husband and keep him in line, do you have any idea exactly how stupid you sound?  If I mention my uncle's multiple angioplasties and bypass surgeries, not only do I not want to hear about how your aunt had seven more, but I want you to know that I don't believe that your grandfather invented bypass surgery.

Yes, it is hard to believe that everything I say, you've done, felt, or experienced.  The fact is, you've not lived my life, you have absolutely no clue.  My points of reference are so much different than yours.  Which brings me to another pet peeve.  Never ever say to someone, "I know exactly how you feel."  SERIOUSLY?!  Are you me?  It's especially ridiculous-sounding when you say it to someone who has just suffered a death in the family.  Unless your circumstances are identical and the manner of death is identical, you probably have no friggin idea how I feel.  Which is why the first time someone said that to me after I lost my mom, I actually said, "Are you friggin kidding me right now?"

Vicarious living...not for the faint-hearted.

If you have children, I'm going to assume you've lived through at least 12 years of your own schooling.  This includes activities, sports, friendships, and the like.  So tell me, then, why do you feel the need to foist your unrealized dreams onto your kids???  Did you not notice that they are not mini-yous?  Little Johnny may not be built for football, Dad. Cindy Lou may not like ballet, Mom.  Just because you peaked in high school and continuously attempt to reignite that flame even now, doesn't mean your child has the same goal. While I am at it, those of you that peaked in high school have my sympathies.  Someone failed to tell you that all of that didn't really count, that it was simply practice for the real world.  Your failures and successes as a teenager do not define who you are today.  They shouldn't.  Placing dire importance on status, looks, and sports in school only serves to rob your children of what they truly need...a childhood!  What's the percentage of child athletes that actually wind up playing pro?  Yeah...minimal!  How about those school play leads?  How many of them have you seen on the big screen?  Hmmm, that few? Exactly.

As you brag and drone on and on about your perfect children, take note of the glazed look on my face.  Not just my face but the faces of all who are unfortunate enough to be forced to listen to your ridiculous incessant accolade speeches about your wonderful, talented, smart, athletic, compassionate children.  Did that sound sarcastic?  Perhaps it was...perhaps there was a touch of irritation in my voice.  Any idea why?  Yup, I have my own kid.  She may not be perfect, but she's all mine and I love her.  There are no expectations of perfection in my house, only that you do your best and try to have fun. Sounds insane, doesn't it?  Parents who are so busy living vicariously through their children don't understand that philosophy.  "You've got to win!"  "Your intensity's for shit!" Remember those lines from The Breakfast Club?  You know you do.  Is that the message you want to send?  Not me.  

I was a drama geek in school.  Did that mean I forced my daughter to try out for plays and learn how to make people laugh?  Ummm, no.  She spent 13 years of her life as a gymnast.  I have all the coordination of a water buffalo on in-line skates.  She always made it look easy.  Not once did I sit around wishing she would have followed in my footsteps.  Not one time did I dream of a mini-me.  But you do.  You expect your child to continue the "legacy" you created...in your mind.  Or better yet, the legacy you failed to create because sports, drama, music, basket-weaving were just slightly out of your reach.  If your son plays lacrosse, it doesn't make you a lacrosse player.  It doesn't even remotely qualify you as a coach.  I don't care how many games you attend, none of his talent will rub off on you.  When his team wins, don't tell me WE won.  Who are WE?  Did you make the team?  Didn't think so.  Don't make me laugh behind your back. Because....I will, and with great gusto.  All while thinking, "Are you friggin kidding me right now?"

I love New York, why don't you?

Yes, I am from New York.  Yes, that is the trace remnant of an accent you hear.  No, I won't say coffee for you.  I've seen the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and the Twin Towers.  I've been to Soho, Greenwich Village, Times Square, and Little Italy.  All those things that you non-natives believe make up New York. While you have no clue that there are differences between the boroughs and the people that live in them, and aren't aware that there is a whole state outside of the boroughs, I don't criticize you or your ignorance.  On the other hand, those of you raised in all the other 49 states seem to think you are entitled to an opinion about my home state and everyone who lives there (or has lived there).
My favorite part of your uninformed opinion, is your unabashed desire to share it with me. Some that I enjoy most are, "all NY'ers are rude" and "NY is a dangerous, scary place"...this is based on what?!  Have you even been there? Most of you with the need to share these thoughts with me have never even been beyond the Left Coast.  Yes, I am talking to you, Bay Area residents.  This area is lovely, I don't deny it.  But, let's be honest with each other.  I feel like I can be honest since you've felt free to be brutally honest about NY with me. People around here are phony as SHIT.  Syrupy sweet voices, talking to everyone you come in contact with, and ending your damned sentences inflected upwards like you are constantly asking questions.  Maybe that is why we sound harsh to you.  We make statements, we talk to people we know, and our voices are all natural.  We are honest, no sugar-coating allowed.  It is what it is and if you didn't want my opinion, you probably shouldn't have asked for it.
When you do visit NY and you are scared...it's not because we are a particularly frightening bunch of humans, it's because you were raised like veal and have never seen a real city.  Cities are crowded and busy; they have loads of cars and traffic, and you had better know how to cross a street; they have garbage and homeless people, and neither will bite you; people don't make eye contact and won't ask you how your day is going because they don't want to know; they contain other races besides white; they are loud and beautiful, having flavor and culture you won't find anywhere else.  Yet, many of you are scared and tell me so.  Suburbs are not a reflection of reality, so if you've been raised in one, you have no frigging idea.  I get that...what I don't get is your need to be so negative and verbose in your stupid opinion of my birthplace.
If you know me, you'll realize that while I am honest and direct, I'd never intentionally hurt someone just for giggles.  You also know that I value friendships and people in general and am quite a caring individual.  So, when you say to me, "All NY'ers are mean" without ever having stepped foot on NY pavement, and your only connection to Queens is ME...all I can think is....are you friggin kidding me right now????

Bay Area drivers suck.  I said it, I mean it.  You can rant on and on about New York , New Jersey till you are blue in the face.  Bad drivers are created right here in California!  Each and every time I get behind the wheel, regardless of the music I choose, I know I am gonna be stressed out.  Basic rules of consideration go flying out the window in my neck of the woods.  I'd swear on a stack of bibles that most drivers here are intentionally spiteful.  If you see my signal on the freeway, you can safely assume I'd like to get over.  Ah yes, you not only assume that I do, but you then go into jerk mode and decide it would be oodles of fun to ride me until I almost miss my exit.  The thing is, I think I may understand why you react that way.  You have no freaking idea what the signal is used for...you don't use the damn thing!  Oh, I know you believe that if you suddenly brake really, really hard I'll know that you are about to make a turn.  All it does it place my heart firmly in my throat and piss me off.  Somehow, I think you know that.  Somehow, I believe you intend to do that.  Malice aforethought, as they say in the world of law.
And before I forget, there are only THREE colors on a traffic light.  My apologies to those of you who sit there behind a green light waiting for something different, like hot pink.  The truth of the matter is, you are on your damned phone!  I see you.  You are texting or carrying on a conversation without benefit of a frigging blue tooth device.  You are also breaking the law.  Lucky for you, I am not a cop.  Unlucky for you, I love my horn.  I have no problem honking as loud and long as I can, possibly causing you to crap yourself.  It works for me.  Expect it.  You don't, and as a result, I piss you off.  Are you frigging kidding me right now???