Well, you could, on the other hand, have some douche that likes to refer to people like, “Bobby said to me…blahblahblah…” when who they really mean is Robert DeNiro.
Or, you could be like me and have a ball referring to people I’ve never met by their first name as a lark.
I’m a member of Coppola-Niebaum Wineries, and I loooove to tell people that I went to “Francis’ place” over the weekend. It’s fun!
… I’ve said too much…
I’m done with my undergrad as well, funnily enough. This is my MA thesis. 
I hate my fucking roommate and my move out date cannot come quick enough. She is a fucking whore and I hate her. She always thinks she is right and will not be rational. I wish I didn’t have a bunch of school shit to do so I could go back to my boyfriend’s house and get the hell away from her. And I know she is going to go to her mommy and tell her how wrong I am and then her mom will tell the rest of our family her skewed story (we are cousins) and it’s bullshit. She doesn’t understand we’re roommates, we’re not fucking married, so I don’t have to pick up her slack around here because “she’s so busy” (even though she gets home from work or class and honestly sits and watches TV and plays inane flash games on her computer for HOURS a night) and that means I am supposed to wash her disgusting dishes from cooking for herself. I eat bagels and sandwiches. I drink bottles of water. They do not make messes. Now I feel like I’m quarantined in my bedroom because she also always takes over the living room and tv and never goes in her room except to sleep. Now I’m all pissed and don’t want to study for my exam. Argh blah damnit.
Basically.
It always brought a smile to my heart when, on a busy day, I’ll yell, “Can I help who’s next” six times and everyone would still be standing there all slack-jawed, so I’d yell “Can I help anyone who’s paying attention?” and some guy in the back of the crowd would raise his hand and I’d take his order way before anyone else who’d been waiting.
Can we please not put the waffle iron in the sink? It’s an electric appliance, it does not belong under constant running water. It especially does not belong submerged in the mixing bowl. It makes about as much sense as using a hair dryer in the bathtub, but it happens far too often.
This rant brought to you by the sleep deficit owed to a 2 week old boy. And the letter C.
C is for cookie. That’s good enough for me.
Dear L-Train,
I hate you. I hate that I have to watch at least three trains go by in the morning before squeeeeeeeeezing myself into one. I hate that you are riddled with breakdowns and delays. And I especially hate that the MTA has given me no other options to get from my house to work. With tons of new apartment buildings and condos popping up all over Brooklyn, these crowding problems are going to get a lot worse before they get better.
Also, stop smelling like pee.
Dear stupid builder of our house 50 years ago.
What possesed you to just screw the toilet down straight into the powder room subfloor? Why didn’t you install a proper toilet flange on the drain pipe?
Now, since we wanted to replace the floor in the powder room, we have to call a plumber to install a proper toilet flange. Since he’s coming out anyway, might as well have him install a more modern (i.e., not 50 years old) toilet, right?
So we’re gonna be out 200-300 bucks just because you were a lazy-ass builder.
Just askin’
Mmm, cookies. I think I need to go bake.
Learn how to reference properly. Seriously this is your fifth year in college - you should know how to do it at this stage. And even if you dont know, look it up! Type Harvard Referencing System into Google and you’ll get loads of information on how to do it properly.
I spent two hours tonight fixing references in an assignment.
Dad, your emails aren’t bouncing, I’m just not replying to them. That’s one clue. I realize you are still short a whole bunch of them or you wouldn’t be expecting to hear back from me anyway. You are tallying up asshole behaviour considerably too fast to be legitimately surprised that I really don’t want to engage with you. Seriously, after the woman you left Mum for cc’d the whole world on emails showing you’d been cheating on her too, you think I want to be a part of your little soap opera? Show one ounce of remorse toward one person you’ve done wrong to and maybe, maybe I’ll reply to one of your emails.
Oh, and if that last one was a preface to asking me for money to pay for the divorce, well. Heh. You blew that when I gave you money for a ticket home and you had the option to come see me on the way but you went to see the other other woman instead. See what I mean? Soap opera! Trainwreck! How many other people do you have to hurt before you figure it out?
I pit the new trivia host at the bar where I go to play pub trivia on Wednesday night. Now, I know that it’s your first time, and I know that you aren’t expected to know everything about everything, but when you ask what shape Benzene is, you better fucking accept “Ring” as an answer.
Yes, it’s arguably also a hexagon, but claiming that it’s not a ring (and accepting “circle” as a correct answer) is fucking retarded. Google has 1.6 million hits for “benzene ring”, 60K for “benzene hexagon” (the first of which is titled “The Benzene Ring” and 500K for “benzene circle”. Everyone there who actually knew organic chemistry got the question about organic chemistry wrong.
Thanks a lot for making me not want to come back with my girls to our favorite park to feed the birds, you over hair-sprayed creep. When you walked up to us to ask if I had any spiritual beliefs (after staring at us for several minutes) I wish I would have asked you an equally inappropriate personal question like “Do you have a communicable disease?” instead of just meekly replying “None that I’d care to share with a complete stranger.”
Seriously - does this M.O. ever work for anyone? What was he hoping I’d say? “Why no - I haven’t any idea what I believe. Tell me your beliefs so I can adopt them, and by the way, let’s head straight away to your church right now.”
Hoosier, a Jehovah’s Witness approached me the other day and offered me a tract with the words, “Would you like something to read?”
We were standing outside the public library.
So many possible answers…
O.K., this little game drivers are playing where you cut us off, drive slow in front of us, and then speed up when we try to go around them has to stop. I have a speedometer in my car - I can tell that you were going 55 in a 65 zone when I was behind you, and that you are now keeping up with me up to 85 as I’m trying to pass you. Yes, you increased your speed by 30 mph because of your neurotic control issues. Maybe you should get some hamsters and keep them in a cage if you feel such a burning desire to dominate others.
Is it too much to ask a gas station that offers air for tire inflation to actually make sure that it works?
I got a flat tire yesterday and stopped at the closest station to inflate it until I could get to the shop. Put 50 cents in…nothing. No sign, no indication it doesn’t work. It just doesn’t turn on.
So I curse, leave and *very * slowly and *very * carefully drive to another station down the road.
The coin slot is locked. No air. But the vacuum works! Too bad I don’t want to suck air out.
The third station I try has air. I almost wanted to run in and kiss the attendant.
I think your answer was perfect.
Similar thing happened to me the other day. I passed a guy on a 2 lane road. I didn’t even have to exceed the speed limit to pass. About 2 minutes later, he blows by me, cuts me off, and then gives me the finger. 
So, so many rants. Where to begin?
First of all, fuck you viruses and all other manner of evil creatures living in my head right now. Fuck you right in the ear. My ear. Which has been plugged and ringing for nearly 3 fucking weeks now. Die already! I have a beautiful black eye because my balance has been fucked up for weeks, causing me to slam into things I thought were farther away than they actually were. It’s lovely to go around with a black eye. You get the most interesting looks.
Second of all, fuck my memory for already having forgotten half the things I was about to rant about. WTF?
Oh yeah. My neighbors. They should all be subjected to electro shock treatment. Dear neighbors, please note that we have three trash bins and three recycling bins. They are different. Did you know you can recycle paper, bottles and cans? No, you clearly don’t know, because every goddamn week the trash cans are overflowing with your crap including all manner of recycling, while the recycling bins are quite literally empty. Unless, of course, you have dumped your trash in them, another lovely habit of yours. Look, it’s not that hard to recycle. It’s just an extra container. My fiance and I have more recycling than trash most of the time, but the little trash we do have we can barely balance on the top of the enormous pile of half-recyclable trash that you throw away. You are all fucking subhuman shitheads. Fuck you for living.