Why is Called a Pet Peeve Anyway?

Day Two: Your Top Five Pet Peeves

It seems appropriate to follow up the ten things that make me happiest, with a list of things that annoy the shitout of me, right? I think so, yes.

Pet peeve number one: People who stand too close to me in line. Back the fuck up please, seriously. I have actually written a blog about this before, and it still rings true – get the fuck out of my personal space! If I can feel you breathing on me, you are too close to me. If I can swing my shopping basket and smack you with it, you are too close to me. If I can hear you chewing or exhaling or just existing in general, you are too fucking close to me! Move!! No one is getting out of the store any faster just because you climb up my ass and hang out there. I like my bubble, and I need you to just fucking stay out of it.

Unless I am dating you or you’re my best friend, in which case I literally cannot get physically close enough to you.

Pet peeve number two: People who let their dogs jump all over you and use “he’s friendly” as their excuse. First of all, friendly does not mean jumping on me, slobbering all over the place, or humping my leg. Second, if he’s friendly, why am I staring at so many teeth? And third, I don’t care if your dog is a cartoon character, I still don’t want it jumping on me. I don’t like your dog.

Pet peeve number three: When people stop texting in the middle of a conversation. I mean, I am definitely guilty of falling asleep in the middle of a late night text marathon, and I can’t count the number of times I have forgotten to respond to something I opened at work and then got too busy to immediately respond to, but like, where are these people going when in the middle of talking about something they just stop? And like three days later, I’m still waiting for the punch line. I don’t get it. Would you walk away from someone who was talking to you and just never come back? Finish your thoughts, people. Say goodnight or goodbye like normal human adults.

Pet peeve number four: Poor grammar. I hate it.

Pet peeve number five: People who make excuses for other people’s shitty behavior. Your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/mom/dad/sibling is an ass hole. Don’t make an excuse on their behalf! Let them fall on their face like they deserve! We’re already judging you for associating with a sociopath; don’t make it worse by clarifying that you do see what we see and are actually okay with it. Pretend you don’t even notice their shitty comments, poor social skills, or shitty personality. Don’t make a feeble attempt at getting us to just tolerate the insanity because you can. We can’t. We don’t like people who behave like shitty shitheads in public. And now we don’t like you that much either, because you brought a shitty human to the party and basically acknowledged it while begging our acceptance – or tolerance, at the very least.

No. I don’t want to party with your shitty other half.

It was far too easy to compile this list, by the way. I may have a short fuse, I can’t be sure. What I can say for sure is that little things can be really agitating. I need a beer after spending time considering all of life’s little annoyances… 

Dear Upstairs Neighbor

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

You don't know me, but I feel like I know you. How is that possible, you ask, since we've never met?

Well, dear upstairs neighbor, it's because you are so mother fucking loud, I feel like we actually sort of live together!! So hear me when I ask you to please, seriously, for the love, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I, of course, realize that I live in an apartment. I have neighbors on all sides. I chose to live on the ground floor, because it was cheaper, and because Juno likes to chase the squirrels back and forth across the patio door in the spring, and let's be honest - that is her only cardio all year long. Also because I have neighbors on all sides, I follow the rules set forth in my lease. For example, I don't run my dishwasher late at night. I don't do laundry early in the morning. I don't blast my music or run the vacuum late, nor do I listen to the TV too loud or throw raging parties. I also pull my headboard a respectful 4 inches from the wall so that the neighbor next door doesn't have to hear me bang.

I know I live in an apartment.

Which leads to me to wonder, how in the fuck you do not realize you live in one too!?!?

You. Are. So. Loud,

Literally so mother fucking loud, I think we may actually share an apartment, and I just haven't realized yet that you live with me.

Things you should know before choosing to live in a top floor apartment:

1. People live below you. That's right, underneath you. And despite the fact that they choose to have neighbors in the ceiling, they would appreciate if you did not choose to get up and play fetch from one end of your apartment to the other with your giant-ass dog in the middle of the night.

It's a fucking dog. And a fucking ball. Take that shit outside.

2. Your heels are not the part of your foot that should be hitting the floor first when you take a step. Please consult with a podiatrist to confirm there is no actual lead in your foot. I'm worried about you.

3. Also please don't chase your fucking dog around the apartment while it jumps, barks, chases, wags, and threatens to fall through the ceiling onto my couch. And stop bouncing it's fucking ball on the kitchen floor before I walk my ass up there and make you eat it.

Let's just be real, upstairs neighbor: living in apartments sucks, in general. And living in one with a dog has got to suck even more. It's probably the same as how living in an apartment with an infant who screams all the time, or a toddler learning to walk, probably sucks. Or a door-slamming teenager, I suppose. And so of course, dear neighbor, I do not have high expectations. I have a high threshold for noise. I expect to hear laundry and music and cleaning and lead-foot walking.

That said, shut your god damn dog up, dude.

Because sadly, your dog is not the ass hole. Your dog is just a dog. Dogs are dumb; they can't help it. They don't know they live in an apartment. They just see your stupid happy ass bouncing a ball on the floor or throwing a frisbee down the hallway like a dumb ass instead of putting a coat on and going to the dog park. Your dog is not at fault for your idiocy. That's on you.

And so, dear upstairs neighbor, as I sit here, typing this blog and listening to you stupidly play a long, loud, annoying game of fetch, I ask that you consider being a little bit less of a fuck stick in the future.

After all, it is after 10:00. And I know your lease like the back of my hand.

Goodnight.