Random observations and petty grievances

I'm a people watcher. I'm not quite sure why though, as typically, I don't like people.

I guess that's not entirely true. People on the whole are ok, it's their habits and idiosyncrasies that get me. I also have like, a million little pet peeves.

As an example, the other day I'm sitting at a red light, waiting patiently for my turn to go. There's a gentleman standing at the corner waiting impatiently for the man in the box to switch the signal from red hand, to walking green guy. He must have pushed the button a good dozen and a half times in rapid succession, like it made a difference. Why do people do that? Do they really believe there's a garden gnome sized man living in the light box who gets jolted with a mild dose of electricity every time the button is pushed? Bugs the hell out of me. Which of course begs the question, "Who has the bigger issue, me or him?" Of that, I'm totally aware.

Another thing that twists my panties are 4-way stops and people who don't know how to maneuver them. If you get to the intersection well ahead of me, please do not try and be courteous and wave me through. The stop sign system has worked for decades. Don't fix what ain't broken. I assure you, I can wait the 5 seconds it takes your clunkmobile to clear through, before I continue on my merry way.

That being said, I also cannot stand the asshats who refuse to actually stop. You know the ones. They are a car behind the one with the right of way, and rather than stop, they speed through on the bumper of the car preceeding them. These people you will find, are the same ones who turn left to cut you off, and then give you the finger if you beep the horn.

What I wouldn't give to have 5 minutes with their mother.

Since on the subject of driving, why is it that people still refuse to signal their intentions? It's not difficult, nor is it putting them off. The little doohickey that alerts the other drivers to your desire to turn is on the GOD DAMMED steering wheel. For your well being, and my mental health, please get in the habit of using it. And it doesn't count if you flick the bastard on as you start your turn. That's just being cheeky.

Pedestrians. Oh, how I admire you. Using your legs to get yourself around. Boldly darting in and out of traffic like you own the streets. Daring me to bowl you over. Word to the wise? Don't tempt fate, there are about 5 days a month I seriously consider bowling for boneheads. Vehicular vengeance. So let me ask you, do you feel lucky?

And crosswalks, they are there for a reason. For your safety. It's the walking man's turn signal. It's alerts us folks driving a ton of steel aimed directly at your vital organs what your intentions are. Here are a few simple rules to crossing. When you arrive at a lighted crosswalk, please don't assume that we see you and just step out. Contrary to the corner with the light signals, hitting the button here DOES help you. It bothers me that you can take some precautions for your well being, and then throw caution to the wind, and Mexican hat dance across the road with no regard to your own personal safety. If you don't care, why should I?

What bothers me more than those who cross at walks without first lighting it up, are those jaywalkers half a block away, darting out from between parked cars. YOU'RE A BLOCK AWAY FROM A CROSS WALK YOU LAZY ASS. The amount of time you spend waiting for a break in traffic, you could have stumbled over to the cross walk and played God. You are in control. So don't give me a look when I beep (God, I love my horn) at you. The road is my playground, and you're the cat pissing in the sandbox. Stop it.

On to the grocery store.

If you are in the produce section, and feel the urge to sneeze, by all means, please do. I'd hate for you to blow your eyes out of your sockets. But do me a favour. Cover your mouth and turn away from the grapes, mmmmmk? Gross!

And if you select something from the freezer section and change your mind, don't stuff it behind a box of cereal, you redneck hillbilly. Take it back to where it came from. What would your mother say?

Oh! And if you bring in an outside beverage, hey! That's ok. But come on people. Find a garbage when you're done. The ball bin at Superstore is not your personal trash receptacle. If my 7 year old knows better than that, and cleans your crap up, you should know. Don't blame your kid either, it was a coffee cup.

If you can't manage these simple acts of courtesy, please. Refrain from fornicating. I don't want to raise your babies too.

Speaking of babies. If you take them in public, control them. Not the wee ones per se, but the older, mobile versions. Don't allow them to tear up and down the aisles unwatched. They can hurt themselves, damage the store, and slam carts into the back of cranky old biddies legs. Cranky old biddies like me.

I was at the party store a while back and this woman was there with her 3 sons. Aged about 1 month, 4 years and 6 years. She left the newborn unattended in the cart and went meandering up and down aisles. The baby was nearly purple in the face from screaming, and her 2 older rugrats were wrecking havoc in the store. They tore things off shelves, broke strands of beads, donned themselves in pirate gear, and then shoved a fake pistol in the face of a sales associate and demanded all her money.

She handled it like a pro. "I think you need to go and see your mommy. NOW"

Meanwhile, mommy dearest is yelling from 5 rows over, telling them to quiet their brother down.

Lady, I hope when you squirted that last kid out, your reproductive organs came with it.

On a lighter note, my uncle is in town briefly, and we're going out to dinner as a family. Hilarious guy. Except yesterday while I was totally talking smack about Santa, I forgot how eerily similar he is in appearance to the jolly fat man. I hope I don't gross myself out thinking about it.

I bit the bullet last night and signed back up for meetings. My leader is so great, he remembered me instantly and gave me such a warm welcome. It was good to be home.

My name is Pegger, and I'm a fat loser.