Maybe it's my rebellious spirit, aversion for hype, or higher than average testosterone levels, but more often than not when a friend says "OMG, I LOVE that!" it's something I hate. I don't mean to hate it and for the record my list of stuff I love is super long, lest you come away thinking I hate all things good and fun. Because I love good. And I love fun. Unfortunately, these things just don't make the list:
If you tell me I've just gotta try that Mexican place, you should know I'm gonna order the burrito, because that's how I roll. When I find out I'm expected to create my own burrito, look through their serving window and see nothing that resembles Taco Bell, but do the best I can with the little I recognize and then they hand me a gigantic foil wrapped baked potato looking thing stuffed with a mosh tosh of meats and rice in a grainy yet disturbingly moist tortilla and get charged $7 for it, I'm gonna be irritated. But when I later tell you how much I hated Chipotle and you say, "Oh, NEVER get their burrito. You should've ordered the BOWL!" don't wonder why we can't be friends anymore
If you are my husband, you know I hate stir fry. If you know I hate stir fry, you should not plan a date night to a place that serves only stir fry. We call that lesson, 'If You Want Sex That Night, 101.'
Hosting Garage Sales.
I'll pile my crap on the curb and let you have it for free before I spend 9 hours marking it with a roll of masking tape followed by 2 days of people trying to talk me down from the .50 cents I marked it. For crying out loud, just take it.
So you'd like for me to pay to spend a hot summer day trudging through dirty barns looking at farm animals and giving my contact information to sales people and pyramid schemers in exchange for a free post-it pad while my kids beg for ride passes not included in the price of admission. Gonna throw ya a no thanks ... but I wouldn't refuse a deep fried pork chop on a stick if you're headed that direction.
Home Sales of Anything.
No, I will not come to your party. No, I will not host a party. No, I will not give you my email address. NO. NO. NO.
Whoa. Wait, hold up...Pure Romance, you say? Let's not get hasty.
I'll gladly pay full price for a Christmas gift before I battle for a parking space so I can wait in a line of angry shoppers spanning the length of Walmart and then fight someone for the last one of anything. Two words for ya: Online Shopping.
Parades, Public Fireworks Displays, Sporting Events.
... Okay, so basically, anything involving traffic. And people.
The Television Show, The Voice.
aka; American Idol, the sequel. Where celebrities in the music industry act as a panel of judges for amateurs who want to become celebrities in the music industry by grandiose showboating, all in an attempt to stay relevant in the music industry. The similarities: The judges' ridiculous attention seeking antics. The differences: They have swivel chairs and nobody is brutally honest. That's unfortunate.
While we're on the topic of singers, kudos to the ones who realize they depend on auto-tuning and do the public a favor by lip syncing live performances rather than butchering their own songs and then throwing around "sinus infection" excuses afterward. Note to Rascal Flatts; Please. Stop.
I'd stab myself in the eye before playing that 4 hour board game. If I wanted to be a property investor, I wouldn't have gone to massage school. Now if you wanna play 'you rub my feet I'll rub yours' you've got my attention.
If your low maintenance child wants to come over and happily play with my low maintenance child, you've got yourself a deal. If your kid wants to follow me around the house asking what I'm doing, explaining how you do things at your house, telling me they're bored or asking me if they can spend the night, well you see, that's called a deal breaker.
Where a kid can be a kid. Which is precisely why I can't stand that place.Why in the world would I willingly subject myself to an afternoon of confinement in a hamster cage of tubes, slides, bells and whistles with a multitude of unruly children and the parents who raised them, in a place that encourages everyone to loudly run amok while the sound track of large singing stuffed animals blares from the speakers? My answer: I don't.
Speaking of other people's undisciplined offspring...add in newlyweds who refuse to break a hand hold to let a double stroller through, tourists who blindly wander into your path watching the world through their iPhone screens, people people everywhere you look people, 7 full days of running yourself ragged in the sweltering heat with a screaming toddler because up until now you didn't realize that said toddler despises all things loud and animated, all to give your kids "the full experience" just as long as you meet the ideal 'Family of 4' demographic stamped with a $3,485 dollar price tag...unless of course you were dumb enough to bring your 2 extra kids...then you're looking at spending $5,227 Just make your check out to The Crappiest Place On Earth. Um, I mean Happiest.
Don't even get me started. Now before you blame this on my detest of the world of Disney, I'm actually a huge fan of their movies. Except this one. Everything about it. The grating songs, the whiny characters, it's complete lack of clever underlying adult humor, utter disregard for some sweet sarcasm, the way my daughter's eyes glaze over in a trance as she sings along to every damn song, even the ones that don't have words, all the while subjecting us to her loud off-key rendition because we make her wear the van headphones.Come on. The intro is not a sing-along. Enough with the opera sounds and creepy tribal chants. You're watching a movie back there, not speaking in tongues. And NO. She does NOT wanna BUILD a freakin SNOWMAN, okay? So let it go...let it goooo...
I walked right into that one, dammit.