Tuesday, September 17, 2002
Annoying Things

A gargantuan pimple on the side of one's face. So gargantuan one becomes concerned that perhaps it is a cancerous growth. So gargantuan it brings to mind the movie, The Believers, with Martin Sheen, at one point in which the female lead becomes the victim of a black-magic curse and develops a pimple on the side of her face -- which then grows into a boil-like protuberance that begins to throb and pulse -- until finally black poisonous spiders chew their way through and come pouring out en masse. So gargantuan it evokes the school nurse in South Park, who has a fetus growing out from the side of her head. So gargantuan one feels mortified about having to teach the next day -- one's students will surely be unable to concentrate on the lecture when there is such a frighteningly combustible atrocity on the side of one's face that could surely blow at any moment and possibly put someone's eye out.

Paper clips should be metal trombone paper clips and at least 2" in length. Plastic-coated colored paper clips are quite nice, although the best ones of all are the multi-colored maypole-striped ones that remind one of Fruit Stripe Gum. These are delightful! Small metal trombone paper clips are as annoying as the sound of fingernails being dragged along a chalkboard. They perpetually become tangled up in one another, making the papers stick together, or they become tangled up and fall off altogether. They always slice up and scratch the pages. There is something very pokey and nerve-grinding about these clips that fills one with an irrational sense of rage. (Plastic-coated small paper clips are significantly more tolerable, although their size is still nonetheless pokey and annoying.) Triangular plastic clips never work at all. They are always breaking or falling off, and they are equally annoying and abhorrent.

A lover who expects one to spend the night with her being romantic and making her feel better because one is flying out of town for a mere few days on an important professional trip, even when one is exhausted and stressed out and has a million things to do, is exceedingly needy and annoying. It is then infuriatingly annoying when this same lover goes out of her way to deliberately pick a fight, any fight, when one, through supreme effort, has actually managed to set aside the time to indulge in the sought-after romantic evening. Such a lover is sure to get the boot in no time, and when she stamps her foot and begins screaming on one's sidewalk that she doesn't understand why she's getting the boot, and one notices that the neighbors are beginning to peer out of their windows, this is unspeakably annoying as well.

A cat who seeks out important paper work, with a sick sixth sense, and manages to leave a butt print on said paper work, is an annoying cat. (I mean, how does one even begin to account for that? Gee, sorry, about that odd-looking smudge . . . my cat left a butt print on your [dissertation signature page] [grant application form] [curriculum vitae] [fill in the blank].)

People who call over and over again, letting the phone ring and ring and ring . . . but are nonetheless apparently genetically incapable of leaving a voice mail . . . are hugely annoying.

One has taken it upon herself to go to the laundromat and do her laundry. The wash cycles are finished, and even though one despises doing laundry, one is starting to feel a little bit less uptight . . . maybe even a bit self-actualized and all that shit . . . but then discovers that one of the washers is out of order and now a full load of clothes is soaking in a washer full of tepid, dirty soapy water. One must now re-wash that entire load, which is now a complete wash cycle behind all the other loads, thus committing oneself to a minimum of at least an extra half-hour of laundry torture. This is very annoying.

Having agreed to lead a reading group for honors students (My Year of Meats, by Ruth Ozeki -- a marvelous book!), one must go through fourteen boxes of books temporarily stored in one's closet (due to the fact that the office in one's new apartment has yet to be remodeled) to locate the book in question. One quickly goes through the all of the boxes, thinking, It just figures that the book would be in the very last box!, but doesn't manage to locate the book. So one goes through the boxes again, thinking that perhaps the book was inadvertently missed somehow on the first go-round. Still no book. The closet is becoming increasingly hot and stuffy, and one goes through every single one of the boxes yet again -- this time painstakingly disemboweling each box in its entirety to carefully scrutinize each and every book. Still no book. One simply can't imagine where it could be. Suddenly, one has a mortifying epiphany. The book had been loaned out to one's ex-lover (see above), who then took it upon herself to lend it out to one of her friends . . . and the book has never been returned. Most annoying!

And finally, it should be noted, that with such a tiresome litany of petty annoyances, one is perhaps, when all is said and done, quite annoying to oneself.
Posted by Artichoke Heart | 2:27 AM |
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Beyond Heart Mountain
Year of the Snake

Poems by Artichoke Heart
Songs for a Rainy Season
Toothpick Warriors
Snake Wife
Happy Hour
Girl With A Bowl On Her Head

Pillow Book Courtiers Of The
East Wing
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