…do you go in the handicapped bathroom?

I’ll be honest: I’ve used the handicapped bathroom many a time. I refuse to believe that I’m the only one who has ever committed this offense. But I actually get cockeyed looks for even DARING to violate the sanctity of what really amounts to an oversized, public restroom stall.

And just to avoid any misunderstanding, I am not making fun of disabled people. I just think that handicapped stalls should work the same way as Priority Seating on the Metro: use this seat, unless.

But you know what really does honk me off? Those massive, shopping compounds with 3,000 handicapped spaces. Every parking spot within 8 miles of the mall is roped off for disabled people. Again, I understand the need for some of these spaces. But why should I have to take a commuter bus just to get from my car to the front door??

I’m gonna get hate mail for this…

Why do I look like a grade-A goober today?

Ever have those mornings where you walk out the front door and realize that what you’re wearing is absolutely horrifying?

Seriously. I gave nary a thought to my wardrobe until I stopped to get gas. I looked down at my ensemble and said to myself, “Somebody ought to slap you.”

Yet, there’s no specific facet of my outfit that I can point the finger at. Just a lavendar polo-esque shirt (much like the one in my photo), some Gap khakis and those trendy, rugby-looking sneakers that everybody and their grandmother is wearing nowadays. Doesn’t sound horrendous, does it? So why do I feel like the village idiot for being seen in this getup??

Oh well, it’s Friday. Don’t nobody give a flip.

Fur-bearin’ critters ain’t welcome ’round these parts.

As some of you might already know, I have to move out of this godforsaken pile of bricks in three months. So I’m surfing through craigslist for new digs when I start to get really annoyed. Why? Because every outhouse, crackhouse and halfway house in the DC Metro area is suddenly sporting a no pet policy.

What is with the domesticated animal hatred? Okay, if I toted a billy goat and a water buffalo then maybe I could comprehend the concern. But what the hell kind of damage is an alley cat gonna do??

And suppose the feline in question does manage to start a meth lab in the recreation center. Isn’t that what my security deposit is for?

The few places that don’t fear small creatures charge a hefty pet fee. And when I say “hefty” I mean kiss-my-ass ridiculous: my current apartment demands a $400 non-refundable pet fee every year. Then they heap $25/month in “pet rent” on top of that. Does a cat get a parking space around here - what is she paying rent for??

Moral of the story: if I want a decent place to live in DC then I’m gonna have to ship Patches to the pound for the privilege.

I wish a heifer would.

So I’m standing in the Macy’s fitting room waiting to try on clothes. I’m already irritated because the place smells like dog food and every single stall is packed to the gills. What are these people trying on - straight jackets??

After ten minutes of waiting, I finally make it to the front of the line. Next thing I know, some woman saunters into the dressing room and casually parks herself right in front of me. Obviously, there’s some rational explanation for this - she’s looking for her cousin or she’s lost her keys. I give her a few more seconds…wait, she’s still standing here…??

No, a ho didn’t just bust all up in the fitting room line and think I wasn’t gonna say something?!!

Me: “Uh, you do realize that there’s a line, right?”
Ho: *nods*
Me: “And what? You didn’t think it was necessary for you to stand in it??”
Ho: “I…uh, sorry…I don’t…understand…?”

Oh, so now a ho can’t speak English?? My ass!!! You walked yourself into an English-speaking mall, through an English-speaking department store, right into an English-speaking dressing room. Besides, what country doesn’t understand, “Take your dumb ass to the back of the line?!”

(Don’t get me wrong. I am fully aware that there are many individuals in this country for whom the English language presents a challenge. But this ho? Is not one of them.)

Ho continues to fake a few more garbled responses to my increasingly irate queries, until the woman behind me decides to help “translate.” A short chat revealed:

1) That the ho hadn’t lost her cousin.
2) That the ho hadn’t lost her car keys.
3) That the ho had lost her mind if she thought I was waiting another 20 minutes while she tried on her tacky ass frocks.

She stood there and watched as I walked into the next, open dressing room. Because she knew better.

Apparently I have personality. And a blog personality at that…

Your Blogging Type is: Artistic and Passionate

You see your blog as the ultimate personal expression - and work hard to make it great. One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog and the next, you’re passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you’re careful about who you share it with. What’s Your Blog Personality?