That Sh*t I Don’t Like

Rap music has taken a turn in the last decade or so.  It is ridiculous and shameful, where it was once entertaining and at times even thought provoking.  Song titles like “Diced Pineapples” and lyrics turned catch phrases like “dat sh*t cray” have completely depleted my faith in hip hop.  That being said, a recent “hit” has really struck a cord with me, and has inspired me to hop on the band wagon.  And so, with slight shame I give you a list of that sh*t I don’t like:

• When a bum asks me for change on my way into a store and then looks at me accusingly when I walk out having just bought something after claiming I had no change to spare.  Look I paid with a card ok!  And just when I’m trying to decide  between explaining this to said bum and going to the ATM to avoid his accusing glare, I realize that he’s a vagabond and I just keep it moving.

• When I open my fridge only to find that my roommate has removed all of my vegetables from the crisper drawer, jammed them on top of our other groceries in a haphazard fashion and replaced them with a 24 pack of beer.  This drawer is labeled Vegetable Crisper!  Now my lettuce is wilted and your beer is none the crisper.

I guess I’m the one mistaken here..

• When my phone’s auto correct makes me look foolish.  Why wouldn’t taco be in the dictionary?  Now my friends think I’ve invited them to something called Taxi Night, and no one has RSVPed yes.

• When no one notifies me that we’ve run out of toilet paper in the apartment I share with two grown men.  It’s like, I know you were using it when it was here, so the fact that you don’t seem put out by its absence is both confusing and foul.  Now when I wander into the bathroom half asleep in the middle of the night, I’ll not only fall into the bowl thanks to you leaving the seat up, I’ll then find that I’m also stranded without an escape route because no one could be bothered to shoot me a text when they used the last square with no intention of replacing it.  Uncouth.

• When I try to get into shape.  Seemingly all things that are bad for you are easy and enjoyable.  All things that are good for you are difficult and often an “acquired” taste, be it food or habit.  I want to look like an Olympic decathlon competitor, but I also want to go to happy hour every day after work, then sit on my couch consuming fatty and sugary food and drink.  Guess which wish has been prevailing…

• When someone prefaces a statement with “No offense but…” and then says something horribly offensive.

• When I’m trying to hail a cab, holding like three heavy bags in a dress and looking hella frazzled, and some kindly cab driver pulls up next to me and rolls the window down, leaving me to foolishly reach for the door handle only to find that its locked, and they’re demanding to know where I’m going.  In that moment, somehow I know that there is no right answer to this question.  I won’t be getting into this taxi, and no proposed destination could change that.  Why did you stop for me old man?!  And why won’t you take me to St. Marks and Second Avenue?  You are literally a cab driver.  What else do you have going on right now?!?

• When I order delivery and the restaurant provides two or more sets of plastic utensils, as if implying that the amount of food I ordered is not fit for one person alone.  As if I didn’t already know and come to terms with that.

• Carson Daly.

Guess the jokes on me cuz this guy’s rich.

It feels really good to get all that off my chest.  For the curious, the song that inspired it all can be seen and heard here.  Sorry in advance.