Snit World

The ferocious Snit

It's Friday so I should be all buoyant and bouncy this morning, right?

Wrong. I'm feeling mega kvetchy. Pourquoi? Eh, I think the moon is, possibly, in Klutz. Mars is in Irascible and Saturn's deep in Peeve. Ya know, it's all about the stars and planets and shit.

For starters, Gmail has changed their mailbox layout. Why?  I can’t find anything now.

Yes, I will adjust BUT… ‘the fuck? Everything was perfectly functional before – why the change? Someone in the Google graphics department get bored and just wanted to play around a bit?

FYI, change for it’s own sake is a waste of time and mega annoying.

Yesterday, I was at a stop sign. I’d rolled too far forward and needed to back up so Bix’s poor nose wouldn’t get clipped by passing traffic. I looked behind me – no one was there – and backed up a teensy bit. BOOM! A molto expensive Mercedes sedan had magically appeared RIGHT behind me, ON MY ASS. I leaped out to see if the driver was OK.

From the young man’s sartorial statement, I could see that he was, clearly, mega wealthy. His hair sported serious salon highlights too. He looked like GQ was his bible. The boy was also sporting a sneering ‘tude that would’ve slain a lesser being.

The damage to his ride? Two scuffs measuring one inch in length, an eighth of an inch wide MAX. And yet this Drama-dude was posturing like I’d inflicted a foot long, Mariana Trench deep scratch and then pissed on his shoes.

Obvs this was gonna be a difficult and annoying exchange. What’d I do? He was barely controlling his rage and speaking very fast so I said “I’m deaf, I don’t know what you’re saying.” I didn’t offer my phone for him to speak into. I didn’t whip out pen and paper. I didn’t offer to lipread if he slowed the fuck down. Motherfucker’s gonna play primadonna with me? I’m not gonna make it easy for him.

He kept talking. I repeated that I’m deaf and could NOT hear what he was saying. He indicated the “damage.” I bent down, wet my thumb and completely wiped away one of the marks. The other could be disappeared with a little buffing with a chamois. Still I’m-Entitled Boy was all harumphy. I asked are you OK. I got a nod. I asked are we all set? done? I got another nod, got back in my car and split.

Now of course, I’m wondering if the spoiled child got my license plate number and is gonna somehow cause me some future grief. This is NOT worth fussing over though.

The upside? I probably ruined the enfant riche et terrible's day. From the way he was behaving, this was the most AWFUL thing he’s ever experienced. Sheesh. 

Last in Snit World this morning, in the run-up to the midterms, I’m getting tons of hyper dramatic begging letters from the Democratic Training Committe (whatever that is). The subject lines are ridiculously, insultingly jejune – like they’re written by high schoolers suffering the first big rush of hormones. Hello! I’m an adult here, bitte sehr speak to me like one!

The one that sent me over the top to Unsubscribe Land? We’re Toast Donna! Well, mon ami, if you is already toast why are you asking for bucks? I don’t get it. They looking for strawberry jam cabbage?

In the why are you unsubscribing box, I wrote:

I don't have money to spare to every candidate throughout the country. Also, I find the tone of your subject lines needlessly melodramatic.

Very mature and, quite possibly, helpful, no?