Ruminations
It scares me to admit that the reason I've never killed anyone has more to do with laziness, apathy, and lack of skill than with any kind of moral code.
1 
Part of me believes that if I avoid understanding what things like Farmville and Justin Bieber are and where they came from, they will just go away.
As a single person, a youngest sibling, and an entry-level employee, some days the only person I get to feel superior over is the one who's walking into the gym as I'm walking out.
The "arrange inbox alphabetically by subject" button should be renamed "nonsensically rearrange my shit and confuse me for a minute."
As a member of the sarcastic community, I like to think I played a large part in the systematic ruining of terms like "good for you" and "that's shocking."
I love how after 8 seasons of the 24 gimmick, Kiefer still feels the need to open each show by saying "events occur in real time" in a tone so pretentious it should only be used with the words "check out my ten-inch cock."
When someone says "order anything you want" at a restaurant, my mouth might say "thanks," but my face says "uh, yeah, that was the plan asshole."
It takes every fiber of my being to acknowledge the fact that it's not old people's fault they're so slow.
I love how you can immediately tell if a guest star is eventually hooking up with a main character by how hot they are.
Why does the elevator door have to stay open for 30 seconds for me to make the 9-inch journey inside? How do the manufacturers think I'm traveling, butterfly stroke? Crab-walk?
I wish I could show Avatar to my 7-year-old self as I came out of Jurassic Park and asked my dad how they made the dinosaurs look so real.
I don't get a plus-one at my brother's wedding, but they said that "if Sarah's dating someone at the time," they'd reconsider. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure that phrase has become my family's version of "when pigs fly."
I wish guys knew that if they make sex jokes and I recoil in disgust, it's not because I think sex jokes are gross; it's because I think the guy telling them is gross.
In light of recent events, I find myself oddly comforted by the fact that whether or not you get cheated on has absolutely nothing to do with how hot you are.
Why are high-tech gadgets always categorized as "gifts for Dad?" I don't know about your dad, but my dad can barely work a disposable camera.
You know the Freudian slip has gone technological when you go to check your work email Monday morning and accidentally type ".vom".
I hate looking down and realizing I've just taken that last bite after which it would be embarrassing to ask them to wrap up the rest.
When guys say they prefer girls without makeup, they're really just saying they prefer girls so hot they don't need makeup. Now leave me alone, I'm Irish, it's winter, and I need some fucking bronzer.
I love how sitcoms never bother explaining why everything happens in the two sets they can afford. As if it makes perfect sense that driver's ed would be taught in Mr. Belding's office or Theo Huxtable's teacher would get married in his living room.
Sex is like skiing: so much time, money, effort, travel, protection, preparation, special gear, and risk of injury for a tiny thrill that wouldn't even be worth it if it weren't so, completely, awesome.
Hey Yankee fans: none of us are happy for you. If we appear to be smiling, it's only because we're glad to finally be back to regularly scheduled programming.
The most glaring evidence I see against intelligent design is the fact that my lap is about 2 inches away from being the perfect dinner table.
I love that Pandora tries to spice things up with something different, but like an overeager sex partner, she goes right back to the classics when I give the new stuff the thumbs-down. Creed? Under no circumstances, Pandora. That's my anal.
I love how the crowd freaks out cheering whenever an artist swears onstage during a concert. I swear all the fucking time, where's my round of applause?
I don't think I've ever gotten a straight answer after asking a waitress if something is spicy.
You find out who your real friends are when you're only free Friday, but someone else is only free Saturday. Who's it gonna be, amigos?
If there's one bug flying around the room, it's a nuisance. Two? It's an infestation.
Guys need to stop telling us that we'll never know what blue balls feel like. Pretty sure I've had a sneeze go away before.
"Identity theft" is way too cool a name for something that involves so much credit ruining and so little face-altering plastic surgery.
I still have no idea how to respond when someone on the subway accidentally touches me and says "sorry" or "excuse me." Ugh, so we're acknowledging each other's presence now? And making eye contact? What is this, an orgy?
There should be a rule against wrapping anything besides baked goods in tin foil. I'm glad your paintbrushes are safe and everything, but are you sure there's not like a brownie or something in there too? I hate you, Betty Crock-tease.
The scratching you do before you realize it's a mosquito bite shouldn't count.
It's weird that if the Mad Men characters were real, they'd have grown into the grandparents who we're all still trying to teach how to double click.
Dudes, if you ever think a girl is too into you, just send her a text with an exclamation point in it.
Looking up at the screen and realizing that you've accidentally typed your password in the Username box is like removing your sweater and realizing that your shirt went with it.
I wonder if Mario runs right-to-left in the Hebrew version.
At this point, when I hear about baseball players having used steroids, I feel about as surprised as I did when Clay Aiken came out. Or when I saw that episode of Fresh Prince where Carlton admitted he was a virgin.
If you put both of your kids in the same stroller, rest assured I will be shooting the bigger one a look that says, "Hey, aren't you a little old to be in that fucking thing?"
I'm beginning to fear that putting "B.A." on my resume is like putting "power windows" on a list of car features.
To all my non-friends who are private on facebook: please, get over yourself. Like everyone on earth is just sitting here DYING to stalk you all day via your amazing profile. Nobody is pathetic enough to care that much about your life. ...Seriously though, please go public so I can look at all 850 of your pictures.
Even after a 90 minute movie about not judging people based on appearance, when the Beast turned back into a prince I still went "Gross, ponytail."
I'd rather lie and say I backed shit up than get eye-judged by the IT guy when my computer crashes. I don't question your life choices, buddy!
2.5 servings per container? In that case, I think I'll eat 4 tenths of these Cheetos now, go crazy with another 4 tenths at dinner, and then wash down the remaining half-serving tomorrow with 3 fluid ounces of Vitamin Water. Either that or eat all but one of them right now and tell myself "What? It's not like I finished the whole bag."
By the time I finally complete a task like laundry or dishes and go to cross it off my to-do list, I've usually killed so much time that there's another load ready to go. I imagine this is how guys feel when they try to close out of a porn site.
I don't think I'll ever be in a big enough hurry to run flailing down a corridor yelling "hold the elevator!" like a goon, only to end up in a confined space with the person who held it for me as I lurched through the door at the last second. Can't I just press a button and get a fresh one? I'll go with that.
Not to be morbid, but I have a hard time sympathizing with people who turn 25 and freak out that their life is "a quarter over." Really? You're planning on making it to 100? Because when it's me, I'll be finding time somewhere between the tanning salon, Burger King binge, and 25 kamikazes to pray I live to see 26.
Where in the Humpty Dumpty rhyme does it say that he's an egg?
I question the humanity of those people who think they've turned everything off when it was really just the cable box. Can you not sense that ominous humming black ambient light of the still-on TV? You're a robot.
I think it's sad that when talking about sex, we always feel the need to specify the "female" orgasm from its far more prevalent male counterpart, like it's the god damn WNBA.
If you see me sporting the ipod/sunglasses combo, consider me Helen Keller. Don't look at me, don't talk to me, and if you touch me you'd better hope you're a fucking miracle worker.
I hate when my jeans are tight because they must have shrunk in the dryer. But I love when my jeans are loose because I must have lost weight! What? They stretch? No, I'm sorry, that possibility will not be entertained.
I think it'd be fun to go to rehab for something I'm not addicted to. I'd be just like those kids in my freshman intro bio class who already knew it all from taking the AP in high school. Who's setting the curve now, bitch?
I'm fairly certain nobody out there is levitating in dressing rooms or sitting cross-legged on toilets, so for god's sake just enter if you don't see feet. Please don't knock; I hate deciding what I'm supposed to yell back.
Whenever I read about someone who has several million dollars, whether it's 10 or 500, my first thought will always be, "man, if they just gave me 1 million they would barely even NOTICE!"
Facebooking someone after hooking up is like IMDBing a movie you've just seen: if it was good, you can enhance the experience by perusing photos and learning fun facts. And if it was bad, at least you can confirm that (while there are worse ways to kill 2 hours in a dark room) you probably would have been better off home alone.
Nothing irritates me like inching past a speed-limit sign when I'm stuck in terrible traffic. 65? Really? Would if I could, sign. Would if I could.
Nothing screams "I'm a colossal douche" like idiots who say "whom" when it's actually supposed to be "who." A close second, however, goes to anyone who says "whom" out loud at all.
The difference between homosexuals and metrosexuals is that homosexuals tend to attract people of the same gender, and metrosexuals tend to attract nobody.
I think a great barometer for how poor and lazy you are is how strongly you've considered the possibility of eating cereal with water.
Why is it that the people most outraged by Facebook owning our information are the ones for whom it's least likely to ever matter? It's like, calm down dude...with or without those pictures of you and the ice luge, you were never gonna be an astronaut. I'm sure your job at Chick-fil-A is safe.
I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!
I've thought of a great way to turn a negative into a positive: get about $50 in fives and a bag of fun-size Snickers and put them by your bed before going out. When you come home blackout, distribute the bills and candies in various jeans, bags, and coat pockets. Boom, free surprises for a year! Now who's "problem drinking?"
Whether I will eat food off the floor has nothing to do with how dirty the floor is and everything to do with how hungry I am.
Sometimes I like to watch action movies and think about how I might handle the same situations. But then I realize I'd just be weeping, in the fetal position, covered in my own snot and tears, before the opening credits. Or, far more likely, dead. Guess we better leave it to the pros.
I have never seen anyone on TV or movies kiss with tongue, even during sex scenes. Is it possible we've all been doing it wrong this whole time?
After 22 years with the same face I've gotten pretty good at identifying a bad picture, good hair day, or unflattering outfit on myself. But I'd be able to handle my personal affairs a lot better if I just knew how objectively attractive I am.
Even though I dish out all this money to go to concerts, I really like it best when they just make it sound like it does on the radio. Enough with the funny business Mr. Jovi, we both know that's not how it goes.
I've had a thing for this guy for a while that I can't seem to shake. If he acts mean, I see cool and aloof. If he acts lame, I see goofy and fun. I think the only way I'll ever get over him is if he starts being nice.
This guy was just telling a story about how he dinged someone's car in an empty parking garage, and right when he got out to write the note, a huge block of ice fell from the roof and smashed through his windshield. All I could think was, "wow, you were really gonna leave a note?"
I often find myself not knowing whether countries mentioned in movies - like Khasakstan and Micronesia - are real or fake.
I don't get those friends who inexplicably see a mild hangover as a form of weakness, so they always insist it's either the worst one in history or they're just tired. These are the same people who either make you take pictures of their epic sunburn, or swear it's just a tan. It's like, fess up dude, you look like absolute hell. Get some coffee, pass the aloe, and lie down, because we're doing this again tomorrow.
Hey people in DC - I slept in my own bed last night, got paid for coming into work today, stayed warm, watched it on TV, and actually got to see and hear what was said. But hey, congrats on being "part of it."
I hate when a menu item looks good, but I can't order it because it has a cutesy name. I'm sorry, but I like myself too much to say the words "Rootin' Tootin' Delicious Chicken Sandwich" in front of anyone I know.
Has anyone ever witnessed a fight in real life? I don't know who in Hollywood decided that a punch sounds like a bass drum in a wind tunnel, but in reality it's more like a series of misdirected high-fives. It's wildly unsatisfying.
Remember when you were little and your mom would buy Oreos, and the thing lasted in the drawer for like a week? This truly amazes me because 10 years later, with what I believe to be a roughly equivalent love for cookies, a pack will be lucky to see tomorrow morning.
For work, I keep having to call a number ending in "1725," and for weeks I could not for the life of me figure out why it felt so familiar to dial those numbers. Who could I have called so often in my life that my fingers seem to remember the pattern so vividly while my mind simply cannot place it? It finally just dawned on me that, for about 15 years of human life, Nickelodeon was channel 17, and MTV was 25.
Someone needs to tell all our mothers that we have already seen any and every Youtube video they might consider sending us.
I hate when I make a big stink over figuring out where I recognize an actor from, only to realize it's something I can't admit I've seen. "Oh, he was the star of New York Minute? Hm, nope, couldn't possibly be that...oh, eureka, here it is, he was College Student in a 2005 episode of CSI: El Paso. I knew I'd get it eventually!"
Why do I keep going to dance clubs and lounges, when I know I would sooner die than go out with a guy who likes dance clubs and lounges?
How much does it suck, when you and your friends are discussing how sweet it would be to throw a party for/dress up as/break into/make a drinking game about/get arrested for something awesome, and you realize you're the only one who's serious about actually doing it? It's like, come on guys, man up and wear Three Amigos costumes on the plane with me. It'll make a great story!
I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.
I hate how every time I'm about to win a heated argument, the other person tries to bail out with something like "woah, whatever, it's not that big a deal, relax." Fuck you, you just realized I was right! And either way I'm still planning on proving it via wikipedia the second I get home.
Remember whining "I'm never actually gonna have to use this in real life" when we learned math? I wonder how long it'll take for kids to start saying that about learning to write.
I think every female sports fan believes deep down that she's the only one who isn't faking it to impress guys.
Catching my mom in a bad mood gives me the same feeling as seeing sirens in my rearview mirror. I'm not doing anything wrong right now, but still...is this about me? Just exactly what do you know?
I'd be a lot better at crossword puzzles if someone had told me long ago that a question mark in the clue really just means "...this one's kind of a stretch."
If I don't like you and you lose weight, I'm gonna go ahead and assume you're on drugs.
I wish I put a little less thought into the emails I send my boss, which he deletes without reading, and a little more thought into my 2am text messages, which always seem to make permanent homes for themselves in my friends' inboxes.
The first football game I ever watched was the 1996 Super Bowl, and I remember noticing my dad and brother shouting things at the screen in disbelief. I figured that to fit in, I'd better just incredulously yell out the next set of numbers that appeared on screen. In retrospect, there's really nothing surprising about seeing "3rd, 15:00" at the start of the second half.
I just dropped something and caught it before it hit the ground. It was miraculous. So let me get this straight: sober, our reflexes are actually quicker than gravity, but 2 martinis and we can't even raise an arm to avoid getting clobbered in the face by a revolving door?
Nothing makes me want to break for the door faster than getting caught laughing at someone else's inside joke. But still, is there a bigger dick on the planet than the guy who actually notices and says "wait, why do YOU think that's funny?"
Going out after getting dumped is like grocery shopping when you're hungry: you choose what seems satisfying at the time, and you end up going home with something cheap, bad for you, and probably pretty fatty.
I hate being held accountable for the comments I make just to fill silence. If I say something like "yeah, he's weird," please don't hit me with "What do you mean? Weird how? Did he say something?" My god, I have no idea who you're even talking about. Can't you see I've been reading old texts the entire time you were speaking?
I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
I wonder if it was sheer luck or marketing genius that Bacardi made a rum that happens to rhyme with one of the most commonly used words in rap songs. Think of the exposure I'd get if I came out with "Bacwenty inch rims" vodka.
I hate when you black out and then have to spend the next day dancing around conversations to try and hide it: "Hey, I haven't seen you in forever!" "Nope, we talked for 45 minutes last night." "Right, I remember. Well happy birthday by the way!" "Thanks, you had the entire bar sing to me at midnight." "Yeah, just kidding. Guess I still owe you a beer though!" "I'm good, yesterday you tried to pay for mine with a Starbucks card." Okay, wise guy. I'm going back to bed.
I would never eat spoonfuls of just butter and sugar, but throw in a couple raw eggs and some chocolate chips and suddenly it's "dough." Preheat the oven? That won't be necessary. I've never had salmonella in my life and I thoroughly enjoy rolling those dice.
When I'm making a credit-card purchase I'm proud of, I'll devote a good ten seconds to making my signature graceful and professional. When I'm not, I like to get it over with as fast as possible. The bank must think my identity is being stolen by a seven-year-old with three fingers who can somehow spend $13.50 at Finagle a Bagel.
I often lament how it seems like there's one eligible member of the opposite sex for every 100 people like me. And we're judged on the most immature, obscure factors. And every so often, unsuitable people are given a free pass just for being good-looking. It just dawned on me: life is one big episode of Singled Out.
I'm sick of trying to keep track of which course of action is required to get each of my friends to call me back. A missed call should be seen as the equivalent of "Hey it's Sarah, just wondering what you're up to, call me when you get a chance." Unless it's after 2am on a weekend, then let's just forget it.
All internet security questions should have definitive answers, like "town of birth" or "father's middle name." Honestly, things like "favorite book" just force me to try to figure out which lie I told myself that day so I didn't have to write "ESPN The Magazine."
Rather than losing weight because I'm buying my own meals now, I could be headed in the opposite direction. It's amazing the amount of low-quality food I'm willing to shove down my gullet now that I see every wasted morsel as tomorrow's potential beer, coffee, or gallon of gas.
If my $400 ticket is paying for the jet fuel for you to "circle around over Philadelphia until the runway is clear," then give me a fucking free beverage. The three idiots who will actually fork over two bucks for a tablespoon of tomato juice are not going to save your business.
I wasn't going to vote, but over fifteen of my friends changed their facebook status, so I guess I have no choice.
Every single time I played with a Ouija board, I was the one moving it. Listen, someone has to, okay? This is Earth.
I've never been great at picking up on euphemisms. I'm pretty sure if I ever get told "I'm going to let you go," I'll go, "Sweet! Half day!" Then I'll trot home and return the next morning, lunch in hand, only to get royally burned like Billy Madison on his first day of school.
Why do TV characters who are supposed to be broke never repeat clothes - even coats and shoes? Just saying, personally, I'm pretty sure I'll be worth 6 figures before I stop wearing my marshmallow jacket over ball gowns.
While I'm fine with the fact that I no longer talk to anyone from grade school, I find myself praying that news of my minor successes makes it back to them somehow. It just doesn't sit well knowing that there are 30 people out there somewhere who still know me as the girl who accidentally called our first grade teacher "Mom."
It might be time to take a look at your life when you have the following exchange: "Is that guy your boyfriend?" "Nooo." "Oh so you're casually dating?" "Not really." "Got it, friends with benefits?" "Umm...'friends' might be overstating it. Is there a notch lower?"
Magazines need to stop telling us that a good way to cut calories is to stop drinking. First of all, we're well aware of that option and we all ruled it out long ago. Second, half the time those calories don't end up getting digested anyway. And finally, what's the point of having a good body if you never have the courage to take your clothes off?
Okay, I'm sorry, but Caleb from the OC, Bradford from Ugly Betty, Mr. Widmore from Lost, the VP from 24...are you seriously on Entourage now?
I just read a paper essentially confirming that in order to learn something new, you have to forget something you once knew. Okay...all the lyrics to "What's Your Fantasy?" You're dismissed.
I complain extra hard when I'm sick to make up for all those hangovers when I've had to keep my mouth shut.
Whatever happened to the "unsend" button from old AOL? It's like the programmers of the world all decided, "we can't avoid looking like geeks, why should they get to avoid looking like jerks?"
I love watching TV shows online. But by the time I've sat through all six commercial breaks trying to find where the hell I was when I fell asleep last night, I can manage to listen to about 3 minutes with my eyes closed before I'm out again. At this rate, I'll be done just in time for the premiere of the third 90210 series.
It's amazing how quickly "I absolutely must buy shampoo tomorrow" loses meaning the instant you step out of the shower.
You know what was always so fun? Pretending to come up with the answers to those insanely obscure riddles we told as kids, when clearly you've just heard it before... "I get one yes-or-no question? Okay, did he maybe, stand on a block of something and wait for it to melt and when it disappeared he had hanged himself? Yeah, thought so. Come on, give me a hard one!"
When being introduced to someone, I'd really appreciate being told upfront if I should care. Otherwise, it's inevitably: "This is Bill." (Great, good for Bill, leave me alone.) "He'll be your new boss." (Crap. What the fuck was that guy's name again?)
My goal in life is to write a sitcom so good it gets canceled.
As a general rule, the more I enjoy something, the worse it is for me. That's why stale cookies are the ultimate smack in the face.
Enough already with the obscure baseball statistics. I don't know how those poor announcers feign enthusiasm each time. They're like, "First time since 2007 that a playoff game has been played on October 13th...ah...remarkable."
I get the feeling radio commercials are deliberately peppy and melodic so we won't notice the transition from music to ads...I always find myself being like, "woah, how long have I been listening to this shit without changing the station? And why do I suddenly feel like leasing a Mazda?"
When will I learn that deleting my outbox/dialed calls doesn't make the next morning's regret go away? Sometimes I feel like drinking makes me regress to the time when a clever hide-and-seek tactic was crouching in plain view with my hands over my own eyes.
Giving a presentation on my laptop, I was unaware that I had auto-signed in to AIM with yesterday's away message "Where the fuck is the remote?" When some kid IMed me, PowerPoint minimized and I had to nosedive across the room to get "Did you check your butt?" off the screen. Thanks asshole, out of context your horrible 5th-grade joke becomes an APB to the entire room that I must be in dire need of a proctologist.
Isn't it weird to think that, for a while, the time you lost your virginity was the best sex you ever had?
Being the drunkest kid at the bar is like being the goalie in foosball. It's nearly impossible to score, you get blamed whenever something goes wrong, and all you can see in front of you are rows and rows of identical-looking guys.
If the car behind me makes the same turn I do twice in a row, no doubt in my mind: I'm being followed.
Doesn't it seem cruel (to both sides) that alcohol makes guys want sex more and more, while simultaneously rendering them less and less capable of actually having it?
Few things are scarier than being the leader of the traffic pack and being only about 70% sure that street isn't one-way...
How come when someone tells me that a person I'm about to meet is "funny," I immediately take that as a challenge?
Hotel shampoo contains about the amount that's left in my bottle at home when I throw it out. So why do I insist on stealing it, only so that, if it doesn't explode and ruin all my shit on the way home, it can sit in my shower for years and show guests how cheap I am?
Girls love to refer to other girls as "pretty, but in too obvious a way." As if we'd all rather have beauty that you really have to search for...'cause that's what every drunk, horny dude wants on a Saturday night. Brain teasers.
Does every school have that one fraternity that it takes everyone way too long to realize is 100% douchebags? They must just sit the rushes down and say, "Look, we're all huge tools, but we can offer you the distinct privilege of getting laid far more than you deserve up until the moment people notice that fact."
Dudes: we're well aware that you're full of shit when you try to hook up with us. When you succeed, it's not because you fooled us, it's because sometimes we get sick of playing defense and want to score ourselves.
I could never join AA because of that step where you call everyone you've wronged to "make amends." I can barely work up the energy to call my dad, let alone 75 assholes who probably deserved whatever I did.
When new pictures of me go up on facebook, I have to re-look at them from four different perspectives: 1) How do I think I look? 2) I pretend I'm a guy looking at my profile, I come across this picture..."is she hot?" 3) Okay, now I'm that bitch from college, this pops up on news feed..."is she having more fun than me?" 4) I'm my boss..."is she wasted?" Fuck. Detag.
How great is it waking up after a hardcore night (bloodbath, perhaps?) to find that not only did you manage to NOT lose your wallet and phone, but you somehow got yourself into pajamas and put a glass of water by your bed? ...your clothes, however, are inevitably found inches from the door, tucked in one concentric heap indicating you kicked your way out of them in milliseconds.
Is there anything more bone-chilling than the 6 seconds it takes for bankofamerica.com to load?
I bet if you tracked when ruminations are submitted, there would be huge peaks around 9 "There's no fucking way I'm starting work yet" o'clock, 12 "I'm too hungry to concentrate" o'clock, and 4 "Is it five yet?" o'clock.
Harvard is like unprotected sex: glad you got in, wish you never came.
What I wouldn't give for a text message auto-reply function. Today, mine would say: "Yes, I saw Brady's hit. You think having your leg crack 150 degrees in the wrong direction 'looks pretty bad'? Thank you, doctor. I thought I told you after XLII never to text me again."
Word of advice: if two people remind you of each other, but you're the only person who knows them both, keep it to yourself. I know it sucks, but "Matt looks exactly like my friend from camp!" is interesting to no one.
If someone hasn't figured out how to live on Mars by the time someone figures out how to trace who views whose Facebook profiles, we are all in big, big trouble.
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