Today’s douchebag should be totally ashamed of him or herself.  There’s a rule that every dog owner should live by.  If your dog poops, you scoop.  I myself have never owned a dog, but an ex-boyfriend of mine did, and when I’d walk him I’d always scoop his poop. Did I enjoy picking up large steaming piles of crap?  No.  Did I suck it up and do it?  Yes.  (Except one time the dog had diarrhea and I just didn’t see a way).  It is specifically a huge problem on the Upper West of NYC.  Land of dogs and baby strollers.  At least babies poop in a diaper.  Hmm, has anyone ever explored the doggy diaper?  I’m sure they have, seems too easy.

Anyway, I was walking down the street one day and my luck, it was the one time I wasn’t looking down as I walked.  For whatever reason, when I’m walking the streets of NYC I always look down.  I’m not sure why, I just do.  But one day I was walking along, looking down and this homeless guy says to me, “Honey…it can’t be THAT bad.”  The irony is that I wasn’t even miserable (except for the usual, why does my husband think it’s funny to fart loudly, type misery) If a homeless man went out of his way to comment on my miserable looking persona, it was definitely time to make a concerted effort to change.

So I did, and what did it get me?  A sneaker full of Schnauzer shit, poodle poop, dalmation doodie.  I don’t know what kind of dog it was, it doesn’t really matter.  Dog crap is dog crap when it ends up on the bottom of your shoe.  And I was wearing sneakers so it really got up in there, in every ridge, every crevasse.  It’s infuriating and it’s all because some douchebag didn’t do his due diligence when his dog took a dump. From now on I’m going back to looking down when I walk, that way I’ll see what I’m walking into.  Lesson learned, I’d rather LOOK miserable than BE miserable after stepping in a pile of shit.

This is not the first time my rage stems from a household appliance. Maybe they sense my aversion to domestic tasks and therefore taunt me even more, I don’t know. But what I do know, there was one night my dishwasher put me over the edge.

Since moving to Orlando, we’ve lived in 2 rental houses. In the first house my nemesis was the refrigerator. It was huge and the door was incredibly hard to open. It was almost as if it was stuck, but it wasn’t. I’d have to put my whole body weight into opening it. The effort I had to put forth often resulted in a grunt reminiscent of Serena Williams hitting a backhand winner, only I was just trying to get some hummus. As if that wasn’t annoying enough, once you closed the door, it wouldn’t let you open it again right away. It would sort of lock for like 5 seconds or so before you could open it again. It was as if it was saying, go away you fat fuck, gain some willpower and lose some of your big ass. That meant if I forgot to get something out of the fridge (which happened all the time) I’d have to wait to open the door and get it which was infuriating. I remember one time, it had been a long, stressful day, and I was just trying to make dinner for my cranky, crying kid. The fridge locked me out, and just as I was yelling, “C’mon you asshole!” my husband walked in. Clearly taken aback, he asked who I was talking to, when I told him the refrigerator I believe there was a brief moment where he considered having me committed. There’s no question throughout the year we lived there I called that refrigerator many names, one favorite being “you useless, crappy cold box of misery!” Committed? No. More therapy? Perhaps.

I spent so much time on the fridge, I’ll keep the dishwasher story brief. Basically, when my dishwasher is done with its cycle it beeps 3 times, very loudly. That’s all fine and good, but it beeps 3 times very loudly I’d say every 2 minutes or so until someone opens the door. Here’s the news, I get that it’s done, you don’t need to beat me over the head with all the beeping, and I’ll unload the damn spoons when I’m good and ready. What set me over the edge the other night was that I ran the dishwasher and then went to bed, just as I find myself dozing off I hear those loud fucking beeps. And then about 2 minutes later I hear them again. And then again. There are only 3 things that will get my out of bed at an undesirable time, if my daughter needs me, if there’s a fire, or if someone were to bring me hot bagel straight out of the oven from H&H bagels on the upper west side of NYC. Come to think of it, I could eat the bagel in bed, so we’re back down to my kid and a fire. Anyway, the fact that I had to wake up, go downstairs to open the damn door of the dishwasher was preposterous. To the person behind the dishwasher technology…WTF??? You are the douchebag of the day.

I have satellite radio in my car which I love. My favorite thing of course is Howard Stern since I’m a superfan.  But since I often have my daughter in the car, listening to High-pitch Eric (a member of the whack pack) talk about his masterbation techniques is clearly not appropriate. All that aside, if you haven’t listened to Howard Stern interview a celebrity, you’re seriously missing out.  I used to hook my phone up to Bluetooth and play Lily all her kids songs.  Then one day I hit a wall. It was late in the day, about 184 degrees outside (with humidity) and I was severely bloated.  ‘Old MacDonald had a farm’ came on for the 3rd time that day, and as soon as the ‘oink oink here’ started, I lost it. It’s strange, I made it through the sheep and the cow just fine, but something about that pig made me go postal. I immediately shut off the music, much to Lily’s dismay, and told her that my phone was broken so we had to listen to the radio.  She eventually accepted it and when an old favorite Elton John song came on 70’s on 7, I was elated.

While I’m a fan of many of the satellite channels, my very favorite is channel 17, also known as ‘Love.’  They play every cheesy love song you could ever imagine and I can’t get enough.  Some might find it odd that I enjoy listening to a parody song about Robin’s size EE breasts on the Howard Stern show as much as I love listening to Barry Manilow sing ‘Mandy.’  But rather than odd, I see it as well-rounded.  When it comes to these love songs, for me, the cheesier the better.  I find nothing more comforting and cathartic than singing at the top of my lungs along to ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ by Bette Midler, or ‘Three Times a Lady’ by Lionel Richie.  And then there’s probably my very favorite, ‘If you say my eyes are beautiful’. Yes, it’s a male/female duet sung by the late, great Whitney Houston, and the not really that great, Jermaine Jackson.  On a 1-10 cheese factor scale, it’s a 96.  It’s genius.

So today when I went to put on my Love station, there was a James Taylor song playing. I really didn’t think much of it, it was a slow song that I guess could fall into the ‘Love’ category. But once that song ended, another James Taylor song started playing. That was just weird, in all my listening I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a James Taylor song on this station at all.  When the third James Taylor song came on I started to panic, what the hell was going on?!?!  After the third song ended, the DJ came on and thanked us listeners for tuning into ‘James Taylor radio’. What?!?!  Imagine you went to Whole Foods and suddenly they started only selling say, red peppers. Red peppers are fine, but what if that was all you could get?  No carrots, no pasta, no mini waffles!  Like red peppers, James Taylor is fine once in a while, but I want my Neil Diamond, Air Supply, and Captain and Tennille!  Anyway, after my panic set in, the DJ went on to say that the channel would be dedicated to James Taylor for a month, then it would go back to being ‘Love’. I immediately felt a sense of relief that I would once again here Barbra Streisand sing, ‘The way we were’ and therapeutically bawl my eyes out.  If that song doesn’t make you at least tear up you’re made of stone.

Today’s douchebag is the person at Sirius satellite radio who decided to pull this stunt. You’re lucky it’s only for a month or I would’ve come after you. With a bat.

You know how you describe a sneaky, dishonest person who will totally screw you over a “snake in the grass?” Well, today’s douchebag is not that, it’s literally…a snake in the grass. Swamp life strikes again. I was sitting out back doing some writing since the weather finally turned and you can sit outside without feeling like you’re suffocating. So I’m on my laptop, and for whatever reason I looked up only to spot this latest intruder. Now, admittedly, I am a person who does not do well with this type of wildlife, but here is an official definition of a snake…

Snakes are elongated, legless, carnivorous reptiles of the suborder Serpentes that can be distinguished from legless lizards by their lack of eyelids and external ears.

I’m sorry, I don’t care if you’re a herpetologist (yes, I had to look it up and it’s a person who studies reptiles and amphibians. I know, it seems as if it would involve herpes. Don’t ask me why, I also looked up whether or not snakes can get herpes and they can. So I guess a herpetologist can kill 2 birds with one stone) Anyway, my point is that even if you’re someone who chooses to make a living studying snakes, the above definition just doesn’t sound appealing. They made a movie with Samuel L. Jackson called “Snakes on a Plane.” Notice they didn’t go with “Raccoons on a plane,” or “Beavers on a Plane.” Well, that would be an entirely different genre. They went with snakes because the idea was for it to be scary, and snakes are scary, not to mention slimy and they slither. In addition, any animal that is rope-like in shape is frankly too bizarre for me to wrap my head around. And speaking of wrapping around, some snakes wrap themselves tightly around their prey in order to kill it. I’m claustrophobic just thinking about it.

As soon as I saw the snake in my yard, I sent the pic to 2 of my friends that have been here longer and are more familiar with the creatures that surrounds us. They said they didn’t think this specific snake was venomous, but nonetheless agreed it was very unsettling. One of my friends told me that if I see any more snakes I need to call “Critter Jim.” If you want to pursue a career in critters, surely this is the place to do it. While clearly I could never have been “Critter Hope,” I could very well have been “Fritter Hope.” Let’s face it, you could fry up a keychain in the right batter and it would taste good.

Ssssssssssorry snake, you’ve slithered your way into the title of today’s douchebag of the day.

Today’s douchebag is Hallmark. I don’t even know if they’re fully to blame, but at least partially since my issue today revolves around what are known as “Hallmark holidays.”  They’ve gotten this name obviously because Hallmark makes a big deal every time they roll around. My issue isn’t so much with them making a big deal, it’s more about the timing. Although I think we could do without Valentines Day.  If you’re single, it makes you feel lonely, if you have someone it can put pressure on the relationship and inevitably you go out to dinner and over-pay for a piece of overcooked fish.  There are those people who say everyday should be like valentines day.  Clearly they live in some fantasy land where people shit rainbows, ride unicorns, and believe the tooth fairy is real.  I don’t live in that land, hence everyday is not Valentines Day. And I’m fine with that because if it was, I might have to shave my legs everyday and frankly that’s too much effort.

Here’s an example of my issue. It’s the beginning of January. We finally got through all the Merry Xmas messaging, mistletoe, and Mariah Carey singing in ill-fitting gowns.  I will admit, I do like her “All I want for Christmas” song, but all I want for Christmas next year Mariah is for you to put your tits away.  Anyway, we finally get past all that holiday excess, and what are we immediately faced with?  More holiday excess.  But this time in the form of hearts, chocolates, and heart shaped chocolates. It’s a month and a half before the damn “holiday” and already everything’s red. I find it not so coincidental that red signals both love and bloodshed.

So finally all the flowers have been delivered, and before they even have a chance to die…..here come the bunnies.  But before you bust out your bonnet, Easter isn’t for almost 2 months!  Another example of Hallmark jumping the gun. And for the record, I know people like those Cadbury cream eggs, but personally I think the inside looks like semen. Sorry to whomever’s Easter I just ruined.

And one last example, When Labor Day weekend ends, you’re feeling bummed that the summer is over and suddenly you’re being forced to decide whether to be a slutty cat or a slutty devil for Halloween. The reality is you have 8 weeks to decide, but they make you feel like if you don’t purchase your slutty cat ears soon, some other slut will beat you to it.  Then you’re barely recovered from your Halloween hangover and guess what starts up again?  The Christmas crap.  Bah fuckin humbug my friends.

Hallmark, and whoever else is responsible for this untimely excess of everything, you are today’s douchebag of the day.

Today’s douchebag is a group of people trying to suck other people’s wallets dry. Here’s how I came to that conclusion. One night my Adam and I went to a Sting/Paul Simon concert. It was at the Amway Center which is where the Orlando Magic play basketball. But sadly they don’t win very often so there’s very little magic happening in that arena. Adam is a big Paul Simon fan, this was his 6th time seeing him live, which is nothing compared to how many times he’s seen Bruce Springsteen. He’s seen “The Boss” play about 25 times. And he’s not even from Jersey. He’s one of those fans that knows every word to every song and sings at an inappropriately loud volume. I always think, by singing so loudly you actually drown out the guy’s voice you paid $200 to hear.  It makes no sense to me, but a lot of things don’t make sense to me. Like Paris Hilton. Does she really talk like a whiny 4 year old or is that her ‘stage voice?”  It hurts my ears. Sorry Paris, NOT hot. You know what else makes no sense to me? Why do we say, “a pair of pants” when we’re only referring to one pair of pants? Yeah, there are 2 leg holes, but we don’t say, “I really need a new pair of legs holes.” Has anyone else ever thought about that? Probably not. But now you will. You’re welcome.

So about halfway through the concert we were thirsty so we went to buy water. The woman said to us, “I just want to let you know first that a bottle of water (small bottle mind you) is $6.75. I’m like, what!?!  Is the water blessed by the Pope or something?  (Side note, I do really dig this current Pope, he’s a very cool Pope as far as Popes go) Anyway, the woman was very nice to warn me before I actually purchased it, but I was really thirsty. I started to go on my rant about how ridiculous it was, Adam just wanted to get back into the concert so he said he’d actually pay double what the water cost for me to stop talking and just take the damn bottle.  Over the years he probably would’ve paid a small fortune for me to stop talking in various situations.  I did get one question in which was, who’s responsible for jacking up the price?  The woman said it was the concert promoters who often consult with the artists themselves. That’s when I got pissed.  You mean to tell me Sting and Paul Simon think it’s ok to charge almost 7 bucks for a bottle of water?  Does Sting need the money for extra yoga mats?  Maybe he wants to get in even better shape so he can have tantric sex for 4 days straight instead of 3!  And does Paul Simon need the cash to put higher lifts in his shoes?  I swear, I don’t know how tall he is but on stage he looked about 4’ 10”.  At best.

All that aside, the concert was great. And if Sting is using the extra money for yoga mats, at least it’s working. He makes 60 look like it really is the new 30. You could bounce a quarter off his ass.

But whoever’s responsible for this inexcusable thirst thievery, you are the douchebag of the day.