Pissing off Kelly

Cell phones in bathrooms—Cell phones have been addressed in a previous gripe. I have a particular gripe about the uses of these cell phones. NO ONE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU WHILE YOU PEE. Yes, I said it. You’re in the public toilet, turn off the damn phone. And even if YOU don’t care whether you’re peeing is being picked up and broadcast out on sound waves, I care if mine is. And while smello-phone isn’t invented yet, the grunting and groaning of the poor sod next to you doesn’t need to be heard either.

I have been unfortunate enough to have taken a call as the agent on the phone took his pee. And flushed. Then laughed and said, “Oh, you caught me.” Yes. I did catch you, yay for me. What the hell are you thinking, calling me at my job so I could hear you pee as though it’s an elevator symphony? Are you mad? Keep your private activities private, man!

Fat suits—There is a recent trend among talk shows. The idea is to dress the host or some production manager in a fat suit, apply appropriate fat makeup (cause all fatties apparently apply makeup the same) and slip their plus sized bodies into sweats (cause again, all fatties only ever wear sweats as we care not for what people see—low self esteem does this to all and sundry. Do not argue I’m getting started). Then they traipse around town for a few hours, riding buses, trains, trying to get into clubs or go shopping. Sometimes they employ a whine to their voices (because yes, we all whine too) while they ask for directions, the time, a date, or pocket lint.

Then on camera they cry at the unfairness of it all. “Oh I used to be so beautiful and men bought me (insert diamonds, cars, trips to Maui, silk umbrellas here) and now they won’t *sniff* even *sniff, sniff* look at me.” I hate this posing simian. Later on, the talk show host laments over the last acceptable bias in our culture. How the media portrays the sad percentage of large individuals while the radio makes fun.

We all know it’s a bias. Those of us who don’t spend mere hours in a fat suit but entire lives in one, have lived it and usually don’t spend hours bawling our eyes out every day. We are heavy but we aren’t pathetic. We have trouble finding stylish clothes but if we wanted to wear sweats that would be okay. Make up is personal and whining optional. But don’t freakin’ portray all fat Americans as pathetic. We aren’t.

We hold jobs. We have families and friends who love us. We roll our eyes at your stereo-types. And yes, we have ears too. WE HEAR YOU! We aren’t desperate and while we don’t appreciate being made fun of we know you’re doing it. So don’t pander down, or act surprised when you're caught. Don’t pretend you understand my life after a few hours in makeup and video technology. You’ll never know until you’re actually there. Asshats.

Chewing with mouth open—If we chance to be out together enjoying a meal kindly keep your food in your mouth and away from the viewing public. Don’t want to see it. Your luscious smacking and spittle reducing your food into masticated mush is of no interest to me. I don’t want to see it, I certainly don’t want to hear it. Were you raised in a barn?

And on this note, if you are chewing gum or sucking a cough drop DO NOT make sucking noises, PLEASE? I understand you are enjoying your strepsels but kindly keep it to yourself.

Which brings me to nose blowing. We all have occasion to fight the hassles of a runny nose. Some have to do so with more regularity than others due to allergies. I sympathize and completely understand your nose blowing necessities. But after you have blown your brains into your tissue, do you have to look at it? Do you? Did you produce crown jewels that you must inspect? “Hey here’s a pearl and a giant ruby. I’m rich.”

I have seen the nose blowing maneuver regularly. Take a look next time someone blows. Did they peek? Are they proud of what has come out? A smug grin of pleasure? Ew. Just, EW.

Mothering is another one for me. I’m an adult. I do not require mothering so don’t. I know I look young and naïve and perhaps I am, but you lived your freaking life so don’t tell me how to live mine. Do not offer me advice on raising children, on keeping my husband happy, on how to lose weight when you only ever lost five pounds at most. Do NOT mistake the doe eyed look I shoot your way as blissful ignorance. Yes, I do this look very well because it shuts you up unless you are the mothering sort, then I’m screwed.

Don’t pat me on the hand or scold me for not thinking the way you do, I don’t want to hear it. Just piss off and leave me alone. I have a mother and even she’s gotten the message.

~Kelly~