WTF Wednesday: Sometimes I’m a Basic B*tch

The Fatty is back!

It’s been a stressful start to the new school year, but that’s how it always is, so I’ve decided to make my blog-which is something I highly enjoy- a priority regardless of the stress I feel every.single.damn.day.

That’s life, man. We’re all stressed. I might as well make this crazy, awesome, shitty, whirlwind of what-the-fuck enjoyable by doing what I enjoy. That should be a no-brainer, but I have the Dumbs a lot.

I’d like to start with bringing WTF Wednesday back to its former glory*. I realized this morning that I can write a WTF Wednesday post that isn’t 8,000 words long. Not only will this be a more reasonable aspiration, ya’ll will appreciate reading the Facebook version as opposed to the novel.

Speaking of Facebook, that’s where I first shared this Worry Bout Yo Self tale.

So, if you’re a Facebook, sorry, you’ll be seeing this again. For your reading pleasure and ease, I’ve revised and added to the original story.

So, for the return of WTF Wednesday- the Mind Your Own Business Captain Obvious story:

Last Friday, on my way to get my weekly treat of sugar coffee and whatever carb bomb that totally wrecks any semblance of eating healthy I did all week, I stopped at the ATM to get my “weekend money”.

The ATM that I go to on the way to Starbucks is in a weird alley-type street. It’s between a two-way street and a one-way street.

The one-way street I call The Street That Takes You to Starbucks, because I have not one fucking iota what it’s called.

(If quizzed, I probably know very little street names in the city I was born and raised in. This is because all I need to know is if it takes me to Target or somewhere else mind-numbingly how-did-I-just-spend-300-hundred-dollars awesome.)

So, after using the ATM, I almost always go to Starbucks. It’s like my reward for doing adult things. Depositing and withdrawing money from an ATM is a really hard adult task, obviously.

The issue with this is that the Street That Takes You to Starbucks is one way the wrong way if you want to get to the Starbucks drive thru from said ATM.

Well, it’s actually not really a problem at all, because I make that one-way street my bitch and go down it any damn way I want, so fucking there.

Well, really, I’m not a rule-breaking badass at all, because I drive the wrong way on the street for precisely three seconds as I pull out from the Street the ATM Is On and then almost immediately into the drive thru. I’m 0% gangster.

I’m not a complete dumbass, so if a car is coming, I wait. If a car isn’t coming, I pull out and in really quick (that’s what he said) and all is right again with the world.

Further evidence for why this isn’t a big deal at all:

1. Whenever this occurs it’s ungodly hour o’clock

2. There’s never any cars coming

3. I drive the wrong way for precisely THREE FEET

On this particular Friday, Captain Street That Takes You to Starbucks Patrol in his Tesla was pulling off of the street into an underground parking lot that’s right next to the Starbucks. As I was sitting, waiting for him to pass or pull in (because I’m not a dumbass- see above), he was staring at me out of his open window.

I stared right back.

He continued to stare at me as he was driving down into the parking garage and as I started onto the street towards the entrance to the drive thru.

I’d like to take this moment to point out that his head was almost completely turned around, much like in the Exorcist and his mouth was agape, all while driving into the garage.

As he was not even looking at where he was going, he yelled, “OMG! ONE WAY STREET!”

He yelled this as if I were entering an eight lane freeway where all the cars are going 90 MPH and I’m going the wrong way, which was a HUGE exaggeration, as I was entering a lonely, empty street at 6:30 in the fucking morning.

Matching his intensity exactly, I yelled back, “OMG! I KNOW! I’M GOING TO STARBUCKS!”

So emphatically did I yell, that my basic bitch homeless person bun bounced with every over-enunciated word, especially on the word ‘Starbucks’.

The BEST definition I’ve ever read on Urban Dictionary. It even included the Starbucks. OMG.

Had I already gone through the drive thru, this would have been my face EXACTLY.

I sounded like the most ridiculous basic bitch ever. I really should have added “…to get my PSL and pumpkin scone, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!” for the full effect.

But, Captain Quiet Street With Nobody On It At 6:30 AM Patrol should really have minded his own damn business.

Let basic bitches be.

Do not get between a B.B. and her PSL. DO.NOT.

*I’m not quite sure it was really ever glorious, but whatevs.

Don’t Be *That* Person On the Plane

People are really, really annoying. There’s no doubt about it. Despite my desire to maintain the overly sunshine-and-rainbow delusion that all people are lovely individuals who almost never clip their toenails in public, it’s just not reality.

Chances are, the majority of the people you have encountered and will encounter on a plane have been perfectly normal people who don’t talk to you nonstop on a nonstop from San Francisco to Paris. Most likely they’ve kept their mouth breathing to a minimum, and they didn’t seem to ooze odors from every orifice. Most likely.

Sometimes, you’re not so lucky. Sometimes you get Del Griffith as a seat partner.

Behold, four airplane travel types that no one likes (please don’t be any of these people):

1. The Cougher

Covering your mouth when you cough or sneeze is covered in Kindergarten and is practically a curriculum standard. However, some people don’t retain this information into adulthood.

When you’re on a plane, it’s already bad enough that you’re confined in a space that’s 50% recycled air. It’s perfectly ghastly and inexcusable that a grown adult chooses to blast their germ-riddled spittle into the air and onto every surface around them in such a confined space.

Source

Sharing is NOT caring on an airplane.

Cover your fucking mouth like the civilized human you are pretending to be with your Ann Taylor pant suit.

And, for your convenience:

Source

2. The Farter

OK. Lemme be real a minute. We all have to fart. In fact, I’ve heard holding in your farts can be hazardous to your health. So, it’s unreasonable to expect anyone and everyone to cease farting the entire length of their flight (especially when you’re flying halfway around the world on a 9+ hour flight).

However, if after your test fart (the little baby toot you let out to test the waters, er-air) you’re met with something that could melt the fuselage, I hate to break it to you, you’re gonna have to hold those in.

When you have one of those metal melting farts, this better be you.

Source

Some things you can do to prevent excess gas during your flight are:

  • Eat smaller portions the day before and immediately leading up to your flight
  • Take Beano or other gas-reducer
  • Avoid greasy, fattening foods, as well as wheat, lactose, broccoli, asparagus, cabbage, Brussel sprouts, lentils, beans, carbonated soft drinks, onions, pears, and all other foods
  • Essentially, eat NOTHING before a flight

Really, it’s for the common good.

There are no private trees to fart behind on a plane. I repeat: THERE IS NO WHERE TO FART (other than the bathroom, but do you really want to be the person who destroys the bathroom on a long flight? No, you don’t).

3. The What Was That(er)

Farts aren’t always the worst thing that can come out of someone sitting next to you on a plane.

Sometimes, your next door neighbor sounds like they are working on an almighty hair ball. Sometimes, your seat partner coughs up mucus and spits it out in their barf bag. Sometimes, people moan/whisper/belch/mouth breathe/mumble/groan without end or for any discernible reason.

My favorite idiot. This was on a bus, but you get the idea.

No one wants to listen to the plethora of noises your body makes. If you can’t help it and your repetitive throat clearing is a verifiable tic, I feel for you and you’re excused.

But, if you can hold in your whispered devil worshipping incantations or that weird belch/cough thing, quit being an annoying asshole already. Please and thank you.

My favorite annoying asshole.

Source

4. The Groomer

In case anyone here wasn’t already aware, it’s not proper etiquette to do any sort of extreme grooming in your seat on the plane. Basic freshening up, like running a brush through your hair, applying a covert swipe of deodorant, or wiping your greasy face down with a face wipe can all be tolerated.

What should never be tolerated, however, is:

  • Clipping your finger or toe nails
  • Filing your finger or toe nails
  • Cleaning wax out of your ears (especially when you place your wax-coated q-tips on the tray table)
  • Popping zits or squeezing black heads out of the end of your nose
  • Scratching excessively anywhere below the belt
  • Picking crusted crap out from under your long, brown finger nails

This last one I actually had to endure during a 9 hour flight from Vancouver to London. A man sat down in the aisle seat next to my boyfriend, settled himself in his spot, and then proceeded to pick his long, poop brown nails the ENTIRE FLIGHT.

It was a real test of my gag reflex not to barf all over him.

If you have a gross habit that is not exactly socially acceptable behavior, IT DOESN’T BELONG ON AN AIRPLANE WHERE YOU ARE INCHES AWAY FROM A STRANGER FOR HOURS ON END.

*Bonus* When I was *that* person on the plane

Sometimes, we really have no intention of being *that* person, but it just happens.

Years ago, on a domestic flight with my then-boyfriend, I tried an Airborne immune supplement for the first time. Both my boyfriend and I had no idea how to take one. We popped them into our mouths, feeling pretty smart and proactive about our health.

Just seconds later, we discovered our horrific mistake as our mouths ballooned with ever-growing fizz. Pretty quickly, we were literally frothing at the mouth.

The fizz was growing ever bigger and we both tried to swallow it down, hoping to minimize the embarrassing mistake we had made. Instead of swallowing it all quickly and silently, because the fizz was coming and coming with no end in sight, we both gagged and coughed and spit as orange-tinged froth overflowed and spilled down over our chins and all over our clothes.

The people next to us and across the aisle looked at us, shocked and disgusted, as we literally looked rabid.

The boyfriend was irate that I didn’t read the packaging and didn’t know you were supposed to put the tablet in a bottled water to dissolve before ingesting. Oops.

So, even without trying, one can be shocking, disgusting, and annoying.

If we all just read label directions more thoroughly, tried breathing through our noses more, and picked the dried crap out of our nails before getting on the plane, air travel would be so much more enjoyable.

What annoys you the most about the people you have to share a plane with? Let me know in the comments.

Ándale, Asshole

Image courtesy of inonit.com

Yesterday, I went to Qdoba. It’s like Chipotle without the violent diarrhea. Qdoba is my go-to when I am in the mood for a burrito the size of my head. And, queso. Mmmmmmm queso. 

Like any professional fatty, I always know exactly what I want. I could order my burrito in a coma. 

Flour tortilla 

White rice 

Black beans

Chicken 

Grilled veggies (because then all the other calories don’t count)

Queso (*whispering* Can I have just a tiny bit more? But, can you make it look like an accident?)

Cheese 

Sour cream 

Bag of tortilla chips 

I thought everyone was like me when it came to these kinds of places. You go once, create a combination of over-salted, high calorie goodness, and just like that your sweet spot combo is forever etched into your cellulite, like a pleasure map. Then, every single time after it’s exactly what you get, down to the accidental extra queso scoop. 

Amiright? 

Then, why-please, Lord, tell me why-do people still act a damn fool when there are 80 people waiting in line behind them for their burrito fix?

 Why? 

This stupid, stupid amateur in front of me in line tonight almost got my brand new striped Toms permanently lodged into her gaping ummmmm-I-don’t-know-yet-hole. 

People, do not, I repeat, DO NOT go to a fine establishment like Qdoba unprepared. If you aren’t sure if you want chicken or pork and you treat the available options like a life or death decision, your ass can go to a sit-down affair where you don’t make crazy, hungry fatties wait for you to decide if you want fucking sour cream or not.

I am absolutely fucking convinced there are people put on this planet for the sole purpose of being complete ego-centric jack-offs so that people get high blood pressure and the pharmaceutical companies and doctors are guaranteed a fat, consistent paycheck. 

I think the mental health field is in on it too. 

This is the only explanation for why someone would take 20 minutes to order one burrito at Qdoba, like it’s a funny game. This chick knew she was being an asshole.

Lord, please give me the strength, patience, and resilience to deal with these unaware, selfish people when I’m dangerously-and when I say dangerously, I mean, I almost did murder-hangry. 

Please don’t hold this fatty up, playing like you don’t know what pork tastes like, because you don’t want to be between me and a burrito. 

You do not.