I Can't
I can't...
deal when ex-boyfriends have the intellectual capacity of a toddler's who's been dropped on its head 8 times and has the audacity to say something to like of:
"You should meet my new girlfriend. You guys would really get along."
WHERE DO YOU GET OFF? On her face, I hope. I don't care how amicably we ended our relationship or if we dated for two weeks before calling it quits, this is never an OK phrase to state to me. You're a damn fool and, just so you know, I WILL HATE EVERY NEW GIRLFRIEND EVER BASED OFF PRINCIPLE ALONE, SIR.
I can't...
to this day understand the way doctor's waiting rooms operate. Larry David tried so hard to tackle this enormous, universal issue on Curb, but to no avail.
http://youtu.be/nIVYdd60eNs?t=4m16s
I mean, what's the point in setting an appointment time, getting there 10 minutes before to "fill out paperwork," and then having to wait 20 minutes past your appointment time to even be seen?! Where is the scheduling going wrong here? If we find where the first break in the system occurs, we can work our way backwards. We can do this - together.
I can't...
believe that PA systems aren't allowed in cars. I mean think about it - if you had a PA system for every time you tried to scream obscenities at the jackass next to you driving like a moron, that thing would get a lot of wear. Plus, being able to basically broadcast your irrational traffic emotions to all of those within 200 ft of you is WAY safer than going out of your way to try and scream out the window or flip the bird, all the while drifting in and out of lanes.
"HEY. PAY ATTENTION AND STOP LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE. NO ONE'S TEXTING."
"IT'S GREEN, YOU FUCK! CAR RIDES ARE NOT NAP TIME FOR THE DRIVER, YOU STUPID PIECE OF WORTHLESS SHIT!"
"OH YEAHHHHH. COME RIGGGGGHT OVER. PLEASE. LEMME MAKE ROOM FOR YOU AT THE LAST MINUTE HERE. CAN I GET YOU ANYTHING ELSE? A SNACK? CONDOMS? LET ME KNOW!"
Oh all the joy it would bring to the daily commute, doncha think?
I can't...
be as happy as I normally would be when I see someone's Halloween decorations go up like the week before Halloween. What have you been doing, dude? Sitting on your ass, waiting for the perfect time to be festive? Some of us got festive mid-September. The normal ones got festive beginning of October. So, had you been on your game a few weeks ago, I would really love those cute light-up scarecrows hanging from your balcony and the whicker basket of fake pumpkins and ghords sitting outside your door a lot more - but no. They've lost some of their luster to me and I am hurt, outraged, and overly dramatic.
I can't...
lie to you and tell you I hate the musty pretzel smell my dog creates sometimes from being bundled up under all my covers at night. Because I don't. In fact, I love it. (yeah, you read that right: musty pretzel smell. That's the best way I can describe it. Like salty goodness mixed with some clothes that have been sitting in the attic for a while. We have morning breath, she has musty pretzel morning body smell).
I can't...
believe that I've never come within a 200 yard vicinity of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter! But I can and I plan to keep it that way.
http://youtu.be/rY4WKVnxj1k
I can't...
tell you how much better my everyday would be if bagels were 15 calories and I could start every morning with one of those delicious, succulent, perfect pieces of food. In college, on the most hungover of days ("oh you mean EVERYDAY?" said the fratastic douchebag standing in the corner), my friends and I would go to the only Einstein's in town and feast like pre-metabolic system failure queens. I'd down two bagels in a sitting and GUESS WHAT? Nothing would happen except happiness and satisfaction.
I can't...
handle the online articles my own father has emailed to me over the past week. In order:
"Why Your Thong May Be Bad For Your Health" - Huffington Post
"These 21 Things Make You More Attractive To Potential Love Interests" - Huffington Post
"5 Myths About Washing Your Face" - WSJ.com
To me, his message is loud and clear. Hurtful? Yes. Helpful? The first and third articles, maybe. The second one, not at all. Actually, I'm pretty sure that second one was written for completely unaware and socially inept humans.
I can't...
believe some of the shit I hear out of my bedroom window in the morning ever since I've been keeping my windows open and my A/C turned completely off. Like, just now, I heard (who I'm assuming to be) a c**ty dog owner just berate her dog like it's a fucking child. Here's my (slightly exaggerated) impression:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAKOiCOBJ8I&feature=youtu.be
For the record, my dog's tail started wagging so hard when I was recording that. She likes it rough, I guess.
I can't...
for a number of reasons that I don't need to get into:
I promise you this: If this cake were to EVER make an appearance at, not just my own baby shower (in the far, far, far, far, far x 20 future), but anyone else's that I happened to be attending, there will be serious hell to pay. I'm willing to bet that, in that one instance, I would set the record for the most consecutive "I can'ts" in a row. It'd be like spitfire. "ICANTICANTICANTICANTICANTICANT. I CAN'T!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The only reason this cake should ever be anywhere is if the mom-to-be herself requested it. Then, at the point, you need to seriously question why you're friends with this woman and run the other direction.
I can't...
write any longer. I got up early as fuck (7:28am) to write this for my reading audience, and now I must make myself presentable for my paying day job. Oh, day jobs. You bitches.
Love and vagina cakes, y'all.
xox,
emma
