Hemorrhoidal Tendencies: The Laundry Edition

Welcome to Hemorrhoidal Tendencies, the occasional feature of my blog where I complain about the things in this world that are a pain in the ass. 

Don’t let the name of my blog fool you. I did not get the nickname “Maid” because of my love of housework. Like most normal humans, I would rather do just about anything else. There is one chore I don’t mind though, and that’s laundry. In fact, I kind of enjoy it.

Once I finally grew up into an actual bona fide adult and got my own washer and dryer, my relationship with the wash improved. No more creepy apartment building laundry dungeons or equally creepy laundromats. Yippee!

No more of this…

or this.

 

I find doing the wash soothing and satisfying. If that makes me a weirdo, so be it. I love having everything clean and fresh smelling; folded and put away. I love it when I can wash every single item of dirty clothing except the clothes on my back. If I could convince Mr. Maid that we should adopt Naked Laundry Day in our house, I could get ALL the laundry done for once. The idea of having a house completely free of any dirty clothes – well – that would be a dream come true!

Hemorrhoidal Tendencies: The Driving Edition, Volume 2

Welcome! You’ve stumbled upon Hemorrhoidal Tendencies, the occasional feature of my blog where I complain about the things in this world that are a pain in the ass.

In my first entry in Hemorrhoidal Tendencies I discussed some driving pet peeves. Every time I get behind the wheel, I realize I’ve only scratched the surface. Here are a few more things about driving (or more accurately, my fellow drivers) that can make me want to turn a pleasant Sunday drive into a scene from Death Race 2000.

You’re Not Fooling Anyone

Even the most conscientious drivers among us are guilty of breaking a driving laws on occasion. Is there really anyone out there who never goes over the speed limit? Or failed to signal a turn when no one is around? I didn’t think so.

One source of driving guilt that is probably most common is distracted driving. I myself have been known to grab a burger on my way out of town to eat while tooling down the interstate at 75 miles an hour. But over the years I have seen people put on mascara, shave, clean their ears with cotton swabs (yuck,) apply nail polish, and – I kid you not – read a textbook by the glow of the dome light.

Hemorrhoidal Tendencies: The Driving Edition

I’m happy to report that I am too mild-mannered to entertain any homicidal tendencies. I do, however, have a lot of pet peeves. Thus, several years ago I coined the term “Hemorrhoidal Tendencies,” which I first referred to in my post “Catch My Phrase.” These are the everyday things that have a tendency to be a pain in the ass (or arse, for my more polite friends across the pond.)

Since I now work from home, I no longer have the luxury of kvetching and kibitzing with my coworkers about the mundane things that drive one crazy, so I’ve been toying with creating a somewhat regular feature here on the blog.

So, without further ado, I give you my first installment of

Hemorrhoidal Tendencies: The Driving Edition

Apostro-Peeves

Last week when I wrote the first installment of Write Right Monday Night, I explained that I am not a professional grammarian (still need to find out how I can get that gig) or a teacher. I’m just a Word Nerd with a lot of pet peeves. I’m dedicating this week’s Write Right Monday Night to one of my biggest punctuation pet peeves – misplaced apostrophes.

Give “I” a Break

Welcome to the first installment of a regular feature I’m calling
Write Right Monday Night.

I’ve been called a Word Nerd, a Grammar Nazi, and the Punctuation Police. I’m not sure if they were meant as insults, and I don’t really care. A clever turn of phrase or well-crafted pun can make my day. If you use “there,” “their,” and “they’re” correctly, we can be friends. If you know who Lynne Truss is, let’s get together for a coffee or a glass of wine and talk about how we can get her canonized as a saint!

I am not a professional grammarian. I’m not even sure such a profession exists. (Note to self: look into that.) I’m just someone who

In Cheese We Trust

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Community Service.”

Dear St. Louis Community,

When I relocated from Chicago to an Illinois suburb of your fine city 16 years ago, I found something that was so foreign, so disturbing, that I can no longer stay silent. I fear you have all been brainwashed. I’m not sure who is responsible, and I don’t know that there is any hope to reverse it. I’m talking about what you have been told is “pizza.” Or, more specifically, what you refer to as the “cheese” on this “pizza.” People of St. Louis, your pizza makes me sad.