Did I just nickname my blog?

Leaves a bad taste in my mouth, too.

So many good and positive things have happened lately- the kind of stuff that makes me really dig my life and reflect on how blessed we all truly are.

Also.

There's been a slooowly growing list of minor irritations that, if left unchecked, could level the entire north side of Chicago.

This is that list.

Politics:
I'm just kidding.
While there certainly are plenty o' things to find a) hilarious, b) sad, or c) infuriating in the current political arena...that is NOT the job (nor point) of the Loll Blog. L'blog? LoBlo? I like LoBlo.
Besides, I know so many other folks who can (and will) give those shenanigans their proper [written] due. I'd instead like to focus my extremely narrow attentions on-

Unsubscribing:
Why must I wait ten business days to stop receiving spam email correspondence? Really, ten days? You have no problem hammering out insignificant updates of things for which I do not recall signing up and yet no one's manning the store? Ten days? Are you on safari? Take me off of your list. I could WALK there in ten days.

Incorrect Decorations:
Yes, I realize that none of this is groundbreaking...but come on. Costco is decorating for Christmas at the end of September? Real Simple magazine's Thanksgiving issue is 3/4 Christmas ideas, tips, gifts and budgeting? Why hasn't this been properly dealt with yet? Christmas season= the day after Thanksgiving to the day before New Year's Eve. (There. It's been decided.)

It gets earlier and earlier each year. I have a very real fear of this pre-sale stuff going back and back until it actually gets right back on track for the actual holiday season. Only catch is: you're a year too early. Then what?

Improper Bummage:
Seriously- leggings are not legit pantsware. Use this handy dandy rule of thumb: if you would not wear tights that revealed as much, do not ask things of your leggings that it can not deliver. Again, leggings= really thick tights. Not pants. If I must see your spandex-clad bum, you'd better be: a) leading the Peloton in the Tour de France, or b) on the 1996 Olympic women's gymnastics team. (Okay, it could be any gymnastics team I suppose- but weren't they incredible? Oh, Kerri Strug.)

To reiterate: wearing leggings with an indecent mini skirt does not lengthen the skirt nor affect the acceptability therein. It simply makes your legs a different [loose-moraled] color.

Being A Terrible Person, i.e. Do Not Do This To Me:
Let's say, hypothetically, that I'm patiently waiting for a parking spot at a popular children's sporting venue. (The typical sports class generally has seven or eight kids. About six classes are running simultaneously. The parking lots allows for- oh, nine parked cars.) There are painted arrows that helpfully guide the direction of In and Out, This Way and That, Stay On the Right, etc., all kinds of good things that validly licensed American drivers [should] know. And let's pretend that I left ten minutes early to queue up for this mind-destroying melee of really nice cars...and mine. And, oh, let's just go ahead and admit that I was second in line. And saw two cars pull out and leave before the class even started- which is crazy unheard of- and perhaps even that my panicked, hardened and adrenalined heart got kinda excited.

And so the first car- the one ahead of me- parked. And I wished them well. Then, being the good-hearted, law-abiding citizen that I am, I allowed them to straighten their car. After all, my time wasn't any more or less valuable than theirs, am I right? And what would I have to show for a dinged-up fender other than Loud Words with someone to whom I may or may not be legally wed?

But as I turned the corner to take my rightful spot, a car zipped in through the exit and parked in it. Poorly. As I sat there, mouth agape, giving her the universal sign for Are you kidding me, she flipped (flipped!) her hair at me, scoffed and pointed at her kids and then the door as if to say I have to go inside for a class.


OH MY GOD, BY ALL MEANS. You're here for a CLASS? Don't mind me- just huffing some carbon monoxide and singing You Are My Sunshine to quell the kiddos (that do not rank quite as highly as yours, obvie) for the eleventieth time.

Enjoy your latte.

And the one and a half spots you've somehow managed to find and squander.

I'll wait. And remember.

(I feel much better now...my neighborhood is safe from my rage. But seriously-)

I'll remember.