I’ll try being nicer if you try being smarter!

You know what I hate? When people who are in no way related to me, or friends with me, or have any pull in my life at all feel the need to become my own personal surgeon general.

Observe:

– One day while making a coffee in the kitchen at work, happily minding my own business, I reached over and took two sweetener packets out of the jar. I opened them and put them into my coffee. Random person who has an office here says to me, “You shouldn’t eat that. It is worse than rat poison.” It was weird, cuz I totally don’t recall asking his opinion on it. Dear random guy: until you are a 20 something female, watching her body fall apart rapidly and realizing it’ll never be what it was during her 13 years of ballet and you are grasping at straws by using sweetener instead of sugar, you do not get to tell me what to put in my bloody coffee.

– Another day in the office kitchen, I was heating up my soup. (We all know I don’t cook, it was yummy can-soup). While the soup went round and round in the microwave, I stood in front of it, patiently waiting. Some totally random person that I worked with came up and started lecturing me about how I was destroying my lady parts and how I shouldn’t do that since it’ll be harder to get pregnant. At that point, I informed her that I don’t want kids. She of course didn’t believe me. She gave me the ‘you’ll change your mind’ shpiel. I stepped closer to the microwave. If I could have humped it, I would have, just to spite her, but it was too high on the counter.

– Today I was reheating my coffee. Random tenant turns to me and says, ‘You shouldn’t reheat your coffee in that cup. It’ll leach carcinogens.’ Okay. Well, my coffee’s cold and it’s far worse for my mental health to buy a second cup of hot coffee cuz then I’ll convince myself I’m going bankrupt than it is for my physical health to run the risk of wacky chemicals coming out of the coffee. Don’t worry, the sweetener/rat poison’ll probably get to me first.

– I worked with this guy once who was obsessed with wheatgrass juice. He wrangled all my co-workers into buying it from him, since he was connected in the wheatgrass world, yo. Every week he would harass me to buy it. And every week I basically told him he was full of shit. He went so far as to randomly print out literature  about the fantasticness of wheatgrass, and how his was even more fantastic cuz it was grown in some wacky ocean soil (which he provided me literature on). He didn’t seem to understand he was wasting his time, and I was really worried as to how to get him to leave me the hell alone. Then, he got fired. Yeah, the wheatgrass didn’t help with that one. Haha. Sucker.

To all of these folks, the countless others who have done just the same thing, and those who will do the same thing in the future, let me give YOU a warning. Lecturing me is bad for your health. It will result in a kick to the back of the knees and a very cynical laugh.

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You have been warned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a coffee I need to covertly spike with with some Sugar Twin.

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Comments on: "Lecturing me is bad for your health." (14)

  1. Hahaha, that’s great; there are SO many “my two cents” strangers out there in the world; how the eff did they get that way in the first place? It intrigues me…

  2. cough. they were all right. everything they said was correct… and even if you aren’t thinking of getting pregger’s then I’ll remind you of what you already know, female hormones for the most part come from that area of the body.

    Can we all say pre-pre-pre-menopause!

    Okay, now that you see why Emerald and I argue, I just wanted to talk this moment to apologies to you for not calling. I got caught up in my Office Word tutorials, and the wine didn’t exactly help either.

    Still think you’re great tho. : )

  3. If I were you Cait, I’d watch out for that aforementioned back of the knee kick. Stop lecturing me!
    And I was wondering where your call was. I’ve been crying beside the phone for hours.
    I too think you’re great, if not a bit naggy. But that’s okay. My mom doesn’t love me, so somebody has to.

  4. I only hope that I didn’t interfere with your napping, and it’s true, it only comes from love. I’d expect you to do the same.

  5. btw Adan congratulates you on the invention of the new word fantasticness… … oxford shall hear of it forthwith.

  6. Crazy Brits and their hang-ups about our crap grammar. Pft. I don’t even know when I said fantasticness, but it certainly does sound like something I’d say.

  7. “Every week he would harass me to buy it. And every week I basically told him he was full of shit. He went so far as to randomly print out literature about the fantasticness of wheatgrass, and how his was even more fantastic cuz it was grown in some wacky ocean soil (which he provided me literature on).” – Talea

    Oxford is requiring that fantasticness be used in 5 different publications before they are willing to except the word in there dictionary.

  8. Ha! In THERE dictionary? No, my dear Cait. It is THEIR dictionary.

  9. Can you be my new BFF?
    8)
    This stuff is great. I’m visiting from swimming upstream. I’ll now have to visit more often, and I’m placing you on my blogroll.
    Sorry random things often fall out of my head and land on the keyboard…
    😉

  10. Oh fuck off. I was just waking up. Adam and I have been using fantasticness on the regular. Our mission, to get it out to the masses without appearing retarded.

    Me thinks the word is more suitable for rant style blogging then regular day to day conversation.

  11. humping the microwave LMAO too much!! love it!

  12. [quote]Hahaha, that’s great; there are SO many “my two cents” strangers out there in the world; how the eff did they get that way in the first place? It intrigues me…[/quote]

    They probably started by commenting on blogs… 😉

    It doesn’t intrigue me. It more angers me, really.

  13. stupid tags

  14. I think you’re an ignorant fuck who’ll get cancer before her time. The wheatgrass guy is laughing all the way to the local organic market…beeach.

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