Daily Foglifter: In Alanis Morissette’s Ironic, the only true example of irony is the title, in that it implies the song is about irony, but, in fact, contains no actual irony.
I’m really sorry about that “fact” up there. I realize it’s about a song from 1995 and what I have to say is not new, but I heard it on the radio today, and it DRIVES ME CRAZY! I realize that if you analyze the lyrics TO DEATH, you may be able to squeeze out an ironic-ish example, but the whole song is called Ironic, not One Sort of Ironic Situation and a Bunch of Other Stuff That Makes For A Bad Day. I’ve even heard the excuse that it was called Ironic because it WASN’T ironic in order to MAKE it ironic. Yeah. Whatever.
I am so ticked off right now. I had finished writing and was looking for some pictures when my stupid computer froze. I thought I was okay, because there’s a little thing at the bottom of my screen that says it saves every couple of minutes, but apparently not. I lost about an hour of work. Ugh. I hate computers.
Know what else I hate?
I hate it when film studios make the exact same movie, give it a different name and hope no one notices. The one I’m thinking of now is “The Roomate.” I saw that when it was called “Single White Female.”
I hate it when waiters and waitresses don’t write down orders. It’s not that impressive and almost guarantees that something is going to be messed up. It is especially annoying when they come back and ask you to repeat some part of it. It’s hard enough for me to keep it straight the first time. Write it down, please.
I hate the “The More You Know” spots on television. The last thing I need is an over-payed, pampered actor telling me how to raise my kids or how much water to use when I bathe. A long hot shower is often a mother’s only respite. Stop trying to make me feel guilty about it.
I hate Spam. This morning I had 50 messages in my Spam filter. 50! I don’t have any teenagers to send to Boot Camp. I don’t need a new car insurance quote every day, nor do I need a credit card to build my credit. It would be nice to have the fifty $100 Wal-Mart gift cards I win every day. If this whole marriage thing doesn’t work out, it’s nice to know I have a back-up plan–a Big and Beautiful Latino over the age of 45 is out there waiting for me at Singlesnet. In the meantime, I can put beautiful new bamboo flooring in my specially designed log cabin, add some home gym equipment, which I’ll use while eating my free pizza and doing online courses from the University of Phoenix, where I’ll earn my degree in medical transcription.
I hate being sick. A friend of mine once described his cold like this: “It feels like somebody stuffed pillows into all my sinus cavities and then hit me between the eyes with a Louisville Slugger.” That would be how I’ve felt for the last couple of days. That explains why the house is a mess, I’m yelling at the kids (more than usual) and I’m in such a nasty mood. What better way to make yourself feel better than to share the misery with everyone you know?
What do you hate? What drives you crazy? How much can you take before you let it loose on anyone who happens to be standing within three feet of you? Apparently, all it takes for me is an old stupid song playing on the radio and a computer glitch.
There are a good many real miseries in life that we cannot help smiling at, but they are the smiles that make wrinkles and not dimples.
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.