I Can Even Hate on Surfing

The following is a text conversation with my friend Ryan about going surfing tomorrow:

Ryan: Are you down for some early morning surf tomorrow? Pete and I are going for sure.

Court: The high tide at 8:45am is going to kill it. It's going to be really high. It was awesome today around 2pm.

Ryan: I have to be home at 12 noon. So is there anywhere we can go early?

Court: It'll be good all over. It's going to be crowded everywhere. It'll still be fun but I bet tons of people everywhere.

Ryan: Did I just text a rain cloud? Are you going with us or not?

Court: I hate you. When? Where?

WORD

No, Microsoft Word, I don't want your lousy help when making a makeshift outline. I want to put roman numerals where I want them. I want to indent as much or as little as I want. I don't need your input, nor do I want you to take control of my document--ever.

Vons and their stupid Vons Club Card

It's been a quite a while since my last post. There's simply no excuse for it and plenty of hating going on. What pushed me over the edge today? A trip to my local grocery store.

Vons. I hate Vons. I hate their Club Card. I hate all club cards. All of them. How about this: not RIPPING ME OFF because I don't want to carry around one of your stupid cards? How about having a Club Card at the check out counter for when my phone number (that I submitted THREE MONTHS AGO) doesn't register that the clerk can just scan for me? Is that too much to ask? Apparently it is because the lame clerk (who I see all the time) wouldn't just give me a card (she was kind enough to give me another application though) and asked the guy in line behind me to type in his phone number. You'd think I was asking her for a kidney or something when I asked if she could just give me a card or simply swipe one. I'm done with you, Vons. Done.

I got an idea for you, Vons. Why don't you change your slogan to Vons: Rip offs for LIFE.

Easter Croquet

I played croquet yesterday and came in last place. I hate croquet. But more importantly, I hate playing croquet with old men (a friend's dad participated) who look all sweet, kind and innocent (like this "nice old man" to the left) but who turn out to take their senior citizenship and pull one over on you.





I attribute my loss to my second turn when I had the opportunity to launch this old man's ball into outer space but took pity on him because he, well, he looked like he could use a break. WRONG. The next time around he didn't even think twice about roqueting my ball down the hill and way out of play. It was a hit from which I never recovered. Lesson taken from this: don't trust "nice old men" and I can't wait to be old and stick it to people because your old age engenders sympathy.

From Mother, with Guilt

So last Sunday at about 3pm the lower right quadrant of my stomach area started hurting. Hurting enough that I laid in the fetal position for the remainder of the day and a continued so for a good portion of Monday. Fun. By the time Tuesday rolled around, I was feeling better but still somewhat discomforted by the pain. At that point, I made the mistake of telling my mom I was sick with what my roommate, a lady friend of mine and a few others with limited to no medical experience diagnosed as appendicitis. That was a mistake.

I tried with no success to tell her that I did not believe that I had appendicitis. I figured that if I had had appendicitis my symptoms would have probably been much worse than what they were and at that point I was going to wait it out. MISTAKE. Shortly after explaining that I wasn't going to go to the doctor, she hung up on me. Thanks, mom. Soon after that, I get a call from my sister (telling me to go to the Dr), and two of my brother in laws inquiring as to my health.

On Wednesday I still haven't made a Dr. appointment and my mom calls to tell me, "you can go and have your appendix out and spend one day in the hospital. Or you can wait for it to burst and spend 30 days in the hospital." Scare tactics...

Then on Thursday, I get this email, "On another note: I am preparing a bed for you because I see in my crystal ball that you will be returning VERY SOON.....for home nursing by mother to recover from a burst appendix. It will take 6 months to one year and after you recover (if) you will be assigned to a family ward. I JUST CAN'T come to San Diego and be away from my cat and my personal computer. So just bear that in mind while you're postponing your Dr. visit. Love and kisses from your concerned mother." I am speechless.

I bet you're all dying to know how this turned out. I'll tell you. It turned out exactly how I thought it would turn out. I went to the lousy Dr. on Friday only to be told that I don't have appendicitis but they don't know exactly what is causing the pain in the lower right quadrant. I had to pay $250 (high deductible insurance) for that one. Awesome. Thanks, mom. I love you too.

The Mailbox

Walked to the mailbox today and for some reason I gave the junk mail two seconds of my time, at which point I noticed the title on the post that said, "MONEY MAILER 'Like Getting Money in Your Mailbox.'"

That's funny. The last time I checked I didn't take money out of my mailbox and IMMEDIATELY throw it into the garbage can like I would have normally done with this "money mailer" had I not been so upset by its title that I had to take a photo of it first and make a posting.

Pick Your Battles

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who do their dishes before they eat and those who do them after. Or a new twist on this saying could be, there are two kinds of people in this world: those who get their dishes from the drying rack before they eat and those who get them from their storage space/cupboard. It turns out that for the most part my roommates are the former. After putting the dishes away every day I decided I would just stack them as high as I could and see if I could create a Tower of Babel out of dishes that would reach the heavens. But my real plan was to stack them so high that getting a dish from the bottom of the pile would prove difficult enough that it might motivate someone to put them away.

As I was taking this picture my roommate walked in and asked what I was doing. I told him of my plan and he said,"you're wasting your time." Later that afternoon my language was confounded for trying to build a tower to heaven made of dishes and then I needed a plate from the bottom of the pile and ended up putting them all away. Grrrrrr.