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.