Running Sometimes Makes Me Angry September 5, 2016

Filed under: Humor,Life Lessons,Uncategorized — aniederkorn @ 8:30 am
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I am not a runner. I am someone who sometimes runs and even sometimes signs up for things like 5K’s or even marathon relays, but I still don’t consider myself a runner. There are a variety of reasons for this, but it’s probably because 1) I don’t usually run on a regular basis (unless I’m training for something), and 2) I am slow as sh*t. I figure if I’m ever going to get any enjoyment out of running, I don’t want to suffer too much…hence I keep a very steady and slow pace just to avoid too much discomfort. Most days I would much rather do forty-five minutes of Insanity than run. Running is just such a constant mental battle for me: Can I keep this up? A car is coming, I’m going to speed up a bit. Seriously, how can that only be 1.5 miles? There’s another runner. Do I give him the runner’s nod, even though I clearly am not at his level? Is he mocking me? Etc. Etc.

Besides, I don’t even have a runner’s body; I have a long torso with short legs. A “regular runner’s” stride equals about four of mine. (On a side note, my body is apparently better suited to swimming. I’ve tried swimming fast. It never happens.) The truth is, running can scare the sh*t out of me. And here’s why: I never know when I’m going to have a great run or a terrible run. One day I could be feeling like a rock star and the next I have such a terrible run that I end up questioning my entire fitness level and abilities. And this makes me angry.

If you’re a runner and you enjoy it, I really envy you. I do. You most likely have impossibly long legs and weigh next to nothing. If you think I hate you for this, you’re probably right.

But seriously… if I really examine where my anger towards running comes from, I’d have to look back at my brief and totally non-illustrious personal history with running. I’ve pretty much narrowed it down to this list:

Runners Who Run BEFORE the Race

There are actually people who go on runs around the course before the race even begins. At a high speed. I am not one of those people. I need to conserve every ounce of energy I have before the race, therefore the walk from the parking lot and maybe a few half-assed stretches are all I’ve got. There is no way in hell I’m going to run a 5K before I run a 5K. Who are these show-offs? They’re runners. These people make me angry.

The Walk-Sprint People, a.k.a. Annoying Children

These are the 5K participants who have not prepared in any way for the race, so they decide to do a combination of short sprints followed by walking. They are usually clueless children who had no idea how far a 5K actually was, so they start out the race by sprinting for about a tenth of a mile, then suddenly realize holy sh*t I can’t keep this up (at least that’s what the foul-mouthed children are thinking.) So they walk. The second I catch up to them, they will inevitably start to sprint again. And then they will walk. And then I will catch up to them, and then they will sprint away from me again. We will play this little cat and mouse game almost the entire time until I finally can’t take it anymore and pass those little bastards once and for all.

Jean Shorts Guy

There’s always some scrawny guy in the race who looks like he rolled out of bed, threw on some jean shorts and some Chuck Taylors and decided, “I think I’m going to run this charity 5K today.” Even though the last year of his life consisted mostly of time spent in front of the penny slots machine, he passes me on the course and beats my time by about 10 minutes. Yup. I just got passed by a guy in jean shorts. And you wonder why running sometimes makes me lose my sh*t.

Incompetent Race Direction-Givers

One time a few college students who were supposed to direct people where to go on the course apparently missed the memo…and I went the wrong way.  (Yes, this would only happen to me. As if the actual running part was not hard enough, I now had to guess where to run.) As I passed others who were running the opposite direction, I wanted to scream at the boys: You had ONE JOB PEOPLE!! ONE JOB!! I ended up going about 3.5 or 3.6 miles instead of 3.1. Who knows. All I know is I was suffering badly. But Anne… how does this even happen, you ask? Read on.

Runners Who Run AFTER the Race

So apparently I went the wrong way during a race because I saw some other people way ahead of me…and I followed them. And the direction guys did not stop me. Seems logical, right? Well apparently not, because those people who finish the 5K so frickin’ fast then feel the need to actually go back onto the course and RUN. SOME. MORE. In the wrong direction. In any direction they feel like. So people like me see them and follow them.

Here’s a thought: Once you’re done with the race, F*cking. Stay. Off. The. Course. Want to go run some more? Fine, go knock yourself out. But don’t go back on the course. The fact that I am still struggling to finish while you are doing your “cool down” (at a pace still way more fast than more normal one) only makes me feel bad about myself. Oh, and angry. And here’s another thought: If you like to run so much and wanted to run more than a 5K, then why didn’t you sign up for the half marathon instead? These tiny distances are clearly way too easy for you, and I’d much rather avoid your condescending little looks of encouragement in my direction while you pass me during your cool down.

You’re welcome.


Despite all my embarrassing running moments,  there are actual times that running makes me feel good. And perhaps that’s why I continue to do it…to prove I can. To prove that despite my body type and overall general attitude towards running, I can actually do it if I set my mind to it. Even if I’m angry.



Last Day Abroad July 6, 2016

Filed under: Humor,Life Lessons,Travel — aniederkorn @ 10:41 pm
Tags: , , ,

The year was 1994. I had just finished a semester abroad in Toledo, Spain, followed by about three weeks traveling around Europe on the cheap. My experience was a combination of culture shock, anxiety, enlightenment, and just plain fun. My Spanish was the best it had ever been, and I ate a ton of wonderful Mediterranean food but never gained a pound. (Probably a combination of my twenty-year-old metabolism and the unprocessed, healthy diet). However, by the time late May rolled around I was more than ready to head home.

Let’s start by saying I wasn’t one of those students who came back from abroad and had to make sure everyone around them knew how “worldly” they were. I wasn’t wearing a long peasant dress and constantly working references about Spain into normal conversation just to get attention. Okay so maybe I did think, “Wow, you have no idea how sheltered you are” when I ran into a few people, but for the most part I just felt so lucky that I lived in the United States and could come back to such a wonderful country. I had missed my family and friends so much; with email in its infancy, I had to rely on good old-fashioned letters during my entire stay. I saved every one. I also came to miss the little mundane everyday activities we all took for granted. For example, when I had composed a list of things I wanted to do over the summer, one of them was actually “go grocery shopping”. (Ironic since I now absolutely hate grocery shopping unless it’s Trader Joe’s or Costco.)

Now the second thing you need to know is that I had grown up in a family that was exposed to other cultures quite often. Even though I lived in a small town, my dad was a member of the local Rotary Club that would host exchange students every year. It was common for our family to host students for a weekend here or there; when I was in high school we hosted a Japanese girl for a semester. The whole experience with Rotary was based on kindness, fellowship, and generosity. My family was not compensated for hosting these students; we willingly took them in, took them places, and bought them Christmas gifts as if they were part of the family. That was just the way it was, so I somewhat expected the same kind of treatment when I studied overseas years later. I was so wrong.

So here we are back in Toledo, Spain.My last day abroad. I got up around 5:30 a.m. in order to catch a ride with a neighbor to the bus station. That’s right; my host family had already said their goodbyes the night before and were not actually taking me to the airport about an hour away. This was definitely not the send-off I had expected, but I knew that my host family was being paid to have me in their home. Despite this, I still felt hurt that our friendship was not worth a trip to the airport.

So instead there was Carlos, clearly annoyed he had to bring me to the bus station on his way to work. I struggled to get my suitcases down all the stairs to the waiting bus. Once in Madrid, I managed to find a taxi to the airport, relieved that I was almost there. Until we actually got to the airport, that is. The taxi driver did some calculations on a piece of paper, careful to include my 2 suitcases and the carry-on, then announced that I owed him $120.


I was cranky already and now this guy is trying to rip me off? I didn’t even have $120 on me. And here we had such a nice conversation in Spanish on the ride here…MIERDA.  He tried to play nice and offered to help me with my bags as I went to find an ATM (and a police officer, which I never did find. They were probably on strike. Every other day someone was on strike in that damn country.)

Once I was robbed by the taxi driver I got into the long check-in line. As I was waiting, a chipper lady from the airline approached me and told me that the flight was oversold and she was looking for volunteers for a later flight. Since my family was driving 5-6 hours to O’Hare to meet me, this was out of the question. I smiled at her through gritted teeth and told her no while shaking my head wildly. My crazy eyes seemed to tell her: Leave. Now. 

I checked in, found my gate and settled into a chair, now more than ever just wanting to get home to my land of Taco Bell and peanut butter. But alas my hell was not over. Soon after I sat down, a forty-something Spanish man decided to lie across the chairs directly across from me. He closed his eyes and seemed to be hunkering down for a pre-flight nap. But first, he had to take care of a little business. And by business, I mean sticking his hand down his pants and scratching like he had pants full of poison oak topped with mosquito bites, then sprinkled with an allergic reaction. He was not adjusting any balls, he was not playing with himself…he was just SCRATCHING.

I looked around the gate. Uh…yeah, is anyone else seeing this? Why isn’t anyone else looking disgusted? What is wrong with you people? This guy is rubbing himself so much his balls have turned into one huge human scratch-off ticket.

I closed my eyes and dreamed about kissing the ground when I landed in D.C.

Try not to be ethnocentric. Try not to be ethnocentric. Try not to ethnocentric.

Hell, all bets were off at that point. I can still appreciate other cultures and celebrate their differences while thinking my country is the best, right? Everyone should think their own country is the best! (I can’t speak for those countries that are so corrupt and full of terrorism that people need to leave – of course in that case then yes get the hell out.) But I’m not going to apologize for loving my country. U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

Happy belated Independence Day, everyone! And may your days abroad be safe, merry and scratch-free.





Please Get This Song Out of My Head June 11, 2016

Back in August and September I was pretty much in work hell: long hours, a stressful project, lots of new things to learn. This particular work project also required spending my days in a small conference room with two to four other people at any given time, often for 10-12 hours in a row. At one point I taped a sign to the door that said, “Please do not discuss the outside world”. This, of course, was a tribute to The Simpsons (because everyone knows that’s what the sign says outside Grandpa Simpson’s retirement home.) Sadly, not many people understood my pop culture reference, nor did they think it was funny. I thought it was downright hilarious, but the conference room was in the middle of the environmental, health and safety department, and who knows what those people find funny. Dilbert cartoons about ergonomics?

Anyway, lack of contact with the outside world can certainly drive a person quite batty. I don’t know about you, but when I get to the appropriate level of battiness, my mind turns into a one-woman radio station for those with ADHD. I have no control over the genre or taste level on this station; the songs just pop into my head before I can do anything about it. Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism…or perhaps I am somewhere on the ADHD spectrum myself but never really got diagnosed? Not sure. But the results range from annoying to embarrassing to what-the-f*ck?

One particular day my mind was so active with songs that I actually started writing them down. Here’s what I came up with:

  • “Family Man” by Hall and Oates. It makes perfect sense that I would have this song in my head first thing in the morning. I am not a morning person and furthermore I’m an introvert, so the last thing I want to do when I get to work is join a room full of people. So “Leave me alone, I’m a fam-ily man” just seemed to stick, minus the whole family man thing.
  • “Let the Good Times Roll” by The Cars. Obviously I was going through a sarcastic phase here.
  • “Whooomp There It Is” by Tag Team. I think someone came in the room and said “I’m back again”, and then it all went from there, naturally.
  • “Special” by the Pretenders. I honestly don’t know how this song got in my head.
  • “I Gotta Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas. This was right after lunch when all I really wanted was a nap. But instead I had that incessant wedding celebration song in my head.
  • “Rocky Top Tennessee” by one of the kids from the classic Kenny Rogers movie “Six Pack”. Yes, I realize that this was probably sung by someone famous, but I never did know my country singers. Except for Kenny, Dolly, Loretty, and The Statler Brothers. (Do The Statlers count? I think they do.) Anyway, when I sing Rocky Top to myself, it’s always this calm, reflective version sung by this little redneck boy while Kenny Rogers the washed-up racecar driver is driving the RV. Granted that kid was a little sh*t the rest of the movie, but boy could he sing like an angel.
  • “Give Your Heart a Break” by Demi Lovato. Hmmm. I thought this was by Selena Gomez but I just Googled it and I was wrong. Anyway, it was played on the radio ALL. THE. TIME. and I could not get it out of my head.
  • “We Built This City” by Starship. One of the worst songs of all time, yet here’s an interesting fact: A few years ago I saw a concert with Lou Gramm, Eddie Money and Mickey Thomas from Starship, and Mickey was the only performer who could actually still sing and not sweat through his shirt in less than 30 seconds. You have to respect that.
  • “Man in the Mirror” by Michael Jackson. Somebody mentioned something about ‘making a change’, hence I started whispering that in my head and it morphed into this Michael Jackson song which so many people find inspirational. I don’t. If my mind’s radio station is going to give me some Michael, then it better be “PYT”.
  • “Walk Away” by The Eagles. Again I had to look this up because I though the song was called, “Seems to Me”. And I always get my 70’s bands confused, so no, I didn’t know it was The Eagles. Which is odd because growing up just about every washed-up 70’s band came to my hometown to play in a festival each summer. This was before I figured out how awesome “No Sugar Tonight” was. Ugh, doesn’t your teenage self just disgust you sometimes?
  • “Give Your Heart a Break” – again. Damnit, Sel – I mean Demi!!
  • “The Final Countdown” by Europe. At this point I must’ve seen some hope that we were wrapping up the long day, and this was the most appropriate song of course.
  • Get out of my head, Demi Lovato!!!

And the final song of the day…

  • “I Alone” by Live. Because what else captures the triumph of another long work day better than a song about placenta falling to the floor?


P.S. If I had my way, I would have preferred a recently-discovered song from Pitbull’s Globalization station (don’t judge) on my satellite radio. It’s a nifty little number featuring Jennifer Lopez saying, “I done had a long week, now it’s time to celebrate. This drink’s for you.” Sure, Pitbull was dedicating the song to all the single ladies and single mothers out there (like his mom), but I think he could make an exception for the hardworking white ladies too, right?


GPS Fail May 22, 2016

It all started out so innocently. I had booked the training in Atlanta because I was genuinely interested in the session and San Francisco was probably out of the company budget (not to mention a long way to go for a one-day seminar). I was savoring the chance to get out of the office and read on the plane, not to mention a hotel room and remote all to myself. I had heard the traffic rumors about Atlanta, but I honestly thought, “Meh, how bad can it be, right?”

I was so very wrong.

My trip actually starts out pretty well. My flight arrives early, and I’m the only person in line for my rental car place. I get to the expressway just fine, as I have to travel to the north side of Atlanta (the airport is – of course – on the far south side of the city). I’m cruising along, slightly slowing in the middle of the city but for the most part keeping a steady pace.

I get off the expressway and onto another highway, then take my exit to my hotel. This is where the trouble starts. According to my GPS, my hotel is “on the right”. That isn’t really specific enough, and I don’t see my hotel at all, but I could figure that out later. That’s because my hotel exit also featured a sign for Chick Fil A, and I was hell bent on getting some delicious chicken before hunkering down for the night. The sign had said the restaurant was maybe a half mile down the road, however it became clear that they either lied, I had missed it, or it was very cleverly hidden.

In the meantime I get completely turned around and confused and somehow end up in a mall parking lot. Right in front of Nordstrom, specifically. If you know me, you realize the irony of this situation.

But at this point I was so frustrated and bordering on hangry that even a beautiful shoe department could not deter me on my quest for chicken. I regroup, punch Chick Fil A into my phone’s GPS, and wait for my instructions. The calm voice tells me to do something like “Head Northwest”.

“Well bless her heart, she honestly thinks I know which way is Northwest,” I say in my best Southern accent.

Honestly, I’m more of a “turn right at the McDonald’s” kind of gal, so the GPS may as well have told me to “Go Table”.  I end up flipping a coin and hoping for the best. Of course by the time I realize I should have turned left instead of right, it’s too late. I have to turn around in some residential community that looks like it could house a poorer Real Housewife. Maybe Kim before she met Big Papa.

Honestly, how do people ever make a left turn around here? If there’s not a light, you’re pretty much screwed. I have no choice but to somewhat pull out in front of someone, and then I realize how painfully close I was to Chick Fil A all along and I feel like an idiot for wasting the last 30-45 minutes looking for it. But I do get my chicken and kale salad, and then I vow to walk to my training in the morning. After all, it’s less than a mile away and not worth the hassle.

As luck would have it, it’s pouring rain in the morning (of course!) so I decide to just suck it up and drive. The GPS directs me right to the building and tells me to go in the two left hand lanes. I do this and decide I will then go to the back of the building and park. Except that the lanes do not lead to the back of the building. They lead to the expressway.


Note: The GPS will just get you to the front of the building. It will not mention that you need to get into a certain lane to find the parking garage for the building. This lacking functionality completely effs up my simple commute, which has now turned into a COMPLETE NIGHTMARE.

I let the f-bombs fly as I realize I will now be late for my training, since not only is traffic crawling, but the next opportunity to get off the highway is about 5 miles down the road. So even though I left 30 minutes early to travel 1 mile, I still end up LATE for my training. I hate being the late person.

Honestly ATL people, I don’t know how you do it. I loved how you had the three C’s covered in a small radius (Chick Fil A, Container Store, Costco), but if it takes an hour to travel between them all, that kind of defeats the purpose of this beautiful trifecta, am I right?

Even as I traveled to the airport at 6 a.m. the next morning, the traffic was hectic…not because of the number of cars, but because of all the maniacs who were frantically trying to avoid the impending rush-hour. Their motto seemed to be, “Screw that. I’m going to work at 6 a.m. and driving 90 mph to avoid all you other suckers.” Fair enough.

Never again, ATL. Never. Again.




A Brief History of My Pet Peeves (Part Two: Current Day) March 7, 2016


In yesterday’s blog I gave a brief history of my pet peeves, starting with Kindergarten and ending with my thirties. Not surprisingly, all of them continue to bug and haunt me in some way, and each one is probably as childish and petty as the next. (I guess that’s why they are called pet peeves and not actual problems.)


So in other words, my current pet peeves will definitely not show how I have evolved as a person. They continue to remain insignificant, struggle-bus, pesky little critters that drive me crazy. Here they are, in no particular order or level of maturity:


Uniqlo.  When I first visited Uniqlo in New York’s SoHo several years ago, I didn’t really understand the hype. As far as I was concerned, it was just the Japanese version of Gap.  I decided to give it another try this past fall when it finally opened in Chicago, and on opening weekend no less.  My excitement at receiving a free tote bag quickly dwindled when I actually started shopping and walking around. Apparently the Uniqlo people think it’s quirky and funny to have its employees stand in the middle of each department and continuously shout out a sales pitch. One such pitch may go something like this: “PEOPLE OF CHICAGO!! ARE YOU TIRED OF FREEZING YOUR BUNS OFF THE SECOND YOU STEP OUTSIDE YOUR DOORSTEP? LOOK NO FURTHER AS OUR SUPER WARM LONG UNDERWEAR WILL PROTECT YOU FROM THE STRONGEST GALES OF THE WINDY CITY!!!!”  Now this was charming perhaps the first two times I heard it, but after a while I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and cover myself with their mountains of cheap cashmere sweaters. Plus I couldn’t get away from the overly-enthusiastic salespeople who constantly wanted to help me. When I did actually manage to try on something, I ended up breaking a sweat as I contorted my body out of a sweater that was surely meant for a fourteen-year-old Japanese supermodel and not an American white lady with muscular upper arms. In the end I was running for the exits, dodging all the Japanese-Americans with gleefully smug looks on their faces.


“Top Ten List” Internet Articles.  These are all little useless nuggets of pop culture information that I absolutely must read about ASAP.  So I click on the link, and instead of giving me a nice little list I can scroll through, I get the list one at a time. In order to get to the next item on the list, I need to keep clicking on an arrow. Except there’s one teensy problem: the page contains about four different arrows and “next buttons”, all meant to confuse and trick me. Therefore if I choose wrong, I will be taken to some completely different page whose number one purpose is to distract and scam me . From there I am stuck in a death spiral, desperately trying to get out of the scam page and return to my article…because all I really wanted to do was find out which former child stars have grown up to be really (pick one) ugly/hot/bankrupt/friends of George Clooney.


Queue Drifters. There is a recent phenomenon happening in retail, and every time it happens to me I look around the store incredulously and want to ask other shoppers, “Did you see this? Is this really happening? Does this only happen to me? Or am I in some parallel retail universe?” Maybe I’ll actually try that next time.


But anyway,  here’s what happens:  I will innocently walk up to the line next to the cash register, only to have someone behind me (in a faraway voice) say, “Excuse me, I’m in line”. This person is nowhere near the register, and is just kind of hanging with their items in hand. This is not the case of two registers open at the same time where everyone just kind of waits in the middle until one of the registers opens up. There is one line and one line only, and apparently everyone else missed the memo that the line forms at the register. This isn’t an ATM, folks – I don’t need to give the people checking out that much privacy, even though I may seriously consider their fashion choices as the clerk rings up their sale. All I ask is if you are going to stand in line, then STAND IN LINE. Commit to it. Don’t be tangentially involved in the process. Thank you.


The Balsomra Commercial. I know you’ve all seen this commercial, otherwise known as the creepiest commercial known to mankind. If not, here’s the summary: Balsomra is a sleep medication. In order to illustrate to us how it helps you stay awake and fall asleep at the right times, it has created a little video of a woman  that includes the words “Sleep” and “Wake”…only the words are in the shape of furry cat-like critters. Word pets, if you will. So as the woman goes to bed, she cuddles up to the “Sleep” word pet and shoos away the “Wake” word pet. The only thing is, the word pets are some the most terrifying, creepy creatures I’ve ever seen. Who in their right mind would want to snuggle up with these things, or even hang out with the “Wake” word pet during the day? These are the things of my nightmares, folks.


Drive-Thru Window Ineptitude. Words alone cannot describe my irritating drive-thru experiences, so I will instead give a sampling of my typical experience:



Fast Food Restaurant Recorded Voice (FF): Hi, welcome to Fast Food Farm. Would you like to try our sloppy joe grande pot pie combo?

Me: No thank you. (Although that does sound tempting, I think.)


More silence.

Uh…did the human get the microphone yet? Am I supposed to go ahead and order? Or do I wait until I hear another announcement? Normal conversation would dictate that the restaurant person should now speak and ask me for my order, since the first question was truly just asking me if I wanted to try their latest special, and I already said I didn’t. I’m so confused.


What seem like several minutes pass, and eventually I just give up and start talking.


Me: Okay I’d like a small burger meal with ketchup, pickles and mustard only. And that’s it.

FF: You want cheese on that?

Me: No, ketchup and pickles and mustard only. And that’s it.

FF: Okay did you want an ice cream cone too?

Me: No, that’s it.

FF: Oh and did you said the meal or just the sandwich?

Me: The meal.

FF: Anything else?

Me: (Shaking my head, ready to scream) No.

FF: (Several minutes later): Okay that will be $5.23. Please drive ahead.


I pull to the window to pay.


FF: Okay so you said no cheese, right?


The struggle continues to be real.




A Brief History of My Pet Peeves (Part One) March 6, 2016

Filed under: Humor,Uncategorized — aniederkorn @ 9:37 pm
Tags: , , ,

Author’s Note: This originally started out as one single blog post. However, I quickly discovered that I perhaps enjoy ranting about my pet peeves a bit a too much. Or at least to the degree that I had to split this blog into two separate entries because it got too damn long. Here is part one.


Kindergarten: I was hassled for being too shy/too quiet. That is, my kindergarten teacher constantly reminded me that I needed to play with others more and less by myself. What she didn’t understand was that a) I liked it that way, b) other kindergarteners could be quite annoying, and c) she of all people should know that a little ‘me’ time away from five-year-olds is not a bad thing. So I’m an introvert. Live with it. Oh and by the way I absolutely loved my kindergarten teacher. RIP Mrs. Berzloff!


Third Grade: Those girls who would try to make me miss while playing Double Dutch by purposely lifting the jump ropes up too high. Surely they were just jealous of my mad skills.


Seventh Grade: Hell…what didn’t bug me in seventh grade? Those were rough times. Next.


Tenth Grade: Gym class, especially the days we’d play softball and I’d hide in right field, praying to God the ball would come nowhere near me. I would do the same thing today. Oh wait no I wouldn’t…because I would NEVER voluntarily play softball. That is one of the awesome perks of being an adult, kids. No forced team sports or excessive socialization. See “Kindergarten” above.


College (All Four Years): Guys doing the ‘reverse head nod’. If you are not familiar with this move, then allow me to explain: It’s a quick, almost indistinguishable and 100% rude upwards flip of the head, used as a means of acknowledging another person.  It was most often used by certain douchebag guys whom I had just hung out with at a party the night before. I would inevitably run into them while walking to class, and all they would muster was the reverse head nod, as if they barely knew me.  Note to all these dudes:  No, I am not stalking you; I am just walking to class. Get over yourselves. And I don’t even like you that way anyway. I just thought maybe since we had fun I would say hello, but you can’t seem to muster that.


Ughdon’t you hate it when you’re twenty years too late telling people off?


My Twenties: Grown women (my co-workers) thirty-plus years my senior taking extra-long lunches, letting me answer all the phones  and telling vendors to order pizza with the works, knowing full well I am a cheese-and-meat-only kind of gal, so I couldn’t even enjoy the free lunches. (Everybody knows that once you add onions on a pizza, it’s over. You can pick them off but the pizza will still taste like f*cking onions.)


My Thirties: Retired and unemployed people going to the post office/grocery store/any urgent errand place between the hours of noon and 1:00, precisely when my work lunch hour was. Uh…you have all fricking day to run those errands, people. Between noon and 1:00 you need to stay the hell home and out of my way.


I’m going to pause now for a calm-inducing adult beverage. But please join me tomorrow as I post a brand new list of my current pet peeves. Here’s a hint: they include a Japanese chain store and a commercial for insomnia medication.



The 6 Types of House Hunters September 21, 2015

Filed under: Humor,Pop Culture — aniederkorn @ 9:20 pm
Tags: , ,

I love watching HGTV’s House Hunters. In my opinion it’s one of the most reliable television shows out there; I can always be assured that no matter what other crap is on one of my 200 other channels, House Hunters will always be there to entertain me.

However, if you watch a show long enough, it’s bound to start annoying you with all its idiosyncrasies, and House Hunters is certainly no exception. Over the years I’ve noticed that the most annoying home buyers often fall into certain categories, which I have lovingly outlined for you below. You’re welcome.

The 6 Different Types of House Hunters (totally unofficial and stereotypical, but astoundingly accurate)

  • The Overly-Cautious Parents. These are the parents who are convinced that most houses are death traps waiting to harm their offspring. No matter how innocuous a house seems, the parents will find some reason to find an obscure and often ridiculous safety hazard. Common quotes include: “Well I know that in-ground pool with deck, waterslide and spectacular landscaping is pretty cool, but what if the kids sleepwalk and fall into it?” Or, “Hmmm the slant on that hill is a bit steep. Too much of a risk when the kids are running around.” And then there is the ever popular, “The master is on the first floor and the kids’ rooms are on the second floor?” (Note: at this point I think to myself, “Perfect!”) But then the parents say: “Yeah…that is way too far away. We need to be next to the kids at all times in case something happens.” Cue my husband and me, trying to make pretend helicopter noises.

On a related note, these parents are also most likely to be huge germophobes who ironically let their cats roam freely          across kitchen countertops. And speaking of pets…

  • The Ones Who Care Most About the Dogs. These episodes start innocently enough. The couple seems very likeable and normal, they have good taste, and they both agree on what they want. As the narrator explains the things they are looking for (i.e. open concept, a modern kitchen, a large master suite), the words I dread are then delivered: “They’re also looking for a large yard for their two German Shepherds.”

As the couple starts to look at houses, my opinion of them changes very quickly. These are not just dog people;                  these are crazy-ass dog people ready to go all Parker Posey in Best in Show on you at any given moment. Not                    surprisingly, the housing decision is primarily based on the yard space for the dogs, fencing for the dogs, the proper            environment to walk the dogs, and proximity of a park to run the dogs. After looking at every house, the hunters                    mutter something like this: “Well it’s in our budget and in our desired neighborhood. Plus it’s got those stainless steel           appliances and open concept we love. Basically everything is absolutely perfect for us except the yard is a little too               small for Buster and Roscoe.” I then want to stick a fork in my eye as the couple ends up buying a fixer upper with               mustard yellow appliances and knotty pine walls.  But at least the yard is big enough for the damn dogs.

  • The Wealthy Empty-Nesters Who Are “Downsizing”. Usually he’s some corporate executive or Wall Street maverick, and she’s never had a job outside the home. Now that all their kids are gone, they decide that maybe the 8000 square foot mansion in Westchester is a bit too large for just the two of them. Their plan is to “downsize” to 3500 square feet. As soon as they begin the hunt, she will continue to complain that the houses are way too small, and he will be overly concerned with the price even though they already own condos in Palm Beach and Aspen. They settle on something around 5000 square feet, “for when the kids come to visit.”
  • The Couple with Polar Opposite Tastes. This one can be summed up pretty quickly. For example: His tastes are modern and she loves Victorian style. You know from the start that dude can kiss his chances of a minimalist, neutral palette goodbye. It’s going to be toile and lace for that poor guy for the rest of his life. The closing shot is a quote from the dejected husband who tries his best to smile and say, “Well, it was most important that she was happy.”
  • The Couple Who Want a House “In Their Current Neighborhood”. This couple is also commonly found on HGTV’s Love It or List It. It’s usually a family who has outgrown its current home due to all the kids’ crap: i.e., the dining room has been overtaken by giant plastic puzzles pieces, a pretend kitchen set, a fort, and several makeshift tunnels. The wish list for their new home is impossibly long, but it most likely contains the following: 1) A bedroom for each child, 2) A playroom for the kids, 3) a craft area for Mom, 4) a Man Cave for Dad, and 5) the location absolutely must be in their same neighborhood.

Is it just me, or isn’t it hard enough to simply find a house you love within your budget? What are the chances that                house is going to be in your same neighborhood?

“Little to none, you completely unreasonable hoarders”, I want to tell them.  As is the case with Love It or List It, once            a decorator bulldozes all their crap into a nearby storage unit, the couple realizes they are going to stay in their same          house.

  • The “Mystery Money” Couple. The intro goes something like this: Robin and Josh are twenty-something newlyweds looking for a starter home. Robin is a social worker while Josh is finishing up his graduate degree in Russian Literature. They both want a colonial within easy commuting distance to the university, while still staying within their budget of $450,000.

        Say what?

         In other words, mommy and daddy are fitting the bill, therefore delaying the couple’s entry in the “real world” until they          are well into their mid-thirties, if not longer.

At this point I usually turn the channel in disgust. The Simpsons have got to be on somewhere.