you're a pain in my ass.

other people, as a rule, are pains in the ass. let's not play it down in some sort of face-saving gesture -- it's a fact of life.

not only that, but it's a fact of life that grows in truth as i slay the dragons of the few remnants of idealistic youth i have left. (though i think they're mostly gone now as i rarely have time to shave my legs let alone deal with asinine, unrealistic crap that will only cloud my judgement.)

whether it be people on an exit ramp who stop at the stop sign and accelerate only to slam on their brakes fifteen feet later where the lanes merge, or the drunken and screaming fool i have to share an armrest with at every sporting event i've ever been to in my life, or the guy in front of me who orders a triple whopper with large fries, an oreo pie and a bucket of diet coke...it's all the same. they are all lesser beings in my secret self-centered world, and definite pains in my ass.

pretty frequently my family and friends do things that combat my efforts to spare them from this designation. it may shock you to know that calling me three times in one day without leaving a voicemail garners you an ass pain rank (how am i supposed to screen my calls if you force me call you back?!). as does making me repeat everything i say in a single conversation. and arguing with me over my choice of pizza toppings until i bite the bullet and get my own damn pie which then disappears overnight despite my only eating a mere two slices.

ass pains, all of you.

i can only hope that in some small part my habits of stopping to read nutrition information on the back of everything i touch in the grocery store before i put it in my cart and dog-earing my library books are repaying the favor.