Let me start by saying that graduate school applications...how to put this nicely...suck. Unfortunately, I'm way too happy doing them to complain beyond that, so instead I'm going to make a brief list of other things that suck, yet I love too much to complain about.

1. My sister.
She uses up all of the hot water in the morning before I get a chance to shower and likes to yell at me about my dirty dishes.

I can't complain about her because she never ever deletes the shows I have on the DVR, and she lets me eat her Parmesan goldfish crackers even after complaining about how expensive they are.

2. Krispy Kreme Donuts
I'm not a fan of sweets in general, and just the thought of fried dough covered in sugary glaze makes my stomach turn.

I can't complain about it because I recently (meaning a literal 3 hours ago) discovered the Krispy Kreme snack cup. If you haven't seen these yet, you are missing out. A drink cup full of donut holes for the 'donut lover on the go!' I chose an assorted blend of holes (yeah yeah, sounds dirty, oh so funny), and even though I'm currently sick to my stomach, the novelty won me over.

3. Karaoke
Those of you who know me know that I'm 100% tone deaf, sound a little like Minnie Mouse when I sing, and despise Karaoke in general.

I can't complain about it because two nights ago, little sister introduced me to the BEST...CHANNEL...EVER: Karaoke On Demand. ON DEMAND. That means whenever the F I want! Despite my hatred, I've spent the past two mornings getting ready for work while singing "U Can't Touch This," and not too shabbily either. If I could just figure out the moves...

FYI, if the first thing I see when I open your web site is "Loading" and/or some little loading animation, I'm closing your site ASAP. I won't wait for it to load. I don't care what comes next. You're done. The only possible way that you could upset me more is if you blare music at me while you expect me to wait for your crap to be ready. I'm at your site to get information, not to watch your designer show off. By all means, make your site attractive, but let's not go overboard. Capiche?

For those of you on the edge of your seats waiting for a life insurance update, the moment is here. I spoke with a financial adviser yesterday whose company also does insurance. I apparently didn't get it all out of my system here, because I found myself unexplainably bitching to her about my life insurance rates. She said her company doesn't charge higher rates for asthma unless you're on like 3 or more prescriptions. Bastards! I knew I was getting screwed!! My insurance agent can thank Ms. Financial Adviser for the string of annoying emails from me in what could be a considered a lame attempt to haggle down my rates. Would it kill them to give me some sort of hope that one day maybe I won't be in this ridiculous health group? Come on people. That's all I'm asking for here.

Lucky for all of us I don't have a whole lot to say about the Oscars considering I only watched about 20 minutes, but allow me to make two comments.
1. Did nobody tell Diablo Cody that 'Diablo Cody' is really quite a horrendous name? Shouldn't one of her friends have taken her aside and strongly urged her to keep brainstorming? Shouldn't she have listened to that friend?
2. Forgive me while I go off on a tangent for a moment. Perhaps you will remember an episode of Seinfeld where Elaine's physical therapist friend has a really dated hair style and her and Jerry try to get Kramer to tell her it's awful but instead he says he likes it. Ring any bells? Well, by the time I saw that episode all of the hair styles on the show looked dated, so I'm always left wondering what style they would have used had that episode been filmed today. And then I saw it: Katherine Heigl at the Oscars this weekend. I keep reading about how awesome she looked, but from the neck up all she reminds me of is my childhood babysitter (who was hot in her day but I hope has moved on to new styles). I realize that somebody who looks the way I look today is in no position to criticize any body's appearance, but there you have it anyway.

Dear Mr. Delivery Driver,

I couldn't help but notice you do the 'ring and run' this morning, leaving my beloved new big-ass t.v. sitting all alone on my front porch. OK, all alone is an exaggeration. It had a tiny, nondescript box companion. A tiny box you so considerately hit behind said big-ass t.v. as if it were the true bait for local thugs - as if somebody would now look at my house and say, "Nope, nothing worth taking there." and move along their merry way.

Perhaps you couldn't help but notice me too seeing as how I was seated right by the window. Perhaps that is the only reason you left such a package on my porch to begin with. But if you could see me, could you not see the size of my tiny arms? Would it have been so much to ask for you to have hung around for 20 extra seconds during which time I could have opened the front door and you could have carried my packages 2 extra feet? Instead, I was forced to hold my door open for myself (it likes to close on its own) and carry 60 pounds of electronics (I checked the stats online) while repeating "kitty STAY!" firmly enough to keep dear kitty from escaping the house (She needs her feline leukemia vaccination and is therefore homebound for the time being. Also, I'm not sure I like the way the handsome orange kitty across the street has been making eyes at her lately). But whatever. I managed on my own. I just wanted to let you know that I am not impressed.

Sincerely,
jlou

There are a number of magazines that, as far as I can figure, are only around because there is something inherently wrong with my gender (I'm not a scientist, so I don't know exactly what the problem is, but I also blame it for Sex and the City's success). I'm sure you know the ones I'm talking about. They're the ones by the cash register trying to lure you in with promises of awesome sex and flat abs when all you want to do is purchase your crap and get the hell out of Wal-Mart. Inside, you find hard-hitting journalism covering Ashlee Simpson's new nose, style guides to help you show off your boobs, and quizzes like "Which Fun Fearless Fiction Read is Right for You?" (sadly, I did not make up that quiz title). I understand we all fall victims to these magazines from time to time, but can we at least agree that they're crap? But my problem isn't with the magazines today. My problem is with the John Tesh Radio Show. I listen to local radio a handful of times a month. Yet somehow, the JTRS is always on. And what is the theme of every single episode? Reading crap from crappy womens magazines! He has a catchy name for it. Something like Tools for Your Life. I call it Random Pages From Redbook. I suspect that notes from the target audience brainstorming session must have looked something like this:

Women.
Women with no common sense.
Women who will believe anything.
Women with no common sense who will believe anything and are too lazy to read!!!

Way to tap that market, John Tesh.

While I'm on the topic of celebrities, allow me to discuss Oprah. Is it too much to ask that celebrities make their fortune annoying me and then disappear? If Oprah wants to stay in the news because she's opening up a girls' school, I'll allow for that. I'll even allow a news story or two about her pimping that charity that lets you donate goats and chickens to 3rd world families. Fine. With the book club, she started to push the line. On the one hand, she was promoting reading. On the other hand, every other book in the bookstore now has her logo on it (Rachel Ray, I feel the same way about you and crackers. Enough already!). Then there was the magazine. Would it kill her to let somebody else on the cover? It's your magazine. We get it. But her latest endeavor is officially too much. Oprah has a store. That's right, 5500 square feet of all of her favorite things. Is this really necessary? With it's own baby line even! I'm disgusted. You'll never guess what the most popular item sold on the opening day was. Ok, you will if you opened that link since it says, but if you didn't, I'll tell you. It was a cosmetics bag. That's right, folks. The most popular item sold was CRAP. What woman doesn't have dozens of cosmetics bags around their house already? Show me a woman who needs a cosmetics bag and I'll show you a woman who has never used any skin or hair product. There's a slight chance I'll show you a woman whose house was just destroyed in a natural disaster. Those are really the only options. I hope all those customers feel awesome about having wasted their money to the benefit of a billionaire.

Time: approximately 2pm

Me: at my desk, sipping on some delicious raspberry ice tea from my equally delicious Taco Bell lunch.

I was just finishing the last sip, even swirling the cup around to make sure I captured every last drop of my raspberry beverage. I popped the lid off the cup and put it to my mouth to then capture some ice. I was reading an online file and therefore was not totally focused on the avalanche about to happen on my face, so when I felt the ice move a bit, I directed my eyes to the bottom of the cup, where I saw a dead fly resting comfortably on an ice cube. OH HOLY HELL! The fly-free cube unlucky enough to make it to my mouth was projected across the room, as was the cup which launched it's contents...ice and dead fly...all over my desk. The trauma of the story: I cleaned up every piece of ice, and every drop of tea remnants, yet could not locate the fly, making my angry phone call to Taco Bell, though necessary, somewhat pointless without evidence.

I've seen just enough Hannah Montana to know two things:
1. Nobody thinks Miley Cyrus is as cute as Miley Cyrus thinks she is.
2. Miley Cyrus obviously has no idea what her father put people my age through. I still cringe when thinking about 4th grade - the year Billy Ray Cyrus gave us all a lil' gem by the name of Achy Breaky Heart. It wasn't bad enough that we had to hear that song constantly. Oh no. They had to create a line dance to it. But it didn't stop there. That would have been too kind. Children across America were forced to practice the dance in p.e. class and perform it for parents during school productions. I can't help but think that if Miley were old enough to have experienced this for herself, maybe, just maybe she'd lay low. Ok, that's probably wishful thinking given the amount of money she's making. But maybe, just maybe, if her fans were older they wouldn't be able to look at her without flashbacks to early 90s, country music misery thus preventing them from being fans in the first place. In any event, the thought of another Cyrus in the music world is almost more than I can stomach.

It's been pointed out that we're on the whiny side. Well, I can't argue with that. What you may not know yet is that I can also be bossy, so tonight I thought I'd switch it up. Over 2 million of you have already done so, but if you are not among those masses, please shoot on over to YouTube and watch the Barack Obama Yes We Can music video. I feel like there have been a number of strong presidential candidates this go around, but as far as I can recollect, there has never been a candidate able to excite my generation the way he has. I would hope the message in the video would apply to most all of us, so even if you don't agree with Obama, watch the video and get excited about somebody. If that's not convincing enough for you, two words: Herbie Hancock.

Today's episode of Screw You is dedicated to all those insurance companies out there. I recently applied for term life insurance. Pretty grown up of me, huh? I thought so. I met with my insurance office lady, applied, and felt quite pleased with myself knowing that my loved ones were now protected for only a nominal fee. It would only be a nominal fee, right? After all, I'm fit as a fiddle. I'm pretty convinced my heart is giving out on me, but my doctor begs to differ, so the insurance people need never know of that. I have terrible skin, but that's not fatal, so no problems there. I have a smidgen of asthma, but I don't even think I need my inhaler anymore. I have nothing to take me out of the 'excellent' health range, right? WRONG! Apparently my asthma smidge (spell check tells me that's not a word - shame) is enough to kick me right up into whatever range it is whose rates are twice what I feel I deserve.

Let's review before I continue. Here's is the information I gave the insurance company (confirmed by the printout they sent me):
Date of last attack - 2002ish
Have you ever been hospitalized for your asthma - No
Is your asthma completely controlled by medication - Yes
How has your asthma progressed over time - It has gotten better.

For that, I have to pay double?! Are you kidding me, Unnamed Insurance Company?! I don't know how I'm going to die, but I seriously doubt it's going to be from asthma. And if it is, it's only because it's now my primary goal to make sure that's how I die if I happen to go in the next 30 years. Screw you, insurance company.

For those of you who don't know...and probably don't care...Washington State is in the process of banning cell phone use while driving. Since it was announced that this law was going into effect, I see more and more Washingtonians preparing by purchasing and using Bluetooth in their cars. Kudos! However, the state does not require that you leave the ear piece on for the entire day. Should you choose to parade about the grocery store, doctor's office or DMV with your new toy, don't think I can't feel you looking down on me while I'm using the old fashioned method of holding the phone with my hand. I mean, you certainly do look bitchin' with that big, awkward, hunk o' metal protruding from your ear, but don't look at me like I'm the freak for not permanently attaching one to my head.

Let me make this perfectly clear to everybody: I have no school spirit and I have no interest in yours. Having rather recently moved to the town that is home to my alma mater's rival school, I find myself annoyed beyond belief when I tell people where I went to school only to have them respond with "That other school?! *chuckle chuckle*" My face says "You're so funny!", but my heart says "Kill me right effing now before I have to hear about football." Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the school I attended. I'm just not entirely sure why I'm expected to be so darn proud of it all the time. Did it give me a good eduction? Good enough for me to find and keep a job. So, uh, mission accomplished there I guess. Did I have the time of my life while attending it. Well, if by "time of my life" I mean worst time of my life, then sure. Would I be just as blase regardless of where I went? Eh, probably. Yes, that includes your school. You have nothing to be so excited about either, so enough already.

Perhaps you've seen it - the billboard of a young man pointing a gun at you. The message? I believe it went something like "If God doesn't matter to him, why would you?" Hmmm...let me think about this. Maybe because you are actually real? Asking who I care more about, God or a person (any random person will do) is like asking what I care more about, Joe the family cat or a Pegasus. I'm gonna have to go for the one that I'm sure isn't made up, if that's okay with you. I could only be more annoyed if I were religious. What a horrendous representation of Christians.

To whoever is responsible for or actually believes that billboard, let me rest your fears. I may not believe in God, and I may go to Hell for that, but I'm certainly not dangerous to you. Simmer down now.