blogcabin

grrr.

Sticker Adhesive: How many times have you purchased anything from a toy to a kitchen item to a pair of sunglasses (back before they used static stickers) to a nice bottle of somethingorother and had to deal with a sticker that either wouldn't come off your product, or left a sticker-shaped patch of adhesive behind? Everyone has a different method that they claim will help you remove the tacky mess -- GooBeGone, rubbing alcohol, a blowdryer, nailpolish remover, hot water, bleach, napalm -- but in reality, you know that patch ain't leaving anytime soon. It pains me to the depths of my OCD soul to see a perfect surface marred by a weathered sticker that won't budge, or a smear of stickiness that has captured lint and hair and crumbs and woodland animals like some sort of spiderweb-cum-bellybutton.

I bought a lovely travel mug once -- stainless steel, double insulated, linear design, handle-free -- and didn't notice until I got it home that there was a large sticker affixed to one side extolling the virtues of the cup. I naively went to unpeel it, and a portion of the sticker came away, leaving gummy adhesive and a thin layer of paper backing behind. My heart rate doubled almost immediately. I picked at it a little with my fingernail, and little bits of the paper came off, but none of the sticky. I called my mother to see what she might recommend, and she said, "Oh, well, the first step is to not try and peel the sticker off until you know if it will come off all the way." Oh. I got off the phone moments later (after verbally assaulting all her further suggestions) and went to ask the Internet what I should do. The internet had hundreds of suggestions -- one involving gasoline and a lighter, another saliva -- but none of the non-flammable ideas seemed to work at all.

Just as I was getting desperate, my friend arrived to pick me up for dinner. He asked what I was looking at, and I told him... at which point he disappeared into the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard a hideous scraping sound. And by the time I ran in, it was too late: he'd taken a knife to the remaining bits of sticker, and not only was the sticker still there, but I now had four large scratches in my beautiful new mug. He stood there holding the evidence with a sheepish expression, at which point I took the aforementioned deep breath and removed the cup from his hands (and the knife, which I held thoughtfully for a moment, before he removed it from my hand.) We went out, and when I came home, I walked right past the stupid thing and went to bed.

The next morning, I took the cup to Starbucks, trying valiantly to ignore the fact that the Area Formerly Known As Sticker now had some pink fuzz and a Rice Krispy (Krispie?) stuck to it. And when I went around to the espresso bar, the guy making my coffee -- who saw me every morning, and had never seen me with a travel mug -- was giving the offending object an odd look. When I smiled sadly as though to indicate, "I know, it's ugly, I couldn't fix it, " he said, "Is it new?" I nodded, and he replied, "Geez, I hope you got a deal on it. It's totally scratched."

Madonna: I know, I know, I've said it before, and I've heard all the standard girl-power responses: she's a trendsetter, a wealthy female in her field, a rock-pop icon, a multi-discipline performer, etc. etc. etc. I know that one of our rights as women is the right to suck. I also know that, without her, there would be no Britney, no Christina, no Pink, no Kylie (although I'm not sure that's such a bad thing), and 99% fewer songs for drunken bridesmaids to circle-dance to. But honestly, people. Me Against The Music? Body of Evidence? Shanghai Surprise? Truth or Dare? Sex:The Book? That video where she was dressed up as a soldier and ended up looking like an extra from a Carry On movie? It's too much! She's overexposed, under her pitch, and kind of... snarky. And I get that this is her deal, this whole, "I don't care, I'm going to be who I am" thing... but has anyone noticed that she's a singer/actress who can't sing or act? I know that I'll end up twirling around to Vogue or Holiday (with my heels off) at a soiree sometime in the next year or so, but I still blame inexplicable celebrities like Paris Hilton on the Original Blonde Publicity Machine.

Oh, yes: I also resent that she has an attractive British husband and gets to write children's books. Dammit. You can bet your jelly bracelets that I wouldn't end up owning a castle if I got knocked up by a hot Latino fitness trainer.

Perky Cell Phone Ringtones: Part of the problem with perky cellphone ringtones is that people who have them tend to take a very long time to answer their phones, whether that happens because they are plugged into their overly-loud iPods or having an overly-loud conversation with the person next to them. It's an oddly reliable phenomena, this loud ring/slow response contiuum. And if you ever ride transit of any kind, you know that more and more people are choosing to use a song for their ringtone, from teenage girls who let their Nokias play the opening bars of that nasty "don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me..." song (which I believe plays on a constant loop in Hell), to guys in their forties with briefcases and weary eyes looking to recapture their inner wild man by having their Motorola play That Old Time Rock 'n Roll every time their wives call to remind them to pick up milk on the way home. There isn't a song on earth that sounds good playing on a cellphone, no matter how polyphonic your ringtone might be. And it really doesn't sound good when it has played twelve times while you try and find the freaking thing at the bottom of your backpack.

Voice Recognition Customer Service Lines: Computers have magical powers of frustration over me most of the time, but I've never felt quite like I did after doing five or so rounds with my local phone company's voice recognition system. My eyes were rolling towards the back in my head after about thirty seconds.

"Please tell me which of these options you want to pursue after I'm done speaking. Do you want Billing, Connection, Repairs, or Long Distance Consultation?" The computer sounds eerily like Hal from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

"Billing."

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. Can you tell me again?"

"Billing."

"What I heard was, 'Mobile Service'. Did you say 'Mobile Service'? Please say yes or no."

"No!"

"Please repeat your category again."

"BILLING!" At this point, I feel like one of those hideous tourists who yell at the natives in hopes that alarming volume with somehow allow them to transcend the language barrier.

"What I heard you say was, 'Line Repair'. Did you say, 'Line Repair'? Please say yes or no."

"NO! I SAID BILLING!"

"Let me give you the options again, just in case you've forgotten. Billing, Connection, Repairs, or Long Distance Consultation. Please speak clearly and directly ino the receiver."

"Billing!"

"Did you say 'Disconnect My Service'? Please say yes or no."

"What the hell!"

"I'm sorry. There must be a problem with your phone. Please call back later."

I called back and made an "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH" noise into the phone until it connected me with an operator. I didn't actually notice I'd been connected until I'd "AHHHH" - ed at the operator for about thirty seconds, but he seemed unfazed. I apologized profusely for yelling, and proceeded to tell him what my problem was at some length. I likely said more than was necessary to indicate that my bill was in error (although who doesn't want to hear about the time I fell off my toboggan in the fourth grade? and perhaps what colour my toenails are?), but I eventually ceased my incoherent reverie.

Then there was a moment of silence, and he replied brightly, "Sorry, can you say that again? I couldn't quite hear you."

And Everything Else: TV newspeople who develop an accent when they say the name of a city in another country: "PuuuuERRRRto RRRRRico was hit by a storm today..."; Larry King; earwigs; Cheap body sprays that make you smell like you hosed yourself down with a wine cooler; stains on new shirts; missing dumb mistakes in the midst of copyedits; the smell of microwave popcorn; bathtub rings; odd odors in the fridge; the words thinktank, pundit, and talking head; pop stars who 'co-write' songs ("I totally added a comma after that last verse..."); before-and-after celebrity plastic surgery expose articles; the first few bars of every tune Randy Newman ever wrote; comment spam; air fresheners claiming to simulate a "tropical breeze"; anyone who overuses the term sensei; Jessica Simpson's "sexy" voice; the band name "Ween"; Joan and Melissa Rivers; and last but not least, the almighty Internet Explorer.