Expensive postage. Today I mailed something to the next town over, and because it was in a big envelope, it cost more than it does to send a letter to Spain. What is that?
Overstaffing. I am the only person in America (besides Heather, who works in the same office I do) who has too many people working at her place of employment. I’m happy for all of us that we have jobs, but I am kind of pissed that I am consistently reduced to playing Minesweeper at work because there is literally nothing else to do.
Douchebag customers. Please refer to my last post.
Research projects. In all honesty, this investigating-same-sex-relationships-and-gender-roles-in-1700s-theater class is killing me. I love talking about this stuff, but I hate doing self-directed research which then needs to translate into a highly detailed and organized final product. We are talking about the girl who in the sixth grade made up the book for her book report. I am not cut out for this.
Winter. I try to have a good attitude about these things, but it has been months now and at this point my hands are starting to crack open. Like, literally. What is that?
Fred Phelps. His list of accomplishments includes anti-gay protesting at Matthew Shepard’s funeral, demonstrations at the burials of US soldiers, and the coining of the phrases “God Hates Fags” and, more puzzlingly, “God Hates Sweden.” Next week he and his buddies are coming to Cambridge to protest at a high school; as far as I can tell the only inciting incident is that… they have a GSA? I don’t even know. Luckily, with the Phelps-a-Thon, we are able to make this suck less. If you pledge just a few cents, every minute that he protests will raise more money for the local LGBT family resource center. Do it! I dare you!
Michel Foucault. Least favorite philosopher, almost definitely. (Although actually to be fair I am not so into Nietzche or Kant either.) Once he started telling me about how I don’t have a self, and we haven’t been on speaking terms since.