I’m in such a good mood today.
I’m pretty sure it’s the grape energy powder drink I bought at Wal-mart recently. It makes me feel like a champ. Like, literally. I want to fight Mike Tyson.
I just feel generally really good about life, grape magic powder aside.
So it’s kind of odd to finish this post, about five things that generally tick me off. But, I feel so in-tuned and zen-like and champ-like, I can pull it off, even in a good mood.
Here, then, are five things that anger me.*
*Unless I’m having a good writing day at work, the kids are being nice to me, I’ve just eaten pizza, my soccer team scores a goal, I find $5 in my pocket, I-485 doesn’t ground to a halt during my morning commute, the Nuggets win and the lakers lose, the Avs win and the red wings lose, I get a really good coupon at the self-checkout lane at Harris-Teeter, or I pass a Burger King on a sunny day just in time to smell the burgers grilling.
1. The heroes in my favorite TV shows have to go and get romantically involved.
Hate it. I nearly gave up on “Castle” when Rick Castle and Kate Beckett got all girlfrend/boyfriend on me. Seriously, one more sappy episode, I’d have switched to “Catfishin’ Kings” or “Dumbest Stuff on Wheels.” It’s how “Moonlighting” got junky, back in the day. Of course, I had a mad thing for Maddie Hayes, but still. Ruined it.
Same thing with “Bones.” I’ve watched four episodes of season one, and the one episode Bones gives birth. Ruined.
You didn’t have to worry about this with “Starsky & Hutch” or “CHiPs.”
2. Add an annoying puppy.
The delicate balance of “The Adventures of Scooby Doo” took a hit when writers decided to add Scrappy Doo. It was the worst thing ever in cartoonery, even worse than Muppet kids or taking the mean streak out of Woody Woodpecker.
Some pinhead in Scooby Doo corporate thought he had a bone idea. This one was even worse than adding Scooby Dum. Or the Cosby Show littering it up with a bunch of new kids.
Less is more. Take note.
3. Add corn. Or big stinky onions.
My dad’s salsa recipe was a classic. Everyone wanted it, including a dude at the old Sandwich Construction Company, a racing hotspot restaurant on the same road where I went to college. They offered to pay dad for the recipe, but he refused.
I’m glad he did.
But later in his life, he gave it out a few times to people at work who’d been after it for years. “What are you doing, dad??” I asked. But he knew better.
“They’ll ruin it,” he said. “Don’t worry.” And they did. White folks added chunks of corn, extra spices, even big stinky raw onions to the mix.
This one actually doesn’t tick me off very much. This recipe stayed squarely in the family, where it belongs.
Y’all can keep your corn.
4. Single out my kid. Or criticize one of my players.
I’m kinda like a thug if you start to target my kid. Not of the brass-knuckles variety, but of the passive-aggressive, slice you with wit and spit and vinegar type.
You want to toss ire at my little one? Be prepared for a little hailstorm of your own. I don’t want to give too many specifics, lest some of you recognize some of the venom that you’ve stumbled upon when you took a verbal jab at my offspring.
The kids are learning it, too. You should have seen what Elise and Marie did to the kid in the bounce house messing with their kid sister once. Don’t mess with us.
5. Tailgate. Then pass me like you’re not even mad at me.
Back in my day, if you tailgated, you were angry. You’d wait until you could pass unsafely into oncoming traffic, and snarl at me in the very least.
Nowadays? You’re on my bumper like you’re drafting at Daytona, but when you finally swing your Prius or Lexus or Probe alongside me, I see you’re just engrossed in your smartphone or fiddling with your CD player.
Where’s the angst? The impatience? Where have you gone, Tony Stewart?
At least give me the finger and let me know you’re alive, anxious and angry at me for doing the speed limit.
And for smiling while doing it.
Probably with a grape mustache.