#34 I Hate True Religions

So, my friend Katie was ranting and raving about how much she hated True Religion jeans, especially when worn by men, and I couldn't agree more. She then went on to say how she wanted to write a blog dedicated to her hatred of this deplorable fashion mistake, and I could not contain my excitement when I told her I had just the outlet for her intensely passionate dislike of the aforementioned denim brand. So without further ado, I introduce my first guest blogger, Katie...

I remember when I bought my first pair of status-changing designer jeans; I was 15 and they were Seven for All Mankind’s. By college, I had built my very own Bradgelina collection. I had a pair of James’, who I adopted from Bloomingdales, a duo from the Republic of Rock, a set of J twins, and a couple more of my originals. Trust me; I usually never discriminated, but sophomore year of college, True Religions had me making Mel Gibson looking like a saint. My flattering family of diverse washes and assorted fits were not about to be ruined by those repulsive eyesores.

It was my god awful roommate who first introduced me to them. First impressions are supposedly everything, and I first witnessed the two-legged monstrosities on a fat girl with a muffin top, who also sported frizzy, curly hair (Side note: This girl also bought a pair of fake white patent leather Tory Burch Revas… appalling).

Quicker than my J jeans could stretch out, my entire college campus was littered with the wide-stitched weight gain, some people called jeans. And it wasn’t just the girls; guys equally started updating their wardrobes to accommodate the new craze.

I cannot believe that so many people were unable to avert themselves from this mishap in leg wear. Honestly, did these supposed ‘fashion-savvy’ customers not look in a three-way mirror before purchasing a jean that has oversized horseshoes stitched on its flapped ass pockets? And it wasn’t just the ‘classic’ style that had me screaming obscenities; all styles put me at my wits end… Ripped, patched, white, diagonal seams, etc., etc., etc! Gag! Gag! Gag!

I wish I could be optimistic right now and say that most people have strayed from the ass-enlarging jean, but unfortunately there are still those unforgivables who sport the Jeans-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They are the boys who still wear Axe man-perfume, and the whores who still use playboy stickers when they go tanning. When I go to bars and see this sub-culture present, it tells me one thing, jager-bombs are probably half-off. I guess there is a time (or two) during everyone’s lifetime that fashion takes a turn for the worst; I am happy I was able to avoid that train wreck because… I HATE True Religions!

#33 I Hate Cyclists

I never realized how much I hated cyclists until a recent experience driving my car down Racine headed home from a long day of work (sleeping until 10, brunch, mani/pedi, the usual). I'm on my phone catching up with a dear friend, minding my own business and an cyclist angrily motions for me to put down the phone. What are you cyclist, the goddamn po-lice? I don't THINK so. While being on your mobile behind the wheel may not be the most admirable act, it just so happens to be a common pastime. Anyway, I've never had issues with it. Texting, on the other hand can cause a plethora of problems. Ask famed television host and ex super model, Tyra Banks, dripping with personality, who allegedly nearly crashed into a mountain while doing the unspeakable.

But back to the cyclists, I began to realize they are everywhere. They pollute our streets like sewer rats sticking out their arms in every which direction as if we care which way they're turning. Left, right, I don't care just get the hell outta my way. There's also always major 'tude and dirty looks present in the world of the cyclist. You'd think it would be the opposite, as they are exercising, and I am often told this leads to endorphines, which in turn, lead to happiness (I wouldn't know, I prefer the couch). But no, a scowl never leaves the face of the cyclist.

Critical Mass may be my least favorite event. At least when there is a regular protest, you can walk the other direction or cross the street to avoid these crazed leftists. However, Critical Mass has come up with the brilliant idea of unavoidable protest by filling the busy streets of Chicago with hundreds, maybe thousands of bikers. Children in pulley carts, tandems filled with gay men, unicycling clowns holding stereo systems blasting hipster tunes. Cars wait to pass for up to an hour, waiting for these two-wheeling terrors to pass by. We got the message after the first 10 minutes.

The point is to let us motorists know that cyclists are people too and we should respect them. It's like they want us to feel sorry for them by making them appear to be a weak, discriminated specimen. It would be like if I started a protest declaring gingers deserve respect. While I am only a half-ginger, I feel that it is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, and I would never wish to draw attention to my ginger-ness by clogging up Addison with gingers. The more you recognize what a problem you are, the more of a problem you become.

If you need exercise, rollerblade or go for a jog. Stick to the sidewalks. If you're big on wheels, save up for a motorcycle, then you can really show off. Otherwise, I may kill you. I wonder how many years an "accidental" cyclist hit will get ya. "He came out of no where!" It happens.

#32 I Hate Dog Parks

Don't get me wrong here, I love dogs, I just hate dog parks. I never thought it would be this way. I adopted my beautiful mutt, Roxy about a year ago now and could not wait to take her out to public places. Growing up with two yapping lap dogs who we could never take in public was not my ideal situation. Roxy was my key to having a more healthy lifestyle where I could meet new people, spend more time outdoors, and have a new best friend.  After about 2 rounds at our neighborhood dog park, I learned the ropes. 

There were cliques galore filled with owners who were exact clones of their pets. Big burley men had bulldogs right beside them. Macho men came to show off with their dobermans, their un-neutered balls the size of Florida oranges. And of course the little ladies in pearls sitting on benches and gossiping with their poodle mixes. These people stand in circles leaving no space for newcomers. Their whole life is the dog park, often showing up 2 or 3 times a day and staying for hours on end. When I eavesdrop on their conversations all I hear is "Sparky went to the vet yesterday" and "Buddy just loves these new beefy bones I picked up" and "My Roscoe only eats organic" Please people, don't you have anything else to talk about other than your dogs? Clearly not.

They act like the goddamn mafia, grouping together and ganging up on those whose dogs give off the slightest "bad vibe". They're dogs, for god's sake, they don't all behave perfectly every second, which is what I for one love about them. I find it endearing when Roxy chews through week old garbage and steals peaches off the counter. So, sometimes she growls a little when a dog she doesn't like gets too close. Good for her, at least she isn't being phony like we all are. I wish I could growl at plenty of people, but it just wouldn't be right. When Roxy growls or heaven forbid barks at another dog, these people literally attack me like there's no tomorrow with blood curdling shots of "Get your dog away!" and "Stop it NOW!" as if the poor girl can understand.

My favorite is those my dad and I call "flingers". These are the intense dog park goers, usually clad in spandex and tracksuits, who bring tennis ball "flingers" for their dogs, because they are too lazy to throw themselves.  They find a vacant corner to throw the balls for their dogs, and become furious when any other dog tries to play. Roxy for one loves a good tennis ball chase and it's very difficult for me to stop her from going after one. The Flingers then give me their dirtiest possible glares and attempt to move to another area away from Roxy.

Seriously people, it's a dog PARK. A park is a public space where people and animals come together in harmony. I understand that some of you are there to bond with other people who clearly have no lives other than their dogs, but please respect the rest of us and give us a smile or a nod once in awhile. While we do have lives outside the dog park, we also might want to talk about our dog's newest vet visit or what her poop looked like yesterday. Also, try to understand, dogs are not humans. That's what makes them so awesome, so let's try to celebrate their growls and howls, and not jump down people's throats every time things don't go exactly according to plan. Finally, if you would like to play with your balls in private (that's what she said), then stay at home. I mean seriously, Woof.

Things I Like: Fictional Characters

I thought that after so much hating, it was time for another addition of things I like, this time, in the category of fictional characters. Interesting that they are fictional, meaning they are not real, therefore I am celebrating something that does not exist, which I guess goes along with being a true hater. I cannot even come up with things I like that are real! What is wrong with me? 

1. Angelica Pickles. Yes, the adorable 3 year old blonde pigtailed charmer, Angelica Pickles. The devilish bully, cousin of the beloved Tommy Pickles, childhood star of critically acclaimed Nickelodeon classic, Rugrats. How I love her so. Her sly antics should be studied among the best of the best. Bossing around a group of infants and almost always getting her way, Angelica knew how to live the good life from a young age. She was smart, sassy and stylish, what I strive to learn at age 23, she already had figured out at 3. 

2. Blair Waldorf. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Actually, I don't have the time or space for that, but you never fail to amaze me. From your endless headband collection that I strive to compete with, to your impeccable fashion, to your status as Queen B, I worship your every Monday night Gossip Girl episode. You may have a mean streak, but deep down your as soft as DQ swirl, and tears swelled in my eyes as Chuck finally pronounced his love for you at the season finale. Until the Fall, mi amore.

3. Harriet the Spy. Who could forget the lovable young Michelle Trachtenberg in her role of this clever young trickster. With her notebook in tow, Harriet never missed a beat. The best compliment I have ever gotten, was when a college acquaintance told me I reminded him of this mischievous minx. Harriet had great taste in food, with her daily tomato sandwiches, and knew how to live the life, all up in other peoples' biznass. That's what it's all about girl. 

4. Jim Halpert. Surprised? Maybe, as the previous three characters have been she-devil types, the complete opposites of Dunder Mifflin's Jim. However, Jim loves to have a good laugh just as much as the next guy, and usually at the expense of another (Dwight). So how much better is he really than Angelica, when he bullies a near retard on a daily basis? He covers up his inner prankster soul with a charming outer shell, and he sure knows how to get the ladies. Plus, he's pretty easy on the eyes, which can never hurt.

5. Elaine Benes. I don't think it gets any better than Elaine. With her killer dance moves and ability to catch Jerry's heart, she never ceases to amaze me. Who else could pull off the hair pouf in such seductive and sultry manner? No one I tell ya. No one. She truly knows how to hang out with the guys and can stand her own amongst the ranks, always getting the last laugh. So, as fate would have it, she ended up in jail, at least she had some fun along the way!

#31 I Hate Mean Lesbians

As much as I would love to just straight up say I hate lesbians, I realize that this would be incredibly un-PC of me, and as much as I don't really care about being PC, I guess there are some nice lesbians out there, I just have yet to meet them. Why are they such haters? (Yeah, yeah I see the self loathing irony here), but really, why are they so angry all the time?

Mean lesbians used to frequent the restaurant I once worked at (and was fired from) all the time, and it was they who demanded burn mark free chicken strips (nearly impossible), told me their diet cokes "did not taste normal" and would then leave me with a 2% tip, if that. Hey mean lez, why are you so angry with me? I thought you only hated men. Do I look like a man to you? HELLO! I am most likely wearing a ruffled cardigan and flower headband here. You on the other hand, mean lez, could very well pass for a man in most cases.

And I do understand the man hating, I really do. Most days I'm right there with ya, but when it comes down to it, there are some things you mean lezzies do (I won't get graphic here) that I just could never bring myself to do. And as beautiful as Bar Rafaeli (my number one girl crush) may be, I'd much prefer admiring her from afar, to other forms of lesbian action. Also, if you hate men so much, why do you insist on looking like one? The baggy sweat pants and the reeboks with the straps may work for Flo Rida, but the only straps you should be sporting are strap ons. Booyah.

Mean lesbians are the ones that go and adopt unsuspecting asian babies and raise them on organic diets, not allowing them to watch t.v. (they don't permit those devil machines in the home), and having only 30 minutes of computer time per week. Other than that, it's intelligent conversation and 500 piece puzzles. At this rate, young Genevieve of South Korea will be a mean lesbian herself one day! 

#30 I Hate Matthew McConaughey

I am so sick of seeing this guy all over People's "Hottest" lists. I don't find him appealing in the slightest, and what other place to share my opinions on this shirtless beast than right here? First of all, put your shirt back on, it's getting ridiculous. You're almost 40 years old, it's time to grow up. We're happy for you that you spend every waking moment off your compilation of terrible movie sets working out (without a shirt on). You've proved your point. Now cover up. I know, I know, I'm complaining about a man with a certified 8 pack here, but it's to the point where I'd rather stare at Jack Black doing crunches on the beach. Your abs are old news, Matt.

So is your acting career. What was the last semi decent movie you were in, because I certainly cannot remember. Wait, I take that back, I could probably watch "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" twice a week, but that has absolutely nothing to do with your lackluster acting skills, and more to do with your adorable costar, Kate Hudson, whose crazy antics in attempt to get dumped, remind me of my relationship with my high school boyfriend. Only in my case, I wasn't just pretending to be insane. Sorry to you, you know who you are.

The Southern accent, which usually makes me swoon does nothing for me in the case of Matthew McConaughey. I don't know what it is, but it seems to have the opposite effect. It sounds like he has something in his mouth when he's speaking. And while you sure do spend a lot of time in the sun on your hourly workout rituals, there is no way your skin is that tan. Ladies and Gents, I think we've spotted a man-tanner here and we know how much I hate those.

For being in the acting circuit for so long, isn't it a little pathetic that you've never even come close to being nominated for an academy award? Oh, but congrats! I forgot you were nominated for the MTV Movie Award for best chemistry with none other than JLo in the celebrated "Wedding Planner"!! What an accomplishment! And when you are loosing your time in the celebrity spotlight, you find some poor no name model to impregnate so you can eke out another 15 minutes of fame. Wonder how long that one will last. I'm guessing it will be similar to your last box office hit, "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past;" a major flop.

#29 I Hate France

France is certainly not a destination I'd like to say Bonjour to! With it's smelly citizens, disgustingly unrecognizable food choices, and blatant America and Jew haters, I would choose to skip it on any European tour. I have not been to France since I was about 13 years old, and I must say it's been a fabulous 10 years since. After spending a grueling 5 days in Paris, I believe I have fulfilled my lifetime French fix, though I will miss the croissants. They are surely not something we can mimic in our attempts at Parisian bakeries. 

French people smell bad. It's not a stereotype if it's true, right? Maybe they're conserving water. I can respect that, but there's got to be a better way. Truthfully, I think that they are just trying to prevent Americans from getting too close. Well, I'll tell you something Madame and Monsieur, whatever you're doing (or not doing), it's working. Not only do they smell, but they're downright rude. Ask a Mexican for directions and he'll not only tell you how to get there, but take you personally and then maybe even share some pleasant conversation over tequila shots (or try to touch your boobs). Ask a Frenchman and receive a look dirtier than his unwashed armpits. 

Why do they hate us so much? As they walk the streets in their crappy American athletic jerseys watching crappy American TV and listening to even crappier American music, they can't even give us props for theses gifts we've bestowed upon them, while we have named two of life's greatest pleasures, the kiss and the fry, after them! All I ask in return is a little merci here and there.

Some people ask me if maybe I was simply too young to truly understand all that Paris has to offer. After all, it is the city of love. Unfortunately I do not think I will ever love it. What is really so great about it? It has the Mona Lisa, which you have to wait in a 4 hour line to see. I've seen it in a book. Good enough. Next, there's the Eiffel Tower, but then again, I'm afraid of heights so what good does that do me? The Seine? Piss on the Seine, as many of the Parisians seem to do. The highlight of my trip to France was Euro Disney and that's something we have not one, but two of stateside! 

Also, the French are so uppity, looking down on the looseness of American culture. However, I don't think I have ever seen more boobs in my life than my short trip to Paris. My mom had to change the channels at our 5 star hotel while we covered our eyes, to bypass the dozens of freely available pornographic channels, and even the rides at the carnival across the street were covered with naked women. Naked hairy women. Naked hairy women who most likely have not showered in a week. On that pleasant note, Au Revoir.

P.S. Sorry Ali.