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Isn’t it funny how the things that annoy us in other people are traits we have ourselves? Is that just me? Like I absolutely HATE when someone is too indecisive to make a decision when I’m asking them a question, and yet I am hands-down the most indecisive person you will ever meet. I’m that girl who spends ten minutes going back and forth between two items in the grocery store and finally picks one only to walk three steps, turn around, and come back to repeat the process. I’m MADDENING. And I realize this. So you would think I would have some compassion for similarly indecisive people. Not so.

There is very little that gets me more frustrated than asking someone a question such as, “Where do you want to go for dinner?” and hearing, “Um, wherever you want,” in response. Or “I’m good for anything.” Those are my answers, people! I can’t even stand to make decisions for myself, so the absolute last thing I want to do is make one that affects you, too. And the worst is, “I don’t care!” Because as soon as you break down and make a decision for someone who’s been chirping “I don’t care! I like everything!” to every question you ask them, you see their forehead wrinkle and their nose kind of curl up like they’ve just smelled day-old unwashed ass (not that I, oh me of little showers, know what this smells like. I’m just sayin’). Because they do care. I mean, I pull this same trick, so I know. They do care about the outcome, they just think they’re being more polite by deferring.

So the moral of the story is, if you have an opinion – say so! And if you actually don’t have an opinion, but you’re talking to me, make one up anyway. Because I’m already on probation, and I don’t need any more assault charges.

That said, I’m going to start replacing indecisive people in my life with ones who will man up and make all my decisions for me. Which means I need to replace the following: 40% of my family and 65% of my friends. Oh, and my boyfriend, because when I asked him what he wanted for lunch today I got a, “Whatever you like, babe,” resulting in the punching of a wall and the writing of this post.


Dude. Could it be hotter here? I think there’s supposed to be some cosmic law that it can’t be over 80 degrees in November. I know we don’t technically have seasons here, but come on. If we’re getting screwed into it being “nighttime” when it gets dark at 4:30 in the afternoon, it should at least be cool enough outside to have to wear long sleeves. I went to the store at 8 pm in a tank top last night. A tank top. In November. And the only reason I wasn’t wearing shorts along with that tank top is because the ones I was wearing before I left my house make my butt look really big. So I changed into pants. Because I’m pretty sure that even the really friendly clientele who frequent the crafts store don’t want to see me looking like I’m wearing a diaper. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I should probably just throw those shorts away.

Anyway, my point is, it’s supposed to feel like fall. Or fall for Southern California, anyway. Which is at least a cool 60 degrees. We’re going on vacation to the Dominican Republic in a couple of weeks, and if it doesn’t cool down here before then, we’ll be leaving one 80-degree location for another (far prettier) 80-degree location. When in my imagination I totally planned on exiting the plane in my parka and cold weather clothes and being so overcome by the heat that I strip down to my bikini on the tarmac a la Baywatch Airport Edition.

What, you never saw that spinoff?

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