I'd like to make a deposit.

I hate the Bank.

Honestly, I would rather keep all my money stuffed inside my mattress if it meant I never ever had to encounter another bank. Just so you know, I don’t do that, and please don’t come to my apartment to make sure. This isn’t a thinly veiled treasure hunt. Also, if it helps, I have no money. Hope that clears things up.

There is something seriously wrong with people who decide they want to become designers for banks. It’s worse than hospital design. At least at hospitals, you know everything is supposed to be plastic to wipe off strange liquids. The walls have to be periwinkle so you can pretend that it isn’t a cesspool of death and decay. Cheerful, I know.

But the bank. The bank. What is wrong with the bank? Why is that random huge vase in the middle of the walkway? Who is that lady in the painting!? Is there really a need for all this wood paneling? And who decided that all banks should get together and systematically use maroon and royal blue for every single damn piece of upholstery furniture in the place. Nice plants by the way. I know they're fake, who are you trying to fool?

That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that every single employee loathes you. They don’t want you in there. You hand over your hard earned paycheck and they look at you like you are trash: "How dare you bring this insignificant amount in here? If you aren’t depositing money in the hundreds of thousands, well, we really can’t be bothered to smile at you."

It’s like people who work the lobby at a really nice hotel. I KNOW I make more money than you do, so why the hell do you think it’s OK to sneer at me for wearing a t-shirt in your stupid lobby? I am really making the place look shabby. Such a disgrace.

But anyway, the bank is terrible because you have to go there. It’s unavoidable. They talk to you about the convenience of online banking, but you will inevitably have to enter the dreaded local branch to activate a new card or make a large (but not to them) deposit.

Screw you, the Bank. I don’t need you.

Oh, free checks? You won me over.

Lesson Learned.

Sometimes I think people need to be taught a lesson.

Here’s an example. I’m in college, sitting in the library, hoping that by being in that space, I’ll somehow absorb knowledge via osmosis. This never happened by the way. I hate the library, but that’s another story.

So I’m in the library at a study cubicle making little paper people to have little paper people wars. The person next to me stands up to walk a book back to the other room. He has left his laptop unattended!

My eyes dart to the multiple printed signs (with bad Microsoft Word 1997 clip art to help get the point across) that warn people not to leave their computers alone for theft reasons.

Instead of thinking to myself, “Wow, I better not go anywhere and make sure this guy’s laptop doesn’t get stolen by a less honest and kind person like myself”, my mind immediately goes to the following:

“Wow, what a stupid idiot. Who just leaves their laptop and goes into the other room and expects that nothing’s going to happen? This guy obviously needs to be taught a lesson about needlessly trusting the world and random people like me.”

Then, I create this elaborate heist plot where I take this guy’s laptop and hide it somewhere in the library. I don’t actually want to steal it… that would be wrong. But this guy needs to learn that if he walks away from his computer, he has no right to assume it will be there when he returns.

A similar incident happened the other day. I was out with friends and we were driving home after a night out. We stopped at a grocery store to use the necessary facilities. A small clerk gestured to the back of the room, toward the bathrooms. Before I entered, however, I saw a giant stack of bread loaves, just sitting there. A thought occurred to me, “No one is watching these!” I thought I should teach the store a lesson about leaving loaves of bread in conspicuous places where people like me might decide to take them, or even worse, eat them in the bathroom.

So consequently, I’m constantly bombarded with thoughts to take some dumb guy’s fixed gear bike (stupid Hipsters… don’t worry, you’ll soon be treated with my opinion on that topic) while I’m at a coffee shop. Once I thought about pouring something into a guy’s drink when he wasn’t looking so he would learn that girls aren’t always virtuous. Unfortunately, I would have had to substitute the date rape drug with a sugar packet because I don’t keep the former handy.

The point is you shouldn’t trust me. At all. In my defense, I’ve never actually acted on any of these impulsive desires. Just to be save though, don’t assume I’ll watch your purse.

Spell Check.

I LOVE when people misspell the word "Definitely".

This isn't some kind of grammar god post (which now that I think about it, I should probably start using spell check).  Just so we're clear. In any case, I love when people spell the word "definitely" wrong. They almost ALWAYS spell it as "defiantly". It's amazing. When I read something that has spelled definitely as defiantly, I feel compelled to read the sentence out loud with its new meaning.

"Are you going to the party?"

"Oh I am defiantly going!"

Wow. That bitch is super renegade. What a rebel. I imagine she burned the other person in the face with a cigarette after she said that.

It's amazing because if you google search the word defiantly, the first thing that comes up is "Do you mean 'definitely'?" When I don't mean definitely, I think, "Jesus fuck Google! Stay out of my business. This is what you get with big government." Then I go to a Tea Party Rally.

Here's another website that pops up when you search defiantly. Seems like someone has even more anger then I do. Why go to all that trouble creating and maintaining a website for a misspelled word that makes situations completely hilarious!?

"He replied that he defiantly liked the ideas behind community and the feeling of belonging that comes with it."

That guy is the next Che Guevara. Speaking of which, College Freshman, keep that poster out of your dorm room. You haven't even lived yet.... your skin is too soft. Go out in the world and get some calluses damnit!

Moving on.

Anyway, really terrible spelling errors can and should be avoided. It's literally inexcusable to spell things wrong in this day and age--kind of like birth control--unless you're stupid like me and just forget... spell check not birth control.

Ew this got really weird really fast.

That's not office appropriate.

I hate jeggings.

This is not a huge epiphany. I know a lot of people dislike them. But I doubt many people hate them as much as I do.

First of all, I associate them with a certain type of person. The type of person whose appearance seems to say, “Fuck you. I don’t care that I’m not wearing proper clothing to cover my lower half. I’m going to wear these motherfucking tights that are two times too small (like the Grinch’s heart). Just to piss you off further, I am going to wear them with Uggs and a small sweater.”

It doesn’t seem to be a coincidence that the same girls wearing jeggings are also the ones wearing Uggs. I can’t even get behind Uggs in an ironic sense. They’re just stupid. I want to throw people off buildings when I see them. I like to think I become the Hulk. Maybe that’s why he’s so aggressive. You can’t blame him.

Anyway, I don’t understand jeggings. I saw a commercial for “pajama jeans” the other day. Is there a difference between jeggings and pajama jeans? Also, why do the jeggings have rivets? What are they reinforcing? Another layer of spandex?

Cover your ass! I don’t need to see your wobbly bits. On the other hand, I have to admire your confidence in wearing something that is clearly so unflattering. Perhaps it is an indication of your mental ability. Should we trust you with metal utensils?

Maybe even worse than the girls who wear tight jeggings are the ones who wear baggy ones. The whole point is they’re supposed to be tight. This isn’t sweat pants for the twenty-first century. Loser. When I see women who are wearing jeggings (or even plain leggings really), I wonder if perhaps they need them to be that large to compensate for the adult diapers they must be wearing. It’s the only excuse to let your ass sag that much.

In an alternate universe somewhere, using my limited understanding of physics, men are the ones making these terrible fashion choices. Yet, for some reason, it works for them.

Oh I’m sorry. I was confused. It’s not actually an alternate universe. It’s called Europe.

I need 44 cents to mail this.

Dear Booth Babe,

I despise you.

Sincerely,

Jessica

A Conversation.

The other day, I was talking to Holly. We were both incredibly sleep deprived. She turned to me and said the following:
Holly: “You know what I was thinking about just now?”

Jessica: “Our conversation that we’re having?”

Holly: “No.”

Jessica: “Alright, good to know. What were you thinking about during our otherwise meaningful discussion?”

Holly: “I was thinking about how people are silly. You know how people use those colloquialisms like ‘my career is on the rocks’? It’s so weird that we come up with these phrases because rocks clack against each other and they don’t fit together, so we use it as a metaphor. We’re just monkeys banging rocks together.”

Jessica: “…”

Holly: “What?”

Jessica: “I don’t think that’s why people say that.”

Holly: “Sure it is.” She made her hands clack clack together.

Jessica: “I think it came about because of rocks at the bottom of cliffs and you don’t want to pull your boat ashore and hit the rocks. Or if you jump off the cliff, and you aren't suicidal, you obviously don’t want to land on the rocks. You want to land in the ocean. So when things are bad, they’re on the rocks.”

Holly: “I don’t think that’s what it means either.”

Jessica: “Ok.”

I didn't write this on an iPad.

I’m at the airport right now. Well, when you read this, I will no longer be at the airport. I’ll probably be passed out on the couch. Hopefully I’m not dead. Will you please call my house? I’m worried about myself.

Anyway, I’m here at the airport and every single time, EVERY SINGLE TIME, I say the same thing to myself: Why is that woman wearing her stiletto boots for her obviously pathetic trip to Butt-fuck-middle-of-nowhere Tennessee. Man she looks fancy. You aren’t impressing anyone lady. In fact, I think I might roll my suitcase a little bit into the aisle in hopes of tripping you over, just so I should say “Ooops! Better wear your Dr. Scholl’s next time!”

Oh hey!? What’s that!? Your fancy iPad!? I can do that too. Let me just pull out this maxi sanitary napkin and pretend to push buttons like I’m important. I know you’re playing Angry Birds. It’s an overrated game. Also my sanitary napkin cost me 50 cents in the public bathroom and it’s actually useful for something.
People are so stupid. And I never realize this more than when I’m at the airport. People always tell me, “Oh I love traveling and going to different places.” No you don’t. No one likes the airport. If you do, you’re obviously a serial killer. My logic is sound.

The airport is a really expensive bus terminal. It’s public transportation. And we’re paying to sit next to a smelly weirdo-beardo who is going to mouth breathe during the entire flight. Or the guy who just HAD to bring his McDonald’s McRiblet on the flight because he can’t wait another two hours to eat. He had to find the smelliest thing on the menu, “Oh yeah? Garlic tuna with curry? That sounds awesome. I’ll get two orders!”

I swear, there’s always a baby who is so obviously sick that I worry I might be exposed to some sort of antibiotic resistant bacteria (by the way, anyone see that story about that killer germ that they found on the BART? Way to go Bay Area. I blame the hippies. Stupid pinkos.).

I’m watching two stupid women pace back and forth in their dumb heels. One of them isn’t even dressed to wear them. Beret, sweatpants, and slingback heels? Ok I think I understand, you’re obviously making some sort of political statement. Maybe it’s performance art? It’s deep and moving. My apologies.

But for the rest of you, stop wearing impractical footwear that I’m convinced sucks the soul out of you.

I hate women who wear heels to the airport.