20 Flavor Suggestions for Lay’s Potato Chips

Lay’s potato chips used to be one of my staple junk foods, and the reason for their success isn’t their company name’s likeness to Jays (a lesser potato chip company distributed in the Midwest), it’s because they’re innovators committed to finding new ways to tempt us into eating greasy, delicious garbage from a convenient, perpetually-only-half-filled bag. What sets Lay’s apart from all the other potato chip companies is their commitment to experimentation—I’m talking about the Do Us A Flavor contest.

The Do Us A Flavor contest is a tournament where real people send in the potato chip flavors of their dreams. Lay’s selects a special few of these flavors to be produced and sold in select stores, and once you’ve tasted them all, you can vote for your favorite to become part of the regular flavor line-up right alongside veterans like sour cream and onion.

It sounds perfect, except for one little hiccup: people are disgusting. Don’t get me wrong, there have been some genius flavors submitted in the past…

You’re a modern hero, Christina.

But the current Do Us A Flavor choices leave something to be desired (flavor, to start):

Do you understand what this means? Of all the food items to flavor potato chips, the four standout submissions were cheddar bacon mac & cheese, cappuccino, mango salsa, and wasabi ginger. I mean, were their competitors stale bread, liver, and pig’s tongue? Who are these individuals that thought cappuccino and wasabi ginger belong in a chip? What’s their story? Have they endured a painful taste bud incident? PEOPLE, THIS WAS OUR CHANCE TO MAKE A LASTING IMPRESSION ON THE WORLD! I don’t know if I can live in a society where someone is perfectly okay with mango salsa potato chips being their legacy. I didn’t even know anyone even liked mango salsa that much. This is madness.

Because I’m so taken aback by how creative these flavors sound (by creative I mean unique and by unique I mean gross), I started thinking about flavors that I would recommend for Lay’s next Do Us A Flavor contest (I promise there are no coffee products or obscure salsas). Here are 20 of them that I think could completely revolutionize the snack aisle:

1. Egg bagel with Cream Cheese – Because egg is the most underrated bagel flavor, that’s why.
2. Chicken Quesadilla and Sour Cream – We’ve clearly mastered sour cream, let’s just add in a chicken quesadilla now.
3. Broccoli Cheddar Soup – I’m not asking for any bread bowl flavor, just give me that soup in a bag.
4. Grilled Cheese Sandwich – This has the potential to change the world.
5. Hardboiled Egg – Just imagine eggs in delicious, salty chip form. (I like eggs.)
6. Caesar Salad – Anything to make salad  less healthy is a step in the right direction.
7. Au Gratin Potatoes – You’ll never burn the roof of your mouth again!
8. Turkey Stuffing – WE NEED THIS IN A CHIP. NOW. This would be a great solution for redneck Thanksgivings, too.
9. Orange Chicken – Because sometimes you’re too lazy to even order Chinese.
10. Chicken Parmesan – For when you don’t want to place a solo order for Olive Garden carryout.
11. Bratwurst – You’ll never need to grill again.
12. Homemade Meatloaf – I would eat meatloaf chips all day.
13. Pumpkin Ravioli – Bet you weren’t expecting that one, but I think this would be a hit in fall when the pumpkin spice frenzy returns.
14. Coleslaw – Maybe this would taste less shitty as a potato chip.
15. Lamb and Chorizo – Don’t give me that look; I promise it’s not Mary’s little one.
16. Quinoa – Let’s try and get those health nuts to cross over to the trans fats side.
17. Spinach and Artichoke Dip Chip – WE NEED THIS SO MUCH MORE THAN MANGO SALSA. GIVE ME ARTICHOKES.
18. Carmelized Onion – Lay’s can partner with Tic-Tac for this campaign.
19. Filet Mignon with Blue Cheese – This may cause a stir, but I demand the flavor be medium-well.
20. Swordfish – Some people like fish. Plus, I’m sure we could mock-up a really cool package for these.

16 People We’ve All Gotten Dinner With

Going out to dinner with your friends can be a nice change of pace from eating macaroni and cheese at home, but it never fails that the friends you normally cherish outside of a restaurant quickly turn into one or more of the unsavory characters described below.

 

1. The person who refuses to have an opinion (until a decision is made)

He or she doesn’t have a taste for anything in particular and doesn’t care where you go to eat… until you choose Olive Garden and endure a temper tantrum about the farce of American-style Italian food and the perils of carbohydrate consumption.

 

2. The person who won’t try anything new

Getting a bite at that cool new restaurant that opened? Forget about it. There’s always one person who would rather eat at Giordano’s for the rest of his or her life rather than venture out of his or her comfort zone.

 

3. The person who ruins appetizers

Your table will have unanimously decided on getting the chicken quesadillas, and you’ll be imagining that first bite when… “Oh wait. Can we get it without tomatoes, pico de gallo, guacamole, and sour cream?” You subdue yourself enough to keep from flipping the table over, but the one who ruins appetizers decides to add insult to injury: “We can just get it on the side or something.” Real talk: Ingredients on the side are not the same as ingredients on the food item. There’s a psychological difference that impacts the taste. Picky appetizer people ruin meals (and lives).

 

4. The person who wants to share dessert

“Want to split the cookie sundae?” “Sure…”

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! We all know each dessert sharer is not going to get an equal portion, and you probably got a salad just so you’d have room for dessert. If you’re not able to consume a full dessert on your own, you don’t need dessert at all.

 

5. The person who gets embarrassingly upset about the server’s behavior

Five minutes will have passed since you ordered drinks, and suddenly your partner in crime is questioning the server’s credentials and threatening to talk to the manager.

 

6. The person who needs too many condiments (and freaks out when they’re forgotten)

“Can I get maple syrup for my fries and a side of balsamic dressing for my sandwich?”

Ten minutes after the food arrives

“HOW COULD THAT IDIOT FORGET MY MAPLE SYRUP AND BALSAMIC DRESSING? I CLEARLY ASKED FOR MAPLE SYRUP AND BALSAMIC DRESSING. It’s not that difficult to bring maple syrup and balsamic dressing!”

 

7. The person who gets skeptical about splitting the bill with two credit cards because he or she doesn’t want to pay

So you forgot to ask for separate checks, and neither of you has any cash. You take out your card and tell your fellow diner you’ll ask the server to split it when, “I don’t know if they can do that… I don’t know… Maybe we should just put it on one card… I could always just pay you back?”

 

8. The person who will “get the next one”

A rare breed that survives from the bartering days, the person who will “get the next one” likes to order four cocktails, two appetizers, the surf ‘n turf, and the chocolate soufflé and then spring their “get the next one” shenanigans on you once the bill comes.

 

9. The person who somehow forgot to bring his or her wallet

 Suuuuuuuuuuuuuure.

 

10. The person who’s literally eating all of your fries

It started innocently with a, “I’m stealing a fry, hehe,” but now this person is taking handfuls of fries at a time because suddenly their quinoa seems a lot less appetizing than it did before.

 

11. The person who’s offering you the gross stuff on his or her plate

“Want my turnips?” …The turnips? No. You don’t want them for a reason, and I feel the same way.

 

12. The person who’s sharing a bite of his or her food, but they’re putting it on your plate next to some food item(s) you don’t want it to touch

YOU TAINTED MY MASHED POTATOES WITH YOUR CHICKEN PARM! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!???!?!

 

13. The person who’s seriously too picky to eat out

“I just have a question about the menu… who supplies your Parmesan cheese? Do local farms provide your meat? Is your entire kitchen gluten free? Where are your vegan alternatives? What does ‘medium well’ mean to you? Has the restaurant had any health code violations in the past 90 days?”

 

14. The person who under-tips

I don’t what you’ve heard about this person, but you can’t get a dollar out of them to contribute to the tip your server deserves.

 

15. The person who snatches the bill and determines what everyone else owes

No one elected this person your table’s comptroller, yet here they are hogging the bill, trying to impress everyone with their basic computation skills. Ironically, someone else is always paying for this individual, too.

 

16. The person who insists on sitting at a booth or table

It never fails, whenever the restaurant has 50 open tables, you’ll be dining with someone who plainly refuses to sit anywhere but in a booth. It’s even worse when you see several spacious booths perfectly suited for your group, but one naysayer (who will have to use the restroom at some point during the meal) will complain about being “trapped on the inside” and insist on sitting at a table. And let’s not even mention people who unilaterally refuse to eat inside May through October.

 

How to Really Achieve the Perfect ‘Beach Body’

As sunny skies and warmer temperatures promise to banish any lingering winter sweaters to the back of the closet, we’ll soon be welcoming the beginning of swimsuit season — which also means it’s only a matter of time before we’re besieged with advice about how to obtain the elusive “beach body.”

You’ll find clues in clever magazine headlines (“Make ‘Em Swoon this June with a Toned Tummy!”) and lurking in every unwelcome pop-up on the Internet, as if attaining this “beach body” is a high-stakes, low-calorie scavenger hunt whose success predicts how much fun you’ll have this summer. One article will guarantee the fat-busting powers of this or that super fruit! An esteemed blogger will extol the virtues of bodyweight exercises! That one famous personal trainer will insist that following his two week plan will whittle the waist of your dreams!

Without disputing the efficacy of any of those methods, I want to fill you in on a little secret that you may have forgotten between pomegranate and plyometrics: You already have a beach body. Believe it or not, you’re in it right now.

This alleged “beach body” is actually the same as your “lounging-on-the-couch” body and your “sitting-in-a-boring-meeting” body. Your “beach body” is not being held hostage anywhere, and a month of healthy eating and exercise isn’t required to rescue it from its carbohydrate-crazed captors. The truth is, unless you have an open wound, a sand allergy or you ate less than 30 minutes ago, you are qualified to slather on some sunscreen, put on a swimsuit and head to the beach.

Summertime may be the season of fun in the sun, but it’s also the time of year when body consciousness is at its apex. Despite acknowledging that our insecurities are something we all have in common, all too often we’d rather pursue vague body ideals rather than take an honest look at ourselves in the mirror and determine what we need to do to be happy in the body that we have. When it comes to our physique, we’re quick to prioritize the value of what we could have over what’s already ours. It certainly doesn’t help that countless entities have made a business of making us feel as though our bodies must be a constant work in progress, devalued by an endless list of finishing touches that promise to bring us one step closer to confidence, a six-pack, or a “beach body.” The trouble doesn’t lie within having insecurities about how our bodies look in our swimsuits; the issue is that we allow third parties to make that distinction on our behalf.

Striving to feel and look your best at the beach (or anywhere) is a positive goal, but using this “beach body” balderdash isn’t the right way to achieve it. Instead of worrying about some transcendent beach body that could be yours after a week of crunches or adhering to a stringent juice cleanse, embrace your body. Accept the body you have that exists right now — the body that thanklessly gets you around everywhere, the body that you scrutinize unkindly and the body that will still be around once the swimsuits are gone and the sweaters triumphantly return from the shadowy depths of your closet.

If you go to the beach this summer, I promise you that you won’t see two bodies that look exactly the same. You will not be an outsider looking on from the sidelines while everyone in the “beach body” club plays volleyball. There is not one definitive “beach body.” There’s your body, what you do with it and how you treat it. Don’t let anyone else’s perception of a “beach body” determine whether you wear a tee shirt or a cover-up.

Most importantly, instead of looking for methods to achieve a “beach body” this summer, pour yourself a glass of lemonade and enjoy the sunshine.

This post originally appeared on Huffington Post.

11 Icky Thoughts Every Blogger Has Had

Most of the time blogging is like cheesecake-flavored sunshine hugs, but there days when even the most sensible, hard-working bloggers will succumb to the icky thoughts.

No blogger likes having the icky thoughts, because aside from being thoroughly icky, these thoughts are often unfair, mean, unrealistic, overdramatic, pathetic, annoying, or ridiculous. The icky thoughts also make you feel guilty–like an imposter parading around as one of those eternally optimistic, happy-go-lucky bloggers. You know you shouldn’t be thinking the icky thoughts, but sometimes they make you feel so much better about everything you’re trying to accomplish with your blog. So without further ado, the eleven icky thoughts every blogger has had at least once (some of which, while still totally icky, are the teensiest bit true sometimes):

1. “Why does everyone like that one blogger so much? I’ve read his/her stuff, and it’s good, but it’s not that good.”

Bloggers should never feel threatened by the success of any fellow bloggers. We’re all in this thing together! Except, of course, for that one blogger who’s totally overrated. That one blogger has a huge, dedicated following, and you’re so happy for him or her because being a part of the blogging community means being one of many diverse, talented voices yadda yadda yadda, but that one blogger needs to be stopped.

2. “It’s been forever since I visited so-and-so’s blog, and I’m behind on responding to comments. I’m the worst human being in existence.”

Who doesn’t love reading other blogs and responding to comments? But sometimes my love of watching Game of Thrones takes precedence over conquering the blogging world. And the next day, food, sweatpants, and Harry Potter all night might be absolutely necessary. And maybe the day after that I was too busy to even respond to text messages, let alone meaningful blog comments. I guess I’m just selfish. Everybody probably thinks I hate them! I’m unfit to have a blog.

3.  “I don’t like this follower. I may even hate them a little.”

Don’t get me wrong, all readers all wonderful. Every blogger would probably agree that it’s interacting with your audience that makes having a blog worthwhile, but every once in a while someone will come along and crash your party. Their comments are banal. They tell stories that scare you. They start following you on Twitter and spend a solid hour retroactively favoriting your old tweets. You’re totally polite and everything, but sometimes when you see his or her name pop up, you think to yourself, “Not this one… Not here… Not now…”

4. “I’m literally the only blogger who has a real life outside the Internet.”

It’s common knowledge that all bloggers deal with distractions that take them away from their blog, but how does so-and-so respond to comments so quickly? Does he/she not work? What job function allows him/her to be on the blog all day? Oh look, so-and-so found the perfect GIF for his/her latest post and created an awesome new home page banner—I bet he/she doesn’t floss, though! Disgusting. My blog may not be perfect, but at least I step away from the computer to floss my damn teeth.

5. “Everyone that doesn’t have a blog is lazy. Imagine all the free time I’d have if I didn’t blog!”

Blogging isn’t for everyone, and every individual should follow his or her own calling, but seriously how do all these lazy people who don’t write a blog handle all the free time they have? Are they watching every television show? Playing every sport? Sowing every wild oat? Those freeloaders don’t have the faintest idea how long it takes to proofread a post! Must be nice to get eight hours of sleep and have clean hair, you ambitionless sloths! While you’ve been loafing around, I’VE BEEN INCREASING MY INTERNET PRESENCE.

6. “No one likes my blog. My blog is stupid. WAH!”

There will always be people who won’t respond favorably to your blog, but there will also be readers who shower you with compliments and applaud your writing skills. You should always focus on the followers who support you, but let’s be honest: those positive people are probably just being nice because they’re embarrassed for you. It’s much more likely that everyone in the entire world is mocking your blog from behind their computer screen. Even if they think your blog is good now, they’ll soon realize how much you suck once they come across that one blogger mentioned in number one.

7. “I’m not successful because none of my posts have gone viral!”

It takes time for a blog to establish its reach, but—wait, did you say nothing you’ve written has gone viral? And you’ve been blogging how long? Oh, well then, you may as well give it up now. Being the author of a viral blog post is the only measure of success that matters! Every viral post that’s ever existed is a striking example of vivid prose that communicates only the most significant aspects of our existence. Everyone knows that viral blog posts don’t rely on good timing or polarizing opinions for their success whatsoever! If you haven’t gone viral, you’re obviously talentless.

8. “I’m so mad every blogger is better/funnier/more clever/better liked/more popular than me that I’m never reading anyone else’s blog ever again.”

Finding inspiration as a blogger—hold that thought, so-and-so has a new post that looks interesting—HOW WAS THAT SO GOOD!? WHY DID I READ THAT? I CAN’T WRITE LIKE THAT! Why can’t I come up with stuff like that? I’m wasting my time as long as that exists in the world. I’m never reading another blog again. I don’t even want to know what else is out there. I’m sealing myself off in my blog bubble.

9.  “Someone had a bad response to something I wrote… I’m obviously a monster ruining the world one poorly-received blog post at a time.”

Every blogger will face criticism at some point or another, but it’s important to keep your head up and stand by your words. But before I completely let it go Frozen style, HOW COULD ANYONE SAY THAT ABOUT MY POST! That’s not what I meant at all! How could anyone think that I meant that?! Did I mean that!? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?! I’m never having an opinion again. I’ll just write about cats, clouds, and cotton candy–those shouldn’t offend anyone… BUT WHAT ABOUT THE DOG LOVERS, METEROLOGISTS WHO HATE THEIR JOBS, AND DENTISTS???? Forget it. I’m giving up.

10. “Why am I doing this? I’m probably just wasting my time. Besides, I bet those America’s Next Top Model marathons could make me just as happy.”

There will be tough days when blogging seems like a waste of time, but you shouldn’t give up. Your traffic will be pathetic, your comments will consist mostly of spam, you’ll get excited by a new follower only to discover she’s trying to sell you discounted Christian Louboutin shoes, and the only email in your blog inbox will be from a Nigerian man who’s the reluctant heir to an empire (which you can share with him as long as you wire him $5,000 USD, your bank account and routing number, and all nine digits of your social security number). On second thought, where’s the remote? And pass the Funyuns, please. It’s not a pity party without Funyun crumbs down my shirt.

11. “This post I wrote was amazing, but it didn’t get the attention I felt it deserved. Doesn’t anyone appreciate my craft?! I guess I’ll just write the same old stuff people want to read.”

When you’ve been blogging for a while, you’ll start to notice certain characteristics of blog posts that readers will respond to more than others, but if you don’t pursue different topics or new approaches that interest you, you’ll never grow as a writer. Buuuuuut. How could anyone skip that awesome post I just wrote? It was so funny! So poignant! Even the title was ingenious! I guess I’ll just go back to writing the same stuff I typically write. I lost potential traffic all because I stepped outside of my comfort zone. POTENTIAL. TRAFFIC.

____________________________

When things get really icky, turn to Jillian Michaels and/or Liz Lemon (not necessarily in that order):

What icky thoughts have you had while blogging?

So, I Stepped in Dog Poop This Morning

My alarm went off like any other morning, and even though silencing my phone and staying in bed for the foreseeable future was a much more attractive prospect than leaving my drool-bedazzled pillow, my furry, fail-safe alarm hopped onto my pillow mid-purr, forcing me to rise if not shine.

When I wake up in the morning my first thought is not,

What a wonderful day to be alive!

It’s closer to,

OMG I HAVE TO PEE SO BADLY. How did I manage not to wet the bed?

I ambled to the bathroom in the dark with my hair a mess, retainer still in place, and bags accessorizing the sleepies at the corners of my eyes. In the morning, I delay turning a light on until the very last minute. The minute you turn a light on at home, responsibilities begin.

Alas, on this morning I learned the horrors that can come of walking around barefoot in the dark as a pet owner.

I took two steps into the bathroom—the first one was routine, but something went horribly wrong with the second. When I shifted my weight to my right foot, I sunk down into something chilled to room temperature. It was mushy, and I could tell whatever it was had flattened and affixed itself the bottom of my foot. In my heart of hearts, I knew I had just stepped in poo barefooted.

Wait a second, how could you not smell it as soon as you got in the bathroom?

Um, maybe because I was in the bathroom? It always smells bad in there! With the things that come out of my boyfriend, it’s a wonder the entire apartment doesn’t smell like a colon (as in, part of the anatomy–I imagine grammatical colons smell like Fig Newtons).

I’m perched in front of the toilet with one leg up like a feces-ridden flamingo contemplating what just happened. Because it’s early in the morning, and because stepping in poo without so much as a sock or a slipper barrier takes you to a dark place, these are some of the thoughts I entertained:

1.) Did my boyfriend, Mike, wake up for a midnight mutiny and miss the toilet?

2.) I’m going to drop an anvil on the dog’s head.

3.) Maybe I’ll just buy the dog a one-way bus ticket. To Crimea.

4.) MAYBE THIS ISN’T POOP! Maybe Mike woke up for a late night snack and he made some oatmeal. He decided to eat in the bathroom in the dark, because he didn’t want to wake me up! But he spilled a little on the floor, and that’s what I just stepped in. Room temperature oatmeal!

I turned the bathroom light on and saw with my own two eyes a thick, brown layer of poop pressed into the ball of my foot.

The only relatively good news was the poo didn’t get between my toes. When you have poop on your bare foot, you take any silver lining you can get.

Now that I’d ascertained, beyond all reasonable doubt, that there was indeed poo on my foot, I was pissed. I’m no stranger to the crushing woe that comes of stepping in poop in one of my favorite pairs of shoes, but what I’d just endured was beyond compare. Should I fall head over heels in love at this very moment, poop would metaphorically be inches from my face. I angrily did four one-footed hops (angry one-footed hops are probably reserved for amputees, but, heat of the moment and all that) to the paper towel dispenser in the kitchen—

Hang on, why wouldn’t you just use toilet paper? You were in the bathroom! Your hopping transferred your poop foot to the room where food is prepared!

YES, I AM AWARE OF THAT! While toilet paper is the ideal width for cleaning a butt crack, when you have dung on your foot, you want a full size, regulation paper towel, not a collection of tiny squares prone to tearing (Charmin wasn’t on sale the last time we bought TP, okay?).

I turned on the light and start cleaning off my foot, and I hear Mike is still peacefully sawing logs in the other room despite there being two lights on and an angry, dung-footed woman hop stomping around.

Am I the only person who only resents her significant other’s ability to sleep through anything whenever something goes wrong? I know I wake up before him, and I don’t want to trouble him with something that isn’t his fault, and rock-a-bye baby etc., but when something unusual happens, I want everyone to be awake to take stock of it, even if it’s too late to do anything to stop this unusual event/probable mess from happening.

So once my foot is cleaned, I did this really dramatic thing where I charged into the bedroom where both my boyfriend and Blu, the dog, were sleeping, and I confronted the dog about her despotic dump. It’s 4:10 a.m., and I’m antagonizing a dog about pooping in the house, mostly because I want my boyfriend to wake up on his own (but as a result of the commotion I’m creating) so I can tell him about the ordeal I’ve suffered and maybe even reap a little sympathy. I grabbed both sides of Blu’s head and spluttered,

“You are lucky I don’t ship you off to Crimea!!!!!!”

I glanced over to find Mike dead to the world, blissfully ignorant of Blu’s inside-the-house poop and my unfortunate misstep. I gave up. Clearly, this would have to wait until a more appropriate hour.

Now that I was fully awake, a pressing inquiry crossed my mind:

When Mike woke up in the middle of the night to pee, did he manage to avoid the poop in the dark simply by chance? Has the dog been monitoring my bathroom walking path so she could poop strategically and sabotage me?

Suffice it to say, I don’t know whom to trust anymore, I’ll be using my iPhone as a lantern from now on, and I’m not holding out much hope for a week that’s off to such a crappy start already.

Have you ever stepped in it barefoot? Do you ever try dramatically to wake people up? Is anyone interested in adopting a dog? Crimeans?

21 Reasons Staying Home for Spring Break Isn’t So Bad

With spring allegedly on its way, you’ve probably noticed a lot of your friends and frenemies have been bragging about the awesome spring break they have planned. If you can’t make it to Miami, Cabo, or Cancun, don’t feel too bad, because getting herpes and spending a night in Mexican jail probably isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. If you’re spending your spring break locally, here are 21 reasons staying home for spring break isn’t so bad:

1. You don’t have to bear the burden of being the only tan/sunburned person in a five-mile radius when you get back in town.

2. You don’t have to talk yourself into thinking that using a beer bong has ever been or ever will be a good decision you won’t regret.

3. The only wet t-shirt contest you have to worry about is when you get a little too aggressive when trying to recreate the face washing that happens in Neutrogena commercials.

You won’t be smiling for long.

4. You won’t have to expose the fact that you can’t dance in broad daylight. Some of us prefer doing The Lighthouse in a dimly lit club to twerking on the beach.

5. If you’re still working off any lingering Thanksgiving turkey, gingerbread men, or Valentine’s Day candy, you have until Memorial Day to get it together.

6. You can save more of your time off at work for the hangovers you didn’t anticipate, the headaches you don’t have, and the family emergency that doesn’t exist.

7. You can save all that money you’d spend on airfare, gas, or a hotel and put it all towards drinking locally (which means you’ll also be supporting the local community!).

8. You could easily channel Animal House and have a house party. Blacking out at home is so much more convenient, anyway.

9. If you live somewhere where spring doesn’t start until May/June, you don’t have to experience the combination of horror and disappointment that comes of returning to 30-degree temperatures.

10. You’ll spare your friends/family members/coworkers the effort of hating you for your exposure to the sun, the beach, and the enviable 80-degree weather you enjoyed.

11. You won’t feel pressured to top anything that happened in the movie Spring Breakers. …But no judgment if you’d still like to get one of those unicorn ski masks.

12. For the ladies, you have a little more time to come up with a good lie to tell your pedicurist to explain how your toes got to the state they’re currently in. Just claim you forgot that painting black polish over red is a bad idea…

13. If your spring break becomes a disaster or takes a turn for the worst, at least your best friends, regular physician, and favorite walk-of-shame Walgreens are nearby.

14. The only sand you’ll contend with is the ampersand you hit instead of the “@” symbol when you were sending a tweet from your iPhone.

15. Those rumors your heard about Mexican jail will stay rumors you heard about Mexican jail.

16. The state of your body hair will remain a secret for a little while longer.

17. You’ll be spared the dilemma of determining which of your friends/family members/neighbors you’re the most comfortable with rifling through all of your belongings in between caring for your pets and collecting your junk mail.

18. You won’t have to owe anyone a huge favor because he or she drove you to the airport (i.e. you won’t live your life in fear that the weekend will come when you’ll have to help move someone into a fourth floor apartment with no elevator).

19. When you’re not on vacation, it always seems easier to remember that multiple tequila shots are always a mistake.

20. You could always just curl up with a good book and not drink excessively?

21. Why deal with this:

When you can have this:

How are you/did you spend your spring break? Would you rather be in Cancun right now?

A Good Repairman is Hard to Find

Being on house arrest or going on a blind date are both probably more straightforward than having a repairman (cable guy, plumber, electrician, butcher, baker, candlestick maker, etc.) come to your home. At least on house arrest you know the terms of your confinement and on a blind date you know for a fact there’s a 75% chance you’ll be murdered—you aren’t guaranteed the same assurances when a repairman shows up.

 ________________________________

It starts with a leaky basement, some bad cable reception, or a clogged drain. In the moments that follow your discovery of a household problem, you’ll be in denial, as evidenced by your frantic Google searching for “plumbing tips for the buttcrack aware.” Once you or your sibling/spouse/friend/parent/neighbor/landlord has insisted on “trying something” that makes the issue seven and a half times worse than it originally was, you’ll resign yourself hiring someone who is (or claims to be) a professional.

A good repairman is hard to find, because before consulting traditional means like Internet search engines or the YellowPages, you’ll insist on poring through your memory rolodex of what I call “repairman mentions.” Repairman mentions are instances of people mentioning the skilled laborers they know in the course of regular conversation:

“Oh, you took a bubble bath this morning? Speaking of grout, my brother knows a guy who does beautiful work!”

“Hey, I noticed your new kitchen faucet is ugly, did I ever tell you I have a friend from college who does plumbing work on the side? He laid some pipe for me, even did a little rodding… He’s very thorough.”

Everyone reacts to repairman mentions the same way when they happen. You’ll say something like, “Oh really? You know a grout professional? You simply must pass his information along! Thanks so much for telling me!” What do I need a grout guy for? My grout is immaculate!

No one ever mentions the tradesmen they know in your actual time of need. These people only seem to exist when everything in your home is in working order.

So you’ll endure the strenuous process of mentally reliving every empty conversation that took place at weddings, wakes, and parties you’ve attended over the past five years; eventually, you’ll recall that roughly two years and four months ago your friend of a friend of a friend’s sister’s boyfriend was working for a plumbing company and allegedly “did good work.” (For some reason, “doing good work” is the standard to which all repairmen are measured.) Unfortunately, the couple has split up since then, so you won’t be sure what the etiquette is surrounding the commissioning of a friend of a friend of friend’s sister’s ex to fix your clogged pipe. Rather than run the risk of offending your friend of a friend of a friend and her sister, you’ll decide instead to strike out on your own and hire someone completely new.

After flipping through the YellowPages for ten minutes like an Amish person taking a break from barn raising, you’ll decide to visit Yelp, a website where desperate people attempt to extrapolate useful information from reviews written by strangers who all fancy themselves undiscovered novelists:

Since Yelp is about as reliable as a comment thread on ThoughtCatalog, you’ll decide to finally check out Angie’s List after successfully ignoring their commercials for several years.

The main difference between Craig’s List and Angie’s List is that while Craig’s List has a robust listing of low-key prostitutes, there aren’t any official reviews! On Angie’s List, legitimate businesses are rated and accompanied by crowd-sourced reviews written by other users so that people in need can make an “informed” repairman hiring decision.

This is exactly what you’ve been looking for! Angie’s List to the rescue! What a wonderful service!

…Until you realize you’re expected to pay to see the ratings and read the reviews. Reviews that are written by people who pay a membership fee to discover reliable businesses and write reviews about them. It’s a lot like Yelp–only you pay Angie money like she’s the madam of a handyman brothel. Suddenly the, “Angie’s List is there to resolve any issues” seems a lot more sinister…

Why would anyone ever think this is a good idea?

The founders of Angie’s List claim that reviews presented by paid members, are more reliable than reviews posted on other websites such as Yelp because “Companies can’t pay to be on Angie’s List. Reviews come from real people like you, not anonymous users.”[5] However, this quotation was taken off of the main page of the website because most of the revenue for 2013 came from advertising companies. [6]

Of course! May I also add, I have some serious doubts that the users of Angie’s List would be accurately categorized as, “real people like [me].”

Once Angie (AAAAAAAAAANNNGIE) and Yelp finish their tag-team assault on your waning repairman morale, you’ll ultimately decide to listen to your heart and hire Pulled Out a Plum Plumbing (based entirely on its clever name). After approximately a week of phone tag, you’ll schedule an inconvenient appointment to have one of their plumbers check out your clogged drain. It doesn’t matter if the repairman gives you a four-hour window or he pinpoints a specific hour, 78% of the time he’ll be late, 34% of the time he’ll reschedule, and 8% of the time you’ll never ever hear from him again.

It’s thirty minutes before your appointment (or before the dreaded window begins), and for the first time since the last time a repairman came, you’ll be dressed like a modest human being in your own home. You’ll have pants on. A bra. Maybe even socks without holes. You’re dressed so completely that if someone were to knock on your door right at that moment, you could simply stroll over and answer it without making a mad dash to find a giant sweater or some sweatpants.

If you ask me, I would rather have a potential love interest, relative, or friend see my messy house than a repairman. At least I have a chance to compensate for my sanitation shortcomings with the people closest to me; an isolated clog, on the other hand, may be the only chance I have to make a cleanliness impression on a repairman I’ll likely never see again! Cleaning (read: hiding) my mess is of the utmost importance.

Besides, what if the repairman you get is part of a new reality show called Repairman Rampage where real repairmen show up with a camera crew to document all the disgusting ways people live? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want my unmade bed, toothpaste covered bathroom sink, or cluttered countertops broadcast on television.

What I like to do is consolidate my mess in one room of the house and then shut the door. Even then, I’m paranoid enough to wonder: what if the pipe is somehow routed to the master bedroom and he needs to get in there and sees the giant mess!!!!!!!!! How could I possibly explain this mess is truly an amalgam of all the other messes in the house!

While you wait for the repairman, eyeing the door to your “mess room” as if it’s suddenly going to fly open and expose your concealed hoard, you’ll be doing that weird thing where you sit on your own furniture all uncomfortably like you’re in a doctor’s office waiting room. I’m pretty sure the arms of furniture only exist for moments when you’re apprehensively waiting around.

It’s officially time for the repairman to arrive, but despite peeking out your window like the neighborhood shut-in, you don’t see any signs of a truck driving by. You then experience a fleeting moment of panic during which you consider the possibility that you missed him. Maybe he knocked so lightly you didn’t hear! Wouldn’t he have called? Maybe he was so pissed he just took off! …Is it possible he’s dead? Is today the wrong day?

You’ll go pee for the fourth time (you don’t want to tinkle with a repairman in the house!), and decide to settle in a little while you wait. You put your feet up on the couch and drape yourself in a blanket. You’ll have just pressed the power button on the television remote when your phone will ring, and for some reason, it’s in the furthest room of the house from you are. You’ll do a sprint, stub your toe, and try to answer the phone without sounding breathless:

“Hello?”

“Hi, this Jack Horner from Pulled Out a Plumb Plumbers. I’m on my way over to your house, though I’m not really familiar with your neighborhood. Right now I’m at the corner of Not Anywhere Near and Your House, can you tell me if I’m going in the right direction?”

“No, no, actually you’re about 30 miles off. You’re going to want to turn around and go back the opposite way you just came.”

“OK. Be there in five minutes.”

“…Five minutes? I’ll make sure my neighbor isn’t parked in my helipad again, because evidently you’re arriving by way of helicopter.”

With the repairman’s imminent arrival, your palms will start to sweat. You’ll try and convince your pets and/or children not to embarrass you when he arrives, but in your heart, you know they inevitably will. The doorbell will finally ring, and you’ll scuttle to the door nonchalantly. After all, you don’t want him to think you were just waiting around for him! You’re capable of passing time productively!

When you open the door, Jack will never look like the composite description you had put together based on his voice alone. This will worry you a little because if he does stab you and steal your stuff, you don’t have very long to memorize his actual features and put out of your mind the thick neck and strong jaw you assumed he’d have based on his gruff voice. Even though you’re a little scared, there’s a passing moment where you wonder if Jack is the one. Maybe he’s the blue-collar Mr. Big to your Carrie Bradshaw (only less dysfunctional). More reasonably, this could be your big formulaic porn moment!

Nah. Stabby serial killer Jack is much more likely than soul mate or sex tape co-star Jack.

You’ll show former imaginary lover/potential stabber Jack where the trouble is and recite everything you know about the problem, along with your own personal assessment of what you think is wrong, because for some reason, none us ever realize how stupid we sound telling a professional our flawed, preposterous hypotheses:

“It’s right here in the kitchen sink. I use this sink for rinsing on a daily basis, and you know, I really think the prior owners used a bathroom sink pipe out here instead of a kitchen sink pipe. I mean, I’m not a plumber or anything like that, but that just seems to make the most sense to me. I moved all my Pine Sol and Windex out from under the sink to get a good look, and the pipe seems unusually narrow, in my estimation. That’s probably what caused the clog.”

Jack will benevolently humor your silliness, but once his crack comes out and he gets to work, you’ll have an important decision to make: are you supposed to stick around and keep Jack company and answer any questions he has, or should you leave him to his work and act as if a stranger isn’t indecently exposing himself in your house?

If you decide to leave Jack to his own devices (because you don’t want him to think you don’t trust him, even though you don’t), you’ll go sit in the other room in silence contemplating the probability of him killing you. After all, if his appearance isn’t what you expected, who knows what other miscalculations about his character you may have made based on his voice alone… He did seem to glance at the knife block. Maybe he just likes to cook.

“Excuse me?”

Oh no. Shaken from your daydream of Lifetime’s dramatization of your murder (I call dibs on Emmy Rossum playing me in a movie about my death!), Jack will require your presence.

 “Ma’am, do you have about four feet of .33 millimeter copper wire?”

“Uh, no. I’m afraid not…”

He’ll react as if you told him you don’t have any Band-Aids or cinnamon on hand. With a heavy sigh, Jack will hoist himself up from the floor, “Well, then I’m going to have to go back out to the truck.”

At last, we common folk find something in common with the repairman: we all act as if it’s some horrible inconvenience to walk out to outside to our car to get something we’ve forgotten, as if that item is trapped in some fortress that requires significantly more effort than walking, pressing a button, and pulling a handle to obtain it.

You’ll hover near the door while Jack gets his supplies, because you’re not sure if he’ll feel comfortable letting himself back in, or if he’s going to ring the doorbell all over again. Eventually, he’ll come back with his copper wire and get back to work.

After a round of gratuitous slamming noises, it’ll sound as if Jack’s finally settled into a working rhythm. With your laptop on your lap, you’ll meekly settle in the couch to check your email—

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Son of a– When you find Jack, the smug look on his face will tell you everything. The big moment has arrived: it’s time to endure one of the repairman’s favorite parts of the job: delivering an incomprehensible technical monologue that makes you feel like an unfit human being. 

“In my professional opinion, it appears that the central flow of your main line was obstructed by some sort of build-up caused by the accumulation of nutrition and lubricant remnants. This can be a serious problem if you don’t keep an eye on it.”

“I see… That is very troubling, indeed. Just to clarify what you’re saying here, you found a protein bar and lube in my sink? Because if so, I know you probably hear this a lot but, that’s not mine.”

“Oh, no no, nothing like that. I know how confusing this can be for people who aren’t familiar with piping and drainage best practices. Essentially what I uncovered was a mass of sustenance remains and blubber of sorts.”

“Ah, I see… Well, I do admit I am ignorant of so many of these plumbing matters. But let me get this straight… Food and grease is what clogged up the drain?”

“I suppose in a manner of simplistically elementary speaking, if you were to put it in layman’s terms, yes, that’s right.”

Jack will pack up his stuff and go out to the truck to write your invoice, and you’ll indulge in your latest act of repairman masochism: making your own determination of what the services provided are worth.

He was only here about half an hour… Say labor is $50. I didn’t need a new pipe or anything. But I didn’t have the copper wire… Will that be counted against me? I bet he’s going to charge me for equipment… Why didn’t I ask if several unwrapped paper clips would suffice? That’s going to cost me… Okay, so let’s say $150. Maaaaybe $175.

The illustrious Jack will return and present you with the invoice, and with every fiber of your being you’ll try to keep your face from conveying the palpable sense of screwing-overing that’s taking place on the three-part form in your hand. In that moment, you’d like to take the white, yellow, and pink copy and shove all of them right up Jack’s ass for having the audacity to charge you the amount he’s charging.

When you turn away to write out a check and quietly blot your tears with what little dignity you have left, you’ll really start to consider what all your options are. What if you told Jack you simply refuse to pay that amount? What could he do, anyway!? You’re closer to the knife block, now!!!! All you have is a verbal contract! You could tell the judge Pulled Out a Plum Plumbing assured you that the cost would be reasonable! You could accuse Jack of copper wire malfeasance!

“By the way, you have a beautiful home. You wouldn’t believe some of the disgusting shacks I usually see.”

You’ll cross your t’s and dot your i’s and gladly fork over that check to that wonderful, kind-hearted Jack. You even so far as to offer Jack a bottle of water for the road. For a full second, you feel a kinship with Bertha Habblesworthy from Papillion Palisades. Sure, you may not be able to afford getting another clogged pipe fixed again anytime soon, but Jack the repairman complimented your humble home, and that’s tantamount to a feature in Good Housekeeping!

Jack will head out to his truck and sit in your driveway for fifteen minutes while you anxiously wait for him to back out so you can undress. He’s probably texting his boss how he just charged someone 65% more than industry standard for a routine unclogging.

After loitering entirely too long, Jack will finally leave and you can redistribute your mess and go back to being the pantsless person you truly are inside. Free at last, you’ll lazily flop down on the couch, making a solemn vow to the limit the use of everything in your home to avoid dealing with another repairman anytime soon.

An Open Letter to Jennifer Lawrence (from a concerned fellow 23-year-old)

Dear Jen,

Do you mind if I call you Jen? You’re so candid in all of your interviews that calling you Jennifer feels too formal, but I can’t use the name Jenny without thinking of “Jenny from the Block” (thanks a lot J.Lo). If you want my honest opinion, I think Jenna is probably the moniker that suits you the best, but that’s kind of a niche nickname, so I’m sticking with Jen. I guess it really doesn’t matter, because this letter has nothing to do with your name or what you like to be called, but I was hoping to capture your attention so you would really hear what I’m about to say to you:

It is not normal for a 23-year-old woman to fall down so much.

As a fellow 23-year-old, albeit one who has not won an Oscar or the hearts of countless devoted fans, I speak from my own life experience when I say I don’t trip that often (literally or in an Urban Dictionary context). Last year in early spring, I will admit I took a tumble thanks to a short, unexpected metal pole sticking out of the ground. Prior to that embarrassing gaffe, it’s been many years since I’ve wiped out. I find it a little alarming that you’ve fallen down, publicly, no less, once every year (that we know of) starting with your epic Oscars fall in 2013.

I could justify falling down that often if you were rollerblading, participating in a three-legged race, or even wading through a pile of dirty laundry and getting your ankle dangerously wrapped in a rogue pants leg, but on both occasions that you’ve fallen, it’s taken place on everyday terrain: a set of stairs and solid, carpeted ground.

Some people are just naturally clumsy, but to fall down at two consecutive Academy Awards? Only a person with a compulsive gambling problem would bet on that happening. The thing about klutzery is that it’s spontaneous. When it comes to embarrassing debacles that could befall you at the Oscars, the odds of falling two years in a row are 125:1–that means you had a greater probability of having an accident in your dress, confusing Pharrell for an African American Eddie Munster on the red carpet, and being overheard asking, “Why is Lady Gaga at the Oscars?” than falling down again, yet you managed to beat the odds.

Are you OK? Are you getting enough potassium? Did somebody steal your bones?

Last year the excitement of winning your very first Oscar for Best Actress could have accounted for your shaky knees on those steps up to the stage, but what was your excuse this year? You may have gotten the Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress, but we all knew this was Lupita’s moment.

Allegedly, when you got out of your limo this year there was an orange cone that tripped you up. I have a serious question: how is a woman who trains like a machine for the Hunger Games movies unable to step around/jump over/shoot arrows at an orange cone that gets in her way? Where’s that Katniss mojo?

Are these falls in your Dior contract? Do Dior’s gowns look best on women who are falling down? I mean, this faux advertisement from your 2013 Oscars fall is pretty incredible:

As refreshing as it would be to have a talented, A-list actress who literally cannot walk in heels thrown in the mix, I can’t help but wonder if these “falls” have both been staged. I mean, when you’re a legitimately convincing actress, how hard it can be to act embarrassed and humbled after fake tripping? Everyone knows us Americans love watching people fall down, and when they get up and laugh with us about it? Shoot, that’s better than a Big Mac for us. Even more evidence for the phony fall argument: how did this year’s latest tumble on the red carpet fit into Ellen’s opening monologue so seamlessly? She’s good (especially when she tells Liza Minnelli she looks like a man), but she’s not that good.

Let’s look at some other 23-year-old women staying on their feet at the Oscars:

It can be done!

Look, we get it, Jen(na), you’ve dethroned that nasty Anne Hathaway and cemented yourself as America’s new darling with your undeniable talent and timely sound bytes, but you can stop falling down now, girlfriend. You’ve arrived! None of us have any doubts that if you stumble, you could totally laugh it off and joke about it immediately (unlike, say, Anne Hathaway).

You can do this, Jen. Just take it one step at a time.

Best,

Katie

P.S. Next year, instead of Neil Lane jewels, may I suggest a Life Alert pendant.

The Chiberia 2014 Winter Games

If you’re the kind of person who likes to watch people in pique physical condition from around the world compete in various athletic events (that you could totally participate in just as successfully if you weren’t nestled so comfortably on the couch), the television event you’ve been waiting four years for is starting tonight: the Sochi 2014 Winter Olympic Games. Rumor has it all the athletes are going to wear fake mustaches and dance to “Rasputin” from Just Dance 3.

If you’re familiar with the weather in Sochi, Russia (why do you have such specific knowledge about a previously obscure Russian city?), you’ll know that Sochi has a humid, subtropical climate that reaches a frigid 50 degrees during the day in its coolest months. Far away from Russia, in a state shaped like something a not-doomed stray dog chewed up called Illinois, the city of Chicago has been experiencing one of the most miserable winters in history. “Chiberia,” as it’s been called, has more snow than its residents know what to do with, and a 50-degree day here would probably prompt a statewide barbecue with sausages and a cacophony of Chicagoans using “da” as an article.

Unlike the real Olympic games that require a certain level of athleticism n sportsmanship (unless your bitch face inspires a tumblr), the Winter Games happening here in the Midwest is a struggle borne out of bitter necessity, and it’s open to everyone trying to function like a normal human being in a frozen tundra. Here are but a few of the sporting events we’ve hosted this year:

Speed Scraping

To compete in this popular event, all you need is a brush with an ice scraper, a desire to see out of your car windows, and a pair of gloves thick enough to keep from feeling like you just gave Jack Frost a handjob. Speed scraping is really at its finest when you’re already running 20 minutes late for work, and it somehow slips your mind that your car is closer to being a stationary igloo than an actual mode of transportation. If you want to get the gold, remember to clean off the roof of your car before opening your driver’s side door—I’ve seen so many competitors lose precious seconds cleaning off the pile of snow that landed in their front seat.

Curling (Up in Bed and Calling Off of Work, Because Forget About Driving in this Weather)

It takes years of laziness and deception to qualify for this event. Those with children have a slight advantage because they can lament school closures forcing them to be responsible for the care of their spawn. Claiming your car won’t start may get you a bronze, but if you want the gold you have to get creative. This year’s gold medal contender claimed he couldn’t come into work because he was filing a lawsuit against an angry parent from the neighborhood sledding hill that claimed he was too old to own a saucer.

. 5 Meter Dash

In the most risqué event of the Winter Games, athletes compete fully nude in their own bathrooms. The .5 meter dash happens right after participants get out of the shower and rush to dry off and put their clothes back before their nipples become dangerous–or more realistically–before their feet get frostbite from touching the bathroom tile for two seconds.

Tandem Shoveling

In this event athletes text exes, former friends, acquaintances, and anyone else in their phone they might’ve forgotten about in the desperate search to find someone to help them dig out the end of their driveway, which has morphed into a dirty iceberg thanks to the plow.

Freestyle Neighbor Castigation

This event takes place knee-deep in snow on the sidewalk in front of your neighbor’s house. Because this thoughtless jerk decided to opt-out of society and only shovel their driveway and not the surrounding walkway designed for pedestrians, competitors will take turns screaming obscenities and pummeling the snowmen built by his or her children. I took home the silver medal this year when I condemned one of my neighbors to an eternity of shoveling Satan’s diarrhea in hell (Satan likes Taco Bell and White Castle).

Shovel Javelin

This traditional event takes place right after you almost impale yourself in the stomach with your shovel when discovering an uneven portion of sidewalk. This year, I cleared a solid five feet.

What events have you participated in this winter?

A Dossier of Blog Commenters

I’ve been running this blog for almost a year and a half now, and in that time I’ve encountered all kinds of feedback in the form of comments, emails, tweets, and Reddit posts. I may not have reached a level of blogging success that results in Louis Stevens Shia LeBouef plagiarizing my work and skywriting an apology, but I like to think I’m well on my way. Through observing my own comment trends, I’ve put together a brief dossier on all the people that regularly leave feedback on Internet articles and blogs. Read on to see if anybody sounds familiar to you…

The Person Who Didn’t Finish Reading the Entire Post: This person may have gotten away with their innocent deception had they stuck to generic remarks like, “Great post!” or “Too funny!” but they took it a step too far and paraded their ignorance in assuming your post titled, “A Love Letter to Coleslaw” was an actual love letter. In reality, it was a scathing diatribe that had some choice words for raw cabbage.

The Person Who Thought You Were Writing Specifically About Them: Unbeknownst to you, this commenter believes he or she is the center of your universe. They’ll let their opinions be known in a defensive comment they wrote during the ten minute bathroom break of a “How to Take Everything Very Personally” seminar.

The Person Whose Superior Education Compels Them to Correct Your Remarks: This learned individual will feel obligated to mention which Ivy League school they received their doctorate in Ambiguous Studies from. The context or purpose of the information you provided in your article is irrelevant— if they can find fault in something you wrote, they’ll do their intellectual due diligence in informing you of it in the most pompous manner possible.

The Person Who Loves You More Than Your Mom: This person’s adoring compliments and overwhelming praise will make you feel like you cured cancer, ran a marathon, and made sweet love to the Snuggle bear all in one afternoon. This breed of commenter has an innate ability to inflate your ego and warm your heart.

That Popular Blogger You Secretly Stalk Who Graced Your Blog With Their Presence: OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!! ____________ commented on your post! It was probably short and sweet, and it may never happen again, but for two minutes, you were on top of the world.

The Person Who Missed the Joke: Don’t be too hard on this person— being born without a funny bone is worse than being born with a tail. Maybe your satire was so convincing you confused them, or perhaps what you wrote wasn’t as obviously funny as you thought. Either way, one thing’s for sure: this person sucks big time.

The Person Who Changed the Tone:  When this commenter comes around, he or she is usually one of the first people to leave feedback. This individual likes to write something really polarizing, inflammatory, or accusatory that has the damaging potential to completely change another reader’s perception about what you wrote.

The Person Whose Life Experiences Are More Relevant Than Yours: This person has led a life as wisdom-inducing as Siddhartha’s, and because of that they’re actually qualified to explain to you how and why your own impressions are misguided. Bask in the authority of their omniscience!

The Person Who You’d Call “NORM!” If Your Blog Was Cheers: This person is a regular. You look forward to comments from them because you know you can trust them to be honest and kind; they know you and your voice, and they’re welcome at your bar (or blog) any day.

The Person Who Assumed An Omission Meant Something More Than It Did: This reader has the expectation that every blog post should cover every aspect of everything equally. To leave anything out can only mean one thing: the author is making an intentionally incendiary statement for which they must be held accountable!

The Person Whose Precise Grammar Makes Their Opinions Inherently Superior*: This individual carries a pocket dictionary and a travel edition of the Chicago Manual of Style (who doesn’t?), and they use their superior grammar abilities to suggest the ideas of others are automatically inferior if the author made a typo or forgot a comma. There’s a special name for this kind of commenter: a pedant–one who can’t come up with a better argument than, “YOU USED THE WRONG VERSION OF YOUR AND YOU DIDN’T SPELL OUT “YOU”!  YOU MUST BE A COMPLETE MORON. HOW COULD ANYTHING YOU SAY HAVE VALUE WHEN YOU MADE A MISTAKE THAT? TRY AGAIN WHEN YOU CAN SPELL, JERKFACE. IS THAT AN EMOTICON? HA HA HA YOU’RE SO DUMB. I WON A SPELLING BEE ONCE.”

*I’m not shy about correcting someone’s spelling/grammar in their writing (and you shouldn’t be either), but if you use someone’s spelling as a reason to invalidate their opinions, you might be small-minded. If these bad spellers are as idiotic as you claim, you’ll have no problem proving so in a fair debate about ideas.

The Person Whose Seemingly Inapplicable Personal Anecdote Left You Confused:  This person had a lot to say about what you wrote, and you’re truly grateful they took the time to write such a detailed response—however, you have no idea what they’re talking about. Salvage what you can from the mess and move on.

The Person Who Left Their Bridge Unattended: This person would rather hate on what you wrote than collect some cash from bridge crossers. Rather than communicate their views logically and fairly, they like to engage in circular ad hominem attacks that have no intellectual merits whatsoever. Other trolls write one mean line and are never heard from again, even when challenged. Don’t be too hard on these creatures; they’re probably hopelessly jealous of your hair.

_____________________________

This list could go and on… so who did I miss? The Person Who Got Mad at You for Swearing? The Person Who’s the Unofficial Spokesperson for an Entire Demographic/Movement?