I totally was going to go to bed and instead I got sucked into reading all these blogs. There is an entire world out there that I didn’t even know about, including a whole new set of internet etiquette that I didn’t even know I had violated. Meanwhile I got inspired and wrote another one for today (which apparently can be construed as poor blog etiquette. I hope my one reader will forgive me).

I love that when you buy a house or get a dog or have a kid or do anything else for the first time that other people you know have done, they feel obligated to comment/advise/share stories about or in some other way instruct you on how to handle said event. For that matter, any unsolicited advice pretty much sucks unless you’re drunk and trying to take home (or go home with) someone that you would chew your arm off in the morning in order to get away from.

For example:

On my dog:

“You let your dog sleep on your bed? You should never let him do that. You’ll regret it.”

Why the f*** do you care? You don’t sleep in my bed. I’m the only one in it, and if I decide to let my dog sleep there it’s my own damn business.

“Now all you need to do is get one of those electric fence things to go around your back yard. You definitely need that if you’re ever going to let your dog outside.”

Right, because I can afford that. How about I put a collar on YOU that electric shocks YOU every time you try to come IN my yard? Bet you’ll stay outside it, which is right where I like you, you sanctimonious ass.

On buying a house:

“You’re going to paint your living room that color? I would never do that. [And here is a self-righteous, dramatic shudder]”

That’s fine. I didn’t ask you to. Mine will be orange until the day I get tired of it, and if you don’t like to look at it, then don’t come over. Which will be just fine with me, because I’ll be hanging out with all the people I know that think I made great paint choices (or really don’t care enough to tell me that it sucks) and we won’t miss you at all. Besides, you’re frizzy and mean, and I just don’t like you at all.

“I remember my first house. I was so excited. But then, I was younger than you were when I bought it. You must be so proud of yourself.”

Need I even say anything? F*** you too, I hope you go bankrupt and have to move out of your precious house and in with your mother.

On having ketchup on my steak:

“I can’t believe you’re ruining good steak with ketchup. Don’t you think it ruins the flavor?”

Okay. Let’s get this out now, I like ketchup on my steak. Get over it. I promise I won’t try to force feed it to you. If you need to puke just let me know so I can look away, and please try to aim away from my steak. I like ketchup on it, not vomit. Plus I’m not cleaning it up, even if you think I caused it with my obnoxious sauce preference.

On my choice of caffeine beverages:

“Are you sure that’s what you want? Four shots? That’s an awful lot. How about just three?”

First. Don’t get between me and my coffee. It won’t be pretty and I guarantee you won’t like it. Second. I have been ordering the same coffee for ten years, yes I’m sure that’s what I want, yes I want four shots, and please just shut up, make my coffee and let me get the hell out of here. No wonder why you work at Starbucks.

So here’s to all the people that just let me do my thing. I like my ketchup, I can handle my dog, I love my house (and my color choices) and I’ll take the coffee without the comments, thanks.