I hate capital one.

First my credit card gets stolen. Not your fault. You send me a new card -- with the same number. I complain. You send me a new card with a new number.

Then you cut off my online account. I change my mailing address. Maybe there was some confusion. But after the stolen card incident, I didn't hear from you for two and a half months. No calls. No bills. No mail. Not a big deal though, because hey, after you guys fucked up the replacement card, I didn't use that card for anything. Not one purchase.

Then out of the blue, I get a bill for $150 in the mail.

How does a card that has not been used generate a $150 bill? Curious how the bill doesn't actually say what the charges are for. So I call and I ask. What do you tell me? My statement for the past two and a half months is not available. Um. You're the credit card company. You want me to pay you $150 without telling me what it's for?

Does anyone know how much it will hurt my credit score of I cancel my goddamn capital one card?

I hate being an hourly employee.

Here's a good reason I hate my job: I work from eight to four. We're allowed to work until five during the busy season to get some overtime hours. This morning I came in at 7:30 with the intention of staying until 4:30. And it's almost 3:30, and I'm really ready to fucking get out of here. But here's the problem: do I go in and explain to my manager that I came in early and deal with her being snotty? Or do I stay until four and just report 7.5 hours and risk my actual boss thinking it strange that I reported a half hour when no one else does? Or do I just stay until four and pretend that I didn't actually work an extra half-hour, just because it's a lot easier than having questions raised about my hours?

I'm so pathetic. I'm overworking myself and I'm not even salaried.

I hate stupid vocabulary.

There's a guy I work with who refers to children as "munchkins," and that really grosses me out. When I think of munchkins, what comes to mind are little creepy men wearing rainbow knickers and speaking with voices that make me assume they've been nursing their throats with scotch and cigar smoke. That's not very childlike, is it?

I hate the pattern in my posts.

Do I only hate things when I'm hungover these days? I think the answer to that would be ... yes. Oh oh, and when I have cockroach drama.

It's not so bad really. I found my bra in the kitchen this morning, which was, you know, interesting, but since I was the only one here, not as interesting (or embarrassing or exciting) as it could have been.



It's the holiday season, the thesis is almost done, the cockroaches are gone, and frankly, there's just not been much to hate recently.

I hate gross blog posts that might give me nightmares.

Ew.

Dude. That's so nasty.

I hate finding cockroaches in muffin pans.

I don't really think I need to say anything more.

I hate fudge frosting.

I was making cupcakes for someone's birthday and thought I'd try a little yellow cake/chocolate fudge frosting combo.

Making the batter was tough without an electric mixer, but I persevered. Then I realized that I didn't have any of those little cupcake holders, so I sprayed the muffin tin with some Pam and hoped for the best. Then I iced those those fuckers and licked the knife.

Ew.

(This blog makes me curse, I swear to god).

I hate that the weekend is still so far away.

Mid-week happy hour, anyone? Or maybe a tranquilizer? Anything to dull the pain.

I hate the resilience of jello.

You know you're hot stuff when you stumble up to the barista for the third time in an hour and a half and notice that you have bright red jello stains up and down the sleeves of your hoodie.

Then they dimmed the lights, turned up the music, and exchanged the barista for a bartender, signaling it was time for stainy Megan to pack up and go.

I hate bibliographies.

For the sake of the weekend before your thesis draft it due, please remember to document your sources as you go. Don't leave your 40+ page paper all naked and source-less until the Saturday night before you have to email the draft to your advisor.

And don't think that archived blog posts are just a Google search away either! Thanks, Arianna.





Write bibliography, insert citations into text, rewrite intro, finish conclusion, write that random middle bit about related literature, finish glossary, edit whole damn thing, format by Monday? Oh jesus god.

I hate jello shots.

If I do not manage to write or edit any of my thesis this weekend, I will blame it entirely on jello shots.

And banging down the street? I hate you too. Megan has a headache.

I hate bad hair cuts.

I asked her to "trim" the bangs. She took off an inch. An inch! I feel a little too close to this for comfort.


And unlike this fine lady with the manicured brows, my hair is uneven. Yes, the left side is longer than the right. And I paid $35 for that privilege.

I hate laziness.

I feel as if the majority of the things I write about hating are actually related to my own laziness. Unfortunately it's probably one of my primary characteristics.

I hate when you have good plans for the evening, but rather than cleaning up the roach carcasses on your kitchen floor or wiping up the stain on the floor that the exterminator made when he helped himself to some Crystal Light or going for a run or eating a normal dinner instead of a defrosted english muffin and half a bag of jelly beans, you just lay around reading novels and then, you know, posting in a hate blog.

Go me.

Time to drink.

I hate being forgetful.

I hate it when you realize that you've come to work wearing three shirts because it's COLD and WINDY and SNOWING outside but of course inside it's REALLY HOT and unfortunately you forgot to put on deodorant this morning. So what do you do? Do you put on your hoodie and coat and hat and scarf and go down eight floors and trudge through the snow and head to the Walgreen's across the street to buy some deodorant (even though you can't even afford to buy LUNCH because you don't get a paycheck until next Friday and - fuck! - it's the first of the month, which means you have to pay rent today)? Or do you just sweat it out?

Consequently, I also hate making tough choices.