Category Archives: rants

Why the DMV is Better than the Apple Store

A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to spend two of my lunch breaks doing chores. My first chore was going to the DMV to change my name on my license, the second chore was going to the Apple store  to get my husband’s laptop fixed. After one hour in each place, I can say that I would rather spend all my lunches at the DMV than to be forced to go back to the Apple store. Shocked? Yeah, me too!  As a non-hipster-douchebag the DMV is a better place to be than the Apple store. Here is a summary of my very scientific study

First Impression – Winner Apple

Not the store I went to, but they're all the same.

Not the store I went to, but they’re all the same.

Okay, this first contest goes to Apple. Their store is admittedly clean, open, and just plain cool looking. There were several seating options, including a stuffed loungy communal couch thing.  The DMV was in a strip mall and that was the plus side! It was packed to the gills with people sitting in uncomfortable seats and staring crappy TV monitors. Granted if I don’t get universal healthcare, I don’t want my tax money going to chaise lounges at the DMV.

Okay, Now What? – Winner DMV

When you walk into the DMV and your eyes adjust to the smoke haze (no, you can’t smoke in the building, I think it’s still lingering from the times of “smoking or non-smoking?”), it is very clear where to go. Signs hung from the ceiling and at the end of queue ropes tell me to pick a line, either “Appointment” or “Walk-In.” Seems easy enough. I strut my stuff right up to the front of the appointment line, ignoring the evil glares that are burning a hole through my back. Now, the Apple store. Oh Apple, this is where it all went downhill for me. Your odd neon lighting gave me so much hope. The Apple store has a bunch of tables with computers on them, people milling about looking at accessories and a big bar in the back where repairs are obviously taking place. I showed up a few minutes before my appointment (yes, seriously, an appointment for the Apple store) so I figured I would wait in what appeared to be a line near the Genius Bar (yeeeeeeep, that’s what it’s called). Well, it wasn’t a line, it was some dad watching his toddlers play around on the free computers. “Okay, I must have to check-in” I thought. At this point I had been there for several minutes and not ONE person had greeted me or asked if I needed help. And how could I tell who I was supposed to talk to because all the employees are dressed like hipsters and carrying around iPads, which is the same thing all the customers are doing! Finally, I tracked someone down, he checks me in and tells me to sit at the bar and wait until I’m called.

The Wait – Winner DMV



The DMV gave me a number. A number that comes after other numbers. I knew exactly when my turn was getting close. I felt confident that no one who showed up after me and who needed the same type of help would be served before me. I had no clue wtf was going on at the Apple store. There I sat on a barstool with no foot rest (Which is not flattering for a girl with thick legs. Seriously, I need a foot rest so the legs don’t get all mashed flat!), surrounded by “cool” people who made me feel like a fat-thighed grandma and hoped that one of the people behind the counter knew I was there and would serve me at some point. They chatted with each other behind the counter, supervisors made inappropriate jokes with their employees, the guys flirted with mullet girls and I sat. Waiting for someone too look at me. There was no chitchatting at the DMV. Aside from a giddy girl who got her license, there were hardly any noticeable smiles.  How could I argue when they took someone before me who had actually shown up after me? I had no idea if their appointment was before mine. I had no idea what my, or their, “number” was. Finally, I got annoyed and asked if I would be helped soon. It’s amazing how quickly one can get service once they start making a stink. Suddenly I was next in line. I definitely waited longer to talk to one of the chatty computer boys than I waited to talk to the DMV people.

The Fixing Process – Winner DMV

I knew exactly what I needed to do to change my name at the DMV. Fill out this form. Show this document. Pay this much. Take your new picture. Your new license will come in a x-number of weeks. When I finally talked to someone at Apple, he told me my computer was pretty dirty (thanks, judgy mcjudgerson) but that replacing the defective part wouldn’t take long at all. I figured it wouldn’t take much to unscrew four screws, slap a new bottom cover on, re-screw screws. Hell, I almost asked him to just give me the part and let me do it. But, no, he said just a few minutes. I could do that. Apparently in Apple land a “few” means 30+. All the while I sat on the barstool, trying desperately to make eye-contact with someone who might take pity on me and give me an update. So, again, I asked what the holdup was. I was clearly annoyed at this point, the part they were replacing was a recall, it’s not like I busted something and was asking for special treatment! I was also starting to get bitter toward my husband for asking me to do this for him. I don’t like getting angry at Shaggy for things that are not his fault, which in turn made me bitter at Apple for making me bitter at him! It was a vicious cycle. And, once again, just like magic my computer was suddenly done when I asked about it. Truth is, it was sitting there for quite awhile but my initial computer wiz had already moved on to the next customer. One whose teeny tiny midriff was showing and who had several piercings in her face and in the back of her neck. Yeah, I’d help her over me, too.

Is that enough? Do you see it now?? The Apple store is a horrible place that temporarily sucked away all my self-confidence and patience. The DMV made me feel on top of the world (hey, at least I was going back to a job that wasn’t the DMV!). DMV people thanked me. Not one time did anyone thank me for coming or wish me a good day at Apple. My next computer will not be a Mac, I am too scared to ever go back to that bad place!

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You’re Just Jealous/a Hater

I’m so sick of people telling me I’m jealous whenever I disagree with something they’re doing. And not just toward me, the “you’re jealous” retort seems to be the go-to for people who have nothing wittier to say. Today, I was browsing Pinterest (naturally) and I came across a pictures that I don’t want to repost, of a young girl in verrrrrrrrrry short shorts (one pinner referred to them as cooter cutter, HA!) standing in some sort of public square. What I gathered from the comments was that this girl may be a French model and MAY have even done some topless adverts. Gross. Now, my gut reaction was, “Holy shit, put some shorts on that girl immediately” and I was not alone. Several people expressed their concern that this child was dressing inappropriately and showing far too much leg. No joke, others responded with comments like “Oh, you’re just jealous because you didn’t look like that when you were young,” and “Stop being a hater.”

When did we get to a point where looking out for a child’s safety is a sign of our deeply-hidden jealousy of pre-pubescent knock knees? To even make that kind of statement is sick! I will concede that I may be a little over-sensitive when it comes to child nakedness and there may have been instances of flagging Facebook pictures of people giving their infants a bath, but I stand by this. There are sick fucks out there who would love nothing more than to see your kid’s wiena. This does NOT mean I am jealous of you or your child and I am most definitely not a hater. I probably care about you and your child and it makes me ill that someone could be thinking of your babe in a lecherous manner.

But, this ‘tude is not just with babies. Heaven forbid you advise your friend that maybe she shouldn’t be blowing all her money on expensive shoes when she cannot afford the rent and don’t even think about telling your buddy that the whore he’s sleeping with may also be boinking his cousin. No way Jose, what you’re saying cannot possibly be true. You’re just jealous.

As someone who isn’t afraid of telling you my honest opinion, I have learned that most of the time people don’t really want to know what you think, they just want you to agree with them. So many people are afraid of hearing a reasonable suggestion, that they convince themselves that everyone in the world is jealous of them, hates them only because they want to be them. Every.Single.Person.

Whenever a skinny girl tells me she’s fat, I agree with her and advise her to invest i muumuus and leggings. Few things bug me more than someone who is fishing for compliments. I have decided to adopt that same way of reacting when someone tells me I’m a jealous hater – I’m just going to agree. Yes, I am jealous of your job where you get free car washes, but earn minimum wage with no benefits. Yes, I’m totally jealous of your ability to be a stay-at-home mom, even though it’s not your choice and your jerk of a husband won’t let you work. And, oh lord how I wish I could have your flat abs, even though it means never eating a full meal and working out in sweatpants for five hours a day.

God my life sucks, I wish I was you.


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Facebook: The Home of Half-Assed Caring

I have volunteered at the OC Humane Society, walking dogs and picking up countless bags off dog poop. I raised more than $2,000 and walked 60 miles in three days to benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure. I organized an event that raised almost $800 in one night for LifeHouse of Orange County, a group that provides food to homeless people. I adopted an old, deaf dog from Seal Beach Animal Care Center instead of buying a fancy one at a pet store. I have helped build a house with Habitat for Humanity. I have donated clothes, food, and money to benefit causes I care about. I donate blood every couple months.

I’m not telling you this to brag or to make you feel guilty, because baby jeezus knows that I could be doing much more. I’m telling you this so you can see what I HAVEN’T done: I haven’t changed my Facebook status or picture to “benefit” a cause or raise awareness about anything. Even I am not that lazy.

Seriously people, all the cryptic messages about bras and purses and pregnancy are just ridiculous. PLEASE someone tell me how tricking people into thinking you’re pregnant is going to help cure breast cancer. Do you even think about the fact that many women are not able to have babies BECAUSE of cancer? Way to rub it in assholes.What is being cryptic actually doing for the cause? I bet you wear pink in October, too.

And, really, you post a status about all the abused animals in the world, but you trot your little designer dog around on its fancy leash? Do you honestly think there is one person on your Facebook friends list that doesn’t know that animals are abused, abandoned, and alone? Whose life are you changing by telling me to repost something that doesn’t even include a link to donate or volunteer?

I'm cute, but I don't save abused children!

The WORST was the whole “change your profile picture to a cartoon character to raise awareness about abused children.” You have got to be kidding me. If you want to put up a picture of Rainbow Brite, I say more power to you, she’s rad, but DON’T pretend that you’re doing it because you give two shits about a child. You’re doing it because you think it makes your profile look cute and you want to join in the fun with all your friends.

Here’s an idea, go spend your weekends in a soup kitchen, read to seniors whose families have dumped them in a home, sew blankets and donate them to a children’s hospital. Actually DO something that positively impacts the world and the things you claim to care about.

I wish I could spend every second of my day volunteering. I wish I had millions of dollars to cure diseases and save children. I don’t, but I do what I can. And, yes, I CAN change something on Facebook to make my friends think that I am this fantastic person with a big heart. I choose not to follow the herd and do these meaningless things. I choose to quietly volunteer and donate. I choose to take action about the causes I care about. Try volunteering and tell me that you get the same feeling from being in the trenches that you do by posting some stupid shit on Facebook.

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Attention Women: Stop Crying!

I was inspired to write this blog by the above video. And, yes, I am well aware of the fact that it is probably fake. The authenticity of the video makes no difference to me because there are actually women like this in the world. Women who cry about everything.

Recently I found myself screaming at the TV “STOP CRYING” while watching MasterChef auditions. Now, some of the things the judges say can be hurtful (and the meanest things aren’t even coming from Gordon Ramsay, I could dedicate an entire blog to what a pompous asshole Joe Bastianich is, but we’ll save that for another day), but these particular tears were not even the result of insults. A woman, who was a very articulate attorney, started crying and begging them to let her move into the next round. The food got lukewarm reviews – not turrible, but not MasterChef-worthy either. Her cooking was not up to snuff. Instead of walking away gracefully, this woman actually put her hands into prayer position and was crying and pleading like a three-year-old girl. It was disgusting. But, the most vile part was that the judges put her through to the next round because “They saw something in her.” Really?! What I saw in her was a spoiled little brat who has been able to manipulate men her whole life because she is an attractive woman who can turn on the waterworks.

Way to set back the women’s movement, brat. Whether it’s a correct view or not, crying is seen as a sign of weakness in this country and I am of the belief that it should be avoided at all costs when you’re in the workplace/professional situation. I know, I’m a cold, heartless bitch, but you know this already. I think I have cried twice in front of co-workers and I am completely ashamed of myself. Once was over a boy (of course) and once was over being threatened by a co-worker. Both times I ran into the bathroom and pretended like the water never came out. You know why, Hilary doesn’t cry.

I know, you’re thinking I just jumped the shark, but hear me out. I look up to Hilary, not for her marriage (although I would nail Billy-boy in a second!) but for her balls. I love how she can walk into a room filled with military men and they shut the fuck up and show her respect. I like that she has worked her way to the top and has only minimally used her husband’s past post (I know, that’s debatable)  to get what she wants. She’s no one’s fool, not even Bill’s (come on, she knew about Monica the whole time) and I like that. Even if you’re not into that extreme coldness, I believe that in the workplace women need to demand respect. They need to be seen as being on-par with men if there is any way that we have a chance to break through the glass ceiling.

Here’s the thing, men don’t cry at work. Men don’t stress about someone gossiping about them, they confront it. They don’t get all teary if someone criticizes their work in a meeting, they either take the feedback or try to rationally plead their case. They don’t beg people to like them or their work. And they’re more likely to be in charge than women.

Hilary never had a shot at being president because there are still those who believe “a woman would make irrational decisions while she’s on her period” or “women are too sensitive and soft to be tough with our enemies.” Whose fault is that? Yes, it’s partly people just thinking archaically about women, but it’s also the fault of everyone with a vagina. Until we start holding women to the same emotional standard (in the workplace) that we hold men to, we will be seen as the weaker sex. The more irrational sex.

Did this blog make you sad? Please, wait until you get home to start crying and feeling sorry for yourself.

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