The e-mail request

Am I the only person that is not down with having to give my e-mail address to the sales person whenever I want to buy a pair of socks at the mall?  I'm already giving you my money, my zip code, my signature, my time, and who knows what else - do I really have to spell out my 60 letter long e-mail address for you and the ten other people waiting in line?
Perhaps you think that I am splitting peeve hairs on this one, so let me lay out for you the experience that really brought this peeve to a head.  A couple of days ago, I made a purchase at an unnamed store where the clerk asked me for my e-mail address as I made my purchase.  I gave my usual response, which is "No Thank you."  The salesperson responded OK, finished the transaction, and I was on my way.  To the Gap, to be exact.  There I purchased two sweaters (on clearance, might I add.)  When paying, I was once again asked for my e-mail.  I gave my standard "No Thank you."  This time, however, I received the "Oh, I feel sorry for you, because you're so lame and you don't get it" look from the guy.  
His reason for the look?  Well, he told me that he would really appreciate if I gave it to him because the store is trying to e-mail receipts in order to "go green."  OH, I tell him, No problem - I don't even need a receipt.  Forget the e-mail address, just don't print my receipt and I will be on my way.  He looked at me as if I had grown a hanger out of my forehead.  No, he still needs the e-mail.  I succumb and spell it out.  Twice (because of course he messes it up.)
I know that this is a short story getting way too long, but do you know what he did after I gave him my e-mail address?  (All the while hurting his face with a syrup-infused fake smile.)  He handed me a two foot long receipt!  What the what?  Going green?  Going jerk is more like it. 
I'm done with the e-mail request.

Happy Easter!

I'm bringing this pet peeve out for Easter because I experienced it in full force today at mass.  Don't think that it happens only at Easter, that's just a coincidence.  And the peeve?  The high-pitched, rather crackly all-white choir going ahead with the historic African American spiritual.  Bad choice.  Somehow it really underlines the lack of musical talent in a bad group of performers when you try to go soulful.  Trust me, the middle aged lady that is cracking stained glass with that voice as it is, does not have musical soul.  Painful.  And I don't think that I was the only one whose eardrums were ringing - I saw more than one person have to look away or look down (and I don't think that it was in prayer, unless they were praying for it to stop.) 
I'm just asking that church musicians everywhere look to their talents, and to their lack of talents, and stay within those barriers.  I know that you want to move people, but you don't want to move them out of the church...do you?

Finding Yourself

I've never understood the whole idea of finding yourself.  When and where, exactly, does one loose themselves?  Is it in a certain state or on a particular highway?  I suppose that people that are into finding themselves would probably say that it is, in fact, a particular "state of mind" or perhaps the "highway of life"?  I just can't unpeeve this one.
Let me give you a tip - you're right there.  Consider yourself found.  It just seems that with all of that time people spend looking for themselves, they could probably be doing something much more worthwhile.  Chances are, you're right where you left yourself.

Creative Facial Hair

I'm all for creativity.  But if hair is your medium and your face is the canvas, sometimes creativity isn't all it's cracked up to be.  If you insist on the beard (perhaps you have some sort of facial/chin/lip deformity you need to cover) or feel that the goatee is right for you - just stick to the basics.  You might be thinking that you can't get more basic than the classic mustache, but don't get ahead of yourself here.  Just cancel the mustache all together; unfortunately, the mustache has crossed over some unspoken line into the realm of the illegal.  It has gotten to the point where no one can pull it off - even Tom Selleck, the quintessential mustachio, has lately dabbled in the no-mustache zone.
Anyway, back to unacceptable facial hair.  In this category - anything that looks like a private part on your chin, anything referred to as a "flavor saver" (I mean, really, what flavors are you hoping to capture in there and save for later?  Lunch?), exceedingly long sideburns, and, for the Lord's own sake, the beard without the mustache.  This woefully lonely outline of a beard has the capability to turn any average Joe into a garden gnome.  This look definitely should have been allowed to lay in rest with Abe Lincoln.  In fact, I'm looking into a conspiracy theory regarding whether our thirteenth president was, in fact, assassinated because of his outline-style beard (aka his "Abe Lincoln").  With the hideousness of this look, anything is possible.

Cleavage

My mother, a very wise woman, just put this peeve out there for my consideration.  And I am jumping right on board.  Her point - If you are young, never underestimate the value of leaving a bit to the imagination.  If you are old, not only do most people not want to imagine it, but nearly everyone (outside of a few people with an off fetish) would prefer not to see it.  To quote me mom, "Perhaps when you reach a certain age, a nice smile is your best asset."  Word.
What exactly tips the decision of breast exposure in the direction of cleavage?  Is there actually a conscious thought, "Yeah, that's what I want people looking at."?  Does that happen?  Because I just can't imagine that.  And often their not even stacked up and pushed out there, but rather laying there like a couple of old jellyfish with a v-neck that gives a bad name to the alphabet just gaping open.  What is the appeal?  And for whom?
I think that the bottom line is that cleavage is just in bad taste, almost always.  (There may be occasional exceptions for people like Halle Berry at an awards ceremony, but don't even think about in your low-cut tank top and chest wrinkles at Wal Mart on a Sunday afternoon.)  Wrap those babies up.  If you leave the people guessing, they might just want to know more... 

Reservoirs

Reservoirs make my list of pet peeves not really for what they are, but more for what they pretend to be.  That is - Lakes.  If the reservoir could just be a reservoir, which few actually do, and not attempt to masquerade as a lake, I would be satisfied.  But no, it has to be Lake This and Lake That or Lake of the Blah, Blah and Blah, Blah, Blah Lake.  Very few reservoirs actually just claim it with the name - Blank Reservoir.
All of this fake laking fools the innocent public into thinking that this body of water is, in fact, a lake.  Au contraire, mon frere!  These are no lakes.  They are dirt pits filled in with water and it shows.  Around these parts (Kansas City, MO), reservoirs have been fooling people for so long that many residents don't actually know what a real lake is.  The definition of a lake specifies that the water be fresh, which almost immediately eliminates the majority of reservoirs.  Have you ever been to "Lake" of the Ozarks?  It has the visibility of about the length of one of Thumbalina's thumbs, has oil pools atop the water, litter-filled nooks/party coves, and is evacuated monthly for dangerous levels of ecoli (also known as poop).  But, I digress...
My point is that lakes are clean, clear, and most often exquisite.  They can be so large that you can't see across them.  They have shipwrecks and undertow.  They are often fed by cold springs.  They have natural shorelines that are beautiful, not the edge of the hole that was dug with a mini-mall attached.
Perhaps my peeve is not with the reservoirs themselves, but with the bad name that they are giving lakes.  So, go out and love a lake!
(Maybe I overdid this peeve a little bit, but reservoirs really bug me.) 

Myself

One pet peeve every day of the year?!  That was one sassy headline to write on a blog, exceptionally sassy now that I have gone three days without entering any peeves.  The problem is...(this is where I should have some really good excuse like "I slept on my hands and they have been asleep for three days and I was unable to get rid of that pins and needles feeling, causing me to be unable to type" - however I have just been leading my normal life...no good excuses).
Perhaps I am just lazy at my core.  I am sure that more than one person would agree to this.  Or maybe I set the bar too high - I mean being responsible for writing a pet peeve every day?  It's sort of like in the fourth grade when we were allowed to choose an instrument to play at school.  I chose the saxophone.  Really?  Who chooses the saxophone?  Bad idea - I stunk.  Bad.  My mom used to ask me to practice outside so that the household wouldn't have to hear the full glory of my dying cow sound.  Should've chosen the triangle.
My point is...I do have 365 pet peeves.  Probably more.  But I am calling out the right to post them a touch more sporadically.  Will I still shoot for one peeve everyday?  Yes.  I just might fall a little short on occasion. 
And this is why, today, my pet peeve is myself.

Left Laners

I'll make this one short and sweet, because it really doesn't need any elaboration.  The left lane has another title that it likes to go by - it is the PASSING lane.  Which means, that it is designated for passing.  Definition of passing? - Moving at a speed which allows you to go past the car(s) in the other, non-passing lane(s). 
So, just to recap:  If your not passing and/or are unable or not capable of passing, move your car safely and quickly out of the left lane (also known as the passing lane.) 
*This is such a pet peeve that some states, such as Illinois and Kansas, have a law against left laning it, which means that you can be ticketed for being a jerk. 

Holding Onto It

Why do so many men feel the irrepressible need to try fruitlessly to hold onto their shredletts of hair when that ship has sailed so long ago?  Holding on can take many forms - hair plugs (the resodding approach that nearly never looks natural), toupees (no comment needed), chemicals, sprays and other, and, of course, the old standby, which uses largely only the dwindling natural resources available on your own scalp - the comb over.  I am not hear to say which method of holding on is the most peevable, but only that they are all wrong. 
Embrace it.  Don't fight it.  When you're losing it, the best bet is to go close to the cranium, making the divide between land (your hair) and sea (your baldness) less evident and less precarious.  All of the other above listed techniques just serve to underline and highlight the fact that you are going bald.  No one notices the guy with the super short hair and the receding five head, but everybody notices the guy that can't get into the water because it would mess up his camouflage for baldness.     

Hammocks - For the Reals

Okay, tonight I am really going to write about why hammocks peeve me out, because last night the details of my hammock hatred got wiped out in a single click of the computer.  Hammock Karma?  I think not.
So, the reason that hammocks make my pet peeve list is false advertising on the part of the hammock.  The idea that is supposedly represented by and defines the hammock is one of relaxation, comfort, and an association with paradise.  Hammocks are usually shown slung between two trees and give the impression that to lie back in one would be to leave all of your troubles behind you while you escape into the paradise of the hammock.
One problem with all of this - Hammocks stink.  (I don't literally mean smell, although that can often be the case when a hammock passes that initial maiden season.)  I mean that hammocks are lame.  They fall drastically short of all of their empty promises.  1.  Relaxation - No way.  The construction of the hammock requires a gillion knots that are pressing and probing into your body no matter how you arrange yourself on a hammock.  2.  Comfort - As if.  The very design of the hammock prevents anyone from reaching a state of comfort, as the body must at all times be contorted into somewhat of a pike position.  3.  Paradise - Think again.  You are, after all, slung beneath a couple of trees and all that goes along with it.  This means spider nests, sundry insects, bird poops, and whatever else can accumulate over a summer under the canopy of trees.
Perhaps I am missing something, but I don't think so.  I have sat in many a hammock in my day and have never felt my troubles slip away, but rather have been given trouble by the very hammock itself.