Sunday, April 24, 2011

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 you?

Monday, April 18, 2011

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.

Friday, April 15, 2011

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.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


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... 

Monday, April 11, 2011


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.) 

Sunday, April 10, 2011


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 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.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

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. 

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

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.     

Monday, April 4, 2011

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.

Sunday, April 3, 2011


My whole peeve just got erased by my computer...what could peeve you more than that?!
Tune in for hammocks tomorrow when I have the patience to get this baby back up and running.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Selling Parties

I hope that I don't offend anyone with this one, but in order to be true to my own peevishness, I have to put it out there. 
The house party made to sell.  We've all been invited.  Perhaps some of us have even hosted.  (Yes, I have)  But, lets face it - Does anyone receive the invitation to the bead jewelry, lotion, make-up, housewares, kitchen supplies, silver jewelry, you-fill-in-the-blank party and shout out a "Great!  I can't wait!"?  No.  Everyone feels obliged to go.  Maybe a good friend is hosting the event or perhaps you know the seller well and feel the need to give them a good showing, but the bottom line is that you will have to buy something.
And let me be clear about the obligation to buy something, because this actually categorizes its own pet peeve.  You have to buy something.  If you don't, then don't go to the party.  No one is inviting you, providing you with a few bites off of the cheese plate and a bad glass of Chardonnay so that you can leave empty handed.  Even if you end up ordering the nail file for your mother-in-law, you have to make a purchase.  Or you, in fact, become the pet peeve.  Forget the annoyingness of the actual forced shopping event, you have surpassed the party itself as the bigger peeve.
I can recall nearly every item that I have had bought at in-house shopping parties.  Why?  Because I didn't really want any of them and they are usually - no, I am not going to soften it up - they are always overpriced.  Mud masks, foot lotions, bracelets, earrings, cookbooks, lip gloss, the list goes on... 
I'm not sure what the point of me peeving about this is, as I know the parties will continue as long as there remain extroverts with an entrepreneurial spirit and friends willing to force sales upon their unsuspecting associates, but I can still dream that one day the only invitations that I will receive will be parties with no purchase obligations.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Dropping the My

I would like to put a quick disclaimer on this pet peeve - It is not my peeve, but was suggested to me by my old cronie and fellow CSU Ram, Tricia Fry.  I'm going to attempt to share it, because when Tricia told me about this peeve, I instantly agreed.  She is so right.  The problem is when people casually drop the "my" when talking about a family member.  This means that someone whose mother you have never met says things to you like, "Mom is coming over to my house for dinner tonight."  or "Dad always has to have green bean casserole at Thanksgiving." 
Just this very method of communication with those outside of your family, who are not in fact related to these people, is TMI.  It's not my Grandma, so please don't refer to her in the familiar with me.  "My Grandma is coming into town." is appropriate.  "Grandma is coming into town." is not.  Did I miss something?  Are you talking about my grandma?  I guess you didn't get the memo that she passed away.  
Please, when it comes to dropping the "my", keep it in the family. 

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Poop Purse

What is perhaps the greatest bane of the dog owner in this day and age?  I can tell you easily.  It is the fact that one has to stoop over and handle canine feces every time you step out the door for a walk.  I actually stood my ground on not getting a dog for years largely based on the fact that I refused to handle hot and fragrant poop freshly laid by an animal.  The human race has developed everything from the high powered flush toilet to the bidet to thick and luxurious cottonelle toilet paper in order to avoid any contact with a bowel movement, and yet we voluntarily grab it with our hands, with only the thin veil of a plastic baggie for protection on a daily basis.  Oh, the humanity.
Don't get me wrong, I know that it is a necessary evil.  This peeve is a double-edged sword of sorts, as people that do not pick up their animal dung and leave it you to later spray about with your lawn mower (into your socks and what not) should be a pet peeve in and of themselves.   

Monday, March 28, 2011

Extendable Leashes

This is literally a "pet" peeve - The extendable leashes that people use for their dogs.  What is the point of a leash if it extends for a half of a mile?  Are you really taking your dog for a walk?  I don't know if it qualifies when, technically, you could stand on your front porch while your dog walks itself around the block on it's extendable leash.
One of the reasons that this type of apparatus peeves me is that I find it irritating that a dog can be sniffing my buns and generally invading my own private space while his owner stands on the other side of the street holding his "leash".  The extendable leash is sort of the antithesis of the child leash, which I have peeved about before.  The dog needs a leash.  It is only polite.  Control it.  Put something on your pet that won't allow him to extend beyond your line of vision or the beyond the line of reason.

P.S. While searching for a photo to accompany this peeve, I just found out that this type of leash is, in fact, quite dangerous for the animal at the end of, HA, an even more substantial reason not to use one!!

Sunday, March 27, 2011


I believe that this is a pet peeve that we can all agree on.  Sort of a universal peeve.  Does anyone enjoy being tailgated?  For that matter, I can't understand why anyone enjoys being the tailgater.  Isn't it annoying to have to constantly make sure that you are not going to actually touch bumpers with the car in front of you, repeatedly tapping the breaks, knowing that you are increasing your risk of an accident with every inch that you move closer?
My least favorite kind of tailgater is not the guy that is in an obvious break-neck hurry, pummeling past cars and getting in near accidents at every turn of the highway.  Don't get me wrong, this guy is no fun, but the guy that really bugs me is the one that isn't in a hurry, but is, in fact, just leisurely tailgating you.  It's tailgating as a life style choice, as opposed to tailgating as a means to moving faster.  You switch lanes, thinking that leisurely tailgater guy wants to get past you, but he doesn't pass you.  He simply latches onto someone else's bumper or maybe, if your lucky, he pastes himself back onto your tail.  I wish that I could convey to people that my backseat is really not that comfortable, then perhaps they wouldn't want to park their car in it.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Identifying the Funny

Man, it peeves me when people say, "You are so funny."  I know that sounds lame, actually lamer than I thought now that it is in writing, but it irks me when someone says or does something funny and those around them respond by stating "You're so funny."  It just seems like an oxymoron or a double negative or a double entendre or whatever you would call that.  If something is funny, isn't the most appropriate response laughter?  I never understand if these people stating the obvious have a limited ability to laugh and, so, need to fill in the missing chuckles with words, or if they actually feel it's a necessary component and response to a joke or funny moment.  I find that stating that someone is funny in the middle of a time normally occupied by laughter creates a certain awkwardness, almost like there is an expectation for more, now that the personality of said person has been defined as the funny guy.  I might even go so far as to label this moment as a buzz kill.
Go ahead and tell your friend Bob, "Hey that guy Joe is really funny."  Or the single guy at your office, "I should set you up with Sue, she's really funny."  But, for the sake of the moment, just laugh when someone says something funny - don't be that guy that throws the old "You are so funny" wet blanket on it. 

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Inappropriate Childwear

My peeve-o-meter begins to twitch when I see adults in those ridiculous t-shirts that say stupid stuff that often borders or dives right into the vulgar.  For example:  "I'm With Stupid," "I Apologize in Advance for Staring at Your Tits," I could go on, but I think you get the point - and, yes, these are real t-shirts that I have witnessed).
The inappropriate children's t-shirts that continue on this same vein push my peeve-o-meter into overdrive.  Adults have the choice to be an idiot.  But by putting your child in these t-shirts, you pigeon hole them into the role of idiot - and I believe that this role could end up being the one they will play for life.
What do you think a teacher thinks when you send your child to school in a "I Didn't Do It" shirt, "Little Devil," or "Don't Blame Me!"  Let me just tell you, it doesn't say 'Model Student.'  It also doesn't say 'These parents are really hoping for the best for their child.'  It's sort of like buying your child a ticket to the slow lane.  Yeah, get out there and be a loser! 
Why not take it to the next level?  A couple of my personal favorite children's t-shirts that have arrived at school on the backs of first graders:  "If You See the Police...Warn a Brother" (accompanying the Warner Brothers logo) or the simple glory of "Bull Shirt." 
These are all real gems.  Might I suggest the old solid color, blank t-shirt?  Perhaps the child them self could just do the talking, rather than the shirt.  Or maybe you could get them a shirt with a college logo and give them something new to strive for.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Long Fingernails in the Wrong Places

When I say the wrong places in regards to long fingernails, I am not talking about a certain restaurant or exclusive "no fingernail" club.  (Although perhaps these types of limitations should be enforced - I once went to a brunch buffet when I was about twelve with a full set of Lee Press-Ons and you can't imagine the amount of whipped cream I later recovered from under those babies.)  Anyway, back to the wrong places.  What I mean, specifically, is - 1. On the hands of men, and 2. On the feet of anyone.
I get that long fingernails are making a resurgence, thank you to the likes of Beyonce and Rhianna.  I may not be growing out my daggers anytime soon, but I can appreciate those who wish to do so.  If you've got 'em, grow 'em.
I do not, however, get long fingernails on men.  Ever.  Talk about gag me with a bottle of clear coat.  Long nails on men is so Count Dracula.  Gross.  Likely excuses:  You play the guitar or some other stringed instrument.  So...get a pic; the fingernails are still inexcusable.  I've also heard that people have long fingernails in order to do some type of drug.  Cocaine?  Well, if you've ever needed a reason to kick the habit...Long fingernails could be the straw that broke the addicts back.
Let's confront the ugliness of long toenails.  It just seems so wrong, harking back to those frightening photos you used to marvel over/be revolted by as a child in the Guinness Book of World Records of that mysterious Chinese lady that had never cut her toenails, which twisted and contorted themselves around her sandals.  (I searched for a photo of this memory, but can't seem to find one.  Perhaps the modern world can't handle it.)  Please don't get a French manicure on your toes.  You're supposed to be able to put those things in shoes and run and stuff.  Keep it clean.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

"Naturally Thin" Starlets

I'll make this quick, because it may be getting a bit persnickety on the peeve front.  But...have you ever noticed the extremely high number of who's-who types that claim to eat whatever they want and do nothing and yet they have the taut and toned body of an Olympian-yogi-preteen hybrid?  The ratio of flexed stars who act as though they simply sit around nibbling on Popeye's biscuits while watching the boob-tube is just not statistically possible.
Why can't famous people just say that they don't eat everything that they want to and that they exercise more than most Americans?  I think that their fans may actually like them more if they just let it rip.  I don't believe that Kate Winslet eats fish and chips all the time like she claims and that she just dropped massive lbs by deciding on a more positive body image.  I am not falling for the person that makes that face in interviews like "sorry!  I really don't do anything!" (fake apologizing) while their biceps outline is so clearly defined. 

Monday, March 21, 2011


As someone who indulges in the world of Facebook, I probably shouldn't even allow myself to get peeved out by any of the aspects of Facebooking, because it just seems like opening up a can of worms, BUT...
I just want to quickly peeve out about the self-lovin that goes on in excess in the world of Facebook. 
A good way to check yourself to see if you are a Facebragger is to ask - Is everything that I write on this social network an attempt to create or reinforce the idea that I am awesome?  In other words - Do I strictly write about my kick-ass vacation, how many runs I shredded on my ski weekend, my high end second home, the over exaggerated accomplishments of my children, a compliment I received that no one else would have ever known about, my prowess at the gym, etc, etc, ad nauseam?  If you answered yes to any of these questions, now is the time to check yo self before you wreck yo self, in the infamous words of Ice Cube.  Facebragging can lead to the loss of friends, the loss of respect, and perhaps worst of all, it can lead to those you know talking and laughing about you behind your back.  (Trust me, this happens.  "Can you believe that so-and-so actually wrote that?  It's classic!")
Still not sure if you have fallen into the ugly trap of Facebragging?  Unsure if the worst of you has risen it's ugly head?  Ask yourself this (and try to answer honestly)...Are you awesomer on Facebook than you are in real life?

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Not Keeping Promises

Does anyone register a peeve when someone (I won't mention any names) says that they will post one pet peeve everyday and then misses two days? 
I was on an exotic out-of-the-country excursion and didn't have access to a computer.  (OK, I was in a hotel in Canada with all electronic amenities, but...)  I need a little flexibility.

I do have a couple more travel pet peeves to share before the week is over! 
First, does no one understand that if everyone were to step back about five paces from the baggage claim belt, that one and all would be able to step forward and claim their luggage when it was spotted?  Why do people insist on standing with their toes touching the baggage claim, creating a tight picket fence which allows no one to reach in for their bag, let alone see it coming out?  Give those Samsonites a little breathing room!
Second, if I have to take off my shoes, my scarf, my belt, my watch, and my jacket at security, can I please be left with a shred of my dignity and my cardigan?  Do we really consider a thin cotton sweater a "jacket"?  No, sir, not in this metal detector.  I am often wearing a undershirt underneath of the sort that I wouldn't walk around my house in.  I hardly want to flash it to the traveling public.
Lastly, shut it.  Sometimes people just aren't in the mood to talk to you on a plane.  period.

Friday, March 18, 2011

All of your Baggage

*Peeve Five in the Trials of Travel Week

I've got a couple of peeves regarding passenger baggage.  First, I'd like to talk about "carry on" luggage.  The very name insinuates that you should be able to carry it / lift it.  So, first step to determining if it is, in fact, carry-on luggage is if you can carry it.  (This is often not the case, as the enormous items brought on planes by many can certainly not be hefted over their heads into the overhead bins.)  Carry-on luggage is clearly defined, if not enforced, by the airlines.  You are allowed one piece of small luggage and one personal item.  For those that do not know, a personal item is a purse or a wallet (think small), not a large duffel bag.  So...your duffel bag, overstuffed roller bag, lumpy hobo purse, backpack, and grungy off-white pillow do not combine to be CARRY ON luggage. 
This surplus of bologna baggage has gotten to the point that nearly every flight "gate checks" your carry-on luggage now.  Which means that the mass of humanity that you managed to enter into the gate area with (without paying any of the new baggage fees) is now going under the plane with my legitimate, declared, and paid-for luggage.  Sweet.  I hope my luggage leaks hair gel on your luggage. 
Solution?  Why not start charging for CARRY ON luggage, which bangs old ladies in the head, slows down the security line to an excruciating pace, eliminates leg-room, and generally irritates everyone and let CHECKED luggage ride for free?

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Drawing the Curtains

*Peeve Four in the Trials of Travel Week

One thing that I am peevamently passionate about when traveling by plane is the window coverings.  First off, let me say that it is imperative and nonnegotiable that I have a window seat.  In order to feel mentally and physically stable at 10,000 feet, I need to sit next to the window.  The ability to see out of said window is the key to my being able to travel.
As the proprietor of the window seat, I believe that I am accorded the privilege of drapery patrol.  That sash is staying up.  Period.  And although it has happened that somehow I end up in the middle or the aisle and have been subjected to that guy that pulls the shades down, I have swallowed my bile and sweated out the trip, craning my neck to see out of some other passenger's porthole.  Because, as I said, it is their privilege to control the shade.
Please don't ask me to close the blind.  (Trust me, it happens all the time)  This time, it was "there is a glare on the movie."  Well, I guess you should have thought about that before you requested an aisle and then ordered the headphones.  Last time it was "my eyes are sensitive to the light."  Okay, you really should have made sure you got the window seat and, may I suggest sunglasses? 
Maybe you like the aisle for the extra leg room.  Great for you.  Go ahead and stretch out, just don't expect to be stretching across and closing my window blind.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

The Hierarchy of Plane Travel

*Peeve Three in the Trials of Travel Week

Something that really peeves me when I am traveling by plane are the levels of elite accorded to passengers.  If you are just the average peon, who has bought the average $400.00 or so ticket, you are treated as such a lower life form as to often not even be assigned a seat.  No, you are so unimportant that the airline doesn't even feel that they can commit to marking off a seat for your $400.00.  You'll get that assigned to you when you arrive at the airport.  (By a crusty worker that will put you in the middle seat between a guy with bad breath and an obese woman that is occupying her seat, the hand rest, and a portion of your seat.)  Perhaps I would like to be able to withhold my money until I get a seat.
When you are ready to board the plane, you might notice that there is actually a red carpet rolled out in one section before the attendant.  ( a la Oscars style)  Please note that you are not allowed to tread on this rug.  It is for the gold medallion, silver pant, platinum bearing customers only.  Do you really have to demean me like this?  You have already withheld a seat from me for over two months.  You made me pay extra just to bring my clothes and toothbrush with me.  I had to take my shoes off and undo my belt just to enter this portion of the building.  You're going to herd me into a small and uncomfortable area like a head of cattle.  Then you plan to serve me half of a can of warm coke with a single ice cube in it, withholding all food unless I give you more money.  Isn't it enough?  Do you really have to tell me that I can't walk down the maroon colored carpeting that you have rolled out?

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Having to be Peevish while Vacationing

I'm visiting my sister in Seattle and tonight, as I settle in and adjust to the time change, my pet peeve is having to think up a pet peeve to write about.  So, my peeve of the day is having to try to keep up this rigorous posting while vacationing.
Be back tomorrow.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Most Important Guy on the Airplane

*Peeve One in the Trials of Travel Week

How can you tell who the most important guy on your flight is?  No, you won't recognize him from the movies.  No, he isn't sitting in first class.  And, no, he is not the pilot.  You will only be able to recognize this higher echelon of traveler by his behaviors as he makes his way from point A to point B.  Your first clue is going to be his manner of boarding the aircraft.  They are allowing boarding for first class and those needing extra help (families with small children, people with a disability, etc).  Screw that, he says.  When you're as important as he is, you just board, damn it.  (This allows him to be completely settled in with all of his what-nots spread out and seat belt fastened when his fellow passengers board at the proper time and must ask him to allow them into his row.  This, of course, is accompanied by much deliberate movement, sighing, and penetrating stares aimed at those entering the row.)  All of this is self inflicted.
Another clue on who the most important guy on your flight is will be how this person exits the plane.  General courteousness suggests that passengers file out of their rows in order, each row proceeding prior to the row in front of them.  But this guy is too important for that.  He might be in the last row of the plane, but he is willing to bum rush elderly ladies and small children to be the first one out of the plane.  That's right, this is the guy that hockey checks you as you rise fruitlessly from your seat only to be pinned in by him.  Does he have a connection that he is going to miss?  Probably not.  Is he in his best business suit rushing to get to that job interview or life threatening meeting?  Cooler full of organs?  Nah, he's in sweatpants.  He's just that important!  He needs, no he demands, that he be the first guy waiting at the empty baggage carousel.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

The Trials of Travel

I would like to dedicate this week of peevishness to the trials of traveling, in honor of spring break 2011.  I will start by saying that it boggles my mind how people abandon any sense of politeness or moral decency when they enter an airport.  I swear that the masses would trample their own mother if it meant a better seat on the plane or a more prime standing location at the baggage claim.
Each day this week I will expound upon my ideas surrounding the many peeves of traveling... 

Friday, March 11, 2011

Stainless Steel Appliances

Do you ever watch those home shows like House Hunters and get irritated by the continuous whining of "I don't know about this house - it doesn't have stainless steel appliances..."?  Or the raptures over "Oh, the kitchen is wonderful!  It has the stainless steel appliances I was looking for."  When did Frigidaire die and make the stainless appliance the only possible choice for the kitchen? 
Am I the only person in America that has noticed that these appliances are not necessarily "high end" or posh?  They are often ridiculously chinsy.  In fact, what I like to call the usual "stainless steel appliance" is, in fact, a black appliance with a couple of strips of stainlessness.  A truly stainless appliance is in a budget unattained by most people.  So why is this black appliance with touch o' stainless the status symbol of so many?
I have no desire for black appliances, so I say embrace the possibilities!  Heaven forbid, you might just find yourself equally awesome with a white refrigerator.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

"Sign Language"

The sign language that I am speaking of is that spoken through the posting of signs throughout one's home, not the form of communication employed by the hearing impaired.  No, this form is employed by those that are apparently expecting their house guests and residents to be impaired in such a was as to be unable to identify where they are, what they are supposed to do, and what room they are in.  
Is your kitchen really a BISTRO, as labeled?  Doubt it.  Is your suburban range pumping out French delicacies that are going to be served at a charming CAFE in Paris?  (Of course you have probably identified your breakfast bar with a plaque stating CAFE, so I suppose anything is possible.)
After your croissant, you can head to the restroom, which has been conveniently labeled as the OUTHOUSE.  This, of course, really adds to the country charm and antique feel of your home that was built last year.  While in the bathroom, you get sucked into the INSPIRATIONAL QUOTE plastered above the kleenex box.  As you step out of your zen-moment, you wonder where am I anyway?  Instantly you are reminded and grounded by that fact that you are at the LAKE HOUSE.  It's conveniently posted right above the couch.  The home is owned by THE TAYLORS.  (That's over the TV.)
Now that you know exactly where you are, perhaps you need guidance in what you ought to be doing.  This is where signage along the lines of LAUGH, LIVE, LOVE comes in. 
Don't mean to be peevish here, but...If you need to instruct someone in your home to LAUGH, your probably not that funny.  Lord help you if you have to remind them to LIVE (might want to invest in a set of defibrillators rather than that shabby chic sign).  And, if they need a banner to tell them to LOVE you, try taking away all of the plaques - they may at least like you more.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Asparagus Pee

This is a pet peeve for Mother Nature, because there is nothing to be done or said about this one.  You intake the delicate, innocent shoots of newly grown asparagus and you output the scent of a thousand times rotted vegetables that have been bathing in pool of acidic eggs for a week.  How does this transformation happen?  And why must I be subjected to an urge to jump promptly off of the offending toilet almost immediately after eating this little plant?
Asparagus urine can be embarrassing, in addition to personally offending.  What if you're at a public restroom?  You worry that the person in the next stall, or heaven forbid, the person that comes in after you will wonder what the putrid smell is and what you did to produce it.
I would, however, like to inform you of one small light shining at the end of this vegetative tunnel.  My husband recently did a bit a bit of research in this arena (yes, it's true), and found out that only 30% of people actually have the capability to smell asparagus pee.  We all create it, but only an elite few can smell it.  How crazy is that?!  So, if you are of that other 70%, you have absolutely no idea what I have been talking about.  And, if you are in the olfactory 30%, you need only worry about offending a minority of the population.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Animal-Child Confusion

Today's wonderful pet peeve was inspired by our friend, Paris Hilton. (...Yay?...) What is it, you may ask?  Well, it's animal-child confusion, and no I don't mean the weird feral child from Mad Max 2 The Road Warrior, I mean treating kids like animals and vice versa. 
That doesn't mean that I don't like animals in fact, it's exactly the opposite, I like animals but not in that weird "Oopsy Poopsy, cute wittle puppy I wub you soooo much, yes I do awwww wook at your wittle puppy eyes" way.  I like them just as much as the next guy, but it makes me sick when you treat animals the same way you treat a baby and to be honest it grosses me out just a little (especially when you touch tongues with your dog)
(no this picture is not considered normal behavior
for a pet owner)
Also if you have read this fantastic blog for a while (which I highly recommend if you haven't) you may have read the one about child leashes, which are the opposite end of the spectrum... if you read that you'll know what I'm talking about.  Another child animal confusion that amazes and disturbs me is if you go to a dog park and listen to the oopsie poppies talk for a while and then go to walmart and listen to the same people say "Tommy, I told you GET OUTTA THAT CART!"  It just proves my point... I assume that this whole thing is the work of aliens...

Monday, March 7, 2011


That's right, CURVES (as in the work-out franchise) is a pet peeve of mine.  Have you ever noticed that they pop up like parasites where ever an unsuspecting mini-mall lies? - in big cities, in the smallest of towns that seem like they couldn't even support such an enterprise...they are everywhere!  Curves weighs in on my peeve-o-meter because I feel like they are operating under a banner of false advertising.  I mean, I have always gotten the impression that we are supposed to believe that a vigilant schedule of Curves would help improve your own curves.  Simplified, Curves = Weight loss.
But just hold the dumbbell a minute, have you  met or encountered anyone that goes to Curves that has any of the following: an ounce of weight less than when they started, a more athletic build, or a rocking body?  I dare you to say you have!
Once I was riding on the airport tram with my husband when I overheard two ladies that had just met come to the realization that they worked out at the same facility.  Looking over, I saw a pleasantly plump middle aged lady and a softish younger women.  They spoke of their dedication and diligence of going to the club four to five times a week.  At this point, I leaned over to my husband and whispered "Curves."  And I'll be damned if I didn't hear one say to the other before exiting that she was hoping to find a Curves in Florida to work out at when she was out of town!
Maybe it's fun.  Maybe there is great camaraderie.  Perhaps one's cardiovascular health is improved at Curves.  But, if all  of my high tech research is correct - don't be fooled by the innocent mini-mall disguise and the big talk of weight loss and fitness, Curves is nothing more than a parasite of empty promises.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Skinny Jeans

When is this fashion trend going to end?  (Actually - funny I should ask, as I have recently read in more than one reputable fashion magazine that the trend is over and you should stop wearing your skinny jeans, but this of course means that we will have at least another five to ten years of those sausage casings parading as pants on the racks in main stream America.)
The peeve of the skinny jean is that only about .015% of the population should be wearing them.  Yet, they have become the mainstay of every retail store from J.Crew to the Gap to Deb.  There are substances on the average female leg (example - body fat) that shouldn't be forced into a two inch width of material.  Have you ever noticed that small pickles are so squeezed into glass jars that they nearly burst from the jar when the lid is removed?  And, yet, the jumbo pickle is actually sold in a liquid-filled plastic sleeve, allowing for adequate wiggle room to support its comfort level?  That large pickle represents the thighs of American women.  Allow your legs the same respect as the jumbo pickle, ladies.   
Just the other day I was behind a women on a sidewalk and I actually had to look away.  She was wearing the advanced type of skinny jean that is in fact a stretch pant with all of the jean accouterments painted on.  I felt as if I was invading her privacy just by walking down the same sidewalk.  No stranger should be privy to every nuance of your cellulite, every indentation of your gluteus maximus.
I know that the skinny pant is hard to avoid.  I have a pair of corduroys myself that are breathing down the neck of the skinny look.  But when you try on a set of these toothpick casings, really look at yourself.  If there was more material used to make your underwear than the pants, put them back on the shelf.  I believe that by closing the door on the skinny jean, you are opening the window for the bootleg, the stovepipe, the straight leg, the flare, etc, etc. 
Yikes - I forgot to even touch on the subject of skinny pants for men.  No words needed.  Please see below.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

If that Hat fits, it doesn't mean you should wear it

This pet peeve is about hats.  Specifically, the hats that don't fall into any particular, utilitarian category other than "fashion."  Not a baseball cap, cowboy hat, certainly not a hat to keep you warm, but rather those hats that say only "Look at me in jaunty cap.  Aren't I sassy?" 
This look is, in fact, usually a descendant of a formerly functioning piece of head wear.  There is the military-inspired hat that has a certain "Reporting for Duty"-circa World War II look.  And there is also the "Gov'ner, care for today's paper for a quid?" look of the remastered newsboy cap.  The problem with these hats, perhaps better called 'looks' or 'fashion statements', is that I feel a need to put them on the stage of a small town summer production of a bad musical.  They require a costume from the neck-down, not just the neck-up.
Also, these types of jaunty caps are never put on by accident.  Never to cover up an unbrushed head of hair - no matter how much the wearer would like you to think that they just casually threw this old thing on.  No, they are quintessentially an intentional trip down the runway of life.  In fact, - and this could be it's own pet peeve, as it applies to all types of hats - the hair is often quaffed and styled around the cap itself.  That's right, I am suggesting that first the hat is placed on top of the head and then actually followed by styling tools and products to form the hair into the perfect companion to the chapeau.  If that doesn't ring your peeve bell, I don't know what does!  Oh, wait, perhaps it is when women actually bobby-pin a hat into place, allowing for the full strandular glory of their hair to be the star, with the hat working as a perfectly set stage.  Unless it is a tiara (and don't think that it is okay to wear tiaras unless it is under VERY specific circumstances) bobby pins should never be employed when putting on a lid.
So - just to reCAP (ha, ha)...Hats should not require you to be eating military rations or to don a cockney accent.  And, unless you are going as Private Benjamen for Halloween or starring as one of the extras in a production of Oliver Twist, your hat should have some semblance of purpose other than an attempt to be a fashionista.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Air Heads


This guest peeve could fall under the Cell Outs heading, but really implies a deeper problem than inappropriate cell phone etiquette.  This is the passenger who responds immediately to "Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Chicago, where the local time is 6:20PM.  If you can reach your cell phone without leaving your seat, you are welcome to use it at this time......"  You know the guy.  He immediately picks up his phone and dials.  He announces that he "just landed" (duh), that he isn't at the gate yet (duh), that he will have to get his bag (duh), and often that he will call again (because at this point, there really isn't any information that the recipient can't live without).  You can always tell that said caller is met with the equivalent of an empty stare. 
This call has no purpose.  Not only can you look up flight information (and this guy probably called when he left, too), but even if the flight is delayed, you can track the flight online.  At any given moment you can see that this plane left the gate 17 minutes late, is traveling over Iowa, and is expected to arrive eight minutes late at gate C38.  Bags can be claimed at carousel #12.  Inevitably, this guy hangs up with a bit of a sigh and then pushes ahead of you in the aisle of the plane, only to stand and wait for his bag to arrive (probably while on the phone with his next victim). 
Now, it is probably also safe to assume that this is the same guy that calls the minute his departure has been delayed.  Again, no information to pass on just yet.  You hear him say in anger "my flight's delayed, some mechanical problem, weather, whatever....."  Of course, he is told, if anything, to call back when he knows more.  Which you can bet on.......

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Please See March 2nd

My actions on today's pet peeve could be a peeve in and of themselves, but I'm taking the easy way out - if you haven't read it, please look at the guest peeve from yesterday.  Because it technically includes about five peeves, and because I would like to express and agree with all of the sentiments there.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Cell Outs


Cell phones are awesome.  Seriously, not only can you talk to people wherever you are whenever you want to, you can also check your email, surf the web, take pictures, text, etc…..
Unfortunately, unlike driving a car, no license is needed to operate a cell phone.  However, for the cell phone abusers, maybe one should be required.  I’m not even going to get into the people who talk on their phone at the movies, weddings, funerals, plays, or the ones who think it’s a good idea to text while driving.  Even if these offenders had a license, it should be permanently revoked…..they are too far gone.
Go away.
The real pet peeves are perhaps a little more subtle, but just as annoying.  Unlike those listed above, the abusers we’ll talk about now have a chance to get better with a little help from their friends.   So without further ado let’s examine a few peeves. 
Toilet talk
Need I say more?  Probably not, but I will anyway.  This is about the guy who is doing his business in a public bathroom while conducting business (?) on his phone.  I’m talking about the guy dropping bombs that can be heard down the hall, so they can certainly be heard by the person on the other end of his very significant call.   Hey Mr. Trump, if you were that important you would have a private bathroom to conduct your business.  Drop the phone before you drop the kids off at the pool.
Mr. Trump or Mr. Dump?
Shopper Talk
Okay, you come into a small store with one employee and you are carrying on a conversation while ignoring the person whose job it is to help you.  Couldn’t you finish your call prior to coming into the store?  The answer is, of course you could have.  What is the point of this idle chatter?  Do you think the person in the store cares about your gossip?  Should they stand around and wait for you to get off this extremely important call?  This is pretty simple.  If you’re going into a store, any type of store, get off your phone.  I can assure you that unless you’re P Diddy level, no one cares about your conversation, especially the people working at the store. 
P Diddy?  More like P Don’ty.
The Argument
This one confounds me.  The public argument is bad enough, but the public cell phone argument?  Seriously?  You can’t wait until you’re alone to drop f bombs to whomever it is that you’re talking to?  Inappropriate on so many levels.  I don’t care how angry you are, or how important you think this particular argument is.  What I do care about is that your angry, sometimes filthy, nonsensical ranting has invaded my ear-space.  You know when the public cell phone argument is appropriate?  Never.  The End.

The Restaurant Talker
This is similar to the Shopper Talker, but a lot more dangerous.  Here’s the thing about people who work in restaurants….they don’t appreciate rudeness on any level.  Take it from me; I worked in all kinds of them for years.  Be polite to your waiter, it is in your best interest.  Talking on your cell phone when the waiter is trying to take your order is not advisable.  Trust me on this one.  In fact, other than being a bad tipper this is one of the worst offenses you can commit in a restaurant.  Again, if you’re important enough to be taking this call while at a restaurant, you would probably have an assistant ordering for you.  If that is the case, talk away.  Otherwise, get off the phone and listen to the special of the day so you don’t get the other special of the day you probably wouldn’t be too keen on.

You look happy….I wonder what’s in your salad.
Last but certainly not least, this one needs no explanation.
The Bluetooth

Do you wear your sunglasses at night?

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Demonizing Barbie

Why do people have to hate on Barbie?  All she ever wanted to do was have fun (Malibu Barbie), excel at her career (Registered Nurse Barbie), keep fit (Great Shape Barbie), travel the world (Cinco De Mayo Barbie), and just look Fabulous (Pink and Pretty Barbie - along with many others to be sure).
Yes, she has made a few missteps in her illustrious lifetime.  Maybe her proportions should exist in the realm of non-fiction, rather than as a hybrid cross of a sand wasp, Stretch Armstrong, and a watermelon patch.  But it stills peeves me that Barbie should be the scape-doll for so many problems.  Is that smiling plastic face really causing self confidence problems in American girls?  Are those petite feet really walking their way to the creation of eating disorders, early sexual activity, and another myriad of female issues?
The idea of evil Barbie is a personal peeve, because I spent so many years loving her so dearly.  I never thought she was real.  Never expected to look like her.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  I created, along with my favorite co-conspirator (the Ms. V), a world for Barbie filled with so much intrigue, triumph, heartbreak, devastation, and excitement that no living human could have ever been expected to survive it.  This on-going, live soap opera continued for years.  New Barbies came in, an old Barbie was demoted to a lesser role, a better looking Ken took up residence in the corvette, the dream house was remodeled.  I imagine that the whirlwind lifestyle of these Barbies continues.  (And likely would have continued even further into our childhood if the fifth grade "cool" guy hadn't sauntered into Ms. V's basement while we guiltily clutched our Barbies which should have likely been respectfully set aside in the third grade.)  They were just so hard to let go!  
If you have hardened your heart to Barbie and her cause, please see the photo of Peaches and Cream Barbie below.  (One of the greatest ever made.)  And see if that doesn't soften you up a bit.


Monday, February 28, 2011

People treating me like I'm stupid

I think the title of this peeve says it all.  In fact, I'm not sure if I can go much deeper than that, but I will put in my greatest effort to try to describe in detail what I mean.
Let me start by saying - I am no genius.  But, I would like to immediately counter that with - I am no idiot, either.  My grandma used to say, "You can call me ugly.  You can call me stupid.  But, just don't call me late to dinner."  I concur, but I would like to alter this bit of wisdom to say, "Don't call me stupid."  Or, at least don't treat me like I'm stupid.
You know you're being treated like a jerk when someone begins to speak in a condescending tone (this can be done just as easily in an e-mail or other form of communication.)  Alerts that it is happening:  meticulous, slow talking to the point of the ridiculous, tilting of the head in one direction, putting a question mark at the end of every sentence.
I used to work with a girl who always smelled a little like cheese, had a suspiciously invisible "fiance", and claimed to never pass gas unless she was seated on a toilet (something about particulates - but trust me, she didn't look that particular).  Anyway, because she was on the job before my arrival, she liked to drop knowledge that you may have picked up in the womb and quickly follow it up with a question of concern about whether you could have possibly understood.  Oh, I understood.  And I wonder if she ever understood that I wanted to crush her like a boiled egg.   

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Unsuitable Alcoholic Beverages

Have you ever been to a fast-food-ish restaurant chain like Chipotle or Noodles, saw the display cooler of alcoholic beverages behind the counter, and wondered to yourself, "Who in the heck gets a glass of Merlot to accompany their five dollar bowl of noodles, ordered at the counter and eaten in a McDonald's-esque atmosphere?"  (Unfortunately, this question was actually answered for me once by my husband, who boldly ordered a beer at Noodles...but that's a story for another time.)
The peeve here is that the beverage is misplaced, it is an alien in a world that should be inhabited by sodas and ice teas.  The parallel peeve of the unsuitable alcoholic beverage is the drink that has landed in a restaurant of the wrong continent.  No one should be allowed to order a strawberry daiquiri at an Italian pizza joint.  Keep it to the swim-up bar at the pool, people.  Or margaritas at a rustic ski lodge.  No!  Pina Coladas and hamburgers; Mulled wine and cucumber tea sandwiches; Sake and croissants...You get the idea.
You can take the drink out of the bar, but you can't (or you shouldn't) put it in a fast food joint or in a world where it has no visa and no passport.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

The Uncoolness of Marriage

When did it become a symbol of ultimate coolness to not get married?  I'm not talking about staying single and not getting married, I'm talking about having a "significant other" and not marrying them.  This arrangement is all fine and dandy with me - however you want to set up your household is no one else's bees wax in my opinion.
But, and this is a big but, why do people like Goldie Hawn get a standing ovation on Oprah for not marrying their "life partner"?  Why is this so commendable?  I don't get it.  It's like getting a standing ovation for renting a house instead of buying one...either way, you've got a place a live, have similar responsibilities, renting just must work better for you.
So why does non-marriage encourage responses like "good for you" and "that's awesome."  What is awesome about it?  Does the awesomeness come from the idea that you are more in love because you never let "the man" determine your relationship status? (I'm not sure if the man is God, the marriage licence office employee, society in general, a church, Justice of the Peace, or who - this is treading into waters that are a little too murky for me)  Or does the awesomeness come from the idea that you love each other less - you're free to fly the coop whenever, etc?  I'm not sure.  I am literally bewildered by what makes not getting married to your "partner", "lover", or "friend" cool.   
P.S. I bet that if Goldie decided to finally tie the knot with Kurt Russell and announced it on Oprah this week, she would get a standing ovation for that. 

Friday, February 25, 2011

Cartoon Tattoos

I am a closet fan of the tattoo.  My general appearance would not likely indicate this.  I don't have any tattoos and, as I'm not getting in younger or getting skin that is adhering any closer to my body, I likely never will.  However, I can really appreciate a good tattoo.  Not like the rose inside a heart kind of tattoo, but like an exquisite sleeve of natural what-nots or the all-out glory of Chris Anderson's neck (please see photo below). 
Having established that, however, I would like to get down to the peeve of it all.  It's not the tattoo; it is a certain type or genre of tattoo...the cartoon tattoo.  To me, if you are going to permanently imprint something on your body, it should be something eternally meaningful to you in a deep "this is as much a part of me as my belly button" type of way.  Or, at the very least, it should be a "look at this magnificent piece of artwork, I deemed it worthy to be on my forearm."  Or, I'll even go for "this is so funny, I just had to do it." 
I just don't see a cartoon character ever living up to any of these requirements. The Tasmanian Devil should really never find himself whirling across your abdomen. (I do get the idea - you're such an awesome, crazy dare devil yourself that you just had to lacquer this tornado of a guy onto your body), but really.  Yosemite Sam?  (Oh, of course, you're a real gun-slinger).  Awesome.  The tramp-stamp Betty Boop tattoo?  This is a real zinger that brings together two of my pet peeves - cartoon tats and trying to be "sexy" in such a frightening way.
I say keep the cartoon characters of off your pecs, lower back, your flexed guns, and anywhere else that you might want to slap one on.