Bugbear

Do you know what the speed limit is within a parking lot?  Would it surprise you to know that it is 15 kilometers per hour?  I think I am one of the only people to, not only know this fact, but who practices it also.  Yet people on foot, will constantly run in front of or behind my vehicle then turn to chastise me for "moving too quickly".  These are usually the same culprits who will then climb into their vehicle and speed out of the parking lot at a velocity of sixty or seventy kilometers per hour.  These people are among the many pet peeves that seem to plague my everyday life.

A "pet peeve" is described as: A particular and often continual annoyance; A personal bugbear.

My life seems riddled with pet peeves, the afore is a minor one.  Though it seems to occur upon almost every visit to the nearby Home Depot, it has little or no effect on me, personally, but has become tiresome, all the same.

I've tweeted my major peeves, which have been commented on as being shared by many.  The most frequent being that I will sit through a barrage of annoyingly repetitive commercials only to realize that the program I'm watching is recorded.  Even with the remote control in hand, my thumb placed firmly over the fast-forward button, I will often mutter profanity to myself about the irritating commercials, all the while forgetting to depress the button under my opposable digit.

Another exasperation of mine is sitting down to watch a program, whether it a mere sixty minutes in length or a movie that is more than a couple of hours long, and falling asleep.  I'd prefer to see the show in it's entirety, avoiding revisitation.  Earlier today, it happened to me twice while watching the (Christopher Nolan) Batman Trilogy.  The movies are not boring in the least, yet I found myself slipping into deep slumber about an hour into each movie, only having to skip back ninety minutes to rewatch the full movie.  This also occurs whenever I sit down to watch any of the Star Wars movies, although I rarely bother going back to watch the full stories over again.

Probably one of the biggest pet peeves I have, nowadays, isn't one that's come into fruition until as of late.  It does not occur very often, yet when it does, it sends me spiraling.  It has occurred when I'm climbing into my vehicle.  When I'm climbing into bed and (earlier tonight) settling down on the sofa to watch a movie.  Breaking wind.  A split-second before I plant myself firmly in my seat, a minor fart will slip out.  Minor in it's simplicity, yet major enough to almost bring me to tears.  The smell nearly harsh enough to drop a moose out of the sky.

I know not the recent exuberance of flatulence, but I suspect it may largely have to do with the ingestion of tomato-based foods.  I did have pizza yesterday and lasagna today.  Decrease the intake of such foods and I'll be less likely to fart on myself.  So better consciousness of my surroundings and my pet peeves will likely decrease.  If only it were so easy...

Ring of Fire

By nature, when it comes to food preparation for my lonely self, I tend not to get too fancy in the kitchen.  More often than not, I will prepare something quick and easy for myself to tide me over to the next meal, which might be something slightly more complicated or something from the drive-thru.  Pizza pops, for those unfamiliar, are a microwavable food snack which is available exclusively in Canada and are a cornerstone of my dietary practice.  It's a pocket of dough filled with a variety of pizza flavours.  In the beginning there were two flavours available.  One contained cheese, pizza sauce, pepperoni and bacon.  The other was called a Chili Pop, which was the same concept, only it was filled with chili.  The latter was a tasty treat, but sadly, it was discontinued shortly after it's introduction, but soon after it's demise, other pizza-themed flavours popped up, including a classic that had onions, ham, mushrooms 'n' some other shit.  I was never a fan of those flavours, nor was I too enthused about the ham & pineapple Hawaiian pizza pops.

Throughout the years since their inception, more flavours were introduced, which were favourable to my taste palet.  Triple cheese is a tantalizing favourite of mine, offering a chance at a heart attack with every delectable mouthful.  As well, I enjoy the Triple meat, that includes pepperoni, sausage and either beef or bacon.  I can't recall, exactly, but it's tasty as f**k.

Along comes this new flavour, Blazin' Nacho Cheese.  The image on the box would indicate that it's spicy hot in nature.  I'm not a fan of super hot shit, but I picked up a box of this new flavour, thinking how hot could it possibly be?  Let me tell you, my Canadian readers, anyway.  Take heed.  These motherf**kers aren't hot initially, though my pansy ass did find them fairly heated, all the same.

I heated just two of these doughy treats up Saturday afternoon.  As a precaution, I drank chocolate milk with them and I'm relieved I'd done so.  My palate is soft when it comes to anything hot and spicy.  Years ago, I burned my mouth on the pansy buffalo wings at a nearby watering hole, although I secretly believe that the cook read the order as "pansy" and decided to go ahead with spicy hot wings.  I doubt any self-respecting bar visitor is going to outright order the pansy wings, but I possess very little by way of self-respect, but instead of being weak flavoured, the heat was bold and somewhat bullying.  They knocked me on my ass, so when it came time to consume these seemingly hot pizza pops, I wasn't taking any chances.

I ate only two pizza pops, hoping for a light snack before something more substantial in the evening.  They were f*cking hot, but not nearly as bad as they would have been, had I drank a soda with them instead of the chocolate milk.  The fun never stopped there, though.  A few hours later, my stomach felt a little topsy-turvy and I was unable to follow up with a decent meal.  Shortly after that, came the gambling phase, where built up gas was straining to be released, which sometimes feels like a gamble, cutting one loose and realizing something more than just methane had evacuated from my nether regions.  99.999% it's a false alarm, but a majority of those still felt like a close call.

That thin line between between farting and sharting is a dangerous and precarious one.  Occasionally, it's a very stressful and uneasy feeling.  Squeaking out a sliver, negotiating that careful balance between noncommittal and unleashing a tremendous fury of flatulence.  Thankfully, there was no issues following my eating the hot pizza treats, except several cases of "flaming hoop", which is a hot burning sensation that follows a fart.  It's killer.  Dry, thankfully, but burns all the same.

Long story short.  Some people are cut out for this hot spicy shit.  I'm not.  I'll probably finish the box, as I literally cannot toss out anything if I don't have to.  I only have six left and they are frozen, so I can space them out enough where I won't remember how treacherous they really are.  Like KFC, which I eat once in a blue moon, as a reminder as to why I don't eat that shit.