Category: Pet Peeves

I Believe in Stomach Ulcers The Way Most People Believe in God

I believe in stomach ulcers the way most people believe in God. I can’t see them, nor do I have proof they’ve ever existed in my body, but somehow, I BELIEVE THEY MUST BE THERE. I mean, how could you do the kind of things we do and not have some sort of evil acid eating away at your small intestine? You know the kinds of things I’m talking about: Forcing ourselves to answer every email in every inbox before

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36 Signs You’re an Internet Dick

1. You buy stuff online and then automatically file a chargeback with your credit card company. The internet is onto you, Kim Chow. 2. You play coy with the customer service rep you’re live chatting with. “Well I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me *your* email address?” 3. You send professional emails in all caps—and even throw in some, “!!!#%@%@” for good measure. Surely I’ll be taking you more seriously now. 4. You buy an online course and use

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Dear Friends: I Work From Home. (And Yes, It’s a Real Job.)

Dear Friends, I work from home. You know this, because you regularly: Ask me to get Little Billy off the bus. (Little Billy needs some god damn Ritalin.) Exclaim, “must be nice!” at least once a week. Roll your eyes when I tell you I’m tired. (How dare I have the right to be tired when all I do is stay home and watch TV and nap?) Ask me over and over what I do for a living, because you’re

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Warning: EVERYONE Is a Threat To Your Business. Even Those You Trust Most.

We arrived in the pouring rain. And by pouring rain, I mean torrential downpour. Because that’s how Costa Rica rolls. We didn’t have a reservation–100% our fault–so we quite agreeably had to be seated in the back of the restaurant, in the billiards room, at a lone table, watching the wait staff run back and forth from the kitchen to the main dining room. Which, really, was more than fine. Our fault. We didn’t mind. Hey–at least we were there.

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5 Business Rules for Pushovers

Sometimes it’s too easy. Too easy to say yes when you want to say no. Too easy to end up spending all of your time–maybe a lifetime–pleasing everybody who asks you to. Too easy to let people cross, squash, tap dance on, and bulldoze right the fuck over your boundaries. And too easy to lose grasp on your most crazyhearted dreams because of it. It’s too easy. We’ve got all sorts of stuff around being liked, not wanting to “seem

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On Fucking Your Inbox, And Saying YES When You “Really Should Be Working.”

“Life is a banquet, and most dumb bastards are starving to death.” This is the reason I’ve dedicated my life to having fun. Pure, uninhibited fun, pleasure, indulgence, thrill. To wake up when it feels right–or dreamily slink back under my silky white sheets when it doesn’t. To take long, leisurely Monday morning strolls through Santiago’s parks, fondly admiring starry-eyed adolescent couples as they lay together in the grass, tickling one another, anxiously awaiting the first kiss, and secretly wondering

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