- My Bangs. It's only supposed to be a gentle 'sweep,' not 'laying straight across the forehead after being tightly rolled around a sausage.' Seriously. I left this style in 1990 with my fitted spandex miniskirt and big sweater. Frontal hair: You're on notice.
- My Headcold. Really? Is it really already time for the swelling and the soreness and the sniffling? I thought I had at least until after Christmas break, when all the kids have been traveling and sledding and slobbering and letting their germs have playdates with each other. I think it's a bit early for this, don't you?
- The Rain. Dear Cold November Rain: You suck. Love, Guwi.
- The Dishes in My Sink. Enough already. I've had rabbits that didn't multiply this quickly.
- My Laundry. Please see above.
- Friday Night Lights. For not running in one night, as a season-long marathon. Coach Taylor, Tim Riggins...I wish I knew how to quit you.
And the number one thing pissing me off today?
- Just....uurrggghh. Whatever.