Things I hate

Is this the one you were waiting for? I spent all week thinking about this post. What is it that makes us bond more over hatred than love? I think maybe it's authenticity. You see, someone can plaster a fake smile all over their face and pretend they're loving, and we can see right through it. But hate... people just don't bother to fake hate, do they? And so we can come together and gripe together and nod in agreement and think, Man, I hate that too.

I'm sure some of you feel that I'm probably a little Pollyanna in my ways. Always looking on the bright side and all that. But I'm acutely aware that the things I hate define and sharpen my edges, like my love does, and I wrinkle my (cute little button) nose at the idea of hate. After all, if I have such a huge problem with these things in my life, doesn't that just make it MY problem? My hatred doesn't affect anyone else. It's like taking poison and expecting someone else to die from it.

Nonetheless - I will say that there are quite a few things in life that honestly bug the crap out of me, and when I'm feeling thin-skinned, the following things DEFINITELY push my buttons.

Without further ado:

I hate high heels. I want to time-travel back to whenever someone thought to himself (because you KNOW it wasn't a female who thought it up), You know what would make women more sexy to men? If they wore shoes that were elevated by a tiny, minuscule little stick at the end, underneath the heel, where all the balance goes, wouldn't that be glorious? Wouldn't women wincing in pain and falling over on their asses be so incredibly sexy? and I want to punch that person in the face. Guys, if you want, I'll do the same thing for whomever invented neck ties.

I hate writers who don't read, and actors who don't watch television. Know your craft, dammit.

I hate that some people insist on not having a cell phone because they claim that they don't want everyone to be able to reach them. See, there's this nifty thing on your phone, called voice-mail, and it totally solves that problem.

I hate poachers. I don't think I need to explain this one.

I hate tailgaters. Please don't make me break down the laws of Physics for you, because I won't, but a general rule is: you cannot go faster than the car that's in front of you by driving up its ass. Also, if you think that by closing the safe distance that is supposed to be maintained between two moving vehicles weighing approximately 4,500 pounds is somehow going to make me speed up so that you can do that all over again, you are sadly mistaken. I'm just going to daydream about slamming on my breaks and how lovely that insurance check would be.

Tracy hates when people refer to themselves in the third person. She finds it annoying. Even more annoying is when someone refers to themselves in the third person plural. We hate that the most.

I hate drivers who think they can multitask. I've seen women curling their hair with a curling iron; men shaving; people reading books, magazines, and printed out directions that are propped up on the steering wheel while going 80 mph on the freeway; women doing makeup at red lights that turn green and they don't notice because a mirror is in front of their face; people drinking coffee in one hand, texting in the other, and steering with their knee; and people who drive with their dogs freaking out in the front seat on top of them. Stop it, all of you. Before you kill me.

I don't hate ignorant or dumb people. But I do somewhat resent intelligent people who claim the right to be ignorant.

I hate when people put chewed gum underneath desks, chairs, or movie seats. It's disgusting and are people THAT lazy that they couldn't wad it up into a napkin and throw it away?

I hate it when animals are used in the circus. And I know - I hear it all the time - "Those animals are so pampered, they've got it so good, don't feel sorry for them," well, I do. A zoo or animal sanctuary is one thing. A circus - that travels hundreds of thousands of miles, forcing their animals to travel in cages, something already stressful for a domesticated animal, let alone a wild one - takes an animal, puts it in front of hundreds of loud humans each night under bright lights and loud music, and asks it to perform tricks that are not natural to its behavior. No. The animals do not have it good.

I hate torture porn. Do I really want to watch some attractive teenagers get the hubris tortured out of them so I can feel morally smug to the sound of chainsaws and carving knives? No. I don't.

I hate fundamentalism. I hate it in religion, and I hate it in politics. This planet will not survive if we demonize those who do not agree with us instead of having thoughtful dialogue and working towards accomplishing common goals together.

I already really don't like most gossip and fashion bloggers, but when they target children, I genuinely hate them. Honestly? You can't find anything better to write about - anyone else to make fun of - other than the outfit a 12 year old girl wore to an awards show? She's TWELVE. When she's eighteen, fine, give her hell. Until then, leave her alone and get some self-respect.

I hate that Disney has no strong mother characters in almost any of its movies. Go on, think about that. How many of the mothers in Disney movies are either already dead or die during the movie?

I hate that when I tell someone I'm an actress, if it's a single male his response will usually be something along the lines of: "Oh, so you're just a really good liar." Yes, you presumptuous ASSHAT, I studied at one of the finest theater companies in all of Southern California as a teenager, learning mime, clowning, mask-making, interpretative dance and comedic timing for over five years before attending this university, where I learned Suzuki, Tai-Chi, Tolstoy, Sophocles, Aeschylus, Moliere, Shakespeare, Strasberg, Stanislavsky, Linklater, and Mamet while interning at one of the most prestigious Shakespeare Companies on the entire West Coast, after taking a quick break to go to London and study Chekhov for half a year, then moving up to Los Angeles so that you could stand there now and tell me you're pretty sure I'm just a flaky bitch whom, if we dated, would just manipulate you because I know how to cry on cue. To which my reply is: Kindly get over yourself and get out of my way so that when I take over the world, you're standing there on the sidelines, still bitter about your life.

So there you go - and now it's your turn. What do you hate?