Just shut up already jose

I guess missing church because I had to go stand around for 4 hours, coupled with cleaning out a beer fridge that didn't need to be cleaned, in conjunction with reading about all of the reasons and ways that Nazi fascist bastards socially, culturally, and physically murdered de facto several million Jews, has put me in a rather foul mood. And as a little rancid bit of icing on the crap cake, the girl with the most spine curdling laugh on God's green earth is down stairs. Laughing. I've come to prepare and mentally brace myself for that laugh on a weekly basis, each Sunday night. However, no amount of preparation can actually prepare one for this laugh. The cackling fusillade penetrates my room from all the way downstairs, as though my home were constructed of balsa wood. There is no escape.

As I was scooping up a bowl of soup today, and simultaneously ignoring the practically unintelligible Spanish chatter coming from across the counter, I thought about how I wouldn't be mad if I never saw certain people again. Mostly that thought was directed toward the guy across the counter we'll call Jose. Jose enjoys asking me most days why I am ignoring him, and why I am in a bad mood, and where is my boyfriend, and do I like sausages, and do I think the hostess has a nice ass, and whether or not it's fake, and a plethora of sundry obnoxious drivel.

Part of the problem, is I can not hear him well enough to understand half of what he says. The other part, is I can't bring myself to give a damn about what he says, because the majority of it is either repugnant, or annoying. I get the boyfriend question, due to the fact that I have come in to eat with guy friends a few times. Which apparently, in Jose's world of telephone pornography (don't ask) equates to being gay. I try to be civil. I pretend to be in a bad mood whenever I am dipping up soup, or tired, in order to have a valid excuse as to why I don't seem to want to talk to him.

There are a lot of people in my life that, were I to suddenly never see them again, I would be sad, or disappointed, or periodically wonder about what they were doing. Other people, however, I would be more than thrilled if I never had to see them again. Like Jose. And the pestiferous laugher. And Rick Fish, the history teacher who tried to sabotage me. And maybe one specific person who dwells in this house (not you Dan, I love you.)

Genocide puts me in such a bad mood.