on the oven

Personal pet peeves include: dearth of public garbage cans for dog shit; whipped cream; cheapskates; flat gin and tonics; jack johnson; men who can’t salsa but ask you to dance with them anyway; the Chrysler 300; any and every comment about defecation; confusion between RU 486 and Plan B; cooled coffee; crookedly hung art; crowds and queues; children made to pose in photos like mini adults; bullshit; people who don’t print double-sided; and

How women in office buildings won’t shut the fuck up about competitive calorie counting.

Oh my god it is a pain in the ass to come to work come spring, and not because it’s so damn beautiful out that I’m drooling at my view of the sunny Scotia Bank. Apparently women who work in office buildings did not take science 000 and exclaim with evangelic fervour that SODIUM HAS NO CALORIES!

All day long all people have to talk about is which brand of yogurt wins for calorie-per-125 ml- serving, whether or not glucose is a type of transfat, and that you can probably burn juice calories faster than milk calories because juice is thinner.

These people are employed through your tax dollars.

And, lest I forget, I am also repulsed by women baking for staff meetings. I am revolted by women with candy saucers out on their desks. I literally have to keep a six foot distance. Have you ever, ever, ever heard of a man baking a goddamn muffin to call a nine o’clock in the board room? Does my CEO have scotch mints below his doctorate? Why on earth would you escape to an office space if your environment was no different than the foyer of a desperate housewife?

Glass ceiling looking a tiny bit like the uncleaned roof of a General Electric oven.