Pet Peeves

1. "Lactivist" home-schooling hippie womyn who suddenly and without warning decide to enable password protection on their blogs. This may seem like an obscure problem, but it's happened to me twice this year. I make no secret of the fact that I'm obsessed with hippie blogs. I consume them guiltily like foul-tasting yogurt peanuts, savoring the oddly flat prose and bizarre child-rearing anecdotes: "Today, Leaf used the toilet for the first time. I felt very sad that my little monkey has grown so big, and I wept. But he is nearly seven, so I guess he's ready. I nursed him an extra half-hour today to reassure him of our bond. It's so draining being a full-time mother." Classic! Anyway, if you've been babbling on about nut butter and hemp tampons for two years, why enable password protection now? Your latest bout of Crusty Nipplitis is not a fucking state secret.

2. Dieting. Goes against my every instinct as an Italian and a lover of life, white sugar, and the Frito-Lay family of products. I'd kill for a single quivering wedge of cocoa-dusted tiramisu right now, but unfortunately I'm going to be photographed in a bikini for Minneapolis/St. Paul magazine. Therefore, my chronic case of lasagne-ass needs to resolve itself significantly in the coming weeks. I'm eating a normal amount, but "normal" is insufficient for a woman with my significant appetites. Pre-diet, I used to go to Cub every morning and get two frosted donuts and a 20 oz. Mountain Dew for breakfast. These days, my morning repast is a Special K bar (does not contain actual ketamine, sadly) and some kind of juice that promises to accelerate brain function. Unlike Mountain Dew, though, it won't make me a better snowboarder. And that's bogus.

3. Bitches at karaoke that hug my husband. I will cut you.