My List of Things That Must Go... and the Worst Father's Day Gift Ever

Since it's Monday morning, and I'm not ready for the weekend to be over, how about a mini- rant, with my list of things that must go.


1. Too much information on voicemail directions.
You know when you call someone, it goes to voicemail, and then the robotic voice spends half your lifetime explaining your options to you, as if there are so many more wonderful choices besides just leaving a message?

Here's what I'm talking about: "Bing Bong... I'm sorry but Blah Dee Blah is not available. At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished recording your message, you may hang up or press pound for more options. If you feel so inclined, press two to repeat instructions. Press three to hear these instructions in Espanol. Press four to hear me sing the National Anthem. If you do not press four, you are downright unAmerican, and we will sic Hannity on you. Press five for an over-the-phone confessional with Father O'Harris. Press zero for an operator. But the operator is just me, and I will simply repeat these instructions. Have a nice day."


It's not like leaving a message is a brand new concept, that only hip high school kids will understand. Voicemail is older than the internet. Seriously, if I don't hear someone answer my phone call, I promise I will just assume that person is unavailable. Not only that, I will also assume leaving a message is possible.

So please, just give me the bleeeeepin' beeeeeeep already! Arrrrrrgh!

Whew. I feel better now. On to Number...

2. Celebrity "News" that in no way resembles "News".
For instance:
Did you hear the news? Zoe's in a leather dress! In my opinion, unless she personally hunted down the animal who provided the leather for the dress, and killed him with a homemade bomb made out of MacGuyver's gum wrapper and a paper clip, It's really not news that she's wearing a leather dress. Unless.... it's human leather. Bwah-hah-hah.

Just caption the picture with "Zoe-what's-her-name, at a premiere."

2-B. You know how I love my Trashy Mags, but the "Stars- they're just like us!" section is getting a little ridiculous with the latest entry: Audrina "Lipless" Patridge mixes mustard and ketchup. I don't know what to say. I mean, I guess that makes her more like me, but really, I never assumed she had someone to do that for her in the first place.

Did she wake up and think, "I think I shall be like the nameless masses today and mix my ketchup and mustard. Then, I shall swallow my own water."

3. Totally lame Father's Day Presents:

What do you get the guy who gave you life, sacrificed so much to provide for you, threw you countless pop-ups in the backyard, gave you away at your wedding, provided medical care for your children, and battled Pancreatic Cancer in a war of epic proportions?

I'll tell you. You get him the lovechild of a toilet scrubber and a feather duster. And you tell him it's a backscratcher. Now, before you all throw stones in my general direction, let me just explain one thing. Umm... it's my sister's fault. (Just kidding, Erin.)

Really, though, we bought my Dad David Copperfield tickets about a month ago for Father's Day. Even so, there's nothing more embarrassing than the three Dads in our family showing off their presents on the actual day. Sam and Dave with their cordless power drills, my Dad with his... backscratcher.

My sister bought it from a travelling salesman, who I'm sure walked away from her house thinking to himself, "I can't believe she bought it. I've had that in my truck for twenty years. I wonder if she'll go for the dust bunnies in the back of my truck next time."
After my dad opened the gift, my sister leaned over to me and said, "You owe me three dollars."

Now I feel ready for the week. So, how was y'all's Father's Day? Anyone else care to contribute to things that must go?