Go F**k Yourself Friday…the DIY Edition

Don’t get me wrong, I am as crafty as they come, but there are certain things in life I have no desire to do myself. See if you can relate…

Go F**k Yourself Nurse Ratchet – Even though you were first in your nursing school class, that doesn’t mean my father-in-law wants to learn how change his own catheter bag. I know insurance plans stink nowadays and they kick you out of the hospital immediately after surgery, but what’s next? Will you be teaching my mother-in-law how to do a tracheotomy or master a crash cart in case someone at the beauty parlor flatlines?

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Go F**k Yourself Blue Apron – While I do enjoy your meals after I’ve spent an hour preparing them, the one thing I hate more than anything is when you send me a bag of potatoes, five unpeeled carrots, one clove of garlic or a whole lemon and expect that I have the tools to effortlessly slice and dice them. Newsflash – I do not own a mincer or a zester and while I did buy a mandolin, my bloody fingers are now worse for the wear. If you want to make things easy for me then chop those vegetables first and save me at least 20 minutes on prep time.

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Go F**k Yourself Self Service Gas Stations   There are certain things I just don’t like to do and that’s pumping my own gas. Sure, that might sound pretentious but I always get nervous after fumbling around with the nozzle, that I won’t know when to stop or that I didn’t screw the lid on tight enough. As I drive away, I worry that I’m going to be leaking fuel all over the highway causing an explosion if I drive past an oil tanker. Yes, I have a wild imagination, but some people are afraid of snakes. I’m afraid of pumping gas.

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Go F**k Yourself Supermarket Checkout – I’ve spent the last hour navigating my way through narrow aisles getting stuck behind a woman with a kid throwing a tantrum because his mom won’t buy him Fruity Pebbles and now you want me to check out my own groceries and bag them myself? What happened to those Employee of the Month plaques where you praised the fastest cashier? Is supermarket chivalry dead? Methinks that sadly it is… 

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Go F**k Yourself to Picking My Own Movie Seats Online What ever happened to showing up for a movie early, scoping out the place and picking out the best seat in the house because we got there first? These days, even if you are punctual, you could totally be screwed by someone who snagged your seat online and then shows up after the movie starts. There are certain things that still should be first come first served and even if it’s a free for all or a running of the bulls to get the best seats, that’s part of the adventure of going to the movies. Ya snooze, ya lose. 

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Go F**k Yourself Friday…The Valentine’s Day Edition

It’s supposed to be the most romantic time of the year, but honestly, how many of you are sick of Valentine’s Day? Whether you’re married and wait to the last minute to get a card and all that’s left are the really sappy ones, or you’re single and have called your girl squad to assemble so you can drink yourself into oblivion, there are so many FU’s I have for this special Hallmark invented day that I just can’t pick one.

Go F**k Yourself Restaurants with Special Prix Fixe Valentine’s Day Menus: You know exactly who you are. You know that February 14 is on the slowest night of the week, and yet, you decide it’s time to charge triple what you’d normally charge for the most expensive items on your menu. To add insult to injury, no one can even order from your regular menu so it’s Prix Fixe or bust. And then, since your chef is cooking the same thing all night, the filet mignon tastes like shoe leather and the wasabi whipped potatoes are cold. Spare me the Prix Fixe or I’m staying home.

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Go F**k Yourself to Bad Tasting Chocolate: Truth be told. One of my most favorite things to do is eat chocolate but typically, I go for the rocky road fudge or a small square of dark chocolate when I’ve got a 4pm sugar craving. But on Valentine’s Day, all bets are off. Instead, I’m gifted a tantalizing box of chocolates but every time I take a bite, the surprise inside makes me gag. I mean, who on this planet actually likes orange cream flavoring? If I’m expecting salted caramel on the inside and you give me chocolates infused with chili flakes, then I’m going to throw the box at you.

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Go F**k Yourself to the Person Who Decided that Valentine’s Day Should be Celebrated in February: Out of all the days of the year, you have to pick the one where the temperatures are below zero and the odds of there being a blizzard are pretty high. I still remember the two incidents when we went out on Valentine’s Day in the middle of a snow storm. The first time, we were practically the only ones in the restaurant and they still charged us the prix fixe menu and the second time, we went to see a Broadway show and stayed overnight in the city.  I was not wearing snow boots and the sanitation and salt trucks were nowhere to be found. So I walked through the slushy mess in my suede booties and by the time we arrived back at our hotel, my feet were blocks of ice. So romantic.

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Go F**k Yourself to Florists Who Rip People Off on Valentine’s Day: Whenever I think of Valentine’s Day, I think of flowers and when I think of flowers, I think of my wedding day and when I think of my wedding day I get pissed off. The reason? Our florist, Stefan’s gypped us that day and never put hydrangeas in our centerpieces and to add insult to injury, my mom’s cleaning lady mistakenly through my gorgeous bouquet away. Yes, I know these memories bear no connection to paying through the nose for long stem roses or a bouquet that looks beautiful when I order it online but is pretty sparse when it arrives at your front door, but either way, I have no tolerance for florists who know they are ripping me off and think I’m not going to know any better. News flash: I am a flower snob. Only send me spectacular flowers or don’t send me any flowers at all.

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Go F**k Yourself to Really Stupid Valentine’s Day Gifts: The dumbest ad just popped up in my Facebook feed – an $11 romantic scavenger hunt for two just in time for Valentine’s Day. First of all, why the hell would I want to be going outside in the dead of winter to look for gifts on Valentine’s Day? Don’t stick my diamond earrings in the woods. Make sure it’s safely put away where it belongs – in a blue Tiffany box with a nice white bow that’s carefully tucked away in your pocket. Don’t make me search for diamonds. Just buy them for me, hand them over and you will effectively make my day.

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If you do celebrate Valentine’s Day, I hope you get everything you want out of it – great chocolate, a delicious dinner that’s not overly priced, beautiful flowers and diamonds, lots of diamonds.

Go F**k Yourself Friday…the Super Bowl Edition

As someone who really isn’t interested in football, this time of year can be a bit frustrating for me. I mean, I don’t mind the commercials or the halftime show but honestly, the obsession about the “Big Game” is really a bit over the top if you ask me. But since everyone is talking about the Super Bowl this weekend and I know I’m in the minority, here’s a big ole’ FU to some of the things that really get under my pigskin.

Go F**k Yourself NFL for Making People Call the SUPER BOWL “The Big Game” – If you’re not in the media industry you probably don’t realize this but any time you see a commercial or a news report about the Super Bowl, you might notice that it’s being called “The Big Game” instead of what it is…the friggin’ SUPER BOWL! The reason is simple — it’s all about money. The NFL licenses the name Super Bowl and brands pay big bucks to have access to that name so if you try to leverage that name to gain more viewers or add a few more customers, you could be looking at a lawsuit. Hey NFL, SUPER BOWL, SUPER BOWL, SUPER BOWL. Now go F**k yourself because I don’t even like football anyway.

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Go F**k Yourself to Super Bowl Party Hosts Who No Longer Invite me to their Shindig – Sure I didn’t really like most of the people at your party and pretty much dreaded going each year but that didn’t mean I didn’t want an invite. I guess the fact that I don’t actually sit down to watch the game gave you a hint that I wouldn’t mind if I wasn’t on the guest list. Think again – I still liked the nachos and chicken wings. It was the actual game I couldn’t care less about.

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Go F**k Yourself to the Guy Who Yells at the TV thinking someone is listening to him – I know I can get a bit over excited during the finale of America’s Got Talent and may even emit an audible sob during a particularly emotional episode of “This is Us,” but I know that nobody can hear me. So why is it when a player fumbles a ball or a referee makes a bad call that you feel it’s your duty to curse at the screen and coach from the sidelines even though no one can hear you through your 72 inch TV monitor. Just keep drinking your wife-bought Michelob Ultra and shut the F**k up.

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Go F**k Yourself to the New England Patriots – I know there are plenty of Patriots fans out there but honestly, do you have to make the Super Bowl every single year and be so smug about it? Even when we think you’re about to bite it, you manage to always make it to the Super Bowl to just annoy people in every other part of the country except for the people who live in New England. Just retire already Tom Brady and hang out with your wife and kids. Gisele wants you to buy her a yacht with the Brinks truck full of money you get every year for throwing that ball around. Honestly, in my next life, I’m coming back as a professional quarterback or a supermodel. 

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Go F**k Yourself Over the Fact that the Super Bowl is on a Sunday – Honestly, what nitwit decided to play the Super Bowl on Sunday instead of Saturday night? If you have to be at work at 8am and have had 10 beers and a bucket full of wings the night before, how productive do you honestly think you’ll be Monday morning? Let people get their party game on and give them a day to recuperate. Super Bowl Saturday still sounds just as catchy as Super Bowl Sunday.

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