Go F**k Yourself Friday – the week of WTF

Sometimes, a series of events happen throughout the week that cause you to give people the side eye while you make a mental note that they just made it into your column without them even realizing it. So this week, as I juggled work and life events that kept me busy, annoyed and on my toes, I decided to devote this week’s column to the random acts of crazy that made me stop a minute and say WTF?

Go F**k Yourself to Politically Correct College Tour Guides – I’d like to start this missive by first saying, I am totally on board the politically correct bandwagon, but sometimes, I think my progressive friends have seriously gone off the deep end and this week was no exception. While at a college tour with my son, four of the tour guides introduced themselves by stating their names and they added that they go by the pronouns “He, him, his” or “Her or she.” I looked at my son and asked him, is this a thing now? Because, honestly if it is, I’d like to be addressed as “Miss,” “Hey lady,” “Bitch” but whatever you do, don’t ever think of calling me ma’am. 

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Go F**k Yourself to the Second Guesser – You haven’t worked in my industry for at least half a dozen years and yet, you decide to start questioning my work and then insult me in an email and cc my client. You know what? What if I take a little break and you take over from here? Just use your rotary phone to call your contacts who no longer have landlines, don’t respond to emails or are out of work looking for jobs too. Don’t ever claim you know how to do my job unless you’re in the trenches right along side me. Otherwise, STFU and get out of my way.

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Go F**k Yourself to the Steamroller – I used to work with someone who would literally push you out of the way if it meant she would get ahead faster than you. While the people around her were minding their business and doing their jobs, she used her connections and pushy attitude to get whatever she wanted and didn’t care if she stepped on her co-workers along the way. This week, I met someone who totally reminded me of the steamroller and as I watched her in action, it took me back to those awful days when I always found myself watching my back. The good news is, I’m my own boss now and she’s someone else’s nightmare, not mine.

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Go F**k Yourself to People with Hidden Agendas – This past week, I invited a few media contacts and bloggers to a really fun event and for the most part, everyone was really nice, had a great time and wrote positively about their experience. But there always has to be a few bad apples in the bunch and this was no exception. First, there was the pushy paparazzi photographer whose unflattering video promoting the event literally made me cringe. When I told him to take it down, he then got mad at me because he said it took him an hour to create it. Well, take 5 seconds to delete it and you’ll make my day. Then, a reporter who works for a major gossip magazine interviewed my client and proceeded to write something that had absolutely nothing to do with the event I had invited her to see. Lesson learned – even though it’s great when people say they’d love to attend an event, sometimes you’re just better off telling them to stay home or attend another event where they can totally annoy someone else.

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Go F**k Yourself to Supermarkets with Super Small Kosher for Passover Selections – For my fellow tribe members who host seders this time of year, is it just me or have supermarkets really started carrying less and less Passover fare? I mean, I shouldn’t have to travel to three supermarkets to find a jar of red horseradish and would it kill you to carry something other than coconut macaroons? This week, after striking out three times on the horseradish, I finally broke down and went to the uber expensive kosher supermarket that just opened in my neighborhood. Not only did I find the horseradish, but I even tracked down two packages of pupiks for my grandmother’s classic fricassee recipe. Granted, when I asked one of the workers if they carried pupiks, he looked at me like I was nuts but I was determined. Plus, I knew there was no way my neighborhood supermarket carried pupiks since I’m lucky if they carried gefilte fish. Thankfully, after searching through one of their freezers, I struck pay dirt and found the pupiks myself. Here’s the deal with Passover – if you work in a kosher supermarket, when Passover is around the corner, you need to brush up on some Yiddish food lingo stat. And if you’re the store manager for Stop & Shop or ACME, it’s time to give Passover an entire aisle and not just three shelves filled with gluten free matzoh, white horseradish and borscht. For the record, while the Catskills might have been known as the “Borscht Belt” during the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel era, no one I know eats borscht at their seder. Now pupiks on the other hand…that’s a whole different story.

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And on that note, I have to go make some matzoh ball soup. Happy Holidays!!!

Go F**k Yourself Friday…the Furniture and Appliance Edition

Truth be told, I have had a lot of topics that were rattling in my brain lately and I really wanted to channel that anger and frustration into this week’s column, but like a fine wine, I think my toxic thoughts need to simmer a bit before they become funny. And so, I decided instead to tackle a topic that everyone can relate to whether you own a home, rent a home or live in an apartment. So without further ado, I present to you Go F**k Yourself Friday the furniture and appliance edition.

Go F**k Yourself to the moving company that was oh so nice to my dad when he was moving all his stuff to my cousin’s house, my house and his place in Florida. Anything he wanted, no problem, they’d take care of it. But when they delivered his entertainment center to my house with a HUGE scratch on one of the doors, my dad gave me their number to call because they told him they’d fix anything that broke or had an issue. When I called them and emailed a photo of the damage, they said they’d get right on it. That was seven days ago. Today I called again and got a busy signal. What is this, 1985? I haven’t experienced a busy signal since I had a rotary phone in my bedroom – and that was in Canarsie when I lived with my parents! Get it together movers and fix my furniture or else I’m going to keep calling, emailing and texting until you get back to me. Busy signals do not scare me!

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Go F**k Yourself Slipcover Company and other products that are supposed to deter my cats from wrecking my furniture but never seem to work. This past week, after my parents gave me a few couches and a bed, it only took a few days for my cats to start making trouble. First they began digging their claws into the arms of my new sofa. Then they left their mark on the bedding and mattress upstairs. Eventually, their cat hair was tracking every piece of furniture we just added to the living room and den. And so, I did what any person who is trying to outsmart her pets would do. I ordered pet slip covers from Sure Fit and bought sticky tape from the pet store. After the slipcovers arrived, I put them on the couches but the cats managed to still claw at the only parts that weren’t covered – the arms. So I put the sticky tape on those parts and by the time I came home last night from an event, the tape was already peeling off. As far as the bed upstairs, my only saving grace is I can close the doors to keep them out. But either way, no matter how much I spend on trying to protect my furniture, nothing is going to help. Those cats are always two steps and three claws ahead of me and it drives me nuts.

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Go F**k Yourself Washer & Dryer that always breaks down right after the warranty runs out. Out of all the appliances in my house, the one thing I have had to replace over and over again has been my washing machine and dryer. I know that we do a lot of laundry each week, but the washer really shouldn’t be filled with water after the spin cycle is done and it shouldn’t take 90 minutes to dry socks. Sure, they don’t make appliances like they used to, but we shouldn’t have to replace them every 2-3 years like an iPhone. Just let me throw the stuff in and clean my clothes already. Oh and if someone can come up with an appliance that folds laundry and puts it away, I’ll take that too.

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Go F**k Yourself Refrigerators with Really Small Freezers. Sure, the double door refrigerator seemed like such a cute choice when we picked it out at the appliance store but then we brought it home and found out that we can’t open the freezer door all the way since it slams against the wall. Then, every time I forget that I have already bought a box of Elio’s pizza for my son, I have to figure out how to fit all those frozen boxes in the fridge like I’m putting together a Jenga puzzle or something. One false move and the chicken, meatballs and frozen shrimp will come tumbling out of the bottom shelf. One day, I’ll get one of those fridges with a big bottom freezer. For now, it’s shove everything in and hope that my Halo Top ice cream doesn’t melt.

Go F**k Yourself in Advance to my Heat and AC Unit. You’ve literally been hanging by a thread every year and each time our plumber comes over for yet another repair he warns that this could be the year we need to replace you. Yet, we still hang on, hoping you’ll survive another season. Whether it’s the coldest day of the year or it feels like we’re living in a sauna, that’s exactly when my HVAC unit decides to crap out on me. Unfortunately, my plumber now has a full time job so he fits me in about two weeks after I text him that we have lost feeling in our lower extremities. Sure all we have to do is throw on a few more sweaters or buy a fan, but I just want to be able to turn on the heat or AC without it involving a prayer session.

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Go F**k Yourself Friday…the Pet Peeve Edition

These last few weeks have been a bit stressful to the point where things that usually roll off my shoulders really got under my skin. But that means all of you are in luck this week because I am sure you have all experienced these annoyances in our lives that force us to silently scream at someone in our heads even though we’d really love to go postal and make a scene. And on that note, I present to you dear readers, Go F**k Yourself, the Pet Peeve edition!

Go F**k Yourself to the person who never responds to my emails when I request something from them. Yes, I know there are people out there who just don’t read emails or don’t respond to texts that I know they have read because it says “READ” after I sent it. They go through their day ignoring incoming messages and when they look back at their phone or computer a few hours later, they suddenly realize they have amassed about 100 emails and texts. They then spend the rest of the evening playing catch up and that one email that came in from me asking for something OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN somehow gets forgotten about until I am totally up against my deadline and then miraculously, after I send a terse – I NEED IT NOW or you won’t be included message, it suddenly shows up. I know not everyone can be like me and instantly respond to an email or text at a moment’s notice, but if I ask you a question and there’s a deadline attached to it, change the settings on your phone if you don’t want me to see that you’ve read my message or for F**k’s sake, JUST RESPOND!!!!!

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Go F**k Yourself to People who Display Bad Buffet Line Etiquette – For the record, I really don’t like buffets – I like to sit down, place an order, enjoy conversation with my friends and family and not deal with other people I don’t know. But when you’re on a buffet line, all bets are off. From the super slow senior who is taking his time deciding between the salmon and the whitefish salad, to the double dipper who grabs a veggie stick, dips it in ranch dressing, takes a bite and then dips it again, to the buffet tray hog who sees the hostess coming his way and cleans her out of pigs in blankets, when you’re on a buffet line, I’ve got a newsflash for you…you’re not the only one there! Move it along Gramps, dip once or put a dollop of dressing on your plate and whatever you do, don’t ransack the cocktail frank tray – you know everyone loves them, except the vegans – so let the rest of us carnivores enjoy the appetizers and take two or three for yourself.

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Go F**k Yourself to Urgent Emails from Politicians – I know I’m back to emails, but since I spend so much time online and I just checked my email, I had to call this one out too. I know that politicians have a hard time reaching voters but for some reason, my name has wound up on so many email lists that I can’t keep track of how many people want money from me. It’s urgent! The world is about to fall apart! You must do this now or else we stand to lose everything! Or my personal favorite, the subject line that seems like it’s from my best friend but in actuality, it’s from the Cheri Bustos campaign. Who the hell is Cheri Bustos anyway and how did I even get on her list??? Before I start unsubscribing from all those political e-blasts, here’s my word of advice to politicians – do not send me a message every single day of the week. I know you want my donation but if you keep asking, you will get what Grandma Dora used to say to people who pissed her off: Ice in Winter. 

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Go F**k Yourself to People Who Cancel Commitments at the Last Minute Due to “Family Emergencies” Now don’t get me wrong – if you truly are experiencing a family emergency, I have no problem accepting the fact that you won’t be able to make it to work today. But if you are on your fifth family emergency of the month, then something tells me you either have a lot of drama going on at home or you need to come up with way better excuses for why you can’t get your a** to your job like everyone else. Better to tell the truth about why you can’t honor a commitment than wait until the last minute to drop a bomb on someone who was totally counting on you.

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Go F**k Yourself to People Who Are All Talk and No Action – If anyone knows me, I’m a person who gets s**t done. You give me the goods to be successful on a project and nine times out of 10, I will get results that will blow you away. But on those occasions when I have to work with people who do nothing but bark orders and give me nothing back in return, I find myself counting the days until the project is over.  The problem with people who make ridiculous demands but do nothing to support their team, is that in the end, we all know you are an asshole.

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Go F**k Yourself Friday…the College Prep Edition

I’m sure you probably have heard about the college admissions cheating scandal that has singlehandedly destroyed the reputations of actors, CEO’s, coaches, test prep administrators and students whose parents wanted to guarantee that their kids would get into the college of their dreams.  As someone who has watched her own kids get rejected from teams and programs they had their heart set on, I figured it was high time to give us all a reality check on life. So without further ado, I present Go F**k Yourself Friday, the College Prep Edition…

Go F**k Yourself Lori Loughlin and Felicity Huffman – Seriously, ladies. You always played the nice characters on some of my favorite shows like “Full House” and “Desperate Housewives.” No one would ever suspect that Becky or Lynette would stoop so low as to pay someone off to get their spoiled brat into college, but you two did it. Sure, my friends and I can somewhat relate, having shelled out a boat load of cash for test prep classes for our kids, but I’m not about to back up a Brinks truck full of money and hand over a few hundred thousand to a guy who will get someone to dress up like my kid and take the SAT, or grease the palms of a college coach and pass them off as a member of Crew team when they probably haven’t rowed a boat in their life. Life isn’t about faking it until you make it. It’s about falling flat on your ass and starting all over again.

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Go F**k Yourself to Luxury Community Service Teen Tours  Your kid hasn’t volunteered for anything the entire time they’ve been in high school and those college application deadlines are looming and you need to come up with something fast. After searching online, you find a teen tour offering trips to the South of France where your daughter can help assemble boats for sea captains in need. Once you’ve booked the trip, you decide to rent a yacht where you pick up your kid halfway through their community service adventure so you can spend the rest of the summer shopping and sailing your way through Europe.

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Go F**k Yourself to the SAT, ACT, SAT 1, 2, 49 and Beyond – When are schools going to finally throw out those ridiculous standardized exams that measure whether our kids should be candidates for Mensa just so they can attend a competitive college? Every time a kid gets a decent score, those testing companies move the goal posts. Unless you crack a 1400 on your SAT or score a 34 on your ACT, don’t even bother applying to one of those brand name schools that every parent from Scarsdale to Westport wants their kid to attend. 

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Go F**k Yourself Parents that Don’t Have to Fill Out FAFSA Forms – Kudos to you if you have saved up enough money in your kids’ 529 plan to pay for college or get a million dollar bonus every year because you work at a hedge fund that’s heavily invested in pharma companies, but for the rest of us who needed that quarter of a million dollars to live this past decade, go F**k Yourself! I seriously am envious of anyone who has never had to spend hours completing a FAFSA application. From forgetting my password every single time, to constantly receiving alerts from my daughter’s school that we need to file more IRS forms or check five more boxes or solve the pythagorean theorem while hopping on one leg, I seriously would rather have root canal than fill out that dreaded FAFSA application every year. 

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 Go F**k Yourself to the Marketing Teams at Colleges My Kid Will Never Get Into – I have to admit, I was a bit giddy when my son received letters from Princeton, University of Chicago and even Columbia inviting him to check out their schools, but let’s be real. He’s a smart kid but they know as well as we do that he’s not getting in. They just want to get their application numbers up so they can share that 39,000 people applied to their schools and they only accepted 12. I’m not falling for it Princeton even though I might just frame your letter for kicks.

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Go F**k Yourself Friday…the Jug Handle Edition

After spending a weekend in Florida and then coming back to NYC to frigid temps and faulty GPS, I decided to devote this week’s column to the things that drive me nuts when I’m driving anywhere that’s outside of my neighborhood. For those of you who can feel my pain, this one’s for you.

Go F**k Yourself to the person who designed “roundabouts” – If you’ve never driven around a roundabout, here’s my beef. Your GPS might tell you to make the third right turn after the roundabout but if it’s late at night and someone just rang your phone and your struggling to see where you’re going, you will miss that exit and find yourself being re-routed – over and over again. I have officially decided that if I ever do retire to Florida, I will not live near any roundabout. I guess that means I’m never moving to Florida.

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Go F**k Yourself to the person who designed Jug Handles in New Jersey – if you hate roundabouts, you’ll probably hate jug handles even more and here’s why. You already missed your exit while on a long road that’s filled with strip malls and all you want to do is make a U Turn but you can’t do that for miles. That is, until you hit the jug handle – which always comes up out of nowhere and if you miss it, you’ll be forced to keep driving for another five miles until the next one pops up. Come on New Jersey! Just let me make a U Turn. Why does it have to be so difficult?

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Go F**k Yourself to Whoever Hung the Highway Signs in New Jersey – I know I seem to be taking aim at the Garden State this week but if you have ever tried to drive on the Jersey Turnpike, the signs are some of the most confusing ones I have ever seen in my life. Even my GPS gets confused too. Go right. No I mean, merge left. Take the express route then merge into the local lane. Go towards the Holland Tunnel but then before you actually drive into it, make a sharp left. OMG – just fix the damn signs before I wind up in Staten Island or Downtown Brooklyn!

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Go F**k Yourself GPS that Doesn’t Work in Downtown Manhattan – I know that working downtown is totally the place to be these days, but if you struggle figuring out where to walk after you’ve taken the subway to your destination, then I feel your pain. Just yesterday, I took the subway to Fulton street and then set my GPS so I could walk over to Liberty Street which my map told me was an easy breezy eight minute walk from the train station. The problem is, GPS doesn’t work really well downtown so instead of walking down Broadway, I went the wrong way down a narrow street and wound up by City Hall. I then hopped in a cab which got stuck in traffic and couldn’t go down a bunch of the streets and the next thing I knew, I was 20 minutes late to my appointment. AARGH!!!

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Here’s to a jug handle free weekend for you. Even better, just stay inside and don’t drive. It’ll do wonders for your blood pressure.

Go F**k Yourself Friday…the Real Estate Edition

I would like to preface this week’s column by saying there are a lot of realtors who I adore. In fact, my own mother-in-law is a realtor and while she’s not a top seller, she has made lifelong friends as a result of the incredible connection she makes with buyers. Sure, many of them choose not to move or pick another state entirely, but I love the way my mother-in- law operates. She always puts people first and the deals second. And on that note, for every other realtor who is motivated by dollar signs, this week’s edition of Go F**k Yourself Friday was tailor made for you.

Go F Yourself to the Bait & Switch Realtor – You were supposed to rent my parents’ home in the Hamptons during the US Open and proceeded instead to convince them to sell it. While you couldn’t find a buyer as fast as you thought and my parents went back to Florida for the winter, you kept parading your prospects through the house until you finally made a deal. Now you’re giving my folks the bums rush to close just so you can get your commission check. Sure, my family will never get to spend time in the Hamptons again, but who cares about family traditions anyway? After persuading another pair of snowbirds to sell their gold mine and fly south for good, my parents’ realtor is doing the happy dance. For the record, I have two words to say to you and trust me, it’s not Happy Birthday.

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Go F Yourself to the Pushy Realtor – Several years ago, the #1 realtor in our area almost convinced me to sell my home. She took one look at our house and said we had to sell since there was no way we could send our kids to the school in our neighborhood and she tried to convince us to move to the more expensive part of town. Luckily, we didn’t take her advice because we would have totally been under water – and not due to a broken water heater. Instead, we put an extension on our house and just celebrated our 20th year living there. She’s still in business convincing people to move into homes they can’t afford. Sure, she’s made a bundle off the backs of unsuspecting buyers, but all that gets her is a big stack of money and an even bigger FU from me.

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Go F**k Yourself to the Apathetic Realtor – After I had done a Google search of where my daughter wanted to live off campus, I discovered that the apartment one of her roommates had found was next to a vacant lot, boarded up buildings and a bodega on the corner. When I called the realtor, whose office was right next door to the building and asked her to share a photo of the front of the place, she refused. Recently, when my daughter experienced roommate problems and had to move out and her apartment mates turned her room into a pot smoking den two hours after she vacated the premises, the realtor refused to get involved. To add insult to injury, when we tried to get someone who was in the Air Force to sublet the place, the realtor, who didn’t want to get involved in roommate disputes, refused to approve him because those cannabis loving roommates didn’t want a guy living in their apartment. Maybe they didn’t want someone who would call the cops on them. Either way, apathetic realtor…go F**k yourself!

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Go F**k Yourself to the “Look at Me” Realtor – I get that real estate is all about wanting to work with someone who has a great track record but I really don’t want to see your punim plastered on a massive billboard whenever I’m on my way to my neighborhood Stop & Shop. I’m sure you paid a lot of money so we could see how great you are but honestly, a magnet or a calendar is more subtle and actually comes in handy when I want to hang up a flyer for my son’s play or find out when Passover starts.

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Go F**k Yourself to the “I Win All the Awards Realtor” – The last time I took home a trophy was in 1986 so whenever I see a realtor posting on their social media feed that they’ve won yet another award for selling their one millionth home, it drives me nuts. Seriously, no one likes a showoff. Let your customers sing your praises and stop sharing your glass awards like it’s an Oscar or something.

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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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Go F**k Yourself Friday…the Zero Patience Edition

Following an incredibly stressful week, I have discovered that one of the most cathartic things I can do for myself is write. This column has become a great source of therapy for me as I share all the things that get under my skin. Tonight, I present to you, Go F**k Yourself, the Zero Patience Edition.

Go F**k Yourself Excruciatingly Slow Driver who is driving 15 miles under the speed limit. Maybe you’re lost or you just like to take in the scenery but either way, I need to pick up my son who’s waiting for me outside in 12 degree weather wearing a flimsy parka. Either keep the Cadillac Seville in the garage or get the f**k out of my way!

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Go F**k Yourself to the guy on the Metro North platform who hip checked me on his way into the train. We’re all headed to the same place and if you think you’re going to give me the stink eye when you sit in the six seater where me and my girlfriends commence our morning gabfest, you’ve got another thing coming.

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Go F**k Yourself to the Oblivious Pedestrian who is texting and walking at the same time. I totally get that we all get distracted when someone sends us a message that must be a matter of life and death, but seriously, if you don’t watch where you’re going, you could be hit by a city bus or fall through the sidewalk.

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Go F**k Yourself Couple Who Arrive at the Movies two minutes before the film is supposed to start. We’ve been here for 20 minutes feeling cozy in our electronic recliners and then the two of you stroll in with your soda, M&M’s and jumbo popcorn and then force us to stand up. Seriously, get your s**t together and get here in time for the previews like the rest of us.

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