1. Barking dogs make me nuts
2. Yelling obscenities at barking dogs never gets them to be quiet for long
3. A fat, lazy housefly that appears in the middle of the winter to buzz around the light over the sink
4. Wringing the cold stagnant water out of stinky, bacteria-infested, mangy sponges sitting in the sink (no, Chip, this is not directed at you. I swear.)
5. Cod liver oil supplements are really good for you (supposedly) but make your burps taste like, well, duh-fish. You burp and then you think, huh, I don't remember eating a tuna sandwich for breakfast.
6. Someone at work calling you, "My Little Fee-Fee" on a not infrequent basis.
7. Let's not forget the scallion issue. I think I need to check on how mine from two weeks ago are decomposing in the vegetable "crisper".
8. People who live in Vermont complaining in January about a long, hard winter because we had snow in Oh My (imaginary) God (type thingy) December.
9. People using too many words that end in -ly, too close together: Definitely, Absolutely, Certainly, Exactly, Surely, Wonderfully. This is usually accompanied by a lilting, saccharine, voice usually reserved for little children and the elderly.
10. The phrase "pet peeves".
(Right click and open me in a separate window for musical accompaniment) I saw the most amazing sunrise this morning. I've noticed that there's something about sky conditions in the 3rd week of January that produce the most delicious colors, upward shooting beams of sunrise light, Vermont style alpenglow, and clouds rimmed with gold. You could almost believe in Heaven and angles. You could almost feel brave enough to keep driving right past work and see where you end up instead. I can't keep my eyes on the road very long. I don't want to miss any of the subtle changes as the sun wakes up from behind the hills. A thick copse of trees and then a rocky road cut obscures my view. By the time I get to the next clearing everything has changed. The trees are bathed in a less flamboyant light, the sky is a little brighter and more typical looking, the clouds look more gray and less purple-pink. The sun cools from flaming sunrise orange to a steady pale yellow. By the time I've reached Exit 2, the sky has long since forgotten the magic that took place only 30 minutes ago. I leave the highway, turn left into town for my cup of Mocha Joe's and by 8:07 a.m. I'm at my desk, just like always.