Baby Talk

Lately, my 29 year-old boss has insisted on talking to us in a baby voice. Literally--she addresses us how she would address a small child. It drives me absolutely insane and when I don't respond she says "you're not feeling it today?" as if I've been "feeling it" any other day she's done it. Baby talk is reserved for babies, not overqualified employees of a menial 9-5 job. That being said, my dad can't stand baby talk, even towards actual babies. He forbid our family from speaking to my sisters and I in a baby voice when we were babies, which is probably the reason I have so many daddy issues today.

baby v.Lo

Similar to baby talk, here are a couple of things I find completely intolerable:

1. Being read to
I can read. Please don't read to me.

2. Hearing about people's dreams
I loathe when people tell me about their dreams. Saying "Victoria I had a dream last night that you were _____" is fine, but when you go into detail I zone out because I'm not in your head and can't see what you see.

3. Ice chewing
That "crunch crunch" noise is the equivalent to Chinese water torture for me. I will give the accuser serious side eye until they stop, and have also been known to knock over their ice cup "accidentally" just so they can cease. This is my #1 deal breaker in a relationship and also a reason for divorce, in my opinion.

4. People talking over their radio
Blasting the radio--not a problem. Blasting the radio and then yelling over it--problem. Turn your radio down and talk OR keep your radio turned up and stay silent. Blasting the radio and singing along with it is also okay, especially if it's a song I like/know at least 70% of the words to.

Thankful.

 In honor of Thanksgiving, here is a list of things I'm thankful for:

• Having a job, even if it means I get e-mails like this one:

• My wonderful friends, especially those who read this blog. I promise I'll get married or have a baby soon so I can have more interesting things to write about.
• That as of last night at approximately 7:30 p.m. I am FINALLY done with Thanksgiving leftovers. My mom sent me back to Charlotte with so. much. food. I'm glad it's finally gone.
• Most of all though, I'm thankful that my parents named me Victoria and not something ghetto or hard to pronounce. My mom tells me that the reason for this is because she didn't want potential employers to know I was black until I walked in to interview. Thanks Mom.