I hate Nicolas Cage.
I hate when I find pubic hairs on a toilet seat.
I hate how airlines charge for baggage.
I hate my hairy toes.
I hate when people see a flaw in my personality and try to teach me a lesson.
I hate the words ‘musings,’ ‘rogue,’ and ‘happenstance.’
I hate when people refer to themselves in the 3rd person. Laurenne thinks it sounds hoity toity.
I hate knowing that I will one day emit an old-lady odor.
I hate when people fart on planes. And when it’s me, then I hate myself.
I hate talking about the weather.
I hate being around very negative people who hate everything.
I hate that I hate that Paris Hilton has a shoe line. That doesn’t deserve my hate.
I hate eighties music. Yes, even Madonna. Whatever.
I hate that nothing lasts forever. Especially fruit.
I hate that I spent too many years caring about being perfect.
I hate that lots of us work really hard so some bossguy can make money.
I hate that we’ve created some weird societal norms (drinking milk from animals, high heels, shoving plastic balloons under our chest skin, etc.)
I hate that so many people are so scared.
I hate that we still don’t know what happens after death. Come on. Just tell us.
I hate outlet stores. Always so much anticipation and then only irregular socks
I hate that I hate stuff. Why can’t I be the joyful kind of girl who motors around town loving everything? Especially Nicolas Cage. What did he do? I don’t know. I liked him in ‘City of Angels’ and then bam: hatred.
Thankfully, I do love way more often. I love jungle gyms, friends, vacuuming, handwritten letters, burritos, pool parties, pictures, and finally peeing after holding it forever.
Laurenne loves more things too but doesn’t want to bore you with those musings. (Man, I hate that sentence.)