An acquaintance of mine blogged recently about some things she’s sick and tired of, and her post inspired me to account for a few of my own. As I racked up my itemized list of grievances, the worst earthquake in 200 years struck the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. Oh, Haiti. How you put things in such clear perspective for the rest of us.

On Jan. 12, 2010, this list might have been just a bunch of snark. Today, it’s down right absurd. That being said, here are a few things that I am really friggin’ sick and tired of:

1. Carrie Prejean. San Diego’s crown jewel—and the boobs that beauty-pageant officials cruelly forced on her—simply will not go away. Prejean and her erect right nipple were spotted frolicking in a Hawaiian ocean with her boyfriend du jour last week and made the headlines alongside “Thousands Feared Dead.” Since when did 15 minutes become 15 years?

2. Adam Lambert. OK, I’m not sick of Adam Lambert, per se; he’s the anti-Carrie Prejean, a guy with actual talent who used his celebrity to encourage his fans to donate to Haitian relief. So I root for him. I’m more sick of the hullabaloo over his American Music Awards performance, for which he is now on a World Apology Tour. I watched his three minutes on the AMA’s via YouTube. That he nearly finger fucked one of his female dancers was surprising. But kissing a boy? Bitch, please. He should have shoved his tongue down Carrie Prejean’s throat if he wanted to be outrageous.

3. Speaking of outrageous, how about Heidi Montag’s 10-hour, 10-procedure plastic surgery? At 23 years old, this talentless, soulless fame-whore has finally chiseled away her self-proclaimed “ugly duckling” looks for something a little more Barbie. I guess she didn’t get the memo that beauty comes from the inside. Too bad for her, there’s no surgery to fix inner ugly.

4. The goddamned pandas. The adult pandas, the baby pandas, whatever. Seriously. I. Am. Over. It.  Panda-cam? Bo-ring. The giant panda exhibit at the zoo? Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. The line to get into the panda exhibit at the zoo? Biggest scam they have going. I like to go through the exhibit of always-snoozing pandas just to eavesdrop on disappointed tourists. I watch as they try to navigate their double-wide strollers along the narrow passage, keep the kids from swinging on the railings and strain to hear the barrage of panda factoids whispered over a microphone by zoo employees. “All they do is sleep” and “We should have gone to SeaWorld” are two of my favorite overheards.

5. Christmas decorations left up after Jan. 1. Look, I know it’s festive and romantic and twinkly and Christ-y, but FYI to my neighbors with the giant corner window: We’re pushing February here. It’s time to let go. The tree must come down. The electric moving snowman, too.

6. Shitty customer service. Hey, Tom, at Fairlane Cleaners. If you melt the buttons off my sweater without first warning me that the buttons might melt off my sweater, it’s your fault, and I do not appreciate a lecture about why it’s my fault.

7. The orange construction cones left behind by the company that made my neighborhood sidewalks wheelchair friendly more than a month ago. Way to find conscientious contractors, city of San Diego! It’s nice that the physically disabled have better access, but is it really that hard to clean up your mess?

8. Oversharing via Twitter. Tila Tequila, Courtney Love and Lindsay Lohan can tweet “the truth hurts” or “it’s the truth” or “the truth will come out” all they want.  They’re still abominable, individually and collectively, and no amount of truth-telling will change that. Unplug, ladies, unplug.

9. Athletes and crocodile tears. Mark McGuire, I’m talking to you.

10. Liars who lie and know they lie and don’t get called on their lies by people who perpetuate their lies. Two recent lies that come to mind: “We had no domestic attacks under Bush,” by liar Rudy Guiliani and “We did not have a terrorist attack on our country during President Bush’s term,” by liar Dana Perino.

11. Not Of This World window decals. If you’re not of this world, what world are you of, exactly? I can only assume you’re of the world that teaches you how to expertly snake parking spaces from me at the library.  Obviously, being Not of This World anoints you with VIP status, and your need to check out that book trumps the fact that I was waiting patiently—indicator on—for that space. Peace to you, brother. I don’t care what world you’re from: I would help your sorry ass in a crisis.

12. Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh. Your responses to this particular human emergency were predictable and nothing short of vile. You are worms, both of you, which is a bitter insult to worms the world over. Keith Olbermann said it better: “Mr. Robertson, Mr. Limbaugh, your lives are not worth those of the lowest, meanest, poorest of those victims still lying under the rubble in Haiti tonight.”

Aaaand just like that, I’m back to Haiti. I can’t not think about Haiti for very long, the devastation and the heartbreak and the unimaginable horror those people have endured—continue to endure—all while life here hums right along. It’s senseless and unfair that the sun should rise and set on two places not so far apart and yet everything is terrifically lopsided. I feel helpless and frustrated. So I donate a few bucks and make a few jokes to feel normal. I go to the gym and the bank and the grocery store. I play with my child who tonight sleeps safely under layers of blankets and a solid roof, unlike thousands and thousands of Haitian children just like her. All I can do is not linger too long on the images and be extremely thankful for my plain luck of geography.

And when it all gets to be too much, when things get really low, that panda-cam sure can take the edge off the overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

(Image from Reuters)

(As published—sans photos— today in San Diego CityBeat.)