This Is Why Outside Hates Me

The other day, I woke up right before sunset, and I felt panicky toward the idea that I would be without daylight for another 12 hours.

Sad because dark.

This panicky feeling caused me to become delusional and decide that the only solution to the problem would be to go outside and walk around my yard.

Happy because idea.

I exited my garage, walked up some stairs, and strolled up to one of the giant rosebushes in front of the house, which I attempted to give some TLC via pulling off a dead bloom.

Yay, outside!

Almost immediately (after being outside for approximately a single minute), I felt a stab of pain and a tiny spot on my thumb began to bleed.


This is just another example of how Outside hates me.

But the thing is, its hatred toward me is completely deserved.

I actually love Earth, and I’m—somewhat—environmentally conscious. I am terrified of global warming, and I think it’s ridiculous that it’s legal to harm the planet for profit.

But that just makes it worse, because I still do things that hurt the environment. I’m like those people who know just enough about using computers to simultaneously run multiple antivirus programs and pirate music with spam-filled Napster clones.

So yeah, Outside hates me, and here’s why.

1. The Grocery Bag Dilemma

I think it’s ridiculous that stores, especially grocery stores, still use plastic bags. We know how bad plastic bags are! We should all be using reusable cloth bags by now! And they are actually more convenient because you can fit more food inside them, which makes carrying everything in one trip sans losing three fingers way more possible.

When stores first started pushing cloth bags onto their costumers, I bought like four of them. I was basically delighted to use them.

Yay, saving the planet!

However, I only ever decided to go to the grocery store when I was already out, and I didn’t have the bags with me. So I bought more cloth bags—


—every couple of weeks for several months.

What have I done.

After a while, I could no longer afford to do this, so I ended up using plastic ones again.

I can't believe myself.

To this day, I still use plastic bags 50% of the time, despite the fact that I have a pile of cloth bags sitting at home.

Pile o' bags.

2. The Recycling Catastrophe

During my first year of college, I decided that it was unacceptable that I wasn’t recycling (this was before I saw the recycling episode of Bullshit). So I went out and bought four super cheap trashcans, and labeled them accordingly. For about two months, I separated all of my trash out into different bins.

Hell yeah.

Every time I filled up a bag, I switched it out and tossed it into a pile next to the front door. I didn’t actually know where the recycling facility was located, and I was nervous to go since I hadn’t been before and didn’t know what to expect.  Not that it ended up mattering, but I did have every intention of recycling the crap out of that trash.


About four months later, I had to thoroughly clean the apartment because out-of-town guests were coming to visit. I waited until the last minute to do this, so naturally, “I didn’t have time to take them to the recycling center.”

So I took all of the bags to the dumpster right outside my apartment.


3. The Bathroom Conspiracy

When I am home alone, I use the bathroom like a normal person, sometimes even with the door open (oOoooOoo).

Pee noises.

But when ANYONE else is in the house, I turn on the sink and let the water run to cover up the sound of a human doing natural human things in a designated human-things room.

What a waste.

I use FRESH DRINKABLE WATER as WHITE NOISE to cover up the fact that I am  doing something that everyone else on this planet does multiple times a day.

4. Bathtub Not Swole Enough

I can’t stand it when the bathtub attempts to drain when it gets too full.

It’s like, right before you’re about to become fully submerged and experience true bliss, Bastard starts draining.

So while the tub is auto-draining, I leave the water running just a little. Because using ~50 gallons of fresh drinkable water for warmth and relaxation isn’t good enough.

Bathtub not swole enough.

5. Regrets and the Green Commode

You know those high-tech, “green” toilets that have two flush options: one for urine, one for “solid waste?”

Almost every time I get to pee in one, I get all excited because “yay environment!” But then, I stand up, and immediately press the poop button.

Wrong button.

And them I’m horrified, because it was an accident and I was just really excited and I defeated the purpose of the whole thing.

Damn you all to hell!

I could be slightly mistaken, but I’m pretty sure I’ve done this every single time I’ve used one of those things.

6. The Lamborghini Fantasy

Sometimes I fantasize about driving a Lamborghini. Not because I’m a car enthusiast (I’m not), nor because I want to go super fast (I’m paranoid of cops and death but mostly cops), but because it will hypothetically make people think I am really cool.

Uber cool.

Lamborghini Murcielagos get 8 miles per gallon in the city, 13 on the highway. And if someone gave me one (because that will happen ever), I don’t know that I’d turn them down.

7. Trichotillomania of the Grass.

Since early childhood, every time I end up sitting in the grass, or even within arms’ reach of the grass, I immediately begin absentmindedly yanking handfuls of it out of the ground.


I don’t want to pull the grass out of the ground. I have no idea why I do it! It’s brutal and wasteful and slightly disturbing. It just happens.

8. Non-solo Cups

Sometimes, when I am going to have company, I don’t want to have to do the dishes BEFORE they arrive, so I buy plastic cups. There’s always a surplus, so I end up using the cups for drinking water weeks later.

As if that’s not bad enough, since I own plenty of reusable cups, here’s something that often happens.

I walk up to the sink to fill up a plastic cup with water. BUT THEN. I suddenly remember something and walk away.

Is it really there?

After a few minutes, I remember that I meant to get water, so I return to the sink.

There is a plastic cup sitting on the counter, apart from the rest of the cups, often near some dirty dishes. I then ponder, “Did I grab that before? When I was standing at the sink? Or is that a super old germ-filled cup that has been sitting there for three months?”

Wait. Is that mine?

I do the next logical step and sniff the cup.

Smells like a cup.
I smell nothing but plastic. Then I think to myself, “OH WELL. NOT WORTH THE RISK.”  And I throw it away and get a new cup, meaning that, in addition to using plastic cups despite owning reusable cups, I’ve now potentially used up TWO TOTALLY UNUSED plastic cups for WATER.

Not worth the risk.