Holy shit, I hate a cup of flavored coffee. Let me be clear. I don’t mean a nice hazelnut latte, which I consider a very infrequent treat. What I mean is something like the blueberry flavored coffee that’s often featured at this local bagel shop we go to. Or the pumpkin coffee that’s all the rage at Dunkin’ Donuts right now.

I remember all too well during my teenage years when my father - always up for an ill-advised experiment - would sometimes “try a little something” with his coffee brewing in the morning. He’d bring my mother a cup, she’d take a sip, slowly put her mug down and say, “Fred, what did you do to this? Did you put something in here?”

And he’d proudly announce that, yeah, “I put a little cinnamon in. Thought that would make it sexier!”

I believe he finally learned his lesson, and I take after my mother. Leave those beans alone.

Listen up. When you call me, and you ask me to donate to something that sounds very innocuous and noble, like the such and such Cancer Society, I am immediately on your side. But then, like three minutes later, you explain to me that my money - which I’ve pledged to you because you caught me in a sentimental moment, and I am a fortunate person and feel that I should help out because I am able - will go to help “all those women with cancer.” And I’m all, “Huh, that sounds kind of vague and like, maybe, the money’s not gonna really help with anything, what is the name of your organization again?” But by then it’s too late because I’ve already pledged the money, for which you will send me a pledge envelope. And then I won’t send it back because after the fact I’ve decided that there are probably better and more trustworthy organizations to give to besides this one that is going to help “all those women with cancer.” So you call me 500 times because I haven’t sent my pledge back and then I just do it because the whole thing has turned into such a pain in the ass.

Yeah, you guys. I don’t like the assault on my emotions. Stop it.

This weekend was the first in a long time where we had nothing specific to do with no specific time frame. It was really, really great.

So we’re driving along Saturday after having decorated pumpkins and enjoyed some fall air and J’s like, I’m going to play something for you - it’s a cover of a New Order song.

I need to admit that I’ve been a real pain in the ass regarding music lately, especially where my darling husband is concerned. I almost expect not to like it before I even get a good listen, and I am pretty sure this is due to the whole Decemberists debacle. As in, the fact that the band exists and J loves them so much. Stop singing sea shanties, you fools.

J and I practically fell in love to our own little soundtrack (hold the puking, I have more to say) when we first met. We were both into the same bands at the same time and - for real - I can’t listen to those any of those songs now without feeling like my heart’s gonna burst.

But, as one should, we have each grown in our musical tastes over the years and don’t always agree on a particular artist. This makes for some good discussion, or, as it did when J played this New Order cover for me, results in my slinking down in the car seat and sighing loudly and repeatedly like a whiny teenager.

This was a band called Galaxie 500 doing the song “Ceremony” and it basically sounded like someone was torturing the singer into it. As though he was like, “Fine!” and then proceeded to be all, “Mehhhh mehhhhh meehhhh,” to the words of the song because he hated life so much. I looked them up and I guess these guys are from the late 80s and maybe that should make it cooler, but guess what? It doesn’t.

Anyway, after allowing J to play about a minute of this nonsense, I was like, “You know something, it’s time for me to write about all the things I hate on my blog again.” Number one: singers who sing like they want to die.

I realize that there’s a lot of room for interpretation in making that kind of statement. Like, I’d definitely put the guy from Sun Kil Moon in this category (you can just shoot me right in the head rather than make me listen to that guy, thanks) but I also like the band Bon Iver, and maybe you’d argue that they’re like that too.

When it gets down to it though, it’s my blog. So bring on the backlash. Let’s talk about things we hate, people. Let’s talk about them all week long.

The other day J and I saw a lawyer to attend to some very basic, non-interesting things. We haven’t had much experience with lawyers except when we closed on our house, and of course with friends of ours who are in the profession.

Basically, our knowledge of the transactions that take place in law offices has been gained through television and movies, and in that respect, man, do we know our stuff! So as we waited in the lobby I cautioned J that we were probably gonna be billed $500 an hour so we had better watch how much time we spend in there.

And then, when we were finally seated in the conference room, facing one another across a wide table with papers spread out between us, J giddily pointed out, “It is JUST LIKE we are getting a divorce!”

It’s fall, guys. Scarves and sweaters and jackets! Including, for some of the more stylish among us, jean jackets.

“What’s the difference between a pony and a horse? A pony is a special, smaller breed?”

“Not always. A pony can just be a horse of a certain size.”

“So, like, you’d be a pony. And I’d be a horse.”

“Exactly.”