Get Off My Lawn

by Slavetofashion

I’ve lived in Austin my whole life with the exception of the first 18 months (when I was in San Antonio getting born and stuff). I tried going to college in Dallas which lasted all of 5 months before I hightailed it back to my hometown. I love it here- it’s fun, it’s home…. it’s a blueberry in a bowl of tomato soup. But what drives me insane are all of the faux Austinites.

You know the ones right? The ones who’ve been here five years, but they’re a total native. They go to ACL like, every single year. They don’t own a single Bob Schneider album, but they’ll got to his show because he’s soooooo Austin. They gush over every new trailer park eatery because it’s so quirky and cool and Austin. They look at you like you’re insane for not biking to SoCo for every single First Thursday. Basically, those people who want to shame you for being so un-Austin for not buying local only, grocery shopping somewhere other than Whole Foods or Wheatsville, and for drinking something other than a local beer.

Look sunshine, this is my city. I’ve been here since Liberty Lunch was a place to see 311 and since Southpark Meadows was the home of Lilith Fair and Dave Matthews Band not JC Penny’s and Steak ‘N Shake. I don’t have anything to prove to you. I’m just as happy going to a chain restaurant and shopping at the mall as I am eating at Hyde Park Bar & Grill and shopping at Lovely Boutique.

I’m truly happy that you are enjoying all of the great stuff Austin has to offer, and I’m even happy to share my city with you. But do not roll your eyes when I say I hate SXSW. Don’t gush to me over seeing Leslie. And for the love of sweet baby Jesus, don’t try and tell me where to get the best tacos. SXSW sucks, I’ve seen Leslie more times than I can count, and the best tacos are from my grandma’s kitchen. So shut the hell up and get off my lawn!!

by FoxyMoron

Hey jacknut! Yes, you in the pretentious car with the ridiculous stick figure family stickers and Speshul Snowflake Academy magnet. I’m not mad at you for pulling out in front of me, really. You saw an opportunity, miniscule as it was, and you took it. Good for you!

The reason I’m annoyed is that you’re either too stupid to know or too douchey to care that you completely ignored the merging rule. If you cut someone off in traffic, kindly speed the fuck up until you are driving the same speed as those around you. Don’t make me slam on my brakes and then coast behind you. It just gives me time to plan your slow death.

No, instead of letting me go about my morning unannoyed, you cut me off and then drove about 13 miles per hour, disappearing suddenly to grope around the floor of your car for what must have been something incredibly important, leaving me to stare helplessly at your small, baby like, most likely clammy little hand gripping the steering wheel. You emerged clutching some Very Important Papers, probably the application for your speshul snowflake to attend private squash lessons again this summer. Yaayy! Another magnet!

Now you are sauntering along, reviewing your Papers and sipping your Starbucks, seemingly oblivious to the four miles of cars stacked up behind you desperately weaving to and fro trying to catch a glimpse of what has disrupted their morning commute.

Please, take a private lesson on non-asshattery or GET OFF MY LAWN!

by Maxine

Firstly, I’d like to start by saying I actually do quite a few of the things listed on this site that qualify me as an asswipe. What can I say? I’m a work in progress. :)

But, my rant for the evening is… people who act like they’ve never met anyone from another country before. Ok, so maybe it’s completely possible that they haven’t… we are in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere Ohio, after all.

So, I am in the midst of a separation/divorce. So I decide to spread my wings, and venture out into a new circle of friends this past weekend, by doing something out of the ordinary for me – going to watch a Cincinnati Reds ballgame.

After having lived in the US for 15 years, most people are used to my craziness… er, I mean accent. Frankly, by now, I don’t even remember that I have one!! But, throw me into a new group, and it’s like I’ve just stepped off the boat again.

These people looked at me like I was a freaking rock star!! Now, ok, what the hell is she complaining about, you’re probably thinking. Trust me, after having to explain your entire life story every time you open your mouth for the past 15 years, it gets a little old.

My sarcastic remarks have gone through quite a few changes over the years – I’ve had plenty of chances to test my material, see which ones fly over, and which don’t. But now, the whole *I came here for love* story needs a whole new ending! I’m still practicing the appropriate response. There’s nothing like dropping the D bomb, and having everyone go immediately into a big Debbie downer. But no, it’s all good! – I tell them. They’re not believing me. Deep sigh. If only they knew.

So where was I? Ahh, the ball game. So, I had one guy say to me – can you say Joshua? (umm…) So I say it. Oh man, he says, girls with accents are HOT!! Please. If I were 300 pounds with a wart on my nose, would you be saying that? (no offense to the larger ladies of this world, nor the wart wearing ones either – I had them on both knees as a kid)

Then, I had the guy who ended up sitting next to me, who would not stop talking to me the whole time, much to the chagrin of his wife who was on his other side. I heard a few snide comments coming from her – she was not impressed with his excitement over the whole Australian thing.

I went to the bathroom at one stage, and came back to find she had swapped seats with him. And she wasn’t interested in finding out about the finer details of the Outback, trust me. Neither was she impressed when he told her that since she was sitting next to me now, that it was her responsibility to keep me informed on the finer points of the baseball game.

Hello?? I might be a foreigner, but I do have the brains to work out the rules of a freaking ball game! I just wish he didn’t continue to try to talk to me over the top of her head… can I get some peanuts please?!

So, in summary, Australians are just people like you. We may not come from the land of the free and the brave, but really – we’re actually freer AND braver than you all, just don’t let anyone else know. We are just people.

Admittedly, yes, our people are way cooler than yours for the most part, but if you can just treat us like you treat others, we’ll be happy to share our fabulousness with you. And sure, if you’d like to buy me a beer to show your appreciation, go right ahead.

Just don’t ask me to say your name. :)

by Don't Get Me Started

Dear this year’s weather:

You suck for making floods in the Midwest while we are in a bone-crushing drought.

You can kiss my ass for visiting countless severe storms and tornados on the South while we sit here parched and on fire.

I go to turn off my car and burn my finger on the metal part of the key where it fits into the steering column? Really? It’s just now June 1 and we’re getting the worst of the typical August weather?

I hate the sultry. I hate the unrelenting oppression which continues through the darkest night. I hate that I can drink a 64-ounce water while I work in the yard and not have to tinkle later. I hate the smell of sweaty pits.

Why is it so damn hot? We live in a temperate zone if you hadn’t heard.

Whatever one’s position on global warming, you can’t deny that it farking sucks, weatherwise, in Austin right now. My sunglasses fog up when I step outside. My yard is dead. Our gorgeous greenbelt is turning brown. Mopac and Oak Hill are up in flames. Doggie footpads are burning on the concrete. I scalded my tongue on a bottled water that had been sitting on the passenger seat. Babies are dying inside parked cars. It is crushingly hot, way too early in the summer.

My car thermostat literally showed 124 F yesterday. How is that acceptable?

It is time to return to some average temperatures, weather. You heard me. Get off my lawn, or if you won’t, at least please rain on it a bit.

by noahvail

People who don’t pick up their dog’s poop need to, quite literally, get off my lawn.

I could end this post there, but allow me a brief anecdote:

For about a year a group of coeds lived next to us. Sounds great in theory but for this curmudgeonly old man, it amounted to loud beer-pong parties broadcasting the din of unbearable frat boys, a complete dearth of on-street parking and, worst of all, a Labrador Retriever.

The dog itself wasn’t the problem (it seldom is) but the fact that his owners left him in the backyard all day and never cleaned up his poop. (Their general treatment of the animal is the subject for another day; this post is about poop.) Walking out our backdoor during the steamy, six-month-long Austin summer, you were immersed in a sauna of fecal stench.

The neighbors moved away, and a new batch of coeds — slightly older, more mature, sans canine — moved in. But the smell remained…and remains to this day.

Long after it seemed possible for any remnant of dog poop to linger in the next-door neighbor’s yard I learned that another neighbor, behind us, was allowing their dogs to poop in our alley and not clean up. DUDES: The alley totally counts! Pick that shit up!

And all of you, whether it’s my lawn or yours, street or alley, pick up after your dog. Or I just might leave my own “present” on your front step.

by myerman

I started Get Off My Lawn as an antidote to all the happy-sunshine I’m-so-positive-I-make-everyone-vomit-around-me isn’t-everyone-just-awesome and isn’t-life-great type blogs that seem to crop up everywhere. I wanted a personal place to vent. I figured I’d get the occasional traffic from those who also viewed the world through curmudgeon colored glasses, and to my surprise, I found a whole community of fellow grumpy bastards who also wanted to vent.

And vent they did: about their fucked up neighbors, about people’s driving habits, about Justin Bieber, and about those damn kids and their droopy pants. It’s been a grouchapalooza here, and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.

I’ve also managed to attract a whole other group of people, and they’re just about as much fun as anything else that’s Get Off My Lawn related, but for entirely different reasons. I’m talking about the easily offended. Yes, yes, I get emails from Christians who object to my poking fun at those who believe in the rapture (and by the way, it’s Rapture day, what happened? I guess you guys are wrong!). And yes I get emails and DMs from people who don’t care for my f-bombing, which is such a fucking shame.

But even funnier, I get emails from other under-represented grump targets….like people who drive giant trucks. Yes, I get emails from these people, how I’m picking on them for their God-given right to buy and drive any damn thing they please. Oh, and I once received an email from a guy who was offended that I made fun of flat-taxers.

So I’d like to take the time to share little snippets of emails and other messages received over the past few months, and then respond to these notes in public. But before I do, I’d just like to say that if you’re a big giant truck owner and don’t like our obvious liberal media stance on big giant trucks and their owners, then submit a rant about tree-hugging hippy Prius drivers and then get off my lawn while you’re at it.

Okay, here goes, and again, I’m only offering up snippets, I wouldn’t want your brains to cramp from the stupid.

I would not want my children to read your blog.

Sooooo, I didn’t start this blog with children in mind, but I’m guessing you’re home schooled and don’t understand things like irony, sarcasm, “age appropriate material” or responsible parenting. Listen, even if your damn kids were to encounter my blog, I assure you it’s probably the least offensive thing they’ll find. Try googling “tits” and see what you come up with, for starters.

Note: Dear breasted readers: I don’t mean to imply, with that previous statement, that tits are offensive. In fact, I rather like tits. Thank you.

Why do you feel the need to use an excessive amount of foul language publicly?

It’s because I’m a craven little bastard (quite literally, my parents didn’t marry until after my birth) who, despite having both an undergraduate and a graduate degree in English/Linguistics, doesn’t feel the need to waste bigger words on simpletons such as yourself. Besides, now that I know it pisses you off, I’m gonna cuss like a one-legged cross-eyed motherfucker.

I believe in God. Your blog is offensive to both me and Him. [I get a variant on this every other week]

What, does God not approve of my blog? Are you trying to tell me that the Almighty has read my blog? That’s fantastic! Why hasn’t he commented–never mind, he’s a lurker, I won’t judge. Listen, if God is reading my blog, that’s just a bit scary, ya know? Shouldn’t he be making sure that galaxies don’t collide or that genocide doesn’t happen in Africa or something? That’s it! Bad things happen because He’s reading Get Off My Lawn, we distracted Him.

I bought my truck before gas prices went up. You’re slamming people like me for not knowing the future. [paraphrasing about 10 emails]

Alas, no, I’m slamming people like you for not paying general attention to the conversation most of us have been having for about, saaaaaaaaaaaay 30+ years now. Peak oil ring a bell? Global warming? Depleted natural resources? And even if you somehow believe, as Rush Limbaugh does, that there really is a whole bunch of undiscovered oil out there ready to tap, have you noticed the general trend in gas prices in your life time? Has it ever trended down? No? You think that’s an important pattern, something that might, I don’t know, influence a buying decision?

Why do you feel the need to spout negativity all the time?

Again, I guess reading comprehension wasn’t your strong suit, and hey, that’s okay I guess. (See, that was sarcasm. It’s really not okay.) We’re being negative for a purpose–to have a little fun, and maybe in the off chance that the targets of our ridicule might just wake the fuck up and stop being assholes. But more than that, it’s a free country. I get to publish what I want thanks to the First Amendment. You get to read it or not read it depending on your desire to actually follow a link to my site. If you don’t like it, then go away. If you’re too weak-willed to not look away, well, I’m not qualified to help you.

Besides which, if you were to ask any of the grumpy fucks who make up this august body of Get-Off-My-Lawners, every single one of them would say we were having a good time, and that you’re the Debbie Downer. So eat my shorts.

I really liked [whatever movie I trashed, usually the Star Wars prequels] — why are you so mean to fanboys? [that's a total paraphrase, but honestly, you don't want to read the originals, it'll make you break out in hives]

Son, there are people in this world who will convince you that there is no such thing as an objectively bad piece of art. I can tell you, after having sat through Ishtar, Godfather III, the last 2 Matrix movies, and the Star Wars prequels that utter pieces of crap do exist and do get made. I wish I could say that I’m sorry that I stepped all over your fanboy toes with my big old grumpy boots, but then I’d be lying. I’m not sorry I did that. In fact, thanks for the feedback, I’ll do it again sometime.

You must make a lot of money from Get Off My Lawn!

Okay, that’s not really a complaint email, but since I’m answering fan mail, I need to address this. Yes, I’ve made a fuckton of cash off this thing, you wouldn’t believe how much. Just the other day I got a report from my click throughs on Amazon and I’ve made $1.07 in the past 180 days, total. That’s almost a coffee at Dunkin Donuts.

Seriously, people, I don’t this for the money. I do this for you. All of you.

by noahvail

Yeah okay, I get it. Source: www.jonhorton.com

If you’re over 30 and/or have ever played in a band and thus suffered a little hearing loss — this should cover 99% of Austin’s adult population — separating conversation from background noise becomes difficult. And yet many restaurant owners have convinced themselves that their establishment will seem more “festive” if they create an atmosphere in which the ambient noise is so great that customers must shout to be heard, which only compounds the original problem.

We go to Maudie’s a lot because the food is decent, cheap, and they have a good kids’ menu. Their original location has indoor and outdoor seating. Inside, you have to shout your order to be heard over the neighboring tables of people who are also shouting their orders. Outdoors — and this would be very easy to fix — aluminum chairs make a horrendous sound when scraped across the cement floor. When there are lots of asses shifting in seats the decibels rattle your molars more than the complimentary chips. The other locations aren’t much better. I love Maudie’s. But the next time I have to take my three-year-old out of there before the meal arrives because the overstimulation is too great for him, I’m boycotting for at least a year.

On the other end of spectrum, some restaurateurs insulate their dining rooms so effectively that you have to talk like a golf commentator to keep your every mastication and silverware clink from resonating three tables over. Like Snow Pea, from which we get Chinese takeout sometimes. (And which I’ve mentioned here before as an example of shitty restaurant websites.) The reason we get takeout there, and don’t dine in, is that when you eat inside you feel like you’re eating inside a tomb. Your companion’s peristalsis should not be audible.  (But get the jalapeno shrimp sometime — to go, of course.)

I know I’m an old fart, but there is actually a very broad spectrum of tolerable noise levels in restaurants. It’s just some owners don’t know or don’t care enough to stay within those bounds. If they would put 5% of the thought (and budget) into acoustics that they do in decor, they’d be fine. And I’d whine less, which is good for us all.

by MyPeeve

Ages ago, back when I was a kid, there were different rules of the road for bicyclists. Some of you may be too young to remember that 30 years ago or more the conventional wisdom of the time said you should ride your bicycle AGAINST traffic so that drivers could see you coming. This was the same rule as for people walking (think rural roads with no sidewalks).

However, 20 or so years ago, the powers that be–don’t ask me; I have no idea who decides this shit– changed the rules for bicyclists. Ever since then, bicyclists have learned to ride WITH traffic. And with the advent of bike lanes on many roads, this is easier and safer than ever, EXCEPT for the old farts.

I’ve discovered a disturbing trend among the over 60 crowd in Austin. Maybe they dropped too much acid in their youth or listened to waaayy too much Beatles, but their biking skills seem to have reverted to their childhood. On far too many occasions, I’ve had an over 60 on a bike pull out in front of me going in the wrong direction in a bike lane. Of course, they’re not wearing a helmet either, but that’s another post. The completely bizarre thing is, most of these bike lanes have handy dandy arrows pointing in the direction that you are supposed to ride!

I don’t know how much simpler we could make it for these silly old coots. But we really need to get them better educated about the current rules of the road. I don’t want to mow down Gramps. I just want him to get off my lawn!

by Don't Get Me Started

Thanks to some nasty weather, I’m 12 hours into what should have been a five-hour trip, and still haven’t left my home state. With that in mind, just a few points I’d like to make to the other 10,000 people in this airport with me.

1.) Please don’t stop suddenly in the middle of the concourse. Please don’t stop slowly. It’s best not to stop at all, really, because the 9,999 passengers also trying to walk on the concourse will either barrel into you from behind, or have to go around you – attempting to merge into the endless stream of people and babies and roll aboard suitcases. You wouldn’t suddenly just STOP in the middle of the freeway for no reason, would you? Then why are you doing it now? If you MUST stop and re-evaluate your path of travel, you need to move to the shoulder.

2.) When sitting in the waiting area prior to a flight, it is acceptable to consume one or more chairs. That is, until the area fills up with other passengers. At that point, you need to remove your bag, or your leg, or your book, or whatever item you have flung across the chair in order to hog it. In this age of completely full flights and shrinking seats, it’s absurd to assume that you will enjoy personal space at any time during a trip aboard an airplane so trying to create a false sense of it while others are left standing is just douchey.

3.) When you get to the baggage carousel, stay a step or two back from the belt. If all passengers stay a step or two back, then each person can see the approaching bags and step forward to retrieve his or her luggage. Stepping in front of me and blocking my access to the belt will not make your bag arrive sooner. And now I have to poke you on the shoulder to get you to move so I can get my bag. Dumbass.

4.) Weather delays and mechanical problems suck for everyone. All of us have delayed flights and are tired and stressed because we are going to be late to whatever thing we had to do at the other end of our trip. There is nothing special about your delay and no reason you should act so assholically because it just puts everyone in a worse mood. Don’t contribute to the problem. Just suck it up and deal.

5.)Why are you choosing not to wash your hands IN AN AIRPORT BATHROOM??? The germs of 10 million people live there. Disgusting.

6.) Really, just try to be a little self-aware. It would make a world of difference. Don’t bump into my head with your bag. Don’t roll over my toe. I’m happy to see you reunite with your long-lost whomever, but if you could just move over to the left to do your hugging, the rest of us could continue on our way.

7.) Stop cutting in line. Asshole.

8.) Lady in the platform heels, tight pants, gold jewelry and too much perfume. Yeah, I’m talking to you. You’re being ridiculous. Stop it. Hang up your phone and get busy disrobing so the rest of us can get through security before our flights leave.

9.) And finally to the man sitting next to me on the plane. Yes, It’s 1 a.m. and we’re all tired. Glad you can sleep. But, please, for the love of all that is pure and good in this world, remove your hand from inside your waistband. You’re not Al Bundy and you’re not at home.

Take heed or else you leave me no choice but to channel my inner Harrison Ford: “Get Off My Plane!”

by myerman

You go to a store anywhere in North America, and I guarantee that you will see a variation on the attached photograph: the shopping cart left on a patch of grass, or in a parking space, or even just a few feet away from the damn shopping cart return area.

All you fuckers who do this, listen up…..are you REALLY that busy and important? Really? You can’t take an extra 20 seconds to return the goddamn cart to its proper place when you’ve finished unloading your fucking Costco 90-day supply of toilet paper?

NO YOU ARE NOT IMPORTANT — you are lazy degenerates. In fact, you take lazy to a whole new level, giving us real lazy fuckers a bad name.