Packing

Packing is a bummer. Packing most stuff is easy. Books: Put ‘em in a box. Clothes: Put ‘em in a bag. Multiple jars of cumin that you have even though you don’t recall making anything with cumin in this apartment, or ever: Put ‘em in the garbage. Packing doesn’t turn into a bummer until you’re down to the little things, like extra buttons and pens. How many pens do you think you have? Ok, quadruple that amount and that’s how many you actually have. Your floor is basically carpeted in pens right now, you just don’t notice anymore. How are you supposed to pack all these pens? Just put ‘em in a box, all loosey goosey? That seems slovenly. And what about things like coasters and playing cards? Any ideas? This is the kind of thing that pushes people over the edge. Hacky sack bummer: That’s not how you do it. (See pic).

People Who Drink Coffee At The Gym

People who drink coffee at the gym are a bummer. They’re a bummer because it is not polite to make other gym-goers worry that when the combination of caffeine and adrenaline makes your heart burst out of your chest, they’re going to have to field it like a shortstop trying to get a glove on a swift-moving grounder. Sure beats bunting unbummer: Yeah, the guy’s dead, but impressive base hit nonetheless.

Swine Flu

Swine Flu is a bummer. Swine flu is a bummer because first of all, swine is a disgusting word (although it’s a home run if you’re looking to really insult someone, so keep it in mind). Second of all, it’s causing a nationwide freak-out the likes of which haven’t been seen since, um, bird flu, meaning that states are issuing warnings like,”In the interim you should follow the advice set out below from the NYC Department of Health: All New Yorkers should cover their mouths when they cough,” which is just ridiculous, unless the Department of Health is being sarcastic, in which case, touché, salesman. You win. Biblical bummer: Mexico’s got swine flu AND an earthquake? What’s next, locusts? Smiting of the first born?

Loud Officemates*

Loud officemates are a bummer.  Everybody wants to work in a cool and casual kind of office where nobody says anything if you stroll in at 10:30 in the morning because you happen to have had a particularly late night of drinking screwdrivers and watching “Rock of Love Bus” bonus clips on vH1.com.  But when “cool” also means that everyone feels like they can shout entire conversations over the cubicle walls on either side of yours about what everyone plans to have for lunch, and “casual” means a chick at the desk next to you can MC an impromptu speaker-phone conference call for an hour about that really funny Youtube of the cat riding a Roomba, then it’s a big bummer.  Also a bummer: having to be the nerd who asks everyone to be a little quieter so that you can do the work that you hate and that should really not take up so much brainpower that you need a Vatican-like hush around you at all times.  Definitely worth it unbummer: when after several weeks of evil-eyeing, you finally lose it and shout out loud something like “HEY CAN EVERYONE MAYBE JUST KEEP IT DOWN FOR LIKE, TWO MINUTES PLEASE?,” you can ensure that you won’t be invited to happy hour when everyone leaves at 4:45.  Hate to admit it unbummer: the cat riding a Roomba.

*This guest bummer submitted by Lauren Kirchner, who is so freaking famous right now.**

**If you want to be as rich as Lauren, send your guest bummers to totalbumout@gmail.com

The Hipster Grifter

The Hipster Grifter is a bummer. The Hipster Grifter, aka Kari Ferrell, aka the Most Important Criminal Of Our Time, is a bummer because the story is too good. It is so delicious to read about the Grifter and her scams and her victims that it takes over your life and before you know it you get obsessed with catching her and start sizing up your dude friends for which ones would be the best grifter bait, and doing citizens arrests on random Asians. Basically the grifter turns people into racist pimps. Godddamn you, Kari Ferrell. You really are a life ruiner! Frustrating bummer: Arg! What is it going to take to catch this bitch?

First Day On The Job

The first day of a new job is a bummer. It’s especially a bummer if it’s some kind of crappy make-do gig. Because the only thing worse than dialing your personality down to zero, is plastering a perma shiteating grin on your face for eight hours while some person named Colby teaches you how to fold t-shirts properly. It’s like, even though you totally falsified your whole resume (“I am 100 years old and have worked at every clothing store”), any moron in the world could mount the retail pony in five seconds and ride that baby into the sunset. In fact, short of brain surgery, anyone could do any job in the entire world, because every job is easy and life isn’t some Reese Witherspoon movie where liking pink hats affects your ability to be a decent lawyer. The only upside of getting some dumbass clothing store job is pretending you’re Janine Garofalo in Reality Bites and being all “I’m late for a jean-folding seminar” when Ethan Hawke pisses you off. Ninties unbummer: Realty Bites.

Nietzsche

Nietzsche is a bummer. Nietzsche is not a bummer because his philosophy is sad or whatever, because if you get bummed out by philosophy you need to put down Thus Spake Zarathustra and pick up Mrs. Gallimore’s social studies assignment, because you are in seventh grade. No, Nietzsche is a bummer because he’s so corny. “You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.” What the fuck is that? Did he write that in his journal in his best cursive next to a drawing of him holding hands with the cutest boy in class? God, so embarrassing. On the cringe meter, he’s coming in just short of “Busted crying during an episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” but above “Accidentally tucking skirt into tights.” Stache bummer: Jesus Christ, would it kill you to trim that thing?

Riesling

Riesling is a bummer. Riesling is a bummer because it is poison. Yeah, ok, it’s “wine,” but really it’s like bleach mixed with Kool-Aid, or a fruit roll-up dosed with arsenic. It is somehow a sneaky drunk, as in you can’t tell you’ve had too much until it’s far, far too late, and an instant hangover, as in you will have a headache as soon as you start drinking it. People who think they know about wine will scoff at the claim that it is bad.  The New York Times will try to tell you that this is not true. Do not believe the hype. Do not, repeat, DO NOT drink the Riesling. Unless, of course, you want wake up in the morning with a day-after-the-prom style hangover and a vague memory of the night before that includes such highlights as “everyone we were with broke at least one glass” and “why did that bar keep giving us free calamari?” Also a bummer: The era of wine popsicles.

Colder Inside Than Out

Colder inside than out is a bummer. It’s a bummer because the two main functions of a house are 1) Keeping you from freezing to death and 2) Keeping you from getting rained on to death. If your house is failing to create a temperature disparity between the living room and the outside, it is kind of not a house, even if the roof is still intact (except for that one spot in the closet, but just forget about that for now). Colder inside than out also reminds you that there’s definitely no insulation happening, which reminds you that you are basically living in a carefully arranged pile of sticks, which reminds you to check every five seconds to make sure the stove is off. Highly anticipated unbummer: Moving out of that rickety piece of shit in two weeks. Home sweet home bummer: See pic.

People Who Live In Manhattan And Have Never Been To Brooklyn

People who live in Manhattan and have never been to Brooklyn are a bummer. Not old school New Yorkers who have only traveled in a four block radius for the past 50 years and who still talk about the 3rd Avenue El like it exists. Those people get a free pass for everything. Young people who have never been to Brooklyn and then come here and talk about it like they went on safari, however, are a different story. They are the worst story imaginable. They are the worst PEOPLE imaginable. Especially Kate Ahlborn. Go ahead and read that story, and see if you can make it to the end without being bummed out about her whole life (hahaha who name drops Tory Burch ahahaha) and your whole life (THAT dumb bitch gets to write for Vanity Fair? Goddamn it.) Hey Ahlborn. Stay on the UES. Brooklyn took a vote, and we never ever want you to come back. Hate you, mean it. Loving things that you hate unbummer: Gawker et al. have more coverage of this, which is totally worth it.