Welcome to February! Another brand new month, just brimming with fresh opportunities to hate things.

Including, but not limited to:

{ First Avenue and the 7th Street Entry in Minneapolis. I know Prince debuted there. I know it’s a historic landmark. I know they support Minnesota Public Radio and Rock for Democracy and all that wholesome stuff. But you know what? The club is dark and dingy and smells like diseased feet. And being forced to wait outside in negative-ten degree weather — just for the privilege of being smushed up against a drunky-drunk hipster in tighty-tight pants — is really too much. I don’t care if Morrissey, Tegan & Sara, Joni Mitchell and the ghost of John Lennon book a quadruple-header gig there — I aiiiiiin’t going back. }

{ Amanda Bynes on the cover of Maxim. Now, I love Maxim as much as the next red-blooded lesbian, but Amanda Bynes is a mere child!!! OK, so maybe she’s 23. Aka 2 years my junior. But in my mind, she will always be that fresh-faced kid-comedian from Nickelodeon’s All That. Please, Amanda, go put some clothes on. I just can’t deal with your blossoming sexuality right now. Or ever. }

{ People who get irrationally upset when their sporting team loses. Buck up, cowboy. This ain’t Afghanistan, and you’ve still got all your limbs. No more tears. }

{ Sports metaphors. Especially when uttered by politicians. International diplomacy is not a boxing match! }

{ Sports, in general. Except for ice skating, ice dancing, rhythmic gymnastics, competitive cheerleading and any other sport that resembles a Broadway musical. Speaking of which, has you seen this mind-blowingly awesome music video featuring the Glasgow Diamonds? If more football teams wrote songs and performed choreographed dance routines, I might reconsider my general hatred of sports. }

{ My lack of black, red and gray clothing. I’m going through a “monochromatic Gothic” phase right now, and my current color obsessions are severely underrepresented in my closet. I’ve got tons of turquoise and yellow crap, but I want none of that. Humph. }

{ My lack of Swedish Princess Cake. Would you believe I’ve never even tried this pale green, marzipan-enrobed, domed layer cake before? And I’ve tried a lot of cake. I think they sell it at IKEA in Bloomington. Hmm. Road trip!!! }

{ Shakespeare’s face. He may be a timeless literary icon, but his face makes me so unhappy. Am I the only one who sees a striking / distressing resemblance to Krusty the Clown?!? }

{ My Valentine-less state. I don’t really need a girlfriend, just a Valentine. I’d even settle for a secret admirer / mysterious benefactor. I just want someone to give me a box of cherry cordials and a stuffed white bear that plays a romantic ditty when you press its belly! Is that so much to ask?!? }

{ The smell of bleach. See also: bleach fumes in my eyes. }

{ The fact that I’ll never be as effortlessly chic and demure as Alix (aka The Cherry Blossom Girl). Le sigh. Ah, to be young and Parisian. And look at her pastel pink bedroom!!! Swoon. }

{ That one errand you perpetually forget / postpone / pretend doesn’t exist. You know the one. For me, it’s picking up my boots from the shoe repair shop. They’re only open from 8 am – 5:30 pm, 5 days a week, and they’re half an hour away. That’s a surefire recipe for procrastination. And hatred. }

(Photo via GP Sports)