Being an Asshole is Totally Unacceptable....Part 2

Aw shucks. I'm just disappointed that we were never introduced. I'm sure if we were, you'd get over me and then hopefully get over yourself. I can only assume you're the type of person who thinks people should friend YOU on Facebook and not the other way around. Works both ways, sugar.

I know you're not "really into being judgmental," but you should know that I fully appreciate your judgment. After all, as you've studiously noted, I am putting myself out there [even though, shock! I may be embellishing a story or two. You do realize that Chronic Interrupters don't actually vomit hot verbal diarrhea and I've never actually threatened to eat a squirrel's babies, right?] 

You're obviously extremely self-assured and confident. For that, I congratulate you. If only we could all walk around being as awesome and kind as you are except for, in this case, what you've written about me and my blog. Perhaps one day, I'll have the inner strength to follow your astute criticism and write about something meaningful like global-warming, hunger, the homeless, and adopting an endangered white tiger. I'll have to start another blog for that one because clearly, this blog is about ridiculousness. I'll spend the next decade [minus 9 years 364.99 days] contemplating my shortcomings and your obvious magnanimity. I'd like to think that you spend your weekends in soup kitchens and reading to the blind. Tsk, tsk if you don't. Maybe you should spend your time doing more meaningful things. Just a suggestion. Meanwhile, I'll work on growing up. 

I encourage you to go out into the world and spread your cheer as you've so aptly done with Anonymous commenting. By choosing to be anonymous, I have to wonder if you're actually ashamed of who you are. 

By the way, that sneer was free. You're welcome.

Being an Asshole is Totally Unacceptable

I consider myself to be a friendly person. I get down with "you get what you give." When I pass people on the street, I acknowledge their existence by saying hello or at the very least, smiling at them. I'm not sure what happened to humanity, but the concept of being polite to your fellow man is totally lost on people these days.

My mother, Big L, always taught Sisters and I that being an asshole is totally unacceptable. She believed, and still believes, that it's wholly important for the moral strength of the individual to be helpful and polite whenever possible. She was extremely strict with the whole "please" and "thank you" routine, too. When I was a kiddo, I hated this and felt that being polite was "stupid." [I admit, I was being slightly immature. lay off me, I was 7.]

As is with most things in my life, I now completely appreciate what Big L was trying to teach Sisters and I. Unfortunately, it seems no one else in the UNIVERSE was raised the same way. I guess I shouldn't say "no one", but you have to admit that it's rare for people to be helpful or polite to a stranger. It's like they automatically assume that because they don't know you, you're either diseased, a vagabond, or a killer/bank robber on the run. This might be true in some cases, but saying "hello" is not, generally-speaking, how diseases are transmitted or why a killer/bank robber would stop their crime spree to shoot you in the face. Seriously. My issue with these douches is that when I go out of my way to say hello to you, especially after we've made eye contact, it's polite and humane to say hello the fuck back to me. Observe:

I will always think you're a motherfucker if you don't reply to a simple "hello." You're either a motherfucker or a motherfucking alien. Doesn't matter. If you're an alien, take some notes dickbag and say hello when someone greets you.

One day, while I was walking Loxley [our dog of pure awesomesauce], I passed three separate people who did that weird I-made-eye-contact-with-you-but-I'm-going-to-pretend-that-I-didn't thing. Luckily, I'm a pro at recognizing this. Undeterred, I still said hello to each person and received, as I'm sure you've guessed, no response.

By the time Lox and I were ending our walk, I was so pissed off I could hardly make it back to the house. I'm fairly certain I screamed at a squirrel, but being fully enveloped in dino-bear rage, I can't be sure.

Before my dino-bear meltdown, I considered that these people were aliens, but you know what? I don't give a fuck. You need to learn some etiquette. Not even just normal manners, but small town etiquette, which is its own bag of fun. Think about it. If you live in a small town, you see familiar faces everyday. Your face is familiar to someone else [insert creepy stalker music here].  I see the same 5 people every morning during my run and those 5 people/aliens better learn to say hello. [This does not include the adorable bearded gentleman walking to/from work with his red igloo lunchbox. You're terrific.]

To make matters worse, has anyone else noticed how some parents do not want their kids to say hello? What in the holy hell is that all about? I get the "don't talk to strangers" bit. Big L didn't want us to go off and hold conversations with strangers about their candy, puppies or bikes; but she did tell us that "saying hello is just what people should do" ESPECIALLY if that person doesn't look like a creepshow. After several clinical studies, I've determined that parents aren't doing it to protect their children, they're just being fucking rude. The only other plausible explanation is that they are cave people who don't recognize creatures of the same species when they pass them on the street or anywhere, for that matter, outside of their cave. I should mention that none of us "non cave dwellers" want to eat their cave babies so there is no need to shield them from us. Observe:

See what I mean? I could totally understand the whole "clutch your baby to your bosom thing" if I looked like a fucking lagoon creature, but I don't [on most days]. Those parents are perpetuating their bad attitude/weirdo behavior. Rather than instill wisdom and insight, they'd prefer to leave their children with rudeness/drone-like behavior as their sole coping mechanism. The only solace I take from this is that those kids will grow up to be drug dealers, derelicts or stupid bitches [could be men or women, I don't discriminate with 'bitches'. It's unisex in my book]. It is also possible that these cave people are actually the aforementioned aliens, which would explain the vacant look in their eyes; but I have yet to study them in their natural habitat. I don't do caves. If you've seen The Descent, you know why.

The Horse Milk Debate

Husband and I are fortunate enough to live a few minute's walk from a delicious brew pub. It is within this brew pub that magical moments happen on a daily basis. Recently, we were getting our summer booze on when a heated debate began.

Husband: "If you could milk a horse, would you drink the milk?"

Me: "You're asking me if I would drink horse milk? Absolutely not. I don't even like regular milk. Would you drink horse milk?"

Husband: "Yes, I think I would."

If you think this seems like an innocent exchange, you obviously don't know Husband and I very well. We take our debates incredibly seriously and therefore need to ask anyone who crosses our path their opinion. This is the only way to ensure we've collected a completely unbiased survey. I considered devising experiments using a control group, but that seemed like a lot of work and once I have all that data, what the hell would I do with it? We're talking about horse milk. Naturally, many other people in the bar area got involved. The subjects of our survey raised several legitimate queries, such as: "is it hot? like straight from the teat? or chilled and pasteurized?", "is it served in a glass?",  and most importantly "do horses even have nipples?"

Now that you and I have known each other for close to a month [happy anniversary], you probably realize that when people say things like "Do horses have nipples?", I can barely contain myself.

I flipped through the years of useless knowledge in my brain, but I honestly could not recall if horses had nipples or not. I'm fairly certain that horse nipples have never even entered my thoughts before. This is why I'm grateful for Husband. He's so enlightening.

Because I become neurotic about ridiculous things, such as horse nipples, I panicked. 

I had a few options:

1. Find a horse and check its nether regions [this mission would be executed by someone else as I am terrified of horses: big teeth, maniacally kicking legs with hooves encased in metal. they can't be trusted.]
2. Google it
3. Spiral into a pit of self-loathing and despair, sitting alone in the dark contemplating mammalian nipples while slowly losing my flimsy grip on reality. [This is exactly how I pictured my night going until the horse nipple question could be answered.]

Trust me, I would have obsessed over it, forgoing sustenance and sleep, until I learned beyond a shadow of a doubt whether or not horses have nipples. Thank GOD for the internet. I'd be at the library [or at the state hospital] if it wasn't for the world wide web.

The debate continued with the argument that if you weren't told it was horse milk, you would probably think it was just plain cow milk. This brought up a side discussion involving of the power of suggestion and how it affects us as people, specifically in group settings. [Hello, the Republican Tea Party.] I'd put my money on Michele Bachmann trying to convince America that horse milk is the same as cow milk, even though it comes from different animals. She is absurd.

We asked other staff members at the brew pub where they stand on the horse milk debate. Most people shrugged and said something slightly non-committal like "yea, sure i guess I'd try it." This is a crap answer. People only answer in that way if they don't want to take a legit stance on the subject. Wishy-washy bastards. I did not count their votes in the survey. It's a simple yes or no. None of that "blah blah, I can't commit. Blah blah I have daddy issues that prevent me from making informed decisions. blah blah I lack conviction."

I think that's horseshit [which has nothing to do with this debate but I thought I'd keep the bodily fluids limited to one mammal at a time.]

From what we gathered at the brew pub, most people would "kinda sorta think about trying it." I was a stalwartly "fuck no."

Husband attempted to change my mind and convince me to try it [no idea why...it's not like he carries horse milk around in his pockets.] Even if he did, I wasn't about to go back on my decision. I'M not a wishy-washy bastard. I usually stick to my guns with this kind of stuff. PLUS, I think regular cow milk is repugnant [and cows are adorable. they're not shifty like horses] so you can only imagine how I feel about horse milk.

Husband sensed defeat rather quickly. Exasperated, he exclaimed, "Why don't you ever try my horse milk?!"

To some people, this seems like a reasonable request. Thank you, Cousin J.Kush. I now know where you stand on the horse milk debate. Especially if it's Husband's horse milk.

I ask only this, my friends, would you drink horse milk?

Follow me using Bloglovin'!!

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

The Repeater

Are you unfortunate enough to know someone who is a Repeater? I am. For me, on a scale of 1 to Douche, Repeaters are full-on Douche.

As you can see on the Doucher Scale, the Repeater and Chronic Interrupter are preeeeeeeeety close.  If you're around a Repeater for more than a few hours, you will not only want to stab your eardrums after mercilessly beating the Repeater on and about the face with a baseball bat, but you will actually begin to miss the Chronic Interrupter. You're probably thinking: "Why would anyone on earth miss hot mouth shits to the face?" I'll tell you why you'd take mouth shits over a Repeater any day, hands down.

Chronic Interrupters are obnoxious, BUT they only last for so long. They spew their mouth shits and then walk away to spew on some other innocent conversation. One of the fundamental aspects of a Chronic Interrupter is that they need a fresh audience. You'll recall from the Chronic Interrupters post that the more people they can interrupt and irreparably ruin their day, the better. Once they've successfully destroyed your conversation, they slither on to another group. Don't worry, the Chronic Interrupter always comes back. You're never safe for more than an hour at a time. Sorry to get your hopes up.

Repeaters, on the other hand, feed on the same person's conversation, usurping all energy and happiness. Repeaters do not actually want to be involved in a conversation with you. They just want to hear themselves speak, which is why they say the same thing incessantly. They will NEVER let up on ANYTHING. You will literally have the same conversation with a Repeater until you die. or they die. or Dino-bear mode is initiated. "Broken Record of Irritation and Soul-Rape" is pretty much synonymous with "Repeater". Personally, I find this to be much more devastating than being interrupted by a self-serving douche. If you're going to spew, make it new.

This is the only, and I mean ONLY, saving grace for Chronic Interrupters. They are so anxious to impress anyone on earth who will listen that they literally lose their minds trying to think of new things to say.  Even if you call them out on one of their ridiculous statements, they've already forgotten what they said and have moved onto another topic. They bounce from subject to subject so that you can't catch them in one of their insane and impossible lies. Much like a hummingbird, only less graceful and more verbal diarrhea.[I'm not in the habit of tracking hummingbirds, but I'd like to think that they are too majestic to have diarrhea of any type.]

The biggest problem I have with Repeaters is that no matter what, they believe they are right. You will always be wrong. Even when you scientifically prove that there is absolutely no way in hell that Bud Light can be considered palatable, they will still tell you that Bud Light is the only beer worth drinking. You could provide them with charts, scientific method notes, plus a notarized copy of your Nobel Peace Prize for your research paper titled "Why Bud Light Sucks a Fat Chode", and the Repeater will still argue with you. Be warned, now that you have provided irrefutable evidence to prove your point, they'll talk over you while the volume of their voice increases exponentially. [insert stabbing here.] Even more infuriating is when they sense defeat, they find some way to turn it all around so you look like an asshole. Jokes on you, dickheads. I'm the only person on earth who can make me feel and/or look like an asshole.

I'm sure you've been wondering why I'm bringing up the Repeater and the Chronic Interrupter. Recently, I've been in the presence of both, not simultaneously of course. [No one in the WORLD could survive a Repeating Chronic Interrupter.] Thankfully, my close encounters of the douchey kind were on separate days. I survived because I have an amazing knack for ignoring people while making well-timed sounds so they think I'm listening. [I hate to be rude.] Naturally, being around the Chronic Interrupter and then the Repeater sent my brain into Imagination Overdrive. [This is another coping mechanism for which I am eternally grateful.]

Could you IMAGINE those two in a conversation together? It would be like Godzilla vs.Mothra.

That, my friends, would be a battle of epic proportions. Clearly, I could not keep these thoughts and images to myself.

You're welcome.

Camping Commandment #1

There is a ubiquitous rule when it comes to insects of any kind: Never under any circumstances take your eyes off of that bug until you have successfully disposed of it.

You know that as soon as you look away that fucker will be GONE and most likely nesting in your hair or brain.

You may recall that I am sometimes irrational when it comes to things in the woods. Well, you can apply that to insects. Come to think of it, you can apply my irrationality to the woods, insects, basements, and closets when the door isn't shut all the way and you KNOW there is a killer/beast staring at you through the crack.

Once, in the woods of New Jersey, I completely lost my mind and broke the first Camping Commandment: That's right ladies and gentlemen, I LOOKED AWAY.

It was a rather humid, albeit fun, weekend spent with the Farley Clan in New Jersey. It is the kind of campground where you have to walk through the woods to the bathroom and insert quarters into a meter-like object in order to take a shower. Yes, those places are real. Because the campground was absolutely terrifying at night, Husband, Sisters-in-Law, and I cautiously walked to the bathroom together. I'm a true believer that a killer, whether wild beast or psychopath, is more likely to attack if you are alone. I also firmly believe that if you are not the weakest member of the group, and the group is under attack, you'll be safe. This is why I work out fiendishly.

We walked as quickly as possible while still maintaining our ultra cool exterior through the woods. The bathroom/devil shack sat under a single street light. I'd like to point out that the bathroom looked EXACTLY like the bathroom in any movie where an innocent girl is attacked by a masked man with a huge knife, who was hiding behind the fucking door the entire time she was brushing her teeth. I use the word "innocent" loosely because we all know that rule number one of any slasher flick is KEEP YOUR DICK IN YOUR PANTS. Once you bone, you die alone.

Again, I'll assume that you're a visual learner. I'll also assume that you're not into slasher flicks, which is absolutely your loss. Either way, unless you're a virgin, don't ever walk into a bathroom that looks like this:

So the bathroom was a creepfest. Awful fluorescent lighting, it smelled, and the floor was both sticky and wet [how does that even happen?]. Sister-in-Law J and I huddled together at one mirror, washing our faces like good little girls, when we both saw the UGLIEST bug you'll ever see in your life. I'm being serious. It was a hybrid species of spider, stick bug, dinosaur, and the devil.

We got locked in a stare-down with this thing.

 Then J unknowingly sealed our fate when she said, "You know you should never look away from a bug once you've seen it. If you look away and then look back, it won't be there."

I immediately threw up in my mouth. I didn't want to act like a total dickhead, so I just shrugged it off. I say "shrugged", but it probably looked more like I was having a seizure. I was so freaked out I couldn't control my body. That's when I broke Camping Commandment #1: I looked away. I immediately realized the severity of my mistake. I whipped my whole head around to the spot where it was. IT WASN'T THERE. J and I both screeched and stamped our feet, which accomplishes nothing.

The dino-spider-devil bug was gone. The only logical explanation, in my mind, was that it was currently on my back traveling at the speed of light to lay thousands of eggs in my hair. I slapped myself uselessly. J and I checked each other multiple times to no avail. It was too late. The bug had fulfilled its life duty by laying its eggs in our hair and then it must have evaporated. I mean, how else could you explain it? Don't even try to tell me something ridiculous like "oh it probably just scurried under the sink." Fuck you. That bug was so big, we would have heard it scurrying on the wet-sticky tile. My theory was it laid so many eggs that all that was left of it was an empty exoskeleton, which most likely crumpled to dust.

I'll have you know that we never found that bug and we looked all over the bathroom. Husband, my Brave Little Toaster, was forced to carry the backpack with all of our bathroom supplies. God knows if the dino-spider-devil bug didn't evaporate, it was in the bag. I was not about to touch that bag. EVER AGAIN.

And now, you should learn from my mistakes and go out into the world feeling confident that you'll never break Camping Commandment #1.

Chronic Interrupters

If you're like me, you are animated and extraordinarily fun to be around. You also know how to carry a conversation and you comply with the rules of conversation etiquette.  You probably get super annoyed with people who constantly interrupt you for no reason whatsoever and whose interruptions are completely off-topic. These people are Chronic Interrupters. Allow me to define them for you:

1. They will interrupt you at the most inopportune times to spew forth hot verbal diarrhea.
2. They interrupt you for the sole purpose of talking about themselves even if it literally has nothing to do with what you were currently discussing.
3. They are often ignorant, irritating, and immature. The three worst human traits combined into one being. It is a super power straight from hell.
4. They are never, and I mean NEVER, that interesting. ever.

This is where I feel natural selection should come in. How does ANYONE deal with that? I'm not sure if the significant other of the Chronic Interrupter is addicted to Quaaludes or WHAT, but I would need an elephant tranquilizer if I was in a relationship with a Chronic Interrupter. I should mention that this would never come to pass because I have no patience for idiots [instant dino-bear rage.]

I don't like wasting my time at all. Don't get me wrong, I don't think that my time is more important than anyone else's, but I value my time outside of the workday and therefore will protect it fiercely. Much like a mother lion would protect her cubs from hyenas. If you watch Big Cat Diary on Animal Planet, you know that shit gets serious REAL fast. I'm not patient with people who are self-serving and obnoxious. I don't know anyone who is, but I guess I'm just more obvious about it. This is directly related to the Why I'll Never Be President post.

I have the displeasure of knowing a Chronic Interrupter. She shall remain nameless b/c 1) I'm not a total dick and 2) I'd rather tell her to her face during one of her interruption fits that she's an unbelievable douche.

This is how it feels to talk to her:

You might be surprised to know that talking to her one-on-one is not nearly as terrible as when you're in a group situation. I know what you're thinking: "How can it be any worse than hot verbal diarrhea to the face?"  

This is how:

After many hours of studying her in her natural habitat, I've come to the conclusion that she's an attention whore. The more people she can interrupt and irreparably ruin their day, the better. She's the worst kind of Chronic Interrupter: the On Purpose Chronic Interrupter. She doesn't accidentally interject anything. She's not an Interjector [people who get overzealous about what you're saying and have to say something before they explode from excitement]. I find Interjectors to be adorable. Chronic Interrupters are adorable like a staph infection or cholera.

As depicted in the above illustration, I am minding my own business, having a nice conversation with a great friend. Suddenly, like a creature from the deep, she appears out of nowhere to launch her assault of irritating mouth shits.  Not only has she successfully shit all over your conversation, but she makes it impossible for you to ignore her. Even if you change the topic back to what you were originally talking about, which is most likely about someone in your family, something awesome you found in your coat pocket, or how you saved a baby from a raging black rhino, she still finds a way to focus the conversation on her for the sole purpose of one-uping you. It's incredible. 

Me: "Ohmygod. You would not believe what I did today. I chased a rabid alligator into the river, wrestled it to the bottom then used a rock to pry its mouth open to retrieve a Crystal Skull. Then I took a shower and mountain biked the skull to Antarctica for scientific studies. The scientists were so impressed with my ride time that they named a new continent they found off the coast of Africa after me."

[Meanwhile, Chronic Interrupter has approached already babbling about some god forsaken thing. You try to ignore her and thought she took the hint when:]

Chronic Interrupter: "I actually discovered that new continent. It's no big deal, but I was swimming with the sharks as a way to challenge myself when I swam clear across the Pacific Ocean, past Australia, up and around to Africa. Instead of reaching Africa, I bumped into that new continent. Only I didn't know it was a continent at the time."

See what I mean? You say the most ludicrous, impossible thing [even though my example was totally true], and she'll still find a way to interrupt you in the middle of your god damn sentence to talk about herself while simultaneously one-uping your awesome story. I would like to hug her. with an axe.