I get excited over things that some people
might consider mundane. I get overly thrilled when I go to a restaurant
and cock-sauce is already on the table, when I get any new outdoor gear (which
isn’t often because my job pays bupkis), and when I find a penny made in 1977.
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| -drawn by The Oatmeal |
My enthusiasm probably annoys the hell out of most people I know.
Case in point:
I am at a get-together the other day and I overheard someone saying, “Who was that Fundamentalist lady that was pied in the face on television?” I totally abandoned the conversation I was currently having, ran across the room, practically pushing people out of my way to get in on this conversation. I blurt out, “IT WAS ANITA BRYANT! SHE MADE IT LEGAL TO FIRE TEACHERS FOR BEING GAY IN FLORIDA! The anti-discrimination law was overturned 20 years later. 20 YEARS! BITCH DESERVED GETTING A PIE IN THE FACE.”
I am at a get-together the other day and I overheard someone saying, “Who was that Fundamentalist lady that was pied in the face on television?” I totally abandoned the conversation I was currently having, ran across the room, practically pushing people out of my way to get in on this conversation. I blurt out, “IT WAS ANITA BRYANT! SHE MADE IT LEGAL TO FIRE TEACHERS FOR BEING GAY IN FLORIDA! The anti-discrimination law was overturned 20 years later. 20 YEARS! BITCH DESERVED GETTING A PIE IN THE FACE.”
Only no one was impressed with my infinite knowledge and
they just kind of looked at me with their mouths slightly open. I just
lowered my head and turned around to help up the old lady I had stepped on in
my mad dash to show off my mad trivia skillz. This scenario is pretty much par for
the course in my life. I get really excited about something and can’t
wait to share it with the world. Because how could everyone not want my
opinion/facts/random useless knowledge about LGBT rights? Psh-shaw!
I was pretty embarrassed about my faux pas. But, hey, who are we kidding? This is normal for me. Anyhoo, this guy walks up to me and asks me if he can buy me a drink. I shrug my shoulders and say yes, because even though he really isn’t what I would consider “pleasant to look at”, it takes balls to walk up to a woman after she commits a huge social blunder. We get to talking and I realize that I am not still standing on my soapbox; he is a foot shorter than me. No biggie, really, but I have to lean over to hear what he was saying and his breath smelled like a combination of an ashtray, the devil’s asshole, and a goat fart. So, we are standing there, I am holding my breath trying desperately to avoid his noxious breath and he asks me if I have read John Updike. I tell him that I had never read anything by John Updike, but I did see the movie Witches of Eastwick and this totally counts, thinking myself incredibly hilarious. While I am chuckling to myself about my sharp wit, he rambles on about how I had not lived until I have read Updike. He went on to blabber in a condescending tone about how Updike was one of the greatest literary figures and his rich, unusual, sometimes arcane vocabulary transcends time, blah, blah, blah. Then Stinky Breath leans over to me and asks, “Do you like Vespas? Because you can ride on mine if you want.” Um... Unsure how to respond to his serious offer to let me ride on his Vespa, I looked at my watch, and made some incredibly lame excuse about forgetting I had to be somewhere and practically ran out of there. This time, that old lady knew to get the hell outta my way.
I was pretty embarrassed about my faux pas. But, hey, who are we kidding? This is normal for me. Anyhoo, this guy walks up to me and asks me if he can buy me a drink. I shrug my shoulders and say yes, because even though he really isn’t what I would consider “pleasant to look at”, it takes balls to walk up to a woman after she commits a huge social blunder. We get to talking and I realize that I am not still standing on my soapbox; he is a foot shorter than me. No biggie, really, but I have to lean over to hear what he was saying and his breath smelled like a combination of an ashtray, the devil’s asshole, and a goat fart. So, we are standing there, I am holding my breath trying desperately to avoid his noxious breath and he asks me if I have read John Updike. I tell him that I had never read anything by John Updike, but I did see the movie Witches of Eastwick and this totally counts, thinking myself incredibly hilarious. While I am chuckling to myself about my sharp wit, he rambles on about how I had not lived until I have read Updike. He went on to blabber in a condescending tone about how Updike was one of the greatest literary figures and his rich, unusual, sometimes arcane vocabulary transcends time, blah, blah, blah. Then Stinky Breath leans over to me and asks, “Do you like Vespas? Because you can ride on mine if you want.” Um... Unsure how to respond to his serious offer to let me ride on his Vespa, I looked at my watch, and made some incredibly lame excuse about forgetting I had to be somewhere and practically ran out of there. This time, that old lady knew to get the hell outta my way.
These are the kind of guys that are attracted to me. And the guys I am attracted to? Totally not interested in me, total flakes, or still in love with their ex. Ugh.
So, my plead to the Valentine fairy? Go fuck yourself.
Seeing Witches of Eastwick TOTALLY counts.
ReplyDeleteThank God he was unattractive so you didn't find yourself compromising about his breath or his Vespa.
So you're passive aggressive, you dig cock-sauce, and you hate cupid. I'm at a loss as to why you haven't found a keeper yet. BTW, good instincts on the Vespa ride. Had you decided to ride that, you'd be in a 30' deep hole putting lotion on.
ReplyDeleteGood thing I've got standards, yo.
ReplyDelete