Badly Breaking Plans

If you have to cancel plans with me, just be honest. And I mean, like, if you wake up on Monday morning and decide you don’t want to do happy hour with me on Thursday night, nut up and tell me that ON MONDAY. “Hey… I decided I don’t feel like getting martinis Thursday. I just don’t want to.” I’m not mad. Hell, I find your honesty refreshing.

When I will get mad, though, is when you take all damn day on Thursday to come up with something that you seem to think is a reasonable excuse for not following through on plans (my cat is sick, I stubbed my toe, I have a headache)–and then cancel at the last minute.

If you can’t bring yourself to be honest and you really wanna pull this shit with me, at least be creative…

  • “I just got an email from a Nigerian prince, and get this… Dude wants to come to the US, and he’s going to send me 5 million bucks for helping him, and the only thing I have to do is wire him like $50k so he can get the process started! I’ve got to head to the bank…”
  • “My in-laws are coming to town tonight, so I am going to literally jump off of a bridge here in a sec. You’ll pick up my car later, right? You can have it. I left the keys on the front seat. Sorry I won’t be able to make it for dinner.”
  • “I accidentally slept with my boyfriend’s twin brother last night and now they’re both here and it’s kind of a situation because I legit can’t tell which one is which, soooo… that’s a no on the beers.”
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Acerbic Acedia

I can’t. I just can’t join Facebook. I can’t care about all the stupid minutiae of your everyday life. I can’t dedicate a large fraction of my day to reading things I don’t even want to know. I can’t become invested in the lives of people I hated in high school.

My unwillingness to join that wretched social media time suck has caused me to miss out on a few things, but it’s totally worth it.

  • I don’t want to see pictures of your uterus or your dinner or your family reunion.
  • I don’t want to learn that you’ve “liked” a particular brand of insect repellent or edible underwear or paper towel.
  • I don’t want to know that you belong to groups called Creative Kale Recipes, Horny4Mullets, and Intravenous Coffee Drips.
  • I couldn’t be paid enough to care about mommy politics, your fucking Netflix queue, or your new dishwasher.

They should invent a Facebook for apathetic people with short attention spans who are really only there for news and/or a laugh. It should have a 140-character limit for posts…

On Being Exceptional

If you have to whine about your superiority vs. other people’s lack of skill/professionalism/whatever, you’re probably an asshole.

Unless you’re right. THEN you’re a super-amazing person who has trouble tolerating others’ mediocrity and/or abject failures. You’re allowed to complain about others–cuz they ain’t you, and you is awesome.

Enter me. (That’s not supposed to sound like a sexual demand. I mean that I’m the personification of exemplarity. Read on, you pervert.)

My brother said it best:  “We are exceptional humans and that is why people like us.” I have two brothers. They are both alarmingly awesome. Their wit is cutting, their musings insightful, and they’ll both be more than happy to throw back a beer with you while ruminating on society’s afflictions. When we get together, we laugh about things other people don’t understand–sometimes inside jokes, but usually just guffawing at the human condition.

Yes, we’re all hyperintelligent, tall, attractive people with startlingly blue eyes, but perhaps more than that, I think people like us because they want to be like us in some way. We’re exceptional humans. …Don’t be jealous. Celebrate the fact that you know us. 🙂

Dieting Disquisitions

If you have to lose some weight or whatever and you decide to go to the gym and diet, you should probably tell everyone about it.

You should:

  • post #runbrags on Twitter (e.g., “OMG I just totally runned five miles and I’m all sweaty and awesome.”)
  • write long-winded narratives on Facebook about your struggle and how you’re clearly better than everyone else
  • post paleo recipes on Instagram, even though you don’t have a damn clue what “paleo” means
  • go gluten-free because obviously gluten makes your glutes big, and who wants flabby glutes, amirite?!
  • buy shirts with idiotic sayings like “Try to Keep Up ❤ omg wtf lol”
  • wear those stupid shirts with yoga pants to the grocery store so everyone can see that you’re a super-duper athlete

Or you could just shut the fuck up, stop eating an entire pizza at one sitting, and go to the gym.

Yeah. Do that.

The Slow Burn’ll Getcha

If you have to be mad at me–and let’s be honest, if you know me at all IRL, there has been at least one occasion in which I’ve pissed you off–let’s just talk about it and get it done. Like right now. Start talking. Tell me what I did, so that way I can apologize (or not) and we can go on with our lives.

What I can’t handle are the slow burners.

These are the people who have a reason (flimsy or otherwise) to be mad at you (or me, or someone else, or the world), and they’ve had that reason simmering on the back burner for a month. A WHOLE MONTH. They’ve dehydrated whatever this alleged thing is, and it’s about to catch fire.

All of the sudden, out of nowhere, it’s like:

  • “I heard what you said about me to Becky on the phone!” My question is, which time, bitch? I always complain about you to Becky!
  • [in front of the whole office] “You borrowed $1.00 from me three weeks ago and never paid me back!” I did WHAT? Here’s $50. Shut up and never speak to me again.
  • “You rolled your eyes at me during my wedding last summer.” I had just had lasik two days before that. Did you notice that I also used eye drops about 17 times at your reception? Seriously? You’ve been stewing over this for how long?!

See… it’s just not worth it (well, maybe except for the middle case–she made $49 and an enemy for life). Sort out your problems with me when they occur.