Tales from the Shiteater...

Happy Halloweeeeeeen!

Please excuse the exclamation point, but I am actually full of the exact type of excitement that it implies, so I feel it’s appropriate.

I would like to just clear the air:  I like to learn.  This is wholly unrelated to how stupid you are.

When I say I like to learn—it’s because I have a lot of ground to cover and time to make up for from when I was drugged up or just plain dumb.  Or both.  I used to watch too much tv—reality show garbage, law and order marathons, top chef marathons, and then I got busy making a life for myself, because the life that I thought I was making–got pulled out from underneath me.  Not having time to watch tv, made me realize that I could do better at life than those idiots and I have since sworn off of tv all together.  I don’t go around preaching about the evils of television, or shoving books down my friends’ throats–it’s simply a personal choice.

Although, when I say I don’t smoke because I’m too pretty—it’s because I am.  But so are you.

To my point:  Last Saturday night, I was dressed as what unintentionally, but predictably turned out to be a very slutty, Carrie Bradshaw, and went off to a fabulous party that C-Money was throwing.  It was there, that I was the victim of a highly intoxicated woman who thought even more highly of herself.

I’m sure she has every reason to be confident and I give credit where credit is due, so I will say that she is very pretty and very smart.

But the rest, she could stand to do away with.  Here’s why:

It was around 3:30 am and the only ones that were left at the party were the ones who were going to crash on the couch.  Post-d-Dub, I have learned to stay put, especially when it’s a no-refusal night and I’m wearing the world’s smallest tutu.  Jail is cold.

FFWD:  She and another dude went out to smoke.  Not wanting to be the only one inside, except for those who had wandered off to a dark room, I met them outside on the porch.  I even brought a blanket to share with her while she smoked as a friendly gesture, but of course, that bit me in the ass.

I’m trying to piece it all together so here are a few things I said:

1. My sleep schedule has been thrown off because I had been working weird hours.
2. The tattoo on my neck is also a reminder that I will never work for corporate America again–Unless I either own the corporation, or America.  Because, in my opinion, and experience, I have found that a large portion of corporate employees tend to be unnecessary—yet extremely territorial over their pile of paperwork, while being utterly useless at life—or at being human, or anything else that requires any reasonable application of common sense or foresight or decency.
3. It would serve the human race well if every student, in addition to sex-ed, were actually required to take a course in mechanics and/or electronics.  Not BE a mechanic – I just think that people should learn the fundamentals, the core of how things work…maybe even how to complete a circuit.  Maybe before they learn how to use a tampon.
4. I enjoy learning.  I enjoy designing, creating, building and fixing things—both tangible, and virtual.  I also enjoy learning how to do each of those more efficiently.

Not this ho.

She admittedly takes pride in not having to be bothered with knowing how to fix anything—or how anything works.

Clearly, her time is just too valuable…Or she believes in magic.

Here are some of her responses that stuck out:

1. Well, you’re just good at the one thing that you do. (I never even said what I do…nor did I mention how many of them I do.  I don’t even know what I do…)
2. I suppose this is where my business sense comes in, I just don’t have time to learn how to _____(I apologize that I can’t remember what mundane task that real people earn a living off of doing, because I’m pretty sure that I stopped listening at “where my business sense comes in”)
3. My mother is a _______, my father is a __________.
4. I’m just too busy to do anything to my house, that’s what you pay people to do—my time is just too valuable.  I mean, the girls know how busy I am, so the fact that I’m even here is like a big deal.

Me: “I am not going to get into a dick measuring contest with you about whose time is more valuable.”

And I left.

I really wanted to say, Jesus H. Christ, you miserable cunt, I am leaving.  Yes, I would rather risk going to jail, AGAIN–Only this time, in a freaking tutu on Halloween than listen to any MORE OF YOUR BULLSHIT.  If you’re so smart and so busy, how do you find the time to smoke?  How do you justify smoking?  This is also your SECOND Halloween party this weekend, Captain Busy, and you dressed up as Kat Von D.?  How do you even know who that is?

People like that come in all shapes and sizes, and no matter what—nothing that you say matters.  They just run you over in the conversation, and manipulate whatever you say to better suit their pre-fabricated answers from the script they have memorized.  You know the script where they’re the star and the issues they are facing are monumental in comparison to everyone else’s.

Or maybe she was just shit-canned and I am too tired from the ‘one thing that I do’ to tolerate it.  It’s ridiculous to have so spout off why you’re tired–if the person cares about you, they know why you’re tired.

Once upon a time, I was that person…although on a much smaller scale, at Zach’s in Hunstville, TX.

I hated going to Zach’s because you would leave smelling like fried food and old grease.  Anyway, some Sigma Chi dude was talking to our table, and he said something about the fried pickles being awesome.

Wow, really mature palate there, buddy—what a revelation.

My roommates, of course were all were agreeing with him, but I was already annoyed with the smell and now I was able to see a direct relationship with the source of my annoyance and this dude…So I said something like:  Yes, the fried pickles are good, but what is that even saying?  Everything tastes good fried.  To be honest you could fry a piece of shit and have it taste ok…and it might even smell better in here.

Uh, wrong answer.

This dude looked at me like I had a giant pile of shit in front of me and little pieces of shit stuck in my teeth and left.

Lesson learned:  A little less abrasiveness goes a long way—ideally, long enough for you to explain that you don’t actually eat fried shit.

xoxo-k