Monday, 7 January 2008

Five Things That Make Me An Asshole

1) I don’t like babies.

I know I am supposed to have some sort of visceral reaction when I see tiny baby fingers and pink baby skin, that I’m supposed to ooh and coo and hear an internal clock ticking, but you know what? I do not. I do not like babies. Babies cannot eat or drink or change the television channel on their own. They cannot even hold their heads up to watch television properly. You can’t talk when babies are asleep and it’s not okay if your dog licks a baby’s face. Also, babies? They poop their pants. One time Jennie texted and said she almost punched a baby in the face and I laughed so hard that everyone in Target stopped what they were doing to look at me. The only sound you could hear when my laughter died down was, of course, an inconsolable baby, screaming its pretty pink lungs out.

2) I wish I was reading.

Sometimes (a lot of times) when I am out with people, I fantasize that I am home reading. Also, if people interrupt me when I am reading, I get really, really pissy. President Garfield and I have that in common. I hope I don’t get shot in the back by a member of a plate-makin’, free-lovin’ cult. I also hope not to be a Republican. (Oh, and I use arcane historical references to illustrate my points.)

3) If I say, “I’ll make a note” what I really mean is “Go away, I am too busy to deal with the trite things you’re saying to me.”

Double that if I don’t look up from my desk.

4) I can’t shut my gob in the cinema queue.

When I’m in line at the movie theater, I have this… compulsion to comment on every patron’s ticket purchase. “Oh, good call, sir. Philip Seymour Hoffman really nails the dialogue in that one. You’ll want to go home and pull out your West Wing DVDs.” Or: “Doh! Bad choice, lady. Vince Vaughn will make you want to poke your eardrums out with the straw from your oversized soda, because oh my God, could he be more annoying?” Or: “I read the reviews and the dog dies! Don’t see that!” Or: “Seriously? Just pick something. You’ve been in line ten minutes, and now you’re at the ticket counter and you don’t know what you want to see? It’s called Fandango or, you know, just plain manners. Try it!”

5) I put Kathleen Kelly’s Shop Around the Corner out of business.

There is an independent bookstore with friendly and knowledgeable employees very near my house, and I am sure if I needed to know the names and order of publication of The Shoe Books, any of the women there could help me. But I shop at Barnes and Noble because I like cheap books and legally addictive stimulants. Sometimes, when I’m in a pinch, I shop at the independent bookstore. Like today when I needed the next two Gossip Girl books. But I lied and said I was buying them for my niece. (I don’t have niece.) “I need some help. I am looking for some books called… I think… Gossip Girl. Young adult fiction, maybe? They’re for my niece. Kids, right? I just finished up a third reading of Chaucer. In Olde English.” So, I guess what I am trying to say is I’m an asshole and a poser. My BFF is a heartbeat away from tattooing Nate Archibald’s name on her ass.

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