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{you're an asshole and so am i} celeste la vie and copper set Next time we’re in public and you begin talking about the same pedestrian topics that you always do, I just want you to know what I haven’t already told you: Next time you say something we’ve all already heard (a thousands times), we all should open our asses to our elbows and finally say what we mean. Like this: You’re a Roller Derby Girl: No shit. Congratulations. So is every other girl in this town. Now, would you mind shutting up about it already (i.e., talk about something – anything else, for once). No, I don’t want to know what you’re stupid moniker is, nor do I care what your team’s name is. Roller derby is interesting only for the fact that: It involves girls hitting other girls. It just so happens that those girls are dressed in some way that I can’t help from imagining them in my bed. Otherwise, roller derby is lame. The bouts are way too long. The entry prices are exorbitant. And mostly, I don’t give a shit who wins. You play Kickball: Again, congratu-fucking-lations. Now get over yourself. I know, I know: You sit at the cool kid’s table in the lunchroom and wear stupid shorts with knee-high socks to demonstrate some sort of irony. But what I would wonder is: what is the definition of irony, exactly? You believe in Astrology: Wow. I didn’t know that we were lowering ourselves to such antiquated methods for observing the world. Yes, I know bloodletting was the preferred form of treating illnesses for centuries. But so was laudanum. And sure, we can have the same conversation I have with every other Neo-New-Ager-I’m-Working-On-My-Spirituality-Because-I-Come-From-A-Spiritually-Bankrupt-Culture. Sure, we can agree that astrology is a useful tool if you don’t bank all your decisions in the stars. I get that. But quit being a pussy: your claims of taking everything in moderation are excessive. And boring. You are in a Band: I know. We all are. You are a lead singer: Sweet. And sure, I know: It only takes one of you to screw in a light bulb while you stand still because the whole world revolves around you. But let’s just be clear: No, I won’t ever buy you a fucking drink again. Asshole. (And your band sucks too. I don’t know when the last time was that you heard that – what with all your boot-licking-lackies that suck-up to you because you’re big in this town but will never get beyond city limits.) You drink PBR: The only reason PBR is okay to drink is when you don’t have any money. Otherwise, PBR is swill. It will give you a horrendous hangover. I have no idea who started this PBR trend but it was probably the same asshole that made chic the idea of everything being “blue collar”. You frequent LoDo: Baahhh. Fucking sheep. Get a spine and then I’ll meet you at a real bar (without a fucking theme) when you decide that it’s actually okay for you to go out by yourself. You don’t watch television: Bullshit. Continue acting offended that everybody else in the world does, but you. You wear Chuck Taylor shoes: You look like a moron – buy some adult shoes. Shorts, bicycles and canvas high-tops are for children. You use urban slang because it’s funny (and ironic): Quit it. Just stop it. It sounds retarded even if you bathe in that culture. This is the last time I will “holla back”: KNOCK IT OFF! You have tattoos: Cool. Let me know how that works out for you when you’re sixty. You're a writer: Click-clack. Click-clack. Do you hear me walking away - after I say: Sure you're a writer. Technically, we all are - just like speakers. Get it? Nope? Well, I'm certain that if you actually do write things down: I'll put my money on - you probably suck. You're popular: Don't get that confused with people actually liking you. You are in line in front of me and also on your cell phone: I just hope that you are having a really personal conversation; something about STDs would be great. That way when I post your photo I won’t have to make something up. I have a cell phone TOO and even though I originally thought it was dumb, it has a camera and the damn thing has turned out to be pretty handy. YES you are slower when you have to use one hand to put your credit card/change/receipt/gum in you pocket and let me remind you, YOU ARE IN FRONT OF ME and I’m not a particularly patient person. If you are having a boring conversation I will kick you in the shins. On a side note to you Bluetooth assholes: You are just as slow and irritating but because of you I can merrily talk to myself in public and not scare anybody. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have one of those penis looking things in my ear; onlookers just assume that I have a fantastically expensive piece of nanotechnology and then they are jealous. As well they should be: I’m having a rewarding conversation and not using any “minutes” at all. Thanks! Speaking of rewarding conversations… Dear grocery checker/coffee dude/librarian/deli girl: I don’t care if we don’t know each other well enough to have a nice exchange about our mutual interests, don’t ever talk to me about the weather. Never. Don’t bring it up, don’t sigh wistfully and wish for warmer days. Move to Florida. Shut the fuck up before I strangle you with my scarf or shove my gloves down your throat. You are drunker than me and you think you are cute/smart/sexy/famous/important and therefore we are now in love: Nope. Shut up buy me a drink, a double. You are on the light rail for the first time: I'm glad actually that your drunk/stupid/lost ass is not on the highway. You are a menace in your car which is worse than the mere nuisance you are on the train. You can ask me for directions, fine, it happens every single time I get on the train. I'm not kidding. When I share my expertise you should pay attention and get on the train going in the correct direction though. I don't lie about where downtown is especially if you can see it from where we are standing. Why do you pretend to listen to me while eyeballing the approaching train and then make a mad dash to get on it when it is GOING THE WRONG WAY? Did you want me to think that you were cool and going to the Avalanche/Rockies/Bronco/Nuggets in person instead of going to watch it on your friends TV in Highlands Ranch? You are a spider: You are in my house? you are dead! OK ok arachnid, you’ve got 8 legs and that’s 6 more than me but evolve a FACE and then we can talk. Maybe we could even work out a catch-and-release treaty like we have with the bat nation but keep in mind, dead bats have an unfortunate smell and as near as I can tell dead spiders smell like fabric softener or wood polish. I squish you. |
