I mean, I don't think I'm evil or anything. I've never killed anyone and I gave a buck to the homeless guy outside CVS the other day, but I think I just sort of, for lack of a better word, suck a little bit. And here's why.
Reasons Why I'm a Shitty Person
- I find it genuinely disappointing when an addict on Intervention says they'll go to treatment after listening to just one person's letter.
Those people have to be the biggest quitters in the entire world, am I right?? I mean, put up a fight! How "addicted" can you really be if you're willing to roll over and sob your way to treatment that easily? Your entire family wrote you a letter! Aren't you at least curious to hear what everyone else has to say? I feel like if I had an intervention, the ace in the hole to get me to go to treatment would be my dad. I've never seen that man shed AN single tear in my entire life so if he were to cry and ask me to go anywhere—whether it be to treatment or clown college—I'd do it. That being said, I still think I'd feign disinterest just so I could see what everyone else has to say for themselves, and then agree to go. Just for funsies. Maybe pit people's letters against each other. See which of my friends and family can write a truly compelling letter. I just think it would be interesting. Plus, I hate it when you know someone's grandma is going to have like a really fucking heart breaking letter but the slutty cousin or something goes first and is all, "HEATHER. -Sniff, sniff- You never want to go to the gym with me any more because you're always tired!" and the meth head is like "OH MY GOD! I'LL GO! I'M SO SORRY!!!!!!1" Because you know grandma's letter was going to be so much better than that and now we'll never know what it said. Interventions like that ruin my entire week. God, addiction really is a selfish disease...
- I would rather be flayed alive than join the Peace Corps.
Please don't get me wrong; I respect the Peace Corps and anybody who is or wants to be a member. That being said, I know myself, I know my limitations and I know that I would not be capable of doing it. And that fact consistently makes me feel like a horrible human being. Do you know how many people I know who have either done Peace Corps or aspire to join? Everyone. Every single person I know. Fun fact: American University breeds the most graduates who go on to do Peace Corps than any other college or university in the United States. Bonus fun fact: I used my gopher grabber, or "pokin' stick" as I called it, so much it broke within two weeks of getting it. I am not Peace Corps material. And it's not just because I'm lazy and materialistic (although I am) it's also because I wouldn't be able to mentally handle that level of isolation for two years. I'm not agoraphobic, per se. I can be in a big, open meadow and be like, "Well this is pleasant," but I need to be close to civilization and people on a daily basis. It's why I like living in densely populated cities and want to for the rest of my life. Even DC is slightly too suburban for my liking. Although I'm not really a fan of people in general, I find it extremely comforting knowing that they're close by. I don't mind being alone, but geographical isolation makes me incredibly anxious. My family went to Hawaii for vacation during my sophomore year of college and that "vacation" was basically a week long panic attack for me. I'm not kidding. I thought Becca was going to kill me. I could not stop myself from constantly thinking about how we were on a tiny island surrounded by miles and miles and miles of open water and nothingness. It was nauseating. To this day, I have nightmares about flying to Hawaii. How fucked up is that? It's a tropical paradise! (So basically note to my future husband: we won't be going to Fiji on our honeymoon; we'll be going to Century 21 on a Saturday. Great. Look forward to a lifetime with this.) A few weeks ago I was catching up with my freshman year roommate, Rachel, who recently got back from doing the Peace Corps in Micronesia. She told me that she could run around her entire island in under eight minutes and she was a 24-hour boat ride away from the main island where the nearest phone was. AZUHWOEIF?! A 24-hour boat ride?! Just the thought of that is enough to make me want to eat a cereal bowl full of Klonopin. I can't imagine actually doing it. For two years! And I know that you're there to help people and there are less remote areas you can volunteer in, but...still. I couldn't handle it. At least I'm honest about my own personal shittiness. That's got to be worth something...right?
- I hate amusement parks.
I hate this about myself. And I hate the look people give me when I tell them about it. It's almost on par with the judgemental death glares I get when I tell people that I don't like Lost. Almost. What kind of an asshole hates a park specifically designed to provide amusement? This asshole. Because there's nothing amusing about amusement parks. And here's why: it's always the hottest day of the year when you go, no matter what month or season it is; they're crowded, uncivilized, full of lines and children and food that makes you nauseous; everything is sticky and covered in a thin layer of jam and don't even get me started about the rides! I hate rides. Mostly because of how motion sick they me. Although what doesn't make me motion sick? I am the most easily motion sick person you will ever meet and it's such a pain in my ass. Everything makes me queasy: cars, the metro, trains, boats, bicycles, trampolines...it sucks. Therefore going to a hot, crowded park full of rickety rides made to hurl you through the air and make you puke is my hell on earth. I just...I can't. The concept is emotionally draining to think about. And when I tell this to people, you'd think I just said that I eat dead babies every Christmas morning. First I get a look of shock, then that shock melts into judgement and finally ends in hate. Then everyone always says the same thing: "Are you kidding?! I love amusement parks." Well. Cool. I love my mom. I love Dynasty. I love brunch. We all love different things. It's not like I'm not physically capable of loving; I just don't love amusement parks. So keep your torches and pitchforks to yourself.
- I have no time for children.
Oh my god; I know. They're magical and tender and our future and we should treat them well and let them lead the way, but I just can't. Little kids legitimately creep me out. They're like real people...but smaller...and irritating...and they ask a lot of questions and talk it whiny voices. I feel like my disdain for little kids is a result of my very limited interaction with them. I'm the youngest in my family and was also one of the youngest in my neighborhood, so there was never any reason to be around little kids growing up. And when I am around kids, for some reason they're always the most annoying children that god has to offer. Case and point: Annie. Annie was this heinous little 8-year-old girl who went to the sports camp that Talia worked at during summers breaks from college. She had stringy hair was just so ungodly unpleasant and rude. Whenever Co-Blogger Chris came for a visit, we'd go visit Talia at work during the day (mostly because we became addicted to the arcade game Time Crisis III and Talia always gave us free tokens and snacks. It was awesome.) Annie was such an asshole to me and Chris. She hated us and was not afraid to let us know. In a letter she later wrote to Talia, she called Chris a "rhinoceros who likes everything he sees" and me a, "black-haired looser who likes something that starts with a C." When she later called me this again, Chris and I exchanged awkward glances as we both thought, "how does she know that word...?" until she cleared up that the thing I like that starts with a C is actually Chris. Yes. I like Chris. I want you to slip me a big, fat Chris late at night. You little perv. BUT! It remains that she called me a "black haired looser." Not a black haired loser, mind you, a black haired looser. First of all, fuck you, you can't even spell. Second, it's called a comb: ever heard of it? Third, what did we ever do to you?! Take your tokens? Well chill the fuck out, there's more where they came from. And finally, what sort of child of the corn writes hate letters at 8-years-old?? And these are all things that I told her to her face until Talia took me aside and explained that she's 8-years-old and I was 21 at the time and perhaps I should calm down a bit before she got fired. Point taken, point taken. But whenever I have to interact with little kids, it's always a little beast like Annie and I just can't. And I know everyone thinks their kid is the cutest and most well behaved child in the entire world, but until you can concretely prove to me that your kid isn't at camp calling strangers slutty rhinoceroses and loosers, I don't want to hear it.
- I think the guy in my office building in a wheelchair is an asshole.
I'm not really going to expound on this much more besides saying that I don't think he's an asshole because he's in a wheelchair, I think he's an asshole who happens to be in a wheelchair. Every time he's rude to me, I call him an asshole in my head and then immediately feel fucking horrible because he's handicapped and I'm walking around all fat and cocky on my own two legs. God damnit.
So there it is. I'm a shitty human being. And the worst part is, despite being more than aware of all of the above, I don't see any of it ever changing. So bring on the infectious diarrhea...