Monday, January 03, 2005

I’m All, “Yeah, You’re A Total Shitwad”

I know this woman who is both a licensed clinical social worker and a complete dumbfuck weirdo. I find that to be a bit of a disturbing combination because when you talk to someone who is trained to deliver mental health care, you like to think that what they say is coming from a place of cognitive and emotional understanding. Yet this person, this dumbfuck weirdo, seems unable to comprehend even the basic tenets of interpersonal communication, let alone how to effectively read minds.

Today she was asking me to help her with something meaningless. She prefaced her request with a bit of a background story, and as the telling of this story droned on and on, I apparently began to wear the look of someone who couldn’t give two shits about what she was saying (I do that sometimes when I’m forced to listen to nonessential gibberish and self-congratulatory jibjab).

HER: “…and so what he asked me to do was have us work up just a simple description of how Tab X goes into Slot Y and forms this unbreakable bond, kind of like that old commercial where the guy Super Glues his hard hat to a metal beam and then hangs on for dear life. Remember that? Oh my God, that was so funny.”

ME: [Silence.]

HER: “You’re like, ‘Yeah, whatever.’”

ME: “No, I’m not like ‘Yeah, whatever.’” I was thinking. And don’t tell me what I’m ‘like.’ You don’t know me. Just shut your fucking mouth for a second.”

I have never known anyone who was so uncomfortable with silence, as if the flapping of her gums created the oxygen for all of planet earth and if she were to stop merely long enough to take a breath or pick that big piece of broccoli out of her teeth, life on earth would perish instantaneously and then she would never be able to buy that Kate Spade bag she’s been eyeing. The bitch.

[I will pause here to apologize profusely to those of you who are offended by profanity. It has recently come to my attention that my parents and some of my friends’ parents read this blog on a regular basis and I shudder to think that your image of poor, sweet, innocent little Danny Evans has been replaced by the image of a raging, potty-mouthed lunatic who shaves his eyebrows and can't keep his finger out of his nose and recently initiated a very public divorce with one of his toiletries. But, shit, I gotta be me.]

After I told her to shut up for a second so I could think, I asked her a few clarifying questions so that the bullshit hogwash she wanted me to write would be spot-on (I didn’t want there to be a rewrite, which would have necessitated another conversation with this shitwad and another 15 minutes during which I would be unable to take my eyes off of the offending broccoli).

She answered my questions with, “Oh, good questions. You’re all, ‘God, why can’t this idiot just tell me the whole story the first time around?’”

“No!” I holler. “I’m not all ‘God, why can’t this idiot just tell me the whole story the first time around?’ Will you please stop telling me what I’m ‘all!’ Don’t get me wrong – you ARE an idiot. But when I want you to know what I’m ‘all,’ I’ll tell you. I’ll say, ‘You know, fucknugget, I’m tired of your mouth. Zip it!’ And you know what else? You have a piece of broccoli the size of Des Moines in your teeth and I feel really sorry for that piece of broccoli because no poor vegetable should be subjected to your mouth for that long.”


At 6:11 PM, Blogger Girl.A said...

Sometimes if you can't beat em you can join em.

You could say to Shitwad:

You're all "I'm like a total fucking shit for brains who can't stand the echoing emptiness in my feeble-assed skull so I am never gonna shut the fuck up am I?!"

You're all "I've got a ping pong paddle in my purse if you want to smack me silly so I'll just shut my vacuous mouth!"

You're all "I am a waste of a good obit writing opportunity."

ok, maybe the last one goes too far.

At 7:00 PM, Blogger honestyrain said...

yeah, what he said


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