Ten Signs You May Be an Asshole

Warning: the word ASSHOLE appears in this post numerous times.  Do not read if the word ASSHOLE offends you. (Note: if the word ASSHOLE offends you, you are probably–you guessed it–an ASSHOLE.)

 

I can only come to the conclusion that people, in general, are not aware of their own behavior.  What other explanation could there be?  People cannot deliberately be acting this way.  So I decided to be (not so) helpful and make a little list to help you determine if you are, in fact, an asshole.

  1. You often find yourself just waiting for others to stop whining about their own pathetic problems, such as cancer, death, decapitation, whatever, so you can assure them that you have it much worse.
  2. You put more than one status update a day about how wonderful your life is, how rich you are, how beautiful your house is, how smart and perfect your children are, and how perfect your spouse is.  Trust me, you aren’t just sharing your blessings.  You’re an asshole.
  3. You have uttered the phrase, with no irony whatsoever, “Hot enough for ya?” This also means you are a moron.
  4. You insist on driving in the passing lane, no matter how slow you are going, no matter how long the line of traffic is behind you, no matter how many people swerve angrily into the slow lane and pass you. Double points if you have ever said, “I have a right to drive over here! I pay my taxes, too!”
  5. You have parked in a handicapped parking spot when you were, in fact, not handicapped.  This also applies if you have parked in the lines painted to leave room for unloading wheelchairs. In this case, you are an inconsiderate jerk as well as an asshole.
  6. You somehow manage to forget to turn off your cell phone every single church service, even though you have being attending church for 65163532158 years and the announcement has been the same every. Single. TIME.  Also, the person who manages to text or call during church time every week, even though they know you are probably at church, since you have been attending for 65163532158 years, that person is also an asshole.
  7. Speaking of cell phones, if you still think the only way people can hear you on cell phones is if you shout, no matter where you are–restaurants, the grocery store, funerals, whatever–then you are…..well, you know.  If you talk about personal issues at this same glass shattering decibel, you bypass asshole and go straight to idiot
  8. You constantly call people “babe,” “hon,” or “sweetie,” even people who are old enough to be your grandparents.  This is marginal, but at the very least it is condescending.
  9. You know, without a doubt, that no discussion of any kind can be complete unless everyone is aware of your opinion, which you, of course, must share, whether asked to or not. (Every one of you just shut up. I know this is me, okay?  I get it, OKAY?!)
  10. You have gone to outrageous lengths to prove that you are right.  There is nothing you won’t do to make your point, and if, God forbid, it turns out that you are wrong, then nothing must ever be said on the subject again, ever. You can never admit wrongness, and, if necessary, you must place the blame for your wrongness on the person who was right.  (I am in no way implying that anyone in my home, such as my spouse, is like this.)

There are many other tell-tale signs that you might be exhibiting asshole behavior.  This is just a basic list to get you started.  As always, I’m glad I can help!

What would you add to the list?

(Anyone who adds to the list “you make a list telling other people they are assholes” will be banned from my site.  Just kidding. Sort of.)

 

 

Soggy Bottom Blues (or, Love Thy Neighbor)

Here’s an interesting (not so) scientific fact for you: washing machines do not float.

Now, one would think that washing machines would be a tiny bit more tolerant of water, since, obviously, they use water to wash the clothes.  Sadly, however, they are quite intolerant of being submerged in 3 feet of water.  The dryer didn’t do so well, either.

We got flooded Friday night.

Now, it wasn’t all that bad.  The main part of my house and, more importantly, all of the life forms, all remained perfectly safe, if slightly soggy.  The garage and the basement, well, let’s just say the spiders in the window sill suddenly had an ocean view.  The teeny tiny creek behind our house became a raging inferno of water to rival the Amazon at high tide.  We are in the middle of one of the wettest summers on history, and a few localized areas received almost five inches of rain.

I would like to take a brief digression to make a little public service announcement.  Pay attention to flash flood warnings.  Don’t fool around with it.  Those little creeks aren’t trickling little streams anymore, and people can and do get killed.  Roads wash away.  The pressure of the water built up outside our basement door and blew it right off the hinges.  Blasted the hinges right out of the wooden frame.  Be alert!

Okay, enough of that.

So the water came in and we went out.  My husband was hauling everyone out and I heard some sort of commotion downstairs.  I opened the door at the top of the basement stairs, and I had the very surreal experience of seeing my (full) laundry basket go floating by.  After that we left.

Everyone keeps saying “at least everyone is safe.” And that is absolutely the truth.  But I won’t lie to you.  As we sat at my in-laws, I was doing a mental inventory of what was in my basement.  Of course my washer and dryer were history, and the pool table (also not tolerant of water, in spite of the name.) I had a fridge down there we kept “extra” groceries in.  The real heartbreaker was all of my new kitchen cabinets that were all stained and sealed and waiting to be installed.  Again, I won’t lie.  I cried for my cabinets.

After the water went back down, we had to clean up.  This is where I learned what it really means to “love thy neighbor.” Our friends and family came and helped.  They shoveled mud and cleaned with bleach.  They loaded a dump truck and laid things in the yard to dry.  They cracked jokes and laughed and just generally cheered us up.  Then, Matt’s company donated a load of gravel to replace our washed away driveway.  Then a neighbor came with his tractor and spread out the gravel.  We got a perfectly good washer and dryer at no cost to us, also through the generosity of others.  It was a lesson for me that people are not perfect, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t good people.

And once the smoke settled, a lot of things were saved.  The new riding lawn mower, my husband’s baby, was revived.  We saved all of the cabinets but one that was too big to put up on anything.  Sadly, it fell in the water and drown.  The clothes have been gathered and washed.  The dishes just need washed and re-wrapped.

All of this has also made me think about the things that you really lose when something like this happens.  You see these things on tv–fires and floods–and you know it’s a tragedy and you feel just awful for the people.  Monetary value is attached to the things that are lost.  It’s true–washers and dryers and lawn mowers are not cheap.  All of my husband’s power tools are in limbo right now–will they work, or are they dead?  The four-wheeler ran for a while then died.  All of these cost money, and that sucks.

But there is more.

All of the little drawings my kids did when they were small were down there in a plastic tote, which was not waterproof, as it turns out.  One was a big poster of a flower, and my daughter’s tiny hands dipped in paint made the petals.  My son’s grade school report cards, mother’s day cards they made, all of the good stuff.  They have no monetary value, because they are priceless.  All of my high school yearbooks are gone, along with the kid’s favorite books, mostly Dr. Suess.  My Christmas decorations are all destroyed, including the ones the kids made over the years.  My only two pieces of luggage and all of our duffel bags were so full of mud that I just tossed them.  Another sad blow was the tent and the camp bed we always use.  It seems like every day I remember something else that was down there that is gone now.  Just this morning I was thinking I might deep fry some squash–whoops! The deep frier took a deep dive.

So the emotional roller coaster continues, along with the rain.  All in all, I think the only thing to do is keep a positive attitude and just let it all go.  What else is there?  All of the great times we have had camping didn’t happen because we had a cool tent and a camp bed.  They happened because we were all together, and because we love each other.

No flood can wash that away.

 

This was the runoff from the road in front of our house. That’s what washed my driveway away

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This is my washer, may it rest in peace, with a kitchen cabinet on top. (Note: my basement was NOT that messy.  The creek sort of evenly distributed a layer of my stuff all over the basement floor.)

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(not so) Wonderful Summer

I’m not a faithful contributor, but I am a faithful fan of The Northwest Mommy and her Monday Listicles.  I love lists.  I love them.  Because that’s just how I roll.

This week, the list is about Summer.  And lots of people have lots of great things to say about summer.  I, however, have a love/hate relationship with the summer.  It’s not a 50/50 thing, either.  Maybe 70/30 in the favor or hate.  Or more like 80/20.

Anyway, I made a list about summer.  Here you go.

  • It’s hot.  This falls into the “no shit” category, but I really don’t like heat.  Now, lots of places are hotter.  I have family in Phoenix, where birds burst into flames in midair and nuns curse openly on the streets (to quote Dave Barry), but it’s still hot here, too.  Plus, we have humidity.  (Digression: I always hear people talk about places like Phoenix and Vegas, and they say, “It’s a dry heat.”  What does that mean?  It’s a 112 degrees.  It’s hot.) For those of you unscientific folks, humidity is the meteorological phenomenon which makes your hair frizzy and makes your underwear stick to you.
  • The bugs come out.  I don’t know where bugs go in the winter.  Maybe down South.  But I know they come back here in the summer, and other than the ones which live at the place where we go camping, most of them are in my yard, and possibly my basement.  You know that kid from Peanuts, the one with the stinky cloud always hovering around him?  We kind of look like that, but the stinky cloud is actually gnats.  Plus, the bees are everywhere.  You have to keep moving at all times outside, or else they will start building a nest right there in your armpit.
  • My routine is shot to hell.  Really.  School is out, everyone is home, we get up at different times, we go to bed at different times.  I can’t mop because everyone is running around everywhere.  They want to go swimming and go for drives and watch movies and play video games and have sleepovers, and I can’t say, “Sorry, it’s a school night.”  It’s anarchy.
  • People have started coming out of their clothes.  Apparently, the heat has damaged some people’s brain to the point where they feel the only way to remain cool is to remove their clothing, thereby exposing their pasty, pouchy flesh to the rest of the world.  There is more T&A out at Wal-Mart than at the AVN Awards.  I should be able to go buy bread, milk, a fishing lure and an Aahhhh Bra without having to see someone’s junk.
  • I can’t go to the beach, but everyone else can.  I mean, really, every person on Facebook, every member of my family, every person I’ve ever known is going to the beach.  But not me.  I’m spending my money on paint and kitchen cabinets.  La-tee-frickin’-da!
  • Smells are worse.  Heat does not cause good things to happen in terms of my olfactory senses.  I step outside, take a deep breath, and promptly turn and walk back inside.  I can smell the trash bins.  The creek is stinky when the water is low.  Don’t even mention if something has been hit on the road.  The cold of the winter hides these offensive odors, but summer heat bakes them, like some sort of giant, industrialized oven in Hell.  Roadkill casserole, anyone?

Well, that about does it for my complaining.  There are lots of things I like about summer, too, but unfortunately I can’t come up with any just now.

It’s 90/10.  Definitely.

 

 

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