March 9, 2012

Don't Wear Crusty Sweaters

Don’t pretend for a moment that you’re interesting 100% of the time. At one point or another, you fail at being exciting.

We’ve all been there before.

You’ve found yourself talking to someone, only to realize halfway through your story that not only is the topic fucking stupid, but you really have no point. Even you are bored and you’re the asshole who’s talking. You start clawing desperately to come up with some sort of punch line or some miniscule detail that will relieve the discomfort of the moment… but guess what? You can’t. In that moment, you’ve lulled your conversation buddy into a glazed-over, open-eyed slumber and they’ve probably spent the past five minutes coming up with a way to gracefully bow out of ever having to talk to you again.  

Congratulations! You’re a boring motherfucker.

I’ll give you some credit, though. You realized you were drowning halfway through the conversation and you tried to save yourself with a couple of puns and I offered a faint smile and a half-hearted single-syllable ‘ha’, just so you didn’t feel so alone.

That was awkward, wasn’t it?

You know what’s even more awkward? The people who don’t realize their stories suck. We all know at least one of these people. You know who I’m talking about. They’re those individuals who aren’t able to recognize that they tell stupid fucking stories about stupid fucking things that no one wants to hear about. 

Examples? Don't mind if I do!
Listen, I’m happy you have a baby. I’m sure your vagina has recovered miraculously and I’m going to pretend that I haven’t been suffering through graphic mental images of your husband suckling your milky teats during your rigorous hormonal sexcapades. But I don’t need to know the colour of your baby’s poop. I don’t need to know if it farts regularly or the fact that you’re so used to its puke that you just wipe it off and strut around town with your crusty sweaters like it’s a new, trendy style.
It’s not.
Puke is gross.
I don’t care if it came out of a bouncing baby, or a fuzzy bunny. If one is puked on, one changed their clothes. That’s just the rules.
P.S. Stop talking to me about your baby’s digestive cycle.  (The same thing goes to you crazy fucking pet owners. I’m sure it’s concerning that your dog’s poop is runny and green. But guess what? I’m trying to eat and not picture a leaking dog anus. Go figure.)

Moving on…

“I had the craziest dream last night…” is one of those conversation starters that has two possible reactions.
1) The person is genuinely intrigued, and responds with an enthusiastic “Oh no way! What was it about?”  
2) The person is frantically looking around the room for an out. Not another fucking dream story, they think, as they reluctantly say “Oh?” and accept that they’re going to hear about it whether they want to or not.  

(The only exception to this is if the dreamer states “I had a dream about you last night.”  Everybody wants to hear about a dream that involves them. This is true tenfold if it involves nudity.)

No matter how convoluted the dream may be to hear about, the person describing their dream are likely riveted and excited by this retelling. They feel like they’re digging into their subconscious to expose a world of fuckery and passion that is unknown to their conscious self. You know how I know this? Because I’m one of the asshats that is constantly talking about my dreams. I know you’re probably thinking “What a fucking hypocrite!”, and you know what? You’re absolutely right. I realize that my dreams are not interesting to hear about. If you read the first paragraph of this post, that’s pretty much exactly how I feel every time I recount a dream. I never learn, though, so instead, you’re just going to have to sit there and take it. I’m not going to apologize for boring you. I have, like, 250 dreams a night and someone other than me has to fucking hear about it. Suck it.
(But don’t talk to me about your dreams because that’s just fucking boring.)

I could probably talk about bad conversationalists forever, (Ha! Then that would make me a bad conversationalist! Oh the irony! Wait… is that irony? Fucking Alanis Morissette really fucked with my understanding of that term) but I’m not going to.  

Instead, I’m dying to find out what makes you tick. Do you have any conversational pet peeves? Talk to me people! Just not about poop, or your dreams… but maybe about poop dreams. That sounds pretty funny.


  1. But my dreams are actually interesting, like good movies. They involve lots of trying not to get killed and crazy plot twists.

    1. And are people usually excited to hear about them?

  2. Getting interrupted makes me tick... About 93% of "conversations" annoy the fuck out of me for this reason... I could be telling someone an amazing story about slaying zombies while leading a pack of Russian-speaking flying spider monkeys through the rain forests of Brazil, and I'd be interrupted three words in with some bullshit about a shoe sale or how they cured the common cold with their poop in this dream they had this one time when they were seven.

    1. a) I agree wholeheartedly that getting interrupted is fucking stab-worthy.
      b) HA HA HA I like the way you used the poop in the dream scenario. Gold.

  3. My boyfriend only uses pronouns. So, his stories go something like this:

    "He asked what time it was, and then he said get a fucking watch why don't you. And he was all bitch don't tell me what to do and then he went fucking crazy and beat his head in with a wiffle bat. And then this other guy came up and they all looked at the crime scene, and he was like, dude."

    These conversations make me want to beat someone's head in with a wiffle bat.

    1. What? How can a person not use pronouns? That's like fundamental to communicating effectively.

      Pass me the wiffle bat!

  4. I had a dream about you last night! I'm not kidding. I read your post right before I went to bed last night so I suppose it was fresh in my mind. When I say that you were in my dream I mean the you who was riding the sequined motorcycle. Part of my dream involved being on a beach and you rode by on one of those massive water bikes in the ocean....dressed as you were on the sequined motorcycle. You just rode/paddled by, waving to people on the beach.

    Honestly I hate when people don't take the million social cues that I'm sending that I want them to stfu. If my body is turned away from you, I'm not making eye contact, and not responding verbally, you should consider wrapping up your story, and peacing the fuck out.

    1. This kind of water bike

    2. That's BY FAR one of the favourite dreams I've heard about as of late. And not just because I'm in it (probably.)

      That's badass. I love that my motorcycle/awesome pink outfit made it into your dream. I feel like I may have won at life.


  5. I cannot stand dream stories. They didn't fucking happen, okay? Don't tell me. Although, when people dream about me, I like to hear them. Because I'm an egomaniac (not really). Mostly because I end up doing something stupid in their dreams like shooting my leg on purpose, inventing "cloud water" or becoming addicted to sniffing clovers (in no way related to your blog). All three of those were dreams my friends have had about me.

    1. I have so many dreams that it's hard not to share them. Last night I had a dream that I went back to high school. It was fucking bad news.

      But I definitely prefer to hear about dreams I'm in... it makes me feel like the person subconsciously thinks about me ALL THE TIME. (Also, if you're shooting yourself in the leg in someone's dream... they must think you're craycray)

  6. Hallo!!
    Thank Shane for our intro, as I will, because I have a new kindred spirit. I HATE when people wear sweaters, or anything for that matter, crusted in baby puke. Shut the fuck up about how cute your crotch fruit is and how great it smells because from here all I smell is sour nasty from your clothes that need to be washed and now I too want to puke.

    Sorry to be so forceful our first time, but it was so good for me. I even dreamed about it. ;)

    1. It's okay, sars, sometimes it's good to be forceful.

      Fucking crotch fruit!