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.
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?”
OR
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.
