Take The Hint, Get A Clue & STFU!

Submitted Story:

My wife and I had friends visiting from out of state, while they were here we took them out to dinner at my favorite restaurant/pub. We'd just finished dinner and were chatting, when some guy who looked vaguely, distantly familiar - as in didn't I see you at a stop light last week? familiar - who has been sitting at the table next to us for most of our meal says my name.

I had no idea who this guy was.

Days later, I'm still not sure but I think he might have been an acquaintance from back when I was trying on church - like ten years ago. I didn't even remember this guys name, I had to ask. Seeing as how I know the waiters better than I know this guy, I was hoping to go for a quick exchange of cordial greetings and then back to my dinner guest - my friends I haven't seen in months, invited out to dinner and whose conversation was just interrupted by a practical stranger.

A stranger who just couldn't take the hint....

Attempt #1 to end the conversation: Well it was nice to see you again, I hope your family is well.

By the way, I hope you're family is well is not an invitation to tell me all about your family, or your wife - what's her name OR to engage me in a lengthy conversation about what I do for a living. (All of which he did.)

Attempt #2 to end the conversation: Introducing my out of town friends, and stressing the fact that they are from out of town, are here for a very short while and I haven't seen them in months!

By the way. this is not a segue to ask me all about my job, my family and what I've been up to for the past decade. (Thank god my friends have a sense of humor. They found the whole situation highly amusing and were concealing their laughter behind bright red faces, huddled together as if sharing some private - and hilarious - conversation)

Attempt #3 to end the conversation: Completely fed up at this point, (wishing I drank more) and much to the delight of fellow pub patrons, the wait staff, my wife and my friends - who all get that I'm trying and failing to end this conversation, the guy who apparently knows me and my family SO well asks: "How's your mom?"

My mom died over five years ago, a prominent member of our community, more than one local paper wrote articles (not standard obits) about her life/death. The city where she worked built and dedicated a walking trail in her name, and police and fire services shut down roads for her funeral motorcade....

So I replied, "My mom?"

Douchebag: "Yeah, you're mom. I haven't seen her in a while. How's she doing? How's her health?" (now, from time to time, despite my mother being so well known, I do run into people who didn't hear about her untimely death. It's a sensitive issue that I usually tackle with a velvet glove because it's always a bit of a shock for someone receiving the news for the first time. but I was completely fed up with this guy.)

So I replied, "she's dead! " With absolutely NO attempts to sugar-coat or soften the blow. So as neighboring tables erupted into laughter including one guy who shot his mouthful of Guinness all over three of his dinner companions, and one of mine, the douchbag (finally) showed appropriate response by gasping and clutching his hand to his chest.

(P.S. My mom died of a massive heart attack - you've just got to love the irony in that.)

Much to my chagrin, death is not a conversation ender. In response to his shock he stuttered "What? When?" (I guess they were really close or something) I continued with my dead mother assault: "It's been a few years now."

"Six," my wife offered.

"Five and a half," I did the math.

Sensing the next, in a line of questioning I've become quite familiar with, I decided to take the initiative to answer before the question was asked and said, "But my dad's doing great!"

Attempt #4 to end the conversation: (The one that succeeded.) I decided to take the 'out of sight, out of mind' approach, before the conversation that wouldn't end somehow found its way to politics, or worse - religion. And so, after neglecting my friends and entertaining the masses for well over fifteen minutes, I stood and said, "Well, we were just leaving." My friend quickly finished his black and tan, while our wives gathered their purses and we left, continuing OUR conversation in the parking lot of the restaurant.

So now, days later, the story has made the rounds and far away friends are texting me to ask: How's your mom? (Whom I'm sure is also having a good laugh, where ever she is... ) To which I respond: She's dead! (she finally gave up the goat.)

Until the next douche,

How's your mom? How's her health?

Wow. I just got douched....

I'm douching you for not douching the douches who spam douche blogs with there douche bag porn douchings. Douche


Thanks for the submission. Humbling indeed to be douched by a complete stranger...

Aye Douche

So I have some good news. It wasn't my brother with his child on his lap reading my posts and leaving strange comments.

I started to realize this once the comments were left in Japanese rather than just a random button being pushed.

Then someone had to point out to me that I didn't have a word verification so I was getting spammed by porn sites. Yipee. So with that being said now you have to do a word verification to leave a comment so I don't get absurd comments from Japanese peeps selling porn.

Good day

Douche of the Decade

I don't really have much to say other than this guy is the a big fat douche. See for yourself:


http://www.goodasyou.org/good_as_you/2009/08/audio-this-culture-war-is-all-fun-and-games-until-someone-wants-to-execute-you.html


Anonymously submitted



I also have to add that I have listened to this big fat douche and have been inspired to become a recruiter. Because I would rather have more Clay Aiken's in the world than bigots.







Isn't he adoreable....Douche...

What the douche?

I'm getting the strange feeling that aliens are trying to contact me through the comment section of my blog to tell me that they are the ones that created the swine flu.

Either that, or my brother (who shouldn't even know I have this blog...)was reading it with his child on his lap.

Check out the link:

http://anonymous-douche.blogspot.com/2009/06/swine-flu.html

The last three comments are pretty telling....

P.S. And if it was my brother reading this then all I have to say is....Hi, and no I'm not going to apologize for previously douching you.

Integrity just bitch slapped me in the face...

Integrity is a bitch. And I'm not just referring to my dog who ate all my toffee cover almonds today while I was taking a nap.

It's a bitch in the sense that If you don't stay in integrity with yourself you slowly start to feel like you're the average run of the mill douche bag. Ya know the type. The one that doesn't follow their heart. That obsesses over things being clean and tidy, that cares more about appearance then being genuinly true to themselves. Who's dream's are drowned out by vegetating in front of the TV or the computer reading stupid blogs...

And no, I'm not referring to this blog...of course.

Let me begin.

I took a job transcribing a story for a local self-published author who had hand written the document.

I thought it wouldn't be so bad. He's paying me well. The story is short. Ya know the usual, blah, blah, blah, that goes on in your head to talk you into stupid shit.

So there I was typing away and I suddenly began to realize within the first few sentences that this was the worst piece of literature that had ever been written.

Oh goody.

At about page thirteen I had to verbally tell myself to STOP rolling my eyes as it was distracting from typing.

What also distracted me from typing was me having to stop and rub my forehead and whimper every few pages.

Your probably asking yourself. Could it be that bad?

Well let me just say this, other than the CONSTANT spelling errors and lack of punctuation and grammar, the story is consistent with Leave it to Beaver dialogue which is maddening to me just in itself.

The worst part is that I can't bring myself to honestly tell him that I think his story would better serve mandkind in a fire then as a book.

So I grit my teeth and smile when he asks if I like it, and say "yes" before quickly changing the subject.

Hence the integrity issue. It seemed like I used to be out of integrity all the time without any skin off my back (which is not true, but I'm in denial of that small fact).

But now I say one thing out of Integrity, and I start to feel all...weird. Combine that with transcribing a story that I would rather bomb into a thousand pieces than be responsibly for helping it see the light of day, and I start to feel like a crazy person.

Now as a former therapist, now currently out of work and living in her parents basement, I think I have gosh darned earned the right to psychobabble! And psychobabble I will!

***Psychobabble commence***

Integrity is all about being a part of the whole. When I'm out of integrity I'm out of the whole. And when I'm out of the whole I start to see things logically as being one way or another rather than a part of the larger whole. In turn I start to see myself that way. At which point I begin to judge myself and others. Do you see what I am saying?

***Psychobabble complete***

With that being said I have to point out that that is why I quit my job as a therapist in the first place. To stay in integrity with myself. Because I realized in order to be a therapist you have to be slightly psychotic. And if you're not already that way, being a therapist will make you that way. So if you're wondering if your therapist has mental problems. The answer is yes, and it is likely to be caused by YOU, and your incessant whining and lack of accountability.

Which, again, is why I quit my job. I didn't want to be crazy. Well, MORE crazy than I already am, I should say. I think the turning point was when I find out that the three professors I looked up to in college were all mental. My first one suffering from clinical depression, (no wonder why her class was always an easy A) the other having narcissism, and the third professer cheated on his wife and ran off with my friend while we were presenting at a conference together *awkward*

I guess those who don't do, teach. Which is also why I quit my job as a professer. And live joyfully transcribing horrid stories in my parents basement.

With that being said don't follow in my foot steps. Follow your heart. Always speak the truth, even if it hurts. And don't be a douche.

Dentist

So I was at the dentist yesterday getting a cracked tooth fixed and I can feel the drill with it's squealing insanity piercing my tooth.

Just the usual.

I've told my dentist several times and on several occaisons he's had to give me more of that watchyamacallit, to adequately numb my mouth.

And everytime he says to me:

"Just raise your hand if you're having any pain and we'll fix that because you're not supposed to feel anything."

Then when I do his song changes to:

"Well that's unusual, you're not supposed to feel anything....hmmm....You should be numbed up pretty good."

As if he's doubting me. As if I'm med seeking. As if I want to be poked again and look like a stroke victim after my appointment for the next three hours, with the drooling and what not. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!)

But nevertheless after about three more shots, and the loss of feeling in my left ear I could no longer feel the pain.

Douche.