You’re so vain you probably think this blog is about you…

Last week, I had a serious migraine that would not quit. Days 1 and 2, I thought the throbbing behind my eyes could possibly be the remnants of my bacchanalian weekend, but by day 5 I was sure I was going to drop dead any second. After an hour on WebMD looking up the symptoms of a brain aneurysm, I decided that I must just be stressed out and not actually dying. So naturally, I started singing the Grinch song at the top of my lungs, you know, to relieve the tension. Now, I know probably 5% of the actual words to this song, so by the end I was pretty much just yelling, “You’re an asshole, (insert 2 syllable name here.” By the time I was belting out the final bars the headache had subsided dramatically, which prompted the uncomfortable realization that I have an alarming amount of sauerkraut sandwiches present in my every day life.

There are some people that you know right off the bat that you hate. For instance, you can tell right away that the girl in your office who wears wife beaters to work every day, but neglects to deal with the forest under her arms is a pariah. Her non-professional dress and piss poor attitude make her easy to identify as someone who is only going to complicate your day from the get go. These people are not sauerkraut sandwiches. These people just are terrible, but also easy to avoid or at the very least limit your contact with.

Sauerkraut sandwiches, on the other hand, are the kind of people that initially fool you into not out and out hating them. At first you’re all, this is not bad at all, I might kind of like sauerkraut on my sandwich. I don’t know what so and so was talking about, this person seems pretty nice maybe their personalities just conflicted. So you keep going, which is when things become a bit questionable. As in, I don’t know this might be leaving a funny taste in my mouth or I’m not quite sure if you just insulted me, but I think you might have said something unnecessarily snarky or otherwise engaged in some shady business. Warily, you plug along. Yup, this is probably disgusting, but I might as well finish eating, so you swallow your anger and answer the nasty emails politely. Before you know it you’re choking down your last bite and everyone around you is like, “We thought you knew that would taste terrible!” Of course you had no idea. Who in their right mind thinks that at age 23.9 you might happen to find yourself eating off of a beiruit table bemoaning the very same drama that gave you your first and only gray hair 2 years ago? No one. No one thinks that this is a viable reality and yet, here we are.

The problem with all these people whose hearts are full of unwashed socks is that there is no nice or easy way to tell them that you would not touch them with a thirty nine and a half foot pole. You can’t possibly say that in a kind and well meaning way, which basically leaves you with a heart three sizes too small the minute you open your mouth and tell them what’s what.

My biggest problem in all this is that I love to have the upper hand and look like the bigger person, but at the same time I also would love to lay down in the mud with these people and really say all the horrid thoughts that I have in my head. And let me tell you, my insults are riotously funny, so really the fact that I have to keep them to myself is a shame. In any case, I forget what the point of all this bitching was, but if any of you can figure out a way that I can in good conscience kick out all the crazies in my life I would greatly appreciate it. In the meantime, I’ll just be sitting at the folding table in my grown up apartment Googling “brain aneurysm symptoms.”


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s