5 Things you hate about me

Our weekly series of equal-opportunity hating balances out with things you hate about me. While you may not know me well enough to actually hate me, I'm providing you with enough material to slowly build a case against me being named Man of the Year (by the way, if you've seen that movie, I don't hate you, I pity you). These are my little idiosyncrasies that may drive people to actively plotting my demise, or at least hoping I get a really bad cold.



1. I am a FIFO

If you have never heard the term FIFO before, you are one of the lucky people geographically located far enough away from Ohio to only consider this state when we screw up elections or are the answer to a Jeopardy question (which state has produced the most astronauts? which state is nicknamed "the armpit of the nation"?). A Fucking Idiot From Ohio. God help me. I do need to point out that I claim myself as a person who lives in Ohio, not someone from Ohio. What's the difference, you say? Its like calling someone retarded for doing something stupid versus someone actually being mentally handicapped. This distinction, however, does not prevent me from being a certified FIFO, complete with a pink driver's license, a proclivity for passing on the right while driving, and a sad state of depression usually only reserved for Alaskans stranded in endless nightfall. Despite being here 4 years, I still refuse to root for any Ohio sports teams (although Holmgren might be able to turn around the Browns...).

2. I fart in public

If you're one of those people right now thinking, that's disgusting, ewwwwww, I hope that I, personally, have farted within your personal space bubble after eating chili and drinking all night. You know you do it, we all do it, but for me, I really don't care. All I care about is avoiding the really, truly nasty ones in potentially embarassing situations, like a funeral home or office meeting. Nothing will get you blackballed by family or co-workers faster than tearing a wet, rotten-egg type hurricane through their safe little worlds.
As an aside, my buddy did the greatest maneuever ever a few years ago. He was working with a group of high school students, who were too busy texting, cracking gum, and saying "like" to pay attention to him. So, as payback, he called them in for a group meeting, waited for everyone to get nice and tight, and released a SBD within their midst. The best part was he called them over for the sole reason of farting, and made them stand there, smelling his putridness and listening to him drone on for five minutes about nothing in particular.

3. I'm a smoker

Yea, there aren't many of us left, but dammit, we're still here. Anytime you leave an office building, we'll be there. Anytime you need to head outside a club/bar to make a phone call, we'll be there. We litter your lawns, highways, and sidewalks with nasty, nasty butts and death smoke that hangs in the air like radiation. Smokers have to be the weirdest assortment of people in the world (midget transsexual necrophiliacs notwithstanding) because a) we do something that we know is killing us, b) we at various times despise the activity, smoke stench, and cost associated with it, and c) still wake up every morning like the Marlboro Man, throw on our cowboy boots and light up (what, you put your boots on after you light up? my bad). I'm kind of a closet smoker; I smoke around my friends and my wife's family, but I hide it like its Nazi gold around my family. Every trip to my parents is an adventure: windows down, spray the clothes, double up on the mints. Then when I get there, the first thing I'm thinking: I can't wait to sneak around and steal a few puffs. Its like you're a thief or a double agent; no one knows what you're up to then BANG you light up with your head sticking out the bathroom window in sub-zero temperatures as you curse the crosswind blowing most of what you blow back into the room. Damn you, mother nature.

4. I'm one of the quiet ones

You know the phrase -  look out for the quiet ones. Or you'll see it on the news after a triple murder in Detroit (we call that a Tuesday), they interview some poor schlub who just woke up, he was pretty quiet, kept to himself mostly. The great George Carlin had a bit about this, where if you're in a bar, you see a man sitting by himself in a corner reading a book, then you see a guy throw open the door of the bar, jump on a table, and yell,"I'll kill the next motherfucker who comes in here," who ya gonna watch? Well, I'm a quiet one, and take great offense to being lumped in with the crazies who just seem too nice and shy and quiet to do such horrible things. Guess what? No one should be expected to identify the characteristics of a mass-murdering sociopath in their next-door neighbor, because its not like they're going to come out and say, "Hey Bill, I just killed the mailman then sat naked in the shower with my cat for an hour, how's it hangin'?". The quiet ones get a bad rap for these a-holes, but they're not ours! Just because I'm not the center of attention anywhere I go (LOOK AT ME! I'M IMPORTANT!) doesn't make me Jeffery Dahmer. I like to quietly judge people and listen to conversations rather than monopolize them, but again, this does not make me a threat. More than likely, I'm just studying you from across the room, or parking lot, without your knowledge, hoping you don't see me. 'Cus if you do...
5. My dog poops in your yard

This is actually a recent development. I take my year-old black lab out for a walk about every other day - unless its cold, or I'm hungover, or just plain lazy - and she had apparently mastered her bowels to the point that she never went to the bathroom while out. Impressed? What if I told you she was undefeated in pee and poo (as my wife calls it) on walks? However, in the end, the most impressive streak since Cal Ripken ended in smelly, steamy awfulness on some poor bastard's front lawn last week. And no, I didn't have a pooper scooper, plastic bag, or flaming bag to take care of "the business." So, like any good natured neighbor, I assessed the scene - look up the street, down the street. No one around. Look at the dog - she's sniffing it. Fuck this, we're outta here. We head back home - her with a bit more pep in her step, and me looking over my shoulder like a schizophrenic.