Five Things About Me That Probably Make Me An Asshole

I feel bad about these things — but not THAT bad

Photo by Paolo Estrellado on Unsplash. Oh, yeah? Fuck you, too, buddy.

I’ve long held the popular belief that every person is an asshole from time to time.

We’re human, which means we’re going to make mistakes, and we’re going to do, say, and feel things that piss off other humans. And vice versa.

So be it.

The key is how often we’re swimming in the asshole pool and why we’re taking a few laps. We all have things we like, love, hate, and tolerate. While at the same time, others feel the exact opposite about the same things.

Such is life.

Things get dicey when we’re in the minority — or at least feel like we are — with the things that annoy us the most. That can cause us to self-analyze more than we typically might.

Some people feel bad about being thought of as an asshole — or fear it — and try to hide their assholery by lying, denying, and/or hiding. Others embrace being an asshole like a MAGA cousin at a gay wedding.

The rest of us are in the grey area.

I can only speak for myself, but I’m past the point of being too worried about being thought of as an asshole. Those closest to me know full well the various severities of my behavior and, for better or worse, have chosen to stick around.

Brave souls, indeed.

Enough prologue. Let’s kick the asshole parade into gear. Here are some things (in random order) that probably make me an asshole.

1. I hate small dogs

I’m pausing for just a few seconds for the gasps of disgust and exclamations of, “You are an asshole!” to die down.

And that’s long enough. Here we go.

Yeah, small dogs are cute, cuddly, and fit perfectly in everyone’s lap. People love those pint-sized canines.

Sadly, I am not one of those people.

Small dogs annoy me because so many of them are yippy, hyperactive as a toddler on a sugar rush, and seem intent on walking directly in front of me, while zig-zagging like a frat boy during a sobriety test.

I see enough of that behavior teaching middle school.

Before I get millions of dog lovers ratting my ass out to PETA, or calling in hits with Ace Ventura, let me make a few things clear.

• I don’t hate all dogs. I don’t even hate most dogs.

• I have never — nor would I ever — kick, hit, or otherwise abuse or neglect any animal ever. Not even small dogs that annoy the hell out of me.

• Those of you who own and/or love small dogs, more power to you. I don’t get the fascination with them, but hey, you do you. I don’t get people who choose to drive a Prius, either. To each their own.

Small dogs know they’re small. They try to make up for their diminutive size by pretending they’re bigger, often by doing something really fucking annoying. It’s understandable, I guess. Short people (namely, dudes) have been known to do the same thing.

The main problem is that it doesn’t work for dogs any more than it does for greg bovino or kash patel. You are the size you are.

Most of us accept that fact and have come up with euphemisms to help everyone feel better about it, like, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.

I don’t really care either way. I have no desire to see any dogs fight, no matter their size. (Though I would watch katel and bovino throw down. That should be the match on the White House lawn this summer.)

Some of you may be thinking that if I had a small dog, my thoughts would change. You are very, very wrong. My family does have a small dog, and she is the bane of my existence.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s cute and sweet and ever so adorable. That currency was spent quickly. It’s been eight years of hell ever since.

Lizzy barks at anyone who comes within a quarter mile of our home. She barks when someone uses the printer. She barks at sunspots on the wall. She loses her shit when we use the oven, barking and jumping dangerously close to nearly ending it all with a leap into it.

Each year, it becomes harder to fight the urge to take a baking class to increase the odds of Lizzy leaping into the fires of Mordor. But I can’t imagine the damage my baking skills, combined with the Cajun remains of our dog, would inflict on my family’s mental health (or our oven), so I never come close to following through.

Lizzy is a Yorkie-Poo. (Even her breed has an annoying-ass name.) I don’t think it’s an even split between those breeds, because poodles are supposed to be smart. Lizzy is not.

We could never get her trained to shit and piss outside regularly. Instead, she uses dog pads. The problem with that is, despite her size, she shits and pisses like a diabetic, NFL lineman on a high-fiber diet, which does not do good things for the aroma in our home.

I made my disdain for small dogs clear to my family for years before we got Lizzy. But my wife grew up with large dogs and wanted a “lap dog.” Our four girls were on board as well. The downside of being in a democratic system is dealing with the outcome when you lose 5–1.

I would gladly pay someone to take our canine far away to the magical “farm” where all good dogs go. But then my girls and wife would raise hell, and I would probably be sent to the same fucking farm, which would be a version of hell I would prefer to avoid.

2. I hate heartstring commercials

Like any person, especially parents, I hate hearing about kids getting cancer and other life-threatening diseases. It’s awful, heartbreaking, and scary as hell to think about.

I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

I feel the same way about the commercials for children’s hospitals like St. Jude’s and the ads for abused and neglected animals. My God, do I hate those things.

I am well aware of the amazing work nurses, doctors, and surgeons do for kids. I know they all need money. Everyone does. But these damn ads go way over the top.

And why are those commercials so damn long? I don’t need to watch four minutes of little kids being brave through hospital treatment and seeing parents with tear-stained cheeks talking about their babies fighting through chemo.

I am all for hospitals and cancer centers working to heal kids and helping families deal with the trauma. But I am so damn tired of those ads begging for more money.

I do donate to charities every month. I’m also considering donating plasma before my car hits empty, so I have some extra cash for groceries after filling my gas tank.

Like so many others, I have family members who have survived and lost battles with cancer. I’ve seen up close and personal what people with cancer endure. I can’t imagine it with a child.

That being said, I would like to watch television without enduring commercials that last longer than a trump nap, and make me feel like dog shit for muting a heartfelt plea to send more money I don’t have.

Speaking of canines, we have animal versions of the same commercials.

We get to see ads showing dogs shivering in the cold as snow falls. There are close-ups of cute dogs in obvious states of distress, with an actress pleading with viewers to send money so Lady and the Tramp and the 101 Dalmations can be saved while there’s still (barely) time left.

Seeing people and animals in distress and dealing with serious health issues tugs at my heartstrings.

They also annoy the fuck out of me.

3. I have no sympathy for bullies

This one could upset some people, or at least push me into the deeper end of the asshole pool.

As a teacher, I’m supposed to care about all my students and treat them all equally. And I do.

I’m also not a cyborg; I have my limits.

After teaching middle school for as long as I have, I’ve witnessed far more bullying than the average bear. I’ve seen firsthand the damage and trauma they cause countless times.

I despise bullies and all that they do because there is no acceptable reason for it.

None. Not ever.

Many bullies torment others to hide their own feelings of inadequacy and insecurity.

Tough shit.

I will defend my students all day, every day. It’s when they cross the line into bullying others that my sympathy dies.

Bullying is always a choice.

Bullies may be going through hell at home. If that’s the case, I feel for them. If I know or suspect any abuse or neglect, as a mandatory reporter, I do so to the proper authorities without delay. I also provide any help and guidance I can at school.

Regardless, there is never an acceptable reason to bully someone else. There is always another option. I’m not saying they are easy options. But nothing about life is easy. Choosing to make someone else’s life hell to match yours is selfish, and I fucking hate it.

Some people will say that bullying is a cry for help. And maybe it is. So is actually asking for help. There are resources available at every school district in the nation. Help is available.

Asking for help is far better than choosing to make someone else’s life miserable.

You know who else cries for help? Victims of bullies.

Students have dealt with severe injuries from being attacked by bullies. There is emotional pain and fear as well. They need help because of bullies.

Children — way, way, way too many children — have died from bullying. Countless kids have chosen suicide to escape the torment. My sympathy for bullies died with them.

I’ve lost three former students (that I know of) to suicide. Far more have attempted it.

I will never sympathize with a bully. Ever.

4. I drive offensively (but not like a dick)

They say there are two kinds of driving, defensively and offensively. True enough. But like many things in life, there are many shades of grey between the two opposites.

There are Vin Diesel wannabes who change lanes every six seconds and do so as aggressively as possible, because they think it’s cool or intimidating or their attention spans are just that short.

I’m not that big of an asshole.

But I also refuse — abso-fucking-lutely refuse — to drive like I’m driving Miss Daisy. That ray of silver-haired sunshine would fire my ass before we even get to the freeway.

My last two cars have been the rarest of vehicles in the continental United States — stick shifts — and I am not getting off that train. I will drive sticks until I can no longer do so. And then I will cry like a republican at midterms until I turn into dust.

Yeah, I am in the dark grey area of the scale between offensive and defensive driving. I’m offensive, but not a total dickhead. I’m just an aggressive asshole.

5. I’m sarcastic as fuck

This one is not surprising to those who know me. I’ve been sarcastic nearly as long as I could speak. It’s in my bloodstream like Oxygen.

My dad was funny as hell. But not overly sarcastic. In fact, no one in my family is nearly as sarcastic as I am. Whatever branch in my family tree who bathed in smart ass sap, stored it up like a motherfucker, and strafed it into my DNA like an IV.

I’m thankful for it because there is no way I could survive my job (or my daily life for that matter) without being quick-witted and sarcastic. Making people laugh and being able to laugh at myself are essential skills to keep what’s left of my sanity.

Granted, it’s also caused some others to consider me an asshole. But, hey, being a teacher pretty much guarantees a good chunk of my students think that about me just for showing up.

For the record, there is an art to sarcasm and a purpose behind it. If it’s just to be an arrogant jerk who mocks and hurts people, then you are an asshole. But sarcasm can also bring levity and humor to situations.

It’s all in the delivery and the reason behind it. Most importantly, you must have the skills to make sarcasm work the way it’s intended.

Being able to read a room, the people you’re with, the situation, and knowing what to say, how to say it, and doing it at the right time with the correct tone of voice is a lot like a chemistry experiment.

It’s either the perfect combination or it blows up in your face.

Either one can happen to anyone who attempts sarcasm, and no one has a perfect record. The key is the ratio of fun, yet biting, humor to getting your ass beat or fired or just pissing off the people in your circle.

I’m sarcastic as fuck, and I don’t apologize for it. It’s part of who I am. I will apologize if I inadvertently offend or hurt someone, though.

All of that means that I’m an offensive driving, sarcastic asshole who hates small dogs, heartstring ads, and bullies.

So be it.

How are you an asshole?

Thanks for reading.