I'm just the worst at....

Growing up being a chubby kid with a stutter who happened to have a verbally abusive father, for a long time it was increasingly difficult for me to take compliments well. I mean, on the outside I took them wonderfully by simply saying "thank you", but on the inside I always felt that the person in question giving me the praise was either full of shit or had some sort of hidden agenda that I hadn't figured out yet. But for some reason, maybe it is the weight loss, or possibly the therapy had some sort of weird affect, but I have been feeling myself lately and that is out of character for your resident pre-ejaculator.

Being an asshole to fellow assholes is one thing, it evens itself out, but arrogance sprinkled on top of my asshole flavored gumbo sort of loses it's appeal. If a woman said I was "sexy" a few months ago, I'd probably blush like a school girl, look down, and thank her for her kind words. Last week, when a woman said, "You are an attractive man!!" instead of taking the humble route, I acted like Hans Solo in the "Empire Strikes Back" after Leia says that she loves him, by simply looking at the woman in question and saying "I know!" Wait, it gets worse.

The other day when I was playing basketball at my local YMCA, the team that I was on won three straight games. Even though I had the majority of my teams points, that was no reason for me to say what I did to my teammate who complimented me on my play: "If you fuckers would step the fuck up I wouldn't have to carry you miserable sons-a-bitches on my god-damned back. I'm playing my ass off while you douche-bags watch me like rubberneckers at a fucking accident!!" Besides the fact that the person I was berating was an old man, but I was also wearing a Kobe Bryant jersey while doing so.

OK, since I see my arrogant ways of the past few weeks it's time to knock myself down a few pegs. So, like a midget porn star, it's about time I came clean about my shortcomings. Here are a few things that I'm the absolute worst at.

Shopping (A): To say that I didn't have any patience would be as severe an understatement as saying that Courtney Love has a "little" drug problem. I have gotten better with it, I no longer tell bank tellers, people manning the drive-thru, and other garden variety cashiers to "HURRY THE FUCK UP!" any more, so that's definitely a positive. But I am still short in the patience department, as I found out when I continuously sighed deeply, damn near pouted, and said "Come on, let's go!!" like I was 4 years old and shit as I was waiting for a woman I was dating to buy a fucking dress. Maybe it's a guy thing, or my brand of impatience is all my own, but when I buy clothes it's planned out to specific fucking detail like I had drawn up plans for an elaborate kidnapping. A. Park as close to the store as possible. B. Once inside avoid looking at anything else but the desired target. C. Snatch said target and rush to the cash register D. If the freak at the register flirts, flash her a smile, mention your long tongue, and give her your blog address. E. Leave store immediately, the entire operation should take less than 5 minutes.

Shopping(B): If I get married, god bless the miserable soul who takes on that thankless task, my wife will do all of the grocery shopping. Not because I'm a chauvinist pig, who believes that women should be barefoot and pregnant, slaving in a kitchen while I inappropriately show my penis to women with glitter all over their bodies named "Lexus" and "Peaches". I'd want her to do the grocery shopping because I must be the worst shopper in the world, if you don't believe me I have the title belt to prove it. If there is one thing that I inherited from my old man it is my inability to find a bargain, even if that bargain had a siren going off around it with a few scantily dressed porn stars pointing at it, screaming "Bargain!! Bargain!" I remember my father coming home from the grocery store and my mother checking the receipt, and scoping the landscape of shit he bought flashing a "this is all you got for 300 bucks??" look. I was told, by that same woman by the way(my mother), that I am the same way. To prove her point she thought it would be interesting to see what she could purchase with 200 dollars and what I could purchase. After I finished shopping I was proud, I had a grocery cart full of shit, feeling that I would prove her wrong and show her that I was the ultimate shopper. She bitch-slapped me, not literally, but with her shopping prowess because later she came back with what would be the equivalent of three cart fulls of quality shit.

Small talk: Similar to a midget with a speech impediment, I'm not very good with small talk. I have no problem getting in front of thousands of people and making an ass of myself, I also have no problem having brief conversations with people that I consider to be my friends, that's fine. But it is those people you hardly know, that bimbo that your homeboy dated briefly, that jackass who goes to your bar, that chick who was in your gym class in the 12th grade, people who you know well enough that if you didn't speak you would be considered a "dick", that's the small talk that I hate. If I see one of these people in a store somewhere or some other form of public dwelling, I do my best to avoid them at all costs, even ducking under a rack of clothes to make a speedy get away. It's childish, but I feel the same way about small talk as I feel about Wilmer Valderramas career, what is the fucking point? But when I do get caught and I'm forced to talk to a person that I possibly wouldn't piss on if they were on fire, I say the most outlandish shit to get away. Stuff like, "I would talk longer but I have to take a monster shit!", "I gotta go, I left my car running and my 2 year old is in there.", "I'm late for my penis enlargement. I'm satisfied with my current length, but I always had the fantasy of me grabbing my penis in front of my lover and screaming "Move over bacon, now there's something meatier!!", dumb shit like that.

Giving Directions: I'm so bad with directions I feel blessed that I'm able to find my dick without using a compass, or some fucking form of Global Positioning System. Besides that lost feeling that I always tend to get, rivaling that one time I was unable to "touch the sides" of a 6' 5 WNBA player I once got to know biblically, I am even worse at giving directions. Sometimes I give it the old "college try" and take my time and sincerely help the person who requested my navigational skills, but more times than not I'm an asshole about. When asked, my responses range from a defiant "I don't fucking know!!", me pointing in a random direction and saying "Go a mile that way and take a left at the abortion clinic.", and if I feel like being really mean I will give them surprisingly intricate direction to the nearest ghetto two towns away.

Letting go of grudges: Remember in that Eric B and Rakim song where Ra says, 'I hold the microphone like a grudge!"? Well, if I held a microphone as tightly as I held grudges, I'd have to have a lifetime supply based on how many I'd go through. In certain instances I have done well, let bygones be bygones and even become cool with the person that I had beef with. But those handful of people, the ones that I wasn't able to exercise my brand of street justice on because of some bullshit that I let them get away with, I have grudges that have lasted almost 20 years. Don't believe me?? I'm embarrassed to say this, but the following is something that I uttered to my best friend Danny a couple of weeks ago: "That looks like this guy Gilbert who used to bully me in Junior High and take my fucking fruit cup. I should go over there and clothesline that bullying fuck!"