I’m not an asshole; I just can’t hear you.

It’s true. People get so insanely pissed off when I ask them to repeat themselves or when they think I’m not listening to them.

Angry person: “Hey! I’m talking to you! Did you hear what I said?!”

Me: “Um. No. Were you talking to me?”

Angry Person: “You trying to be funny?”

Me: “No. I just couldn’t hear you. I don’t have all my hearing in my right ear.”

Usually, the person feels awful for getting so worked up. I smile politely and tell them that it’s okay, but secretly I’m laughing inside because now, that person feels like a dick.

This is usually what happens, but the other day at work I got the opposite reaction.

Angry person to my co-worker: “Can you believe her!? I asked her a question! She’s not even looking at me!”

There were a lot of people at the nurses’ station. With lots of noise, talking, commotion, paper rustling, and such, I tend to not be able to locate sound well. So, I just tune out and sit quietly to myself.

However, at this point, all my co-workers are looking at me like I’m some asshole. I still have my eyesight and half a brain in my head. So, although I can’t necessarily hear what’s happening, I deduce that I’ve done something wrong.

Me: “Huh? What’s going on? Something happening? I don’t know.”

Angry person: “Ya! I was talking to you! What’s wrong with you?!”

All eyes are on me.

Me: “You were? I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

Angry Person (Getting angrier by the second): “What?! You didn’t hear me?!”

Me: “No. Sorry. What was it you wanted?”

She is now irate and says to my co-worker: “She says she couldn’t hear me!”

Me: “I don’t have all my hearing in my right ear. So, no, I didn’t hear you.”

The nurses’ station’s commotion stops to a dead silence.

This is where most people feel terrible for trying to publicly humiliate me. They apologize profusely and walk away feeling like a real asshole.

THIS IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED.

Instead, this little tidbit about my hearing impairment just sets Angry Person over the edge. She doesn't give a fuck.

Insane Angry Person (YELLING REALLY REALLY LOUD): “Can you hear me now? Hey! Hey! Can you hear me now?”

Everyone is in shock. Mouths open. Speechless.

Me: “Ya. I can hear you.” (We are literally 3 feet away from each other.)

Mentally Unstable Angry Person (STILL YELLING OBSCENELY LOUD): “You can hear me?! Huh?! You can hear me?! Good!”

And then she does a kind of “pshaw” type sound with her mouth, shakes her head, and looks at my co-worker with an incredulous look on her face, as if to say, “Who the fuck does this deaf person think she is?”

My hearing problem gets me in all sorts of trouble. I find myself in situations like these or worse. Because I know how pissed people get when I ask them to repeat themselves, I usually just nod and agree. I try to read lips closely, but if someone (like a boyfriend or some other significant other type person) is turned away from me, instead of asking him to repeat himself, I just nod and agree. But, really: I have no idea what’s going on. I should learn by now that this is no way to conduct relationships, because whatever the fuck I agreed to will come up later.

Oh, yes it will. Don’t think it won’t.

I will obviously not remember anything about the conversation because I never heard it in the first place and the boyfriend will get really mad at me and tell me that I never listen to anything he says.

Which is somewhat true, but it’s because I can’t actually hear the dude well enough to listen.

In most situations, I AM an asshole, but not when I can’t hear you.

So, have mercy on me.

Gym, Rats!

There are only two criteria that go into choosing a gym: hospitality and hotness. The big H’s that go into most decisions that I make in my life. My gym closed and relocated to a farther destination and I decided to see what other gyms were in my close vicinity.

Choosing a gym is a serious decision. It’s like choosing a second home. After several weeks of cautious deliberating, I called ahead of time and made an appointment with a nearby gym.

I walk in and I say, “Hi! I’m here for an appointment.”

The Neanderthal-looking douche bag behind the counter says sarcastically, “Ummm. Could you be more specific?”

Hmmm. Well, let’s see. We are at a gym. I have a gym bag on my shoulder. So, I say, “Ya. I’m here for my colonoscopy appointment. Is Dr. Roto-Rooter in, you dumb fuck?”

DISCLAIMER: I did not say this, but instead I say, “Um. I made an appointment for a gym membership.”

Douche bag curtly says, “Well, who was it with? Jimbo? Dumbo? Tardo?” (Okay. Those are probably not the names he said, but at this point, it should be clear that I do not recall the name of the person I have an appointment with. Naming arbitrary names does nothing to help the situation.)

I say, “I don’t remember his name.”

This is where douche bag gets really upset by the complicated problem he is faced with and with no credible solution to solve this challenging conundrum, he grunts, shakes his head in annoyed frustration, and stomps away.

I’m not fucking kidding.

Then the pudgy girl behind the counter steps up and says, “Oh. You must be here for Jimbo’s (who knows the name?) appointment. He’s not here. Something came up. He won’t be in until Monday. I’m covering for him.”

Silence.

I say, “Okay.”

She says, “What did you want?”

“A membership! I want to join a gym!”

She says, “Oh. Well, it’s going to be $39.00 a month.”

Silence.

More silence. And she’s staring at me.

Now, I’m completely in shock. This is how you sell shit to people? A blind, deaf, dumb, mute, semi-unconscious chimpanzee sells shit better than that.

I say, “That’s it? That’s what you’re going to tell me? This is the membership meeting?”

Her response: “Yup.”

No one shows me around the gym. No one tries to tell me about any specials or deals. My membership meeting was over in 30 seconds.

This is when I turn around, get in my car, and drive the extra 15 to 20 minutes to get to my relocated gym.

On my drive over there, I replay the incident in my head. I may have been more lenient if the gym staff had been hotter, which finally brings me to the second H.

When I walk into my gym, I want to see hot smiling people behind the counter. The gym staff should, by visual cues alone, encourage the rest of the gym to strive for a better life full of hotness. If you’re going to be a lazy incompetent dick, you better be smoking hot. It’s almost acceptable. If I see people behind the counter with worse bodies than my own, I will not be motivated. I’ll turn the fuck around and speed to the nearest Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.

This is what I was faced with: two non-hot inhospitable assholes.

Remember the two H’s: Hospitality and Hotness. It’s important for these important life decisions.

(I’m still searching for another gym.)

Get over Yourself. You're not that Special.

After a particularly drama-filled month of relationship crimes and misdemeanors from the lives of several of my friends (women and men), I decided to give you all my own valuable advice in written form for you to cherish and ruminate over time and time again. This is part one of the two part series, Get Over Yourself. You’re not that Special.

Part 1: He’s Not an Asshole. He Just Doesn’t Like You.

IF A DUDE ACTS LIKE HE DOESN’T LIKE YOU, HE DOESN’T.

Many of you may think that my advice is based on that incredibly redundant chick lit book, He's Not That into You, but it doesn't take a neurosurgeon with a doctorate in psychology to figure out human interactions. It just takes common sense.

Women congregate all over the world to discuss, analyze, and agonize over some dude's every move. Asking each other:

What do you think it means when he doesn't call?

Why doesn't he answer my texts?

Why doesn't he make time for me in his schedule?

Why does he ignore me in public?

Why did he get a restraining order against me?

There are numerous variations to these questions, but the same answer remains. He doesn't like you.

If a dude acts like he doesn't dig you, he damn well doesn't. Period.

Men are not mysterious. They are hunters. If they want you, trust me you will know. If they do any number of things that hurt you, make you cry, make you feel unwanted, or make you feel like he doesn't care for you, then he probably doesn't.

He's not an asshole. Moreover, he's just an asshole... to you.

Same principle applies to women. I've been accused of being a raging bitch. I'm not a bitch; I just didn't like you enough to consider you when I made decisions or acted on my impulses. Simple. Sorry. It's true.

This is the important aspect of this advice: he/she may like you, but not enough if you are crying/whining about why he/she doesn't do this or doesn't do that, or does this or does that. If they are not doing things that make you feel wanted, get the fuck out of there. Fuck them! (Not literally though because that’s probably what got you in this situation in the first place.)

The important question to ask yourself is: Why the hell would you want to be with someone who gives a half ass attempt to win your affection anyway?