sometimes you can just look at a person and know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that there is no way in hell you and she could ever be friends. then, they open their mouthes and cement the deal. why, yes, i *do* judge a book by it's cover. you got a problem with that?
the other day i went to a local retaurant for lunch. quick sidenote about this place. it is an italian retaurant, run by pakistanis and they make the best damn chicken burrito and pico de gallo i have ever had. still trying to wrap my head around that one. so, anyway, i am waiting for my order and i overhear two women talking. one of them was in her 40's and wearing a denim jumper and a headband. she looked like a sunday school teacher. all that was missing was the emroidred ABC's and apples on the pockets. the other woman looked to be in her late 30's and was sporting a mullet the likes of which i have not seen outside of a motley crue concertcirca 1987. but her's was the "classy,' professional mullet." if there is such a thing.
here's a snippet of their conversation:
denim jumper: "have you read "the notebook?" oh, you just haaaaaaaave to. it's so woooooooonderful!"
mullet dweeb: "no. but i have read "the wedding." oh, it was soooooooo beauuuuuuuuuuutiful. i cried and cried. it really spoke to me."
denim jumper: "isn't nicholas sparks just the beeeeeeeeeest writer?"
i will bet you a million dollars that Denim Jumper has a poster in her cubicle of a kitten hanging from a branch with the caption "hang in there, baby" tacked to her fabric covered wall. and Mullet Dweeb almost certainly collects Marie Osmond dolls. and names them and dresses them in different outfits every week.
see, i knew within 10 seconds that if i was stranded on a desert island with these chicks i would die without ever having spoken another word. what do you say to people like that? i just can't relate to people that equate schmaltz crap with literature. hey, i like my trashy novels as much as the next gal, but i have never proclaimed Sophie Kinsella as the Voice of My Generation. everyone knows that is Helen Fielding's title. duh.
i have the same reaction when i meet overly religious people. i just know, with every fiber of my being, that i have nothing in common with them. i don't put much stock in a book of fairy tales (i.e. The Bible) and i don't live my life doing good deeds for the sole purpose of scoring points with god and securing a front row seat in heaven. that's what my family gets for raising me as a catholic. there is no atheist like the reformed catholic. i was overeducated about catholicism and saw it for the load of crap it is. i might actually be part vampire, because when i see a cross i hiss and cover my face. (sherri, none of this applies to you. you are the exception to this rule. you snuck in under my radar. love ya like i love tater tots.)
i try not to judge people too quickly (ok, that's a total lie, but for the sake of argument, let's pretend it's true). but when i see a pro life bumper sticker on a car and that car is driven by a MAN, it's all i can do to not ram into him, screaming "yeah, asshole. every life *is* precious EXCEPT yours!" let's hope no one at Progressive Car Insurance reads this blog. and you don't even want to know what happens when i see NRA bumper stickers. and i can't tell you, because that would be self incriminating. and i ain't stupid.
when i go into Blockbuster and see someone struggling with the decision to rent a Jim Carrey movie vs. a Chris Farley movie, i just look at that person and think, "let's hope our paths never, ever cross again. ok?"
gosh, given my loving, bubbly nature, it's really shocking that i don't have more friends.