You Don't Take Criticism Very Well

                There are several things that you can say to win any argument at any time. I believe that I am a grande cup full of winner because I have had plenty of successful fights with people. Any argument can be won in just three steps.

One: Just say, “You’re so crazy!”

I worked at Disney World for four months and there were people screaming at me constantly. Sometimes because the line was too long or because someone jumped the line or because their child was too short or because the ride wasn’t working or because they are just stressed out and I am the closest person that they can yell at. WELL. To head off someone who looks like they might blame you for something or ask you something that you can’t answer, you just have to say this: “You’re so crazy!” They key is to walk away after you say it, though.

For example: 

Person: Excuse me, why is this ride always broken?

You: You’re so crazy! (walk away leaving the person looking like a dumbfounded)

Person: Um, I asked for my drink iced.

You: You’re so crazy! (walk away leaving the person trying to decide if what they said actually was crazy)

Person: Did you tell everyone that I’m pregnant!?

You: You’re so crazy! (or maybe just say “no”)

Two: Just say, “You don’t take criticism very well.”

                This can work in several areas. Let’s say that you are in the thick of an argument and it’s clear that you are in the wrong. All you have to do is say, “I just don’t think you take criticism very well.” Or maybe you’re in a situation where you have to tell someone something they don’t want to hear, and then you start the conversation with just that.

For example:

Person: But you don’t understand how that affects me!

You: No I do! But you just don’t take criticism very well!

Person: Are you kidding me?!

You: See?

Three: Just say, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

                Let’s say that you have tried the other two steps and they just won’t stop bothering you. The thing that you need to remember is most people think that whoever has the last word of the fight wins. This may sounds silly but it’s true. Pretend that you are in an actual fight. Whoever throws the last punch looks the biggest and toughest. The same goes here.

For example:

Person: You can’t spray paint my dog! You can’t!

You: Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. 

Also keep in mind that this works great if they demand an apology from you. 

Now let’s put all of these things together: 

Person: I think that they should bring back the Joker for the next Batman movie.

You: You’re so crazy! (Try to walk away)

Person: No, seriously. They wanted him to be in the third movie. They could even use unused footage from the Dark Knight.

You: That’s dumb.

Person: No it isn’t!

You: Jeez, you don’t take criticism very well.

Person: What? No! I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense for the Joker to have such a huge part and then just disappear.

You: See?

Person: I’m just saying!-

You: Seeee?

Person: Are you kidding me?! You’re so stupid!

You: I’m sorry you feel that way.

                Of course all of these expressions depend on the situation but I have found that they work better in the work place and not as well on your friends. What can we learn from this? Heath Ledger is dead. Get over it.

The Lockdown

                I thought I was pretty cool my senior year in high school. I went to a private school so everyone had to wear uniforms which consisted of dress shoes, khaki pants, a belt, and a polo shirt. “Dress down days” were the BEST THING EVER! These were days where we could wear whatever we wanted. The whole school went to Mass every Wednesday and most people loved Jesus. Well I was a rebel. Sometimes I didn’t wear a belt. I know right?!  Sometimes I wore this disgusting blue polo from the seventies which was way too tight with front buttons going way down past anywhere socially acceptable. AND SOMETIMES I wore converse to school. I got detention. I was legit BA. That stands for legitimate bad ass. 

                One of the best and worst qualities about my school was we excelled in most of our extra-curricular activities including sports. Seeing as we were all spoiled rich kids we had a very little understanding of what it meant to lose at something or to be stupid or poor. (Brad, you’re just ranting.) Um, no, other voice in my head. You just wait. This all has meaning and purpose. 

                My senior year consisted of half the school being torn down for a newer better school with innovative things like air conditioning. So half the time the Intercom system didn’t work and sometimes the fire alarms would go off at random. It was great fun. The day of the lockdown started like any other day; I was gossiping about somebody, I didn’t do my homework, and we had just beat one of the public schools in some sport that I was completely unaware of. And now, I will switch to present tense to add dramatic effect. 

                I’m in my speech class and the bell rings so we all go out in the hallway and no one else there. So immediately we all act like babies whose bottle was taken away: A look of confusion and yelling. “Where is everybody!” Then the poor Algebra teacher runs in the hall and screams at us to get back in our class because the school was on Lockdown. This was the best news ever. Lockdowns are amazing. Once a year we would have a lockdown drill and it was the best excuse giggle in the corner and text. So we all cheer and run back to class and do just that.

                Then, Chloe checks her phone and sees that she already has a text from her mom asking if she’s okay. That’s weird. Then our speech teacher checks the internet (The World Wide Web) and sees that our school is on the news. Little did we know that we had been on Lockdown for over half an hour. We didn’t hear the intercom announcement in our class because of the construction so we all start to worry just a bit. 

                Meanwhile. My friend Rachael is choir class and they are practicing in the auditorium. They hear the announcement and everyone goes down to the costume room. The costume room is a closet with a couple mirrors and a cage filled with dresses that a house elf could comfortably live in. The theatre class was crammed in there that day practicing stage make-up. With the theatre and choir classes combined there was over eighty squashed in a closet cowering for their lives. Someone was probably touched inappropriately. The teachers were equally as scared as they couldn’t lock the door. They acted something like this:

They then turn off the lights to which the glow in the dark paint fulfilled its purpose and displayed penises covering the walls. Keep in mind that everyone in that room knew that there was an actual intruder in the school and they might die in that little hamster pen. 

I’m still in the speech classroom and we waited for another forty five minutes for the all clear. The teacher was contemplating the best way to break through the window and people were saying things like, “I wonder if it’s the public school kids.” Then, we hear from the next classroom over that the assistant principle announces that the lockdown is over and that we can go to our next class. One girl in my class says, “What if the intruder is holding a gun to her head and forcing her to say that?”

Every class empties into the hallway. We all start laughing and talking. Then we see them. There are at least six men in the hallway holding giant-ass guns and they all start screaming at us. The next ten seconds were an out of body experience and it was as though I was laying on my couch watching a movie of what happened. Everyone started screaming, papers and books were flying though the air; I’m surprised somebody didn’t get trampled. The doors in the school were made of super heavy wood and as soon as the teachers heard screaming, they closed the doors were shut as fast as possible echoing the sounds of gunshots. So every time a door closed everyone would scream, duck their body, and cover their hands over their head.  Students were crying and pounding on the doors pleading for the teachers to let them back in. In other classes desks were being flipped over to use as shields. One kid (this is so high school) took a picture of a teacher’s butt with his cell phone when she was crouched on the ground. He then sent the picture to his friends as if to say, “Hey look. It’s our teacher’s butt.” We stampede back to class and hide in the corner, half the class in tears. The whole scenario looked something like this:

We were then called out of our classes for a second time to find out that the SWAT team was dressed in civilian clothing. There was some miscommunication (duh) and the assistant principle had announced the all clear when they had known none the wiser. The “intruders” happened to be students in the drama class who had decided to do camouflage make-up for their assignment. They also thought it would be a good idea to wear their army gear and walk around the school. The principal’s office saw them on the camera’s, didn’t recognize them, and called for the lockdown. The “intruders” heard the announcement and hid in the locker rooms with the gym class from themselves. 

What can we learn from this story? Regardless of how cool you think you are, polos from the seventies belong in the seventies.

Being mean to Whitney

                When I was in my Catholic grade school we had to go to church every Wednesday morning and it was the worst. First of all we had to stand and kneel all the time and the ratio of standing/kneeling to sitting seemed highly disproportionate to my ten year old brain. Sometimes for some reason there would be a bunch of old people who came to the Mass and they would get the good comfy seats up front and we would have to sit the back of the church where I would compare myself to Rosa Parks. I would get really really hot at Mass. Like, so hot I thought I would pass out (which I tried to do sometimes because I knew that everyone would then pay attention to me but I could never force myself to make it happen.) Back then I thought that maybe old people just get really cold or the power of Jesus was enveloping me. In retrospect I realize that it was probably because I was fat and in a crowded room. 

                Anyway, whenever I was in trouble or sometimes when I was so hot at church that I couldn’t bear it, I would start to cry uncontrollably (actually controllably but I was an acTOR so it looked uncontrollable) and I would cry out, “My parents are divor-hor-horced!!” This usually got me out of anything as I assumed all the Catholic teachers were like, “Well his parents are going to Hell so I better have him sit in a dark corner somewhere…”

                The previous was a long story introduction to tell you that my parents are divorced. BUT REEEEMARRRIEED! This means more presents at Christmas. So here is how my familia works. Mom and Dad had Sam and Brad. They got divorced. Mom got remarried to Stepdad and had Whitney and Sarah. Dad got remarried to Stepmom and had Tommy. I am 21, Sam is 20, Whitney is 14, Sarah is 12, and Tommy is 6. 

                The previous was a long story (yeah I said previous to start two paragraphs… Can I get some more previous up in dis ma?! )to introduce you to my family so you know who I’m talking about when I talk about them. So Whitney is our least favorite member of the family. Not really but sort of. My sister and I were so used to everything being all about us that when she was old enough to start crawling down the stairs to our play room we would barricade the door with cardboard bricks that looked like stone. We called them Castle Blocks. Sometimes when she was being especially annoying with her wanting to play with us we would say, “Whitney! Guess what? There’s ice cream upstairs!” Her two year old eyes would light up like giant watery fireworks. “Go upstairs and tell mama to get you some!” … Stepdad comes downstairs. “You guys can’t tell Whitney that she can have ice cream.” As she eats her ice cream… and begins to ruin EVERYTHING. We worked really hard on our Barbie Fashion show and she wasn’t invited. 

                Whit was super smart and probably the kindest person in my whole family (until she turned 13 and the Devil inhabited her soul.) She was the middle child to every extent of the word. There is a hallway in Mom and Stepdad’s house where big pictures of Sam, Sarah, and I hang on one wall and Whitney is by herself on the other wall. Sometimes my parents would forget about her. We went to Dairy Queen and Stepdad got everyone a hot dog (including the friend that Sarah brought with) but forgot to get Whitney one. One time she got stuck in an elevator. One time she walked off an elevator when she was five and no one chased after her to tell her that it was the wrong floor. Stepdad clearly favors Sarah (not really but Sam and I make sure to point out to Whit when he does something nice for Sarah.)

Sometimes conversations go like this:

Brad: Sam, who is your favorite sister?

Sam: Sarah, duh.

Brad: Sam, who is the fattest person here?

Sam: Ummmmmm, Whitney.

Brad: Sam, did you know that Whit was adopted? Her parents were fat demented heads that didn’t want her.

Whitney: You guuuyyyys. Sto-ho-hop.

Sam: What is that annoying buzzing? Brad, do you want to go to Starbucks just us two with no one else invited?

Brad: Duh.

The problem is now she is so sure of herself and nothing brings her down because we forced her to evolve a giant shell of confidence. And now we HAVE to pick on her to bring her down a little bit. 

Sam: Mom Whitney’s high school problem is that she has too much self confidence. What was my high school problem?

Whitney: I can hear you!!

Sometimes Sarah makes up lies about Whitney.

Sarah: Whitney started eating before we prayed.

Sarah: Whitney failed her test today.

Sarah: Whitney tooted. Gross. It smells like her hair.

None of these statements were true. 

One time Sam and Whit were walking the dogs and Whitney dropped Hyper Dog’s leash, twice. The first time was because she’s dumb and the second time because Sam threw a bag Passive Dog’s poop at her. Completely warranted. Whit was being a brat and said, “I refuse to pick up poop. I don’t do that.” 

So what is today’s lesson? Well Whit gets all A’s in school, is really pretty, popular but not too popular, has super thick skin, and is really really stubborn. It all goes back to ma gurl, Rosa. Whitney rose like a terrible phoenix and now she can conquer anything but she’s become just as mean as my sister and I. More conversations of us being mean to her to follow.