I am a hypocrite. I own and admit to this.
I’m not proud. I’m not perfect. I’ve always thought owning up to your shortcomings is the best way to remain humble.
And so, I give unto you, ways I am an intolerant ass…
I judge people by their vehicle (no, not in the “you don’t drive a good enough car” kind of way) in that if you drive around in a 1992 Honda Civic with spinning rims and custom paint bumping Toby McGray or whatever twangy nonsense youngsters listen to these days, I will probably roll my eyes at you and you may even get a double-bird for achievement in douchebaggery.
Much in that same vein, if you drive a Hummer and it is not plugged into the wall, covered in solar panels and handing out medications to AIDS patients, you are a pompous ass and I will not feel sorry for you if…well, anything.
If you drive around the WalMart parking lot with your windows down and music up when all I want to do is get across the crosswalk and buy juice boxes without dying, I may cast questionable hexes in your wake.
If I can see your midriff and you are over 12 and not a supermodel, I judge.
If you tell me all your secrets in horrific detail within the first five minutes of our meeting, I’ll probably think you’re weird. Really weird. This is perhaps the most hypocritical of all, because hello, I’m Emily. Have you read my blog?
If you specify race as a way of describing someone, I immediately classify you as a bigot.
If you are a Republican, I immediately either dislike you or want you to explain yourself. This is perhaps the most embarrassing because I firmly believe everyone should be free to have their own beliefs for their own reasons…and if someone made the same statement about Democrats or brunettes I would be highly offended. I suppose that is why this is not my list of reasons I am a fairy princess.
If you “don’t text” you don’t belong in my century. Even my mom texts.
While there are many, many (many) more of these, I will leave it at this.
Like I said before, I’m not proud of any of these things. I despise the feeling of being judged and I realize that my inclinations to do exactly that are wrong on so many levels, but hey, at least I’ve matured some in my standards of judgementery – when I was in high school you were immediately on my questionable list if you didn’t go to church, wear prolife tshirts and date rigidly within the confines of your race and creed.
Maybe when I’m 90 I’ll have this whole live and let live figured out.
The Intolerant Asshole