soilent green and soilent blue

I read recently on someone's blog how he delineated people into two categories: people who respect others' space and those who don't. I guess he means close-talkers. I get that. I have personal space issues, never like my back to the room, etc. However, you can get in my face close enough to French kiss me, I don't care, so long as you can laugh at yourself.

I divide people into two races: those who can take shit and those who can't.

I have to work at not letting people who take themselves too seriously get under my skin. The rest of you glide by and around and through me like quintessential grinning ghosts, but if you're that guy in the mini-van with all the stickers on your Thule (no amount of stickers can make a minivan cool, dude, but nice try) parked in the middle of the hug-n-go lane at school cuz your kiddo can't walk ten feet from the door to your car, then I must consciously draw a deep breath and give you the benefit of the doubt. Your kid is autistic, I tell myself, or has separation issues. You just got back from Iraq. I can make all sorts of excuses on your behalf. I tell myself the guy who bolts around me on the highway has a kid in the emergency room. I turn my cheek at Type-As, nay, I embrace them. It's my way of getting through life without getting all worked up over things that have little impact on the scheme of life.

But if I meet you at a social function and give you shit, you better be able to take it as well as you can dish it, or trust me, there'll be hell to pay. I relish the opportunity to beat your self-importance into submission. Just try me.

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