Now stop that, it’s not that kind of blog post today.
There are many things I’m good at. I’m not too modest to admit it. In fact, I know I kick ass at a lot of stuff. There are, however, many things that I am not good at. I don’t mean things I just don’t do that well. I mean things that I really and truly suck at doing. Beyond the point of redemption.
For instance: I cannot draw. Seriously, even my stick figures are ridiculously, comically bad. Even if I were to take art classes for the next 10 years, I would never draw, paint, sculpt, or take photos beyond the level of a ham-handed 3-year-old. Clearly I was not genetically engineered to be an artist. I just don’t have the eye or the talent for it. And that’s okay. That’s why there are people like her and her and him, to name just a few shining examples.
I have the world’s worst poker face. Even Helen Keller could figure out exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. If I don’t like something, I can’t disguise it. It’s not just that I don’t want to disguise it—although that’s part of it—I really can’t disguise it. The expression on my face, my body language, and/or the tone of my voice will give me away every single time, no matter how hard I try to rein myself in. I may as well just have a visible thought balloon hovering over my head that says, “Fuck you.”
Most people I know can I do simple arithmetic in their head. I can’t. I’m very good at math in general, but I can’t calculate stuff unless I do it on paper. Want to see me look like a deer in the headlights? Ask me to figure out everyone’s share of the restaurant check without paper or a calculator. Mr. Weebles can add up all kinds of shit right off the top of his head, while I sit there like this:
I can’t whistle. Every once in a while I can but it’s usually by accident. I also can’t make cartoon popping noises with my mouth. I wish I could because I think those noises are funny. And I can’t roll my r’s, so I’ll never be able to speak any Romance language without sounding pathetically American. Mr. Weebles can do all of these things. He’s the ultimate triple threat, really.
I can’t open boxes and bags without destroying them. I try, I really do. I follow the perforations, I tear where it says “Tear here.” But invariably I end up mutilating the package and spraying the contents all over the room. This is usually followed by “MOTHERFUCKER WHY CAN’T I OPEN BOXES LIKE A PERSON?!?!?” You can always tell which boxes I’ve opened because they’re the ones that look like this:
So these, dear readers, are but a few of the many mad skillz I do not possess. Tell me, what do you suck at?