My bitter introduction

Why blog about being angry? Frankly, I have nothing better to offer the blabber-sphere. And if Larry David can make millions pissing people off, I should at least get a little social therapy out of it.

The funny part is, I have no reason to be angry, really.

I grew up in a nice home. I met a nice girl. She agreed to marry me and now we have a real nice little daughter. I even have a nice job.

But for some reason, I can hardly leave the house without developing some kind of rift. I never instigate the problem, but before I know it, things start pouring out of my hate-hole and that really cheeses people off.

And for whatever reason, when I recount the stories to those few I can still call my friends - people who know my crustiness all too well - I somehow provide as much amusement (my wife withstanding) as I do scorn, created by the incident itself.

A few recent examples:

• I tried to procure the services of a handyman who came highly recommended. He seemed to have a tough time scheduling me in so I said, "if you're too busy, I can try to find another handyman." He replied, "go ahead and find one then," and hung up on me. I clearly upset him, but how? I was trying to be sensitive to his time. Was he upset that I thought someone else might be capable of drilling some holes in my wall? Or did he feel that I wasn't patient enough with his very busy handyman schedule? What I came to learn later from the person who recommended him, is that handymen, don't appreciate being called "handymen." Who knew?
  
• My coworkers and I decided to go out for some "team-building" drinks. The head of our department started a tab and it was mutually understood that all cocktails ordered would be covered by the company. Very nice. However, the drinks were being poured like it was the great depression and after three thimblefuls which left me sober and thirsty, I asked the bartender if that was her typical pour. She grabbed the drink out of my hand. I thought she was going to pour more in. Instead, she poured the contents back into the little stainless steel shot measuring device to demonstrate the accuracy of her pour. It still didn't measure up, even with the freshly melted ice contributing to the booze. I pointed that out as nicely as possible, and she asked me if I was complaining about drinks that someone else was buying for me. I replied "yes, as a matter of principle, I was." She didn't 86 me, but she didn't pour me another one of her shitty drinks, either.
• This last one happened a while back, but it seemed to define this era of discontent. I was in New York City on the first hot day of summer. I was only in town for a few more hours and craved a slice of pizza, so my buddy and I walked down to his corner Rays. A large, hairy man, wearing a white wife-beater tossed dough in the front of the shop. So you knew it was good. The young gal behind the counter flirted with the pizza-maker while she took my order - a slice of plain cheese and a bottle of coke. She threw my slice in the oven to warm up (unnecessary, but thoughtful) and grabbed my coke out of the fridge, glistening with drops of refreshing condensation. She walked up behind the big, hairy pizza maker and wiped my bottle of coke across the nape of his neck to cool him off. She proceeded to place the bottle and slice in front of me and ring me up for the three dollars and 75 cents. I in turn, asked her for a bottle of coke that didn't have dude's sweat on it. Both the bottle and the slice were removed from the counter and I was asked to leave the establishment with a look that clearly said, "if that pizza maker's sweat isn't good enough for me, then neither is his pizza."

So I often ask myself, why me?

Is it because I'm an only child and the whole, "doesn't play well with others" thing? Or maybe it's because I moved around a lot and never learned the importance of relationship building. Or did I just listen to way too much Billy Joel as a kid?

I'm just the guy who says out loud what everyone else thinks in their head. Which is just another way of saying I have no tact.  But instead of having one big nervous breakdown at middle-age, I figure, I'll experience a whole bunch of mini-breakdowns everyday, entertaining a few friends along the way.

So in this vein, I will post each cringe-worthy incident as it comes up.
I imagine you'll be hearing from me again soon.