My SADD Story, and how I got through it

Ever since I was a wee lad, large crowds would make me physically ill. In fact, I still have a bit of trouble with them, though they never make me puke anymore. Unfortunately for me, as a youngster, I did a bit of growing up amongst my mom's family, she being the eldest of 10 children born to my own gradny-paw. A big crowd of people, even when they're family, is still a big crowd of people, so I did my share of barfing as a kid.

Some time in my teenage years, I misdiagnosed the problem as some kind of social anxiety (an angsty, 13 year old hobbledehoy, I would at times seriously consider the idea that I was perhaps retarded, but no one had ever bothered to tell me, like the grocery bagger with down syndrome at the supermarket). At this point though, it didn't fuckin' matter, because I had also discovered girls, and girls did not, by any means, consort with any boys who might be called "Socially Awkward".

I immediately abandoned Weird Al for NWA. I traded my Chemistry set for some Z. Cavericcis. Instead of taking extra classes at school, I tried my hand at a fistfight or two, and skipping school entirely. I wasn't sure why, but somehow my discovering girls - and girls discovering the omnipotent powers of their own two breasts - directly coincided with an unforeseen, insurmountable necessity in my world to... well... be, uh... cool?

What the hell is cool?! There was no way to know. I had to look around. See what other kids were doing. How were they getting along? Was being "cool" about being smart? About clothes? Music? Boobs? Sports? I never did find out what cool was, despite a solid ten years of searching. I did learn something in my valiant, hard fought efforts to fit in though. I learned that one can get a big crowd of people to say, do or believe just about anything they want. I learned how to be a part of a crowd. How to appreciate it, how to get drunk and laid in it, and how to like it like that (you like it like that?). But even so, my inner outcast was always there. Along with nerd in the closet, the artist under the rug, and the drunkard beneath the bed. I felt like my life was spiraling out of control and into "a true story of seven strangers picked to live in a house, work together and have their lives taped, to find out what happens, when people stopped being polite, and started getting real." I had hit rock bottom, but that's when everything changed.

I suppose these days I'm more "open" about my SADD - or Socially Awkward Dork/Dickwad/Douche/Dritsac Disorder. That's right SADD. It's caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain triggering fits of terribly nerdiness, followed by deep self loathing and the subsequent feeling of urgency to be cool about it. I know that now, thanks to the work of Dr. Whogives Afhatshit PhD, and his new book entitled, "Quit being a douche you SADD mother fucker". In it he discusses techniques on everything from not giving a hot whiskey piss about what other people think; to liking and disliking concepts and ideas strictly on one's own accord. Finally, Dr. Afhatshit reveals the path to thinking (that's right, thinking) all by one's self in an eight... uh, eighty, no, sorry - eighty eight step, easy to use program.

Folks, I'm a real live success story. I can now walk around without worrying about having SADD outbreak, because I give neither fat nor flying fucks about certain social norms. Good thing I've learned how to like and/or dislike something, then use the eighty eight, easy to remember steps to thinking it over. I know for instance that when walking down the street, a proper distance at which to acknowledge the presence of someone you recognize is approximately eight feet. Any longer, and your waving hands, goonish smile and "hello there" noises become nothing but plain buffoonery. Not giving the afore mentioned pisses, shits, or fucks is what allows me to react loudly at distances of up to twenty feet, at which point an individual is hardly recognizable. Most of the time, it's not even the person I thought it was. Man that's funny!

I guess I was kind of a douche for all those years, but now I realize that there's more to it than that. While I did consistently act like a complete dickwad, I know now that the real me was here all along, and the real you is right there too. Right now. The fear of being our true selves is the real douche, not you and I.

The power to get over having SADD is in you, little dingleberry, so call today. I can still hear Dr. Afhatshit saying, in a thick, mad-scientist accent, "Besht karate still unt ze inshide!" while standing with his arm around a life size cut-out of Mr. Miyagi. I don't know why he said that, but he was probably right.