Disclaimer: I don’t care that you know about the word ambivert.
Much like the Prodigal Son returning to his family after spending months living in filth and working at a pigsty as a lowly swineherd, I went back to my hometown for Christmas after spending months living in New Jersey and working at the Barstool office as a troll blogger. Home for me is Wheeling, West Virginia and as you’d probably assume from the “West Virginia” following its name, the city of Wheeling is a boring and dismal piece of shit.
It’s not southern enough in the state to have the excitement factor that comes with Moonshine/Incest culture, and it’s not large or developed enough to have any other type of excitement factor that tends to come with modernized cities and towns. It does have a casino though, if you enjoy playing slots amongst a battalion of diabetic Walking Dead extras equipped with oxygen tanks and armed with multipurpose insulin syringes. We also have rolling hills and scenic views, just in case any of you brainless scarecrows from Kansas were starting to feel a modicum of superiority.
I swear to Dorothy’s ruby slippers and @ColeyVance’s tongue that this isn’t a photoshopped image.
What a fitting slogan for taking the leap.
Anyway, none of that is even remotely relevant—I just needed to introduce the fact that I went home for the holiday break and spent some quality time interacting with extended family members for the first time in 365 days. It was a fun-filled Christmas celebration, and after my third or fourth “bathroom trip” to my bedroom that exceeded the length of a Game of Thrones season finale, the family’s conversation delved into me and my social deficits.
My introspective 19-year-old cousin (to whom I feel no attraction) just finished her first semester of college and was eager to analyze my personality with the newfound wealth of knowledge she obtained from Introduction to Psychology chapters 1–5 and esteemed BuzzFeed publications, such as This Cookie Quiz Will Reveal Your Introvert/Extrovert Status.
Like some type of supergenius hybrid of Isabel Myers and Katharine Briggs, she then proceeded to
peg me label me as an introvert—a diagnosis that conveniently excused my antisocial behaviors the rest of the night—and inform everyone that she is, as bizarre as this sounds, neither an introvert nor an extrovert. Jaws dropped and eyes widened as she bravely announced to the room that she fell in the rare category of humans who identify as an introverted extrovert—or simply, an ambivert—or even, an omnivert.
I’d imagine there’s a couple others.
I have nothing against my cousin, besides the fact that she’s aggressively annoying and singlehandedly deterring me from ever considering fatherhood, so I’m not going to pick on her any more. However, Uranus is finally (!!!) out of retrograde, so I’d be doing my aura a disservice if I didn’t address a topic that’s important to me.
In the spirit of unbridled delusion, I remember first noticing the trend of social media users clamoring to identify as bullshit like “introverted extroverts” and “ambiverts” around 2015. Back then, I prioritized things like having fun and enjoying life over finding reasons to be mad at the internet, so I didn’t think too much of it. In recent months however, there seems to have been a retrogressive resurgence of young men and women clinging to new-age faux personality types as ways to define themselves as people and make up for their lack of…anything interesting.
Excuse me, ma’am. I believe the “expiration” you’re referring to is the natural human tendency to want to go home and sleep after a night out.
Why did this fictitious Urban Dictionary definition of the aforementioned “personality type” resonate with over 100,000 people on Twitter alone? Because it’s describing a regular fucking human being. You’re not different for being more quiet and reserved when you’re in an unappealing and uncomfortable situation. You’re just not a psychopath or tweaking on methamphetamines. You’re not unique for being more talkative and outgoing when you’re having fun in a comfortable social situation. You’re just not a serial killer or a serial Redditor.
One might assume that being addicted to occasionally doing something is difficult. One might even go as far as calling that an oxymoron. But as someone who’s been an Aquarius for nearly a lifetime, I can confidently say that I, unlike people born in different months, have an uncontrollable, full-blown addiction to sometimes wanting to be alone. For example, when I get tired late at night, I occasionally feel the urge to go to sleep in my bed, as opposed to staying awake and talking to others. It’s hard for me to put into words but thankfully, I found a fellow Double A (Aquarian Ambivert) who brilliantly described our rare charachteristics:
You Don’t Have “Ambivert Problems,” You Just Have Problems
Oh, so you just have the ability to socialize? Sorry, but I prefer girls who are physically and mentally incapable of socializing (hello, vegetables).
Someone unfamiliar with the term might conclude from those three posts above that an ambivert is a synonym of sorts for, perhaps, cunt?
The funniest part of all of this is when major websites geared toward millennials and college kids publish real articles that reinforce the idea that these “personality types” are actual things. Not only that, but they attempt to give these
introverted extroverts ambiverts humans reasons to feel (I’m not sure which of these is the most comical) afflicted, proud, extraordinary, and (probably this one) more intelligent than others.
Here it is. Elite Daily, which has over 3 million followers on Facebook, used their gigantic platform to convince idiots that having both introverted and extroverted qualities (being a conscious person) is comparable to being fluent in multiple languages. That’s actually hilarious and awesome.
So yeah, none of this shit is (obviously) a thing. You’re not unique, or even anything at all, because you’re part of the bell portion of a bell curve. I guess the moral of this story is that it’s okay to just be remarkably uninteresting and boring. You know what else is remarkably uninteresting and boring but seems to be doing just fine?
It cannot be overstated that the highest point in Kansas is just a fucking prairie. Like the absolute apex of the entire state is just a flat fucking field. But if that doesn’t entice you to make the hike, the prominent peak also has some exhilarating features, like….rocks…and a metal sculpture…and of course, a mail box.
I love how all of the five star reviews for Kansas’ top attractions ironically serve as anti-marketing tactics for the state.
This should yield some fun results…
I can’t tell if this was some kind of Twitter-organized comedy bit or if people from Kansas were sincerely suggesting that going to Missouri is the coolest thing you can do in Kansas.
Kansas being known for tornadoes was quite literally one of the only remotely cool things about the state. Now that that ship has sailed, I guess they have to cling to…
Driving under the influence!
Go fuck a dead pheasant, Kansas. And happy Tuesday, everyone else.