What's that you said?

I've neglected my bitterness. Time to correct that error:

I have a friend who is getting married. Yep, the same one who earlier this year was up in her boyfriend's shizz at the ripe old age of 51 years. You may remember this irritation from this post. This is the same friend who stressed to me, time and time again, that weddings these days are too over the top--there's no need for a full dinner at the reception, no need for numerous wedding showers, no need for an elaborate honeymoon, blah. blah. blah. Well, I hope she likes the taste of irony. From the moment that the down-on-one-knee picture showed up on Facebook, life is all about the perfect engagement party, the perfect ring, the perfect outfit, the perfect cake, the perfect wedding date. Le sigh.

In the more compassionate compartments of my heart, I am thankful that she is excited, thankful she is marrying someone she loves, and thankful she has involved in planning an exciting series of events. As a matter of fact, this thoughtful, giddy friend has invited me to a wedding cake tasting at our favorite local bakery this Sunday afternoon. So thoughtful. Have a moment to think, "Awwwww."

Now move on to the wording of the actual invitation email:

Okay, this Sunday is cake tasting at Ye Local Bakery from 1 – 3 p.m. Either or both of you want to go? Monkey's Mom– the website says no children – sorry. Don’t know if Monkey's Dad will be home or not.

Anyway, thought it would be fun. Just let me know if you can go.

Are you fucking kidding me? I have told Aging Bride no less than 10 times that Monkey's Dad works every freaking Saturday and Sunday. Every.One. In addition, he works everyday until 3pm, not home until 4pm. I would like to think that she has paid one iota of attention to my day-to-day life. This truly makes me insane, and I couldn't figure out how the hell to respond without being a bitch, so I've yet to respond. If I did remove my filter, this is what I would say:

I'm sure you just forgot that Monkey's Dad works every weekend. Every one. Without fail. Remember when I told you that he would have to request time off for your perfect, every-detail-planned-out Engagement Party? Yep. Well, turns out that he is working this Sunday, too. Surprising, isn't it? While I appreciate you wanting me to be involved in planning your big day, a little bit of attention to my effing life would go a long way toward me thinking that I'm not just an adoring placeholder in your sea of friends.

Try paying attention to someone else's life and maybe it'd be worth getting a babysitter for the Monkey for cake tasting, because, you know, Monkey's dad works on Sundays. I mention this again due tot the high probability that you have already forgotten this teensy detail of my life.
Thanks for the invite,
Monkey's Mom

Too harsh?

Vanilla or Rocky Road?

So my husband and I have these friends. . . well he has the friend, and I have the wife. Lucky me. Early in our relationship I learned that she and I have nothing in common. Zero. Zilch. (except both working in child-focused careers) I like to refer to her as "Vanilla," which translates to "Boring-as-Hell." After the first few awkward social gatherings (my own personal hell), Hubby was threatened to never again go off and do "boy things" in the garage, leaving me and Vanilla to do "girl things" by ourselves. Fortunately, with life moving the way it does, we rarely see this couple, and with kids around it is far more likely that Hubby sees Husband-of-Vanilla by himself. I am okay with that. Soooo okay.

Vanilla ended up on the reading list of my nicey-blog. I think I felt bad for being such a bitch when she is truly a kind person and wakes up shitting rainbows and stuff. I try not to read it because it's all about how great life is and how great God is to bless her in her all-white, prosperity doctrine, subservient woman, gay-bashing Bible church world. Gag.

Naturally my attention was snagged today when her post read "First Day of Homeschool" and was complete with first-day pictures in front of their house, pictures of ABC snacks, and stories of calendar time on the front porch. She "can't wait to do it all again tomorrow!" Really? Why is it that the Bible-churchers feel the need to home-school? Call me crazy, but isn't the purpose of theirevangelical denomination? So that they can send their privileged, lily-white children to school with the heathens and general brown kids and show them how if they believe God will give them money, a house in suburbia, a mommy who stays home while daddy goes to work, and playgroups galore with other lily-whites and desperate housewives? Oh, and the security of knowing that the real world means everyone gets a ribbon, all kids are that smart and that if you believe in God and follow all prescribed rules you get to lead the same charmed life of your parents.

My questions are these: What is so threatening about the dirty kid, picking his nose at Circle Time? You know, the one who lives in (gasp!) an apartment? How do you pick teaching as a profession, go to work in an under-privileged area for years and then decide what you did for a living isn't good enough for your own kid?

I.don't.get.it

Interview Oops

Part of my job is to interview potential employees(who all hold advanced degrees and will be working with children), which over time I've learned is a fine art. After seeing several new hires go down the drain rather quickly, I've learned some real nuggets of wisdom. For anyone who might be interviewing soon, I hope these tips help you out.

1. Be on time (I'm fairly certain all know this one, but just in case).

2. When asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to tell us about yourself?," don't say, "Well, I got into 3 car accidents last year" and then launch into details. Turns out we were looking for accomplishments of which you might feel proud.

3. Don't call the interviewer "girlfriend" within the first three minutes of conversation. Awkward. We aren't friends and you don't have this in the bag.

4. Referring to your direct reports as "divas" is not the impression you want to give when interviewing for a management position.

5. It is suspicious to report never having a conflict with a co-worker in a 25 year job history. Really, no one is that likable. No one.

6. On the same topic, admitting that you quit a job because someone didn't agree with you might leave the interviewers suspicious of your staying power.

7. Glittery fingernails do not convey the image of responsibility, dependability or maturity. In fact, that's all the interviewer could stare at during the interview. It was that or the adjustable Hello Kitty ring on your finger that was directly out of the 50 cent gumball machine.

8. It might be a mistake to readily admit lying to parents who ask if you have kids of your own. It is a TINY bit funny that you answer "three" when really referring to your pets, but eventually the families with which you work might catch on and know you LIED.

9. Mentioning your dad (who sounds like an over-bearing asshole) about 50 times in the interview. You are a big girl now and we honestly will not tell your dad that you didn't pass that test. . . mainly because you won't be working here. But if you did, we still wouldn't tell him. .. interestingly enough, that's illegal.

10. If you hide your crazies long enough to make through the interview all the way to being hired, coming to work late everyday of the first week is a bad idea. And then when you are out watching other employees work with children, sleeping instead of observing and not washing your hands upon exiting the restroom are sure-fire ways to be lead straight out the door. When told your day is done at the job, putting your head in your hands and saying, "Why can't I ever make a job work?" doesn't make us feel sorry for you. It really only confirms a correct decision was made.

And this my friends, is gold standard advice. Turns out that the things I took for granted that everyone knew was totally, utterly wrong.

Junk Food Wars

It was snacky time in our house and Monkey was demanding food. Stat. My dear, sweet husband takes out saltine crackers to feed the Monkey.

Me: Please don't give him those. . .

Husband: What's wrong with these crackers?

Me: They have no nutritional value and we have plenty of healthy snacks.

Husband: But he likes them. (He says this as if saying, anything Monkey likes, Monkey gets. This is SO not the case.)

Me: I know he does, but we've both struggled with weight. I'd rather him eat something nutritious.

Husband says nothing and returns the saltines to the pantry. Internally, I think, "I WIN!" Wrong. Out come Pop! Chips. Really?

Me: (Dramatic sigh)

Husband: What?!

Me: (Internal eye roll and dramatic sigh) Those aren't all that nutritious, either. How about some fruit?

Husband: Fine. You get him a snack.

Me: (Righteous indignation and eye roll AND internal sigh) Okay.

Internally, I scream, "I win!" This is also the man that tried to debate with me if frozen pizza is a junk food. (P.S. I won that one, too. I mean who buys a Totino's pizza for the health factor?)

Questionable Stupidity

How does anyone succeed in our day-and-time without basic computer skills? And by anyone, I mean someone below the age of 50 with a Master's Degree. Astounding.

I had a new employee in my office last week asking how to complete some documentation. When I suggested she 'copy and paste' information from one screen to another, she stared at me blankly and said, "How do I do that?" Um. Are you effing kidding me? I know my face probably screamed this thought, despite my best intentions to keep the judgment quiet. I calmly suggested that she highlight the text. Blank stare. Fuck. Okay, time to back pedal even further. . . and on it went.

I'm no computer genius, I readily admit that. What I wonder, though, is how this lovely lady completed any research paper in college? Was she plunking out her thoughts by rolling in paper page-by-page in a good old-fashioned type writer? It makes me suspicion that her skill deficit is that she's stupid is a global fashion. I know this likely isn't true. I do. It's just difficult for me to find any evidence that there's an excuse for her not know how to highlight text. Really? Have you used a fucking mouse before? I was waiting for her to ask what 'click' meant. I'm pretty sure that would mean me beating my head with naked abandon on a tabletop. No hiding those feelings.

All talk and no action. . .

Sometimes being bitchy can come back to bite me in the ass. I feel like with all the hate and disgust that I share regarding my in-laws I have to own up when they do something kind, right?

On my nicey-nice blog this week, I posted some of my insecurities especially in light of my almost-perfect sister moving though life so gracefully. Damn if my mother-in-law didn't send me the nicest-sounding email. She has all the right words. I'll let you judge for yourself:

Each time I read your blog I come away loving you even more..........I admire how you are able to share your innermost feelings and thoughts so candidly. You are an amazing woman, wife and mother and I just want you to know how much I admire you, appreciate you and love you. When I go on Facebook, which isn't very often, and I see a little post you've made about loving your husband, being a mother to Monkey, and enjoying your life, I am so blessed. I think you are a beautiful woman.........you have a smile that could stop traffic and don't EVER let anyone make you feel that you don't have style...........girl...you've got it!! I wish I had HALF of your style!!!

And, I think you are an amazing mother.........I love how you would wrap Monkey in those papoose blankets and rock him and love on him..........look at what a happy little boy he is??!!! And a smile just like his mother...........

You could write a book!!! No kidding!!!

Now you're thinking--how could this bitchy mystery-writer be so hateful to someone with such kind words? Ahem. I know it. And this, this is why my husband has mass quantities of confusion about how the hell to feel about his mother. Here's the secret: she's got the words, what she's lacking are the ACTIONS. Every time I think, oh shit, I've totally misread this situation--she really is a kind, loving mother and I've forced my husband to be alienated from his family for no good reason--I'm just hateful. Then I remind myself of the ways that his parents haven't been there and how his therapist says to run far, far away from that crazy lady and her words. While she sounds all nice and love in this email, trust me when I say she's all talk and no action. And sometimes, the talk without action just makes you want to bitch slap people because that hurts. I doesn't hurt me--I am not affected by her opinions, but damn it, it hurts my husband. Hence the desire to bitch slap. Turns out I'm all talk and no action when it comes to bitch slapping. Too bad, hmm?

Stating the Obvious

This conversation actually occured in my home today:
Me: Honey, did you wash Monkey's face after breakfast?

Hubby: Yes.

Me: Okay.

Hubby: Why?

Me: (And yes, I did have to answer. . .) Because his face is dirty.


So that wasn't the end of the of the questionable statements today. . .I tell you, it is hard to be the brain for a household.

Me(via text message:) I feel terrible. Pretty sure I have a sinus infection.

Hubby: Oh, I'm sorry honey. Go to the doctor.

Me: No need, just a cold.

Later, as I'm giving the little squirt a bath,

Hubby: So, you aren't better? You still feel bad?

Me: Well, I'm not miraculously better since 3 hours ago. . .

Hubby: That wasn't very nice, what you said just now.

Uhhh. I'm not nice? How 'bout he didn't think. . . for the second time today?

With Child

I temporarily channeled my less-than-nice side into relief from my feet pounding the pavement, but I'm ready to connect with my inner f-bomb again.

My mother-in-law is going to be a great-grandmother. Irony of ironies--GREAT-grandmother. Ha. If 'great' grandparenting skills involve seeing your grandchildren less than 10 times in their lives and maybe, maybe, sending a text for a birthday wish, then that woman is great. Her email to my husband said "I found out/discovered on Facebook that Sarah (her lesbian oldest daughter's child) is with child. Tara (claimed daughter, full sister of my husband)says that Laura (lesbian oldest daughter)has a chronic lump in her throat. I might call/text later to feel it out."

Here are my issues:
1. Who the hell uses a term like "with child" without a hint of humor?
2. Really, if anyone normal found out from FACEBOOK that their grandchild was with child would it be admitted in such a blase' way? Is there no feeling of being ashamed?
3. The complete lack of emotional response to finding that a grandchild (I use this term only technically) is having a child is appalling. She is single. She is without an education. Perhaps a little concern, excitement, something might be appropriate?
4. I sure the hell hope that I can provide some genuine concern to my child/children when they are grown. Remember, this is her first-born. The oldest child that she abandoned. I suppose in light of your mom leaving when you are 8, a text to ask how you are feeling is considerate, heh?

She really disgusts me. Really freaking disgusts me. The lack of sincere emotion turns my stomach, leaving it roiling in a greasy, hungover feeling.. . . or maybe that's the leftovers from the last cocktail of the evening. Either is possible.

Taking Responsibility

This week has been so freakin' crazy that I simply have had no time to post about my irritations. No. time. Mostly my irritations have been inwardly-focused. . . I don't know if that's good or bad or if it just is. I say stupid things. My inner voice torments me with thoughts attacking my self-esteem. Why? Is this the truth for all thinking people? Sigh. I don't know. But I do know that after seeing a disgusting picture of myself, I am determined to make some changes to make myself healthier. And truthfully, I've been convinced my whole life that if I were skinny, I'd be ridiculously happy. Yeah. Not true. I think?

Anyway. . .my husband got angry with me today for forgetting to remind him to take his checkbook to pay or childcare provider. Angry. Because he doesn't remember 'dates like that.' I am still puzzled as how this is more my responsibility than his. We both work. We both parent. How is his oversight my fault? Yeah. I don't know either. And before you wonder, I didn't in anyway shame him or blame him. .. only suggested he stop by the bank to get cash to pay her.

It makes me ape-shit angry that he can't accept responsibility for ANYTHING. Of course, as it might be apparent from other entries, I blame all of this on his parents. Parents that said things like, "Why did you do that? What are you--stupid?" I still can't freakin' fathom how anyone could say that to their child. Or any child. It turns an incident in his grown-up life from being an "oops" to a full-blown blame game which in turn, leads to an argument. All because I can't let it go. In my head, letting it go would make me that subservient wife, and surely that's not me.

Let me tell you a little ditty:
Once upon a time, many moons ago, my parents, husband and I went to a baseball game. A baseball game in the blazing heat of early June. Now we stayed because we were devoted, sweaty fans. After escaping from the heat, we stopped at Sonic, the source of all that is good in frozen-drink land, to purchase PowerAde slushes to refresh our sweltering souls. Ahhhh. Relief.

Predictably, a few miles down the road, my mom and I had to use the facilities. Stat. There was no way that we could make it the hour and a half longer to reach the comfort of our own homes. We stopped at a convenience store to run in. My dear husband and I were riding in the back seat of my dad's extended-cab pick-up. You know, the kind where the back half-door opens the opposite way? Well being the considerate child I am, I placed my liquid-gold slushy in the cup holder at the bottom of said backwards door. Unbeknownst to me, when I closed the door, the top-heavy cup turned over and spilled my frozen treat all over the floor of my dad's beloved truck. Oops.

I believe my dad something like, "Oh, let's clean that up." No big deal, because it was an accident. You may now be wondering why I would recall such an inconsequential episode? A valid question, to be sure. It is embedded in my memory because my dear husband (boyfriend at the time) was AMAZED that my dad wasn't angry. Amazed. This is such insight into his reactions and his childhood. Why would my dad be angry with me over an accident? Even if it was a sticky mess? I wasn't careless. I wasn't being irresponsible. It was just one of those things.

And this, this is why my husband can't take responsibility. And it is also why he makes me want to scream and beat my head against the wall. Or yell "fuck" really loudly. Or even all of the above. All while praying that my child can grow up to take responsibility and that I'm not jacking him up in the way my in-laws did to my husband.

Family Always Welcome?

My sister-in-law invited herself to visit us. I know family is supposed to have an open invitation and all that, but not when it's my husband's family. And there was not even an obligatory phone call to me to arrange details, although I did get a trip itenirary today with her suggested travel dates and her selected flights. Great. (please read in your head with the most sarcasm possible)

Compounding my distaste for this visit is that my husband works on weekends, with Monday and Tuesday as his days off. Every weekend. He's had this schedule for 2 years. Two. Years. We (read: husband) have told the sister multiple, and I mean multiple, times of this schedule, but her alcohol-soaked brain hasn't retained the knowledge.

Her visits are never quite as bad as I anticipate, but I hate pretending. The Sister is ALL about pretending that she has the greatest parents in the world and pretending we are all one happy family when the last time she had a conversation of any depth and meaning with her brother was at least two years ago.

Her visit to us when our son was 6 weeks old consisted of asking if he "did anything else" when he was lying on the floor. Umm. Yeah. She also attempted to distract a group of two four year-olds by turning around, lowering her pants while simultaneously lifting her top to show of her tramp stamp. This, while saying, "Hey look kids, wanna see my tattoo?"

It was an SNL skit brought to life and so bizarre that I cna't make shit like this up. Needless to say, I am thrilled about this impending visit.

Did I mention that she also never shuts the hell up? Should be fun. No wonder my husband will willingly take vacation in order to prevent me from being alone with her for extended periods of time. Smart choice. Yet another reason I love this man.

Raindrops on Roses and Stuffed Animals in Windows

My coworker (we'll call her Yvonne for the purposes of this post) has a stuffed Smurf wedged into the ledge where the windshield and driver door meet. She's 33, maybe even 34, and I don't get it. To be honest, I never have. How does a self-respecting person with a career decide that

"You know what my car needs? A stuffed animal in the window. That's how I'll complete my look."

Needless to say, I try to like this girl. Yvonne has her good side, but the dingy-I'm-so-spacey routine wears thin about 30 seconds into her high-pitched tinkling laugh. Bottom line is that most ditzy people kinda drive me ape-shit. They drive me double ape-shit (I have a feeling there are more descriptive terms, but we'll stick with that one) when, clearly, an individual with a Master's degree has a lick of sense that they are choosing not to use. . . or to broadcast that they have. And how the hell do you go into social work and then not want to go to 'gross' places, like county healthcare doctor's offices? Isn't that contra-indicated on the job description?

Yvonne also requires a GPS to locate places that she frequents. And she smacks. Loudly. MAJOR irritation. And she has little-to-no initiation or follow-through unless someone leads her by her sweet little hand through the minutia of a process that is printed out in front of her.

Remember how I said that I try to like Yvonne? I think this post is my realization that phase has officially come to a close. The stuffed animal in the window should have been my tip-off long ago.

Praise and Hallelujah

My wacked mother-in-law (yes,her again) sent us the following text today:

Dad wz offrd a contingt offr of empjymnt w/ ft myrs arprt for job. PTL

Uhhh. Yep. "PTL"=Praise the Lord. (Heaven points) Because I am certain that God totally orchestrated the man getting a job offer. Never mind that they moved off 2 and a half years ago, half-way across the country, without jobs to take care of a 92 year old man. Predictably, this man is no longer living. Surprise. Also surprisng that there weren't jobs in an area devastated by the recession.

Job for Father-in-Law=In-laws staying far, far away from us= me, PTL.

THAT family member

You know you have one. Everyone does. Right? If they don't, then I am totally rationalizing by sticking to it. One of my cousins, one who is THAT family member, except when I'm talking about my cousin in prison (ahhh! Did I just type that?)made a horrid comment in a public forum. Like one where people could see that I know him and that we share grandparents. (*Insert grimace here*)

Scenario:
I made an innocent comment on my other cousin, his sister's facebook, about her 19 year-old son and his kissy-face pictures, complete with girlfriend hickey. I was mostly kidding about him being too young to have a "love of his life." Funny right? Yeah, so my incredibly biggoted boy-cousin pipes up and says (and this is a direct quote):

He is 19 years old and a Marine, I think he's old enough to have a girlfriend and kiss, I would be totally distrubed if he didn't, they are first loves what do think they are going to do?
Really? Especcially since all the PC people except all the gay faggots?

I don't even know what point the last bit is supposed to make, but I do know that he used the term "gay faggots" in real life. SHEESH. How embarrassing is that? Rationally, I know that his ignorance doesn't reflect on me or make me ignorant, but I try really damned hard to be all open and accepting and stuff. Sigh.

And this is how "THAT cousin" got the label of "THAT cousin." Of course, the title was helped along by his full on, hard core make-out session on the dance floor of my weddin'. HUGH-MILL-EEE-AY-TING. Like people rushed over to me (the bride) and asked who was mugging down. Wow. Just wow.

Do you think THAT cousin deserves the term "faggot?" Yeah, I totally agree.

Everyone has THAT family member, right? Right?

Irritated without a cause

Does this happen to you? It happens to me all the time. Most of the time I am a nice, compassionate person, but then I become irrationally angry, bitter or frustrated for no good reason and it reminds me that, deep-down, I am a bitch. Now I know you're thinking, oh, she can't be all bad, blah, blah, blah. But I know it's true. Let me write you a little diddy about how convinced I am:

1. My mother-in-law sent me a perfectly nice email this week, after I did my good deed of sending her pictures of my son. I swear that every damn sentence ends in an exclamation point, with the cherry on the top of this particular sundae of irritation being her sign off, "Love ya!"

Let me tell ya, that lady Doesn't love me. Doesn't with a capital 'd.' Over the course of my 5 year romance with her son, during which he has been estranged, I am fairly certain that the blame from that estrangement lands right in a fat blob at my feet. I am know this after the 7 month period of her not contacting me when I was pregnant with her grandchild, failing to come to my bridal luncheon because she was "too busy," and behind-the-back conversations with her extended family about my controlling nature over her son that lead his aunt to comment that he needed to "put his foot down" with me. This allows her to absolve herself from any guilt that the estrangement might be possibly due to leaving her 8 year old son in Denver for a month at a time when he was sick. Nothing.to.do.with.that.at.all.

All of this is to say that what most people would find to be a perfectly nice email makes my skin crawl and creates a black smudge on my heart when I see those damned exclamation points.

2. My co-worker, a dear friend, is pregnant and has most recently had some minor complications. This prevented her from fully devoting herself to a whole day of new employee orientation that required me to fill in. Clearly she couldn't help this, but I feel like it's always something. Illogical anger erupted in my soul. How hateful can one person be, anyway? Looks like I'm trying to find out.

3. People who don't think through their own thoughts to make educated opinions. My husband can be like this, I, of course, lay this at the feet of his parents. On "Top Chef" this week, taking place in Washington D.C.(yes, I am a reality tv junkie), we saw a flash of Nancy Pelosi's face.
Him: "Ugh. I hate her. Why would they put her on? She's worthless."
Me: "Why? What about her makes you have such a violent reaction compared to other politicians?"
Him: "She's just terrible."
Me: "I know a lot of people don't like her, but again, why is she worse than the others?"
Him: "I just don't think she's done anything for the country."

I'm pretty certain this means he doesn't really know what she's done. Or hasn't done. But more that his highly educated sports radio commentators bash her, so it must be true, right? Think for yourself!!!!!!!!! Why are you so stoopid to believe someone else's prejudices and swallow their opinions as your own? (That's me screaming at him on the inside. I didn't actually yell.). See, illogical anger?

4. I sincerely hoped for my sister to be at least somewhat miserable while pregnant. Sincerely. I don't hope this for all pregnant women, just her. Her because I know that she thought I was milking my nauseated misery for attention or effect. I know that because she thought that of her other miserably nauseated friend. That's why I was kinda hoping for her to see that no one most people don't actually want to puke their brains into a Wal-Mart bag or at least consider that as a viable option for survival.


And this my friends, is why I easily gather internal righteous indignation and illogical anger. Most it just means that I am a bitch. A bitch full of illogical anger.

Losing my Witness. . . ?

I am not certain exactly what this phrase is supposed to mean, but I had a parent of a child with whom I work drop it in conversation today.

Conversation:

Parent: I am glad you weren't here a few minutes ago, you would have really seen me lose my temper.
Me: Oh?
Parent: Blah, blah, blah (how a government official made her angry, totally legit) and then I lost it and used a bad word and totally 'lost my witness.'
Me: Ohhh. Uncomfortable giggle.

So the moral of the story is that if you use a curse word, you lose Heaven Points? I just wanna be clear on how many points I'm losing when I let loose. Are you charged more points for pulling out the big guns of the 'f' word? Does it cost the same if you curse in a foreign language? Or what about if you substitute "dad-gummit" for God Damn (the one curse word I reallllly hate)? Same points or less?

Or maybe you only lose points if other people hear you curse, because then they won't believe in God anymore? I sincerely hope that my use of the words shit, fuck, or damn doesn't make someone believe in God less. . . . or lose faith in a higher being. . . or lose their spiritual connection to Mother Nature, whatever their belief may be. I have to live convinced that God has bigger things to worry about than combinations of letters that are made to be 'bad.' Right? Can I get a HELL yeah?

Lost in Love (and oh-so-annoying)

I used to be the kind of girl who transformed my being, my essence, my interests--me--to date every general jerkwad on the planet. Okay, I exaggerate. Not every jerkwad, just a select few. Lucky me. Then I wised up, spent a fortune in counseling, figured my shit out (to borrow terminology from my previous post), got married, had a kid and KEPT MY FRIENDS.

I have a friend who is deeply, sincerely engrossed in a kind of love that is all-encompassing and sucks away your every interest. As a long time friend, I am thrilled. Ecstatic that she has found someone who loves and appreciates her for all of her talents, her insecurities and eccentricities. I am, however, sad. Sad for the loss of availability and shared experiences. Isn't that, in essence, the composition of friendship? The shared experience? I am convinced.

So I find myself being bitter and hateful to cover the sadness at being replaced by a BOY. Okay, okay, the word "boy" is totally inappropriate in this instance. I'm pretty convinced of that, too. Because isn't 56 officially past use of the term "boy"?

Oh, what's that you say? You were expecting this story to be about my glamorously needy friend in her early 20s? Turns out I left out one small detail--the friend to which I refer is 50. Looking just down the way at 51. Perhaps that's what so damn aggravating. Another omitted detail: this friend has never been married. She has been known even to complain that her married friends have lost sight of her, ignored her, left her out of their social calendars in favor of 'couple-time.' I was essentially threatened upon the eve of my nuptials to not leave my girlfriends in the dust. And generally because my husband drives me crazy I love my girlfriends, I have kept them right up there as part of the co-stars of my show.

Rats. Damnation. I get that love is all fun and engrossing, but what the hell do you talk about with all that time together? Maybe if you're single for 50 years, lovin' lets loose a stream of desire that can't be quelled. Maybe she's throwing that man's scrawny ass down on the bed, on the floor, on the grass. . .well, you get the picture and I am truthfully trying to avoid that picture. I just know that no matter how much you love a friend, watching them eating crow over words once spoken to you in bossiness advice, can bring a large outpouring of joy. See, I told you--hateful and bitter.

Bumper Sticker Faith

I'm 99% sure that if one's religious dogma can be summed up on a bumper sticker, it's over-simplified and dumbed down enough to make the person feel superior and safe. This is the sort of religion practiced by my mother-in-law. The kind of belief system that is founded on acting nice to earn Heaven Points. The lady has to do her best to earn Heaven Points because of the travesties she visited on her children. I feel certain, somewhere she has a hidden "In Case of the Rapture, this Car Will be Unattended" or "My Boss is a Jewish Carpenter" bumper sticker, just waiting to pop it on to show others her moral superiority.

It would take far too long in one post to list the sins of that mother, but the simple version is that she abandoned three children. Abandoned.Her.Children. Not the sibling group that produced my husband, this was before him. This was when she came home to find her husband in bed with another woman and decided to leave. Leave her children with a man she deemed not worthy of continued marriage. I know this story will likely continue to resurface here. But this is why that woman who I would like NOT to claim as my mother-in-law needs Heaven Points. Stat. And finds that being extra pious and judgy gets her just the points she needs, people that get in her way be damned.

Find your passion. Damn it.

Last night, I was visiting a few friends at a local summer camp,and we were joined by one of their staff members I have met exactly once. The word 'acquaintance' might even be a bit of a stretch in this case. Back to my story. This acquaintance, I'll call her Katie for the purposes of this post, was discussing her new teaching job in the big ghetto city from her one previous in the boonies. She was so excited that she would only be teaching one subject and that her really hard summer assignment had not, as of yet, been the subject of any student complaints.

I should mention here that this group of friends includes two of the finest teachers I know. That makes Katie's bold assertions that much more embarrassing, to my mind.

Turns out she had gotten the rotten assignment of teaching several different subjects in the most recent school year. One was English and her kids were "like so bad" that she could give them vocabulary "to do" the whole period and they wouldn't do it. Hmm. Really? Imagine that "doing" vocabulary doesn't seem appealing for a whole hour of class. Now Katie scanned the faces of the group looking for commiseration in their chuckles only to be left wanting. Her next statement involved stating that she also taught a Crimial Law class, which could have been really "cool," but instead, she just played "Law & Order" videos everday. Face-scanning for chuckles by Katie. These classes were evidently failures because the kids got assigned to the electives instead of getting to choose their own adventure.

Appalling, isn't it? Those darn kids just weren't interested in copying definitions for hours at a time. Imagine. How does one "do" vocabulary, anyway? Shouldn't a good teacher actually. . . well, teach? Teach by providing new vocabulary in context and challenging students to reach their full learing potential? I'm fairly certain the answer should be yes, I know it is for my friends who represent the shinier side of teaching. Too bad the student didn't get to pick their curriculum--let's make it fun and learn anyway. . .if a student resists, well so be it, just shut up so that they can keep teaching the more pliable minds. And watching Law & Order? Are you effing kidding me? With all of the crazy-ass psycho scary criminals out there, one couldn't be highlighted to grab the attention of teen-agers fascinated by freakish gore?

Lazy. Go.Find.Another.Fucking.Job. This Katie also reported that although she has a stutter, she still chose teaching for a profession because she "had to have a major/job. . ." (Insert hopeful chuckle here) I know without scanning faces that this one gets meager grins, at best.

Deal with your Shit

Seriously. We all have issues. We've all had trauma. None of us had exactly the childhood we deserved. Those things leave scars--I am not so without compassion that I don't understand that. In fact, the people I most admire are those who take such struggles and use them for good, instead of evil.

My frustration comes when people stagnate. Stagnant water is a scummy, bug-infested mess. Turns out that stagnant people are pretty much the same as the water. To be fully aware that you have an issue negatively impacting your interactions with others and then choose to not deal with those disfunctions for years is stoopid. Stoopid enough that it requires the use of two 'o's.

My husband was crippled emotionally by his self-serving, jacked up parentals. He (and ocassionally I join him) has been seeing a psychologist for 4 years to deal with the aftermath. Four fucking years. Has he made progress? Sure. Noticeably so from his completely emotionally constipated state of yester-year. Does he journal as suggested by the psychologist? Nope. The sheer obstinance and avoidance of this topic makes me insane. Like beat my head against the wall and gnash my teeth insane. It also sometimes makes me want to run because of the sheer hopeless feeling that invades my spirit. I know he's better than the baggage strapped to his soul, but complacency is paralyzing. Complacency leaves me bored. Complacency leaves me frustrated. What swift kick in the ass is going to get him to move forward?

And that is why I want to scream, "DEAL.WITH.YOUR.SHIT." Deal with it now so that you don't have to deal with it alone as a sad old man, left in the dust because you became so entrenched in your ways that I couldn't take it anymore.

Turns out, I have no control over his shit-dealing. Time to deal with the skid marks left on me as he brushes by. . .

An Introduction

In my normal life, I am a wife & mother from suburbia, trying to be all nicey-nice. This isn't about those things. This is about my other side. The darker side. The side I rarely share unless highly agitated. Things you should know:

1. I pretty much hate my in-laws. They'll be regular topics of conversation here. And yes, I said hate. Not the "don't care for," of the nicey-nice world.

2. Most of the time I am a pretty happy person. I like people. I like my husband. This is not about those times.

3. I like curse words. I like them a lot.

4. This blog is totally hidden from my 'real life.' That means any names have been changed to protect the annoying innocent.