So, Thanksgiving is almost upon us. And with the holidays comes the drama. Revenge is a dish best served cold, so they say, and I'll have to assume that drama is a dish that usually comes at you piping hot. For the record, I generally dislike drama and really try to remove myself from it. The fact that I work with a bunch of women makes this difficult, but on my personal time, I feel like I really work towards avoiding that shit. Having an anger management problem can complicate this, except for me trying to tell myself that my anger management problem really isn't a problem for me. Yeah, I'm not convinced either, because I'm usually the one that walks away looking like a jackass.
Anyway, today. I get a text from Guy #1 saying he's got something to tell me and please promise I won't be upset. Okay, note to Guy #1, if you have to precede the message with that, I will most likely be upset. But, I promised because I was sure the worst thing he could tell me was that he was working on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to join me for the day. Oh my god, I wish it were that simple.
Somehow and somewhere in the realm of a rural county, my mother's husband (my second stepfather) decided to invite Guy #1's ex-wife and her husband to Thanksgiving dinner. Huh? Actually, that's huh to the eighth power, because my stepfather is not even friends with Guy #1's ex-wife or her husband, at least not to my knowledge. Okay, wait, let's stop texting and let me call to verify that I've got this right, because I can't possibly be reading this correctly. I called Guy #1, and yep, I've got it right. His ex-wife is saying that she's been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. As I felt my anger rise up within me, I hung up the phone and called my stepfather.
"Did you invite so-and-so to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Well, yeah, but we were just joking around and I didn't really mean it."
"WHAT THE FUCK did you do that for? I mean, GODDAMMIT, are you kidding me?"
"No, it's okay, we were just laughing and joking and I invited four or five other people to dinner to but none of them are actually going to come."
Famous last words.
"Don't worry about it, I'll tell them tomorrow that I was just joking and they won't come."
"At this point, I think you've done enough. But just in case, how about I invite your ex-wife to dinner? How would you FUCKING like that?"
"I swear, they aren't coming. We were just laughing and joking."
Click.
I have met Guy #1's ex-wife for the briefest of moments, and I was so pissed at myself for not looking like Miss America at that exact moment in time. It didn't matter that this was the most happenstance of all meetings, nor did it matter that they had already been divorced for more than 10 years. It mattered to me that my hair didn't look supa-fly and that I can't fit into any clothes that are in the one-digit range. Meaning 0-2-4-6-8. Not that I'd want to be a size 4, because I've been a size 4 before and I've gone back and looked at those pictures and I looked fucking anorexic, but still. I don't even know why this bothers me other than I'd like to think I'm the upgrade, not the downgrade. And I want the woman who got upgraded to know that she got upgraded, because that's how the mind of a woman works. Kind of like between me and The Ex, well, he knows I'm still the upgrade, even though he has a new wife. Of course, I'm still moderately sore about Guy #1 telling me in the spring that his ex-girlfriend thought I was fat and ugly, and I've kept it in my mind that that's probably what everyone thinks about me. The fact that all of this came out today in the same Thanksgiving phone call wasn't helpful, and I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him in the end (still not as sorry as I felt for myself, though), because I know he had no idea those words had been living and festering in my brain for months.
Yes, I am shallow like this. Just like I'm shallow about dating ugly men. Meaning, I won't date someone ugly. No, thank you. That's what God made ugly women for. Of course, I'll modify that completely horrid statement by saying that one woman's ugly is another woman's handsome. But still. It's out there.
But back to Thanksgiving. I'm stuck at this point, because Guy #1 says they won't come by because they have too much to do for their own dinner, but I'm of the opinion they will. I mean, why not stop by? They've been invited and are probably a little curious. So now I'm in a pickle of the highest order, because I can do several things:
1. Not go to Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, this is my favorite option, but it's also the option where I cut off my nose to spite myself. This is also the most passive-aggressive of all of my choices, even though I like to call it me making the decision to not get involved and just completely remove myself from situations I don't want to be a part of. Those of us out there who operate on the shady realm of passive-aggressiveness have a million excuses as to why this behavior is acceptable. If I didn't have my kids for Thanksgiving this year, this would most likely be what I would be doing. But I can't bring myself to effectively punish my children for what they don't have any understanding of. Fuck me! for being somewhat of a good mother.
2. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and then pray upon all great beings, including the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, that Guy #1's ex-wife doesn't show up. And when she does, I can hide. I really don't want to have any dealings with this woman, because I know how she has chosen to do certain things in her life and I don't like it and don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. However, this option will never work because I.am.an.alpha.female. and we don't hide. Period and end of story. So the hiding option is out.
3. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and drink. This is looking like the only viable option, because when I drink I love everyone. And so, if the ex-wife shows up, I'll just make a new friend! Yay! We can take trips to the bathroom together like we're in a club and I'll accidentally drop her phone in the toilet. And then I'll drink too much and puke in her car. Okay, maybe it won't go that far, but I can try!
Guy #1 is of the opinion that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but dammit, how has he been dating me for a year and not know that I'm just a teensy bit high maintenance? Just a teensy bit high strung? Okay, maybe a little more than a teensy bit. The fact that I'm about to have a panic attack because I've got that tingling feeling in the top of my head and down the back of my neck and tightening in my chest will just go unsaid. But more than anything, I'm pissed that I'm not going to be able to lose 30 pounds and get my hair done in the day and a half before Thanksgiving. I don't feel very upgrad-ish right now and that's what I'm really mad at.
Showing posts with label dislike. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dislike. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
At Least It Wasn't...
The whole thing about The Ex posting pictures of MY children (they are only MY children when HE fucks up) shooting the bird kind of exploded today, except in a quiet kind of telephone discussion in my office with the door shut. My goal was to remain completely calm while still sounding slightly pissy, all the while alternately shaming and threatening him into understanding that this is not a laughing matter.
For real, it's not a laughing matter. This is a very clear picture that he posted on facebook of two beautiful little girls sitting in the backseat of his mid-life crisis car, very specifically shooting the bird, with smiles and glee abounding. Uh, are you kidding me? The conversation didn't go very well as it ended up with him claiming that he didn't know the girls were doing that while he was taking the picture (bullshit!), and then claiming that right after taking the picture, he immediately talked to the children about how inappropriate their behavior was (bullshit!), and when questioned by me as to why he even posted it up on facebook, he said that this was just a representation of how life really is (and more bullshit!).
I very nicely told him that I didn't believe him, and he very nicely told me that he didn't care what I believed. I then took it up a notch and told him that I would be reviewing the picture with the older daughter's psychologist, and that I would be following the psychologist's recommendations regarding the matter. He said that was fine. So, I took it up one more notch, and said if the psychologist recommended that I take him back to court to get full custody of the children, then I would be doing that. Silence on his end. And then, I took it up one more notch. Because silence wasn't acceptable. I wanted to feel his ass squirm through the phone. This is what I said. "Do you really think that a judge would believe that you didn't know what the children were doing? Do you *really* believe that? And do you really believe a judge would find it acceptable that you've posted this on facebook for the entire world to see?" Best part is... this wasn't even my trump card. And no, I'm not telling what the trump card is because I have a sneaking suspicion that I will still have to play the trump card at some point in the future.
The end result? The picture has been removed from facebook. I was less than pleased when I talked to the psychologist today and he told me if the picture has been taken down from facebook, then just leave it alone. No, goddammit, that's not enough. I want this moron to be court ordered to take a parenting class, and then I want him to be court ordered to actually be a good parent. I want him to parent with some common sense, and to at least be big enough to man up when he screws something up. But it's not going to happen like that, and I know it.
I spent some time on Wikipedia tonight reading nothing but the truth, of course, and researching obscene gestures. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose this isn't the worst gesture the children could have used. Okay, flipping someone the bird is bad. It's rude, it's disrespectful and it's horrible to see children doing it.
But I suppose it could have been something along these lines...
For real, it's not a laughing matter. This is a very clear picture that he posted on facebook of two beautiful little girls sitting in the backseat of his mid-life crisis car, very specifically shooting the bird, with smiles and glee abounding. Uh, are you kidding me? The conversation didn't go very well as it ended up with him claiming that he didn't know the girls were doing that while he was taking the picture (bullshit!), and then claiming that right after taking the picture, he immediately talked to the children about how inappropriate their behavior was (bullshit!), and when questioned by me as to why he even posted it up on facebook, he said that this was just a representation of how life really is (and more bullshit!).
I very nicely told him that I didn't believe him, and he very nicely told me that he didn't care what I believed. I then took it up a notch and told him that I would be reviewing the picture with the older daughter's psychologist, and that I would be following the psychologist's recommendations regarding the matter. He said that was fine. So, I took it up one more notch, and said if the psychologist recommended that I take him back to court to get full custody of the children, then I would be doing that. Silence on his end. And then, I took it up one more notch. Because silence wasn't acceptable. I wanted to feel his ass squirm through the phone. This is what I said. "Do you really think that a judge would believe that you didn't know what the children were doing? Do you *really* believe that? And do you really believe a judge would find it acceptable that you've posted this on facebook for the entire world to see?" Best part is... this wasn't even my trump card. And no, I'm not telling what the trump card is because I have a sneaking suspicion that I will still have to play the trump card at some point in the future.
The end result? The picture has been removed from facebook. I was less than pleased when I talked to the psychologist today and he told me if the picture has been taken down from facebook, then just leave it alone. No, goddammit, that's not enough. I want this moron to be court ordered to take a parenting class, and then I want him to be court ordered to actually be a good parent. I want him to parent with some common sense, and to at least be big enough to man up when he screws something up. But it's not going to happen like that, and I know it.
I spent some time on Wikipedia tonight reading nothing but the truth, of course, and researching obscene gestures. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose this isn't the worst gesture the children could have used. Okay, flipping someone the bird is bad. It's rude, it's disrespectful and it's horrible to see children doing it.
But I suppose it could have been something along these lines...
The Shocker.
To be followed by The Spocker, The Rocker and the grandaddy of them all, The Show Stopper.
I will say... this is kind of funny since it's not my kid. Funny in that empathetic way of who is the dumbass who taught him THAT? Because that dumbass must be related to the dumbass I married who posted a picture on the internet of my children flipping someone off. It was probably me. Hey, Mom, fucking check us out! No rules! No reading! No bedtime! TV on ALL the time! No vegetables! No protein! No bathing! No hair brushing! Hey, fuck you and your rules, Mommy!
Whoever the mom is in this picture, hey, I feel you, girlfriend. I too hooked up with a dickface and then had children with him. I feel your pain. Parenting would be so much easier if we only had to parent the children.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Somethin' Is A Brewin'
Home with my older daughter today, who has strep throat. Again. This is the third time since November, and quite frankly, I'm over it. I've had enough of this shit, and I'm pretty damn sure my boss has had enough of it, too. Not only have I been out with my older daughter who has been sick at least four times (three with strep, once with the flu and once with some other mystery shit), but I've been out with my younger daughter and with me. Can I please just go to work and work a whole month without having to take time off for a doctor's appointment, dentist appointment, therapist's appointment, parent-teacher conference or to pick up from an after school program? Apparently not. This is what I get for being so smugly satisfied with myself the last couple of years for my kids not being sick all the time and for feeling superior in that Appalachian Aryan kind of way always bragging about how my kids just don't get sick that often.
After I got the kids to bed last night, I realized there were two episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County coming on, and even though I'd seen one of them before, I watched it again just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I am addicted to the whole Real Housewives franchise, with the exception of Atlanta because they are just too damn ghetto, and Miami. I don't get the whole Little Havana thing. I'm still waiting for The Real Housewives of West Virginia. Attention Andy Cohen! America wants to see hillbilly gone upscale. If there is a man for this, I know you are. Come on, man! Give us something!
But that's not going to happen and I know it, you know it and Andy himself knows it. I don't even know why I like these shows, other than it's a glimpse into how a tiny sliver of America's bell curve lives, which is nothing at all like my life. I can't fathom Botox and boob jobs, and haven't driven a new car since 2003. When the car was new. I could use a little Botox and a boob lift, but that's not really a good way to spend the money I don't have. I'm also not a size -3 and I don't have blond hair. These women have more drama in their otherwise largely useless lives, and their careers either involve nothing or designing handbags. I suppose I watch these shows to be grateful for the relatively simple life that I have. Even when The Ex calls the insurance company to report that a bill arrived at his house for me and I don't live there any more, like he did with my almost estranged aunt (but then didn't bother to call me to tell me), I just have to roll with it. No agonizing over it with three of my best frenemies and some Cristal. I simply just made up for it when the dentist's office called my house for him this morning and I very politely told the receptionist that he didn't need their services anymore because all of his teeth had fallen out of his head. I've actually decided the next time someone calls me for him and then wants his contact information, I am very kindly going to tell them that he's listed on the Douchebag Network and let them figure it out from there
This whole Real Housewives, thing, though. This is not a slice of real America, and this is not a slice of what a real, honest-to-God American housewife looks like. This is America on Xanax, expensive hair coloring solutions, rejuvenation therapies or whatever that shit is, America with one nanny because they had to cut back from three nannies, America in an McMansion and a Bentley. Sorry, but a vast majority of us don't live like that, and honestly, I don't think I'd want to. There is an argument for living a more simplistic life when you just don't have any fucking money. I realized today that I need to buying my gas at Sheetz and my cigarettes at WaWa, not the other way around, and now that gas has gotten so high, I have an excuse for not buying anything for my children, other than the shit they need. And really, why the fuck aren't we tapping into the national reserves? I don't give a rat's ass about the caribou, because the caribou aren't going to put any gas in my car. I also don't really care about the permafrost. Let's just get the gas prices back down, please.
I mentioned months before that like everyone else, The Great American Novel is living in my head, but I can't do anything with it yet because I haven't lived enough of my life. But I'm toying with a serialized fiction kind of thing, maybe just put it on the blog once a week or something. I never fancied myself a fiction writer, but I suppose I can make up lies and put it on paper. Not to diss anyone who is a fiction writer, but that's kind of what it is. Creatively, of course. But this would be a huge departure from what I've got now, which is just autobiographical bitching and generalized snark. I mean, let's just call it what it is. But anyway, I'm thinking about the format, the content, how I would split it up, how I would title it on the blog, if it would be first person, second person, eighth person, whatever. I'm thinking about my favorite authors and what I don't like about their writing and what I do like. I'm thinking is this just for me to do for me or is this me to do for other people? Personally, I don't think writing to an audience works well, because you end up trying too hard for people who will just criticize.... So, maybe I'll come up with something and maybe I won't. Maybe this is the beginnings of something interesting or maybe this is me just being at home yet again, bored out of my mind with a sick child. Stay tuned.
After I got the kids to bed last night, I realized there were two episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County coming on, and even though I'd seen one of them before, I watched it again just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I am addicted to the whole Real Housewives franchise, with the exception of Atlanta because they are just too damn ghetto, and Miami. I don't get the whole Little Havana thing. I'm still waiting for The Real Housewives of West Virginia. Attention Andy Cohen! America wants to see hillbilly gone upscale. If there is a man for this, I know you are. Come on, man! Give us something!
But that's not going to happen and I know it, you know it and Andy himself knows it. I don't even know why I like these shows, other than it's a glimpse into how a tiny sliver of America's bell curve lives, which is nothing at all like my life. I can't fathom Botox and boob jobs, and haven't driven a new car since 2003. When the car was new. I could use a little Botox and a boob lift, but that's not really a good way to spend the money I don't have. I'm also not a size -3 and I don't have blond hair. These women have more drama in their otherwise largely useless lives, and their careers either involve nothing or designing handbags. I suppose I watch these shows to be grateful for the relatively simple life that I have. Even when The Ex calls the insurance company to report that a bill arrived at his house for me and I don't live there any more, like he did with my almost estranged aunt (but then didn't bother to call me to tell me), I just have to roll with it. No agonizing over it with three of my best frenemies and some Cristal. I simply just made up for it when the dentist's office called my house for him this morning and I very politely told the receptionist that he didn't need their services anymore because all of his teeth had fallen out of his head. I've actually decided the next time someone calls me for him and then wants his contact information, I am very kindly going to tell them that he's listed on the Douchebag Network and let them figure it out from there
This whole Real Housewives, thing, though. This is not a slice of real America, and this is not a slice of what a real, honest-to-God American housewife looks like. This is America on Xanax, expensive hair coloring solutions, rejuvenation therapies or whatever that shit is, America with one nanny because they had to cut back from three nannies, America in an McMansion and a Bentley. Sorry, but a vast majority of us don't live like that, and honestly, I don't think I'd want to. There is an argument for living a more simplistic life when you just don't have any fucking money. I realized today that I need to buying my gas at Sheetz and my cigarettes at WaWa, not the other way around, and now that gas has gotten so high, I have an excuse for not buying anything for my children, other than the shit they need. And really, why the fuck aren't we tapping into the national reserves? I don't give a rat's ass about the caribou, because the caribou aren't going to put any gas in my car. I also don't really care about the permafrost. Let's just get the gas prices back down, please.
I mentioned months before that like everyone else, The Great American Novel is living in my head, but I can't do anything with it yet because I haven't lived enough of my life. But I'm toying with a serialized fiction kind of thing, maybe just put it on the blog once a week or something. I never fancied myself a fiction writer, but I suppose I can make up lies and put it on paper. Not to diss anyone who is a fiction writer, but that's kind of what it is. Creatively, of course. But this would be a huge departure from what I've got now, which is just autobiographical bitching and generalized snark. I mean, let's just call it what it is. But anyway, I'm thinking about the format, the content, how I would split it up, how I would title it on the blog, if it would be first person, second person, eighth person, whatever. I'm thinking about my favorite authors and what I don't like about their writing and what I do like. I'm thinking is this just for me to do for me or is this me to do for other people? Personally, I don't think writing to an audience works well, because you end up trying too hard for people who will just criticize.... So, maybe I'll come up with something and maybe I won't. Maybe this is the beginnings of something interesting or maybe this is me just being at home yet again, bored out of my mind with a sick child. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
This Started Out As...
A little post about stuff I like, since I waxed poetically yesterday about shit I don't like. I thought I should probably have a little list of stuff that makes me happy to offset the list of shit that makes me not-so-friendly. But then, of course there's always a "but then...", I stumbled across The Ex's facebook page for his dumbass band with his dumbass friends, and saw that he has his first 'gig' scheduled for a Friday night in April.
Well, given his propensity to schedule stuff when he is supposed to have the children, I immediately ran over to my calendar, where I've already figured out our weekend schedules through August, and checked out that day in April. Of course he has the children that weekend. Why in the fuck would he even begin to think about actually spending any time with his children? I suppose I'm the moron for even assuming he would want to spend any time with his children, considering he only sees them every other weekend and one night per week until 8:00. And he keeps asking to switch that one fucking night because he has other stuff going on. He called the other day and wanted to start switching the night in April because he has something else to do on the pre-arranged night. I asked him why couldn't he schedule the other stuff around the children? And he replied that that's exactly what he's doing. Incorrect answer, douchebag. In fact, the only correct answer would have been to say that he needed to jump in a goddamn time machine and take that question back out of the atmosphere of my brain.
I guess I can assume he's going to figure out the week before, maybe a couple of days before THE weekend that he's got this stupid-ass 'gig' that he's double-booked, and he's going to call me to make some kind of arrangement, because I doubt he's going to be able to take our younger daughter to her Friday night gymnastics class. I hope the people who succeeded in raising a complete douchebag are going to be available to help him (meaning his parents) because I'm not going to fucking do it. I am so tired of my children getting short changed from him I don't even know what to do. I am tired of him acting like the victim, I am tired of him acting confused about when his weekends are (every other weekend, motherfucker!) and I am tired of everything else taking priority over the children that he very willingly helped create.
And this is the shitbag I'm going to send my children to live with this summer. I keep waiting for the call from him saying that he doesn't think he'll be able to have the children this summer because he's got too much other stuff going on, and I keep wondering if the children will be at his house for three weeks or so and then he'll call, full of manipulation and douchebagginess, and claim that the children miss me so much that they'd rather be with me. I suppose we'll see. I've got about two months left until I pack the children up for summer and I'm not really looking forward to it.
In fact, I'm feeling so incredibly far into the realm of PMS (because this all ultimately connected to my menstrual cycle) and passive-aggressiveness that I might just make a WHOLE LOT of fake facebook accounts so I can post stupid shit on the wall of his band. Stuff like: You SUCK! Man, you guys are ugly AND sound bad! Don't quit your day job! Those 102 people who like you must be relatives! Hey, can you please post more sexist comments because they are AWESOME! Tiny dicks rock out! I've heard better music at a Special Olympics recital! And, to go back to the old standby, You SUCK!
I think I missed my calling as a professional heckler. I'll let you know how it goes.
Well, given his propensity to schedule stuff when he is supposed to have the children, I immediately ran over to my calendar, where I've already figured out our weekend schedules through August, and checked out that day in April. Of course he has the children that weekend. Why in the fuck would he even begin to think about actually spending any time with his children? I suppose I'm the moron for even assuming he would want to spend any time with his children, considering he only sees them every other weekend and one night per week until 8:00. And he keeps asking to switch that one fucking night because he has other stuff going on. He called the other day and wanted to start switching the night in April because he has something else to do on the pre-arranged night. I asked him why couldn't he schedule the other stuff around the children? And he replied that that's exactly what he's doing. Incorrect answer, douchebag. In fact, the only correct answer would have been to say that he needed to jump in a goddamn time machine and take that question back out of the atmosphere of my brain.
I guess I can assume he's going to figure out the week before, maybe a couple of days before THE weekend that he's got this stupid-ass 'gig' that he's double-booked, and he's going to call me to make some kind of arrangement, because I doubt he's going to be able to take our younger daughter to her Friday night gymnastics class. I hope the people who succeeded in raising a complete douchebag are going to be available to help him (meaning his parents) because I'm not going to fucking do it. I am so tired of my children getting short changed from him I don't even know what to do. I am tired of him acting like the victim, I am tired of him acting confused about when his weekends are (every other weekend, motherfucker!) and I am tired of everything else taking priority over the children that he very willingly helped create.
And this is the shitbag I'm going to send my children to live with this summer. I keep waiting for the call from him saying that he doesn't think he'll be able to have the children this summer because he's got too much other stuff going on, and I keep wondering if the children will be at his house for three weeks or so and then he'll call, full of manipulation and douchebagginess, and claim that the children miss me so much that they'd rather be with me. I suppose we'll see. I've got about two months left until I pack the children up for summer and I'm not really looking forward to it.
In fact, I'm feeling so incredibly far into the realm of PMS (because this all ultimately connected to my menstrual cycle) and passive-aggressiveness that I might just make a WHOLE LOT of fake facebook accounts so I can post stupid shit on the wall of his band. Stuff like: You SUCK! Man, you guys are ugly AND sound bad! Don't quit your day job! Those 102 people who like you must be relatives! Hey, can you please post more sexist comments because they are AWESOME! Tiny dicks rock out! I've heard better music at a Special Olympics recital! And, to go back to the old standby, You SUCK!
I think I missed my calling as a professional heckler. I'll let you know how it goes.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Stuff I Don't Like
First day back to work after a long week off spent being miserable with the flu, and I'm feeling a little grumpy. I didn't start feeling normal until about eight minutes ago, and the day is over. Can I feel normal eight minutes into my day instead? Actually, I know I can't. I'm a night person, and when the sun goes down I start waking up and feeling like I'm just hitting my stride. So unless I start waking up every day at about 8:20 pm, I won't ever feel great eight minutes into my day.
But in the vein of being a recuperating grump, I thought I would provide a little list of shit I don't like. Well, there's really an enormous list of shit I don't like, but it's hard for me to keep track of so I'll just go with a little list of stuff that's been floating around in my head.
In no particular order:
1. The little happy family stick figure decals that are stuck all over the back of minivans - Okay, these things are just gay. They started out cute, but now they're just gay. Please stop, soccer moms. I don't care what kind of job your old man has, I don't care that shopping is your favoritist hobby (evidenced by the shopping bags dangling from your stick arms) and I don't care how many kids you have and what they like to do. Don't care about your pets, either. In fact, if I were a criminal, I would probably find a way to use your stick-figure demographics to my advantage.
2. Dog shit - I think I covered this one a few posts back, but I have such a loathing for dog shit that it really deserves a second mention. I would like to think that most normal people would dislike dog shit, but I'm obviously wrong due to the millions of Americans who own dogs and have dog shit in their yards. I opened the front door the other day, and at the very edge of my yard next to the street, some woman was letting her dog shit in my yard. I just stood there and stared while she gave me that sheepish shrug and then wandered off with her dog. I hadn't seen her before, because if I had, and if I knew where she lived, I would have gotten my shovel out and carried her dog shit to her yard. For real, if I hadn't been actively dying of the flu, I would have yelled at her to pick up her fucking dog shit. This is the Southside. I don't feel the need for manners all the time.
3. The time of the year when I can't buy Cadbury Eggs - Cadbury Eggs do a lot for making me not-so-much of a bitch. If someone gave me a Cadbury Egg to eat whilst their dog shit on the edge (but just the edge) of my yard, I might be little more tolerant. Nah. I totally wouldn't be. Dog shit in my yard is dog shit in my yard. There's no making that better.
4. Boils - The skin kind of boil. I know that there's some fancy technical name to this, but I live in the South and we call it a boil. I've had a boil exactly once in my life, and I continue to be amazed that something the size of a pencil eraser can cause that level of systemic pain. I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit I've even had a boil, because I always thought boils were something that a little old black man who lived in a tar paper shack would have, and his wife would then throw some turpentine on it and dress it with with raw pork fat and boiled cabbage. This is what happens when I read John Jakes - too much imagination for even me to handle. I dressed mine with a cloth band aid, because those band aids don't fall apart in the shower, and when the boil had healed, I ripped the band aid off, because those band aids don't come off easy, either, and with the band aid I ripped off a neat little rectangle of my skin. So technically, I guess I know what a boil and subsequent debriding feels like.
5. People who make more money than me and bitch about being broke - Especially people who don't have kids. I always want to throw my checkbook at them and tell them to walk in my shoes for a few months. Creative bill paying at it's best. But I also made the decision years ago not to chase money, because if you chase money, no matter how much you have, it's never enough.
6. I'm still pretty agitated that I'm listed as the defendant on the divorce paperwork - But this was financially my best decision, because The Ex was the person who had to pay the money to have the paperwork drawn up and I just paid my attorney to review it, and I'm sure I came away with the cheaper deal. I am also the second ex-wife of his who has been listed as the defendant, so at this point I have convinced myself that if anyone were to ever notice that, they would then immediately infer that the real problem in both of his marriages was him.
7. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - This woman has been the bane of my existence since school started in September. My older daughter reported that school was great today because Mrs. Second Grade Teacher was out sick. I nastily thought to myself when I heard that this evening, hmmm, maybe I should send some extra homework home for that bitch to do so she'll know how it feels. I hope she has the exact strain of flu that I had. I'm not real big on Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher either, but I can't spread my animosity too thin, so I'll just continue to focus on Mrs. Second Grade Teacher.
8. Stupid reality shows like Dancing With The Stars, The Bachelor, etc. - Gay. Nowhere near as good as The Real Housewives of Anywhere Except Atlanta And Miami. I've changed my mind. Not just gay, but super gay.
9. Not having a digital camera - Getting all of those pics off of my half-crappy little cell phone is a big old pain in my ass.
10. Sexually transmitted diseases, addiction and morbid obesity - Not that I've had any of the three, but what a complete bitch to have any one of them. Here's to not catching something yucky whilst eating Little Debbies in a crackhouse. And I don't like to be distracted while I order my food, either.
But in the vein of being a recuperating grump, I thought I would provide a little list of shit I don't like. Well, there's really an enormous list of shit I don't like, but it's hard for me to keep track of so I'll just go with a little list of stuff that's been floating around in my head.
In no particular order:
1. The little happy family stick figure decals that are stuck all over the back of minivans - Okay, these things are just gay. They started out cute, but now they're just gay. Please stop, soccer moms. I don't care what kind of job your old man has, I don't care that shopping is your favoritist hobby (evidenced by the shopping bags dangling from your stick arms) and I don't care how many kids you have and what they like to do. Don't care about your pets, either. In fact, if I were a criminal, I would probably find a way to use your stick-figure demographics to my advantage.
2. Dog shit - I think I covered this one a few posts back, but I have such a loathing for dog shit that it really deserves a second mention. I would like to think that most normal people would dislike dog shit, but I'm obviously wrong due to the millions of Americans who own dogs and have dog shit in their yards. I opened the front door the other day, and at the very edge of my yard next to the street, some woman was letting her dog shit in my yard. I just stood there and stared while she gave me that sheepish shrug and then wandered off with her dog. I hadn't seen her before, because if I had, and if I knew where she lived, I would have gotten my shovel out and carried her dog shit to her yard. For real, if I hadn't been actively dying of the flu, I would have yelled at her to pick up her fucking dog shit. This is the Southside. I don't feel the need for manners all the time.
3. The time of the year when I can't buy Cadbury Eggs - Cadbury Eggs do a lot for making me not-so-much of a bitch. If someone gave me a Cadbury Egg to eat whilst their dog shit on the edge (but just the edge) of my yard, I might be little more tolerant. Nah. I totally wouldn't be. Dog shit in my yard is dog shit in my yard. There's no making that better.
4. Boils - The skin kind of boil. I know that there's some fancy technical name to this, but I live in the South and we call it a boil. I've had a boil exactly once in my life, and I continue to be amazed that something the size of a pencil eraser can cause that level of systemic pain. I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit I've even had a boil, because I always thought boils were something that a little old black man who lived in a tar paper shack would have, and his wife would then throw some turpentine on it and dress it with with raw pork fat and boiled cabbage. This is what happens when I read John Jakes - too much imagination for even me to handle. I dressed mine with a cloth band aid, because those band aids don't fall apart in the shower, and when the boil had healed, I ripped the band aid off, because those band aids don't come off easy, either, and with the band aid I ripped off a neat little rectangle of my skin. So technically, I guess I know what a boil and subsequent debriding feels like.
5. People who make more money than me and bitch about being broke - Especially people who don't have kids. I always want to throw my checkbook at them and tell them to walk in my shoes for a few months. Creative bill paying at it's best. But I also made the decision years ago not to chase money, because if you chase money, no matter how much you have, it's never enough.
6. I'm still pretty agitated that I'm listed as the defendant on the divorce paperwork - But this was financially my best decision, because The Ex was the person who had to pay the money to have the paperwork drawn up and I just paid my attorney to review it, and I'm sure I came away with the cheaper deal. I am also the second ex-wife of his who has been listed as the defendant, so at this point I have convinced myself that if anyone were to ever notice that, they would then immediately infer that the real problem in both of his marriages was him.
7. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - This woman has been the bane of my existence since school started in September. My older daughter reported that school was great today because Mrs. Second Grade Teacher was out sick. I nastily thought to myself when I heard that this evening, hmmm, maybe I should send some extra homework home for that bitch to do so she'll know how it feels. I hope she has the exact strain of flu that I had. I'm not real big on Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher either, but I can't spread my animosity too thin, so I'll just continue to focus on Mrs. Second Grade Teacher.
8. Stupid reality shows like Dancing With The Stars, The Bachelor, etc. - Gay. Nowhere near as good as The Real Housewives of Anywhere Except Atlanta And Miami. I've changed my mind. Not just gay, but super gay.
9. Not having a digital camera - Getting all of those pics off of my half-crappy little cell phone is a big old pain in my ass.
10. Sexually transmitted diseases, addiction and morbid obesity - Not that I've had any of the three, but what a complete bitch to have any one of them. Here's to not catching something yucky whilst eating Little Debbies in a crackhouse. And I don't like to be distracted while I order my food, either.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Stuff I Don't Like
Since I was laid up in the house all day, being sick for real, I had the opportunity to watch a couple of movies, completely uninterrupted by some child wanting this, wanting that, can you do this, can you do that... I'm not a movie person. I generally say that I don't have the patience to watch movies, but I think that might make me sound like I have ADHD, which I don't have. I think the problem is that the movies just aren't good enough to hold my attention. Most movies could actually be a 30 minute short film, or whatever they call them. Longer is not always better, Hollywood. I haven't been to the movie theater in years, 2001 to be exact, because movies are too expensive to not be fucking awesome. I'm intrigued with the new Bow-Tie Cinemas on the Boulevard, though, because it's a dinner, beer and movie kind of place, like the old Cinema and Drafthouse was. Maybe if I ever go on a date again, that might be a good place. The key words in that sentence are maybe, if and ever.
Not only do I not watch a whole lot of movies, the movies I do watch are usually watched standing up running from one room to the next, doing the mom thing, because it's impossible to sit down and watch a movie when you have children in the house. It's just impossible. My children, and don't get me wrong--I love them to DEATH--are little cockblockers. They cockblock me having a clean house, watching movies all the way through, sleeping late, having money, getting laid. All the fun stuff that a normal adult wants to do. Anyway, I've actually watched a ton of movies, but I've seen on average, about 34.892 minutes of each movie, and even that was broken up into segments. I've seen "There's Something About Mary" at least 20 times, but I've never seen any of the segments I've watched in the correct order, and every time I watch it I see something new. I'm left to believe that the movie doesn't make any sense, and therefore why would I want to sit down and watch the whole thing through? Every segment sucked. I'm sure it actually didn't, but you try to watch a movie in 5 minute increments for years, and you'll eventually believe that it sucks, too.
So today, since I was home alone, I watched a few segments of "Charlie Wilson's War", which I've seen other segments of, and quite honestly, I'm not impressed. What I'm left with is that maybe, just maybe, we should have just let the Russkies have Afghanistan. If we had just left the whole thing alone, I bet we wouldn't be messing around over there right now. I just bet. Furthermore, this will get me into the whole conversation that we don't need to be the world's police force. Since I haven't watched the whole movie all the way through, and because I'm not up on my Afghan history, I don't know if we were providing them weapons and shit to protect our investments or just to be dicks to the Soviets and because it was the height of the Cold War. What continues to piss me off is that now we're sending our servicemen and women over there to try to find some slippery bastard in a mountain range and our people are getting shot up and killed with the exact weapons we provided them with in the early 80's. But hindsight is always 20/20, right?
And then I watched, no segments here, the entirety of "Bridget Jones's Diary", which is one of those quintessential chick flicks. This bring me to the topic at hand, stuff I don't like, which would be chick flicks. In fact, I hate chick flicks, and I watch them very sporadically for two reasons: to give the genre yet another chance to not be complete tripe, and then to be completely annoyed when I discover, yep, it's still tripe. And here's why: chick flicks = fairy tales, albeit of the modern sort. Now, as a disclaimer, I am jaded. Obviously. But these movies, it's all about the happily ever after. And life doesn't work like that, or at least, it hasn't for me. I've lived a million fairy tales, and I've had a million happily ever afters, but the ever afters were never really ever afters. They were finite, and maybe some were over before they ever started and I just didn't know it. I'm annoyed that I'm two days away from not being 36 anymore, and I'm faced with the fact that I haven't had my happily ever after yet. I'm faced with the fact that I may never have my happily ever after. I don't know, it's hard to say. People come into our lives for a reason, and some stay in our lives for a reason, and others don't. Or maybe, I need to realign my thinking, and realize that this is my happily ever after. I don't like being negative, because it takes a lot more work to be negative and unhappy. I functioned like that for most of my 20's, and it didn't work out well. Maybe that negativity is what led to my marriage, my desperation for a happily ever after, and all of this shit has come full circle and this is my happily ever after. Like I said, I don't know.
In the interest of not being an unhappy and cranky bitch, here's a movie genre that does falls into the category of "Stuff I Like"--this would be action films and stuff with men in it. And not the dumbass men who are in chick flicks, at least not the characters. I've seen parts and pieces of all the "Bourne" films, and that's good stuff. I like movies with crazy car chases and/or heavy weaponry. That makes me happy. My primal estrogen was stirred up for about a week after watching "Jarhead". I'll never tell, but if any future date wants to get lucky, that's the movie to pop in the DVD.
Not only do I not watch a whole lot of movies, the movies I do watch are usually watched standing up running from one room to the next, doing the mom thing, because it's impossible to sit down and watch a movie when you have children in the house. It's just impossible. My children, and don't get me wrong--I love them to DEATH--are little cockblockers. They cockblock me having a clean house, watching movies all the way through, sleeping late, having money, getting laid. All the fun stuff that a normal adult wants to do. Anyway, I've actually watched a ton of movies, but I've seen on average, about 34.892 minutes of each movie, and even that was broken up into segments. I've seen "There's Something About Mary" at least 20 times, but I've never seen any of the segments I've watched in the correct order, and every time I watch it I see something new. I'm left to believe that the movie doesn't make any sense, and therefore why would I want to sit down and watch the whole thing through? Every segment sucked. I'm sure it actually didn't, but you try to watch a movie in 5 minute increments for years, and you'll eventually believe that it sucks, too.
So today, since I was home alone, I watched a few segments of "Charlie Wilson's War", which I've seen other segments of, and quite honestly, I'm not impressed. What I'm left with is that maybe, just maybe, we should have just let the Russkies have Afghanistan. If we had just left the whole thing alone, I bet we wouldn't be messing around over there right now. I just bet. Furthermore, this will get me into the whole conversation that we don't need to be the world's police force. Since I haven't watched the whole movie all the way through, and because I'm not up on my Afghan history, I don't know if we were providing them weapons and shit to protect our investments or just to be dicks to the Soviets and because it was the height of the Cold War. What continues to piss me off is that now we're sending our servicemen and women over there to try to find some slippery bastard in a mountain range and our people are getting shot up and killed with the exact weapons we provided them with in the early 80's. But hindsight is always 20/20, right?
And then I watched, no segments here, the entirety of "Bridget Jones's Diary", which is one of those quintessential chick flicks. This bring me to the topic at hand, stuff I don't like, which would be chick flicks. In fact, I hate chick flicks, and I watch them very sporadically for two reasons: to give the genre yet another chance to not be complete tripe, and then to be completely annoyed when I discover, yep, it's still tripe. And here's why: chick flicks = fairy tales, albeit of the modern sort. Now, as a disclaimer, I am jaded. Obviously. But these movies, it's all about the happily ever after. And life doesn't work like that, or at least, it hasn't for me. I've lived a million fairy tales, and I've had a million happily ever afters, but the ever afters were never really ever afters. They were finite, and maybe some were over before they ever started and I just didn't know it. I'm annoyed that I'm two days away from not being 36 anymore, and I'm faced with the fact that I haven't had my happily ever after yet. I'm faced with the fact that I may never have my happily ever after. I don't know, it's hard to say. People come into our lives for a reason, and some stay in our lives for a reason, and others don't. Or maybe, I need to realign my thinking, and realize that this is my happily ever after. I don't like being negative, because it takes a lot more work to be negative and unhappy. I functioned like that for most of my 20's, and it didn't work out well. Maybe that negativity is what led to my marriage, my desperation for a happily ever after, and all of this shit has come full circle and this is my happily ever after. Like I said, I don't know.
In the interest of not being an unhappy and cranky bitch, here's a movie genre that does falls into the category of "Stuff I Like"--this would be action films and stuff with men in it. And not the dumbass men who are in chick flicks, at least not the characters. I've seen parts and pieces of all the "Bourne" films, and that's good stuff. I like movies with crazy car chases and/or heavy weaponry. That makes me happy. My primal estrogen was stirred up for about a week after watching "Jarhead". I'll never tell, but if any future date wants to get lucky, that's the movie to pop in the DVD.
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