Fuck you, I said I was sorry

It may surprise you, but I am not the most genial person when it comes to apologizing.

Well, that's not quite true.  I will apologize when I am in the wrong, and I will mean it, but this is something I have had to work on for years.

But apologizing is something that still galls me from time to time.  Particularly when I feel like I'm being forced into an apology for something that maybe wasn't quite right but for fuck's sake, LET IT GO already. 

I don't particularly like this aspect of my personality.  I wish I was more forgiving, both of myself and others, but I am pretty much like a Mafia Don when it comes to slights.  I will always remember and it's always personal.

This may not be the best way to deal with people.  Particularly those in your family.  And I wish that I would actually apologize without it becoming an ordeal.

Example:

The girl is mad at me for something I did.

This something was not directed at her - you know what? Here's the actual story:

I was coming off a super long week - lots of work, lots of tiredness, lots of stuff still to do.  The husband was working long hours, too, and I was shuttling her to her lesson.  We were running a few minutes late, which was my fault as I was thinking, "I can just finish folding these towels that have been sitting here for 4 days and then we'll go." So we were late.

And I pull into the parking lot and some dumbfuck family and their dumbfuck 8 or 9 year old kids are meandering all over the driving area of the parking lot, like sheep who have lost their sheepdog to keep them in line, and I say, "Get out of the way, you little cuntface."

Which pissed the girl off.

I mean, sure, not the nicest thing for me to say.  But in my defense, the little kid didn't hear me and she was in my way.

Whatever, you can judge me.

So the girl is pissed at me for being mean to a kid WHO DIDN'T EVEN HEAR IT and I'm pissed at her for: 1. Not folding the fucking towels and 2. Being pissed at me for something that pretty much didn't even happen [If a crazy lady calls a kid a cuntface in a parking lot, did the tree actually fall in the forest?] and 3. JUDGING ME AND FINDING ME LACKING.

I wasn't thrilled with our detente, so I apologized to the girl.

Except it wasn't really an apology, because I felt I like I was apologizing for not being perfect.  Which, contrary to popular opinion, I am not.  So it was one of those non-apology apologies that have become all the rage lately, where people don't actually apologize for what they've done, or maybe they do apologize but then turn it into a blame session where the person they are apologizing to becomes the bad guy [I am excellent at this.  Ask the husband.]. So then I had to apologize AGAIN, which I did after leaving the room and stewing for a while and realizing I was being a big fucking baby and sometimes it's just better to get along than to be right.  But not very often.  [I'm not certain how calling a kid a cuntface is being right, but there it is.]

I think I should start giving parenting and relationship advice.  Any questions?

The terrible, horrible, no good, really bad day*

I hate Sundays. 

I've said it before.  I said it on Twitter [and got a lot of people responding that they hate them, too].  I'm sure I'll say it again.

They just make me so angry and unhappy and full of dread.

I spent the entire day Sunday ready to punch anyone who got in my way.  It was not a nice feeling. Not even a little bit.  Not for anyone involved.

I'm not even sure why I was so angry.  I mean, there were a lot of annoying little things that happened - running out of soap for the shower, papers sliding off my desk, realizing I had three baskets of laundry to fold - but these were things that had happened often and never really set me over the edge [unlike, say, losing your phone - but that's a whole 'nother post].  It was a perfect storm of minor annoyances and crazy juice build up that had me muttering under my breath about how much I fucking hated everyone and everything and these stupid fucking cats and their stupid fucking hair and what the hell? why hadn't the husband made the bed again?

It was exhausting.  And I kept having to say, over and over, "I'm sorry, please don't talk to me, I hate you and want to kill you right now," to the husband and the girl [I didn't tell the girl I wanted to kill her, just that I was in a really bad mood for no reason; I'm not THAT bad a parent.  Just a really bad spouse.  Consider yourself warned, in case I get divorced and am looking for a replacement spouse and have fixated on you.].

I mean, having a bad day because of some catastrophe at work or home or in the world, that I get.  Even if it's lack of sleep or PMS or an imbalance in my humours or chakras, sure I get that.  But hating on TINA FEY because she is so awesome and I am not and we'll never be friends? That's just wrong. [And so guilt inducing that I apologized to her audiobook for thinking evil thoughts.  I may need medication.]

The only moderately o.k. time was taking the girl to see Scream 4 at the local third [fourth?] run theater [eh, it was fine, but too gory for our tastes], but I swear to god, as soon as it was over and I tried to use the tiniest bathroom in the history of the universe [it was the size of a coffin, no lie], the anger started building until I walked back into the house and that AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH hateful feeling came crushing back.

Which led me to think that maybe I really need to re-vamp the house, except there is no money, and frankly? I don't want to live here anymore and I don't have a job to make money to leave and I am functionally unemployable and I have a really hard time deciding how to decorate and maybe I need to find an interior designer, but seriously? for this tiny house? or maybe I should just get rid of everything and that AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH just started all over again.

And so I had a really bad day, for seemingly no reason, that only ended when I went to bed at 1:00am after a tummy ache [I will spare you the details, but suffice to say, I'm glad I wasn't in India]. 

Does this ever happen to you?  Where your hate dial gets turned to 11 for no reason?  Please say yes.  I'd like to not be alone when I'm a fucking lunatic.

XO,

S

***************

*Probably the best book title ever, although I am no fan of Alexander's giant melon-head.  Huh.  Evidently the crabbiness and bitchitude have not left the building.  Awesome.

If it's Tuesday, it must be my day to unleash the randomness of my mind. Enjoy.

Let's just get to it, shall we?

************
I have a UFO tweeter following me! JEALOUS? YES, YOU ARE!  When the mother ship lands, I'll put in a good word for you.  Provided I'm not cowering under the bed.  [Historical aside:  When I was much younger and freer, I was in Santa Fe, which is a weird place, and some friends and I were talking one evening about what we would do if a UFO did, in fact, show up.  Trust me when I tell you that when you are in Santa Fe, at night, this kind of thing seems more likely to happen than not.  Anyway, we pretty much all agreed that shitting our pants would be Job One if an alien showed up at the side of the bed.  What do you think?]

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We are having an ass-ton of family over on July 4th.  Which is great, I love having parties.  It's just that it's dawning on me that we don't have a pool, nor do we live on lake, and I'm pretty sure we don't even have a sprinkler.  I need fun warm weather activities for age ranges 8 - 70.  STAT.

************
I have a tendency to be uber-competitive about somethings - especially things that have nothing to do with me. Also, I do not take kindly to perceived slights [and a slight can be perceived as being pretty much anything some days].  Yesterday I was speaking to the Academic Dean at the girl's new school, and we were going over the girl's course schedule [they want you to fill out a tentative 4 year plan at high schools now, did you know this?  Weird, right?] and we got to the math portion.

Math, this year, has been sticky.  The girl is fucking brilliant at math, but had a complete crisis of confidence and felt she was the dumbest kid in the history of kids who ever added or subtracted, which obviously affected her ability to deal with math and ultimately her final grade.

The Dean and I discussed this, and she suggested that rather than taking the more rigorous, advanced class in the fall, the girl take the regular, more sedately paced math class so that she could get her bearings back.

Great, right?

WRONG.  I had to stifle - seriously, clam down like a motherfucker - this urge to make sure that the girl was in the advanced class, because goddamnit, she's smart.  She doesn't need the slower paced class.  That's bullshit.

Which is completely wrong.  I know that.  It's not as if the Dean said she'd have to go to remedial math or repeat a class, which in any case would have been fine if she needed it.  Except I'm a fucking lunatic, and would have seen it as MY inability to have the girl function well in math class.

Which is even more wrong.  And crazy.   And what's worse is that I was getting bent about the girl not taking Algebra II & Trig and instead taking Algebra II.  Which is a class that is still 2 fucking years ahead of her grade level. 

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Am I the only crazy like this?  Please tell me I'm not.

************
Over at Circle of Moms, I've given my advice to new or soon-to-be moms, and evidently you can read my answer and vote for me [or just vote for me - trust me, I'm chock full of excellent advice on parenting, just reference above to my excellent parenting ability re: my daughter and math] so that I can be elected . . . Most Awesome in the Universe?  I'm not sure. Anyway, vote here. [I have no idea why the formatting sucks.  Sorry about that.]

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O.k., so not only was this post full of randomness, but evidently full of questions I need you to answer.  So here's one more:

If you had to make out with either Hall or Oates, which one would it be?  Be honest.

Week in Review - Good news or else.

As you may have noticed, I've been a bit cranky [What? No! You've been a regular bundle of joy!].  I've decided this week to focus on positive news, because otherwise the screaming will start and never, ever stop and I just don't have that kind of time, you know? You know.

Here we go.

Chinese artist/dissident Ai Weiwei has been released after three months in prison. He was ostensible arrested and imprisoned for tax evasion. He's now under house arrest and a gag order.  Not complete freedom, but I imagine it's probably miles better than being in a Chinese prison.  Or any prison.  [Has anyone read World War Z?  Do you get the feeling that it's perfectly reasonable that the zombie apocalypse would start in China?  I do.]

The inimitable J.K. Rowling is going to start selling the Harry Potter books as e-books.  To do so, she's setting up a site called Pottermore.com set to launch in July, where she'll not only have the books for sale [available in October] but also allow you to join a house, play games, gain points and get all kinds of dirt on the Harry Potter universe that she wasn't able to include in any of the books.  Professor McGonaggal's backstory? SIGN ME UP!

A woman who suffered the devastating effects of borderline personality disorder when she was a teen in the 1960s has spent her life as a therapist and psychologist who developed treatment for the most depressed patients.  What's even more remarkable is that she did so while suffering from the effects and did not openly discuss her fight until this past year at a conference on mental illness treatments.  I take heart that this woman was able to manage her illness and used her compassion and understanding to make a difference in so many people's lives.

Sneaky, sneaky.  Birds which were thought to be extinct have been found in areas of the rain forest that suffered from deforestation.  A triumph of nature, even though I think birds are creepy and evil and scary. 

Suck it, oppressors.  Women in Saudi Arabia have taken it to the streets and are defying the driving ban by tooling around posting video of themselves online.  I love that they're doing this - and that Facebook is being used for more than people's latest updates about their pets' crazy antics.  No one cares what your dog did.  Not even your dog.

[PS  I'm glad to find that you thought I did a good thing by not taking the candy, but it still irks me that I had to pay for the book.  I hate that getting screwed feeling.  I emailed the teacher, and got another lengthy email back, which left me feeling even more dissatisfied, so I'm just going to let it go.  I can't keep dwelling - although I am a world class dweller.  Maybe I shouldn't keep dwelling, is the thing.]

What good news do YOU have for me, friends?

Karma is a bitch. So am I. Two will enter. One will leave.

Kismet         [If it's fated]
Inshallah      [God willing]
Fate              [Destiny]
Karma          [You know this one]

All of these things conspired against and/or with me last week to keep me from sliding from bitchdom to jerkhood.

Let me explain:

As I may have mentioned a time or a million, I have been PTA president this past year at my daughter's school.  So I've spent a lot of my time and money on crap for this school that, quite frankly, sometimes was done grudgingly.  But I did it.  I did it and you know what? In the end, I'm glad I could help out.  I like to organize things and I like to be in charge and I like to make a difference.

I do NOT like it when I feel like I'm being dickslapped by the universe.

I spent hours and hours and money on the end of the year party for the school.  Fine.  Even though I thought it was ridiculous, I stepped up when no one else did and organized it.  I ran the set up and I ran the party and I oversaw the cleanup.  I worked my ass off for that school.

At which point I found out I owed the school $50.

The girl tells me that somehow she's had someone else's textbook for one of her classes all year, he's had someone else's, three or four other people have different books registered to them and no one seems to know what happened to hers. Obviously, there's been some sort of mix-up in registering the books.  OBVIOUSLY.

The teacher sends me a nice, very detailed email about the missing book.  And the note that he is truly, truly sorry, but I have to pay $50 or the girl's grades won't be sent to her new school.

FUCKING MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKING BULLSHIT. 

I'm sorry, did I not just spend countless hours dealing with school crap that, had I billed at even a reduced rate for writing and NOT legal work, would still mean I was a couple thousand dollars in surplus for who owes what to whom? And didn't I just spend money on party donations? 

I don't blame the teacher.  Much.  I mean, I get it, it's district policy. 

But I was pissed.  The secretary was on my side and felt bad that she had to take my check.

So the entire drive to the school to hand over my $50 check, I kept thinking, "Fuck this.  I know there's at least $50 worth of candy & stuff from the party that I can take to even shit out.  I DESERVE $50 worth of candy." Even though I knew the kids were going to use the stuff on their trip to the amusement park a few days later.

Except as I was thinking it, I was getting that shame feeling, like I knew I was doing something really, really, really wrong.

So I dropped off the check and went to the storage room, because I had told the staff I needed to stop in there and I had to keep up appearances and not say, "Yeah, I changed my mind.  I'm not taking $50 worth of candy in return for the $50 book check."  I wasn't going to take any candy because that would result in me waiting for karma to turn around and kick me in the ass HARDER than the $50 check.  Which it would. And frankly? I've got enough on my plate.

And you know what? The fates had my back - because the candy was gone, so I wouldn't even be tempted [and in the throes of PMS? I WAS TEMPTED.].

Tell me, truly, would you have taken the candy?  I like to think I wouldn't have, even if it was there, not only because I am trying to be a better person, but also because I kind of fear the retribution.  What about you?

Week in Review - School's out for summer.

Hey! Guess what! So much news happened this week!  Unlike every other week where NOTHING EVER HAPPENS EVER.

I am taunting you with information about my past at Kelley's Break Room.  Go on over and check me out at Name That Job! What prior job did I actually have? Oh, you have no idea.  I bet.  Go.  Guess!

I'm organizing the inaugural 1940s Twitter Movie Night on Sunday, June 19, 2011, at 9:00pm EST.  The movie is The Philadelphia Story [thanks to the lovely @Mrsped for the assist in selecting the movie]. We'll all be watching the movie and live tweeting how awesome we think the whole stinking thing is. Use the #1940sMovie hashtag. Join me, please, so I don't feel like I have some sort of social disease.

The girl is officially done with middle school.  HOORAY.  The giant end of the year party is over.  I am almost officially done being PTA president. Oh, sweet relief.  Seriously.  So sweet.  Like a vodka ice pick in my brain sweet.

I am still PMSing like crazy! You may not consider this to be big news, but I assure you, everyone in my path will be talking about this for a LONG TIME to come.  A LONG TIME.

Evidently hockey fans in Vancouver take shit pretty seriously [and also may be PMSing?].  So seriously that the past couple of times that the Canucks went to the Stanley Cup Finals and lost in Game Seven, these bastards rioted in the streets.  Seriously? It's HOCKEY.  Let's keep the rioting where it belongs, on the ice.

This sounds like a particularly bad idea.  The Tennessee Valley Authority wants to revive a half-built nuclear reactor that's been in mothballs for the past 23 years.  Yeah.  Have these scientists seriously never seen a science fiction movie? How is that possible? I would like to direct them to that fine 1950s documentary about giant radioactive ants, THEM!. Who knows what kind of radioactive vermin are going to come shooting out of this thing? 

The Tea Party is trying to bring some younguns into its fold by hosting a summer camp.  Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be eerily reminiscent of Jesus Camp?  Or maybe God Camp?

What the hell? I don't get people.  I mean, I like Joss Stone and think she's a great singer, but can't fathom that someone - someones, I guess - would want to kill her.  I mean, she's pretty harmless so far as celebrities go, right? That's a lot of rage.  Maybe they weren't thrilled with her acting in the The Tudors?  I have no idea.

And finally, the winner of the Freedom contest is:

Flannery said...

To be unconventional, to question authority, to make choices unencumbered...freedom.

You all had amazing answers, truly, and I ended up randomly picking a number.  Because who can make that kind of Sophie's Choice?  Not me. That's for damn sure.

Flannery, please contact me with your info so I can send you . . . a surprise.  I'll take a photo when I put together the package and then share it with you all next week.  No, it's not just because I haven't picked out exactly what the gift is.  Not completely, anyway.  I've got ideas. LOTS of ideas.

What news do you have for me this week?

How to make PMS your bitch. Or be a bitch while PMSing. I'm not sure how this is going to go.

I wish I wasn't one of those women who had to deal with PMS. Or, really, anything except maybe making out with Johnny Depp on a regular basis [how pissed am I that I didn't it make it my mission back when I was young and hot to go after him? I could've kicked Vanessa Paradis's ass].

Anyway, I try and stay on top of my PMS by doing all sorts of calming bullshit, like doing yoga every morning [yes, while watching the news], and eating right and getting enough rest and not immediately telling my husband that I hate every single thing about him and my fervent hope is that he start RIGHT NOW to either change who he is or make enough money so we can divorce and I can break up Johnny Depp's non-marriage to the mother of his children.

Some days it goes better than others.

Yesterday? Was not one of those days.

It began thusly:

Wake up at 5:30am because the alarm went off, even though you haven't gotten up at 5:30am in . . . are we closing in on a year now? Maybe.  Fuck.

Roll over.  Try and fall asleep.  Realize it's not working.  Hate the husband because he's able to sleep.  Hate the wind for blowing a cool breeze into your bedroom.  Hate the fact that your pillows are just a 1/4" out of place.

Give up and get up.

Go get your paper in your nightgown and fuzzy slippers and Helena Bonham Carter hair.  Wave at the passing car.  Who cares? You're married and going to stay that way forever because nothing good ever happens to you.

Do yoga while watching the news and hating Matt Lauer more than anyone on earth right that minute.

Realize you hate Al Roker even more.  Debate going back to George Stephanopoulous, but know that you'll punch the t.v. if you do and you can't afford a new t.v.

Wonder if you'd miss the t.v. if you punched Matt Lauer.

Turn off the t.v.

Eat oatmeal and a banana while going through your email.  End up with oatmeal specks on your keyboard and screen because you can't believe the garbage coming through your email.

Sigh and get down to work.  Hate having to work.  Hate not having enough freelance work to make a dent in your enormous pile of debt.

Wonder if you can have an IPO or a garage sale.  Decide which would be easier.  Probably an IPO, even though you technically don't have anything to offer.

Eat a healthy, balanced lunch of chicken & veggies & undressed salad with only brown rice as your carb.  Put your dish in the kitchen sink.  Return to your desk and begin to do your work [read blogs].  Open two links from your reader.  Get up, go back into the kitchen and get 2 of the homemade chocolate chip cookies the girl made earlier in the week.  Eat them pretty much en route to your desk, which is MAYBE 15 feet away.  Sit down.  Open up a new link, but don't wait for it to finish loading before you jump up from your seat to go back to the cookie jar and snag another cookie.  Start to replace the lid before a hand that looks like yours but couldn't possibly be grabs another cookie.  Manage to get back to the desk before you finish eating them.  Feel sick to your stomach from all the sugar and flour.

Ignore every phone call you get because you cannot handle speaking to one more person today.  They all suck.  Completely.  Wonder why does everyone WANT something from you? WHY???

Eat another cookie.  Feel sicker.  Sigh and put your head down.

Hope that you get your period soon because this is ridiculous.

***********************

PS Freedom winner announced on Friday. GET READY TO RUMBLE, BITCHES.

PPS I'm not even sure what the hell is happening here.

The Dad Who Cried Wolf

My dad is something of a hypochondriac.  He tends to be sicker than anyone who actually is sick, even if he doesn't technically have that disease.  I get it.  I mean, I'm pretty good at discovering possible illnesses that I may have and then worrying myself into a frenzy about having them.  I really do get it.

The problem is when someone who constantly feigns illness is actually sick, you don't know quite what to do.  And then it turns out they ARE sick and need to go to the hospital. 

My dad is ill and will need surgery.  It's a routine procedure [gall bladder surgery] and he's in a good hospital with a good doctor, etc.  Basically, he's being well taken care of and will continue to be taken care of in a manner befitting his illness.

By the medical staff.

Because we?  His family?

Are making non-stop jokes.

This is what we do.  We come up with puns and gags and reel off one-liners.  We talk about hilarious situations that have happened in the past and how we'll deal with what is coming up.  We giggle about contingencies and who is going to tell what family member and how.

We smart off about how OF COURSE my dad's got to have surgery now, when it's 1,000 degrees and humid.  And how it should go without saying that I'm going to valet park at the hospital - I'm not going to the gym, why should I walk from the parking deck [where it's $3 to park, as opposed to $4 for valet - who's the sucker now?].  And then we laugh at our cheapskate relative who had 2 old ladies get out of his car and lift the gate so he wouldn't have to pay for parking.

We make fun of my germophobia and laugh until we're going to pee our pants.  And we talk about the delicious steak we're going to eat or the chili dogs we're planning on having for lunch to a man who is not allowed to eat until he has his surgery.

We laugh.  A lot.

So much so that when my mother broke her hip and ankle and had to have metal rods and pins in place, she kicked me and my siblings out of the hospital room for fucking around and laughing too much and having wheel chair races in the room.

So while we aren't the most sedate and calming people to have in a sickroom, I submit that we are the funnest.  And we'll take your mind off of your worries.

Your Anger May Be a Gift - My Anger is a Righteous Fury

I am a pretty easy person to get along with.

Stop laughing.

I'm pretty easy to get along with because I am a pretty friendly person - I mean, I'm not in love with people or humanity in general, but I am very polite [to your face] and a big believer in doing the right thing and behaving properly when out in public.  If I happen to go home and bitch about what a shitty driver you are or tweet things about how fucking stupid boys are, that in no way negates the fact that I will follow every protocol and treat you with respect.

I will make small talk.

I will act like your idiocy doesn't appall me.

I will nod and agree when you complain about kids these days and their rock music.

I will go out of my way to include you, particularly if your inclusion is the right thing to do.

That being said, don't ever, ever fucking cross me.

Ever.

There are two things that make me insane with anger* and which will make you dead to me:

1. Being called a liar**
2. Being called out for not being polite.

When those things are combined?

Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.

I will end you.

It turns out that this weekend I found out that this situation occurred.

I'm not going to get into the who/what/when/where of it all, but I will say that the WHY is because some people are complete fucking narcissistic idiots.

And so I found myself on the horns of a dilemma:

A.  Correct the record, explain the truth, drop some motherfucking knowledge on people in an explosion of fact and fury

OR

B.  Just let it go

I'm having a REALLY, REALLY hard time letting it go, even though I know that option A is NOT really an option.

So I've been seething and bitching and then remembering that I need to set and example and then getting pissed off even more, because the husband is not a satisfactory person to bitch to.

So here is my query, friends:

What do you do when you find yourself impugned?  Chemical warfare or the high road?

--------------
* Recognize that quote? It's Mel Gibson's character in Signs.  Excellent movie - wtf, Mel? WHY SUCH A RACIST, CRAZYBAG TOOL?

** A subtopic is being told I'm wrong when I KNOW and empirical evidence WILL SHOW that I am right. I am still pissed that this guy I was dating over 20 years ago thought that Eberhard Faber was a silent film star and not a pencil. IT'S A PENCIL!!!

SEE? JACKASS! Source.

Maybe I'm pissed because that guy was an idiot. 

Green with Envy, Red with Anger, I'm Like Christmas, But With Less Jesus

Like everyone else, I find myself envying people and jealous of their things.  Which is weird, in that I'm not generally a luster of objects.  The only thing that I really, really want is a Birkin Bag, and for the most part, I'm not thinking about it.  Just every once in a great while, when I'm asked what ridiculously expensive thing I want.

Actually, I'll take both the orange and fuschia, please.  And the red.  That khaki one looks like it belongs to someone who is colorblind and also can't smell.  Source.

Actually, there is something that I really, really want on a daily basis:  built-in bookshelves in every room of my house so I can store our books.  We are a bookish family.  Keep your Kindle.  Keep your Nook.  We want books.  [Give me your iPad, though, because I could totally get behind that.]

Seriously.

One of my profs in grad school was talking about how she and her partner were almost done renovating their library WHICH HAD A WHEELED LADDER AND BALCONY and I was disconsolate for days.

I still get twitchy thinking about it.

The nice thing about my envy issues is that, excepting the whole bookshelves thing, I tend to be very OOOOOH LOOK OVER HERE, SHINY OBJECT about envy and jealousy.

Like with the Birkin Bag.  If I'm thinking about it, I get the gut wrench seething hatred and desire [seething hatred for the person who has the object I desire].  But that moment will pass, or something will capture my attention [hence the SHINY OBJECT] and I'm distracted by day to day life or something funny people will say or do or the fact that I have yet another PTA meeting to go to [are these kids in school ALL YEAR LONG? What is this? Japan?], and so my jealousy that other people get pornographic spammers commenting on their blogs will go away and I'll just start --- Wait, did you see that pretty flower growing over there?

I have to go.