Photo Credit: The Bitchy Waiter
I apologize to some of my more delicate readers for the vulgar title…there is just no better way to caption the end of my week. Indeed, since I wrote my Wednesday post, three stories of profound asshole-ery have come up and I simply must share. I’m going to do this a bit out of order, just so that I can explain the title first.
Tale of A-holeness The First!: Kay being a Twitter Asshole
As I have written before, my sister-in-law is pregnant with her second son. Poor girl. And she is married to my brother-in-law, who is a well documented asshole. She is due in May, but brother-in-law decided that, for his spring break week, he’d like to go to Florida. Via car. From Massachusetts. With their 1 year-old. Sounds pretty much like Hell. right? Well, because my sister-in-law decided to give up Facebook for Lent, she decided that the best place to complain about her pregnantness and her travel woes is via Twitter. (Shhh. Don’t think about it too hard). I have a personal twitter account, where I generally lurk and don’t tweet, mostly because I don’t have much to tweet about. But I do like to lurk and I follow my sister-in-law because I’m an idiot. Usually, she isn’t much for tweeting, but since giving up Facebook, she’s been alls about the twitter. I just happened to get on twitter to look up a random hashtag conversation, and I see this:
“Thanks, [husband], for telling me to lose weight before I decide to cut my hair. Yeah, I totally caught that. You aren’t as slick as you think.”
….So I see that, and I’m like “Whaaaaaaa? What an asshole…” and then I move on.
But then I see this a few seconds later: “Good thing my husband’s not (such) a huge moron and apologized for being a dick. Well, he knew we were “fighting” and told me to apologize.”
Uh. “Told me to apologize“??? I’m all set. I had to say something.
So I tweet, “Told YOU to apologize?”
I really should not have said anything. I really, really shouldn’t have.
She tweets back: “Jokingly. He didn’t remember why we were “fighting” until I set him straight. He caught on pretty quickly. And apologized.”
But THEN she tweets: “Haha, yea. Pretty sure the preggo hormones can be blamed for taking his comment to a whole, unintended level too. But he gets it.”
Why are you blaming yourself (and your unborn baby) for your husband’s insensitive assholery? That’s ridiculous.
And, because I’m an asshole, I had to tweet one last shot: “Stayin’ out of it….but preggo hormones cant be blamed for everything
#justsaying #buttingout #assholeisasassholedoes”
I thought I was being pretty cleaver when I wrote that first hashtag. The great irony, of course, is that as I typed “asshole is as asshole does,” I was really speaking more about myself than I was about my stupid brother-in-law. I really should stay out of it. But that crap really bothers me.
Tale of A-holeness the Second!!: My Neighbor Hates My Baby
Ursa Minor is (finally) teething. He’s been a real trooper about it, albeit a bit needy. Well, on Tuesday night, he woke up at around 11:30 and was not happy. We thought he’d cry it out, but after about 20 minutes of some pretty good screaming, I finally went in there and gave him some pain reliever and some boob to calm him down. He didn’t like it when I left, he cried for another 15 minutes or so, but then he was cool. He was done, totally, by 1.
Not three hours after I wrote my lovely and productive Wednesday post, I start cooking dinner and get a knock on my door. It’s my neighbor from next door. Who shares a wall with the Nursery. The same neighbor who, though from time to time we apologize about the noise that the boys make at night, has always told us that she doesn’t mind the crying and that it’s ok. We’ve always been like “we have such a great neighbor. We’re so lucky!”
Well…here she is.
So I open the door, not even thinking about it, not even remembering what had happened the night before (because, clearly, I have other things to do with my time). I open the door with a smile, genuinely happy to see my neighbor.
“Hey!” I say.
“How are you? What can I do for you?”
Here it registers with me that this is not a social or happy call. Clearly the speech that had building in this woman’s head during her commute home is bubbling up into her throat. “I just wanted to ask that you take more consideration…about the crying.”
I’m now surprised. “What? Oh, I mean, I know that he had a rough night…”
“I mean, I have had to sleep on my couch and sometimes I don’t get any sleep…and I work really hard, and I’m just getting home, but I only got 2 hours of sleep last night…”
Hand to my chest. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry…” I mean, I am not trying to keep this woman up at night…
“I mean, the screams just go right through me. I hear everything, you know? and I just want you to take more consideration… I mean, I figure he’s teething, and I have tried to be understanding…”
“Right, I mean, he is teething…”
“Well, I don’t know, maybe you can just, pick him up when he’s crying, maybe? Or, I don’t know, switch your rooms so that I don’t have to hear it…”
“I mean, we’ll do what we can to prevent them from waking you. I can’t guarantee that he’s not going to scream…”
“I just think that you should take more consideration…”
Me, now grasping for reason. “I mean, sometimes he wakes up and he puts himself back to sleep. Is it ok if we wait, you know, have a set amount of time…”
“It’s just, you know, I feel bad because I know that he’s a baby. I’m just saying that they are keeping me up. So, if you could just do something about it.”
“Um, ok. Well, I’m sorry. I can’t guarantee that he won’t scream. But we will keep you in mind… ok?”
“Ok.” And she leaves with a huff.
As she walked away, Ursa Major ways and says “Bye-bye!”
In the first 20 minutes after this conversation, I sincerely felt bad. I really don’t want to be a bad neighbor, I don’t want to keep this woman up, and I know that the boys share a wall with her bedroom. I actually considered, for a few minutes, switching our rooms and doing other things to make sure her more comfortable.
But the more that i processed it, the more angry that I became. This woman clearly had a bad day and decided that my sons and I were the reason why and then decided to come knock on my door and take it out on me. We live in an apartment building, noise is going to carry. Furthermore, that was the first bad night that Ursa Minor has had in a few weeks. Instead of being compassionate, she decides that “she works hard” and thus her sleep takes more precedence than anything happening in my household, indeed, even the comfort of my teething son.
And then she decided to come over here and yell at me (in front of my children). Because clearly it isn’t hard enough.
So while we have taken steps to set up the portacrib in the living room “just in case” Ursa Minor needs soothing again…I now have my own speech in my head, just in case she comes back.
Tales of A-holeness Part The Final!!!: My playgroup sucks
I run a co-op playgroup at one of the college campuses around here. Co-op meaning that parents have rotating roles every week so that way every the group runs smoothly and everyone feels invested. Well, of course, this long winter has brought everything to a grinding halt. Between the snow and bought after bought of runny noses among the children, attendance has been pretty sporadic week to week. To top it all off, there have been funky babysitting situations where some people haven’t been able to attend because the babysitting got weird. Fine. But here we are, it’s spring, and we’re trying to plan for summer and potentially fall. So I send out a survey a week ago asking for people to answer a few simple questions about where we are and where we are going. 4 families out of the 16 have replied.
Furthermore, I have had 3 moms drop out in the past three weeks.
I have 2 moms who are AWOL.
Which makes it almost impossible to assign roles every week because I don’t know who is gonna be around!!!
So this week, I had to send a very frank e-mail: We’re doing bubbles outside, I’m not buying bubbles for people who don’t show up. Tell me if you are gonna be there. Oh, and do the flippin’ survey.
Well, I’ve gotten a few replies. I guess that’s a good thing.
What is the moral of all of these stories? No morals. Stuff happens and people suck. The night is dark and full of terrors.
See you Easter Monday with tales of group. Hopefully good ones. 🙂