One of the front-page articles in the Xmas-Day edition of our local paper was about Christmas babies. Here are some of the highlights, along with my super-clever responses. (To save time, I won't start each comment with 'WTF?!' You can just assume it applies.)
The subheading is, "For those born on Dec. 25, birthdays often become afterthoughts for family and friends during the holiday turmoil."
Most people's birthdays are not of utmost importance to their friends and family, especially once the Birthday Boy or Girl reaches adulthood, as each of the people interviewed in the article have. It is confusing and painful, but usually family and friends have concerns and obligations that don't center around making you feel special.
"Christmas babies like Jennifer X soon learn they will generally play second fiddle to baby Jesus on Dec. 25."
Ouch! I can hardly imagine how devastating it must be to learn that you're not the most important individual on earth, even on your birthday! And to have some imbeciles treat you as any less important than someone worshipped by millions of people around the world must be especially agonizing.
"Adds Ms. X, 'The core family - my parents, my sister, my husband, my best friends - they always remember. It's on the outside that you get shorted, like at work. People are so busy that it often does get forgotten.'"
I suffer the same problem (though I was born in July, but whatever). Of course my family and close friends wish me a happy birthday, but not once have I been given a card or gift or even verbal birthday wishes by the janitor, the librarian, the girl at the checkout, the mail carrier...The list of uncaring, self-absorbed people just goes on and on!
"The thing that may bug Christmas babies the most is that birthday present wrapped in Frosty the Snowman paper. 'Please spend the $2.99 for birthday wrap,' Ms. X said. 'Your birthday wrap doesn't have Santa on it, and we would prefer ours didn't either.' [...] Many may take proportionate revenge at a later date. 'I always told my sister,' X said, 'if you give me a birthday present wrapped in Christmas paper, I guarantee that on your birthday, your gift will come wrapped in Christmas paper.'"
...cuz really, it's not the thought that counts. It's making sure that your stupid present has the correct wrapping. Hey, you know what I could do to bug this entitled bitch even more than wrapping her present in Xmas paper?
I'd save my $2.99 plus whatever the present would have cost, and just not get her anything.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
You're too special for ...
You know the song that goes "I'm too sexy for my [shirt, car, cat]"? Well, I have changed it a little. I would like to dedicate this serenade to Marisol and Angela.
I'm too special for your rules,
Too special for your logic,
Too special for your reality,
Too special, so special, yeah!
Yes, the song sucks. It sucks almost as much as their sense of entitlement.
So what makes Angela so fucking special now? Well, apparently she was acting like a brat at a Christmas eve party, fell down, cut her head, and needed sutures. This makes her special because it just so happened that the party was at the house of the hospital's head of plastic surgery, so he did the sutures so that Marisol and Angela wouldn't have to spend their Christmas eve in the ER with the riffraff. There you have it, folks...Angela is truly a remarkable child because the laws of gravity apply to her! (If you just learned that you're way more special than you realized because you recall that you too have fallen or tripped, congrats! But you're still nowhere near as special as M and A...remember that.)
I'm too special for your rules,
Too special for your logic,
Too special for your reality,
Too special, so special, yeah!
Yes, the song sucks. It sucks almost as much as their sense of entitlement.
So what makes Angela so fucking special now? Well, apparently she was acting like a brat at a Christmas eve party, fell down, cut her head, and needed sutures. This makes her special because it just so happened that the party was at the house of the hospital's head of plastic surgery, so he did the sutures so that Marisol and Angela wouldn't have to spend their Christmas eve in the ER with the riffraff. There you have it, folks...Angela is truly a remarkable child because the laws of gravity apply to her! (If you just learned that you're way more special than you realized because you recall that you too have fallen or tripped, congrats! But you're still nowhere near as special as M and A...remember that.)
That's what I hate about you! - mothers of young children, cont'd
Your baby is great. I get it!
If you were in a hospital evaluating a random baby, and it followed you with its eyes when you moved, you would say that it meant that the baby's eyes and brain are healthy. But since it's your baby, the fact that she visually tracks a moving target means that she's a genius, precocious, destined for greatness, just like her beautiful, brilliant mother. All hail your baby.
Your baby is also so marvelously strong. You told me so when she pushed a box of index cards off my table and they scattered all over the floor. And when she was able to hold her head up. And when she finally learned to roll over. And when she learned to crawl. And when she was able to stay on her feet and move her legs while you supported her full weight by holding both her hands and moving with her. What do all these things have in common? ...The fact that every unimpaired baby also learns to do them (many at younger ages, even).
If you were in a hospital evaluating a random baby, and it followed you with its eyes when you moved, you would say that it meant that the baby's eyes and brain are healthy. But since it's your baby, the fact that she visually tracks a moving target means that she's a genius, precocious, destined for greatness, just like her beautiful, brilliant mother. All hail your baby.
Your baby is also so marvelously strong. You told me so when she pushed a box of index cards off my table and they scattered all over the floor. And when she was able to hold her head up. And when she finally learned to roll over. And when she learned to crawl. And when she was able to stay on her feet and move her legs while you supported her full weight by holding both her hands and moving with her. What do all these things have in common? ...The fact that every unimpaired baby also learns to do them (many at younger ages, even).
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Marisol is a working mother. Did I mention she has a toddler? Isn't that fascinating? Don't you want to see pictures at inappropriate times?
Dear Marisol:
So, you felt that you should invite your brother to your departmental seminar. Maybe you are not aware that these seminars are considered professional presentations in which you discuss your research and the faculty and your peers evaluate and critique it based upon their professional opinions. You may have noticed that other students' families do not attend them. This is because your talk is not a ceremony, where Mamma and Daddy get to see people clap politely for you. It is a chance for you to get honest, expert feedback on your work. "The fam" are not experts. Perhaps you are not familiar with the notion of having professional, nonsocial interactions. That would explain why you plastered pictures of your toddler on your acknowledgments slide, even though I'm pretty sure she had nothing to do with designing the experiments, collecting/analyzing the data, or presenting the results. And it would explain why you feel compelled to drag her to all conferences, even when it's totally inappropriate. Actually, I'm pretty sure that the words "professional" and "appropriate" have no meaning to you. That's why I am not even bothering to actually communicate my opinions to you.
Cheers!
Jane
Sitting Pretty in the Shuttle
5 pm and once again I find myself perched on the edge of my seat, my right leg braced between the back of the passenger’s seat and the sliding door to keep me in place. My foot and leg feel like they are going to be permanently deformed from the cramps caused by having to spend the whole trip pushing against the floor with the balls of my feet. My right ass cheek is jealous of the left one because it doesn’t have any support; it’s standing room only for the right half of my body. But the left half is complaining too, because I can’t move a muscle or I will lose what little space I have secured for myself. I can feel that despite the heroic efforts of the right half of my body, it is lower than the left half. In the window I notice that my reflection looks like a person with hemiparalysis, the affected side drooping while the other permanently tenses up.
And why am I in this uncomfortable position? Well, great question! It’s because I’m sitting next to Vicki, the 60ish woman who sits in the exact geometric center of the seat - I guess so that her imaginary friend doesn’t feel cramped between her and the window. Really, it’s my best guess, because even though her ass is hella lumpy, she’s not that fat, and she has never put anything there (at least not that I have seen in 11 months of riding). At least her imaginary friend is quiet, unlike her. She has an opinion about every fucking thing, and never hesitates to express it. She makes small-talk with the driver, with other passengers, with the person at the other end of the cell phone, blah blah blah. If, perchance, the conversation dwindles – usually because the other individual wasn’t all that interested in it in the first place – she fidgets, looks around at what every other rider is doing (if they are behind her she does a 180 in her seat and cranes her neck like a hen), clears her through, and…starts a new, equally dull and meaningless , conversation. If others happen to be having a conversation without her, that is intolerable, even if it involves a rider talking on his or her cell. She interjects her thoughts in a highly authoritative tone, similar to the tone a judge might use when somberly addressing the defendant in a criminal trial, as if each word was a solemn pronouncement of wisdom that she had carefully deliberated before choosing to bestow it upon us. Like the canned laughter in a sitcom, these weighty pronouncements are irrelevant and annoying, yet form a definitive part of the experience.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Rare flashes of Insight...from All She Ever Wanted, by Ann Rule
“Her quiet sobs echoing in his ears, Tom went back to his cell feeling useless and depressed.
Even so, he was glad for the next call, the next visit. Tom looked forward to seeing his wife on visitors’ day and to getting letters from her.
She was his world – all the world that mattered to him.
Her visits, however were sometimes as upsetting as her calls. Tom was a little chagrined at Pat’s behavior when she came to Jackson. Pat waged full-scale war on the authorities who controlled her husband’s destiny. She never failed to cause, at the very least, a hassle – and often a scene.” (p. 252)
“Pat and Tom usually talked on the phone late at night, and each time Tom hoped they could make it through an entire call without accusations and depressing thoughts. “…I love you, darlin’. I miss you more than anything in this world,” he whispered one night into the phone. (…)
It was not going to be a good phone call and he had only a few minutes to talk. (…)
He had done something to make her angry. She could change so quickly from being sweet to being mad at him, and he seldom knew what he had done to cause it.” (p. 227-8)s
“With each legal setback, Pat grew more negative. She reminded Tom in every phone call that he was going to prison for at least twelve years and that she would be ‘an old woman’ when he got out. Her voice was very soft, alternately choked with tears and icily accusatory. His was desperate as he pleaded with her to try to understand. But it seemed there was no way he could win with Pat in their phone conversations. Each time he heard her voice, he hoped they could have a loving, warm call, but she twisted his worlds, found fault in almost everything he said, and accused him of being cruel to her. Tom was baffled. She knew he would never do anything to hurt her. What more did he have to do to prove he still loved her?” (p. 224-5)
I see some of myself in the descriptions of Pat’s behavior toward Tom. Alejandro isn’t in prison, but we are in a difficult situation with his status and papers. I actually hardly ever mention that to him per se, but I do complain a lot about living with my parents in their house – something that we probably wouldn’t have to do if he had an income. I have never blamed him for that, definitely not out loud, and honestly I don’t think even in my mind. I think that I see it mostly as an unexpected, challenging situation that, if it is trapping us both unfairly (if it is trapping anyone). But still it’s possible that it seems to him like I’m complaining about his unemployment. And I know that I have gone through periods of time during which I’ve turned every one of our conversations into a litany of my own complaints – eg., about how uncomfortable/difficult/unfulfilling work is, how irritated I feel about one or both of my parents, how tired and crummy I feel, etc., etc. Often I don’t even realize until it is too late that I have done it. I also know that I habitually contradict him when he talks about his family or his childhood, and put his family down in conversation by what I say and what I do (eg., rolling eyes, etc.). For example, I acted annoyed and accusatory about when his mom asked him to fix the stroller (although I think that it is Marisol’s problem to fix it, not Alejandro’s, because it’s Marisol’s child and stroller, not Alejandro’s). But when I do it every time, it looks like I want nothing to do with his family, and I want him to have nothing to do with them, either. (Sometimes I wonder if that is true – I hope that is not what I really want! But I question myself.) Even if his family did put him down a lot, I don’t want to be the one who looks like I’m trying to cut him off from everyone but myself and my family.
That's what I hate about you!
Expectant mothers/mothers of young children. Some disclaimers:
1) I know that not every woman who is pregnant or the mother of a young child is 100% obnoxious all the time. Every complaint is based upon experience.
2) I understand that reproduction is a biological imperative.
3) I realize that the fact that I have chosen not to procreate does not make me in any way superior to those who have chosen to do so.
4) I know that I'm a bitch.
5) Note that I'm not blaming the fetus or child for the behavior of its mother. I'm blaming the mother for using the fetus or child as an excuse to do bitchy or asinine things that she probably could not have gotten away with otherwise.
Pregnancy as an excuse to weasel out of doing work that she never was willing to do, pregnant or not.
Example: My first experience with this was when I was a cashier at a supermarket, and a pregnant woman (she had a slight baby bump) came through my line with a box of cereal. (That was her entire purchase.) We had no baggers (for some reason managers haven't figured out that during peak hours, more baggers should be scheduled than for hours when few customers come through the store at all, much less for huge orders that they need help bagging). I rang up her purchase, while my belt carried the box down to the end of the counter, where the bags are. I handed her the receipt, and then she stood there, looking at me expectantly.
Maybe at this point I should mention that this incident occurred during peak shopping hours, toward the middle of an 8-hour shift for me, when most people were buying at least $100-$200 worth of groceries, the check-out lines were at least 3-4 people long, and (as usual) at least half of those people were going special attention, whether because of a problem with coupons or because some item didn't ring up at the right price. (I don't begrudge them this; it's not their fault the supermarket can't get its shit together.) The point is that the store was very busy and crowded, and people's patience was wearing thin, because while everyone wants the cashier/manager/whomever to take as much time as necessary to get their order right, they were starting to get annoyed when other customers also wanted this. In short, it was not a time to screw around with other customers or with the "store associates."
Confused, I just looked back at the pregnant lady for a moment or 2 while I tried to guess what message she was trying to communicate to me by looking at me so stupidly.
"Well?" she said, "Aren't you going to bag it?"
Remember the belt? Thanks to the belt, the cereal box was within inches of her hand. That's the point of the belt. I was perplexed.
"I'm pregnant!" she snapped, indignantly. Keep in mind that she was talking about a box of cereal that she had carried from the shelf to the check-out all by herself.
Till that moment, I had not realized that being pregnant meant that a bitch could not lift a finger to do anything for herself. Now I know. In fact, my sister-in-law, Marisol*, actually explained to me, "I hate taking out the trash. So I told Enrique** [her husband] that the doctor said I shouldn't take out the trash because I'm pregnant. Now he does it for me!" She was delighted. I was surprised that she was so openly proud of the fact that she had lied to her husband to manipulate him into doing something that she was perfectly capable of, but simply didn't feel like, doing.
Motherhood as an excuse to make other people do what you want when you don't feel like doing what they're doing.
Example: Six friends were discussing going out for dinner later in the evening, after work. Five friends wanted to go for Mexican; the sixth friend, who happened to be 5 months pregnant, didn't. She wanted to go to a more expensive restaurant, where the friends had gone before and which they didn't really enjoy. When she had exhausted all logical reasons to ask them to change their plans to suit her, she delicately laid a hand on her belly and affected a pained expression, announcing, "The baby doesn't like Mexican food." Fuck you, bitch. You didn't feel like going for Mexican. Admit it!, and either take one for the team (because God knows we have changed our plans and taken one for you plenty of times), or say that you're not in the mood for it, go ahead without me.
Second example: Same bitch, but now the adorable brat is 18 months old. Oh, did I mention that this bitch is Marisol? Now we are driving to a Thai restaurant where I invited her parents (my mother- and father-in-law) and for some reason she felt entitled to tag along, like maybe her invitation was implied and I just didn't have time to say her (and her brat's) name. Ring ring, on my cell phone, which is super-considerate, because I drive stick and in town, I need both hands to drive. But I pick up the phone. "Do you really want to go for Thai?" Yes. "Well, it's 20 minutes from here, right?" It is. "Is it spicy?" You can ask for spicy or mild, they are very good about this. "How long is the wait?" There is no wait, they know me there. "Can we just go for Hibachi instead?" (Silence.) "You like Hibachi, right?" No, I don't. I don't like that it is greasy where you go, I don't like that the food is expensive and not filling, I don't like that when the chef turns on the fan above the grill, I can't hear anything anyone at my table says. "'Cause I'm tired and hibachi is much closer to home." (Silence.) "Angela is getting restless, so I want to have dinner and get it over with." Oh! Suddenly it is not because you are a selfish, self-centered bitch who self-invited that you are trying to change my plans...it is because your toddler, who must be obeyed, "doesn't want" to follow the plans I made (which actually didn't include either of you). And may I add that I was disgusted with my husband, Alejandro, ** * because upon hearing this immediately insisted that we go to the nasty hibachi. (FYI: The dinner cost almost $100, we were rushed through because Marisol is too stupid or lazy or both to teach her brat to sit still for >5', & I went home hungry.)
Saying "I'm a working mother" as if it makes you better than me.
Especially when you (1) Don't work all that hard and (2) Basically have a live-in Nanny for your child.
Being presumptuous and imposing on others because no matter what they are doing, it is far more important that you/your child get exactly what you want when you want it.
For example, this spring, Marisol stated that Alejandro would accompany her to an "important professional conference" in another state (the next week) because "Angela cannot be away from her mother overnight."
Actually, it was a small conference that Marisol had found online and had cajoled her PI into letting her attend. She wasn't presenting or getting any type of credit for her attendance. And actually, the reason she couldn't leave Angela with a sitter for the week was because she wanted to show off her baby. (See the immediately previous complaint.) She didn't check with anyone before she made reservations to see if they would be available. She just assumed, as she always does, that if she wanted it, she would get it. (See a future post for lots of annoying details about this situation, by the way.)
Another thing - she expects Alejandro/her parents/me to answer our cell phones the first time she calls us, any time any day. But she turns her cell phone off on the weekends "so the baby can rest." I.e., what she wants us to do for her is of great importance and there's no excuse for not responding immediately, but no matter what we want, it is automatically not as important as her desire not to be bothered by the baby that she brought into this world on purpose.
You are indignant when your child acts like a child, but cannot be bothered to train it to act otherwise.
Example - following your toddler around the restaurant as she wanders between booths and tables, etc. etc. (grabbing at other patrons' bodies and belongings along the way) because it is easier than dealing with her objections to sitting still in your booth...but failing to bring anything to entertain or feed herself with while you eat. Yeah, I'd be grouchy too if I was sitting in a restaurant watching other people eat, and they kept hushing me and pushing my hands away from anything I tried to fiddle with.
A habit of Marisol's is to demand that people, family or visitors to the house, accommodate Angela's whims. She wants to nap? Sit silently, and if you must converse, do it in whispers. Don't eat because the noise of the silverware against the plates might disturb her. And if you insist on talking or eating (possibly because Marisol invited you to dinner), do it on the deck, regardless of the weather. Just don't make too much noise with the door. She wants to be held? Well, why are you just sitting there? She wants to play with your sunglasses/cell phone/laptop? Give them to her before she gets fussy, you selfish bitch.
Being a pregnant/nursing mother entitles you to other people's food/drink, seat, etc etc., which is cool because you don't have to plan ahead to provide your own accommodations. You can just take from them.
I get carsick, so if I'm riding with a group of friends and no one calls shotgun, I ask if it is ok for me to sit there. People who travel with me often are used to this and try to keep it in mind when we are planning transportation. But one day we made the mistake of letting me sit in the front passenger seat when a 15-wk-pregnant girl (for once, not Marisol) was joining us. I was sitting down, ready to roll, when she ignored the seat that had been cleared for her in the back (the rear passenger door was open), opened my door, and smiled expectantly. I smiled back, thinking that this was some type of bizarre greeting. (I had not met this woman before, and sometimes scientists, including me, are socially awkward.)
"I hope it is ok if I sit up front with you," Janine** said to the driver, Amita*. Amita just looked confused.
"I'm pregnant!" Janine announced. Ah! I thought. She must also get carsick. And I made to give up my seat, because anyone with motion sickness has my empathy. I felt a little awkward, so to break the ice I joked, "Man, if you get carsick, Amita will take it to a new level."
"Oh, I never get carsick. But y'know, I'm pregnant..."
Marisol is guilty here, too. Once, when our husbands were working out-of-town together, she and I traveled together to visit them for the weekend. At the time, she was nursing Angela. I knew that Alejandro and his family weren't really morning people, so I packed an apple to eat in the morning with my pills (the ones that say "TAKE WITH FOOD" on the label, which also happen to be the pills that if I don't take them it constitutes a medical emergency). I figured that that way, I wouldn't be relying upon/nagging people who don't typically eat breakfast within 2 hours of waking up. Well, the next morning, I woke up, and hey, no apple! What the hell? I asked around. "Oh," Marisol said innocently, "I ate it because I had to feed Angela already this morning."
So there are a couple problems here.
(1) Marisol is aware of my medical issues. She knows what medicines I take and all that. She just didn't care, because she was hungry, and somehow, being a nursing mother means that she has more rights than I.
(2) Oh my god! You had to feed your baby? How unexpected! I mean, some things you just can't plan for.
1) I know that not every woman who is pregnant or the mother of a young child is 100% obnoxious all the time. Every complaint is based upon experience.
2) I understand that reproduction is a biological imperative.
3) I realize that the fact that I have chosen not to procreate does not make me in any way superior to those who have chosen to do so.
4) I know that I'm a bitch.
5) Note that I'm not blaming the fetus or child for the behavior of its mother. I'm blaming the mother for using the fetus or child as an excuse to do bitchy or asinine things that she probably could not have gotten away with otherwise.
Pregnancy as an excuse to weasel out of doing work that she never was willing to do, pregnant or not.
Example: My first experience with this was when I was a cashier at a supermarket, and a pregnant woman (she had a slight baby bump) came through my line with a box of cereal. (That was her entire purchase.) We had no baggers (for some reason managers haven't figured out that during peak hours, more baggers should be scheduled than for hours when few customers come through the store at all, much less for huge orders that they need help bagging). I rang up her purchase, while my belt carried the box down to the end of the counter, where the bags are. I handed her the receipt, and then she stood there, looking at me expectantly.
Maybe at this point I should mention that this incident occurred during peak shopping hours, toward the middle of an 8-hour shift for me, when most people were buying at least $100-$200 worth of groceries, the check-out lines were at least 3-4 people long, and (as usual) at least half of those people were going special attention, whether because of a problem with coupons or because some item didn't ring up at the right price. (I don't begrudge them this; it's not their fault the supermarket can't get its shit together.) The point is that the store was very busy and crowded, and people's patience was wearing thin, because while everyone wants the cashier/manager/whomever to take as much time as necessary to get their order right, they were starting to get annoyed when other customers also wanted this. In short, it was not a time to screw around with other customers or with the "store associates."
Confused, I just looked back at the pregnant lady for a moment or 2 while I tried to guess what message she was trying to communicate to me by looking at me so stupidly.
"Well?" she said, "Aren't you going to bag it?"
Remember the belt? Thanks to the belt, the cereal box was within inches of her hand. That's the point of the belt. I was perplexed.
"I'm pregnant!" she snapped, indignantly. Keep in mind that she was talking about a box of cereal that she had carried from the shelf to the check-out all by herself.
Till that moment, I had not realized that being pregnant meant that a bitch could not lift a finger to do anything for herself. Now I know. In fact, my sister-in-law, Marisol*, actually explained to me, "I hate taking out the trash. So I told Enrique** [her husband] that the doctor said I shouldn't take out the trash because I'm pregnant. Now he does it for me!" She was delighted. I was surprised that she was so openly proud of the fact that she had lied to her husband to manipulate him into doing something that she was perfectly capable of, but simply didn't feel like, doing.
Motherhood as an excuse to make other people do what you want when you don't feel like doing what they're doing.
Example: Six friends were discussing going out for dinner later in the evening, after work. Five friends wanted to go for Mexican; the sixth friend, who happened to be 5 months pregnant, didn't. She wanted to go to a more expensive restaurant, where the friends had gone before and which they didn't really enjoy. When she had exhausted all logical reasons to ask them to change their plans to suit her, she delicately laid a hand on her belly and affected a pained expression, announcing, "The baby doesn't like Mexican food." Fuck you, bitch. You didn't feel like going for Mexican. Admit it!, and either take one for the team (because God knows we have changed our plans and taken one for you plenty of times), or say that you're not in the mood for it, go ahead without me.
--- --- ---
Second example: Same bitch, but now the adorable brat is 18 months old. Oh, did I mention that this bitch is Marisol? Now we are driving to a Thai restaurant where I invited her parents (my mother- and father-in-law) and for some reason she felt entitled to tag along, like maybe her invitation was implied and I just didn't have time to say her (and her brat's) name. Ring ring, on my cell phone, which is super-considerate, because I drive stick and in town, I need both hands to drive. But I pick up the phone. "Do you really want to go for Thai?" Yes. "Well, it's 20 minutes from here, right?" It is. "Is it spicy?" You can ask for spicy or mild, they are very good about this. "How long is the wait?" There is no wait, they know me there. "Can we just go for Hibachi instead?" (Silence.) "You like Hibachi, right?" No, I don't. I don't like that it is greasy where you go, I don't like that the food is expensive and not filling, I don't like that when the chef turns on the fan above the grill, I can't hear anything anyone at my table says. "'Cause I'm tired and hibachi is much closer to home." (Silence.) "Angela is getting restless, so I want to have dinner and get it over with." Oh! Suddenly it is not because you are a selfish, self-centered bitch who self-invited that you are trying to change my plans...it is because your toddler, who must be obeyed, "doesn't want" to follow the plans I made (which actually didn't include either of you). And may I add that I was disgusted with my husband, Alejandro, ** * because upon hearing this immediately insisted that we go to the nasty hibachi. (FYI: The dinner cost almost $100, we were rushed through because Marisol is too stupid or lazy or both to teach her brat to sit still for >5', & I went home hungry.)
Saying "I'm a working mother" as if it makes you better than me.
Especially when you (1) Don't work all that hard and (2) Basically have a live-in Nanny for your child.
Being presumptuous and imposing on others because no matter what they are doing, it is far more important that you/your child get exactly what you want when you want it.
For example, this spring, Marisol stated that Alejandro would accompany her to an "important professional conference" in another state (the next week) because "Angela cannot be away from her mother overnight."
Actually, it was a small conference that Marisol had found online and had cajoled her PI into letting her attend. She wasn't presenting or getting any type of credit for her attendance. And actually, the reason she couldn't leave Angela with a sitter for the week was because she wanted to show off her baby. (See the immediately previous complaint.) She didn't check with anyone before she made reservations to see if they would be available. She just assumed, as she always does, that if she wanted it, she would get it. (See a future post for lots of annoying details about this situation, by the way.)
--- --- ---
Another thing - she expects Alejandro/her parents/me to answer our cell phones the first time she calls us, any time any day. But she turns her cell phone off on the weekends "so the baby can rest." I.e., what she wants us to do for her is of great importance and there's no excuse for not responding immediately, but no matter what we want, it is automatically not as important as her desire not to be bothered by the baby that she brought into this world on purpose.
You are indignant when your child acts like a child, but cannot be bothered to train it to act otherwise.
Example - following your toddler around the restaurant as she wanders between booths and tables, etc. etc. (grabbing at other patrons' bodies and belongings along the way) because it is easier than dealing with her objections to sitting still in your booth...but failing to bring anything to entertain or feed herself with while you eat. Yeah, I'd be grouchy too if I was sitting in a restaurant watching other people eat, and they kept hushing me and pushing my hands away from anything I tried to fiddle with.
A habit of Marisol's is to demand that people, family or visitors to the house, accommodate Angela's whims. She wants to nap? Sit silently, and if you must converse, do it in whispers. Don't eat because the noise of the silverware against the plates might disturb her. And if you insist on talking or eating (possibly because Marisol invited you to dinner), do it on the deck, regardless of the weather. Just don't make too much noise with the door. She wants to be held? Well, why are you just sitting there? She wants to play with your sunglasses/cell phone/laptop? Give them to her before she gets fussy, you selfish bitch.
Being a pregnant/nursing mother entitles you to other people's food/drink, seat, etc etc., which is cool because you don't have to plan ahead to provide your own accommodations. You can just take from them.
I get carsick, so if I'm riding with a group of friends and no one calls shotgun, I ask if it is ok for me to sit there. People who travel with me often are used to this and try to keep it in mind when we are planning transportation. But one day we made the mistake of letting me sit in the front passenger seat when a 15-wk-pregnant girl (for once, not Marisol) was joining us. I was sitting down, ready to roll, when she ignored the seat that had been cleared for her in the back (the rear passenger door was open), opened my door, and smiled expectantly. I smiled back, thinking that this was some type of bizarre greeting. (I had not met this woman before, and sometimes scientists, including me, are socially awkward.)
"I hope it is ok if I sit up front with you," Janine** said to the driver, Amita*. Amita just looked confused.
"I'm pregnant!" Janine announced. Ah! I thought. She must also get carsick. And I made to give up my seat, because anyone with motion sickness has my empathy. I felt a little awkward, so to break the ice I joked, "Man, if you get carsick, Amita will take it to a new level."
"Oh, I never get carsick. But y'know, I'm pregnant..."
.... ... ...
Marisol is guilty here, too. Once, when our husbands were working out-of-town together, she and I traveled together to visit them for the weekend. At the time, she was nursing Angela. I knew that Alejandro and his family weren't really morning people, so I packed an apple to eat in the morning with my pills (the ones that say "TAKE WITH FOOD" on the label, which also happen to be the pills that if I don't take them it constitutes a medical emergency). I figured that that way, I wouldn't be relying upon/nagging people who don't typically eat breakfast within 2 hours of waking up. Well, the next morning, I woke up, and hey, no apple! What the hell? I asked around. "Oh," Marisol said innocently, "I ate it because I had to feed Angela already this morning."
So there are a couple problems here.
(1) Marisol is aware of my medical issues. She knows what medicines I take and all that. She just didn't care, because she was hungry, and somehow, being a nursing mother means that she has more rights than I.
(2) Oh my god! You had to feed your baby? How unexpected! I mean, some things you just can't plan for.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Stuff I'm thankful for
My husband is here and gives me heavenly shoulder/back/neck massages when I get home from a week of 12-to-14-hour days in the lab.
I can take NSAIDs for my shoulder/back/neck pain. I used to take this for granted, but my mom can't take these drugs because she's allergic to them.
That I have good enough health care that I was able to go to physical therapy and learn some really helpful exercises to help to alleviate and prevent my back/neck problems, and to the psychiatrist, and to the pharmacy.
That abortion is safe and legal in the US.
That I have a great car which is not in rehab this Thanksgiving (he was last year).
That my parents are generous and tolerant enough to let my husband and me live with them while he is unemployed.
I can take NSAIDs for my shoulder/back/neck pain. I used to take this for granted, but my mom can't take these drugs because she's allergic to them.
That I have good enough health care that I was able to go to physical therapy and learn some really helpful exercises to help to alleviate and prevent my back/neck problems, and to the psychiatrist, and to the pharmacy.
That abortion is safe and legal in the US.
That I have a great car which is not in rehab this Thanksgiving (he was last year).
That my parents are generous and tolerant enough to let my husband and me live with them while he is unemployed.
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