Unanswered Questions Answered.

Subtitle: The Margie Rant.

The weird question Margie had for me yesterday wasn't so much a question as it was a hypothetical statement. And it really wasn't even that weird. I have to admit, I was slightly disappointed. It went something like this:

So I've applied to work at (the school where Pie and Camille went last year and where Tito goes this year) three days a week, and I won't know for a while if I have the job because it really kinda depends on whether or not the teacher I'd be replacing goes on medical leave, I don't know what she'd be going on leave for and I don't really want to know. I hope it's not something really awful or I'll feel guilty for hoping I get this job, you know? I mean, I want the job, but I don't want the poor woman to have cancer or something! Maybe just something like hip replacement would be not so bad... I mean, I'm not a selfish person but anyway if I took the job it might mean that I wouldn't get home in time to get Camille to the bus...

Oh SHIT, here we go...

And the boys would get to go to school there for free if I worked there, and I think that would be great for them to get to meet other kids and play because then they'll be really good and tired when we get home and then maybe they'll take a nap for me and I'll have a chance to take a nap, or read a book, or just have some quiet for Pete's sake, plus we could really use the money, even though Calvin thinks I'm crazy for wanting to take another job. But I don't see HIM offering to take another job! Lazy ass! Anyway, yeah, just think about it and let me know...

Ummmm...

Did ya see how she didn't really ask me directly if I would be willing to take her daughter to school three days a week? Cuz that's what she was asking. I mean, I think it is. It may even be "Can I drop Camille off on my way to work and let her hang out with you and Pie and have lunch and then you can just take them both to school?" That's actually what I'm assuming it's going to come down to. And I'm way too nice a person to say no.

I am a nice person, despite all evidence to the contrary depicted in this blog. I know I come across as a hardcore badass when I say stuff like That's How This Gangsta Rolls, but the truth is, I actually have to fight my own genteel nature to leave the Please off of Suck it, Bitches. It's the good manners my parents instilled in me, ya know.

So I spent three long hours with Margie and when I got home I just wanted to go to bed. She's a nice person, and I like her and everything, she's just exhausting to be around. I wanted to wear a wire or something so I could record and post a conversation with her for your amusement. The most interesting part might be the fact that I can be quiet for that long and let someone else talk.

Yeah, yeah, we all know I'm quite a Chatty Cathy. I always have been. I guarantee you I'm the best person to sit next to at a party, especially if there's an open bar. I don't apologize for it, it's just how I am. But I think I make an effort to engage others in conversation, or at least make it entertaining by peppering it with colorful words and humorous anecdotes. But this woman reduces me to yeah... uh huh... seriously... oh, I know... ooooooooh yeah... wow... innnnnnnteresting...

I mean, you guys would tell me if I was like that, wouldn't you? Please, God, don't let this be what people think of me. Please, if I'm like that and I just don't know it, strike me dead now. Please, God, RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Thank you, Amen.

She casually mentioned that not one, but two of her best friends are moving out of state and she will very soon have no friends to do stuff with. I interpreted that as "I desperately need a new best friend and it sure looks like it's gonna be you." Fuck. I wonder if it's occurred to her that perhaps she's the reason they're moving out of state.

Oh, that totally reminds me of a story. She was telling me about one of her friends who is moving away... Oh, remember, you met her that day we met her at the park with her son Phillip...?

Yeah, I remember that day. Margie hadn't told me that we were meeting someone else there, so when this strange woman came up and started a conversation with me about my kids I thought she was some surprisingly well-dressed escaped mental patient. It was the end of May, and this lady was wearing an outfit that seemed horribly inappropriate for a day at the park. She had on dressy black slacks and heels, and low-cut white sweater with her unnaturally orange boobs peeking out the top and the spray-tan color visibly staining the inside of her plunging neckline.

She was exactly the sort of person I would have made a snarky comment about to someone else, but thank God I didn't because suddenly Margie appeared and said, "Oh, I see you've met Michelle!!" And I just about shat myself.

The kids played happily on the playground despite the fact that it was apparently a field trip for a nearby Catholic school (the church R and I got married in, in fact) and the parochial kids were running around and climbing to the top of the slides declaring themselves Supreme Rulers and denying access to anyone under the age of ten.

Ok, the kids were kinda menacing and they weren't paying attention to the little kids that were all over the place and sure, someone might have gotten hurt. But it's a playground. They're playing. Cut 'em some slack. As a parent, be responsible for your own kids and direct them to play on a different part of the playground. Mischief managed.

Margie tried to find a leader of this motley crew, and when she was unable to identify one, she fervently swore to Spray-Tan Boobs and me that she would be contacting this school to complain about the behavior of their students. I don't know if she ever did, but she sure had me convinced that she was going to.

The sad part is that Margie and I actually have a great deal in common. She told me how she feels like an outsider among the other moms in our kids' class and that she tries really hard but never quite feels like she's doing the right thing. She's a hardass with her kids like I am with mine, and I respect that. I get along quite well with fellow advocates of a good smack when a kid's really fuckin asking for it. But she's so much of a spotlight hog diva, I never get the opportunity to tell her how well I can relate to her plight.

But getting back to the story, Margie points out ridiculous minutia around the house that I probably wouldn't have noticed and definitely wouldn't have cared about. At one point we were standing at the bottom of the stairs and she looked up and saw a scuff of some sort on the ceiling - the size of a pencil eraser, mind you - gasped and said Oh my God, I need to touch that up...

She's an artist, by trade, and, to her credit, a very good one. But there's always something wrong with what she did or there's something she wishes she would have done differently and Ooooh, she hopes nobody notices the flaw she just went out of her way to show me.

When R called on his way home I didn't have dinner started yet because I was still recovering from the afternoon. He was anxious to hear what The Weird Question was, and he too was a little bummed that it wasn't something more interesting than her not actually asking me to watch her kid and expecting me to figure it out. R is so awesome.

Margie bitches about her husband Calvin more than any woman I've ever met. I really don't like being around people who bitch about their husbands and wives constantly. I mean, occasionally, if he pissed you off, that's fine, I know I occasionally kvetch about R on here, but not very often, and I feel that I have the kind of relationship with you, my vast readership (and by the way, I love calling you My Vast Readership) where I can feel comfortable doing that. Y'all know I love R to pieces.

But I've never heard her say a nice thing about Calvin EVER, and I've never met the guy so I haven't had a chance to form my own opinion of him. I don't feel that Margie and I have the sort of relationship where she's allowed to bitch about her man to me all the fuckin time. Not to sound harsh, Sweetheart, but seriously, if you're that fuckin miserable, either get the fuck out, or shut the fuck up.

Ugh. I need an Excedrin even just recalling the whole thing.

So anyway, at 3am this morning Tito came in crying and saying he couldn't sleep. He climbed into our bed and his body was so hot I had to kick all the covers off of myself. He managed to get to the potty before he threw up, for which I am extremely grateful because I don't know if I can muster the energy to change the sheets.

I do take a bit of sick pleasure in the fact that, in all likelihood, one of Margie's kids is barfing in her bed right now.