Hey! Let's catch up on some things!
July 21, 2011I've received a few emails asking me what ever happened with my Crossfit attempt. Here's what! Nothing. Crossfit is kinda pricey, and I can't rationalize it right now, especially now that I'm working on some longer-term projects that aren't delivering insta-paychecks. Or actually any paychecks at all. At least not yet. NOT YET. So maybe later, Crossfit. Or maybe never, actually. I'm still considering my options.
I haven't even been able to face going back to the gym, for some reason. Actually I know perfectly well why. Before it got super-crazy hot, I got into running/walking/crawling-sobbing in the park--that's why. Also Henry was home, and he's definitely too old for the gym day care, so I was doing push-ups and so forth while he acted as my coach. He's the world's worst coach, I have to say. He kept turning off my timer when I was in mid-plank because he TOUCHED IT when I told him NOT TO TOUCH IT but it's my iPhone, so it's a magical thing that must be touched.
I have no excuses not to go since Henry's been at camp (he's returning in two days! My Littlest Excuse is coming home!). Except that it's hot, which I know means it'll be crowded at the gym, and UGH. People. Am I right, folks?
I don't think of myself as a total misanthrope, but I had drinks recently with two friends (Hi, Sarah and Jennifer! I'm talking about you!) and I brought up the topic of Other Parents and how I hate chit-chatting with Them at school pick-up and what if they want to be FRIENDS, what do I DO, and from Sarah and Jen's reaction, it was clear I was alone with this feeling. Look. LOOK. I like lots of parents at Henry's school. I just don't like Parents as a category. I like people. It's Humanity I have a hard time with.
It's possible I'm just a dick.
Oh! Speaking of being a dick! Here's a little story for you that's been haunting me for, well, years. I was living in New Jersey, and I was at my then-psychiatrist's office. She was someone I had a great rapport with, so I felt chatty one day, and decided to (gently?) poke fun at this artwork that was on her wall. It had a purple flower on it, and it said, "Love. Faith. Believe." I was staring at it, and before I knew what was happening, I was saying, "Why 'believe'?"
"Excuse me?" she said. (Or something like that. Let's pretend I remember.)
"If you're going to write 'love' and "faith,' shouldn't it be 'belief'?"
Here I thought she was going to chuckle, as she was wont to do, and think, oh, Alice, that is so you. Or maybe she'd think lord when will this asshole leave my office, isn't her time up? But either way, she would appear to tolerate my antics.
Instead, she looked vaguely stricken, and said something noncommittal about not having considered that. I may have imagined the tension, but I don't think so. I am usually oblivious to tension that I've directly created, so for me to be aware of it really says something. I left feeling like I'd turned into Larry David. Her MOM probably made that, you guys. And now I had ruined it for her.
And the next time I came in? It was gone. GONE. What could I say? "Hey, remember that print that you had up that I mocked? Why's it gone? DID I MAKE IT GONE?" There was nothing I could say. I thought about it every time I came back. You want to know the reason we left New Jersey? There you go. (Not really.)
Reader Comments (38)
I can't stop myself from pointing out grammatical flaws, either. I'm a dick, too.
DICKS UNITE!
Maybe there's a club for us or a twelve-step program. "Hi, I'm Leah, and I'm a dick."
Hilarious. I've been pondering a terribly necessary return to therapy but that just brought it all back. I'm thinking no now. Thanks for helping me clarify life decisions.
Agh, Briar! This wasn't a therapist, just someone who prescribed meds. Don't turn away from therapy because I'm a dick!
Perhaps she needed space to display this quote from Vince Lombardi:
“The quality of a person's life is in direct proportion to there commitment to excellence, irrregardless of there chosen field of endeavor.”
BELIEVF!
We recently moved into a condo and our neighbors are friendly. This troubled me. I'm terrible at making small talk and right now I am pregnant and I basically just want to be a hermit. My husband occasionally has a beer with them, but I am playing the role of the anti-social wife who stays upstairs and watches House Hunters International. Also, I'm a dick. I'm a dick for saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, not doing the right thing. Just an all around dick.
When I read that the art was GONE the next time, I died a little. That's the sort of thing that would give me night sweats (does my psychiatrist HATE ME NOW? Am I an ART RUINER?). I wouldn't blame you if that really were the reason you fled back to Brooklyn.
Having a kid requires a lot more forced interactions with adults than I anticipated, and I can see that it's only going to get worse. My daughter loves to go up to random people in Central Park and yell, "TOES!" or just "Hi! hi!" I am excruciatingly aware that not everyone wants to talk to or even share airspace with a toddler, so I am constantly doing the apologetic smile and steering her elsewhere. This makes me understand why people like having backyards.
I don't like parents as a category either; I'm with you on that.
I did a dick thing like that once, only much worse. A friend of mine, a super nice guy who is an aspiring writer used to send me his short stories to read. He was majoring in English at the time and I am a graphic designer but I also love to edit. So one time when he sent a story he mentioned a few things he was having trouble with, including the ending, and for some strange reason I assumed he wanted help with it. So I had great fun editing it and worked up a new possible ending. I felt so helpful! I sent it, expecting him to be amazed at my skills and so very grateful. A few days later he wrote back, thanked me for catching a few errors and very carefully and diplomatically explained that he wasn't expecting it to be edited; he thought I would just enjoy reading it like I had all the others he'd sent. When I re-read his first email it was clear that's all he wanted, so I have no idea where I got the idea he would LIKE to have his work corrected and rewritten. That was the last story he ever sent.
I knew if I mentioned editing I'd miss something; I see where I left a comma out and there are probably other errors, but I did say I'm a graphic designer, not a real editor - I just like to correct people. I think I need that 12-step program. :)
You can buy your old psychiatrist a new sign, here at Cost Plus World Market: http://www.worldmarket.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3904668
Maybe she put it away before each of your appointments. Like when I hide my vibrator when my mom visits.
Suzy, I think you're right. She was all, DON'T LET THE ART SET HER OFF AGAIN.
Davida, OH MY GOD. I should totally send that to her. She would probably just think I'm insane because she doesn't remember it and yes I am probably insane.
I never understood the moms who, after meeting you and speaking for all of 23 seconds, ask for playdates. "Oh we should get togeeeether!" Really? What if we don't like each other at all? What if your children are demonic? Do you always invite strangers to your home?
I've never understood it, and it always makes me feel like crying a little and running away. The worst part is trying to gracefully avoid saying either yes or no. "Heh heh! Oh look, little Johnny's eating rocks - gotta run! See ya bye!" RUN.
Also, I'm sorry, but that is hilarious about the poster being gone the next time you were in the office. I would have been distracted by its absence for the entire meeting. I would have wondered if she was not a little pitiful. I'd wonder what her evenings were like in her apartment, alone. With pasta. And a trade journal and perhaps a little smooth jazz.
So with you about the humanity/parents thing.
Oh, Elizabeth B, thank you for those laughs. i don't think you need to do anything other than leave hilarious comments. Edit mine if you want.
So I don't think I've commented before, but I've been a reader for a while and just had to comment on this one. And my comment is:
HA! Hahahaha. Nice.
This? This story right here? About the picture? The. Best. Ever.
I belief!
Oh my god, your comments are cracking me up. That is all. Carry on.
I hate all inspirational art. Visiting the Vatican is really tough for me.
Once, my mom had a painting of a cat licking himself hanging in the guest room. She didn't realize I guess. Chris and I found it hilarious and when she asked what we were laughing at we told her. The painting was gone when we came back for our next visit. Chris was so disappointed.
Also, I have a friend with a two year old who can't make any mom friends either. I don't think it has to be a requirement. Plus the women in her neighborhood are kind of snobby. They looked very disapproving when Jen told them she was from Canada.
The first time I saw Curb Your Enthusiasm was an episode where he and Cheryl were driving somewhere and out of the blue he says, how come you never see a grape pie? And I turned to my husband and said, this is what it's like to live with me, isn't it? He didn't disagree. I have also inadvertently insulted therapists, and once a hypnotherapist who wanted to do some "energy" work on me with her spirit guides.
Listen, Jessica, that hypnotherapist had it coming.
I am fairly certain other parents see me drop Nicholas off and think, "Huh. Why is Gertrude Stein at a preschool?"