OK. I’m packed. Everything is done. According to all the baby books, even the baby is done growing. SO. Any. Day. Now.
I e-mailed Adam and Britt wanting to know if they had a good time at BlogHer and I asked them, “How was blogger?” I need to have this baby very quickly because I want to be intelligent again. How do stupid people live like this?
And the last bullet is saved for… the next person that asks me, “Have you had the baby, yet?” I will tell you when I have the baby. Quit pressuring me.
Have you ever been talking to someone and they’re being sarcastic and you’re being sarcastic and all of a sudden you quickly realize that this conversation just exited from the HaHaAren’tWeAllBeingCute Interstate to PassiveAggressiveLand?
This happened in a conversation I was having with family the other night.
My family has no shortage of alpha males and alpha females. A lot of people I’m related to are intensely strong, opinionated, and talented in some way or another. The thing about alpha personalities, of course, is that though their talents come in handy and produce great success for the benefit of those closest to them, within the undertones of every relationship is a fight for dominance.
It doesn’t matter how much you love one another, the need for the “win” is always there.
Not to sound all self righteous, but I realized this several years ago. I decided I wasn’t going to play that game, again.
If I feel like there is some sort of alpha dogging going on in a conversation, I generally withdraw. I mean, it’s not as if I’m discussing foreign policy with the security minister of Iran. These are living room conversations. Nothing hangs in the balance except for someone’s ego. I know I’m a talented and intelligent woman, and I don’t need to win an argument to continue believing that.
So, I can handle the alpha personality quite well.
You know who I have a hard time handling? Betas. I don’t know if that’s a real term, so let me define what I mean by “beta.”
A beta is not just a person who goes with the flow. The betas I’m talking about never argue. They rarely assert their own needs, wishes or desires. Even if they want to. Even if they should. They don’t make the tough decisions because they think that’s the alpha’s job.
You’d think that as a self described alpha, I’d appreciate that. Who doesn’t want a band of sycophants hanging on their every word all the while mixing their adoration of you with genuine fear?
I don’t. I don’t appreciate that, at all. Mostly because, betas always find a way to let you know that they don’t like the way things are going. And they are almost always cruel about it.
There is nothing worse than thinking that you’ve gone out of your way to be careful in considering the needs of someone else and then having them tell you in some cowardly passive aggressive joke that they think you’re a jerk.
See, for me, it’s not about winning. I don’t come into a situation and assume responsibility because I need to be in charge. I do it because nobody else is doing it. I do it for the benefit of everyone. And you know what I’ve noticed? That the people who benefit the most from my assumption of duties or responsibilities are the ones who are the cruelest.
In other words, the people who are least able and likely to take the initiative to solve a problem are the most likely to act like detriments the whole time it’s being solved.
They’re the ones that will make snippy comments just above earshot while I’m trying to work something out with someone else.
Or who expect me to feel bad and treat them like a martyr because they were too much of an idiot to ask for what they needed when they needed it.
Or say things about how I’m “scary” and how they wouldn’t want cross me while I’m trying to plan something.
Or roll their eyes when they find out that I’ve successfully done something exactly the way it’s supposed to be done.
I will not apologize for being good at things or for my excellence.
I will not apologize for being a strong, organized person who takes initiative in every situation with which I am presented.
I will not apologize because other people are too insecure and afraid to express their needs.
I would rather people just be kind and say, “Thank you,” or dispense with the passive aggressive displays that clearly underline their own feelings of inadequacy.
Just because someone feels bad about themselves does not make it OK to be cruel to those who don’t.
I was going to write a post about how I’m taking a break from blogging, but I’ve decided not to take a break. I’m just not willing to give this up even for a few weeks because, to me, my blog is my own personal space. You know, the “room of one’s own” of which Virginia Woolf spoke. (Finally, after 18 months, I’ve managed to work Virginia Woolf into a blog post. It’s all downhill from here, people.)
My 19 year old cousin is staying with us, and she’s been an enormous help in every way. Still, she makes me feel like… a “square,” sometimes. Just the fact that I used the word “square” should illustrate how much of a “square” she makes me feel/act like. When did I become a grown up?!
My darling friends, Mr. Britt, Miss Britt, Adam, Hilly, Clown and Carolina came over on Friday night to watch Om Shanti Om. We had a great time, they were just disrespectful enough to Bollywood culture to be funny, but not so much that I had to throw them out of the house. A fun time was had by all. Except Adam who came up with exactly 4,321,972 different variations of the phrase, “Why can’t Indian movies be more like American movies?”
My SIL’s baby shower is on Saturday at my place. We’re doing a Victorian theme complete with full tea service. I just hope I don’t ruin the shower by going into labor. And, just so you know, SIL tried her best to discourage me from having it at all, but I told her I’d kill her if she asked me one more time not to throw her a baby shower. And she believed me. I’m not sure if she realized I meant “kill” in the metaphorical sense.
Also? I’ve surmised that Victorian tea is the direct result of the turn of the century British not allowing women to vote or own property. As a result, Victorian women had no outlet for constructive behavior and were forced to concoct crazy rules like, “It is entirely inappropriate and quite common to slice a scone in its entirety.” Furthermore, I am highly disturbed by how incredibly appealing I find the the prospect of enforcing these rules upon other people. By the way, that thing about scones? Totally true. I could not make up something like that even if I tried.
I realized that I’m pretty much done preparing for the arrival of this baby. I thought I was behind, but it occurred to me this morning that I actually had less to do than I imagined. I was way too prepared for N.’s arrival. We bought way too much stuff and made way too many plans. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that every kid is different and that we should wait and gauge the temperament of this child before assuming that he will happily sleep in his own room within two months of being born.
I feel so huge right now that it takes every ounce of what are the remnants of my self esteem about my body to keep from crying myself to sleep every night. I literally despise looking in the mirror. And? Of course, I think pregnant woman are beautiful because, helllo, they’ll take my rabid feminist card away if I don’t. I just don’t feel like I look very beautiful. My skin is all ashy, my face is puffy (read fat) and I can’t even bear to look anywhere below my neck. Every time someone takes a photo of me, I want to burn their camera.
And in a variation of the classic LeSombre and NYCWD bullet post, I’m saving this last bullet for the first person that says, “Sweetheart, you’re not fat, your pregnant.” Thank you. I know this. And that doesn’t help. At all.
Saw Harry Potter on Wednesday. I’m meaning to write a review defending my stance that I didn’t like the movie at some point, but, until then, I’d like to discuss something else that I saw during the movie.
Being vastly superior in our planning skills to those who waited to find seating five minutes before the movie, we sat at a comfortable distance from the screen at the very end of our row. The end of the row, as far as I’m concerned is prime seating because, hi, I’m about to have a baby and I have to use the bathroom every three minutes.
A (presumably) father with his two kids, about seven and nine decided they were going to sit in the seats next to me.
The two seats next to me.
They were really polite, saying the requisite, “Excuse me… sorry…” as we all engaged in that scrunch up your legs and move sideways little jig that those of us who are awesome enough to occupy the end seats have come to know and love.
Here’s a math equation.
How do three people sit in the two seats next to me at Harry Potter?
Answer: The nine year old sits down, dad sits down and then seven year old sort of shares the seat with his dad and brother for the next two hours and forty five minutes.
Personally, I thought it was really nice that they would rather be together than comfortable.
Oh, wait, did I mention that on the other side of them were two people, an empty seat and, then, two more people?
Did you read that? An empty seat.
The woman who was sitting next to the dad and seven year old had an empty seat next to her companion and did not ask him to mover over, or move herself.
My heart also sort of broke because the dad and his kids were too sweet, nice, shy, dumb, or whatever to ask her to move over.
(Actually, I heard one of the kids translating certain parts of the movie to his “dad” in French, so I think the “dad” didn’t speak English very well).
Years ago, I would have undoubtedly leaned over and asked that woman to move down, so that man and his children could be comfortable.
Yes, I was that self righteous and nosy.
Years of being burned for meddling in other people’s business has taught me that my version of the way things should be are not necessarily …. well, the way that people want them.
And, people, sometimes get mad when you stick up for them. Even if you’re completely right and they are much better of now because of me.
So, I just sort of sat there waiting for this woman to get a clue.
Move. Over.
For-God’s-sake-man. Ask. Her. To. Move.
I was hoping some kind of psychic connection would arise between me and the dad or me and the seat camper so that all would be right with the universe and I could get on with being disappointed in the screen writers of The Half Blood Prince.
But, she didn’t move.
And he didn’t ask.
Maybe her companion has a fear of being more than twelve inches away from any other human being.
Maybe she was so excited to see the movie that she didn’t notice.
Maybe she thought, “He arrived five minutes before the movie, I got here twenty minutes early, why should I have to move, at all?”
I don’t know. But, whatever the reason, this situation has been bugging me ever since.
I want to know why people do this.
Why do people ignore people who don’t get in their face and demand to be acknowledged?
Why do people ignore the weak guy? The guy who, for whatever reason, doesn’t say, “Hey, do you mind scooting over?”
I definitely believe that being assertive about what you need is an important trait. You should tell people to scoot over if you see an empty seat so that you and your children can sit comfortably.
But, if you lack that confidence and strong sense of self, why can’t other people just scoot over, anyway?
Why can’t this be a world where once we’re settled in our own seats, we can look to the left of us and the right of us and think, is there anyone that needs me to engage in a small, random act of kindness?
In my faith, there’s a saying that the smallest act of charity is a smile. And that one of the smallest acts of faith is removing harm from someone’s way.
Whether you believe in God or not, this illustrates that kindness resides in the ability and the desire to think of the welfare and comfort of other human beings in addition to your own.
Interestingly, neither of these examples, the smile, the removal of harm or even the moving one seat down at the opening night of Harry Potter requires anything that would diminish one iota of our own abundance or comfort.
The requirements of basic charity and demonstrations of faith are painlessly simple.
A look to the left, a look to the right, and simply asking, “Is there anything I can do?”
I know everyone is sick of hearing about Michael Jackson. So, I promise never, ever to bring him up ever again. After today.
I saw this clip from “Britain’s Got Talent” several months ago, maybe even last year. In retrospect, it captures one of the points I was trying to get across in this post.
Although you may be tempted to close this video after about a minute, make sure you keep watching. I think you’ll be surprised. Whether it’s pleasantly, I can’t guarantee.
*If you’re reading this through a Facebook feed, click through to the original post to see the video.
