Pessimistic Parenting A Masterclass

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          I see all the advertisements for masterclasses on anything you want to learn whether it is acting, writing, painting, knitting, interviewing CEOs for that elusive job-you’ll-never-get to star gazing. There was even one on breathing. I swear, anything. With that in mind, I decided to do my own ‘Masterclass’ on what I call Pessimistic Parenting. I’m not sure these techniques would fly with the parents these days, but I’m willing to take that chance and throw out some tips that may be useful for the next generation of parents. Or not. You can have kids that turn out to be sociopaths, your choice. Here we go!

You Suck, Kid

          All kids have behaviours that suck. That’s why they’re kids. They don’t know anything yet, so it’s our job as parents to teach them. You need to say ‘no’ occasionally often all the damned time for them to get the idea that throwing Cheerios all over the floor is not appropriate behaviour. Neither is crying in a store, stealing a toy from another child, or sticking their fingers up their noses. It’s all a big fat ‘NO.’ So get used to saying it. And mean it. It’s not enough to say, “No, you can’t have that brownie right now we are having dinner,” then hand over the brownie. You must enforce it, too. There’s a whole list of reasons why sticking to your guns is a good idea, but I’ll just cut to the chase. If you want to avoid your kid being a serial killer, a narcissistic jerk, or a social outcast, please say ‘no’ and mean it. Society thanks you.

The Use of Time Out or Mommy Needs Wine

          Is that a thing nowadays? We used it with our kids and boy were we good at it! But we did a variation called behaviour baseball. Three strikes, you’re out. I mean that was the last straw. To my recollection, it only happened once with my eldest daughter and it was a lot of work for us, but we felt it brought home the point. Remember: If you think you can laze your way through this shit, it won’t work. Just keep replaying Narcissistic Jerk and it will provide the motivation you need to see it through. These were our steps: Strike One: If the child did something after we told her not to, she had to sit on her bed and reflect. Then a discussion around the behaviour, why it was wrong and how to improve. Strike Two: If Step One produced pouting, refusing to discuss and anger, we moved on to her putting pjs on and sitting on the bed. NOBODY likes putting on pjs and sitting on their bed doing nothing. No books, no screens, nothing. Strike Three: If still no compliance it was stripping the room and continuing to sit on the bed in pjs. I mean I took every book from the shelf, every toy, all the bedding, EVERYTHING from the room. Took me a long time, but it was bundled up in garbage bags and removed. She sat there for hours, which gave me plenty of time to have a break, sip some wine and contemplate the reason we had kids in the first place. Then we talked about it, and she had to EARN her shit back. There. The end. We never reminded her of her past behaviours, we moved on hoping to never have to replay the stripping of the room because those books were a pain in the ass to put back. With her help, of course. Then I had more wine and felt like a good mom.

Source That Shit Out

          Oh, please we don’t know everything! But the kids don’t know that. So fake it. We do our best to ensure they’re safe, well fed and clean. The rest is a total fluke, so go with it. Do I know Math? Fuck, no but I don’t have to. That’s what tutors are for. Or Hubby. Do I know how to construct a 3D model of the Space Shuttle with little astronauts for props? Pffft…NO. But again, source that shit out. There is somebody in your ’hood who is DYING to do that, so find him/her and throw them a little gift in the mix. Done. Your job as a parent is to ensure your kid does his best to the best of his ability. Not to outdo the other guy and not to stress yourself out trying to learn what he must learn. I’ve already been to school. I don’t need to go again. Find somebody who LOVES shit like that and get them in there! It will save you from losing your mind. You. Are. Welcome.

Teens, An Adventure into the Abyss of Despair and Chaos

          This is a whole different stratosphere of shit, but to put it in basic terms remember only one thing: YOU ARE NOT THEIR FRIEND. You are an adult. The parent. The person who brought them into this world and can take them out. Limits, limits, limits. The only way. Sorry to have to break it to you, but if you don’t enforce shit, they feel unsafe and they can’t trust you and BOOM, retaliation in the form of anything they can get into. Communication is good. Yelling is pointless. Threats are empty unless you follow through. Taking away privileges is good like keys to the car, phones (you pay for that, right?), computer, tablets, sports, (you pay for that too, right?) social events, etc.  Anything you pay for; you can take away. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Just wait for the slamming doors and loud music and parties…wow. Such an adventure. That’s why parents drink. That and Christmas, because shopping for everything, wrapping all those gifts just to see your creative yet time-consuming efforts thrown to the side in a heap, and assembling items at midnight, will have anybody reaching for the wine at 5am as junior unwraps the avocado he got from Grandma. Good times. If you manage to survive the teen years and wander aimlessly into adulthood, congrats! You have now managed to reach the pinnacle of your parenting while worrying if they drive safely enough, if they have a stalker who is out to kill or maim them and if they attain gainful employment so as not to return to live in your basement and eat your food. All valid worries.

Thanks for reading my first Masterclass! I hope you enjoyed this episode.  

Good luck parents. Remember, there’s always another year!

AND alcohol.  

Top Ten Ways to Respond to Shitty People

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Let’s face it, not all people are nice or enjoyable to be around. There are times when you are simply going about your business, and someone will come along and try to ruin your perfectly decent day. “Oh, I wouldn’t do it that way,” or “Did you know that putting that there would not please the boss?’ Like no, Debby I had no fucking clue because the BOSS ISN’T EVEN HERE AND WHY DO YOU CARE?  Some folks just can’t help themselves but to make your business, their business. To say that one thing that they know will get under your skin. Here are some helpful tips to put those Nosey Nellies in their places. I hope you can put them to good use.

10. It’s The Way I Was Taught – Beginning any new job, or simply doing the job you’ve been doing for the past twenty years comes with peeps who think they can do it better. When Karen comes along and claims you did something wrong, simply tell her you were taught a new way to do it. Your method is more modern and keeping up with industry standards and maybe she should investigate taking a refresher course because obviously, her method is outdated. And send her along her merry way. You can then send her links to online courses that you didn’t do, but said you did, then she will feel the need to do them. She’ll be occupied for weeks!

9. I Don’t Know What You Are Talking About – Clearly stupefied by the nonsense that is emanating from Doubtful Debby’s mouth, you play the dumb card and simply shrug your shoulders and say, “What report? I did mine last week. Maybe you should go work on yours.” You’re being helpful without outwardly telling her to fuck-off. So kind.

8. Did You Know That Jimmy Buffet Died? – Changing the subject from you to something newsworthy and way more interesting than how you fucked up the last meeting, is a great distracter. A misdirection into some murky gossipy crap you read on the internet will surely illicit a response and take away the attention on you. Well done. And Jimmy Buffet did die, and you need to go play Margaritaville on repeat while drinking a margarita because that’s the only way to honour his memory.

Cheers, Jimmy

7. I Read it Somewhere – A great indifferent statement that’s vague enough to almost hold weight without clearly identifying a source. The answer to everything. Karen will nod and say, “Yeah, where?” to which you respond with, “The Wall Street Journal,” because nobody under the age of seventy reads that shit.  It’s an old journal that only certain business types will even think about being seen with. If she thought you read it there, it’s over her head and she won’t bother to look it up. And if she does, it will take hours of her searching to find it since it doesn’t exist in the first place. A win-win since she’s kept busy doing something stupid, and you get her out of your hair. See? Helpful.

6. Are You Sure You Don’t Remember? – Attacking the innocent seems to be the modus operandi of some individuals. They need to see the meek squirm in their seats while interrogating them to feel superior. They have a self-loathing that only comes from deep-rooted childhood trauma like being picked last for a team in gym class. Put the onus back on the perpetrator of your torture and question their mental faculties. Gaslighting them into thinking they’ve talked about this before like, “Are you sure you don’t remember? We went over this last week. I think you should sit down. Maybe you don’t feel well. You look a little pale.” The power of suggestion will have them feeling their foreheads for fever and thinking they’re about to pass out. Awesome.

5.  That’s Not Your Job – Not a favourite reply of mine, but sometimes people need to be reminded of how limited their reach is. Karen thinks she runs the place, but really, she’s just a control freak with power issues and wants to tell everyone what to do. That’s not your job, Karen. If Karen is the boss, then you are entitled to ponder whether it’s harassment in the workplace to which there are policies in place to protect you. Or there should be. When all else fails, walk out of the room. They can’t speak to you if you’re not there. It’s not running away when you are protecting your well-being.

Buh-Bye

4. Kill Them with Kindness – THEY WILL HATE THAT. Their whole purpose was to bother you and if they see you in a happy-go-lucky mood where you compliment their attire or hair or their accent, or even their crappy shoes you are winning. They will stutter and try another tactic of insulting a project you worked on or even stooping so low as to bring up your kid’s bad behaviour at the restaurant the other night, but don’t let them have the satisfaction. Throw back a, “You’re right, he was acting like an asshole, but we got it under control. By the way, you are rocking that cardigan sweater!” They’ll be shaking their head and wondering why they even bother trying to wreck your day.

3. Baffle Them with Bullshit – The absolute best answer is no answer at all. Like, ever. Debby wants to know why you don’t manage your office like Perfect Patty, or why the report you submitted was late. “Well, Debby do you remember the other day when Jimmy Buffet died, and we had that little gathering in the break room with cake? Oh, my bad, you weren’t invited. Ok, so the other day, Linda wanted to know how to re-attach a chain on her kid’s bike, but the internet was down so then we had to actually do a Pictionary kind of deal with diagrams and charts. It was a thing. Really took up the afternoon after the Buffet cake-episode. People cried and everything. So, it didn’t get the attention it deserved. But maybe we can discuss the effects of micro-managing over coffee where you stop bothering me about shit that doesn’t matter, and we can get on with the important stuff like life. Thanks.”

2. Thank Them for Their Interest in Your Life – They really don’t want the details of your life; they just want you to know they are hovering over you like an annoying housefly you can’t kill. So, give them want they want. Attention. Gratitude. And pile it on.  “Oh, thanks for asking, no I really don’t have time for that, but do you know what my baby did last night? She projectile vomited all over the bed! Such an ordeal. I have pictures, look! Vomit EVERYWHERE!”  or “The dog had diarrhea last night and pooped all over the main floor. We spent hours cleaning that up. Want to see the pictures? Jesus, it was so BAD.”  And ask if they want to participate, like, “My son is having a fundraiser for hockey, and we need volunteers to sit in the cold arena for four hours to sell tickets nobody wants for shit nobody needs. Can I put you down for Saturday morning?” They’ll be too busy to bother with your vomiting kids, incontinent pets, and hockey fundraisers. The. Best.

1. Be the Better Person – I know, it’s not easy taking the high road when someone just tried to drag you down to the dirt but there’s always a reason why a person is shitty. Bad day, bad week, bad life. Trauma plays a big part in how people treat others. You could be on the receiving end of their outrage even if it’s not entirely about you. You don’t have to take their rudeness, but you can choose to be the better person. “I hear what you’re saying, but it’s not my problem. I’m sure we can figure this out, but you will need to tell me more on how I can help you.” Offering help is the one solution they were not counting on. They wanted to vent. Or they wanted to blame someone. Defend yourself, stand your ground but do it in a quiet gentle way. No need to retaliate with rudeness, retaliate with assistance. “You will need to stop being rude. I can help.” Or “If you approach me like that again, I will have to leave.” They don’t want you to leave, they want to pick a fight, or they want attention. Call attention to their rudeness, their abrasive words and turn it around. It may shock them into a more appropriate response. If not, you have every right to tell them to fuck-off and move on. Only after you’ve exhausted being nice and helping. The middle finger is reserved for those who are beyond reaching and who are too far gone to give your precious time.

I hope these tips come in handy the next time someone is being a shithead to you.

Stay kind. Be Positive. Drink Wine.

The End.

 Pretentious Golf Balls and Wayward Golf Carts Make Golfing Fun!

Posted in Misguided Musings by

Last week, we decided to embark on a golfing day. Well, Hubby and friends decided, I just tagged along. I have never golfed before, so I was more involved with cart-driving, than the let’s-hit-the-little-white-ball-into-Neverland kinda of thing. Really, I was the fan/heckler that propelled them onto greatness. Without me, they would have felt lonely out there on that little tee box. Who wouldn’t want to hear the shouts of the one lowly fan, “YOU SUCK!” before they hit the ball?  They whacked that ball so hard I couldn’t see where it landed. I was not so skilled.

I tried a couple of shots, but I was lucky if the ball managed to roll a few inches ahead of me. I lined up in front of the ball, my hands positioned like they told me (once we figured left from right. That’s part of the challenge.) took aim and swung. All I got was air. I lined up again, only this time my club nudged the ball and it fell off the tee. Fuck. I put it back on the tee and tried again. WHACK. Two feet. I swear to God the ball refused to move. It rolled off the tee like, “Stop it lady, you aren’t worthy of my presence. Get back in the cart and stop embarrassing both of us.”  I hate golf.

Sign? What sign?

Once we figured out if I was a lefty or a righty, it was a bit better. And by better, I mean I hit the ball a few inches. It didn’t pathetically roll on the grass like a toddler and stare at me sadly, waiting for somebody to save it from being ridiculed by the other golf balls. It spun out in front and landed with a thud, and I was momentarily proud, until friends took their turn and showed me up with their prowess. HOW? How can you hit the ball? And so straight? What magic do you know that I don’t? There’s got to be a secret to this weird ability to hit a little stupid ball so far. Is it a special club? A secret swing? I know, its that glove you wear on the wrong hand, like a Michael Jackson accessory, that allows you to take better aim.

FORE! Magic…

Golf etiquette is a thing I’ve learned. Shut up while people take aim, but once they swing, it’s all hail the shouting and jeering. At least, that’s what I did. And we drove the cart right next to where the ball landed so we didn’t have to walk, like we can’t bring ourselves to hike a few feet in wet grass to get the little ball, so let’s ride around in the cart and find all the golf balls and point to them so we can hit them again. So supportive of your fellow golfers. “Here’s your ball and since it’s way back here, you can hit it first, loser.” Nice. “Oh, look your ball is in this dirt pit. Chuck it out while we watch and try not to laugh too hard when the dirt flies up and temporarily blinds you.”  “Oh, your ball landed in the trees? Just take another one and drop it inconspicuously in front of you.” It’s like you’re in the mafia and nobody saw nothin’ and nobody knows shit. Best. Game Ever.

 Searching out the balls was the best. I was tempted to ask if we could do donuts on the course, but I thought we might get banned from the place, so I kept quiet. I wouldn’t want Hubby and friends to get kicked out on my behalf. Hubby wouldn’t let me drive the cart too much due to the winding cart paths and many hills. I guess off-roading with golf carts is frowned upon. I would think if people were out and had a few drinks in them, a few wayward golf carts were probably abound. We had the first tee time of the day, so no drinking at 8:00am, kids, we are a right proper sport. At least wait until 8:30am. Probably a good thing we were sober, and Hubby drove. There were a few bridges, and I could see me tipping that cart into the water. It would be interesting watching the maintenance guys drag a cart from the creek while Hubby tried to defend my driving. “No, really, she just drives like that all the time. Sorry, ‘bout that.”

The golf cart I was allowed to only drive on the paths. Boring….

All in all, a great day. The weather cooperated with no wind and a good temp. We had a few rabbits watching from afar, but generally an empty course. Probably why they let me take a few shots. Nobody would see me roll the ball off the tee and they wouldn’t have to explain my presence. “Yeah, we had to bring her.” Like when your mom made you take your little sister to the park, and you had to explain to your friends, but you would rather have lost her to the monster in the woods.

Kinda like that.

I admired from afar…and heckled a little bit.

Taylor Swift, AI and Aging With More Sass and Less Grace

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            Did you get a Swiftie ticket? When did going to concerts involve so much kerfuffle?

Didn’t it used to be just a matter of getting everyone together, grabbing a few tickets and seeing a show? Now, it’s registering here, verifying you are a person (AI is real and whoa, are we in for some shocking shit. Automated taxi cabs in San Fran just quit working and caused a traffic jam. No, that’s not out of a Sci-Fi show, it’s real. Fuck off, really? YES.)  and waiting to see if you are ALLOWED to buy a ticket. ALLOWED?! WHAT?! Bitch, you should be happy people WANT to see you. And I know it’s not HER exactly causing this backlog of ticket mania, but geez people. Really? Can’t she just record a few shows and put them out on YouTube or something so the peeps who can’t see her, can watch it like LIVEAID did back in the day? THAT WAS EPIC. Do that, Taylor. Do a concert for charity with Ed and all your buddies and stream it live so all the peeps can watch. There. Fixed it for you. You. Are. Welcome.

The new novel is going well, thanks. Not much fanfare or ado about it. Just trying to finish it before Christmas. That would be nice. Considering the first one was written four years ago. You know, taking my time. Stuff happens. Procrastination is real. I’ll be diligently working on a chapter then, wham! Oooh, look a shiny thing. Pretty! Done.   

The grandchild is growing like da weed and is already babbling, “Dada.” Soon she’ll be toddling along then before you know it, she’ll be driving her mom’s car and starting her own clothing line with a mini boutique opening downtown. Time flies. I’ll be lamenting my old arthritic joints and hoping I don’t fall on the sidewalk…kinda the same as now, but with whiter hair and more sass. I’ll stumble, pull myself together then swear about it, loudly. Probably ask where my wine glass is, and how did anyone think me walking was a good idea? Obviously, not my fault. Not much difference from now and when I’m eighty. So much to look forward to!

I’m finding it increasingly difficult to get onto the floor then get back up again. Having a grandchild reminds me how old I really am becoming. Also, new body parts start to inexplicably hurt. Like today it was my wrist. Yesterday, my ankle. Tomorrow it could be my earlobe, or eyebrows…who the fuck knows? It’s like my body parts had a session and decided what days they were going to set up a protest. Its rotating strikes for each body part. Each day it’s a surprise and it’s now your mission to discover new ways of working around that non-operational part. Ankle gave out? You’re limping. Ear hurts? Figure it out, bitch this is your life now. Getting old sucks.

I find my patience is waning. The other day while driving my daughter and her fiancée downtown, I was expressing my displeasure with drivers. She said I had road rage. My future son-in-law chimed in and said it wasn’t road rage, it was a lack of patience for stupid drivers, and I appreciated that. My daughter thought we needed to perhaps take a breath and be better people. We are good people when other people are less stupid. I think we had a point and won that conversation.

Summer is coming to an end and the sadness that comes with that realization is tangible. We didn’t have enough nice weather to say we had a summer. We had two weeks of heat, and the rest was a light Fall. A heavy Spring? Definitely not summer. I’m hoping we have a return of light Fall so that I can enjoy my non-summer a little bit longer. Maybe even into measurably mediocre Autumn, before we get into Frosty freezing Winter with a sprinkle of an Arctic vortex that only polar bears wearing their Canada Goose parkas could stand. Ugh. I just need a few more days where I can go outside, see the actual sunshine, and not wear a coat. All at the same time. A big ask, I know. Pull it together, Summer. YOU HAVE ONE JOB.

And now you can go back to whatever you were supposed to be doing before reading this shit. You should know better than to get distracted by the internet. And go find out about AI so you can tell other people and we can prevent it taking over the world, especially California where they seem to be fucked already. Way to go, Cali.

The Woman in the Blue Coat

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She swept her chestnut hair out of her face avoiding his gaze from the opposite side of the coffee shop. He sat slumped over his laptop. He made it appear as if he was more interested in something other than her sparkling blue eyes and demure smile. He knew from experience she would never look his way. He eyed her over the screen hoping this would be the day she would turn and walk over to him. She would introduce herself. She would tell him she had been noticing him for the past few weeks, but she was too shy to say hello. He would ask her to sit down. They would laugh and talk over several coffees, not noticing the world around them. They would discover they had so much in common and make plans for dinner.

He watched as she turned her collar up over her neck and grabbed her cup to leave. The door swung open with a blast of wintry air and she was gone. Her blue coat billowed behind her as she walked up the street and out of sight. He closed his laptop and sighed. He stuffed it into his satchel when he heard his name, “Mitchell!” He looked up and saw Kate’s wide smile from behind round dark-rimmed glasses.

 “I thought that was you! I got coffee. Do you wanna sit?” she asked as she brushed her auburn curls from her brow.

“Nah, thanks, Kate. I was getting to work. You enjoy,” he said. She sat and sipped her coffee watching him gather his bomber jacket from behind the wooden chair. The shop was beginning to bustle with the hum of customers ordering their lattes before a hectic day. Kate unwound her knitted scarf and placed it on the table. She stared up at him as he donned his jacket and slung his satchel over his shoulder. He gave her a warm smile that made her insides melt and her hands tremble. She set her coffee down to prevent the contents from spilling everywhere.

 “Okay, um, well, have a good day,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the flush in her cheeks and the sweat beading her temples.

 “Thanks, Kate. You too. Nice scarf, by the way,” he said, giving her a wink. She could feel herself weakening and willed herself to stay upright in her chair.

 “Oh, thanks! My Gran knit it for me for Christmas last year and I love it, it’s so warm –“

 “That’s great, Kate.  See ‘ya later,” he replied, taking his empty cup and rushing out the door. Kate sat with the words, “Yeah, see ‘ya,” tumbling gently over her lips. She watched him sprint into the burgeoning sunshine.

Days passed and Kate revisited the coffee shop that Mitchell frequented. She knew there was a woman he wanted to see. He would sit alone at the corner table facing the door. He would open his laptop and position it preventing unwanted conversations. Kate had seen her waltz in with her long blue coat and her matching scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck. Her long brown hair swayed as if it had been washed and combed moments before entering the shop. Kate wasn’t jealous of her, exactly. She was annoyed that Mitchell had found her so captivating. She watched him wriggle in his seat the moment she walked in. He would stare atop the computer screen, and watch her order. He smiled when she smiled. He almost drooled as her hand brushed against the barista’s fingers when she gave her money. It was nauseating. It bothered Kate so much she often thought about asking him why he did it day after day but thought better of it. She couldn’t embarrass him like that; she wouldn’t.

Monday morning arrived rainy and cold. Kate sat at Mitchell’s unoccupied table wondering what had become of him. She could arrive at any minute and he wasn’t there to capture Miss Blue Coat’s entrance. Kate sipped her coffee and watched customers rush inside from the spatter of rain. She saw her right away. A black rain slicker replaced her long blue coat. She danced inside the door, deflating her opened umbrella. She motioned for someone to follow. Kate’s heart leaped at the sight of him. He was beaming despite the rain soaking his dirty blond hair and dampening his cheeks. He took up the height of the door as he guided her by the arm to the line. He looked like he would burst with joy. He had found her. Tears began to well in Kate’s eyes and she brushed them away. She hoped he hadn’t seen her in his spot watching them be happy together. Her fists clenched and her face flushed as she tried to move. She stayed forced to watch as the happy couple ordered their coffee and laughed at the rain. Kate stared as he put his hand on her waist.  She thought she might be sick. She gathered her things and raced for the door, but it was too late. Mitchell had seen her, “Kate? Join us!” he called. She barely heard him as she pushed through the crowd to the door. She managed to get outside when she felt a hand on the crook of her arm pull her to him. The rain pelted their faces, her tears melding with the droplets.

“What are you doing out here? Come inside,” he said as he watched her face fall.

“I can’t,” she whispered. Kate searched the ground for the words she needed to say, but couldn’t find. He tilted her chin and forced her to look into his eyes.  He returned her gaze with such tenderness it made her heart ache.

  “Kate,” he said, “you don’t understand. I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for her. I’m done waiting.  You see, I never knew my sister. I’ve found her, Kate! I want you to meet her.”