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The Hippy and I bonded a lot as two divorced people who had also been thrown into an initially unwanted and thoroughly unplanned parenthood.
Don’t get the wrong idea, there is a decade or so of age difference and the sentiment I have towards both her and her boyfriend is more of a sibling who wants to see them succeed.
Her boyfriend I dub Big Ron the pornstar, due to his epic pornstache that never ceased to be a focal point when he came up as a topic, whether he was present to hear it or not. Neither Tom Selleck nor Burt Reynolds have anything on this guy.
At one point that pornstache was going to be the theme of the entire baby shower that Hippy’s coworkers were planning out for her. Sadly, Yankee Heather hijacked their plans and took over. I found this out from the other department much later.
He is one of two adopted children of a well off couple, his sister a complete mess gunning for a fat wallet to marry. He was spoiled in a lot of all the wrong ways and yes, I see a lot in which he needs to grow the fuck up and be more honest with both himself and the Hippy before he loses her over something stupid, like his dumbfuck machismo bullshit pride and his absolute compulsion to treat all women like his mother, whom he kind of despises.
However the mom… from the stories I’ve heard from both, tries to firmly entrench herself into her son’s life despite his intense objections to the contrary. Its almost as though the more firmly he fights her presence, the more committed she is to being constantly around. She’s also prone to using the Hippy as a means to manipulate them. With Hippy’s desire to people please, this has been a struggle for both of them to establish boundaries.
Even more strangely, he was recently given the news that mom, specifically his mom, has blown through his inheritance. This is casually remarked upon by his father.
His sister’s though, is still intact. Apparently, this has been a part of her character while he was growing up as well. He would hide money he made from jobs he worked only to find it gone, mom having stolen and spent it.
She was the typical stay-at-home socialite with a well-off husband who seemed little interested in his wife’s activities, while still being one of the only people who could put her on a leash when she was going overboard. Dad’s involvement was to push his son to excel and be a man in all aspects.
The mom would call his girlfriends and tell them he had been cheating, was out with someone, tell them wild stories of various nefarious activities involving drugs, alcohol or whatever topic she thought might work to send them running. The Hippy told me she’d tried the same with her, but since they were in different states and living together, it wasn’t exactly plausible and thankfully died out quickly.
It all seems very Oedipal rather than maternal.
When the Hippy was telling me this, I suddenly asked “so how long has mom wanted to fuck her own son?”
She was a bit stunned by my remark (I was too) and I just said if he had no money to spend taking out his girlfriend or using it on gas to visit any of them, then maybe he would have to stay home and spend time with mom instead.
Getting rid of the girlfriend was usually a tactic only done by a person scheming to be the replacement. The way she behaves toward the Hippy sounds more like jealousy of the jilted than a mother.
Hippy told me it scarily made sense. I think we both shared an “Ew.”
I’m kind of surprised that was my take on it. Sometimes shit comes out of my mouth before I’ve had a chance to process what it is.
With the baby now completely given the full ahead by both parents, they are working on moving back to their home state up north, both to be closer to their familial support network as well as better enable Big Ron to streamline himself up the ladder since they will be on one income for a while. This would put them closer to both sets of their parents, which creates concerns for both of them for very different reasons.
This mom though. I’ve never come across one like this outside a Greek tragedy.
I haven’t really gone into this since I got sidetracked with anger.
The Hippy, who I met through Yankee Heather, works in another department from mine. One in which I rely on to get what I need done, but I get ultra busy and they do too so our ability to interact on topics outside of things we both need from one another tends to be minimal, It makes for a lot of misconceptions about one another when you’re not able to have a conversation with someone you work with so you can get a sense of their personality.
It’s not that I don’t have friendships with people in the department, but they’ve been slowly built over the years.
I had to laugh when The Hippy and I were sharing our first impressions of one another. I was hated and found terrifying and she was so glad I was the exact opposite, though she said a lot of that negative impression had to do with one particular member of her team who has a tendency to project a lot of their internal turmoil on others. It didn’t shock me. I probably would have been more impressed if the opposite were true.
Their team is run by a very tiny little woman who takes no shit and is swift and thorough and somewhat terrifying in her own right, and in that team are at least two who see enemies everywhere, one worse than the other.
One gave me the first impression of “elitist bitch” (this was the culprit) but kind of came off her pedestal over the years, while the other was just prone to being defensive. I once told them “I’ve never learned shit by getting it right the first time” when they messed something up and I was showing them how to fix it, and we’ve been vastly better ever since.
I told The Hippy I’d thought she was awesome the first time I’d met her. She’s laid back, but not lazy, expedient, you only had to point out an error once, she’s personable, intelligent, attentive and curious. She has a similar talent as G-uno in that you become fast friends and she can see right through a lot of shit…except when she has her own emotional investment in the view, I guess. That’s a hard one for all of us, I would venture.
Her and her boyfriend have known each other a long time as friends, went their separate ways for a while, she had been married and divorced once already. an abusive situation, and the prospect of doing it again was terrifying to her. They crossed paths again in the aftermath of bad relationships and just sparked intensely.
Seriously, not once when I met these two outside of work could they ever be on time because they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.
Apparently, I’m at that age where, although I still find it mildly revolting, I also find it adorable in its own right. I always expected to be too curmudgeonly for that shit.
The Hippy recently found out she was pregnant. For all the years she declared to never want kids, when faced with the very real possibility of having one upon her, even with all the fear, she realized was excited about the idea. Especially considering she’d been told she’d never have any.
While she toyed with the idea of an abortion and if they were ready to be parents, when asking for his honest opinion, her boyfriend stuck to his “no kids” sentiment, while at the same time increasing his retirement investment, pouring over his budget, laid out when they should move into a bigger place, and planned out how to fast track himself into a promotion.
It took a while for him to finally admit he really did want this child, but didn’t want to put any pressure on her to have it if she didn’t want it. So she was afraid to tell him she wanted to keep it because of how she felt before finding out she was pregnant, and he didn’t want to tell her he wanted the child because of…. shit….
aw fuck, it all make me want to beat the hell out of both of them from the nausea.
I would imagine most of us either do or did share space with our co-workers at some point in our lives. I like to think of myself as pretty lenient, but then don’t we all?
I don’t care if you have fish for lunch and eat at your desk. If you blow your nose, I won’t even notice. If you’re loud as shit, it won’t bug me unless I’m on the phone too and I can’t hear because of you. If the background noise annoys me, that’s what earbuds are for.
For the most part, I like most of my co-workers. When I don’t, I have very little to do with them and keep it strictly business and as thoroughly documented as I can and I can count on one hand (disproportionate to the number of posts in which I may bitch about them. I inflict it on you guys so I don’t inflict it at work, in case you didn’t know) those I truly dislike and most of that is just, I don’t trust them. Otherwise, I barely recall they are there.
I’m kind of dismissive like that, I really get annoyed with myself for letting anyone bug me for too long.
However, since I live in the butt-crack of Satan’s ass that is the South, and we only have three seasons, well two really… Summer, or “hey, let’s see if people can physically stew at 115 with 98% humidity”, and some bland lowered volume version of summer that fosters mass bug breeding and plant sexing with the occasional unseasonal freakish freeze just to keep us all guessing and justifies the whopping six snowplows the entire state owns….
The weather is a personal hell for me.
I would ideally have my house at 69 degrees fahrenheit all the time and have begun to miss the office I had years ago in which my two immediate neighbors were going through menopause.
Even though I was born and raised here, I’ve never been ok with outdoors. I thought I simply hated all outdoor activities until I moved to the northwest and found out outside could be really damn cool, without mass underbrush and feeding an entire legion of ticks in under ten minutes. When I found out roaches just couldn’t survive the northwest weather, I was convinced this is what utopia must be like.
I got close enough to a moose to slap it in the face… if I stood on my car.
Those damn things are huge.
Now I share an office where most of the people are on dumbfuck starvation diets or they have the blood density of ice water and while I’m coping at 73 degrees, they want to “bump it up” to “knock of the chill.”
Go eat a fucking twinkie!
My current office is not cramped, but its only just big enough for the people in it and one in particular thinks that she is completely justified in planting a heater under her desk with a thermal blanket and a heating pad. It’s 80 degrees outside right now and its going up every day. Ironic, since this is also Yankee Heather…. from the North…. where it fucking snows….
Her boss is the one on the craptastic long term low-cal and massively unhealthy diet. Not surprising where her mood swings really stem from.
The others do get chilly from time to time, one piles under a blanket, we think she’s sick and just refuses to go to the doctor, another has a light sweater. But I still wonder…
What the fuck is wrong with all of you?!? Go outside until you sweat your ass off, until your shirt sticks enough to qualify for a bar contest since sweat doesn’t work here, but don’t subject the rest of society with your complete inability to insulate against anything!
I haven’t lived in the northwest in over ten years, but I miss it when summer hits here. I crawl inside and kill my a/c because I don’t want to remember where I live until it becomes bearable again… for a couple months.
So for those of you who have ever had to share space with a co-worker(s), was your biggest pet peeves?
Somewhere near the end of the year, with the doom of Thanksgiving and Christmas looming, I got a wild streak to basically throw everything out and scrub it all down with bleach.
Sometimes, I wish I could do this with my brain.
The Yankee is steadily showing herself to be more of a Heather. The Hippy, who has stuck up for her for the longest time suddenly said one afternoon after work “Put some distance from her, for your own sake.” She didn’t elaborate and at the time, I didn’t feel I needed to ask. I kind of got the gist.
God, I’m too old for this shit.
The Yankee made a shit first impression from the get go. You don’t move to the South, shit on southern education (which you’ve never personally experienced) for which most of your co-workers are by-products of.
You don’t go off about how your Master’s degree should exempt you from doing shitty work, like my job. Especially not if you keep reminding me what you do when I catch your bullshit mistakes in the process of doing my own job. If you don’t want me to catch your mistakes, stop making them.
I also have to appreciate the irony of me, the southerner, having to explain to said Yankee that making remarks like “only some blacks actually fall under the N word” is indeed a racist statement. For someone whose boyfriend likes to reiterate they won “the war,” his girlfriend doesn’t seem to understand what that means.
Perhaps its because I cannot pour bleach on her to flush her away that I felt the need to purge my world. We’ve made several trips to Goodwill. Spawn still has some stuffed animals to cover. What idiot bought this kid this many toys?
I finally dismantled the bed and took it to my co-worker who lost so much when we had the storms and flooding.
It felt good. I even tossed the curtains that had been hanging since Spawn was a baby and bought new ones I really couldn’t afford but my sense of well being couldn’t afford me not to. I’m pretty sure I won’t be taking them with me if I move, but I feel better and more refreshed in my home now. Spawn was unusually supportive and worked with me as I went. Maybe I wasn’t the only one needing to purge.
Of course, when the bulk of it was done and there was almost an echo in the house, my instinct is seeking out anything else to eliminate, measuring out what I can break down to nothing as keep worthy, while Spawn’s response was to point how little clothing they had left that actually fit.
I believe in an earlier post I described socializing with the Yankee, and getting to know the Hippy. the Hippy and I especially have been bonding a great deal. Hippy was rather distracted and irritable during our stellar Excel class, more so than the exemplary education we were receiving could be causing, so we teased her quite a bit about the possibility of her being pregnant, no less due to the extremely picky and insatiable appetite she had going on the entire day. Hippy even mentioned at one point she’d name it after me with a “McDickface” in there somewhere if that happened to be the case.
Hippy lives with her boyfriend of a couple years. I met him, we bonded in the younger brother from another mother kind of way. He was a great guy and I liked him a lot, saw a lot of myself in him and by extension, I saw a lot of immaturity as well. He’s gruff, brusque, tough fronted, but when Hippy turns her head, his expression changes to something very tender. She has often started using me as her boyfriend interpreter.
They’ve known one another since high school, when he was dating a friend of hers. Of course, he tries very hard to minimize the importance of that relationship whenever it comes up with the Hippy, but she knows better and doesn’t let it bug her as it once did. the friend cheated, time went on, and now the friend gets to watch their facebook posts as their life together progresses. Things turn out odd in life.
Spawn’s other parent was an attendee at my wedding. Life has a twisted sense of humor.
So Hippy is pregnant.
They’re not married, had no current plans on even discussing it any time soon as they’ve had a pretty shaky but stabilizing beginning and have now been suddenly thrown into parenthood.
This is pretty much how Spawn came to pass, only when their presence was discovered, I was long over the relationship and had tossed the other contributor out.
I, of course, was a model of decorum when she gave us the news and almost fell on the floor from laughing. I also demanded she agree to keep the name she’d threatened to bless it with in my honor.
I’m trying desperately to catch up with all the items I’ve missed, I have been simply incapable of sitting down for even ten minutes and reading anything. I don’t know why.
Antsy, irritable might all begin to describe me, but mostly I just wanted to cut off everything. I lost my phone, it went dead for days at a time. I worked like an automaton and treated people much the same. I came home with only thoughts of hunger, then exhaustion.
I moved one day to the next with checklists in my head, no love or desire for anything.
I would say that under normal circumstances this would be the period when I would slide into the abyss of depression for a bit, go back on the meds, work the steps that pull me back out of it. Like accepting every 8th invitation whether I want to or not, for example, which is the only reason I had any interaction with the Yankee outside of work, pleasant as the experience was to my surprise.
I suppose having a kid is kind of a motivator for me to push away the darkness more strongly than I might otherwise. Considering we only have one another, we talk daily, we discuss everything, it tends to keep me more grounded and tethered to something. I realize this doesn’t work for everyone and I’m certainly not belittling that in any way when family has no effect on your darkness when it comes to call, but my kid is very much my totem.
In moments when I would otherwise not be able to stop it from pulling me under, I have the half-pint who reminds me why I’m not done fighting today. Maybe tomorrow. Or, maybe the day after.
For my G-uno, I was the one who brought the dysfunctional in-laws into my marriage. I never knew what a family could be like until I met my ex’s family. I’m still very connected to them, just as I’m very disconnected from my own. It is extremely painful to not be loved and accepted within your own family and to know that in every subtext of how they speak to you.
To be able to walk away from that, know them to be the poisonous element and still have faith in your own self as being a good person and not seeing yourself through their eyes, takes a strength a person just shouldn’t have to bear with people supposedly under the title of “loved ones.” My made family, the family I built from my teens on, G-uno and BFG very much included, shaped a lot of who I am today, gave me the strength to fight against a very twisted guardian and their brood.
We feel compelled to try to make and fix things. You and I especially like to fix. Maybe it is a Gemini thing.
But I will never be able to fix the person my gran made me out to be to their family, a spoiled and greedy orphan never satisfied with anything received and working poor gran’s fingers to the bone demanding more. This spilled over to my aunt and uncles and poisoned the mind of my cousin and his wife. They will always have that haughty smugness when I spend time with them that I don’t measure up enough to have been “gran’s favorite”.
I already knew that. I spent a great amount of effort trying not to be, repeatedly kicking that fucking pedestal anytime I saw it coming closer. To be in gran’s good graces would mean I was like them. That was the last thing I ever wanted to be.
I had an epiphany recently. I knew I married another version of gran, so I could have the same bullshit fights with different outcomes and I had to do a lot of soul searching to overcome that. But it went further than that. My ex manipulated me to be geographically isolated. Gran, being the manipulation master they were, managed to do it emotionally, mentally. They made sure I had no one in my family who saw me as I was. No one to confide in. No one. Except them.
When this hit me, I kind of wanted to dig gran up and just beat the hell out of them. It hurt, but it was their own selfishness that motivated every diabolical thing they did. They destroyed their own family, caused so much internal fighting and baseless hate that those of us generations later just want nothing to do with any of them, or one another, save for a small few.
So when a person, such as yourself, who has had nothing but selfless goals calls a lost cause a lost cause, why would you feel this in any way your fault? To be able to fix them, you’d have to think like they do, and in turn understand them, and take a risk of turning into that yourself. I couldn’t risk that, I try to carve that ability out of myself much in the way you battle the Kraken.
There is a point when self-preservation has to kick in and you have to give it up and escape. You don’t call it a bad thing if you’re not able to fight a bear with brass knuckles, its a fucking bear. You’re thankful you survived.