catty cravings

Do you ever crave being catty? Like a cupcake. You just gotta have it. Do you ever just want to say something mean? Out loud? Some of you probably don't. Some of you are probably really nice-like all the time and never have a nasty thing to say.

Some of you should probably not be here.

I'm not going to say anything nasty out loud. Intentionally, anyway. Or am I? I think I probably might. Now would be a good time to look away.

I want to preface what is about to happen here by saying I went to see a scary movie last night and was up until 1 am. Which is a sure fire way to guarantee that I will maybe squeak out 2 or 3 hours of sleep.

And that is what happened. Which might explain my mood. Actually, I feel like I'm in a good mood so I'm not entirely sure where this is coming from. Maybe it's coming from the fact that I have not vented in, like, hours and it's building up and it's about to come pouring out.

All over your eyes.

I have not been in love with my blog lately and I can't seem to shake the lack-of-love-for-the-blog funk. I don't really care, which isn't good for it's survival. I have lots to say but when I work it out in my head it all sounds nasty so I keep it to myself, which is what my mother taught me to do.

But....I just have to say.......there are things I do not understand about people. And it seems like A LOT of people do things that I don't understand which makes me wonder if there is something very wrong with me. I'm not that old, I didn't think I would turn into my father at such a young age.

An old fuddy duddy.

How come we don't get a choice as to who we turn into? We should be allowed to pick. My mother or my father? I seem to have the worst of both of them. I'd like to think I have the best of both of them as well but I'm so busy trying not to be catty I can't always see the good.

Sometimes I say something out loud to my kids, I guess because I feel safest around them, and then I instantly regret it. It's so judgy and mean and I wonder how many nice random things I have to say to undo the damage.

"Great, now I have to say 4,672,981 put-ups to make that right," is what I think to myself.

For example, I went to Cicely's dance recital the other day, and without getting into how positively atrocious the majority of it was, I was baffled at the choice of costumes the teachers picked for some of these kids. I happened to express my bafflement to my family upon arrival at home. I simply do not understand the process for choosing costumes. I assume, and I may be wrong, that there is a catalogue or something where the teachers go and pick something they think fits their dance.

Is that how it works?

So my concerns are that there are either a) not enough choices or b) not enough decent choices or c) blind dance instructors who could not see skank or immodest or downright ugly if it jumped up and bit them on the nose.

Now, kids come in all shapes and sizes, I get that. I am the first to admit that some kids lose their chunk, if they have any, in the later years, not just the early years. And that's okay. As a child who was plump and juicy I don't judge plump, juicy kids. I do not understand, however, as a dance teacher why you would choose the one costume that accentuates a fluffy child's cavernous belly button or her just barely blooming bosom. I mean, come on, are you blind? When you dress them like they are going to the beach in a sparkly shark attracting bathing suit how are the rest of us supposed to be comfortable watching them jump all over a stage that is lit up like they are about to beamed into outer-space?

As a mother, I would be ill if my buxom beauty was forced to dress in something that was not only hideous but totally unflattering and bordering on cruel and demeaning.

Part of me thinks I should single-handedly change the way we dress our littles on the stage. I'm going to draw up a petition and take it door to door to every single person in the entire world.

Having said that, some of them are so cute, their little outfits are so perfect and adorable and I want to shake the hands of the teachers that pick them and say "thank-you." Thank you for not parading all the little people around like oversized, ill dressed, stuffed animals.

Cicely was dressed as a butterfly ballerina and her costume was beautiful. A long billowy tutu and wings. Her teacher also had the best dances of the whole concert but I'm not getting nasty. I will say that if I hadn't already fired that studio for ineptness and an inability to be considerate they would have been fired immediately after the recital.

Un-im-pressed, I was.

Anyway, where is this going?

I don't understand.

I don't understand people who drive to the school 30 minutes before the bell rings so they can park right in front of the doors. Like making their kids walk 40 feet to the car is going to kill them.

I don't understand why when I go to the grocery store someone has to leave their cart in the middle of the aisle and then walk away from it, like they are the only person in existence.

I don't understand why the 9 year old has to contradict EVERY SINGLE THING the 6 year old says. Why does he care?

I don't understand self-disciplined, self-motivated people. They make me feel jealous. All the time. My daughter is one. Maybe she isn't my daughter.

I don't understand people who park where they are not supposed to park. Are we the laziest society ever, or what? Making up a parking space so you don't have to walk makes you look like an idiot, not the super-genius-who-out-smarted-all-the-dumb-people you think you are.



I don't understand why the perfect horror movie is impossible to make and I do not, for the life of me, understand why Diet Pepsi tastes so good.

I live in a state of confusement. Which is not a word. And now I don't understand why confusement is not a word.

And now, I am done.