So after you made a point of reminding him what day it was–which would, to me, indicate that it mattered to you–he decided to ignore your feelings and work an especially long day? That’s very cold. And to not even get you anything–anything–even after you made a comment about what you might like is especially thoughtless.
Please tell me this is out of character for him!
Sounds like an old boss of mine who got himself promoted to Manager at the ripe young age of 26, with a wife and two infants. Immediately went Full Corporate, working 90+ hours a week including weekends and demanding the same of all of us. When I quit, I told him that in 10-15 years, he’d wake up to find his wife packing her bags and leaving. Then he would discover that his kids didn’t know him, he was a stranger in his own house and that he’d spent the best years of his life slaving away at a false ideal.
Yeah, he didn’t like that.
It’s been 9 years. I wonder how far along that path he is today.
I wish I could.
I should add that tomorrow he has the day off so there is a small part of me that is hoping he has something planned for then, but he failed to ask me what I am doing tomorrow. I am booked all day.
PEOPLE WILL YOU PLEASE NUMBER THE FUCKING PAGES IN YOUR FUCKING MANUSCRIPTS
I feel better. It won’t help, but I feel better.
What, you have to plant them? Why not just compost them or offer them to another gardener?
When they grab you with those metal claws, you can’t break free. Because they’re made of metal. And robots are strong.
I believe you mean he left a huge fucking mess in the kitchen that ***he ***has to clean up when he gets home. Grow a backbone and/or DTMFA. It’s one thing to have a division of labor, but to pull that kind of shit on Mother’s Day is just ridiculous. You’re his wife, not his fucking slave.
1.) Have you considered leaving your phone on silent? I know my phone’s alarm will still go off audibly even if the ringtone and message tones are disabled. It’s worth looking into.
2.) If it bothers you, just fucking tell them. They can’t read your mind. Chances are, they assumed that (like most people) you have your cell silenced while you’re sleeping. If you don’t ask them to stop, you can’t blame them for keeping doing something that bothers you.
Can you hand it back to them with a pen?
I came home this weekend to find my entire front yard mowed to the ground, garden and all, courtesy of my landlord. He has never “maintained” the yard in the entire time I’ve lived here, so it was really out of the blue. I even had little wooden stakes with red tips to mark some of the plants that might not have been readily visible or that were in odd places. They are gone, so I know he had to have picked them up and consciously mowed down my flowers.
Jerk.
That sucks. Did he at least wish you a Happy Mother’s Day? Did you tell him how he made you feel? Maybe he didn’t realize what a dick thing he was doing.
I also have a crappy Mother’s Day story. Isn’t it funny how the shittiest things happen on birthdays and holidays (albeit Hallmark holidays)?
Last year I was coming into town from a trip to North Carolina after having been violently ill in my hotel room on Mother’s Day. When I got to the airport, my husband promptly dumped our three year old on me and left. When he got back, I asked if perhaps he would at least wish me Happy Mother’s Day, which sparked the following conversation:
Him: “Oh… Did you want to do something for Mother’s Day? I’m sorry - I forgot.”
Me: “After I told you on the phone that it was Mother’s Day?”
Him: “Um. Yeah. Sorry. I got busy with our son. We went to the movies, then the day just got away from me. Do you want me to do something?”
Me: “That’s not the point, dammit! I’m not supposed to tell you! Hold on a minute. barfs into toilet, comes back You could at least take the kid for a little bit so I can rest. I’ve been sick all day.”
Him: “Well, would you like some Chinese food?”
Me: “Ugh.”
Fortunately he redeemed himself this year.
I ordered some very very expensive patio furniture 3 weeks ago from a local place. I got it to go on my very very expensive new deck. I was quite disappointed when they said that delivery ($80 extra) would take 2 weeks.
Actually turned out ok because deck construction took a little longer than expected. It was supposed to be delivered on the last day of construction.
They called the night before and confirmed a time. The next day, during the scheduled block, they called to say that they didn’t actually have my furniture. Haven’t gotten it in from wherever they get it in from (my guess, China). I can take the floor model today or wait for it to come in new.
Even if they gave me a discount, it would still be way too expensive to take the floor model. So I opted to wait, but they have no idea when it will actually arrive.
Now I’ve got this huge and expensive deck on which I have placed my old crappy plastic chairs and table for now, until my stupid deck furniture can get here and I can finally enjoy the deck. ARGH!
Oh and today I am going to the orthodontist to pick up my new night guard that I was fitted for 6 weeks ago, that was to take 2 weeks to deliver from the lab. But the lab kept fucking it up so I’ve just been sleeping in pain waiting for it to come in.
Why won’t people send me my things? 
I was out measuring my yard for our new hedge (there’s another mini-rant in there - 1.4 meters from sidewalk to property line that isn’t ours, then another 1.5 meters after that reserved for utility right-of-way? Seriously? You need 3 meters of my side yard? You can’t put the utilities in the 1.4 meters already not ours? But I digress…), and I noticed that my pretty ornamental butterfly and flower solar lights have been stolen. Goddammit, they were right by the house, but I should have known not to put anything worth stealing in the front yard! Assholes that can’t keep their sticky fingers off of other people’s property. :mad:
No, we are 100% online. I will e-mail it back to them with a sigh.
I’m spending way too much time in here. But…
Dear Mom,
Thank you for once again making your visit to my home a travesty. Double points to you for doing it on my son’s birthday when my father-in-law and his girlfriend were visiting from India. I only thank whatever powers that be that your grandson is young enough that he won’t remember and that you didn’t stay long. It won’t be happening again. Until you can avoid drinking yourself into oblivion because there is a crowd in my home, you will not be welcome. Not for my birthday, not for your granddaughter’s birthday and not for your grandson’s next birthday.
Tell me, though: do you really want your grandchildren’s earliest impression of their grandmother to be the smell of gin? Do you want your grandson to remember you walking unsteadily and crying during his birthday party because you “didn’t feel welcome,” even though you made the choice to sit by yourself in the family room and my darkened kitchen, your only company a bottle of wine?
Here’s news: I love you. I’ve tried to talk to you about your drinking, as have your friends, my sister and your ex husband. But you won’t listen. And we can’t help you. So I’m done. No, I won’t prevent you from seeing your grandchildren. You’ve proven that if I ask, you have the willpower to lay off the booze for a day or two. So we’ll visit you this summer. But you’re no longer welcome in our house, especially if there will be other people there. Because crowds stress you out, even if the “crowd” is an additional three people.
Mom, I miss you. I miss the person I used to dance with in the sun room to Mowtown. You used to smell like White Linen. Now you smell like gin. You’re still in there, I know it. I see flashes of you when you stop drinking. You stop wringing your hands, your shoulders relax and you laugh. You stop making horrible comments and actually enjoy yourself. That’s the person I want to spend time with, that I want my children to remember. Not this person.
I don’t want to deny you your grandchildren’s milestones. And I don’t want to deprive them of you. But if the person they’re going to be spending time with is this gin-soaked shell of you who used to tell me she wished I’d never been born, I will.
Please come back to me.
Overly
The laugh’s on them – it’s too cold to sit on the deck anyway. You’d just be standing by the window, looking at the furniture and the thermometer, which reads fifty fucking degrees.
Next week it’ll be in the 70s; tell them that’s when you expect delivery.
I did, just last night, figure out that I could, indeed, silence my texting thingy while keeping my phone ringer on. Don’t mind me, I’m old. I’m not used to the new-fangled technology.
Can you make a cloyingly sweet phone call thanking him for so thoughtfully taking care of the lawn for you, and oh, by the way, you’re so sorry you didn’t more clearly mark the garden, so is there any way that he would suggest you delineate it in the future so that he doesn’t accidentally mow over it again?
Being a clueless dick is quite possibly worse than being an intentional dick. At least the intentional dick is a jerk and not an insensitive retard.
Back in my day, we used to program our cell phones uphill both ways, in the snow, barefoot, etc.
That’s sad, yet so beautifully written. Any chance actually sending a version to her would help?
This is picky, but: News sources: Please quit saying a bill in Parliament “passed at first reading.” All bills are passed at first reading. First reading just means the bill was submitted. The first vote comes at second reading. Thank you.
Your worst case is actually pretty lousy for a pregnant woman who weighs 130 lbs the day before she delivers who gets a marginal one-hour result. Maybe she would prefer not to take a day off work feeling sick after drinking a concentrated sugar solution and having blood drawn by a clumsy phlebotomist every three hours after enduring a 12-hour fast, if it could be avoided by having a light lunch on the day of the one-hour test. How can you all have no apparent empathy for people going through what you have JUST GONE THROUGH?
I’m totally on board with all the other rants 
Cheating on lab tests only cheats yourself. If there is a protocol to follow before serum glucose tests, there is a reason for those protocols, not just to torture people.
Do you ever need to go to the bathroom at 3am or thereabouts?
My phone doesn’t ring if it’s switched off, but it does sound the alarm (and, after I switch it off, ask whether it should switch on).
Insomnia. Sigh.
Oh, and anxiety. Crazy through-the-roof anxiety.
Last night I was already pretty keyed up as usual. I was crawling into bed when something in the apartment fell and clanged. I bolted to the bedroom door, slammed it shut, locked it, turned on the lights, and stood cowering in front of the door with a 3-foot metal rod (a chin-up bar) hyperventilating for the next 20 minutes.
Turns out a heavy glass candle holder slid off the back of the toilet.
Shit I’m tired of living this way. Fucking cocksucking PTSD.