UPDATE ON THE CAT: While The Cat was not choking or having a seizure and eventually began behaving normally in the mouth area, it turns out that he did injure himself on a tiny piece of chicken with no bones or gristle. One of his front teeth is broken and pointing sideways, meaning it will probably have to be pulled out, and this has given him a giant abscess in his mouth. I’m taking off work in order to get him to the vet tomorrow, so my day will involve waking up at 5:30am, going to work, leaving work, getting a reluctant and mouth-hurt cat into a carrier, taking said cat and carrier to the vet, sitting around while they decide what to do with him, and then eventually taking the cat back home and then going back to work to make up whatever I missed, both because I am a chronic over-achiever who doesn’t take personal days and because I have not yet fully absorbed that work hates me no matter what and my extra effort will not mean anything to them. Thanks a lot, The Cat.
Regularly scheduled blogging has now resumed…
I don’t know if I’m becoming less tolerant or Facebook is becoming more awful, but christ, it’s really terrible, isn’t it? I’d say that my Facebook feed is about 20/80 with people I genuinely like/am interested in knowing about their lives, and people whose existence makes me cringe. Respectively. Obviously.
If it’s not the ass-backwards politics, it’s the religious zealotry. If it’s not the religious zealotry, it’s the casual racism. If it’s not the casual racism, it’s the clear evidence of alcoholism, poor relationship choices, and functional illiteracy. Part of this is my fault, you know. I’m the one who checks Facebook every day and keeps these people around for whatever reason (ahem, feelings of superiority).
Another peeve I have about Facebook is all the people who think parenthood bestowed them with mystical powers, like being able to maintain a working set of reproductive organs has made them the wisest beings in the universe. I can’t stand these people. You should know that I am not talking about all parents. I hate having to clarify this, but because I sometimes see people’s Facebook statuses or blog entries and worry “are they talking about me?” I will clarify, anyway. If I have ever spent quality time with you and your kid, or if I have expressed that I enjoy your child (this includes the phrase “you know, your kid is all right”), or if I have liked a photo of your child on Facebook, then I am not talking about you.
Because I don’t have a problem with people who have kids in general. Some pictures are cute, some stories are funny. It’s just that I prefer people who refer to their kids as people instead of as saints, and who sometimes say things like “what on earth is this little fucker doing with my stuff” or “I am ready to have a nervous breakdown because these assholes are ruining everything.” That’s what kids do! It’s fine to admit it. And stop prefacing every kid story with “I love my kids, but…” Like you’re not allowed to complain anymore because you’ll be arrested by the Word Police for not assuring everyone within earshot that you love your kids? Jesus christ, express your own opinions for a change. Unless you’re one of those parents who regularly posts photos of themselves at bars or sitting in filthy houses with diaper bag contents strewn all over the floor, I think people pretty much just assume that you love your kids.
The people I can’t stand are the ones who act like pediatricians and child psychologists in everyone’s comment threads, because of course they have an answer for everything and of course they’ve been through it so are therefore officially qualified to give advice. Meanwhile, most of these people are stay-at-home parents whose level of child development education is limited to a skimmed copy of What To Expect While You’re Expecting and an old iVillage account. Again, this is not meant for all stay-at-home parents. I’m fine with reading the status of someone who says “I cannot wait for these kids to go to sleep so I can take a shit without someone banging on the door” because that’s a real person having a real thought. I enjoy those people. But telling every fucking person you know how to deal with every fucking situation they have because you can somehow relate it to your kids and it ended up being the most amazing, valuable life lesson ever? Please shut the fuck up. Just go back to Gymboree and talk to other deeply fulfilled moms about juice boxes and by the way, your kids look really white trash. No one else is telling you this, but I will.
People who do this are the same people who asked me the same two questions every time I run into them in public, and by “every time” I mean every time, whether our accidental meetings took place weeks, months, or years apart. Every time:
Them: Are you married?
Them: Do you have any kids?
Them: Oh. (slowly wanders away for any reason, once to closely inspect a neon sign in a bar)
The thing is, I might not want to have kids, but I fully understand why others are compelled to do so. I also understand that the people who have kids want to talk about them, just as any person would want to talk about any important aspect of their life. But when having kids turns you into this sanctimonious beast who can only talk about your kids and how they gave you superpowers, I have no interest in seeing you in real life or on my Facebook (although I’ll probably keep you around, anyway, because it makes me feel better than you. Which is increasingly difficult now that I’m the kind of person who takes off work because they have convinced themselves that ignoring the problem will result in a cat getting a brain infection and dying).