Hesitant, Hopeful

You know, there are a few things that really pisses me off. I mean, really, really piss me off. And since this is a pessimist blog--it's right there in the title--these sorts of posts are bound to happen--it can't be sunshine and rainbows all the time, now can it? But, since this is #390, I'm not really sure why I feel the need to share that particular disclaimer. I guess it's because I'm not a total bitch all the time. . . there's actually a part of my brain that constantly screams at me to be more cheerful, to be nice, to be optimistic. Generally, I tell the part of my brain to shut the fuck up. Like right now, for instance.

Okay, so. . .

Number one: Women who say things like "It was so easy I could do it myself, without my husband's help!" I was browsing around on Overstock.com today, looking at bamboo shades for the kitchen window, and I came across a review that said that exact thing, almost word for word. In that moment, I grew so unreasonably angry that I had to walk away from my computer. Thank the heavens Matt was sleeping or he'd have gotten an ear-full.

This isn't 1940, lady, women are capable of doing things by themselves, without their big, strong, manly husbands to help them. We even know how to use tools now. We even know how to use the kind that plug in. Shocking, I know. Crazy liberated women trying to do man's handy work, like hanging the blinds. How dare she?!

Number two: It's 60 degrees outside, it's 78 degrees inside, and I have the damn desk heater on. I am literally running a heater when it's 78 degrees in my house, because I'm cold. I'm always freaking cold. For 34 years I've been freaking cold. I used to lay on the sofa at home and snuggle under blankets in the summer. Now, I snuggle up in my Snuggie and turn on the little heater. It's atrocious. And there's zero chemical reasons I should be having this problem. There's not a thing wrong with my hormones. Nothing, nada, zip. I'm apparently a-ok. But, I'm still always cold.

Oh, and Matt likes to run the air conditioner on 70 when it's anything above 74 in the house, which means I'm doubly always cold. I'm cold and he's hot, all the time. There's no happy medium. One of these days I'm going to freaking snap and take a bat to the air conditioner. I swear.

Number three: People who passive-aggressively tell you what they really think of you and hope you didn't catch it. Like calling you names in the context of a joke. That straight pisses me off under any circumstances. Sometimes, I'm sure it's a joke, and sometimes,I feel like there's a ring of truth to it.

If someone wanted to tell me that they didn't like me, they think I'm petty and spiteful, or tacky, they hate my cooking, they could care less about anything I have to say, are completely disinterested in me, they don't think my job is real work, they're not all that interested in talking to me anymore, they think I'm a bother to them, or whatever else might be floating around in their heads. I'd rather they just said it to my face than to hide behind passive-aggressive jabs, or passive aggressive silence, for that matter. Thankfully, most of the people in my life aren't like this, that's the silver lining, because I really don't have space in my psyche for that.

Number four: I'm not a maid. I'm not a chef. Wife doesn't = servant. If I do all the cooking and cleaning, in addition to going to graduate school and working, then I should hear a thank you every now and then. Or maybe, just maybe, the laundry could magically done without me doing it. Or the trash could magically find it's way to the dumpster without my nagging.

And I don't just mean me, but all women. Men in our society, even those that's say they don't believe in the misogynistic idea of "traditional roles" still often perpetuate them by neglecting the sort of responsibilities that would make the man and the woman more equal. If you push me into a typical women's role by asking me what's for dinner, or by throwing a hissy fit when you don't have a clean shirt for work--even though I was at work from 9:00 a.m. until almost 5:00 p.m.--then you're a part of the problem.

Number five: Hearing a person say that their spouse "wont let them" do this or that. Marriage isn't prison. If you have to ask your spouses permission, rather than telling them your intent so you can talk about it like adults, then you're in the wrong kind of relationship. Or at the very least you need to grow up, put on your big boy or girl panties, and fix whatever's broken in your head that makes you the kind of person who is willing to accept commands from your spouse.

And if you're the kind of person who has to be asked for permission, get over yourself. The world, or even your marriage, doesn't, and shouldn't, revolve around you. I never tell Matt what he can and cannot do. I tell him what my preference is and then leave his choices to him and he always considers what I said and then makes his own decisions--often times not the decisions I'd have made if we had the kind of marriage that says we don't "let" one another do things. I don't want to be a mommy, that includes to my husband.

And while we're on this particular subject. Spouses who use emotional blackmail on one another are petty creeps. If you emotionally blackmail your spouse into doing what you want them to do by manipulating their emotions or making them feel like shit about themselves, then you're a fucker. Simple as that. Seek therapy.

Bonus: Comment SPAM. I hope the people who get paid to leave me comment spam, even though Akismet catches most of it, get struck by lightening. Or someone drops a house on their heads.

Okay, so now that I've bitched and complained. I've got other things to do. . . which, coincidentally  also pisses me off. Go figure.