Thursday, March 29, 2007

Mortification & Bitchiness

So I'm back in town. And Little Man acted like I'd never been gone. When he woke up this morning, I rushed into his room, expecting him to pee himself in the excitement of seeing me. But apparently, he didn't even realize that I was gone or something. Which I guess is good. Or at least, that's what I'm going with and if you could back me up with that, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm pretty sure some crackpot out there wrote a book that states that when a child doesn't give a rat's ass that their parent left for three days shows that they're well adjusted and will become a really, really rich doctor. The kind that separates third-world country twins for free in their spare time.

So there are two stories that I must share with you. The first is one of utter mortification.

You see, in case you didn't read any of my posts about my past life as a geek and nerd (I was both, because I was always an over-achiever, something else I have strived hard to lose in my 20's and early 30's), no matter how hard I try to be cool, collected and well put together, the universe always kicks me in the ass with a steel-toed boot (the universe is a big fan of that early 90's grunge look and still wears Doc Martens) to remind me that I am in fact a nerd with not a lot of class.

So on Monday night, my first day in San Diego, I had to attend a swanky dinner at a swanky place with some important people. Since I'm the PR girl, I'm supposed to be the girl who breaks the ice for my people and leads the group and knows where to go and all sorts of other things that I'm forced to pretend to be.

It's a lot of fun, but it's also freaking exhausting when on the inside you're still and awkward 13-year old with a bad hair cut and bad skin.

When we arrived at the swanky place, I walked in front of my group, full of confidence. We walked out to the patio, where everyone was gathered, and when I opened the door, there stood a gentleman in a shirt and tie who smiled at me. Assuming this was an important dude (or a marketing person) with our partner who'd invited us to the affair, I confidently put out my hand, smiled warmly and said "Hello, I'm Catwoman with Company X," and proceeded to introduce everyone in my group to him.

I did notice a look of confusion in his eye, but no one stops confident PR girl.

When I was done my introductions, he asked me "And what would you like to drink?"

My heart dropped.

I freaking introduced my entire group to the waiter. As 50 people on the patio watched.

Why the hell would waiters not wear a waiter uniform? Or a nametag or something? How are stupid people like me who eat at Chili's and Chik-fil-a all the time supposed to know the difference between an IT executive and a waiter if they dress alike.

I'm just hoping that I just came off like a charming polite Texas girl who likes to introduce herself to everyone, including our drink waiter.

The other story I must share is one of bitchiness.

Now, since most of you read my second by second discourse on the fantasticness that is my Little Man, you already know that for the most part, I like kids. I like that they are short adults and that their noses scrunch up when they smile or that they tell you you're old.

And as you know, I greatly enjoyed my flight to San Diego, because it was just me and Us Weekly. And some chocolate.

Which to a working mom is like a day at one of those thousand dollar spas that celebrities go to. Forget a massage, to relax me, all I need is a smelly airline seat next to a dirty window with a trashy magazine, big puffy clouds traveling outside my window and some kind of milk chocolate melting in my mouth in an explosion of cocoa goodness.

And so I was looking forward to my flight home, because it would mean that one, I was going home to Sweetie Pie, Little Man, the cats and the dogs. And two, that I'd get to read all about Angelina's adoption of Pax and the misery that is Katie Holmes' life.

Unfortunately, in front of me sat the most obnoxious and rudest four year-old boy.

With the stupidest mother there ever was.

Now, as a mom, any time I go anywhere with Little Man, I am sure to bring him stuff to entertain him. Even if we're just going 10 minutes away to the store. So when we fly 3.5 hours somewhere, I've got a whole kit and caboodle of toys, treats and other crap to entertain him with so that the passengers around me aren't trying to impale themselves with their armrest to get away from the screams of a bored restrained child.

But this mother only seemed to have brought a trashy magazine for herself and the kid's older sister. And so the four year old spent the entire flight screaming as loudly as he could things like "MOMMY! MOMMY!!! ARE WE LANDING SOON?" "MOMMY!!!!! MOMMY!!!! HI!"

The kid had the window seat, the sister the middle seat and the mom had the aisle seat. No screaming was required for her to hear him. But not once did she shush him or ask him to use his inside voice. The sister, who looked to be about seven or eight did shush him once or twice. Apparently she had more sense than the mother.

The mother began ignoring the kid's constant calls for her attention, so he proceeded to entertain himself by chanting "AAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAH!" for over half an hour, I am not kidding. Not once did the mother do anything about this.

My blood began to boil as I could feel a migraine starting and at this point, the idea of listening to this for another two hours began to be too much to bear, since I'd listened to this for an hour and a half already. I've never cursed myself more for forgetting my iPod.

Finally, in the middle of the kid's buddhist like "AAAAAAH" screaming, unable to take it for another second, I stood up looked down at the kid from the back of his seat and said to him in a really stern voice "WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP SCREAMING!!!"

In shock, the kid stared back at me and said "I'm soh-wee!"

The mother shot me a look, but I couldn't care less.

And you know what? The kid actually kept his word. He was pretty good the rest of the flight. No screaming. Some loud excited talking a few times, but this is a four year-old for crying out loud! He should be allowed to talk a little too loudly when he's excited.

When I told this story to Sweetie Pie after I got home very late last night, he just laughed. "What's so funny?" I asked.

- Well, I thought that maybe you going to California for a few days would soften up my Little Ball of Hate, but apparently you weren't there long enough."

This morning, he's still hanging by his boxers from the neighbor's flagpole.

Love,

Catwoman.

7 comments:

Jesse said...

OMG I had to laugh about the whole waiter thing, but don't worry you probably played it off just fine. As for the mom and kid on the plane I would of said the same thing. Anyways I found you on the mom blogs, and like you I live in Texas-mine is For the Love of Peas and Monkeys. Alright hopefully your week will be great.
Jesse

random_mommy said...

you should be called BIG BALLS of hate... i always wish i had the balls to call people out, but rarely do so. and when i do, it never works.

the waiter. ha!

Julie said...

Ok, the waiter thing - that is classic. I'm awful at schmoozing so I probably would have done the same thing our of nervousness. Glad you made it home safe and sound!

Gerbil said...

Random Mommy just made me snort coffee out my nose, which was still smarting over the whole Doc Martens concept.

rookiemom said...

I envy you. I never quite have the courage to tell someone else's kid to shut up. I have perfected A Look that works about 80% of the time, though.

beebop said...

dude, chocolatey goodness exploding in your mouth? you should be a sex writer!

That Chick Over There said...

You are totally my secret girlfriend.

Don't tell anyone.