Monday, March 20, 2006

lastworditis, Fraggle Rock On Ice!, and the return of Mummy Finger

For those of you who were wondering whether there was some response from the neighbours of doom, I present this much more moderately capitalized note which was slipped under our door.

Dear Neighbor,

Truthfully, upset we were when we heard
someone pounding on the door. Without a
peep hole there is no way of finding out who
you were. We did not hear anything until
you pounded the door. Maybe a note slipped
under the door instead of banging would have
been better?

1) Yes it was rude and uncivilized to bang on
someones door unless you are the FBI
2)Yes, okay the music was loud. We apologize,
your wish will be granted, more considerate in
the future.

It was not a threat but a fact that anyone who
pounds the door would react angry, carry some
sort of protection when opening the door just in
case a madman is on the loose. Apology accepted,
promise will be kept on turning the music low and
accept an apology also. Peace to all...

Now, there are so many possible responses to this note, but after careful consideration I have come to the conclusion that I'm probably going to get the outcome I wanted, and that's the important thing. True to their word, the music has been much more reasonable this week. All the other things that come up for me are really about wanting to control the story around the whole thing. "I was right and you were wrong!" You know.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of saint of self-restraint. I thought of all kinds of snarky. Luckily for me, however, I have the lens of a very difficult relationship to see this through. For the last few years I have struggled with someone who just can't let anything go. She really, really, really wants you to agree that her version is The Version of every event, even when it is a crazy person version. This of course makes me want to get her to admit that she's a)wrong b)delusional and c)wrong again. After a bunch of this it finally occurred to me that it's impossible to control the way that people think about you, and that it will eventually make you crazy, even though most of us do it to some extent. I'm trying to take her example and use it to learn to focus on my bottom lines rather than on spin doctoring every little incident. So I'm letting this one go, 'cause as long as we can live peaceably, what my neighbours think of me is just not very important.

*******

my co-workers re: me and my pink hair.

"She's trying out for a children's show...
"Fraggle Rock on Ice!"

I suddenly find myself without a comeback, because I'm so busy thinking "ooh, Fraggles." What I should have said, of course, was "There's a whole roster of children's shows, actually...I'm looking for colleagues with a little more maturity."

snap.

*******

"Uh, could you get me a band-aid?"
"What happened?"
"I was just cutting the edges off and the exacto knife slipped."
"Is this an I-need-gauze-pads thing?"
"Maybe." [holds up bloody finger. I don't faint again. I think I'm getting better at this.]
"Riiiiiight."

I'm not so sure that spook should handle sharp implements--or maybe it's just that index finger that's cursed. I bet that's it. The Curse of the Mummy Finger. Rrrrrrr...

3 comments:

Miss Julia said...

I really want to know who those co-workers are, but I know you're not one to blog-slam someone.
Why can't people just leave their comments to themselves? Ok, I'm not a good example of that, but I do NOT beat people down to their faces. (is that better? No, I suppose not.) Unless, of course, they give themselves nicknames like "Serbian Love Machine" in which case I believe I'm entitled to make fun all I want.
Being different isn't "asking for it"-being a tool on the other hand...

'col said...

oh, I'm very happy to tell you that the co-workers in question are Cookie and Jason, but our relationships are based on abuse. in fact, you could say that insults are a form of affection in this case--although you probably shouldn't, since it will only produce vehement denials. it's all good.

funny, yesterday I heard the "Serbian Lesbian Maker" story for the first time...

Miss Julia said...

WHAT?!? But that's the best story! Yay. You must past it on and on. The Serbian Lesbian Maker should live forever in fables, campfire tales and perhaps a 3 hour long, latin Baroque-style opera. We should get someone on writing that...