Mz. Mannerz: I Am Fine If We Pretend We Don’t See Each Other

I’ve decided to start a regular-ish thing called “Mz. Mannerz.”  It will feature exciting content about how we can all be less of a jerkass in our daily lives.  Dissenting opinions will be printed out, put through a shredder, and used to line the cage of an angry rabbit that I have not yet acquired named “Dr. Stabbers”.  This is a dictatorship and will be governed accordingly.

Here’s the first installment!  Try to control yourself.

So there’s this person I don’t like.  He is my current Nemesis (I keep a rotating cast of enemies a la Nixon).  What he did to gain that ranking isn’t important, just know that he totally sucks and is completely outer limits rude and disrespectful, and if you had the misfortune of ever meeting him in person, I have zero doubt that you would agree that he is a universal double turdburger with cheese.

The thing that drives me the most insane about Nemesis, is that even though we do not get along AT ALL, he feels the need to barge up to me any time he sees me at a restaurant, a concert, even just walking down the street, to wave frantically and say hello to me.

And touch me.

Did I mention the touching?

I have watched in slow-motion horror as he’s sprinted across a city block to flag me down and touch me.

Ohh well, you see, even though I have instructed Nemesis on no less than five occasions, in no uncertain terms and with a look of death on my very married face, that he is NOT to touch me, there he is.  Touching me.  You would think that my glaring at his hand and through gritted teeth saying, “Do NOT touch me.” would do it, but nope!  Apparently, Nemesis feels completely entitled to touch me even though I could not be more clear that it is not okay to touch me.  WHO DOES THAT?

Also?  I am not “ha-ha don’t touch me” laughing when I say this to Nemesis.  There are no mixed signals here.  I am openly hostile to him.  When he approaches me, I take this particular stance.  NOT THAT HE CARES.

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Self-portrait, 2019.

This is to say, Nemesis is very aware that I don’t like him.  The feeling is mutual – I can assure you he doesn’t like me, either.  Yet there I am, trying to run twenty rows back at the movie theater, hoping that he won’t see me when I realize he’s sitting in the fifth row.

Oh, he’ll see me.  He ALWAYS sees me.

Sometimes he yells out my name from across the street and I pretend I don’t hear him.  That’s when he starts sprinting towards me.

Can’t we just pretend that we don’t see each other??

So here’s the thing.  Nemesis is certainly not the first person who has done this to me, and I’m sure you’ve probably had plenty of people do it to you, too.  The person you can’t stand – who knows you can’t stand them – who can’t ever see you out in public and just LET IT GO.

It’s like every ex who feels the need to come up to you and say hello every.single.time they see you in public, even though your relationship was a flaming napalm toilet of shame that ended with you smashing the original tapes of his early recordings with a hammer on your back porch after you found out he never stopped cheating on you from the first day you started dating until the last, routinely stole money from your purse, and went to Ireland for a month and came back with a permanent Irish accent and started calling french fries “chips” even though he was from Colorado.

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Fairy godmother.

Oh man, did that guy have it coming.  Trust me.  This was the same guy who gave me a secondhand rock for Christmas.

“Well, I saw you from the other side of the club…”

Then stay on that side of the club!

Now you’ve just made it awkward for both of us!  Yes, I saw you when I came in, and I am totally okay with neither of us acknowledging each other’s existence.  I am so, so 100% willing to pretend I didn’t see you.  I am so, so 100% okay with you pretending you didn’t see me.  Let’s pretend to not see each other together!

“I figured we could act like adults and at least say hello when we see each other.”

No thanks!  I’d really, really, mega prefer that we behave like pissy teenagers who pretend the other person no longer exists!  I’m fine with that.  Please, by all means, let’s not act like adults!  Acting like adults is highly overrated!

So!  To summarize:

  • Don’t ever, ever touch anyone who has told you that it’s not okay to touch them.
  • If you’re not actually friends with someone, feel free to just leave them alone when you see them enjoying a nice dinner out.
  • Just because you dated someone ten years ago doesn’t mean you have to chase them down to say hello, especially if the reason your relationship ended was because you were a nuclear asshole.  Let it go and let that other person live their goddamned life.

Sincerely,

Mz. Mannerz

I Would Rather Wear Cheese Than Go To Your Scentsy Party

I’m not sure there’s a more dreaded situation than someone calling you up and saying, “Hey!  What are you doing this weekend?”

Uggggh.  Even if I’m doing absolutely nothing, with the way you’ve worded the question, you’ve now forced me to answer, “I’m not sure?  I think there was a thing we were doing?  I’ll have to double check and let you know.  Why, what’s up?”

Know why I have to answer that way?  Because I have no way of knowing what kind of nightmare you’re going to try to pull me into with your vague-ass question.  What will it be?!

Let’s roll the dice, shall we?  I shall also provide you with a visual reminder along the way of who I am, just in case you forgot.

You want me to help you move and you live in a five floor walk-up, and when I show up you haven’t even STARTED packing yet?  I’m rolling the dice aaaand…

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You want me to work at your old high school’s band boosters gift wrapping even though I didn’t go to your school and was never in marching band to begin with?  Look, bucko.  I vowed to never return to my own high school after I emotionally limped away from that hellhole twenty-five years ago to nurse my wounds after four years of goddamned torture.  You can imagine my feelings about hanging around yours.

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You want me to come to your Scentsy party, which by the way I am never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever (*please see footnote at the bottom for further reference) coming to?  I would rather put on a scuba suit made of feta cheese and slide down a gigantic cheese grater into the arms of a nude, olive oil-coated Rush Limbaugh marinating in an ocean of balsamic vinegar.

(Don’t ask me, “What is Scentsy?”  Google it and then run for your life.  And for the love of god, my husband and mother-in-law read this blog, let there be no further talk of nude Rush Limbaugh.  In the entire universe.)

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You want me to come over for a “Wedding Video Watch-Party” where you will make everyone spend their Saturday night watching your two-hour long wedding video, and by the way I was actually present at said wedding?  I remember it well.  It just happened a month ago.

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Uh oh.  Someone said the word “wedding” on the interwebz, which is the opposite of pulling the emergency brake.  Here we go.  Make yourself comfortable!

Deep breath:

Besides your wedding, I was also present for the engagement announcement party, the ‘formal’ engagement party, the wedding dress shopping, the friends bridal shower, the family bridal shower, the bridesmaid dress fittings, the dual bachelor and bachelorette parties, the rehearsal dinner, the breakfast with ‘the girls’ before the wedding, the wedding reception, the after-party, the brunch the next morning, the goodbye dinner with your relatives FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ENOUGH WITH YOUR WEDDING THAT I HAVE ALREADY DEVOTED MONTHS AND MONTHS OF MY LIFE TO, NOT TO MENTION LIKE FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS UGGGGGGGH THIS IS WHY I ELOPED.

I can hardly wait until you have a baby so that I’ll have to quit my job in order to attend the “Destination Gender Reveal Party” you have scheduled at 10am on a Tuesday in Indonesia, where you will request that everyone show up in authentic costumes from Alice in Wonderland so we can make handcrafted Lewis Carroll books for your spawn out of sustainably-sourced bamboo paper; the very same party where you will insult everybody by loudly and snottily correcting anyone who doesn’t refer to the book by its proper title of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”.  LIKE IT MATTERS, SHARON.

What?  Of course I can bring the ice sculpture of the Cheshire Cat!  What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?!

I’ll make you a deal.  If you don’t get mad when I decide to liven things up when you reveal the gender by collapsing into a heap of sobbing tears on the floor, raising both arms to the sky and crying out, “Oh god, why?!!!  WHY?????!!!!!!” then I’ll think about it.

Some of you people get married and have babies and lose ALL TOUCH WITH REALITY.  You can at least let me have some fun with it.

Okay.  I’m over it.  Wedding rant done.  Back to it!

You would like to get together for a nice evening of cocktails and conversation at that fantastic new place we’ve been wanting to try out? I’m rolling the dice…

We’ve got a 7!   7 is a winner!!

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The point is, could be something awesome, could be something I would sell my soul to get out of, but with the way you asked, there’s no way to know until AFTER I’ve already told you my availability, which then means I’ll have no way to get out of it.  Give people an ‘out’ for Maude’s sake!

If you say, “Hey!  What are you doing this weekend?” and I answer, “Oh, nothing!” now I’m on the damn hook.

Now I look like a jerk if I turn you down for the hideous thing you want me to do, and that’s not fair, because there are way, way more interesting reasons that I’m a jerk, and now you’ve just made me look like an ordinary jerk, you bubblegummed bastard!

Interesting jerk behavior includes putting Worcestershire on everything before I even taste it, hating a sports team forever because I didn’t like a star player’s face who’s not even on the team anymore, hiding behind store displays when I hear someone yell my name out in public, and not feeling even remotely bad about blocking children’s views of the otters at the marine center.

< Eyeroll > I like the otters, too, Bryson/Greyson/Flotsam.  You’re not the only one who wants to see them frolicking.  Stop being so selfish, 8-year old!

 

*ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever