A blog I’ve been reading lately has this nice little piece on forgiveness.  And I think that part of my problem of feeling like an asshole is that I don’t know how to forgive myself for my own transgressions. 

But also, that as discussed in the piece, it can be hard to forgive others if there has been no apology.  I have in-laws that need to apologize to me and mr. jolt.  But it’s not going to happen.  And the fact that I know that it’s not going to happen makes me as angry, if not angrier, than the original transgression.

Anyway, I have other happier stuff to post about, which I will shortly. 


So I’ve been having a pity party for myself and the stark truth that I am an asshole. How do I know I’m an asshole? To wit, the following:

1) I stuck my foot in my mouth at bookgroup earlier this week (and got called on it). Which means not only am I an asshole who knows I’m an asshole, but other people have recognized this unfortunate truth as well. This is hard to live with.  The fact that I’m focused on this self-realization as opposed to the victim of my foot-in-mouthedness is further proof of my assholery. 

2) I ask questions of mr. jolt that he can’t answer because I can’t ask them of the relatives to whom I’d really like to say WTF?!?!?!?! If you are wondering why this makes me an asshole, trust me, I am.  If for no other reason than the fact that I got NOTHING done at work today because of my inability to compartmentalize my “emotional life” from my “work life” and the fact that I can’t decide who is a bigger asshole, me, mr. jolt, or the relatives at issue and that this question has consumed far too much of my time.  Trust me, when its a competition about who is a bigger asshole, nobody wins.

3) We started watching season 2 of the wire (yes, we are behind on our tv series watching).  And it is far more depressing than the first season.   Largely because there seem to be a vast number of stupid assholes that are the non-cop characters in season 2.  To which I say, if I have to be an asshole, I hope that I can be a smart asshole and not a stupid one.  I don’t think I could bear it if I became a stupid asshole.

4)  I made a list the other day, in the vein of the serenity prayer, of all the things I can control in my life right now, and all the things I can’t.  And came to the conclusion that I seem to be unable to control the fact that I am an asshole.  But I’ll work on it.  I promise.

Last Friday, mr. jolt got a frantic email from the ‘team mom’ for BB’s soccer team.  The subject?  The critical importance of everyone keeping their kids home from school today to avoid President Obama’s speech.  Attached to the bottom of the email was some link to Glenn Beck.

mr. jolt, being far more reasonable than I would have been under the circumstances, responded to her (not reply all, he is so much more tactful on this stuff than I) by pointing out that one shouldn’t rely on Glenn Beck and that the speech would be published on Monday (yesterday) and perhaps she should read it and decide whether or not her child should listen to it.

Her response?  “I don’t want my children listening to anything that man says.”

Hmm.  Yeah, I guess we won’t be inclined to get to know them better.  And frankly, keeping one’s kid home, missing a whole day of school, just to avoid a 15 minute speech (if that) is cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face.  Assuming the school is even planning to show it in the first place.    If the situation were reversed and my kid had to listen to Bush, I’d counteract with speech of my own & a discussion with my kid.  But that’s not the way of the nutters.

Last week I had to chastise someone in another office of the organization in which I work for doing something stupid.  Because this person has had a habit of doing similar stupid things, after discussion with my supervisor, I delivered the chastisement by email, copying my supervisor and the supervisor of Mr. Stupid.

 Mr. Stupid responded later by hitting reply all with a, surprise, stupid attempt to make his stupidity look like inadvertent error.  Because I’d had a long day and got his pathetic fail of an excuse after dealing with the stupidity of others in his office, I shot back an email, also reply all, in which I pointed out that there was no way that the error could have been inadvertent.

 Today, Mr. Stupid called, presumably on the advice of his supervisor, to make nice and apologize.  He began his apology by half-blaming his support staff, and in response to my snarky, “Oh really?” backed off and said he “took full responsibility and it wouldn’t happen again.” I said, “Good, glad to hear it.”

 He then says, “Okay, kid?”

 I was so taken aback by this newest form of stupidity – kid? I’m a fucking adult you moron – that all I could say was, “Uh, okaaaaay.”

 Thus ended the call.

 ‘Legal’ tip of the day:  When apologizing to other people, try to avoid (a) blaming others for something that is clearly your responsibility; and (b) attempting to diminish the listener/apologee by using terms intended to indicate their inferiority, whether based on relative youth or other factors.

 Needless to say, Mr. Stupid is still on my shit list.   I have no idea how old he is, but I’m guessing he thinks I’m some young whippersnapper.

It was a beautiful summer day today in SouthCentralSmallCity – low 80s, no humidity, blue skies – so I went to my favorite coffee shop and sat outside reading a book for lunch.  Towards the end of the hour, as I sat reading quietly, I was rudely interrupted.

            “Excuse me,” I said, glancing up at my book, startled.

            “I said,” cackled the man leaning toward me, “Whatchya reading?”  I gave him a look of disdain, thoroughly irritated to be interrupted and made a flicking motion with my hand as if to shoo him away.  He did not leave, but stood there, and said, “I just wanna know what you’re reading.”

            I flashed him the cover, reading it aloud as I did so, “If Looks Could Kill.”

          The rude man stalked off.

Seen on a license plate on the way to work:


Um, ok.  Not something I’d brag about, but to each their own.

This past Saturday, I went with mr. jolt and the boys to a new cultural event.  Well, new to me anyway.  It was a <imagine thundering announcer voice> MONSTER TRUCK SHOW</end thundering announcer voice>. 


My main concern in attending was ensuring that we were seated far enough from the floor that we weren’t risking imminent death from flying auto parts.  The venue was small, so I’m sure there were stunts we didn’t see because there wasn’t space to perform them, but the flipping motorcycles and massive beater-car flattening action was still impressive.  And loud.  VERY loud.


About halfway through the evening, there was a local race.  Apparently, local monster truck aficionados had brought in their souped-up cars and trucks to compete in time trials over various obstacles in the ring.  The cars ranged from a couple of beat up VW bugs to old police-SUVs, and everything in between. 


It was fun to watch, until some asshole pulled into the ring in his ‘hawt’ pick-up truck, sporting two massive confederate flags on poles sticking out of the back of the truck bed.  It was as if this asshole decided to piss his racism all over what had been a fun family event.  I was dismayed, but not entirely surprised, to hear a few “cheers” in support of this jerk, while the rest of the audience went, to my ears, a little quieter.


The asshole pulled up to the starting line, revved his engine a few times and then at the signal went faaassssttt CRACK on the first obstacle, limped over the second obstacle, and stopped in the middle of the track. It sat there for a few minutes while race personnel went over to consult and an African-American guy about ten rows down from us got up and started cheering.  I joined him and started laughing fit to bust.  A few minutes later a tractor came out and pushed that sorry-ass truck from the floor.  So long, idiot.  I hope you cracked an axle.

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