In Which the Word "Douchebag" Is Used Five Times

I love that we as a group have just accepted Mike as gay. I have a feeling he might object, as would his wife and two kids, but there you go. Also, when I told MOTH this was the group consensus, he was all, I am funny and super nice and into theater…do they think I’m gay? I told him no, but to be fair, I haven’t asked you guys. So, if you want to question my husband’s sexuality, go to town.

Also, I feel compelled to put out there that I’ve IMed with Mike again this week and we had a really lovely chat. I opened with “I checked out your page, and…I feel like we should acknowledge that, in the wild, we’d be natural enemies, since me=hippie liberal." He responded basically that it takes all kinds, which is more than I’d expected. I think I was worried he’d want to get into a debate or convert me or something. Instead, he told me that he, in fact, had wanted to ask me out (you guys! OMG! he totally liked me!), but his sister told him that I would shoot him down for being “too old.” Because all freshman girls are like, “No, no, handsome senior. Please don’t ask me out. Also, let’s avoid that briar patch, shall we?” Sigh. Anyway, it was actually very sweet and nostalgic and not inappropriate or awkward at all. Also, because I know it will score bonus points with you lot, when I told him the Greg story, he was like, well, duh, of course you’re not going to friend him. He didn’t use the word “douchebag,” but he is a man of God.

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In other news, now that my sister reads this blog, I have her official permission to crib from her without limit, which is good for all of us. Her pseudonym will be Aunt Benevola, which is how she wants Tankbaby to refer to her. In order for that to make sense, I must explain a few things (and, to be frank, it still may not make much sense).

So, one day, a few years ago, my dad elbows my sister and says, "Tell Falling about your new philosophy." She promptly and gleefully responds, "Oh, yes! I'm now living out of spite." I probed for more information (my exact words might have been, "What are you on about now, freakshow?" but that's debatable). At this point, my memory fails me somewhat, so I e-mailed my sister to ask her to recollect for y'all. Here's what she wrote:


Hmmm . . . this is difficult, as I do not specifically recall the exact incident that prompted me to make that, and all future decisions out of spite.

Simply stated, if one chooses to live out of spite:

When presented in life with a fork in the road, one representing being the higher person, rising above, and the other being the "asshole" route, I choose a subtler, rarely traveled path, lined with imaginary self-gratification that I am "sticking it to" whomever I believe has wrongly led me to said fork.

Because of my benevolent core [oh, we'll get to this in a minute], this differs greatly from the separate, well-beaten "asshole" route, which is followed by those who go by the "living as a douchebag" philosophy. This route is usually what I am spiteful against.

My fork is usually more difficult than either path, what with the balancing of spite and non-douchebag. I've noticed it's far easier to either "be the bigger man" or "be a douchebag" and that the delicate balance of spiting douchebags while not taking the well-established "high road" is a daily challenge to say the least. But my mantra of sticking it to whom or whatever has gotten in my way drives me to continue down my path of spite. And I shall continue to do so. And that, my friends, has made all the difference.


And that's my kid sister, everyone.

So, this has become a family joke over the last few years. However, since the purchase of a Muppet-themed Monopoly board, we've also been playing a lot of Monopoly at family gatherings (why, yes, we did have a non-Muppet monopoly board before and no, we never played it, what's your point?). My sister likes to prolong the game by wheeling and dealing. So when you land on Statler and Waldorf's balcony and can't afford rent, rather than giving you the excuse to quit the game, she strokes an imaginary goatee and purrs, "Let's not be so hasty. Perhaps we can work out...an arrangement." Then she'll offer you a free pass on the rent in exchange for the two yellow properties you're holding, so that she can complete the set. Eventually, we all started playing this way, so that games last forever and are full of complex back-alley deals where I get three free landings on so-and-so's utility, but they have game-life immunity on Kermit's Dressing Room. Money is loaned at outrageous interest rates, and we use so many property pieces that we end up bringing in jelly beans as additional markers.

We're a fun group.

Anyway, if you accuse my sister of being a Monopoly slumlord and extorting her fellow players, she insists that she is kind. A pillar of the community. Benevolent, even.

So (she says, imagining you all on the very edge of your collective seats)! One day, when she had done or said something magnificently kind and generous, I, well, expressed surprise at said kindness and generosity. She shook her head tolerantly, clucked her tongue, and said, "I keep telling you--I'm benevolent! A core of benevolence..." Beat. "...wrapped in spite."

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The conversation with Mike (and your subsequent comments here) pushed me toward that slippery slope of seeking out high school friends on Facebook. I found one, this guy named T.J. that I was really, really close to for most of high school. We lost touch in college, bumped into each other randomly at lunch in downtown Chicago one day, and then lost touch again. Anyway, he has a blog as well and it's delightfully snarky and full of wordplay (oh! Naptime Writing, I have found a DFW friend for you!) and music that is too hip for me. Check it out for Big Laffs, although as he doesn't know about this blog, he won't know what it means if you say Falling sent you.


And now, for the wailing babe has finally quieted, to bed with us both. Turn off the lights when you're done, please.