Saturday, February 27, 2010

Because They Ruin Nice Things

Here's my deal with kids: I don't like every kid I meet. Yuh huh. As a general rule, I only like my siblings' kids, my godchildren, children of my close friends, some of my relatives' spawn, and incredibly cute ones. And orphans, because they don't have parents who are obligated to love them. I have this theory that if I liked their parents the children must have inherited some of those likable genes. Yes, I will say now that I don't necessarily like kids just because they're related to me. And you're a hypocrite if you say you do.

Over the years I have developed certain tolerance for little people 10 years old and below. When I was younger I made them cry when the parents are not looking, taunting them to a screaming fit complete with snot and fake tears. I didn't care if that incident with me would make them serial killers.

When my hormones had settled down and normal body parts have all arrived completely in order I made peace with the little people. Whenever I find that a particular child does not delight or provide entertainment in any way, I just completely ignore them. I wouldn't even look at them or God forbid, answer any stupid question that all begin with "Why?" I just usually stare them down (I always win) or stick my tongue out. Yeah, real mature.

If you think all children are angels, well, they're not. They can be scheming little demons, can lie through their teeth when they do something wrong and is being grilled about it, and they rat you out. They can also be very manipulative with their adoring public, and they carry a host of germs and all sorts of cooties on them. I once contracted head lice from a nasty four-year old. They also destroy things (more often than not it's the expensive ones), but you're not allowed to retaliate because that would make you very evil in the eyes of those who love kids.

If that's mean, then I'm mean. As far as I know I'm not violating any of their rights by ignoring them. Hell, it's not like I deny them basic necessities like food, clothing, and shelter or I don't know, trafficking them for child slavery (those who do deserve to be burned alive at the stake, skinless). I'd like to think that I'm giving them a life lesson, that you can't please everybody, and they shouldn't even try. That leads to more screw-ups in life. If people like them, then good. Milk it. If not, it's perfectly ok to ignore them back. That's what parents are for, to provide you all the love and delusion in the world.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

This is the Part Where I Laugh That Evil Laugh

I know it's evil, really evil, and still there are things way more evil than this, such as actually offing people or kicking kittens, but whenever I'm sad I just go to this website and GLOAT. Like gloat so much I'm considering breaking this self-imposed vow of being incommunicado and the silence after a very long time just to point and laugh.

Yes, I want to point and laugh and just do this annoying dance that Rumpelstiltskin might have performed around the fire while the housewife tried to guess what his name was. Schadenfreude is just too delicious to resist, and right now I'm swimming in a vast pool of it.

I never offered much argument back then, partly because I had no energy left, and partly because I know it was a good thing happening. It really was the best thing. I don't think I could have survived the subsequent and and consequent dots on the timeline that would inevitably follow had I stubbornly persisted. I still had pride and self-respect, and I have a strong suspicion that those two would be the last to go if I die; probably even after my sense of hearing goes too.

Although sometimes I manage to find situations where I compromise my well-being, I get miraculously extricated from those and after a while, find myself whole again. I guess gloating isn't a very nice thing to do, and the next thing you'll tell me that whenever I gloat a puppy dies or something, but goddammit I deserve to gloat. And point and laugh.