So, did I mention that no matter how old people are, they still seem to enjoy indulging in "DRAMA!"? I am so glad the whole dinner theatre is done, mostly because of the "DRAMA!" and not having to deal with it any more. As most of you may know, in small towns there are giant cliques, and it is next to impossible to penetrate the clique. Oh, they're friendly and nice enough, but you know, you just know, that no matter how nice they are, you'll never, ever actually be considered one of them. I had forgotten that fact, stupid me, until it was brought back with bone crushing force on Saturday evening. You see, I have spent a great deal of time with these people for the last several months. I've gotten to know them, they've gotten to know me. Yes, there are a few people who I don't particularly like, but no matter where you go there will be people who rub you the wrong way, and I'm rather certain that the feeling is mutual. Anyways. Saturday night, about half way through the first act, I made the mistake of glancing up at the sound booth. Now, this is something that I have been warned about from the very beginning. If you look up there, expect to have the old guys who do lights and sound try to screw you up. Anyways, I looked up there and one of the guys was up on his feet, waving his arms around. I panicked, just for a moment. What was wrong? What was he trying to tell me? Was my fly undone? Was my boob hanging out? What was it? I quickly realized that he was just screwing with me and I carried on, chuckling internally and feeling sheepish for being caught by them. At intermission I was sharing the story with a couple other young newcomers who have become fast friends of mine. I started my story with the sentence "Those stupid old men up in the sound booth caught me..." I tried to continue, but someone sharply interrupted - "What did you just say??" I repeated myself, grinning good naturedly. I was rudely told "One of those men is Bernadette's husband, you know!" I replied, slowly, confused "yes, I know that...anyways...I accidentally looked up there and they were really screwing with me today..." Once again I was cut off. "I know for a fact that you can't see anything up there when you're on stage!" Shouts Bernadette. I blink, appalled that she's actually angry with me. I try to explain "but...you can...and they were waving..." I stammer. Yet again, I get cut off as Bernadette storms out of the room and Shannon gets in my face "Just drop it!" and follows Bernadette. Patty follows the two of them, but storms back in the room a few seconds later to find me with my mouth wide open, completely stunned. "Drop it right now, Jennifer!" she shouts in my face and storms back out. At this point I am practically in tears. I didn't think I was being offensive at all, especially as these people know I call my children "miserable little wretches", I call my husband an asshole, I call the director a crazy old lady right to her face and everyone laughs. My friends are stunned too. At one point I can feel my face doing that thing that Mary's face does when she's trying not to cry, but I manage to pull myself together before going on stage for Act 2. The next night, Bernadette and Patty refuse to be in the same room as me, and Bernadette's husband, who I actually like quite a bit, does our pre-show ritual with everyone in the room but me. Did I mention that Bernadette is in her early sixties, as is Patty? So, I've moved on, but I sure don't feel all that welcome anymore. I'm still a little stunned by the whole thing. I tried to explain that I didn't mean to be rude or hurtful, that I actually like Joe and Barry, but no luck. Anyways, that's not the only thing that has gone on, especially with Patty and Bernadette, but it's the biggest and most upsetting. Maybe I'm crazy, I'll accept that maybe I went over a line, but I also feel that the reaction to what I was saying and the refusal to accept any explanation or apology is a tad of on overreaction, you know?
Phew. That was a long paragraph, hope you managed to stick through it with me.
In other news. Yay to the union in South Africa that is refusing to unload guns, ammo and grenade launchers bound from China to Zimbabwe and the hands of Mr. Mugabe!
Boo to Avent, whose bottles I've been using for Frannie because I thought they were safe, but turn out to be the worst culprits for leeching BPA into baby formula. Stupid (and I call myself stupid affectionately and respectfully, so please, don't get all offended. Just Drop it, okay!) me for thinking that because they were expensive that meant they were safe. I guess they're going to be sorry now that their bottles have been banned by the Canadian government. I suppose I should switch to glass, but I can't help but think the damage has already been done in the last 10 months of drinking from the bottles.
Hurrah for giving up on potty training and accepting the fact that Mary'll be in diapers when she's 13 years old.
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Various observations on life from inside the invisible jail of motherhood.
5 comments:
heh.
I'm afraid that sometimes, when dealing with seniors... you really have to use Kid gloves.
I would recommend that you write her a polite note saying that you did not intend to offend her and hope that she accepts your apology.
if she's just an old bag, she won't accept, and you'll be done.
but that's just me. ;)
I'm feeling bottle guilt right now too. I used to pour the still warm formula in them and store in the fridge. Yikes.
I ditched all our sippy cups yesterday and bought some clear hard plastic ones that say they are free of BPA-until we find out they have some other toxic thing in them.
It sounds like these two have been looking for a reason to give you shit (because that's really kind of scraping to get in a huff over something that innocent). And yeah, small towns can be kind of inbred, but people also know which of the locals are psychotic. (Remind me to tell you the story of my mum ripping out our next door neighbour's rose bush with her bare hands in a rage).
You have my sympathies Jenn. I still have days where I say stupid things and don't realize until afterwards that I should have kept my mouth shut. It may be hard but do what Mary suggested and send a note. You can't change other people no matter how hard you want to!
As for Mary come summer let her run around outside naked with a potty chair and see if she likes that better. Tell her she won't get any clothes until she pees in the potty. It sounds right now like she's just being stubborn. Now I wonder who she might have gotten that trait from {wink}!
The other hint/advice I was given about potty training is offer her little girl panties, really pretty ones. But say she can't wear them until she uses the potty because she'll wreck them. I have a ways to go before I try this on my little one, but I have a coworker who swears by it, and apparently it worked to potty train my hubby when he was little (but with boy shorts of course!) :)
Well.
Speaking as an old stage manager who at one point had worked for every amateur theatre company in Calgary, back in the day...
The shenanigans going on in that sound booth would have never been tolerated on MY crew. Oh, you can fuck with the actors before and after a show (preferably after), but during? The fact that it's an amateur company doesn't mean they can't behave like professionals. That's just childish.
As for the old douchebags whose tender sensibilities you have apparently offended: a write I respect once said, "High school never ends. Never!" If you liked the theatre experience that much, I'm sure Regina has some companies that will be doing shows in the upcoming season. Check them out, if you don't mind the commute.
And as for toilet-training. I'm proof positive that it doesn't always take. Or maybe it's just menopause, I dunno.
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