Various Outrages

What a week. I tell ya, I'm done. I am so done, I'm on the blackish side of GBD. Here's why:

1. Friday, March 7. Interview for a job I really want. Get the job offer I have lined up rescinded.
2. Wednesday March, 12. Someone murders my beloved Audi and drives away. Thankfully, no one that we know of was injured.
3. Wednesday March 12: Get another job offer.
4. Friday March 14: Husband decides to become Road Warrior for a week. I'm supportive; I get a clean garage out of the deal.

And then today's Globe article, featuring whining, over-privileged urban mommies in the South End just about put me over the edge of blackishness into carbon-cured and unpleasant.

What is it with people who say things like, "That's just not family friendly", when tagged with a $45 double-parking ticket? Guess what, bitch, if it hasn't occurred to you yet, your neighborhood is not a Victorian-style theme park designed for your living pleasure so that when little Aidan or Madeline grows older, you can tell them stories about how "mommy and daddy lived in the city" once.

You live in a city. That entails all sorts of inconveniences that are not "family friendly" because they are not intended to be.

And let me tell you another thing: You owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the artists, urban warriors, middle-class families, and others who made your neighborhood what it is.

(Oh, I'm sorry. Were you not aware that your 'hood was not always the lilly-white homogenized uber-wealthy Lexus-riddled place you inhabit today? Why yes, it's true. My blog and email get their name from the neighborhood I once loved. I first lived there in 1988, when most of you 31 to 37 year-olds were still clutching the Holly Hobby your mother received at your baby shower. Thankfully, I moved five years ago, so that I didn't have to witness it's slow, painful death by hyper-gentrification. Speaking of gentrification, have you ever asked yourselves why that gentrification seems to halt so suddenly once you cross Mass. Ave. to Northampton Street. Wait, you don't know where Northampton Street is? Not surprising. )

I'm quite certain that when Aidan and Maddie are old enough for school, you'll move back the suburbs you came from, or you'll send them to private school. You won't participate in the public schools in the neighborhood you claim to love so much.

That's the most outrageous thing of all.

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

...and sometimes you don't. Or, rather, sometimes you think you have a new job, and then you don't.

All I can say is: I'm awfully glad that they had the courtesy to call and rescind my offer of employment on the Friday afternoon prior to my scheduled Monday morning start date.

After all, I mean, they could have waited 48 hours and sent me packing on Monday morning, as I waltzed into their offices, mocha in hand.

So, in retrospect, it was nice of them to call so far in advance.

Perhaps I should ask them for the money that I'd have made with the other job offers I could have accepted but didn't.

Or maybe I'll just sleep in on Monday morning and continue enjoying "Attack of the Comfy Pants: Part 2—Spring is Coming!"