Thursday, September 19, 2013

I Hate Playing Nice

I’m not generally a nice person. It isn’t really my thing. In fact, I LIKE to be mean, to people who deserve it, and I’ve been known to blow a gasket at well-deserving assholes. For some reason that I am hardly able to fathom, I have been holding back. Maybe it’s because I’m in this new place, and I have no friends here so I am trying to not gain the reputation of being a turbo bitch, but I find myself holding my tongue. And then I’m really mad at myself for doing it. This isn’t me, and I’m not happy with the new Annie who just lets people be dickwads to her. Several times recently I’ve left a conversation feeling annoyed and angry (ok, now is a good time to point out that this could be because I’m growing up, and maturing, and blah, blah, blah, but I don’t want to grow up dammit!) and I think I might be nearing a breaking point. I’m reaching full-capacity on my smile and nod meter and some unlucky person is going to get the shock of their life when I unleash my inner goddess.
Earlier in the week I got a call from the golf pro at the country club. I’m not sure why, but he has rubbed me the wrong way since the very 1st time I met him. Maybe it’s because he cancelled golf lessons for my 7 year old because the course was wet but didn’t bother to tell me about it, and then “made up” for the 1.5 hour lesson with one 30 minute session where all he did was play a few holes (which we do several times a week). Maybe it’s because he acts like he owns the golfcourse and the entire neighborhood surrounding it, or maybe because he thinks he knows everything there ever was to know about golf and we should all just treat him like a golf god (newsflash: if you were that amazing, you’d be a proffessional golfer, not selling over-priced golf clubs to retired men at a middle class, B-grade golf course in Central VA. Pull the driver out of your ass and see yourself for what you really are; a 30-something ex-trustfund kid who literally could not make anything more of yourself. but I digress). When he called me (on my cellphone, the number to which I certainly never gave him) it was to tell me that he had gotten several complaints, one of which from a neighbor and fellow member, that my dog was running amok on the course. I told her with absolute certainty that it wasn’t my dog. I locked both of mine up before I left the house, and they weren’t out there while I was home. Even if they were outside, they have an electric fence; they can’t get to the course. He repeated himself, “a member specifically said that it was your dog”. Well that’s just fine and dandy all-knowing golf pro, but my dogs are locked up. It isn’t my fucking dog. Maybe it’s the dog down the street who I mistook for my own dog that very morning. Maybe it’s the neighbor’s dog who is ALWAYS outside and barking at golfers. I don’t know, I don’t care. It wasn’t my dog. He didn’t believe me, and he a was a total jackass, but I reiterated that it wasn’t mine and he pretended to drop it. Now I’m tempted to let both dogs run out there just because. Seriously, what are you going to do about it? If I wasn’t a member would you have called, or are you only able to say anything because you happen to know my family? I was nice this time, but I’ve made a decision; the next time you call me with some bullshit complaint, you won’t get nice Annie. She is off duty, and mega bitch Annie is back from vacation.

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