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ABOUT ME

About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

The other nickname for Richard would have been more appropriate, but I guess that's just perpetuating the crudeness that ruined my afternoon

I had something funny in mind for today's post. Chuck, Junior and I spent the weekend camping with friends and their children, and if six adults stuck in the woods with five children under the age of five doesn’t scream funny, I don’t know what does.

But then when we got home, I took Junior to Mulletville Park and everything changed.

When the planets align correctly, Mulletville Park can be a very nice place. There’s a pond you can walk around, picnic tables, ducks with mullets; it’s quite enjoyable.

Alas, today was not a day of celestial convergence. In fact, as I drove home, I vowed to never return and to write a letter to the mayor of Mulletville that read: “I’d rather live on a sinking, splintered river boat on a smelly polluted river of rotting fish and West Nile-infested mosquitoes alongside a family of lepers than in this town.”

The first problem with Mulletville Park is that the children’s playground is nestled in a spot at the top of a cliff. You can’t see it from the parking lot, so you never know if it’s crowded or not with other people’s brats. It’s like going on a blind date: You just have to hope it doesn’t suck too bad. Getting a stroller up and down the cliff pathway is harrowing. There should be a fricken t-bar.

The second problem is that there is no one in charge. The Mulletville police stop in from time to time to bust drug dealers, but not often enough. People swim and fish in the pond. The ducks quack and preen. Dogs roam. Radios blast. Ice cream trucks speed by. Drug dealers hide in trees. Chipmunks rally against squirrels. The Mulletville track team runs. It’s anarchy, I tell you.

Anyway. Today.

Today at the children’s playground it was me and Junior, two dads and their toddlers, and two moms with their older kids. A group of teenagers was sitting on a bench. Everything was going fine until one of the teenagers started fighting with his girlfriend. And oh my God, I know sometimes I have a bad mouth, but I was not prepared for:

F***ing whore
F***ing bitch
F***ing slut

And the worst of all disgusting, horrible words:
F***ing c***

Shouted. Repeated.

I started to shake.

I am terrible in public situations involving conflict. Terrible. When a fight breaks out, I freak out. I often wish I could morph into a 350 pound muscular man with menacing facial hair and an authoritative voice so I could go around breaking up fights—instead of running from them—but all attempts thus far have been unsuccessful.

I looked at the dads to say something, but all they were doing was glaring. There was more:

F***ing whore
F***ing bitch
F***ing slut

And the worst of all disgusting, horrible words:
F***ing c***

And more.

And more.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. If I could have willed myself a pair of testicles, they would have been the size of watermelons. I inched closer. I was so close to saying something and then, from below the cliff:

“Riccccccccckkky! Riccccccccckkky!”

His peeps were calling him. The group disbanded and disappeared.

I wanted to rip Ricky's head off. I wanted to shout to the parents, "Why didn't anyone say anything?" But then, why didn't I speak up? Why did I expect one of the dads to save the day? Sure, they would have fielded a punch better, but I can look tough.

Or not.

And Ricky, your name sucks. If you want to verbally abuse your girlfriend, why the hell do you need to do it on a children’s playground? I think that says more about your character than your trash mouth.

And Mulletville? You.Break.My.Heart.

25 comments:

Mad Woman said...

That royally sucks. I mean, I have a mouth like sailor who is moving onto his third bottle of rum before heading back to puke all over the deck, and my children have been known to hear a fair amount of crass and crude word coming from me....but that would just piss me off. It's just unnecessary!

I think it's human nature to simultaneously want nothing better than to take his nuts and ram them down his throat, but at the same time want to cower in a corner and hope they leave soon.

Most of the time, I fall into the first category and stay there. I'm actually embarrassing to my husband and friends because I yell at people like Ricky. But ... that's me.

Sorry you had to experience that....hopefully you won't see too much of Ricky and his girlfriend. But if you do? RUN!

Shelli (wishes she was) Mrs. Burchett;) said...

O.M.G. I was planning on posting about our trip to the park too! There was a woman arguing with her husband on the phone, and then whining about him to her BOYFRIEND! There were a bench of people talking about an upcoming DNA test, and at least 3 cars of moms who weren't even watching their kids! Oh, and the best one was the mom who got out from behind the wheel of her car to throw her empty CORONA bottle in the weeds, then put her 3 kids in the backseat with NO seatbelts, much less the carseats they should have beeen in. And EVERYONE there needed to bathe! I think we'll stick with the swing set in the back yard from now on!

Sapphire said...

Ugh, I hate that. I hate when other people force their crap on me and my kids. I can just hear Jade asking me what a 'effing whore' is.
And I am also torn between speaking up and getting the hell out of there.
SUcks!

blognut said...

Ricky sounds charming. Unfortunately, I'm more worried about his poor girlfriend than I am about him. I hope my daughters never tolerate that kind of thing.

Dto3 said...

As a local kid passed me and my daughter and youngest son at the local community action center and told his buddies "go down the slide on your back, not your a**," I immediately stopped him and said, "I heard you say rear, right?" pointing to my youngsters. As he gave me an ESaD look, I inked out, "Parents are everywhere my boy, everywhere."

Julia said...

So I am thinking sometimes it's ok not to step in. You never know what could happen. I need to follow those rules myself since I often will blatantly tell idiots how idiotic they are. My only defense is that I am almost 6 feet tall and I have not had my ass kicked yet. There's something to be said for height...

There's a new skate/bike park in town and my son wants to be in there and the juvenile delinquents who are frequenting it already are going to hate me and/or kill me. But not before I stuff the trash they leave all over the place down their necks.

mo.stoneskin said...

"you never know if it’s crowded or not with other people’s brats."

I hate that. You know when you get a car park sign that says "324 places" or something, those sorts of places should be signposted with "1024 other people's brats" so you know whether to continue or not.

Frogs in my formula said...

Shelli, have you been going to Mulletville Park and not telling me? There's strength in numbers!

C3PO, saving the day somewhere else doesn't help my situation. Geesh.

Lindy said...

See? This is why I refuse to camp. Nothing good - whether before, or during or after comes from camping.

Jeanne said...

I guess you'd get in trouble if you zapped him with a stun gun? (But think how much you'd enjoy reminiscing while hanging out in the drunk tank with the prostitutes.)

Skye said...

Yeah, I'm known to speak like a drunken sailor as well, but never around strangers kids! When there are kids I don't know around, (or family members kids) I am actually able to curb my wayward tongue. I may only be 5'4" tall, but when I come across people like that I tend to blow up. I was not only raised in an abusive home, but I also married an abuser, so now when I see someone abusing someone else, I let them have it.

There is nothing that they can do that I haven't already experienced. I also make sure to let the girl know that there is no reason she needs to take that kind of b.s. and she should dump his sorry a** a.s.a.p. Yes, this is one area in my life where I am probably far too vocal, but it's also one which I feel very very strongly about!

beyondpanic said...

I worked in a high school for a couple of years, so I'm kind of used to handling teenage boys. Normally, I would just approach them and say really nicely, "Hey guys, can you kind of cut out the language until the little kids leave?" You'd be surprised how young guys react to a question asked in a nice manner.
Then I would look at those dads who sat around doing nothing and spit on THEIR shoes for being such wusses.
All that being said, those "Richards" in Mulletville may be a special breed of teenagers who would slash you just for looking at them the wrong way so the idea of a backyard swing set sound pretty good to me.

Gina said...

That makes me so mad, and yet it happens all the time - in the mall, at the park - I even heard a construction worker swearing the other day when I had my daughter at the elementary school for her kindergarten test!

And I have a terrible potty mouth, but I never say that stuff in front of kids.

Brandy said...

oh wow. that's a rough one. That's why I stay home.

Stacy (the Random Cool Chick) said...

It is for those exact reasons why I don't take Princess Nagger to any local parks...you know, if we had them here...the only ones I've seen seem to have been taken over by mouthy teens. And I don't like confrontations, but I also speak before I think, so I think I'd end up getting myself in trouble... ;)

C.B. Jones said...

Chipmunk and squirrel gang wars are always fun to watch.

Nicole Feliciano said...

You did the right thing. Suppose they started in on you. Can you can the parks dept. Here in nyc we call 311 and they will send over a patrol person to check it out. But the ast thing you want is the anger turned your way.

marybt said...

One night my husband and I were in bed and we heard screaming in the street. We scrambled into minimal clothing and raced to the front door just in time for my husband to see a high school age boy push his girlfriend. So my husband, in blue jeans, no shirt and bare feet takes off after the kid. I call the police and meet them in the driveway wearing a silky nightgown, blue jeans, and no shoes (that's what I was wearing, the cops had on uniforms). Anyway, the cops got the kid. But I told my husband that we need to be more prepared for these kinds of things because sure as hell, we'd be dressed like that the one time COPS is filming in our town.

The Mother said...

Perhaps the best thing would be if someone pulled the young woman aside and explained to her that Ricky isn't exactly a catch. Before she gets knocked up.

Lisa N. said...

Ugh, that stupid park. See, you should just move to VA, we have plenty of parks and here they do their swearing with a Southern accent.

I recall nearly dying on those paths. Horrible layout.

How to Party with an Infant said...

Teens are scary, especially in wolf packs. I wouldn't have fucked with 'em either.

Lori said...

It's probably better that you didn't say anything. I can picture the group turning stomping you (because in my minds eye, that's what teens do?) while the dads drummed their fingers and thought of ponies and donuts (again, blame my vivid imagination and the time I'm writing this?).

And I wonder why Ricky's girlfriend didn't say anything either? Maybe Ricky really is the stomping type?

Pricilla said...

I really don't think kids know the horror of the words they scream. And to scream them in the presence of children is just wrong.

Keely said...

See? We should hang out. I totally would have said something.

Keely said...

Although, to be honest, it would probably have been passive-aggressive.