by Jen Mann
A Ballantine Books eBook Edition
Copyright © 2014 by Jen Mann
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Mann, Jen.
People I want to punch in the throat : competitive crafters, drop-off despots, and other suburban scourges / Jen Mann.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-345-54983-9 (paperback)—ISBN 978-0-345-54998-3 (ebook)
1. Suburban life—Humor. 2. Suburbanites—United States—Humor.
I. Title.
PN6231.S8M36 2014
818′.602—dc23 2014024031
www.ballantinebooks.com
Jacket design: Joseph Perez
Jacket image: George Baier
v3.1
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Author’s Note
People I Want to Punch in the Throat: A Short List
You’ve Got Mail!
Take Your Mother’s Sandwich and Shove It
The Hubs or the Cleaning Lady—Don’t Make Me Choose
God Bless America (and Thongs)
Just Some of the Many Reasons the Neighbors Always Hate Us
Screw Your Playgroup, I Didn’t Want to Join Anyway
Gomer Might Be a Racist
Jeez, Lady, I Just Wanted a Cup of Coffee, Not Your Kidney
Hello Mother, Hello Father, Signing Up for Camp Sucks
Ooh, Sorry to Hear You Got Agnes in Your Class, but I Hear Her Mother Is Lovely
Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Sweet-Ass Ride
Am I Supposed to Believe a Five-Year-Old Made That?
Carpool Lines and Bunny Pajamas Go Together Like … Nothing. They Don’t Go Together at All.
The Husband Inquisition
Who Needs Dr. Phil When We Have Adolpha?
Do You Ever Invite Me Over When You’re Not Trying to Sell Me Something?
Sleepover Is Not a Party Theme! And Other Stupid Things Suburban Moms Complain About
It’s Free Bowling, Lady, Not the Junior Olympics
I Thought Mother’s Little Helper Was a Babysitter. I Was Wrong—It’s Drugs.
Motherhood: The Toughest Competition You’ll Ever Judge
Watch It, That Room Mom’ll Cut You
Would You Take Less than a Quarter for This Swarovski Vase?
Moms’ Night Out at the Gun Range
Dedication
Acknowledgments
About the Author
All of the names and identifying characteristics of the people who appear in this book have been changed to protect the good, the bad, and the ugly. So if you think you see yourself in the pages, please be assured that you are almost certainly wrong. These are my stories and this is how I remember them.
My parents. Seriously, who spells their kid’s name “Jenni” with an adorable i? I guess they never expected me to be a doctor.
Anyone who thinks I really named my kids Gomer and Adolpha. Their real names are actually worse.
That one guy who sits in the middle of Starbucks yelling into his stupid Bluetooth about a bullshit quarterly report. We all hope you choke on your latte.
Extreme couponers who hold up the checkout line over thirty frickin’ cents. I’m mostly pissed off because I always forget my coupons at home.
People who treat their pets like children. No further explanation needed.
Anyone who feels the need to bling her washer and dryer. I blame Pinterest for this shit.
The guy in front of me at McDonald’s the other day who asked, “What’s good here?” Even the guy behind the counter didn’t know how to answer.
Humblebraggers. If you have something to brag about, then just own it.
Anyone who names their kid after a Kardashian or a Twilight character. Trust me, no one believes that you just “thought up” the name North on your own.
Moms who tell me my life would be so much easier if I implemented “systems.” Oh, fuck you.
People who tell me not to swear so much. Oh, fuck you, too.
People who think this book might be about them. Don’t be so vain. You’re not the only asshat I know.
Believe it or not, I’m happily married to a guy who doesn’t mind the fact that I’ve never set foot in a CrossFit class and that I own “good” Crocs and “bad” Crocs. He overlooks my unfortunate shoe choice and I don’t mind that he follows me through the house flipping off lights to save money or gets his hair cut only when he has a coupon.
I know right about now you’re feeling some twinges of jealousy. You’re thinking to yourself: “That sounds like a match made in heaven!” or “How do I catch a guy like that?” Well, let me tell you how we met.
In 1996 or so, I bought my first home computer. It was some sort of IBM product. If I was some weird computer nerd, I would be able to tell you all about the ROM and RAM this machine had. All I know is that it was black when every other model was off-white. When I was perusing models with the sales guy who was blathering on and on about what it could do, all I could think was how much better the black would look in my home office than the ugly off-white. I’m that kind of nerd.
I needed a computer because I was going to write a novel, you see. Ha! I’m still stuck on the first sentence: It was a dark and stormy night….
I got the computer home and unpacked it and found that it included a disk, or was it a disc? I can’t remember. Anyway, it was for a free trial of America Online. Remember AOL? I’m sure the Internet had been around for years at that point, but I’d been at school in Bumblefuck, Iowa, where I barely had phone service, let alone Internet, and as I stated above, I was not a computer nerd (just a regular nerd), so I didn’t know what the hell AOL was exactly. I read the description and decided I should try it. For someone like me, who really couldn’t comprehend the Internet, it sounded like the perfect introduction.
I hooked up my computer, plugged it into a phone jack, and went online for the first time. These were the days of dial-up, so I’d log in and send AOL off to find an open line, and then I’d have time to get some dinner, put on my jammies, and maybe even throw in a load of laundry before I’d hear: “You’ve got mail!”
AOL was so smart. Even the first time I logged in I had mail. It was just a welcome letter from them, but it was still mail and I loved to hear that voice announce every time I logged on. It was like crack for me. I was hooked. So long, social life!
Ha! As if I really had a social life to lose! In those days, I was living on my own and working at a shitty job. Most of my friends were married at that point and I didn’t feel like being a third wheel. My life was pretty much: get up, go to work, come home, watch whatever crappy show was on TV (this was before DVRs, so you had to watch whatever was on plus the commercials—it totally sucked balls), and go to bed. Get up the next day and repeat.
I quickly discovered that many people went on AOL to “chat.” There were tons of chat rooms to choose from based on your interests. Everything from dog grooming to knitting to S&M. You could also search through profiles to see who was online and send them an instant message (IM) to see if they wanted to chat privately.
For the first few weeks I would jump around from one chat room to another. Every time you entered a chat room somebody would IM you with “a/s/l?” That’s douchebag-speak for age/sex/location. The hard-core douchebags would add “What are you wearing?” to the list. The annoying thing was, all of this information wa
s in my profile (except my attire), but those dipshits were too lazy to look. It just seemed so show-us-your-tits to me. Ugh.
As soon as I’d enter a chat room, I’d get bombarded with IMs asking me my age and location. I was very popular, and I couldn’t figure out why, because this had never been the case in the outside world. I’d reply, and then half the time the next question was: “What are you wearing?” I didn’t know enough to lie, so I’d reply: “Sweatpants.” My chat partner would go silent. Not the answer they were hoping for I guess.
I tried a local chat room a couple of times. Supposedly everyone in that room lives in the same city, and you go there mostly to hook up with local strangers. It creeped me out, because I didn’t like the idea of “running into” someone I might actually know. I could just see my neighbor IMing me, “a/s/l/naked?” The guys in the local rooms also put a lot of pressure on you to meet IRL (in real life), so I tended to stay away.
I liked hanging out in the twentysomethings room, which was full of, well, twentysomething people from all over the world. Most of the people in there were cool and they never asked me if I was naked or if I wanted to meet IRL. I spent many evenings chatting/typing with people.
One night I entered the twentysomethings chat room and I received an IM from a guy who asked my name and age. Ugh. Can’t you read? I thought. But instead I told him, “Jen, 24.” I waited for “What are you wearing?” but it didn’t come. Instead we had a really normal conversation. Well, as normal as a conversation can be when you’re typing to a stranger halfway across the country. He told me his name was Ebenezer. He was a year older than me and lived in Queens, New York, and had just graduated from NYU’s film school. We chatted about movies and current events and made each other laugh. A lot. He was really funny and dry. Sometimes humor is hard to convey when you can’t hear the tone, but I totally got his sense of humor.
He especially made me laugh when he asked about my screen name.
Ebenezer: Tell me about your name.
Jen: My name? I dunno. My parents gave it to me.
Ebenezer: No. Not your real name. Your screen name. It’s … interesting.
Jen: It is?
Ebenezer: Yes. I’m curious about it. How did you come up with it?
Jen: Well, I’m a writer, you know.
Ebenezer: Yes. You mentioned that.
Jen: And names are very important to writers. They give them a lot of thought.
Ebenezer: Did you give your screen name a lot of thought?
Jen: Of course! (I didn’t want to tell him, but I thought my screen name was extremely witty. I had worked very hard on coming up with an excellent screen name.)
Ebenezer: So, how did you think of it?
Jen: Well, I used my name: Jen. Duh.
Ebenezer: Duh.
Jen: And then I incorporated my [at that time] favorite book: Douglas Coupland’s Generation X. Remember, I told you I think he’s a genius and totally the voice of our generation. He just gets us. Y’know? (On a side note, I just Googled Douglas Coupland to make sure I was spelling his name correctly, and holy hell! He is an old man. Am I that old? Shit. We are so damn old, Generation X!)
Ebenezer: Yes, yes. Maybe one of these days I’ll finally read that book.
Jen: OK, so I took Jen and Generation X and I wanted my screen name to be JenX. Get it?
Ebenezer: I think so. Is it like Malcolm X?
Jen: Nooo, silly!
Ebenezer: LOL. J/K.
Jen: I’m Jen. I’m Generation X. I’m JenX.
Ebenezer: OK, but that’s not your screen name.
Jen: No. Because AOL said JenX was already taken, so they offered me Jenexxx. I was disappointed I was late to the name game, but then I decided AOL’s suggestion was perfect.
Go ahead, laugh at me. I know you can see what I did there—even if I couldn’t. I’ve told you numerous times I’m an idiot.
Ebenezer: So instead of JenX, you took Jenexxx. You don’t see that those two names are different?
Jen: What do you mean? They’re both just variations of the same name.
Ebenezer: They’re not. One is VERY different.
Jen: I don’t understand.
Ebenezer: Jen X or Jene XXX.
Jen: OH SHIT!
Ebenezer: Ahhh. Now you see it.
Jen: Now I see why you wanted to talk to me!
Ebenezer: At first, yes. Kind of. But then you were funny and I liked talking to you.
Jen: Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m wearing?
Ebenezer: I assume sweatpants.
The next day I logged on and I heard “You’ve got mail!” It was an email from Ebenezer telling me he had enjoyed our talk and he hoped we could chat again soon. I wrote back. I don’t remember what I wrote. I probably said something like, “I’m not that stupid usually and I’m not a porn star, either, so if you think we’re going to have cybersex, you’re crazy.” And I’m sure he responded with, “Seriously, don’t flatter yourself. No one even mentioned cybersex. What is your damage?” This started an email exchange, and when we’d see each other online we’d chat.
He became my “friend,” if you can say that about someone you’ve never met. I didn’t even know what he looked like. His screen name was Ebenezer11423, and for the longest time I imagined he was a nice Jewish boy from NYU. It wasn’t until after countless emails back and forth that while we were IMing one day, he casually mentioned he was Chinese.
Jenexxx: Wait. You’re Chinese?
Ebenezer11423: Yup. You got a problem with that?
Jenexxx: No. I just didn’t know you were Chinese.
Ebenezer11423: I didn’t realize it was a big deal. I didn’t think it was a big deal that you’re white. You are white, right?
Jenexxx: Yes, I’m white. It’s not a big deal. I just imagined you were, too.
Ebenezer11423: Why?
Jenexxx: I don’t know. I guess I went with the straight-up stereotype: Queens, NYU film school, and a Hebrew name. My mind didn’t immediately go to Chinese guy.
Ebenezer11423: Is this going to be a problem?
Jenexxx: Relax. Of course it’s not a problem. But just so you know, I am totally not attracted to Chinese guys, so we definitely won’t ever have cybersex.
Ebenezer11423: Hey, not to worry. I’m not attracted to girls in sweatpants, so it’s all good.
I found myself looking forward to hearing from Ebenezer and chatting with him. We talked a lot about our shitty jobs and our dreams of one day being paid for our creativity.
There was never any pressure to meet because he lived in New York and I lived in Kansas. It was a perfect pen pal situation.
Until December. When I was growing up in New Jersey, my parents would always take me and my brother, C.B., into New York City to see the Christmas lights. We hadn’t been back in several years, and that year they decided to make a family trip.
At first I thought, Ugh, a trip with my parents? I’m twenty-four years old—I should not be going on a trip with my parents and my twenty-year-old brother! But then my parents sweetened the deal. They offered to pay and take me to a Broadway play. I am a total sucker for Les Misérables—you really can’t see it too many times—so of course I agreed to go.
I debated whether to tell Ebenezer that I was going to visit New York City. I really liked being pen pals and I didn’t want to ruin it all by meeting. But then again, how stupid was it to visit his city and not call? It seemed so odd. Were we friends or not?
I decided to tell him I was coming for a long weekend and we should meet for coffee.
He freaked out. His exact words were:
Ebenezer11423: If you think I’m taking you out on a date, you’re crazy.
Jenexxx: Whoa. Easy, killer. Who said I wanted to go on a date with you?
Ebenezer11423: I know you. You just go out with guys so you can get a free meal.
Jenexxx: Relax. Nobody said anything about a date. All I said was we’ve been emailing each other for months, I’m finally going to be
in your city, and wouldn’t it be nice to meet for coffee so we can put a face with the emails?
Ebenezer11423: I’ll think about it and let you know.
Jenexxx: Never mind. Forget I asked. Don’t do me any favors.
I was mortified and pissed off all at the same time. Who did this guy think he was? No one had said anything about a date. Everyone knows coffee is not a date. What a fucking asshole! We didn’t chat again for a few more days. Finally, I received an email from him laying out the ground rules for our meeting:
Jen,
I have to work on Friday, but I can come to your hotel at 6 pm. Since 6 pm is kind of late for coffee and I’ll be hungry, we should meet for dinner. We’ll go someplace fun and unique to NYC. A place I’m sure you don’t have in Kansas. It’s called TGI Fridays.
We can go to dinner—you’ll need to bring money and pay for your own meal because this is NOT A DATE and I’m pretty busy that night, so don’t think I’m going to take you on a tour of Manhattan or anything like that. I’m NOT a tour guide. If you’re cool or whatever we could go get some ice cream or something after, but if you’re boring I’ll warn you there is a new episode of Homicide on that night and I’m not going to miss it if you’re boring, so I’ll just leave.
If you want to go, let me know. Here’s my pager number.
Ebenezer
To this day I am completely amazed I went to dinner with this yahoo. Either there had to be divine intervention or I was desperate to have potato skins without my parents. I still haven’t decided which it was. All I know is, I was glad Ebenezer was willing to give up his Homicide night, because I wouldn’t have given up my tickets to see Les Mis and I would never have gone to dinner with him and his life would be so boring now.
I wish I would have replied with the following:
Dear Ebenezer,
Where do I begin? TGI Fridays? Are you for real? You’re absolutely right. This is NOT a date. Especially if you are taking me to TGI Fridays. Are they so popular in New York City that you are delusional enough to think this is fine dining? Mozzarella sticks and wings are some of the best fare they have to offer. Plus, you do know that’s a chain restaurant, right? There is one right down the street from my house. While I do live in Kansas, I don’t live in a sod house, so believe it or not, I have been to this classy establishment you mentioned and I’m not impressed. It is neither “fun” nor “unique.”