This is not The Haters Club You're Looking For discussion
note: This topic has been closed to new comments.
What does it really mean to hate?
date
newest »
newest »
Whoa, NB, what the fuck? Is your daughter OK? Wow, that's some scary shit.
The last time I felt that white-hot sting of pure hate was about 9 years ago. My wife, who was my girlfriend at the time, moved in with me, after breaking up with her abusive boyfriend. He, of course, proceeded to stalk her. Since he was a dumb motherfucker, he got a hold of our phone number and called our apartment. Funny thing was, he stuttered, so it was so fucking obvious who he was.
He crossed the line one afternoon when he was waiting for her at the parking lot of her place of work. He'd been drinking - he was abusive AND an alcoholic. One thing led to another and then he hit her. When she came home, she was pretending nothing happened, but I got the truth out of her. All I wanted to do was track this fucker down and crucify him, but Jaime begged me not to do anything; she felt he was cowardly enough to file a report with the cops, but I had connections in NYPD, not to mention connections with, let's just say some unsavory types who would have relished stomping the ever-living shit out of this cumstain for nothing.
I promised Jaime I wouldn't do anything to him.
I lied.
I left work early the next day and made my way to his place of employment. I waited for him in front of his car, just like he did to her. He finally showed up, and saw me. He started walking really slowly, because he must have known what was about to go on.
You know what? The motherfucking chickenshit started to cry. He was begging me not to hurt him. In between his sobs, he cried about being depressed and his alcoholism and his childhood blah blah blah. I had wanted to put a physical hurting on him, but I took pity on him. Pity in the sense that he was pathetic, a loser who was doomed to spend the rest of his life unhappy and alone.
I made it very clear to him that afternoon: he was to never call or speak to Jaime, no less come anywhere near her. The next time I wasn't going to take pity on him.
We never heard from him again.
The last time I felt that white-hot sting of pure hate was about 9 years ago. My wife, who was my girlfriend at the time, moved in with me, after breaking up with her abusive boyfriend. He, of course, proceeded to stalk her. Since he was a dumb motherfucker, he got a hold of our phone number and called our apartment. Funny thing was, he stuttered, so it was so fucking obvious who he was.
He crossed the line one afternoon when he was waiting for her at the parking lot of her place of work. He'd been drinking - he was abusive AND an alcoholic. One thing led to another and then he hit her. When she came home, she was pretending nothing happened, but I got the truth out of her. All I wanted to do was track this fucker down and crucify him, but Jaime begged me not to do anything; she felt he was cowardly enough to file a report with the cops, but I had connections in NYPD, not to mention connections with, let's just say some unsavory types who would have relished stomping the ever-living shit out of this cumstain for nothing.
I promised Jaime I wouldn't do anything to him.
I lied.
I left work early the next day and made my way to his place of employment. I waited for him in front of his car, just like he did to her. He finally showed up, and saw me. He started walking really slowly, because he must have known what was about to go on.
You know what? The motherfucking chickenshit started to cry. He was begging me not to hurt him. In between his sobs, he cried about being depressed and his alcoholism and his childhood blah blah blah. I had wanted to put a physical hurting on him, but I took pity on him. Pity in the sense that he was pathetic, a loser who was doomed to spend the rest of his life unhappy and alone.
I made it very clear to him that afternoon: he was to never call or speak to Jaime, no less come anywhere near her. The next time I wasn't going to take pity on him.
We never heard from him again.
Did you ever tell Jaime that you waited for him in the parking lot afterwards?
NB, Gus - That really stinks that the women in your life experienced these schmucky situations. And in the same token, I hope they appreciate your respect and protective instinct. I'm sure they do.
Don't tell anyone but if my daughter ends up one of those girls that fall in love with an abusive man and can't leave him, I plan to kidnap him and keep him in a dungeon until she is over him (2 yrs?) before release. I've already bought the land to dig this dungeon.
Just so you all know...daughter is doing fine. Luckily there were adults close at hand. It is something awful to watch any child agonize in that way, let alone yer own. It is a good thing I didn't find out who it was.
It's scary though to know that the sick puck is still out there. Hope someone gives him a free orchidectomy soon.
Don't tell anyone but if my daughter ends up one of those girls that fall in love with an abusive man and can't leave him, I plan to kidnap him and keep him in a dungeon until she is over him (2 yrs?) before release. I've already bought the land to dig this dungeon.
Ditto, Carlie. Except in our case, that unfortunate cumstain is going to have to choose between me castrating him with a corkscrew and a sodering gun, or my wife Jaime sodomizing him with a chainsaw. Either way, he's gonna rue the day he was born.
Ditto, Carlie. Except in our case, that unfortunate cumstain is going to have to choose between me castrating him with a corkscrew and a sodering gun, or my wife Jaime sodomizing him with a chainsaw. Either way, he's gonna rue the day he was born.
Heidi, yes, Jaime knows. Although she didn't approve of me doing that, she was glad he was out of her life forever.
Hey Gus. I've always worried about going to prison for kidnapping this future fool. But I just got an idea. If God forbid we both do have this problem in the future (my baby is only 5), how about you do my guy and I'll do yours. That way, the cops won't have a motive on either of us and the guy won't be able to recognize the person who took him. Alas though, you seem to plan on killing urs, I was just hoping to hold on to him until my daughter found someone else.
Gus, I'd have been glad to have him out of my life. :)
You'll have to make sure this thread is deleted or heavily modified, of course. :)
Carlie, you've been watching Strangers on a Train again, haven't you?
Of course Heidi, deleted would b best. I have not watched S on a T but I have seen an English version I think on PBS. That did not work out too well. But I really liked that one of the girls called the other "petal" in an English accent and it sounded so cool.
NB, how old is your daughter?I don't think I've ever felt that killer hatred - knock on wood, no need. And I'm a pretty mellow peaceful person. But if anyone, ANYONE does harm to my child, brr, I'm getting the shakes just thinking about it.
when my drug addict ex husband took our daughter from me and refused to give her back, forcing me to go to court to have her legally returned to me... when he hired people to perjure themselves on the stand on his behalf in order to try and prove me an unfit mother... when every time she spent time with him at the age of four she came home a raving lunatic for days afterward, spewing all the hatred out of her mouth that he had been whispering to her during her time with him...I'll just say that I know what it is to feel actual hatred for someone. And to taste in my mouth what murder would feel like.
That man is lucky to still be living and breathing on this planet. Having won the court case, and having my daughter be smart enough to know what is what, are the only thing that saved his sorry ass.
Okay, there's someone who's going to hell.
thanks.. me too. Rising above my hatred for the man has been the most challenging task of my life. Also, not punching my therapist when she told me he was a "gift". I'll give you a gift...
heh. I dunno... scrambling up a pile of barbed wire and manure you'd be above it, if it was buried underneath. : )
I keep waiting... but... sometimes karma is slow.Actually, the hell of being him seems to be punishment most days. Especially since his last two girlfriends have been utter harpies who made him so miserable his hands break out in exzema, so that he has to wear protective white gloves... which when paired with the kilt just looks amazingly bizarre.
exactly. Also... what if what we believe is what happens to us after we die? So... for you and me... we're going to party in the ether of cosmic consciousness without our earthly shells... and for him... he gets to sit around being punished for all the bad shit he did in his lifetime as purgatory.Quick... believe something cool just in case...
Charissa, I too would have punched my therapist for suggesting the same thing.
I nearly punched my therapist for wearing the same hideous dirt-brown corderoy pants 3 sessions in a row.
I nearly punched my therapist for wearing the same hideous dirt-brown corderoy pants 3 sessions in a row.
hell is definitely filled with dirty dishes.
Then I doing my damndest to stay out of it!I'm so glad I wasn't raised with the specter of hell. What a trick to get people to feel guilty and pay the Church for forgiveness! Nope the tribe believes in the here and now, so let's eat!
Charissa, no wonder you are such a tough broad! I think I would have dissolved. Altho, with a kid, that bear may have come out. Still, how awful awful. Years of sleepless nights.
yup... trial by fire... toughen up or dissolve and cease to exist. But ya know, ever since then... hardly anything really seems horrible. Compared to that... pffft.You never know what you are made of until you have to fight for something you really care about. I bet you have balls of steel secreted somewhere about your person, Lori. The tribe are a bunch of uber survivors.
Wow, Charissa. If you ever meet him in a dark alley I'll come be your backup.
unfortunately I periodically have to meet him in full daylight. Luckily, at this point in time, he seems to relatively afraid of me. I guess it's the logical progression of having had me kick his ass repeatedly for the last 12 years both in court and out of it. It's pretty damn satisfying, I have to say. It makes up for not having smothered him with a pillow when I had the chance.
Lori...my daughter is 15. It's that age where the childhood lessons are thrown off and replaced by "their own wisdom". I truly hope she got the message.
NB... hopefully now she won't be interested in messing around with hallucinogens... I still live in fear of my daughter deciding they are something shiny and fun.
NB - 15? That poor girl. Did you report the guy to the police?
Ah, sorry, I forgot.This happens to me too much lately!
Gus: "I nearly punched my therapist for wearing the same hideous dirt-brown corderoy pants 3 sessions in a row."Shit, I keep forgetting that part. Not only do I have to not wear the same pants three days in a row, I also have to make sure not to wear them three Wednesdays in a row. Since there's no f'in' way I'm going to remember what I wore a week ago, I really just oughta own 80 pairs of pants.
You need a chart, Lisa, where you can mark down a staggered schedule of clothes!
I have enough trouble keeping my schedule of when I'm supposed to see what client or go to what meeting. I need 80 pairs of pants.
Of course, then I'll just end up wearing the same sweater three therapy sessions in a row. Shit.
And where would you put 80 pairs of pants, anyway?
LOL! Gus, oh man, when I was in high school, my therapist was big on corderoy - the really thick cord type. Dirt brown, he must have had a clean pair for each day of the week.
<----owns dirt-brown corduroysDoes corduroy come in any other color?
I generally tend to stick to khakis or black pants, with the occasional brown or grey thrown in. Geez, I usually don't consider myself a Freudian in any way, but now that I think about it, my professional wardrobe is meant to look fine but convey little to no sense of my personality. My clothes are tabula rasa, project upon me what you will.
I know this sounds utterly unreasonable but my husband and I have decided that if we see even a glimmer of typical american teenagerness in our daughter (especially any drug or sexual precociousness) we are immediately moving to Pakistan or Saudi Arabia where there is so much oppression that she will be too busy rebelling against "the veil" or something similar to be interested in trying out new mind altering experiences before her brain has had a chance to fully develop.He already wants to move right now when she's only 5 bc she learned from school buddies about boyfriends and claims to have already been "dumped" by a boy in her class who was "seeing" both her and her friend at the same time. 5 years old? I'm livid.
Pakistan...Saudi? ummm not even in jest Carlie. Seriously. I'll take my daughter's teen angst and hardship over sanctioned rape and arranged marriage any day. There's plenty of alternatives right here in the US. New Zealand also has a solid claim to God's Country. I recently enjoyed Bozeman, Montana. Beautiful country, great folk, water and air...pristine. Also, all kinds of tasty critters to eat. And best of all, outside city limits, when yer at a bar you can get a "drink to go". Seriously. Now THAT'S God's Country!
Oh, yeah, Bozeman. The last territory on earth with no sex, drugs, or...oh, shit. Sorry. Itty-bitty college town, pretty much sex, drugs and no rock and roll to distract you from the sex and drugs. I was wrong. Sorry, go on with your lives. (Not that I'm recommending Saudi Arabia, though I imagine it's one of those countries you have to have some Muslim cred or a job in the oil industry to get into...)If you're curious how intelligent girls curious about pushing boundaries fare in repressive Muslim countries, I'd recommend reading Persepolis.
And if you're wondering how children fare whose primary source of protection against the world is being denied information...check out the offshoot of the Mormon/Latter Day Saints religion in Texas that's trying to get its kids back out of foster care.
Vicki Jean, you're on the right track. Talking to your kids, and talking, and talking, and talking, and talking some more, and then doing some talking...that's the only thing that has any evidence behind it as being successful in the long run. The one most important thing that children can learn as they adolesce is how to make decisions, a skill they'll need more than any other as adults. And the only way they'll learn it successfully is if adults scaffold them as they try out that skill in increasingly meaningful situations.
Just like learning to do anything else, learning to make good decisions takes practice, practice, practice. And takes doing it wrong a few times (preferably in a supported context with only moderate repercussions). I'd rather have children make those bad decisions at 13, when the repercussions might involve a few weeks of hurt or disappointment, than at 22, when it might involve divorce and/or children and/or STDs and/or a police record and/or...fill in the blanks.
Any child can be put on a behavior plan at 13. If a child's good behavior eventually earns more privileges, most children will behave well most of the time. If a child's good behavior does nothing for him or her, that child has a couple of options. Fighting and rebelling is the most common path in that situation, sometimes very subtly (I had a friend in high school who was not allowed out of the house except for school, who managed to date on the sly for a few months, then arranged a plane ticket to family in another state and never saw her mom again, for example...) and sometimes very overtly. The less obvious worry is the child who gives up the self at an early age and abdicates the ability to make decisions. That kid is at huge risk later on for so many, many things, being influenced so easily into drugs, prostitution, drug-running, whatever...the child who does not know what he or she wants, who does not know how to say no, who does not know how to say 'this is who I am' and therefore can't say 'you can't suppress me or turn me into someone else'.
Limited, controlled rebellion is an important, critical developmental stage in adolescent development, and is how a healthy adult identity with self-confidence in his/her decisions is formed. Accept that, embrace it, and provide reasonable consequences for it, and you will raise a healthy adult.
Rewards/incentives for responsible behavior are also critical. A child should be, barring serious behavioral problems, allowed to go out with peers. Start young. At 12, a child should have a curfew in the neighborhood, and should be expected to be picked up by her parents at X o'clock if at a friend's house. For every...10? (every child is different, and more difficult children need smaller increments of reward but lower expectations to achieve it, so maybe for a seriously challenging child, it might be 3 for 5 minutes) times that a child comes home on time or meets expectations, their curfew is extended by 10 or 15 minutes. For every curfew violation, it is moved back.
If there is no incentive (in terms of being given more independence), a child will not follow rules. I can offer my own example. At 16, 17 years old, my mother set a curfew, and asked me to call if I would, for some unforeseen reason, be late (she trusted us more in groups, at least if she knew the peers I was out with, so I wasn't always driving). I was also to wake my mother up to tell her I was home. It seemed to be a pretty reasonable system. But after a few tries, I realized that if I called home at all, no matter what the situation, my father would answer and would growl, "Come home now." It didn't matter if it was two hours before my agreed-upon curfew, that was always his response if I called after they had gone to sleep. So finally, if I knew I was going to be late, that the consequences (dad changing my curfew, mom being angry I was late and didn't tell her) would be the same. So if I was going to be 15 minutes late, fuck it, I'd come back at 4 am. If I hadn't already called, there was a small chance I could tell mom I did wake her up, but she didn't remember (had happened a few times). There was a better chance one or both of them would be awake, but if I had to deal with utterly random consequences, I'd rather spend all night drinking coffee at the diner. I wasn't even doing anything bad. No drugs, no alcohol (well, that was pretty well contained at the parties I came home at curfew from, with a designated driver, no less), no sex. I was a good kid, but if good behavior didn't get me anything, I'd stay out late.
There was also the time that, at age 16, my mom stopped me from going out to a party in the dress I was wearing, because she thought it was too short. I pouted for a few minutes, then went upstairs, rummaged through her cedar chest, and came back down in a purple suede miniskirt she had owned when she was in high school, at least as short as what I had been wearing. 'Kay, see you later! But, of course, hypocrisy is another issue.
Epic post Lisa. Really well thought out and all thatI my self opt for another approach. Lock the little fuckers in a closet till they are 18 then kick them out.
This of course is why me and the wife are staying nipple nibbler-less. We would make terrible parents and we know it. I don’t have the nerves for all this touchy feely crap. Grow a pair of balls and some thick skin, take names and kick some ass.
Well I do what I can to hide my weaknesses. If I can hid it in flamboyant flare then I will ;)
Hey Lisa...WTF do you know of my experience and what I hold dear? Yeah...fuck Bozeman right? Bunch of fuckin' rednecks right? I had a great time and met some great people and their families. Oh Im so sorry if doesn't meet your requirements of a Peoples Paradise on Earth. I'm living in the middle of the supposed Uber Liberal Paradise of the North SF Bay Area. Oh yeah, the drugs here are soooooooo much more tolerant.FO!
WTF? I have never, never defended the bay area.
So what the fuck kind of straw man are you offering me?
"This thing sucks too" has never, and will never, convince me of anything about some other thing.
Bozeman is a cute, pleasant bitty college town where the motels can be cheap but not dangerous (with the significant weakness that there isn't a decent bar open, or at least one that's easy to find, after 10 pm in July when the school is mostly out of session, and certainly not a place to eat, which sucked when I rolled into town about 10 pm), but that isn't exactly some ringing endorsement of some other city I didn't exactly mention, like SF. But the thing about tiny college towns is that they don't tend to be immune to the things that college students do, and that college students often do more of when the tiny town doesn't offer a greater variety of options.
All I meant was that moving to Bozeman probably won't solve any problems that were looming anywhere else. And staying out of Bozeman probably won't cause problems that weren't already coming down the pike. It's not heaven, it's just a somewhat dull college town.
Moving doesn't cause, nor solve, parenting problems. Parent your kids well, and you can raise them in Harlem. Parent them poorly, and they'll run wild in...shit, everywhere, from Blue Earth, MN, to Bozeman, MT, to Saudi Arabia, to the darkest urban shithole. No place is a magic bullet. And no place is an idyllic paradise where teenagers have no access to drugs or sex. I was far, far more protected from drugs in the dull suburbs, and even in the urban shitholes when I was first on my own after college, than were my cousins who attended far-flung rural schools.
That is not true. The whole teen rebellion thing was totally not present in the 3rd world country I was raised in. Teens there have more to worry about (next meal) then to "experiment." I just went back a few months ago and met some new teen cousins. One was around 17 and the other, I'd say 15 and they were definitely more like children than American teenagers. No they were not having sex nor trying out drugs. They wake up early in the morning to clean the entire house, do laundry by hand, cook meals from scratch, etc. One cousin of mine was 7 years old and she looked much younger than my 5 year old. SHe was shorter and behaved more immaturely and was so sweet and respectful of her elders. My mom said the children there appear more like children because of poor nutrition but they were not starving, they appeared well fed.
In school here, I was called nerd, picked on and made fun of bc I was the smartest kid in class. Back "home" I was "queen" of school because the person with the highest grade each semester was made to stand in front of the entire school and have them sing "long live our queen". There is no equivalent for nerd in Creole but we do call stupid kids "cretin". SO it is cool to be smart and a virgin where I come from and totally embarassing to do poorly in school and have premarital sex.
It's easy to assume that most of the world is like america and kids can be disrespectful without consequences but that is simply not true. Of course there are rebellious kids but they are looked down upon even by their own peers. I still think it's easier to parent your kids in an environment where being a good kid is admired rather than one where being a bad kid is "cool" and expected.
And as far as blaming parents for kids poor choices, I had no curfew, never had a time out, and din't get things taken away if I misbehaved but I sure as hell knew better than to not be home after school, not get good grades and not behave. There were no set "rules" in my house but I knew exactly what was acceptable behavior and what was not. I have no clue what my mom would have done if I'd behaved like my peers but I did not want to find out.
Lisa, do you have kids? I'm curious why you think it's appropriate to come into this thread, where NB shared with us the horrific experience of having had his daughter slipped hallucinogens while at a public venue, and then shared with us his new found love of Boseman, MT... and you offer up reams of parenting advice and then dis his feelings about MT. What is your point exactly, in direct relationship to what NB has said? Or are you just looking for a chance to spout off about something you have stuck in your personal gullet?
I repeat. Closets, thick skin, take names.Birth control folks.
This topic has been frozen by the moderator. No new comments can be posted.
Mine was this weekend, when some sick fuck drugged my daughter. They're lucky that my first impulse was to help my daughter, and not bathe myself in the entrails and blood of what used to make up this bastard's "body". Surely, if given the opportuity, I would have. Gladly. Repeatedly, and consequences be damned.
So how say the rest of you? Bring it... and make it sting.