Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.
The older one gets, the less time one has to waste. Upon coming to that conclusion, my thirty-two-year marriage ended. Yes, this child bride was full of hope until that hope was systematically ground into oblivion.
But this article is not about the demise of my marriage, but about my new modus operandi, namely, only put up with chuckleheads for about five minutes, then move on. It's been working quite well.
However, sometimes certain chuckleheads continue to be in your space and there is nothing you can do about it because it isn't your space to command. Business is business, right? So what does one do?
Why one minds one's manners. One smiles politely. One attempts to ignore the chucklehead without appearing to do so. Why, out of respect for the organizer of such a space, one even attempts to go out of one's way to find common ground or build steps over the cow patty.
The chucklehead — which, of course you had pegged from the get-go — only sees your efforts as agreement that he and his opinions and his habits are the most awesome ever, and he systematically ramps up his chucklehead ways until...
Until one day you snap.
Much like I recently did. You see, upon meeting the man, I said to myself, "Well, boy howdy. Here's a misogynistic and selfish short-sighted bully who uses his money as a weapon and has devoted himself to the Art of Mediocrity."
Time would prove I was spot on in my initial assessment of this man. I am often correct in these first assessments even when they go against prevailing wisdom. For instance, when I said to my husband "Susan Smith killed her children,", he said, "No way! See! She's crying for her babies." I said, "She's a liar and a murderer."
And when I said "Bill Cosby hates women and probably rapes them" he said, "How did you get that? Why, he is America's favorite dad." I said, "You just wait and see."
And when I said "Scott Peterson killed his wife and child," he said, "Why is it you always see evil where there is none? See how sincere he is about his grief! Honestly, woman."
But was I right? Yes, I was.
However, like I always do, I first assume I'm wrong and give a body opportunity to prove they are not a creep. Out of respect for my friend whose space we both inhabit occasionally, I put up with this man for much longer than is my recent habit.
You would be proud of me for exercising such restraint as long as I did. But there comes a time when gloves come out, corners are exited, and one proceeds to beat the snot out the other guy. Happy to report here that is exactly what I did.
I delivered a public verbal flogging that was spot on, quick, vicious, and thorough. If my words had been a knife, his severed carotid would have been spurting.
I ended the flogging with, "From this point and forever more, I shall never read another word you write. I will never give you any of my words to read. I will never give you any feedback on your mediocre stories. You. Are. Cut. Off."
Oh, Angela. What's the rest of what you said?
That cannot be put in print but there were multiple witnesses. Suffice it to say that even if I am in the same room with the man I will never again have to hear him brag to me about his female conquests. You want to know his goal with women?
His goal is to boink one of every race, religion, color, national origin, political affiliation, age, and at least one natural blonde. Because he has lots of money, he is fast approaching his goal and he lets me know of it — even after repeatedly telling him I didn't want to hear about it.
For a man who believes that every damn word that pops in his mind is supremely brilliant.
Who writes an unlikable character that resembles himself and thinks this is a good move.
Who can't help but use every aspect of his life — money, possessions, female conquests — as the basis for his character.
Who delights in taking offense against anyone who he has deemed a nobody.
Who claims his books are best sellers, but cannot and will not talk units sold.
Who is so damn cheap he won't pay for anything unless he knows he's going to get some.
Who cannot bear to be told by anyone — though, especially me — that his book has holes in it big enough for a loaded tractor-trailer to drive through and that he might just need to revisit the story arc.
And who is such a lazy writer and hates his readers so much that he will explain away those holes with "Well, if anybody questions it — and they won't — I'll just say this is the next book in my supernatural paranormal series. Problem solved."
For a man such as that to be told by me that I would never look at his God-awful sh*t ever again...trust me on this...it was the worst attack he's ever had in his life.
What is the upshot of all this?
Angela feels better. But more importantly, the man is feeling the heat and those around us know he deserves it. So the man is trying his best to ingratiate himself into Angela's good graces. He can be heard to publicly agree with Angela when Angela makes a comment.
Much like one pauses when a pesky fly buzzes around, Angela simply pauses until the chucklehead shuts his margarita hole and then Angela carries on conversation with the balanced people around her.
But do not be mistaken in this matter: Angela knows his public agreement with her is simply his way of trying to bring her back into his space where he can again ply domination and subjugation techniques.
Angela is wise to this. Angela will not give in.
Angela ain't got no more time to waste with his sorry ass.
Angela says
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