My apartment has a lush rooftop garden that you can work in and harvest fresh-grown produce from. So when Manga Studio crashed on me yesterday afternoon and I lost a solid 2 hours of work on an illustration project, I decided to take a break and go partake in my share of working the earth yesterday afternoon.
Check out my haul:
I took my camera with me to see if I could photograph some of the flowers and fruits, as well as the beautiful golden Italian honeybees that fly around, happy as can bee (ha… ha).
Of course, this is Long Island City, so you can never get away from kids nearly long enough.
Wouldn’t you know it, they were running around, getting the way, and spraying water EVERYWHERE (especially not ideal when you’re a wheelchair user and it is NOT fun sitting in wet clothing on a wet chair cushion, which aren’t easy to change out even once I get home).
Even when I’d find a quieter, isolated spot, 5 seconds later the kids would come bounding over, spilling water all over the place. One even started watering plants with her can hovering right over my DSLR (which I had only briefly set down). Just nope.
I mean, is it so hard to get your kids under control? Or convey the fact that no means no? Or just freakin’ take them home if they’re annoying everyone, including you?
I’m thinking back to childhood, and I’m like, when my kids snapped at me and told me to stop being sh*tty, you know damn well I stopped being sh*tty. Not so for these demons, who just stared at their parents while they nagged and kept doing the same sh*tty things they were being told off for.
That brings me to my thoughts on progeny. I’ve been thinking about just how much my patience with kids has severely dwindled over the past half decade. As much as I usually can’t stand being around them, I still think it’s hard to say I don’t like children across the board. I mean, not that long ago, I even used to say that I liked kids and was even good with them.
I guess what I’m saying is, I think it’s more accurate to say I hate their upbringing — i.e. the fact that so many kids are absolutely undisciplined inconsiderate brats (and no, I don’t think all kids are allowed to be or are like this) and the fact that parents presume too much about just how understanding other adults are “supposed” to be toward the little sh*ts. The answer to which should be, not at all.
I echo the statement that they decided to have kids, not me. I shouldn’t have to deal with their crap, just because boo hoo, you want to get out of the house for a while and the only way to do it is to bring the crotch fruits along. Seriously, not my problem.
I mean, it’s not like I go around assuming that it’s okay for me to take Kenji the Dog anywhere I like, no matter how strongly I believe he deserves the freedom to enjoy life as any other creature in this world. I don’t let him touch and sniff and lick everything he wants. If my dog is running around unleashed, you can rest assured some parent is going to come over and yell at me to “keep that thing leashed up.”
And the thing that really gets me? The way parents glare at me, looking shocked when my dog lunges at their kid, despite my having warned them, multiple times, MY DOG DOES NOT LIKE CHILDREN. HE WILL GROWL AND LUNGE. GET THAT KID AWAY FROM US. (Also, do people not educate their children not to approach pets without asking anymore?)
Some people (i.e. the residents in my building) argue that kids don’t pee/poo everywhere and that they aren’t carriers of disease.
REALLY? Have you been to elementary school? Ultimate flu/chicken pox/cold/fever/lice hub right there.
And also:
If grown men are doing it, I have no doubt your crappy little midgets are doing it, too.
Anyway, rant over.
Bee!
An Opus Per Diem 