Saturday ramble

You've heard me go on and on and on about gifts--how graciousness is generally good, but sometimes problematic. Sometimes=when the gift is inappropriate, not when you merely dislike it. It can be inappropriate because it is too intense, intimate, or expensive in proportion to one's relationship with the giver, (and/)or it could be inappropriate because of overt intent or hidden undertones--whether it's an expectation of quid pro quo, or an attempt to influence the recipient in an unwanted way. It could be a combination of all of the above. I've received gifts from men that are inappropriate because they were given after I explicitly told these men to stop giving me gifts, and in those cases I mustered the courage to overcome the expectation of graciousness. My mother, in her more functional days, often tried to push gifts on me--clothes, furniture--that I did not want or have room for, and they were inappropriate because there was an element of control: she, not I, would decide what I wore and how I furnished my house. And how much money would be spent on those things. Oh, the pushback when I bought a new suit for a job interview, when I could have gone to Goodwill! And--just as when I mentioned in passing that I was getting a (paid) haircut--who did I think I was? I was, am someone who, unlike my mother, leaves the house and interacts with people professionally and socially, and has a lot of hair. I invest in a decent haircut, or I have to deal with my hair every day. My well-meaning friend (WMF) once said something similar: "I would never spend that much money on a haircut." 

But I digress. I'm here (partly) because my WMF just gave me, not for the first time, some thrift-shop finds that were a bit small for her. Now, I have no problem with thift shops; I shop at them myself. And I had no problem the first time she did this, but now that it's becoming a habit, I want to discourage it (and I think my lack of graciousness may have done the trick). I don't want her to buy stuff thinking that if it's too small, she can just give it to me. I don't want to deal with it. I don't want or need other people to buy me clothes. Clothes are a personal thing--they have to work for you, as I often told my mother as she tried to convince that whatever item of clothing she was pushing on me was very in-style. It doesn't matter if something is the trendiest thing ever; if it doesn't fit your body or your personality, don't wear it.

As with mom's gifts of furniture, these were items I was unwilling to pretend I wanted. I didn't want WMF asking after them (i.e., was I wearing them) and I certainly didn't have room for them in my closets and drawers. We eventually got to 'okay, well then give them back to Goodwill,' but not before WMF tried to convince me that this cardigan would look perfect over a black dress. Because I'm a terrible person, I bitched to two mutual friends about having to fight off these gifts. Both not only agreed that the items were unattractive and not me, but appreciated my frustration with WMF, even as she meant well. I told Camille about WMF's over-a-dress idea.

A.: The whole reason I wear dresses is so I don't have to match clothes. I don't want to wear anything over my dresses. I want to put on a single thing and go.
Camille: You sure do. [Shaking her head.] She doesn't know you very well at all.

Notes on The Gift of Fear

I'd known about Gavin de Becker's "The Gift of Fear" for a long time--I must have seen him on Oprah back when that episode aired, when I was (probably) in high school. Even then, the concepts were simultaneously eye-opening and intuitive. Over the years, various friends read it and recommended it. I wonder whether, had I read it earlier, I might have cut RM's antics off at the start. But I hadn't, and I didn't. I can say that I knew enough that I pared back RM's antics, which could have been a lot worse, and by the time I'd navigated RM's antics, I was better prepared for BE's. Even so, I didn't recognize the BE signs as early or clearly as I might have had I read the book.

You may be thinking, "neither of these guys were a danger to you," to which I say two things: (1) I don't know; RM might have been a danger to me had I been any less assertive, and (2) de Becker states explicitly that these are indicators of manipulativeness, not necessarily danger--and it's manipulativeness that can push you to ignore the instincts that might help you stay out of danger. Consider also the woman who tried to kidnap me--even she probably wasn't dangerous; she didn't intend to harm me. She merely manipulated me verbally into getting into her car, which allowed her to manipulate me physically into being her captive audience for an hour.

Started as a ramble, turned into a rant

There were a bunch of things I wanted to ramble about over the course of the week, but I was too late/exhausted by the time I got home. Let me try to remember some of them:

(1) DIY as opt-out. I'd blogged earlier, in reference to Emily Matchar's book, about how cooking can be one manifestation of opting out, i.e., the market is not offering me what I want, or if it is, the price is ridiculous, so I'm going to make it myself. This kind of opt-out is my standard operating procedure; I cook well, easily, and doing so gives me more choices at a much lower price. And it frees up money for the things I don't do as well, such as home repair. I would absolutely DIY more around the house if I were more skilled, but I tend to outsource home repair (and improvement) because of the skills-needs mismatch. This is especially true (the preference to DIY, or more specifically, to opt-out) because my latest bouts of outsourced home repair and improvement created problems as they solved: the drywall repair guys scratched the new bathtub, among other things, and made messes of things. It also took too much reminding on my part to get them to finish every part of the job. Then, the painters scratched the bathtub again, after I'd already had it fixed (they weren't supposed to be in there, so I hadn't warned them, but they ended up cleaning their brushes and rollers in the tub). They also painted over the outlet covers and vent. Really? The floor guys chipped the newly painted walls. And so on. Each of these jobs was necessary and overall worth it, i.e., I couldn't have done it myself, but it made me wary of the hassle of relying on people.

RM redux

Most of you don't know this--I haven't blogged about it--but over the last few months, I found myself in an RM-like situation. In other words, I found myself connected in some way with an individual who consistently infringed on my boundaries, wanted more from me (in time, attention, and emotion) than I was willing to reciprocate, and lashed out when I refused to play the part in his life that he unilaterally designated for me. As with the RM situation, I thought I could manage it, i.e., reason with the guy and explain why his behavior was inappropriate and trust him to adjust his behavior to match the relationship we actually had (roommate and friend) rather than the relationship he wanted. In both cases, I repeatedly asked the guy to stop giving me things and doing me unsolicited favors, and in both cases, the guy refused to comply only to act wounded when I failed to appreciate the very thing I asked him not to do. A random, bizarre parallel is that both of these dudes--by now I've come to the conclusion that RM was at least kind-of hitting on me (I know, I'm slow)--managed to be incredibly condescending and big-brotherly even while pursuing some kind of delusional romantic connection.

The parallels were striking; I found myself, even a month ago, telling the RM story long after I'd let it go, only to draw comparisons to the newer story. And perhaps it was the precedent of the RM story that made me realize that I had to just cut this guy out, because no amount of reasoning was going to get through his thick skull; as long as he had an in into my world, he would see it as a challenge to get through to me. The parallel with RM made me realize I had to get out, because this dude was draining my emotional energy.

Other things said and not said this morning

This morning is a bit of a blur, but there's at least one thing I did say back to mom that I'd left out of the earlier transcript (she was standing right there so I was just trying to keep up with what she was saying) and one thing I should have said.

Did say:

Mom: You and your self-imposed rules. Look at Nina: she lives spontaneously.
A.: What are my self-imposed rules?
Mom: What to eat, how to spend your time.
A.: Um, did you know that Nina also tends not to eat animal products?
Mom: That's not the point! The point is, you live by these rules you've laid down for yourself.

Could have said:

Mom: You're cold. You are not capable of human emotion, of love. You can't love people. Maybe you love your cat.
A.: Actually, I hate my cat.

Had we had more time, I would have pressed about these "self-imposed rules." She would have pressed more about my breakup. I should have realized sooner that she was throwing out insults so that I would contradict her by providing information, but even then I wouldn't have provided information. Not because it's incriminating, but because I'm done talking about it and I don't reward emotional blackmail.

Now that I'm far away, everything about this morning strikes me as absurd: my alleged "rules," mom's bitterness about my refusal to share my frequent flier miles (she didn't want them for anything specific!). Now that I think about the "rules" thing, it reminds me of when RM insisted that I had an eating plan. He couldn't understand that when you make your own food, you have to figure it out ahead of time. Oh, RM also expressed concern about my loneliness, and reacted to my boundaries by labeling me cold and unfeeling. They're either right, or manipulative. You decide.

As for the miles, I do remember that conversation, and as I'd clarified earlier, it wasn't like mom said, "I am going on a trip, would you mind sharing your miles." It was very much mom saying, almost matter-of-factly, "did you know that you can also give us your miles," and I absolutely did say something like, "but I'm planning on using them." Was that wrong? She hasn't forgotten it. It will stand as evidence of my boundless selfishness.

I also noticed this morning that I had a few interactions with dad that, had it been mom, would have led to screaming fights. Dad and I managed to deescalate them, between the two of us, partly because neither of us cared to escalate them. But I was certainly as much "in the wrong" with regard to my tone, etc. Example:

Dad: Take a bunch of these bananas.
A.: On the plane??
Dad: You don't like bananas?
A.: I don't like to travel with bananas, particularly with overly ripe ones. These would probably burst in my bag, and even if they don't, they'll still smell.
Dad: We have all these bananas...
A.: Why on earth did you let mom buy the second bunch of already-overripe bananas when we'd already bought a bunch the day before??

I'm sure I sounded annoyed when I said that. I thought to myself, "I really could have said all that more neutrally." So I literally toned it down and dad let it go. As people do. He was just being nice (and impractical), both of which are very 'dad.' I was just being practical and argumentative, which I suppose is me. I can work on that (the argumentative part).

Ultimatum

I continued processing my roommate disaster for months after RM moved out. I'd known intuitively all along that the man had been flouting my boundaries, but it was only afterward that I came to understand that he was trying to impose power by not listening (i.e., by flouting boundaries). What makes you feel more powerless than when you've stated to someone--in plain English--that you need them to stop behaving in a certain way, and they nod like they hear you but go on doing the same thing, as if the conversation never happened? Being unable to get through to RM made me feel powerless.

Fortunately, the RM situation was self-contained: he would definitively move out, and our relationship was not of a personal nature, so after a few months of attempts, I felt no obligation to keep trying to make it work. I didn't owe him anything. Once I realized that I couldn't get through to him--that my please for privacy and boundaries would only fall on tone-deaf ears--I could withdraw. That was fair.

But an interpersonal relationship comes with different rules. Withdrawal is not fair; you owe it to the people with whom you choose to have relationships to make them work by directly addressing the issues getting in the way of the relationships. If you can't make the relationship work with a significant other, you end the relationship. If it's a family member, you either end the relationship or keep it at a simmer.

With F., I tried to be direct, but directness fails if someone won't listen. Recall the March Madness episode, in which I politely explained to my then-BF that my frustration was entirely based on the inconsiderateness and disrespect shown by backing out of last-minute plans (i.e., unrelated to how he spent his time). Like RM, F. nodded as if he heard me, but, I later understood, he dismissed my reaction as unreasonable. This continued on lesser issues--I would explain how other incidents of flakiness were not only disrespectful but also put me in difficult positions practically--but he didn't seem to care.

And to his dismissiveness, I responded the wrong way. To his dismissal of my code of conduct--that you to let the people you have plans with know when you bow out of those plans or are going to be late--as quaint and outdated, I responded by bitching to my friends about it and telling him that my friends, too, agreed that he was being a $hit. Now, everyone bitches to their friends about their bfs, but most are savvy enough not to then let the bf know. But for me, letting him know was a (desperate) tool: my own expressions of "when you do ____, it makes me feel ____" were being dismissed, so I resorted to, "no, really, you're objectively being a $hit; my friends agree." Which is irrelevant. The friends aren't in the relationship; their opinions are not relevant. The thing to do when a significant other doesn't care how his behavior makes you feel--makes you feel unheard--is to end the relationship. I was, at that point, unwilling to do so directly, so I tried to ignore the frustration... which led to me lash out in was I wasn't even conscious of. Which was what helped end the relationship indirectly.

With mom, the issue of trying to move someone who doesn't want to listen takes on a whole new level of complexity. She doesn't just refuse to hear you; she delegitimizes your feelings by attributing them to some perceived personality flaw. If you don't find it helpful to be told every five minutes that you've put on weight, you're overly sensitive; you should be grateful that someone is giving you the feedback you need to become a better person. If you snap at mom's persistent nagging, because your polite attempts to ask her to stop went ignored, it's you: you're cold and harsh and incapable of being in human relationships. It's never her; it's always you. She is who she is, and if you can't take it, there's something wrong with you. Remember when she chewed out her best friend because she found the artifact he brought her from (the Republic of) Georgia was ugly? Later, when she explained to me that I was too sensitive--because I'd asked her to please stop pointing out everything that she didn't like about my house, because I'd already heard it three or four times--she invoked that gift: "that's why he and I are friends. He understands me." Read: I can bitch at him, and he takes it.

Well, like I said, I'm not a saint. And I'm done. I've been listening to the bitching and the criticizing my whole life. Mom can either try to direct her suggestions for constructive criticism at herself, or the relationship is over. I don't care how old she is. There's only so much I can take. I owe my mother some level of patience and acceptance, but I only owe her so much, and I've been putting up with too much for too long. 

And now for my ramble

I have a sense of when cell phones went mainstream in the U.S., because when I left for Wales, they were still rare, and when I returned, six months later, they were everywhere. It took me another six months to get one, and only then I did it because it would cost less than getting a home phone, which my roommate at the time didn't want to share. It didn't take me long, once I stepped over to the other side, to love having a cell phone--it made things so much easier. Nonetheless, something bothered me--still does--about walker-and-talkers, as well as some non-walker-but-talkers, and it's the usurpation of public space.

No need to share

I'm often under the impression that I should get out more, until I do, and remember why I don't.

I went to see the amazing Suzanne Farrell Ballet last night. I enjoyed it, even though the guy to my left--like the guy to my right on Friday night at Aurelie's Oratorio--seemed to think that his space included not only the entire shared armrest, but the space over my seat. I deliberately reasserted my space in both cases. I am not a spatial socialist; I do not subscribe to 'to everyone according to his need.' If you cannot, or choose not to, comfortably contain yourself in one seat, buy two.

And more importantly, shut the f* up. Why do I have to bitch about this every time I go out? Who ARE you people? What is so important that it cannot wait two hours? Does it even cross your mind, how rude it is not just to other theatergoers but to the performers? When a ballerina lost her balance and fell flat on her face in the final act, I wanted to blame the talkers, but I suppose that wouldn't be fair. There was a fair amount of shushing, and people were quiet most of the time, but why do they even need to be shushed?

More on this later, but I also wanted to mention that a number of elderly people came onto the shuttle bus from the Foggy Bottom metro when all the seats were already taken. I was already standing, but one young person and one not so young person got up to offer their seats. A very young woman just sat there. An older woman on the bus, wearing ginormous, dangly, real or very convincing diamond earrings, commented in French that the bus was awful and that they should have taken a metrobus, which was only fifty cents with a transfer.

Most of the people were going to "War and Peace." The music is supposed to be amazing, but you could not pay me to sit for four hours (not including intermissions).

Also: enough with the jeans and cuords: show some f*ing respect.

***
I may be the wrong person to ask why people feel the need to communicate during a performance. I mean, it would be rude in any case, but I don't understand the motivation. Then again, I go to the ballet by myself. I don't necessarily prefer to, but I don't mind. Last night, it was a last-minute decision and it was too late to even ask anyone if they wanted to go. But I've never been that much of a 'sharer.'

Except, obviously, I am, because I share articles with you guys all the time. Except I don't share on demand. I remember reading the New Yorker profile of Peter Orszag months ago, and RM was sitting in the same space (it was before I moved to my office). I laughed out loud, and RM said, "share! share!" and I just rolled my eyes. I don't want to share. I'd have to explain to much context. Read the f*ing article if you want. I offered a few sentences that explained nothing, and he fake-laughed. Similar thing happened when I was watching How I Met Your Mother and he wanted to watch with me, only to produce inane commentary until I glared at him to indicate that I was more interested in watching the show. I've watched TV with other people and enjoyed their non-inane commentary, but it's just different when it's forced. I guess the issue does come back to the fact that we weren't friends. But in any case, when you're at a ballet, you're not in your living room. Shut the f* up, and share LATER.

Gift-themed ramble

As I've succumbed to blog creep, a number of recurring themes have emerged beyond 'mom' and things Jewish and Russian: things single, public transportation etiquette, gifts. I was thinking about this last one recently because with the gift I told you about in the roundup, there are now two wallets I'm complimented on whenever I whip out either. Also, Wendy came bearing gifts--which she totally didn't have to do--and they are lovely/useful. Actually, some of the best books that I've read over the last few years were gifts (many from Wendy, too)--books worth their weight in gold because I'd never have picked them up on my own, yet I'm very happy to have read them. And while gifts that are great really are great, I genuinely believe in it's-the-thought-that-counts--and the thought adds value to the gift. [Those of you who have already figured out that this is going to lead to a few swipes at RM can pat yourselves on the back]. Not only do I love the wallet that Marcela gave me, but I love that my friend was thinking of me on her vacation, and I love that my friend, with a fabulous sense of style, knew me well enough to pick out something I would love. I thanked Marcela again for the wallet, and she wrote, "I definitely put thought into something that you would like instead of some knick knack that would just collect dust." Which means a lot. When I look at the things on my shelves and walls, they reflect that thought--they reflect my friends--as well as my own travels and experiences. Need I bring up the contrast between the beautiful Bohemian crystal that Heather brought me from Prague, and the conference freebie imitation crystal that RM placed on the dresser in the upstairs hallway, in imitation? The former reminds me of a friend who is far away, and the latter creeps me out (and yet the hoarder in me can't bring myself to toss it--it'll be in my next Freecycle box).

You don't always get gifts right, even when you try, but even having the right idea in mind makes a huge difference. It's funny because I hate to slam people for any kind of gift--especially because my mother slams people for almost any kind of gift--and yet I love slamming RM for everything gift related that he ever did--mainly the fact that he continued to give them after I made it clear that doing so was inappropriate, but also the fact that the gifts themselves were completely inappropriate. It goes back to the idea that it's the thought that counts--in his case, the thought was misguided. In the vein that I was annoyed with RM for trying to manufacture intimacy--and I just mean platonic intimacy--I was duly annoyed at his gift giving to that end. That epiphany that hit as I was returning home from a friend's party--it was the week after the pearl earrings incident, so RM's manufactured intimacy was on my mind--I was thinking of how long I'd known the friend, the fun things we'd been through together, and also how he was there when I had a minor breakdown after an overdue but fraught breakup, and how RM thought he could just pop into my life and decide that we were close friends. And further that with regular (and inappropriate) gifts.

Going back to what Marcela said, and to the other beautiful/useful/readable things that people have given me that now have a home in the house, the best gifts are not only about the thought, but reflect thought, and also reflect actual friendship: they (often) work because the givers know you well and know what you would want to display/use/read. To give not-quite-credit where it's due, RM later told me, the first time we had it out--after he first saw the dissonance in our respective concepts of the roommate relationship--he put a lot of thought into the earrings: he described me to the person at the jewelry counter in order for that person to suggest an apt gift. In that case, the 'thought' needed to take a step back (and the person behind the counter, if provided the right amount of detail, should have told him not to get his roommate jewelry). Do you know how sick to my stomach I felt when I opened that box? It really was worse than when he tried to give me a foot massage.

I realize that not every needs to be deeply thought out. The baked goods I gave my neighbors for the holidays and the gift card I gave the mail carrier, who can't receive cash, were intended to convey community rather than friendship. But when I do choose gifts for friends, I think about them--who they are and what they may find useful. The gifts reflect my having thought about the recipients, as people. Of course, you're not always right and you'll occasionally choose something that will collect dust--all you can do is try. The whole point of this ramble is that gifts reflect a relationship, not the other way around. I hated RM's gifts because they reflected his attempt to manufacture a relationship. I love my friends' gifts because they reflect who they are, who I am, and the connection and understanding between the two. And I love when I get a gift right for the same reason. Then again, I'd never know, because, as mom would say, they're probably just being polite.

Phone call

Mom: How'd the party go?
A.: Great.
Mom: You know, Tanya called to wish us a happy Valentine's Day. I told her we didn't really celebrate it, probably your influence. She said it's a holiday about love so it's a good inspiration to call the people you love. Maybe you could think of it that way.
A.: I don't think of it any way, mom: I don't CARE. Actually, I think of it as a mess I've gotten myself into in terms of having to devote at least two days to preparing for, throwing and cleaning up after a big party, but I'm over it because it's inevitably a good time. In terms of the Valentine's Day part, it's irrelevant. Marcela put it really well when someone asked her if she was really anti-Valentine's--she said that it was more that she, and other party-goers, were pro-party and pro-A.'s food.
Dad: What did you make?
A.: Um... lots of stuff... grilled green-curried shrimp, Rocquefort (pistachio-encrusted) grapes, some other stuff, and the usual tiramisu and fondue.
Mom: You could make some of that next time we visit.
A.: If you'll recall, last time you were going to visit, you wanted to bring your own food.
Mom: Well, you never know with you.
A.: [Shrug.]

I felt like I got enough of a dig in, didn't push it by saying that Marcela and Tasha were so traumatized, so many years later, after being roommates to a cold, unfeeling bi&ch like me that they really just came to the party to see me interacting with people in a normal way. Funny, when we lived together, it never occurred to them to try to win me over by breaking into my office and touching my feet.

post-RM RM blog

According to this piece by Adam Gopnik, there's convincing evidence that Vincent Van Gogh didn't cut off his own ear; rather, his roommate, Paul Gauguin, severed it with a fencing epee. The article is generally sympathetic to Van Gogh, but acknowledges that he would never shut up, which didn't make for smooth cohabitation.

***
I keep finding stuff that RM bought and stashed--previously, light bulbs; now, cleaning products. Thing is, I wasn't *lacking* in cleaning products. I mean, had RM asked me, I could have directed him to the all-purpose cleaner and sponges. Alternatively, he could have checked in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Unless he did, and figured it would be worthwhile to get a bottle for the upstairs bathroom, to stash in that vanity, in case it was too much to go downstairs and use the already-purchased bottle. Or unless he did, and decided that non-toxic all-purpose cleaner was insufficiently antibacterial for the bathroom. And that sponges not attached to a handle were inadequate for bathroom cleaning. But I doubt it; he probably gathered, against the evidence at hand and common sense, that I didn't have any of that stuff, and that he was doing me a huge favor by buying it. As for asking first, he didn't like to do that--in a way, he prided himself on figuring things out for himself, even when it was clear that he usually figured wrong. Of course, the clearest case of 'why didn't you just ask' was when he went for a run and assumed I'd be home when he got back. I was right there. He could have just asked me. But didn't bother. So why would he ask if I already had all-purpose cleaner?

More importantly, why am I still analyzing RM's behavior? I suppose it focuses my rejoicing over his departure.

Mom meets RM

Earlier

Mom: Are you going to get another roommate?
A.: No.
Mom: The one you had got in your way?
A.: You could say that. He was a bit to social for my roommate needs. In any case, my emergency fund has bounced back, and I'm going to do without.
Mom: What's an emergency fund?
A.: A cushion of savings you keep around in case of emergency.
Mom: You have us in case of emergency.
A.: I appreciate that. But I'd rather not have to have you in case of emergency.
Mom: He did seem very bubbly when I met him.
A.: That he was.
Mom: He seemed like a good guy.
A.: He is, in a way. I just don't need a friend/parent in the house.

Later

Mom: I feel kind of bad for your roommate.
A.: Why?
Mom: He probably felt rejected.
A.: He could have handled himself in a way that would have saved him hurt feelings.
Mom: You're just very cold and harsh.
A.: I tried to be polite, at first. And again. That didn't work.
Mom: I'm sure he meant well.
A.: His intentions are irrelevant.

Later

Mom: You've just become very cold and rational.
A.: [Shrug]

I tried to tell her some of the more egregious stories, including the waiting around in case I'd left without my key and then throwing that in my face as an example of his considerateness. Mom kept taking his side.

A.: Mom, I've had roommates for ten years, and I've never, ever had these problems before. I am under no obligation, as a roommate, to provide companionship, and it's not my fault that he was completely illiterate to social cues. Paying attention could have saved him some rejection and hurt feelings. I'm sorry I said anything. Now please drop it.

Later

Mom: I just feel bad for your roommate.
A.: Mom! Let it go.

***
Response to comment:

I take your point, although that's one of many things going on. Some of the others:

-My parents, like RM, don't really get the concept of roommate cohabitation, i.e. polite coexistence, separate lives. To me, it makes perfect sense that when renting someone a room or splitting a rental is a financial arrangement; you're not inviting someone into your social or personal life. But some people struggle with that, apparently.

-I erred, in giving a little bit of information without wanting to talk about it. This is a common trap, with my mother especially. Now, why she can never take my word for it is another issue, but I know that that's the way it is and I should have known better than to say something and expect her not to push back. This is, after all, the woman who, upon hearing that I was changing jobs, jumped to the conclusion that it was because I couldn't get along with people and had alienated all of my former colleagues. So a reasonable person would give me the benefit of the doubt, understand that I dealt with RM quite fairly. But it's silly to expect reason from my mother.

Marcela captured the whole dynamic really well when she said I should stop feeling bad in any way--she could see how I might feel bad, because I'm human, and it's always upsetting when someone else's feelings are hurt, but that I had no reason to feel bad.

In any case, I completely agree re: women being expected to be pleasant all the time. I'm pretty good at not falling into that trap, i.e. at refusing to do what would be expected of a "nice" person. Which is really funny for another reason--I dated someone not long ago who somehow got the impression that I was overly eager to please and that that stemmed from insecurity, when basically, I was just being polite (but not in a way I thought was at all submissive). So women can't win-- you're either cold or oversolicitous.

I've actually thought about this from RM's perspective, too: I can't believe I'm the only one who's ever stood up to him. Part of that my be gender, part of it, I bet, is rank, and part of it is his manipulation of social norms to his advantage. People--especially women, but men, too, will move in to diffuse an uncomfortable situation. It's just instinct. It's kind of like how if you look like you belong, you can walk into a college dorm and steal a microwave out of a kitchenette (or, see the Salahis). There's a tacit assumption that people are doing what they're supposed to be doing, that when someone demands or takes something they have a right to it--whether it's something tangible, or one's attention--and so you're the one put on the spot to deny what the other person has claimed, rightly or wrongly.

I'm thinking of two RM situations--one where he decided that we would go out to dinner. And he didn't say, "would you like to go out to dinner?" He said, "let's go out to dinner tonight." And so the onus was on me to accept that as a reasonable thing to do--and when I didn't, he came back at me with that absurd theory about how I have an eating schedule. Just like when his rent was late and I had to remind him about it, he came back at me with, 'oh, I see, you need the money so I'll do you a big favor and write you a check.' But I digress.

The better example was that time, just days before the foot incident, and equally creepy, when he stood in my office door at around 10pm and stared at me as I typed. I looked up, thinking he might take the hint and go away, but I lost the staring contest, looked down. I was practicing social skills, diffusing an awkward situation. But he was still there, so I looked up again and consciously refused to lose again. I stared at him and gave him a stern "can I help you look" until he went away.

So yes, people and women especially are expected to make everything nice, and other people take advantage of that. RM, consciously or not, has been taking advantage of that for years, perhaps his whole life. I refused to play along and may very well have been the first person to stand up to him. And we know how well he handled that.

Delayed reaction RM rant

Even when I had to deal with RM's BS, I appreciated the educational value of the experiences. As you would imagine, I strive to avoid my mother's lesser character traits--her pettiness, her consistent sweating of the small stuff, her berating people for little things, especially when they're trying to help. And as I've said before, RM challenged my resolve not to channel my mother in some of those ways.

RM helped out with a few house projects: there was that pot rack that so infuriated me just before he moved in, and there was the back door panel that I found to be rotting a few months ago. He volunteered to fix it; I asked him to show me how so I would know how to do it in the future. In any case, I bought the wood and set it out along with the caulk and the wood screws. He fixed it without me, but I didn't hold that against him: he offered to fix it just before the foot incident and ended up actually fixing it right after, when I had no desire to be in the same room with him, much less within speaking distance. I meant to ask him afterward where he put the rest of the wood screws, but never got around to it (I was quite good at avoiding him for the next three weeks, and then he moved out). I worried that I'd have to contact him to ask where the f* he put the wood screws, but decided to wait until I had to. Well, I just found them tonight, in a small box in the utility room cabinet that contains a wall art hanging kit.

Now, why would you do that? Why not just ask me where to put the m-f wood screws, or just leave them out, as he did the caulk, for me to put away? Why stash them where I'd never find them? It's not like it wasn't obvious that that box was not the home of the wood screws. It's not like it was even the path of least resistance: he had to actually select the box.

But this is small stuff; this is the kind of thing I'd probably notice but forgive in an otherwise inoffensive roommate, or a significant other. But once someone's on your $hit list, the little things really grate. And you just have to wonder, why? why? why? Why not JUST ASK?

A. waxes pop-psychological

I love Carolyn Hax: she really gets boundaries in a way that I would not have appreciated before my roommate debacle:

"Back off," however colorfully phrased, is the kind of message that healthy people can hear, and that with unhealthy people triggers a fight.

I'd add that in some unhealthy people, it triggers a passive aggression that manifests itself in the form of ostensibly acknowledging the "back off" while proceeding to go on as if it were never expressed.

***
At a party over the weekend, a friend was talking about her passive-aggressive brother-in-law. Many facets of passive-aggressiveness are annoying; I'll focus on the one that came out in my friend's stories and reminded me of my roommate as well as my mother.

Interacting with other people involves compromises. Ideally, you all want the same thing, but sometimes, you want different things, so you yield or the other person does. In a healthy relationship, the yielding evens out: each person wants the other to be happy, and if you really want what you want, you appreciate that the other person adjusted his or her position, and if the other person really wants what he or she wants, you adjust yours. Over time, it evens out.

In relationships with the passive-aggressive, it doesn't even out. One person is determined to always get what they want and they manipulate the other person into finding that having one's own preferences isn't worth the trouble. For example, my friend's brother-in-law will say, 'do you want to go for a hike in the woods or by the river,' and his wife will try to guess what he wants her to say in order to avoid conflict, because she knows that he's already made a decision and is seeking rubber-stamp approval. My mom does this too: she'll ask whether I want to do this or that, go here or there, but she already knows what she wants to do, so if I forget myself and actually express a preference, she goes on to convince me why we should do the other thing. Look for that over the holidays: she'll ask, I'll usually say, "I don't CARE either way," she'll ask again, I'll get annoyed, she'll insist, I'll give her an answer, and she'll convince me that we should do whatever she had in mind in the first place.

Recall when my mother made the decision not to come down for Thanksgiving. I could understand that decision--it was her call. What pissed me off was when she kept calling me to try to get me to acknowledge that it was really my decision, too.

And that's the issue: passive-aggression is insult to injury. You're imposing a preference on someone, and at some level of consciousness, you're uncomfortable with that, so you feel the need to convince them that you really did have a say in the decision overall. You get what you want, and you delude yourself into thinking that the people on whom you've imposed your decisions see the light, but really you've just worn them down. In addition to getting your way, you're wasting their time and insulting their intelligence. And it's unsustainable: eventually, people get fed up and resent it. Which doesn't make for a healthy relationship.

***
RM's passive aggression was never quite that sophisticated. Sure, he pulled that kind of thing in a different way (when rent was late, he would try to imply that I was the one with the issue). Unlike mom, though, he didn't feel the need to overcompensate for getting his way--which usually entailed talking to me when I'd made it clear that I didn't feel like talking--most likely because he himself was in complete denial that there was imposition in his actions. It's like the person who won't stop talking to you on the plane: if they thought about it for a second, it would hit them that you don't want to talk, but they either won't take that extra step or they don't care.

Take this incident, which took place but a day after RM and I had our very first 'present does not mean available' conversation--after he nodded, said he understood, promised to respect my time and space--I was sitting downstairs, reading. He was sitting at the dining room table, writing a paper.

RM: I was just thinking, as I typed this last paragraph, 'it would be great if I could have this conversation with A., this conversation that I just had with the computer.'

Pause

RM: I was just thinking that. That it would be great to have this conversation with A.

Awkward silence.

A., resolved: [Sigh.] What conversation is that?

RM: Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah about some philosophical BS.

Five minutes or so into the 'blah, blah, blah' "conversation" (more of a monologue if you ask me):

RM: I'm talking too much.
A.: Yes.
RM: You're not really interested in this.
A.: No.

I'm interested in the intense and fascinating article by Philip Gourevitch about Rwanda after the Genocide. If you want me to care about what you're saying, meet me halfway, find an unintrusive time to say it. Is that social rocket science?

***
So it's not quite the same behavior as actively trying to convince me that I concurred with whatever decision was made (where to hike, where to go, whether to talk), but there's something similar about it: yes, you can get your way by wearing me down, but it's a Pyrrhic victory for you, even though you're too obtuse to realize it, because I still don't want to be talking to you (or, it hasn't been lost on me that you ask me what I want to do only to do whatever you wanted anyway), and I'm not going to want to deal with you. Maybe RM's aggression in this case is active: he bulldozes more than he hints and implies; and yet--there is something passive-aggressive about it, in the sense that he exploits other people's social skills. He counts on the person he's dealing with not to be as aggressive. And when I stopped playing the game, he didn't get it at first, and then accused me of having lost my social skills (to computers, of all things). But that's passive-aggressive, isn't it? He unilaterally set the rules of social interaction--set them according to his comfort level--and put me in a position of being or seeming rude if I didn't accept them.

It comes back to this: that kind of thing just doesn't make for a healthy relationship.

I have mastered Bluetooth

...and this, my friends, is the note that RM wrote. And passive-aggressively left on his placemat. And then moved to a placemat on "my side" of the dining room table (but not the one at which I usually dine). And then moved back to his placemat. And then removed. Isn't it... awesome?

More RM rehash

Eager to move on, I'd only summarized the parting words that RM and I exchanged before he left, but as two of his came to mind the other day, I thought I'd expound.

RM: I'm sorry I turned out to be the most horrible roommate ever.
A.: You weren't. [I mean, he was horrible, but because of the phrasing of his comment, I was able to reply politely without lying]. We had very different personalities.
RM: We did. I tried.
A.: I did, too.
RM: You did?
A.: Of course.

He was surprised that I tried, and while I knew that he "tried," the reality was that he'd need to try smarter, not harder. That means that when someone asks you to back off, you give them space; you don't give them inappropriate gifts, block the doorway to their office and stare at them, or burst into their office and touch their feet. If you do all that and think you're trying, you're beyond help.

At the same time--for a few days, I tried to cut RM some slack, but it didn't last--I can see how hard it is to truly identify with the opposite personality type. Extroverts draw energy from other people; introverts are drained by many types of social interaction. I understand that intellectually, but it's hard for me to imagine that someone would actually want to have a social interaction when they're very tired. Someone called me last night just as I walked in the door with the newly revaccinated Gracie, and the conversation was just a huge drain. The issue was partly timing--just as it was that first weekend that RM and I were in the house together, after I returned from St. Lucia on Thursday, went out on Friday, and spent much of Saturday and Sunday volunteering, grocery shopping, dealing with photos and writing up travel notes, and was just about to watch some TV and read when RM decided it would be a great time to have an aggressive get-to-know-your-roommate conversation. But--you know how people either love or hate "He's Just Not That into You"? I personally love it, for the most part, but I'm wary of the assertion that if someone is that into you, they actually will want to talk to you at the end of a long day. I don't think there's anyone on the planet I would have wanted to talk to last night. In theory, RM, for example, had he been operating under the same schedule--long work days, something or other every evening of the week--would have drawn energy from a social interaction. In practice, I find that so unfathomable that I almost understand how he'd struggle to fathom the opposite about me.

I've had it

When I talked to Marcela on Sunday--she's in Ecuador, so we don't speak frequently--I gave her a verbal highlights tour of the Roommate Experiment, starting with the aggressive talking (and the continued aggressive talking even after we'd discussed aggressive talking). When I told her about the pearl earrings (and my rejection thereof, and his dejected reaction to that rejection), she said,

"it's like some of those people you see on 'Wife Swap': they do these excessive things, which are then not well received, and their response to the response is, 'who are these cold-hearted people who won't let love into their lives?"

Spot-on (see the note that I described yesterday). That's very much what RM thought whenever I established and stood by any sort of personal boundaries. And also, to a lesser extent, whenever I didn't give Gracie that 24/7 attention that she demands.

Over the last week or so, Gracie has been driving me UP THE F*ING WALL. Now, this is partly because I spent more of the last week in the house than I normally do, but she's been especially needy--crawling up on me (my lap is not good enough--she has to sprawl herself across my chest). I was just sitting here, reading the paper, drinking my tea, when she was rubbing up against me, walking across my lap several times, occasionally meowing. I told her there would be hell to pay if any part of her body so much as grazed my teacup... and sure enough, even though I was holding it above where she was walking, her tail fell on the rim of the cup. Not. Okay. If this keeps up, she'll be banned from sitting on me whenever I'm drinking tea, which is often. Perhaps she'll retaliate by pooping somewhere in the house. And I'll retaliate by locking her fat @$$ in the litter box. Who knows what the future holds if one of us fails to de-escalate. And it won't be me--let's be clear on who's the alpha female of the house.

Closure

Two wonderful things happened today: My Windows 7 upgrade package arrived; and RM and all his stuff are out of the house. Initially, I was annoyed because I almost just missed him, but we both got here at the same time. I almost would have stayed out longer, but I thought since he hadn't said anything, he'd come tomorrow instead, when I'd be at a holiday musical, of all things (it's supposed to be good!). As it happened, though, I couldn't have asked for a more painless parting, as RM encounters go. I was expecting the opposite--I was primarily concerned that he might expect a parting hug of some sort, but a handshake sufficed. I was also concerned that he'd want to have a drawn-out exit interview, but we settled for a brief 'sorry things got bad.' I never did tell you what was on that note:

Computers are taking over. It's costing us our social skills-we don't know how to talk to our neighbors anymore. It's sad!

Now, this is absurd on many levels, the most clear-cut being twisted reasoning that I wasn't talking to RM because of some computer addiction, rather than because he'd completely alienated me and made me wary of showing him any modicum of friendliness. Anyway, he's out--as is his stuff--and I'm ready to move on. Gracie, not so much. After he left, she let out this 'meow?' as in, where's my friend going. All I could say was, 'sorry, Gracie. I understand where you’re coming from, but it's for the best. Oh, and this doesn’t mean you need to be all over me more than usual, as you have been for the last week or so.'

Now it's time to get some incense and clear his presence from that room. And start an indoor garden in there, once I rearrange the furniture--dude had a horrible sense of feng shui. I'll clean the whole house--I could definitely use a cleaning ritual to mark his departure. I won't change the locks--he returned the key, and I trust he hasn't made a copy of it--but I will change the alarm code. Even though he hasn't lived here for almost a week now, there's something cathartic about his having officially moved out. The Roommate Experiment has come to a peaceful conclusion.

RM update

In which RM informs me that he'll be stopping by to retrieve the rest of his belongings, as well as his security deposit.

And I inform him that I'll be out latish and had not left the deposit check out. I think:
(1) Woohooo! I won't have to interact with RM when he comes to pick up his stuff; and
(2) Just like him to inform me that he'll be coming by and just expect me to be there.

But alas, RM replied, "no hurry," and said he'd come by tomorrow or the following evening and will let me know which. He can let me know all he wants, but I'll be out tomorrow evening, too. This time I'll leave the deposit out so it doesn't keep him from stopping by.

Don’t let the door slam you in the @$$ on your way out

On pg. 52 of the November 6 issue of Express is an interview with Walter Lamond, who has a blog of dos and don't for his (unborn) son: a primer on human decency. Over the last few weeks, inspired by that book/blog, as well as the Times piece on restaurant staff dos and don'ts, I developed a guide to roommate dos and don't. It's mostly based on my experience over the last six months, but a couple of issues inspired by other roommates have made it in there.

***
Respect my boundaries and my privacy. Don’t come into either of my rooms without knocking, and if you knock and hear me say ‘yes,’ do not sit down and make yourself comfortable.

Outside of my rooms, make yourself at home, since you are. Don’t ask me if you can use the Tupperware—that’s what it’s there for. But don’t make yourself so at home that you feel free to zip up your pants as you’re leaving the bathroom rather than before (I’d put this in the creepy category, but lots of guys do this). Along those lines, keep your door closed when you’re getting dressed, even if you’re just zipping up.

Don’t be nosy or even vocal about my personal habits. I don’t constantly want to field comments about how I eat healthily. Nor do I want to hear my roommate (this was a different roommate) say, “I’d never guess how smart you guys are based on the crap you watch on tv.” I don’t make comments about your eating habits (if you don’t have something nice to say…). Along those lines, since you don’t cook, my being organized about the food I buy, cook and eat may seem like an “eating plan” to you, but it’s kind of what I have to do so my food doesn’t go bad.

No need to be overly effusive when offered food. Also, no need to accept food you have no interest in consuming. I won’t take it personally; I will, however, be disgusted at the sight of half a cookie with a bite mark in it on a plate on the dining room table.

My presence in the house does not indicate a willingness to spend the evening with you.
Our relationship is one of business, not affection; the basic assumption is that the person you live with will want to spend time at home without your being a part of her evening.

Be attentive to signals. The most obvious is whether or not your roommate wants to talk (hint: one-word responses mean that person doesn’t want to talk). That extends to content: if, every time you’ve asked your roommate what she did at work that day, she’s said something like “nothing interesting,” and every time you’ve asked her, in the morning, what she has planned at work that day, she says, “I’m enjoying not thinking about it until I get there,” that might be a sign that she doesn’t want to talk about work.

If you do want some of your roommate’s time, make sure you get the roommate’s say on the matter. Don’t just hijack them while they’re in the middle of something, and then act hurt when they prefer to go on with what they were doing.

Don’t make your guests my problem in any way, i.e. if you’re going to disappear to get your things together before going out, don’t leave the guest downstairs to make (painful) small talk with me.

When I have guests, don’t annoy them. Don’t interrogate them. Don’t do the peacock show-off thing. They don’t care what a long day you’ve worked or with which celebrities you’ve crossed paths. Nor do they want to hear your commentary on whatever we’re watching on tv. In fact, guests or no guests, I don’t want to hear your commentary on whatever I’m watching. Or on the conversation I’m having, since I no longer watch tv in your presence.

Another thing not to be: creepy. Don’t stare. Don’t touch your roommate’s feet (don’t touch your roommate, period). And don’t stock your cabinets and your side of the fridge with foods you never would have bought in your life, just because you see that your roommate has them. Don’t read notes I’ve left for myself. They’re not private, or I’d not have left them in the common areas, but it’s just creepy to deliberately take the time to read something that’s clearly not meant for you.

Don’t be manipulative. Don’t go sit elsewhere in the same room and whimper. Don’t slam doors or pout. If you can help it, don't be a moron.

Don’t give gifts regularly. Sure, Kevin and I would bring one another stuff from travels, particularly when those travels entailed caring for the other roommate’s cat. But frequent, ‘just because’ gifts are just creepy (especially when you say, “this is because I came home late”—remember, we are not friends). If a gift is in order, opt for an appropriate one (Kevin and I would opt for tea, Trader Joe’s gift cards, etc.). Pearl earrings-not appropriate. Immitations of things I have around the house-not appropriate.

Also regarding “don’t slam doors or pout”: your roommate welcomes your constructive feedback. If she’s doing something that bothers you (apart from rejecting your overtures of friendship), by all means, tell her. But pick a good time—and this goes the same for any conversation you want to have with your roommate. Don’t just blindside her and start talking.

On the flipside of that, don’t take feedback personally (and then go on to overcompensate—see below). Asking you to clean out the crumb tray is not a personal insult. Similarly, if I thank you for cleaning, I’m not saying I’ve now seen the light and do want to be your best friend after all.

Pay rent, on time. If you’re going to forget and pay rent late, upon being reminded, don’t forget five months in a row. After the first two forgettings, you may want to start leaving notes for yourself in your planner.

Rent’s not the only thing your roommate shouldn’t have to remind you about more than once. So you didn’t know how to recycle—fine. But once your roommate asked you several times to recycle, do it. Same with disposing of anything with traces of food on it into the covered trash. And so on. Don’t make your roommate repeat herself to the point where she decides that your skull is so impermeable that taking stuff out of the trash is less work than asking you again.

Do apologize; don’t overcompensate. Neither of us is a perfect being, and both of us do things that inconvenience the other. If you for got to pay the rent, or left the cat out, say you’re sorry and move on. Don’t make excuses or try to convince me it didn’t happen. Don’t look around for gratuitous services to do. Picking up my laundry, when I’ve set it down to get the hand towel from the bathroom, and taking it downstairs is just going to annoy me, and certainly isn’t going to make me forget about the late rent. Apologizing for the late rent, rather than saying things that make it sound like I’m unreasonable for requesting the rent, is going to make me forget about the late rent.

Use resources judiciously; turn the lights off when you leave a room. Recycle.

Respect generally accepted quiet hours. Just because your roommate is generally up by 6:30am on a Saturday, doesn’t mean you should assume she is, thus coming in and making lots of noise, until you see that her door is closed.

Do not take it upon yourself to wake your roommate up if you think she may have overslept. Your role is not that of alarm clock. On the same note, engage in no other acts of paternalism. If your roommate has left the house, you don’t need to think about whether or not she took her key, and you certainly don’t need to martyr yourself by staying home until she gets back, just in case. If you do, don’t then cite it as an example of how considerate you are.

Conversely, if you’re leaving the house, don’t assume your roommate is going to be home when you get back. Take your key, or at least ask her whether she has plans to leave.

That’s one example of the ‘when in doubt, ask’ principle. Don’t guess, and don’t try to surprise me. You don’t know me well enough—nor are you insightful enough—for a surprise to be a good thing. When you bought the pearl earrings, you thought that would be a great surprise. It was certainly a surprise.

Speaking of unwelcome surprises, don’t lead me to believe that someone’s breaking into the house. If you specifically tell me that you’re going to be out of town on a given evening and you change your mind, let me know before you come in and set off the alarm.

Don’t try to help without my permission—If I’m doing something (like changing a bike tire), don’t try to grab it out of my hands. It might be polite to ask (once). It’s not polite to insist once I’ve made it clear that it’s something I’d prefer to do on my own. However, do take initiatives on basic things (changing the battery on the smoke detector, etc.). RM does this, but I once had a roommate who would wait until I got home to inform me that the battery needed to be replaced. It was after 9pm and she’d been home since the afternoon. Oh, and I don’t mind putting away the dishes most of the time, but I don’t appreciate coming home from a business trip to a full dishwasher, when you’ve had at least several days to clean it out. And when you do clean or fix something, don’t strut around like you deserve a medal.

Significant cleaning aside, no one should be able to tell that you just used something, because you shouldn’t leave any signs, such as hair in the shower drain, stains on the counter, crumbs in the crumb tray (or worse, on the couch), etc.

Here’s another one inspired by a different roommate: do not ever use people dishes—especially mine—to serve a cat (or other animal).

Well, now that we’ve gone through all that… goodbye, and don’t let the door slam you in the @$$ on your way out.