I am part project manager, part playground monitor, part social worker, part therapist. This is not an easily defined position, but when people are needy, please learn: “I have a low tolerance for ongoing, self-inflicted drama.”
If you come to me with your problems, repeating the problems then crying about the resulting drama, let me make this clear: “I have a low tolerance for ongoing, self-inflicted drama.”
Whatever the cause, if you pour out your problems to me while trapping me in the laundry room or at my kitchen table, you may end up in this blog. Fair warning.
Yes, that is my nickname for this fellow. He drinks a bit and endlessly relives his glory days, very embellished and long-winded stories, then cries that he is not responsible for any of his drama and woe. Moments after I open my front door, he would appear and park himself at my kitchen table or just stroll in-and-out my door all day long.
Me (at 7:30 am with Stagger Lee at my door): “Excuse me, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet and you want coffee and conversation?
Stagger Lee: “Well, I have been up since 5:30 am.”
Me: “Whoopeedo for you! I was up until 3 am taking care of small emergencies; I didn’t knock on your door!”
Stagger Lee: “Well, you could have.”
Me: Sigh. This conversation was doomed from the start.
After suffering through his sad monologues for several weeks, I gave strong, unwanted advice regarding responsibility and to finish the work which we paid him to do.
I confess, I might have been snarky.
He was offended.
He complained to the Business Manager and my brother-in-law that I talk to him as if I was his mother, that he has a mother and that he doesn’t need another one.
Was he looking for more sympathy from other sources?
Whatever, it worked. He no longer complains to me. Hallelujah!
A while back, a new woman moved in, eager to make new friends. Guy tenants have hormones; they are like sharks with fresh blood in the water: They all were eager to make friends with this new woman.
Can you guess the hormone-ridden problems brewing?
New woman was at my table, very upset, asking me to step in and speak to one of the guys, tell him to back off.
No way am I wading into that bag of snakes!
My solution was to tell her to stop sending mixed messages, they are dudes, they have hormones. Do not invite them in your home; do not hang out in their homes. Dudes think with their testosterone.
Said advice was not wanted, she just wanted to vent, complained that I talked to her like her mother, not a friend.
Oh, I misunderstood, you wanted to just complain and have me sympathize.
See above: “I have a low tolerance for ongoing, self-inflicted drama.”
This was a tense moment at a friend’s house. My friend was stomping around her home, fluffing pillows with a vengeance while complaining about her husband.
I was her captive houseguest. Drat.
It was obvious she expected me to ‘agree’ with her complaints. I wouldn’t.
I merely stated, “I have lived long enough to know, that when someone is complaining about their partner, to nod my head sympathetically and say nothing, because later, you two will make up, then blame me for everything that was said.”
She wasn’t happy, but no way was I falling for that trap.
Yes, I have my needy moments, sometimes; but hey, they just do not make this blog! It is about THEM, not me. Perks of being the author.
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