Mean girls

I'm supposed to be working (more on that another time) but I need to just get this out.

People are mean here. It's so cliche but maybe there is something about Minnesota Nice?

When you meet moms/caregivers/grandparents at the playground or library, not one of them will tell you their name first. The exchange always begins with them asking what your child's name is, followed by their child's name, then silence. If you want more to the conversation, you better bring it up yourself.

There's a grandmother that I've seen at the library every week since the Chanukkah party. Finally yesterday we started talking at the playground (it's across the street from the library and is usually where everyone ends up after story time). I know what her granddaughter's name is and how old she is (note: she is adorable and once she learned Bug's name started calling to Bug from across the playground to come over near her). I know that grandmother is from Madison, Wisconsin, and lived there for over 30 years before moving to Coronado nine years ago. BUT I DON'T KNOW THE DAMN WOMAN'S NAME.

Today Bug and I went for a Special Treat Date at this bread place I read good reviews about. (My own review? It may not be as "artisan" but Breadsmith tastes better). The parking lot was a pay lot, where you put the receipt on your dash. We paid (because I'm a rule follower? Because I don't know how strict the parking police in California are?) but we were only inside for 15 minutes. When we left there was another car slowly pulling in looking for a spot. They had their window down. I called out to them that we were leaving, and grabbed our already paid for parking slip off of the dashboard. I told her that she could have our spot, and the rest of the time on our slip. The woman looked at me like I was speaking Cantonese and rather rudely informed me that they were going to be taking a different parking spot. Not even a thank you. I thought it was a nice gesture on my part. Wasn't it??

I feel like the bastard child of the Navy. "Civilians" have a rather down-the-nose view of the military, I have found, so we're basically treated like shit outside of base (or maybe that's just how everyone treats everyone around here if you don't sweat gold nuggets?). On/around base, or around Coronado, I don't feel like I especially fit in because Matt has the boss's son's paid internship with a two hour lunch version of a job at the Navy. He doesn't leave for long stretches. He's not in danger (note: he reminded me that I meet a lot of SEAL families here because that base is on Coronado, making it a bit skewed). So I cannot empathize with these women who are pregnant and also have small children whose husbands leave for indeterminate periods of time to undisclosed locations and don't even want to attempt to. Let's pile on top of that the fact that most have not gone to college and are at the very least five to six years younger than I am with two to three times as many children. I'm not complaining, per se. This part does not make me upset or mad. It's just that we're just kind of floating in no man's land. At least they're (mostly? average-ly?) nice, even if I don't know any of their names.

I wish there was a Missed Connections for Moms. If you don't cruise Craigslist regularly and have no idea what I'm talking about, let me enlighten you. Usually they're crass postings like "Hottie in the black pants ordering a frappucino at Starbucks on Grand. I saw you look at me. Let's go out." With the hopes that whoever the person spotted also reads the "Missed Connection" and responds back.

I could write eight million of these but, like I said, aimed at Moms: "Saw you at Tidelands Park on Tuesday afternoon around 4:40. You were wearing running shorts and legitimate running shoes. Our children look to be the same age. Want to run together some time? You pick the pace."

One of these days I'm just going to walk up to someone. It will probably end with internal shame and tears, but I can say that I tried.