A little bit pissed
2004-08-13, 4:20 p.m.

And now, for your reading and viewing vicarious pleasure, I shall bitch and carp about my perfectly good husband, and ask you, yes you, the one person who has ever stumbled across this here, um, whatever this is, window into my very SOUL, why I get so upset about my perfectly good husband. I wrote "perfectly food husband" at first, and I think I like the way that looks. Yummy.

DW, my beloved DishWasher, hung out with da guys last Thursday evening after baseball and drank beer in the parking lot til 4:30 in the morning. Why does that spark every suspicion and low self-esteem and anger cell in my body? Why? I know where he was (parking lot), who he was with (the county tax assessor-collector/3rd baseman) and what he was doing (shooting the shit and drinking so-called low carb beer). Why does that piss me off? Would it piss you off? Why do I feel that his place is at home, with me, in bed, by my side, within arm's reach. Not hanging out having fun without me all night long. It's just wrong, but I honestly don't know why.

And then last night, same thing, but not so bad. Golf til 8:45, and then a call saying "we're done - be home in a little bit". Two hours later, he comes home, wakes me up, keeps talking to me, and finally gets the picture that I'm already asleep. So my pissiness today is (1) why do you tell me you're coming home? Why bother? (2) Don't fucking wake me up when you do make it in.

I have no idea what the hell he was yattering on about, either. It was either baseball, golf, or the new house. That's all he talks about, which is a whole nuther window-on-my-soul entry.

So the two situations have a bit of anger attached to them, for slightly different reasons. The first one was just outrage at how late it was. The second one was, well, I just described it. But why? Why does it make me mad? Because it's out of my control? If I were a guy, and I was pissed at my wife who had a social life with the girls and managed to stay out all night (or two hours later than planned) at least once a week, would I be a controlling dick? And what's the female version of a controlling dick? A nagging shrew? God, I hope not.

But here's the thing. If I were a woman (I am) with a vibrant social life (not), I would make it a point to maintain the love, trust and respect in my relationship by keeping my late-night exuberance within bounds. Unless it was a special occasion like a bach party, I would make sure my mate knew approximately what time I was coming home, and I would make it a point to be home then. The times in my life when I made it a point to stay out as late as I damn well wanted were (1) living with parents and (2) being married to XH. In neither situation was I particularly worried about love, trust, respect, or courtesy. Fuck 'em - fuck 'em all. That's what the 4:30 crawl-in says, it says "fuck you".

I have an evil plan. I plan to go have a beer at Luther's and stay 2 hours later than planned or agreed upon. In fact, I'm calling DW right now to tell him that I'm going to have "a beer". God, I'm such a wuss. I'm sitting here worrying about (1) traffic (2) how much I can drink in 2 hours and still be sober enough to drive the 30 miles home and (3) whether I even want to hang out with these people for 2 hours.

Arrrrggggh! I'm a respectful, courteous homebody. Or am I? Why am I all twisted up about having 3 beers rather than 1? It's social anxiety, that's what it is. I want to go home, and it has nothing to do with respect and courtesy and wussiness. It's all about comfort and the lack of demands that being at home puts on me.

That's it - I'm having those beers. In one hour, I'm going to Luther's for 3 beers. And if I get buzzy, I'll damn well sit there til the buzz subsides.

And next time, rather than mope around the house being pissed off that he hasn't come home, I'm leaving. I'll sleep in the car one street over, or get a room, or become a barfly. I've been one before, I can damn skippy do it again. Mebbe I'll go see a movie. Yeah, like there's a movie being shown after 10:00 in our little town. Sigh. If I lived in a bigger town, I could be so much of a bigger bitch to my husband.

But I ask you again - why does it piss me off so bad? And really, it's not even that bad. It pisses me off a little. I can't figure it out. I just want to look at him and say "What. Are you thinking." but instead, I mope around, I'm short with him, I'm all breezy and non-caring, and that, my friend, is what we like to call around here a little bit of the passive aggressive. Oh, you call it that where you are, too?

I have 3 choices, as I see it. I can continue to be passive-aggressive because I'm damn good at it. I can get right the fuck over myself and just quit being pissed at him. Because it is all about me. Or I can talk it out with him rationally and find some kind of common ground and understanding. Schnort!!! Hah! So, whaddaya think I'll end up doing? Hello, McFly.