Blah! Blar! Bleh! Blech! Blich!
2005-10-27, 2:57 p.m.
Blah! Blar! Bleh! Blech! Blich!
I’ve got it out of my system now.
I have some good news. I’m not constipated or gassy anymore. But you know when your dog gets into the trashcan, and it eats all the chicken bones and some pieces of aluminum foil, and the next day, it’s all sad and lethargic, and you know that dog’s stomach is in some serious pain? I have what I suspect is similar stomach pain. I didn’t eat any chicken bones, but don’t you put it past me. I might do it someday.
It’s not an intestinal pain – it’s the pain of there being something up in there that hurts. And makes me sad. Maybe it’s a stack of unfiled paperwork.
Jane (I’m not an accomplished linker, so I won’t even try) gave me some good insight and advice on working with my SuperAdminWoman. And I thank her. The short of it is, next Tuesday is Filing Day. I’m going to guide, assist, and help. Won’t that be fun? No? Don’t you want to work here? Come on – Neuroses R Us.
Today is my 4th wedding anniversary. It’s DW’s, too. Because we married each other, and that’s how that works. Let’s listen in on a conversation that I engineered, thanks to PMS, to be as petulant and trying as possible:
“Are you playing football on Thursday?”
“No, we’re done with weekday games.”
“Yeah, we have a couple of weekend tournaments coming up.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Well, Thursday is our anniversary, and I figured if you were playing football, I was going to let that set the tone on our whole relationship going forward.”
“Oh! That’s right, it’s our anniversary! We should at least go get some grub.”
(doesn’t that sound deliciously enticing?) “Yeah, let’s get some grub.”
So we are going to get some Anniversary Grub tonight.
Then, in another spate of me feeling sorry for myself this morning, I set DW up with this scenario:
“What is your golf schedule this weekend?”
“Well, we have shotgun scattered blah blah blah at noon on Friday, and then select scattered every other something something on Saturday, tee times at 8 and at 1:15, yack yack yack social in the party room starting about 6 Saturday evening. Why?”
“Well, since I’m alone most of the time, I’m trying to fill my days up with as many chores and tasks as possible, so that I can pretend I’m happy and fulfilled by just keeping busy. I’m trying to figure out how much shit I should schedule for myself – how much time I need to fill.” I think I choked back a self-pitying sob here
“Oh. Well, you wanna come up and ride along on the second leg? You could get your chores done in the morning, and come up and read a book in the cart and drink beer with us.”
“I might be too busy cleaning the garage. I’ll have to see.”
No, my friends, I’m not bragging about my bad behavior. I’m confessing. I’m such a bitch. I try to gently passive-aggressively manipulate my SuperAdminWoman into doing the things I want her to do, and I pull this WAAAHHHH shit with my husband. I could write a book on this stuff and call it “How Not To Be”.
To DW’s credit, he doesn’t buy my shit. I don’t know if he’s too thick to take the hint, or if he’s just really practiced at ignoring my antics. I suspect it’s the latter. He has the patience of a SAINT, one of those really patient ones, St. Patience or something. I have to really push a lot of this at him to piss him off, but so far, this episode, he’s just very blithely ignoring me.
I’m pitiful! I’m hideous! Look away!
Anyway, here are the flowers he sent me this morning:
Somebody’s going to be rewarded through positive reinforcement tonight, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
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