FNR 28: Taking the Baton and Running it into a Wall
Jun 20 '03
The Bottom Line I'm 28! I feel so special! It's been six years since I was last 28, and it's about time I get to revisit it.
Oh dear epGods, please forgive me for what I am about to do. I feel as though I may sully the Friday Night Ramblings. No one knows me here yet, and as far as I can see, no one hates me (feel free to comment if you do, or if you want to and I can help out in any way). I'm not sure how I got included in this FNR loop, since I haven't been privy to the backbiting drama-queen politics of epinions that I keep hearing about. But remember eighth grade when you were suddenly invited to the cool kid's party? No? That's okay, I don't either, but I imagine it would have made me feel much like I feel now. Although I don't know if I can write about the traditional topics, given that I'm not drunk. Thanks Mimi, for inviting me to the party; and thanks Lemon_lime for starting all of this!
Politics?
I can't write about politics--Bush sucks, 'nuff said. Oh wait, maybe I can expand on that a teeny bit. Not really on the Bush Sucks part, but on my husband. Follow me here. First, know that I have an ongoing love/hate relationship with the man (not Bush, that's hate. It's my husband I'm referring to). Mostly I love him, but more often then I'd like to admit, he makes me want to rip out his nose hairs with an epilady. Anyway, he voted Green. As we watched the election returns roll in, I couldn't help getting angrier and angrier at his Green ticket vote, and every time we "misunderestimate" Bush, I bring it up. If you voted Green, don't worry, I don't hate you. I'm only mad at the husband for voting Nader, because he's married to me and is an easy target. I blame him for the economy, him for the war, and him for everything else I find wrong with the country. I know it's too much pressure for the man, but hey, he picked me.
Epilady hair removal system
Okay, while I'm talking about Him and epilady hair trimmers, I may as well talk about this funky hair thing he's got going. He has a moustache. That's okay, really...I find them attractive. But as long as I've know him, he's had a real problem with trimming it. He trims the left half much more than the right, and so it's a lopsided Hitler moustache. Very odd. I bought him this super-dooper-delux moustache trimming set for Christmas, complete with instructions. It's still lopsided. He once shaved it off and looked eight (ever seen an eight-year old with male pattern baldness? It's not a pretty sight), but I think they should require men to take mustache grooming classes before they are allowed to grow one. If I could rate his mustache here, I'd give the left side one bar (star) and the right four.
Oh, these really are ramblings, aren't they. It's kind of fun in a liberating sort of way. Oh since I'm on a liberating rant about my husband, I may as well continue. He's a really smart guy, with cool letters after his name that I (as yet) only wish I had. He's also anal retentive about really dumb things, and I wonder if the letters after his name made him anal or if it was a genetic trait. For instance, last Christmas, I wanted to take some soot from the fireplace and make bootprints on the stone in front of the hearth. I didn't want to smear soot all over the house, just in this one tiny area. You know, for magic's sake. He nixed my brilliant magical idea with talk of carcinogens in the soot. He's weird about pens too. Seriously, if you borrow his pen and then forget to give it back immediately, he acts as if the world is about to end. These aren't special pens; they are the Bic $1.99-for-a-bag-of-20 variety. For Christmas last year, I bought him six hundred blue Bics, thinking that would cure him. That way, I figured, I could lose at least 550 of them and he'd still come out ahead. It didn't work; he still goes out of his mind when I lose his pens. Oh, he also refuses to eat charred meat for fear of colon cancer, so if he's cooking the steaks on the bbq, they're so raw that it looks like someone just chopped off the horns, pulled out a knife and served up a slice. My daughter is a vegetarian now, any wonder why?
Oh dear, I just realized that my husband can never read this now. Epinions will have to be my secret forever now, although someday, after I die and he checks my computer history for clues into my life, he'll find this. Hey darling, when you read this, please know that I love you because of these quirks and that this tiny rant just sort of happened. Kind of like those soot marks just sort of appeared the morning after you said it was a terrible idea.
Anyhow, how did I get from Bush to raw meat? And am I really supposed to be drunk while I'm writing this? I think the protocol states clearly that I am, however, when I'm drunk it's impossible to read my thoughts. I have plenty of rambling thoughts when I'm drunk, except they look something like this: hi. I'm tooooooodolrkerk slkrlwand osdkr. Ooh, I shoiuldr backspicccccccer this.
Since I'm not too sure how well ya'll read typo, and I'm pretty sure AltaVista and Google don't offer the "Drunktypo-to-English" option in their translators, I'll save you the trouble. Sober it is. Although there is a bunch of red wine calling my name. It's been sitting, unopened, for months now. He (the husband) doesn't drink at all, and drinking alone is so...depressing. So the wine sits, waiting for company to show up at Thanksgiving. Except the company is usually my family, and since they are all Mormon, they just stare at the wine and throw me dirty "you heathen" looks.
Okay, one last thing. Since I picked on the living husband, I have to say that the dead husband, while he wasn't so picky about useless things, had his moments too. Usually they involved his weird sleepwalking habit. Once we had a huge fight in the middle of the night, and I would have sworn he was completely awake. I had just given birth to our daughter and our deal was that while I'd wake up in the middle of the night and provide her sustenance from my own body, he'd wake up and get me water. If you've ever nursed a baby, you know that the second a child latches on, he/she sucks every ounce of liquid from your body and you're parched--it feels like you've spent days in the desert with no water. So I woke up the third night of my daughter's life at 3:00 am, baby firmly attached to my body part, and I woke Ron up (I can tell you his name, he'll never find this site unless they have internet access in the afterlife).
He stumbled in a sleepy haze into the kitchen, where he dumped out a cup of milk someone had poured earlier in the evening. There was a cupboard full of clean dishes, but he bypassed all of them. He filled up the milk-ringed cup with lukewarm water and returned dutifully to our room.
Umm, honey? This cup is dirty. There were little white half-moons of crusted milk floating in my water.
So? Will it kill you? I swear he said this. And I swear it was so out of character for him that my jaw dropped. I stared at whatever creature had entered his body and said,
It could, depending on what else was growing in that cup! You're kidding, right?
He wasn't, and we ended up fighting about milk rings and dirty cups for twenty minutes. I finally got up, got my own water, and stormed to bed. I couldn't believe it. I had just given birth three days before, pushed his offspring out of my poor overworked body, was getting up with her every three hours myself to feed her, and he couldn't take two minutes to get a glass of water when there were perfectly clean cups in the cupboard?! Enraged does not begin to describe what my hormone-whacked brain felt at that moment. The next day, after glaring at him and speaking curtly to him until about two in the afternoon, I crumbled and apologized for losing my cool the night before. I didn't think I was wrong, but one of us had to give and surely my tone could have been a little nicer.
He had no friggen idea what I was talking about. None whatsoever. He didn't remember getting up and he didn't remember speaking to me at all! Seriously. Sleep deprivation (probably) or sleepwalking; I'm not sure which but it was the oddest conversation I've ever had with anyone. Twenty minutes, at least, we YELLED at each other. He didn't remember a word. For the record, he apologized for the milk-water and said he understood why it would have upset me.
Thing is, he did stuff like that at least three more times in our ten years of marriage. Odd, eh?
I think I'm done rambling. There's a Harry Potter party at the bookstore at midnight, and I have a date with some cute kids. None of this was important, and I hope you're still awake. If you're not, sweet dreams. Try not to fight with your wife or husband while you are out.
~Mari
Oh yeah, the passing the baton part. How about Chaospump. His writing is lively and interesting and I respect him. Plus he's cute and makes me wish I still lived in California and were still single. ;)
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Epinions.com ID:
javajnkie
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Member: Mari Nichols-Haining
Location: Somewhere Out There, USA
Reviews written: 26
Trusted by: 22 members
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