Incommunicado

Just when I was thinking about how I have absolutely nothing to say today, my mom called. She's on her way to an appointment with her dentist. Earlier, we decided that if she finds she's going to be late getting back, she'll give me a call.

That's why she called me back. It dawned on her that she didn't know how to get in touch with me. I have a cell phone, but Hubby has taken (what he believes to be) permanent possession of it. We use a dial-up Internet connection (yeah, I know), so my land line isn't usually available. If there's anything Hubby is compulsive about, it's his email. He checks that email account at least 15 times a day and he's only got until 3:00 p.m. every day to do it. You can't generally reach me on the land line; email is far too important for that. I have an upstairs land line for the Hubby computer, but I think that's hooked up to a fax machine (that doesn't work).

We have 3 computers at my house. One of them is supposed to be mine. All mine. Who gets to use it the most? That's right. Hubby. I am pretty much incommunicado. All the time. That's not generally such a big deal, because I hardly ever want to talk to anyone and everybody is well aware of that fact. Mostly I get calls from doctors, reminding me that I need to be at their offices on a certain day at a certain time.

From time to time, I need to be available. Like when my mom needs to tell me she's going to be late. I'm the mother hen type, even with my own mother, so if she's going to be late, calling is the only inoculation against worry. Which expands to panic attacks pretty quickly. We resolved that, when I get home, I'll fetch my cell phone so she can reach me if need be.

Somehow that brings me to the nature of my marriage. What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? (That's what Carly Simon said in the 70's anyway, before she married and divorced James Taylor.) In my marriage what's his is his and what's mine is his, too. From cookies to cell phones to anything else that I might be deluded into thinking is mine.

Hubby patrols. If he hears or sees a shopping bag appear in our house, he's on it. I have to hide things if I don't want him to know. (Every once in a while, I like to have at least one cookie out of the bag before Hubby motors through them and is sorry he ate them all.)

I tend to put packages on the bed until later, when the dogs are asleep and I don't have to fight them to put things away. If Hubby makes a trip through the bedroom (he has to go through the bedroom to fire up that Internet connection), I can always hear him quietly trying to dig through the packages to see what I have so that he can take it later on when I'm not looking.

If it's a thing, he'll just spirit it off and hope I don't discover it's gone. Or "borrow" it and somehow never return it. When I ask him where it is, he'll give me a look of mild astonishment that I have the effrontery to try to take something (that's mine) away from him.

If it's a food item (like cookies or chewing gum or cake), he'll eat all of it but for a tiny piece. I guess he thinks that maybe I'll think I ate it and developed temporary amnesia. Oh yeah, I ate that entire package of Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chunk cookies except for a quarter of the last cookie and I just don't remember doing it. When I point out that perhaps I would have liked to have at least one whole cookie, he tells me he's sorry. Sorry doesn't get me the cookies back. And he would never think of getting a replacement bag. If he gets any cookies, he gets the kind he knows I can't stand. He offers me one and when I decline, he's puzzled.

The upshot of all this is that if you'd like to contact me, you can't. If you think I own anything, I don't. Even though I've paid for it. What's his is his and what's mine is his. It's an excellent basis for any marriage. Or so I'm told.

She Wants Me Bad

A friend suggested, after reading about my co-worker, Loathsome, that I pretend to eye him lustily. I just had to respond. Loathsome thinks everybody wants him. Bad.

Several years ago, my company was working with a public relations firm to drum up some more business. Loathsome went along on one of the meetings the Company Owner had with the firm's representative. She was one of the owners of the pr firm, whom we'll call Carolyn. (No, that's not her real name.) When Loathsome got back to the office, he decided to share his thoughts about the meeting with me. The conversation went like this:

Loathsome: "The whole time I was there, she was giving me 'the look'."

I said, "What look?"

Loathsome: "You know, the look."

Again I said, "No, what look?" I was truly baffled.

He said, "The look I've been getting all my life."

Somehow it dawned on me that he was saying Carolyn was sending out some love beams in his direction. She wanted him. Bad.

"But Loathsome," I said, "She's gay."

"No she's not."

"Yes she is."

Then Loathsome wrapped up the conversation by saying,

"Well, she may be gay, but she still wants me"

I used to have to work with this asshole until I refused to continue to do it. He drove me out of my mind.

About five years ago, after Loathsome got back from his annual vacation to California, he provided me with a recounting of its many high points. One of them was that he'd dropped by a Zen monastery and gotten some real nice Zen accessories. No, he is not a Buddhist. He just thinks he looks good surrounded by them. Or maybe they look better when he's in the same room with them. Loathsome also spent some time in a hot tub with a (male) friend of his. He said, "I don't think the people there thought we were gay. I'm too manly looking. Don't you think?" I should have told him that they probably did think he was gay but hoped to get in on some of that Loathsome action anyway. Who wouldn't?

Mr. Moneybags, the comptroller of the company, told me this morning about a memo Loathsome sent to one of our clients. Loathsome was generous enough to share the contents with him. It ended with "...thank you for working with myself." I don't think I need to remind you of how crazy the whole "myself" thing makes me.

Before I put my foot down and refused to work with him anymore, Loathsome called me on the intercom one day and asked me to provide him with a word that meant "understanding." The Thesaurus here (another of my many fun job responsibilities) offered him some synonyms. None of them was the word he was searching for. He called me again, several hours later.

"I finally remembered the word. I'll email you a copy of the letter."

He was pretty self-congratulatory, knowing that (a) I'd want to read it and (b) I'd think it was brilliant. I read the letter as soon as I got it because I couldn't imagine that Loathsome could come up with a word I wouldn't have already guessed. (Just because Loathsome is definitely not known for his brains.) It was the usual fare. Virtually all pronouns were missing, there were several sentences missing a noun and/or a verb, and best of all, the closing read:

"Thank you for your cognizance."

I'll bet that whoever cognizanced him wanted him, too. Bad.

Thermostat Wars, Part 30

I just went to the restroom and saw that Loathsome had turned the thermostat to 71 degrees (yes, it's warm here, but not that warm). Even though I'm leaving in about 10 minutes, I moved it to 74 degrees. That'll teach him to screw with me. If I had more time, we could wage this battle all day long. I'm very persistent.

Because He Still Looks So Good

"The truest characters of ignorance are vanity, and pride and arrogance." ~ Samuel Butler

Loathsome dropped by my office this morning. I've been avoiding him for weeks now, but our paths intersected at the comptroller's office this morning and, seeing a chance for preening, he seized the opportunity. I had just turned on my computer and was starting to work on my breakfast bagel when there was an ominous knock at the door.

Damn. I knew exactly who it was. We had yet to discuss the new contract he obtained. I knew there was no way to stop it. I couldn't pretend I wasn't in because he just saw me. I couldn't tell him to go away because a big part of my job at this point is providing aid and comfort to other employees. (Let me just say that this is a mighty big job and not one I would have applied for, had I had a choice. That's just how I roll.) I couldn't pick up the phone and pretend to be having a conversation. Having eliminated all potential means to escape, I told him to come in.

He started the conversation by asking me how I've been feeling. This was just an opening gambit and I recognized it as such immediately. So I actually told him. In some detail. I also told him about upcoming appointments, who they were with and the possible pain levels associated with each. I never ever do that, but this qualified as an emergency. I was prepared to debase myself in order to make him suffer a bit before he turned the spotlight on himself.

When I ran out of things to say about myself, I quickly turned the tables on him and asked how his wrist has been feeling. He wore out all the cartilage in his right wrist a couple of years ago and the last time I was trapped into talking with him, he told me all about it. I started avoiding him at that point, weeks before the bid he was working on was accepted. Sorry about the wrist, Buddy, now get the hell out of my office.

I pumped him with questions about his pain level and pretended to give a shit. I knew he was dying to get around to telling me how busy he was with the new contract. Loathsome started working his way towards that goal by telling me how afraid he is that his wrist won't keep up with the gruelling work load looming in front of him.

There was no turning back. On and on he went about how crazy the client is, how many 12 hour days he'll be working, how he can't find qualified workers. I finally broke down and offered some admiration and sympathy. That's all he wanted, after all. I should have just gotten to the point and saved myself some time and irritation.

Could he tell the praise was begrudging at best? Of course not. Because no one is sold on Loathsome quite as much as he is. Because he's the most praise worthy guy he knows. And, oh yeah...he looks so good.

Lost

"Stand still. The trees ahead and the bush behind you are not lost." ~ Albert Einstein

It's not a good Monday morning, but it's not a bad one, either. I had an early morning appointment with my psychiatrist. I've lived in this town for 30 years now, but somehow I missed my first turn and spent the next 20 minutes searching for the way and trying to figure out how, in my phone call later, I was going to explain to her how I got hopelessly lost. She would have charged me $125, anyway. That amount wouldn't be covered by my insurance, of course.

I guess we could chalk it up to anxiety. (I'm chalking everything up to anxiety, these days.) Since I never experience myself as being anxious, I think it's well within the realm of possibility that's he reason.

By some fluke, I actually managed to find the stupid road. Let me just note here that I'm supposed to be (as assessed by various tests) spatially gifted. I have no idea what that means, since I just got lost in a city where I've lived for 30 years.

So psychiatrist and I think I'm better than the last time I saw her. We're actually phasing out a medication. You can not imagine how happy that makes me. This way, when I hear on television that Anna Nicole Smith was taking 9 drugs (which accounts for her death, according to the uninformed), I don't have to feel extra bad about taking more. Just so you know, 4 of the drugs are for allergies (I'm allergic to everything except dog & cat hair), 1 is to prevent a recurrence of breast cancer and one is a required antioxidant vitamin so I won't go blind.

On the other hand, when I got to work this morning, I immediately had to make a visit to the owner's office. His father-in-law died last week in the middle of a field and Owner of Company found him. There's nothing to say, of course. I just needed to let him know I care. He knew. He commented that everyone here benefits from my nurturing nature. What a lovely thing to say.

As for the father-in-law, I have some absolutely great stories to tell about him. He and his wife bring new meaning to the word, "eccentric." I'm very fond of people who choose to follow their own paths. It will be a kind of tribute and a good laugh that I hope, somewhere, he'll be sharing with me.