Sunday, October 26, 2003
NOBODY wants to hear about a funeral service. So I'll keep it short. The family was heroic in that they had the courage to confront the community in addressing the rampant drug and alcohol problem amongst this town's teens. The father kept it together -- so much so that it perhaps signified the chasm between father and son. He was able to talk about son almost abstractly. He joked. Mother inconsolable.
NO SEX FOR HUBBY. Heads up guys. There are two things you should absolutely avoid doing if you have any aspirations of having sex with your wife, girlfriend, significant other. As I am wife, I will refer to the following two examples citing a wife/hubby scenario. Action One: As wife spends two days trying to pull the house back together following a four week face-lift (the house, not me) -- as she stands on a ladder touching up paint and/or scrubbing the dust off the walls, DO NOT WALK BY WITH A MUG OF COFFEE EN ROUTE TO YOUR COMPUTER TO CHECK EMAILS AND COMMENT WHAT A NICE ASS YOUR WIFE HAS. Action Two: Do not boast throughout your adult life of being the smart guy with the PhD and then do something so utterly stupid, that a two-year-old would not escape a reprimand for having done something so absurd i.e. when wife requests you give her the hammer so that she can hammer tight the can of paint from whence she was painting the entire afternoon, DO NOT TOSS THE HAMMER DOWN THE STAIRS! I'm assuming my PhD hubby took innumerable physics courses in his lifetime. Something I did not. But even I would understand enough to know the weight/velocity/DANGER aspect of sliding a hammer down the stairs. What was I supposed to do, CATCH IT??? Out of self-preservation-reasons, I did not attempt to catch it and so said hammer thudded down the carpeted stairs and then clanked loudly onto the newly refinished wood floor. Need I say that there is now an estimated $150 gouge in the just-refinished wood floor. I slept in the guest bedroom -- reneging on my interest and promise of sex that evening. And there is the difference my friends. In spite of how mad I was and how defensive hubby got, he still could have had sex very easily and happily. I maintain that I am by no means in the minority by stating that there are few women who could enjoy sex under these circumstances. Not that semi-conscious dreams don't do wonders to repair a botched romantic evening. Like in a Scrooge dream-sequence, a host of sex ghosts -- past, present, future, and make-believe -- came forth to honor the nice ass on the ladder.
INCONGRUITIES:
Reading in the NY Times this Sunday morning that a UPenn graduate (same college daughter was so enthralled by) is waiting tables during the week and bartending on the weekends because there is no job to be had: What to do After UPenn.
Reading in the NY Times of reverse immigration: thousands of Mexicans make their way illegally across the border as almost-as-many Americans cross the other way to snap up real estate in Baja, Mexico: What Goes Around Comes Around -- Sort of.. .
Being such a liberal and having an overwhelming majority of conservative friends.
Loving good, well-written literature as well as trashy, soap opera porn.
While applying a semi-gloss-white-Benjamin-Moore paint to the baseboard behind the toilet in the bathroom, sipping a cold glass of $17.00 Solex Chardonnay. Noting that paint-stained hands holding a chilled-glass of wine look funny.
Having the patience to perfectly paint a room, not a brush stroke in sight, but unable to have the patience to cook something artful (let alone tasteful).
In the damp basement, on a Sunday late afternoon, gently scrubbing between the wooden slats of our living room shutters (all 520 slats) that need finally to be re-hung. I wonder what the rest of the world is doing while I am doing this. I wonder what my cleaning lady is doing.
My house gleams but I haven't given myself a pedicure in two months. It shows.
Loving my home at the same time wanting to move.
NO SEX FOR HUBBY. Heads up guys. There are two things you should absolutely avoid doing if you have any aspirations of having sex with your wife, girlfriend, significant other. As I am wife, I will refer to the following two examples citing a wife/hubby scenario. Action One: As wife spends two days trying to pull the house back together following a four week face-lift (the house, not me) -- as she stands on a ladder touching up paint and/or scrubbing the dust off the walls, DO NOT WALK BY WITH A MUG OF COFFEE EN ROUTE TO YOUR COMPUTER TO CHECK EMAILS AND COMMENT WHAT A NICE ASS YOUR WIFE HAS. Action Two: Do not boast throughout your adult life of being the smart guy with the PhD and then do something so utterly stupid, that a two-year-old would not escape a reprimand for having done something so absurd i.e. when wife requests you give her the hammer so that she can hammer tight the can of paint from whence she was painting the entire afternoon, DO NOT TOSS THE HAMMER DOWN THE STAIRS! I'm assuming my PhD hubby took innumerable physics courses in his lifetime. Something I did not. But even I would understand enough to know the weight/velocity/DANGER aspect of sliding a hammer down the stairs. What was I supposed to do, CATCH IT??? Out of self-preservation-reasons, I did not attempt to catch it and so said hammer thudded down the carpeted stairs and then clanked loudly onto the newly refinished wood floor. Need I say that there is now an estimated $150 gouge in the just-refinished wood floor. I slept in the guest bedroom -- reneging on my interest and promise of sex that evening. And there is the difference my friends. In spite of how mad I was and how defensive hubby got, he still could have had sex very easily and happily. I maintain that I am by no means in the minority by stating that there are few women who could enjoy sex under these circumstances. Not that semi-conscious dreams don't do wonders to repair a botched romantic evening. Like in a Scrooge dream-sequence, a host of sex ghosts -- past, present, future, and make-believe -- came forth to honor the nice ass on the ladder.
INCONGRUITIES:
Reading in the NY Times this Sunday morning that a UPenn graduate (same college daughter was so enthralled by) is waiting tables during the week and bartending on the weekends because there is no job to be had: What to do After UPenn.
Reading in the NY Times of reverse immigration: thousands of Mexicans make their way illegally across the border as almost-as-many Americans cross the other way to snap up real estate in Baja, Mexico: What Goes Around Comes Around -- Sort of.. .
Being such a liberal and having an overwhelming majority of conservative friends.
Loving good, well-written literature as well as trashy, soap opera porn.
While applying a semi-gloss-white-Benjamin-Moore paint to the baseboard behind the toilet in the bathroom, sipping a cold glass of $17.00 Solex Chardonnay. Noting that paint-stained hands holding a chilled-glass of wine look funny.
Having the patience to perfectly paint a room, not a brush stroke in sight, but unable to have the patience to cook something artful (let alone tasteful).
In the damp basement, on a Sunday late afternoon, gently scrubbing between the wooden slats of our living room shutters (all 520 slats) that need finally to be re-hung. I wonder what the rest of the world is doing while I am doing this. I wonder what my cleaning lady is doing.
My house gleams but I haven't given myself a pedicure in two months. It shows.
Loving my home at the same time wanting to move.
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