In God We Trust...
...all others must pay cash.
One of our clients just called to tell us that now that his work comp case has settled (for less cash than he anticipated in the beginning), his wife is divorcing him.
Nice, huh?
Makes me wonder why people bother getting married in the first place. Maybe the divorce rate in this country wouldn't be so bloody high if we all started telling the truth about marriage.
Life doesn't stop after the wedding, yo. Yes, you've just had this large, expensive shindig that was terribly romantic and the culmination of a romantic relationship--but that doesn't mean you're going to spend the next 40 or 50 years feeding each other cake (though you may feed each other a lot of bullshit and eat a lot of crow in that time). You've just committed to living with this other person every day for the rest of your life. And no matter how much you love someone, no matter how "cute" you think his or her quirks are, there will, I assure you, come a time when you want to take those quirks and tell the other party to shove them up his or her ass.
Living with another person is hard. If it weren't, no one would ever leave their childhood home. But what's the reality of that situation? Kids can't wait to get the hell out, and parents can't wait to oblige them. But living alone isn't a cakewalk, either. It's expensive, it's lonely, and it's damn hard to cook for one and not either waste a lot of food or dine solely on fast-food and microwave shit. Humans are animals, after all, and most animals gravitate toward other animals, not only as a matter of survival, but because they want to.
That doesn't mean it's all fun and games. And it's not so much the other person's clutter or routine or insistence on brushing his/her teeth in the kitchen that's hardest to deal with. It's trusting that person not to fuck you over at some point in the future.
That's what we're all afraid of, right? Being fucked over. Being left alone. Being deceived. Being played for a fool. Having our sense of security shattered.
Some people find it easier to trust than others. I fall into category B. So Friday night, while I was using Ben's laptop to unsuccessfully track down a Star Wars page that would give me the whole story in chronological order with detail (because I'm a nerd), I eventually gave up my quest and started googling people I know. Lower-case "g" used to avoid copyright infringement, because I found out you can google "search engine" and find a bunch of obscure search engines I've never heard of. I also found out that, in addition to my tenure at multiple colleges, I've also been arrested for something involving sex with a judge. And my husband has a myspace page that says he's single and doesn't want children.
What the fuck?
My first thought--not him. Another Ben in town who is his age, zodiac sign, and single. Yeah, right. My second thought--another of his ploys to get teenagers to tell him shit they're not supposed to tell someone who has the direct dial of their coaches on his cell phone. That seemed more like it, because I've known him to infiltrate the teenager sanctum for professional gain in the past, but why say that he's single? Because teenagers won't talk to married people because marriage=old. Okay, why say he doesn't want any kids? Because he's being forced to live with one who is a raging pain in the ass.
Ouch. Thanks, brain.
I did end up asking him about it, and my second thought was correct. He is not, he assures me, trolling for hoochies on the internet. Not that I thought he was, but that voice in my head insisted on saying, "you get all comfortable and confident in this relationship and NOW you're going to see the other shoe drop."
Shut up, voice in my head. Go eat a donut.
It's hard to trust. Especially given what I do for a living, which in addition to providing me a paycheck, has taught me that people will lie about anything if they think it will get them ahead of the game.
I learned other things this weekend. I learned that I am fully capable of letting Ben watch football in peace and check his dumb fantasy stats without flying off the handle, but that I will demonstrate childlike attention-seeking behavior by the end of the day. I learned that all of my weight gain is not contained to my midsection--I also have fat calves that I can barely zip into the new boots I purchased yesterday. I learned that Bob is less interested in the object of a video game than in the fact he's playing it, he's really playing it. I learned our neighbor died Saturday morning of apparent heart failure--rest in peace, Merle, we'll miss you riding around the neighborhood on your Jazzy. I learned "The Shops at Boardwalk" are full of ridiculously expensive clothes and they all make me look like a whale anyway. I learned I'm still cool enough to buy a pair of hot pink high tops (they don't interfere with my fat ankles, either). I learned Bob is an artist and his bedroom wall is his canvas. (He'll be learning otherwise this evening.)
So I guess I'm still learning a lot. And I thought by this age, I'd know everything.
Don't tell Bob.
One of our clients just called to tell us that now that his work comp case has settled (for less cash than he anticipated in the beginning), his wife is divorcing him.
Nice, huh?
Makes me wonder why people bother getting married in the first place. Maybe the divorce rate in this country wouldn't be so bloody high if we all started telling the truth about marriage.
Life doesn't stop after the wedding, yo. Yes, you've just had this large, expensive shindig that was terribly romantic and the culmination of a romantic relationship--but that doesn't mean you're going to spend the next 40 or 50 years feeding each other cake (though you may feed each other a lot of bullshit and eat a lot of crow in that time). You've just committed to living with this other person every day for the rest of your life. And no matter how much you love someone, no matter how "cute" you think his or her quirks are, there will, I assure you, come a time when you want to take those quirks and tell the other party to shove them up his or her ass.
Living with another person is hard. If it weren't, no one would ever leave their childhood home. But what's the reality of that situation? Kids can't wait to get the hell out, and parents can't wait to oblige them. But living alone isn't a cakewalk, either. It's expensive, it's lonely, and it's damn hard to cook for one and not either waste a lot of food or dine solely on fast-food and microwave shit. Humans are animals, after all, and most animals gravitate toward other animals, not only as a matter of survival, but because they want to.
That doesn't mean it's all fun and games. And it's not so much the other person's clutter or routine or insistence on brushing his/her teeth in the kitchen that's hardest to deal with. It's trusting that person not to fuck you over at some point in the future.
That's what we're all afraid of, right? Being fucked over. Being left alone. Being deceived. Being played for a fool. Having our sense of security shattered.
Some people find it easier to trust than others. I fall into category B. So Friday night, while I was using Ben's laptop to unsuccessfully track down a Star Wars page that would give me the whole story in chronological order with detail (because I'm a nerd), I eventually gave up my quest and started googling people I know. Lower-case "g" used to avoid copyright infringement, because I found out you can google "search engine" and find a bunch of obscure search engines I've never heard of. I also found out that, in addition to my tenure at multiple colleges, I've also been arrested for something involving sex with a judge. And my husband has a myspace page that says he's single and doesn't want children.
What the fuck?
My first thought--not him. Another Ben in town who is his age, zodiac sign, and single. Yeah, right. My second thought--another of his ploys to get teenagers to tell him shit they're not supposed to tell someone who has the direct dial of their coaches on his cell phone. That seemed more like it, because I've known him to infiltrate the teenager sanctum for professional gain in the past, but why say that he's single? Because teenagers won't talk to married people because marriage=old. Okay, why say he doesn't want any kids? Because he's being forced to live with one who is a raging pain in the ass.
Ouch. Thanks, brain.
I did end up asking him about it, and my second thought was correct. He is not, he assures me, trolling for hoochies on the internet. Not that I thought he was, but that voice in my head insisted on saying, "you get all comfortable and confident in this relationship and NOW you're going to see the other shoe drop."
Shut up, voice in my head. Go eat a donut.
It's hard to trust. Especially given what I do for a living, which in addition to providing me a paycheck, has taught me that people will lie about anything if they think it will get them ahead of the game.
I learned other things this weekend. I learned that I am fully capable of letting Ben watch football in peace and check his dumb fantasy stats without flying off the handle, but that I will demonstrate childlike attention-seeking behavior by the end of the day. I learned that all of my weight gain is not contained to my midsection--I also have fat calves that I can barely zip into the new boots I purchased yesterday. I learned that Bob is less interested in the object of a video game than in the fact he's playing it, he's really playing it. I learned our neighbor died Saturday morning of apparent heart failure--rest in peace, Merle, we'll miss you riding around the neighborhood on your Jazzy. I learned "The Shops at Boardwalk" are full of ridiculously expensive clothes and they all make me look like a whale anyway. I learned I'm still cool enough to buy a pair of hot pink high tops (they don't interfere with my fat ankles, either). I learned Bob is an artist and his bedroom wall is his canvas. (He'll be learning otherwise this evening.)
So I guess I'm still learning a lot. And I thought by this age, I'd know everything.
Don't tell Bob.
posted by Mitzi Green at 10:50 AM
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