Friday, March 6, 2009
What An Anus
Rigid had an interview yesterday. I sent a couple of messages to the Misbroadcasting Blog as I sat waiting for him in the lobby. He walked out as soon as the last post had been confirmed sent. I was ecstatic, not because he finally had an interview, but because we had agreed to celebrate his first interview with a drink at our favorite Pub: The Kings Head. Everyone we know both on the world wide web and in my web wide world know how he and I first met. Everyone knows how much we’ve struggled since getting married and everyone knows the difficulties and challenges we’ve faced both financially and emotionally. Why? Because I’ve told you or I’ve blogged it. I tend to overshare just a tad and it’s here on the Misventures for all to read.
My married life isn’t easy. It wasn’t easy getting to understand a loud, obnoxious, overbearing, unrealistic, illogical, unreasonable, off the wall, self contradictory, absurd, emotionally stunted, senseless, asinine, daft, imbecilic mother f’ing tard. I could go on. I’ve said it all before and more. I’ll say it again. But why the sudden return to my old blogging habit?
Well, I’ll be more than happy to share that with you. Get comfortable, you’re going to be here a while. I’m just sayin’.
We had a grand time at the Kings Head, though we were only there for a very short while. Just enough for a pint for Rigid and 2 drinkies for me, I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I had a nice drink so I thought, ‘Why not?’. We trotted, yes I said trotted, over to the shop next door for some soap and goodies. The English coal tar soap Rigid insisted I switch to has really done wonders for me and I must have my Turkish Delight and Spotted Dick when I’m in that area. Rigid has his own special goodies to pick out each time we go as well. You can very easily spend about $100 in 15 mins and come out of the store with 5 items. Stupid tarrifs! I’m thinking about throwing my own Tea Party in a nice yellow life raft in the middle of the ocean. I know how to make a statement damn it!
We made our way back to the parking garage with a twinkle of mischief in our eyes. Our happy little hearts intertwining with one another cheerfully, blissfully, like a couple of kids with nothing to do but amble along after a short school day. We drove away playfully arguing about our treats. Rigid sternly prohibits the eating of treats before dinner. We have to have a proper dinner before we can have any candy. I pout and pretend to be upset that I’m not allowed my yummy Turkish Delight. Surely a tiny piece of chocolate couldn’t possibly ruin my appetite, but the Hooha has spoken and I must comply. And so we drove on weaving through traffic, talking and enjoying the rest of our day. Until that is, we hit traffic on the freeway. Refusing to let it ruin our day we headed off the freeway and decided to simply take the street home, but every single street…EVERY single street from there on and for the next 45 min was going to be jamm packed full of cars. I’m talking bumper to mother f’ing bumper.
BUMPER TO MOTHER F’ING BUMPER! It took a while before it really got to me. It did. When I realized there was nothing we could do and we were going to be stuck like that for a very long time I just cracked. I wanted to jump out of the car and run away screaming tearing my hair out. I wanted to run a baby over. Kick a school kid. Throw my cigarette at a bum. I wanted to shove my foot over and on top of Rigid’s foot, put the pedal to the medal and plow through each and every single one of those f’ing cars in front of us. All I did was express my quickly mounting frustration and disappointment. All Rigid did was tell me there was nothing that could be done about it and not to worry. We’d be home in no time. It’s okay.
We bobbed and weaved, bobbed and weaved from one street to the next, and to our great misfortune, never actually having gone absolutely anywhere since it seems we got a little lost kind of sort of driving around in circles. Really, really long…LONG circles. Still, we were making headway, but you see. I realized I should have gone to the bathroom almost as soon as we walked away from the Pub. 15 min’s into our blissful drive I knew I really should have gone at the Pub. 10 min’s stuck in traffic on the street and I knew I really, really should have gone at the pub.
Rigid suggested we stop at a gas station, but those things give me the heebie jeebies and despite my grumpy attitude I did my best to remain hopeful that we wouldn’t be stuck for much longer. At this point we had been stuck for nearly 1hr. My grumpy attitude can be rather infectious because Rigid was showing signs of impatience as well. Not with me, but with the situation. He expressed it rather loudly at all vehicles not abiding by the rules of driver etiquette. We were both seriously annoyed.
Suddenly and without warning I could feel every bump and swerve. Every lane change and every single stop abrupt or no. It was awful. It certainly didn’t help that Rigid kept reminding me that I should have gone when he first told me to. We were finally speeding along, no longer in stop and go traffic and on the right path, but I was dying. I felt like my bladder was going to turn itself inside out and burst in my belly. It was so bad I started to break out in a cold sweat. Rigid looked and looked for somewhere to stop, but we were in the industrial side of town. We finally came across a gas station. Rigid stopped the car rather abruptly and I felt like I was going to mess myself right then and there. I was in agony and I knew that if I stood up and there was no bathroom at that gas station I would probably faint trying to get back to the car so I asked Rigid to ask for the bathroom key.
He was not a happy boy. You see, those shoes he was wearing are too small for his feet. They were a Christmas present from me to him a few years ago. You’d think he would have considered taking them back, but no instead he wears a useless pair of Armani shoes because it’s the only thing that matches his shoes.
He huffed and puffed about having to put his shoes back on. Didn’t I understand how much his feet hurt? Most definitely yes, so…I should step out of the car, rush with a full bladder to the gas station attendant and take the risk that there would be no bathroom? Yes… because that’s exactly what happened to Rigid. He knew how badly I needed to go and he stood in line like a retard waiting for the 4 or 5 people in front of him to pay for their gas. I panted in the car not believing what I was seeing. I was starting to seeth, but it was my fault. I knew what the true problem was. He wasn’t the one going to the bathroom and I’m sure on some level that made him uncomfortable so I told him to buy me a pack of cigarettes…I was paying for being considerate of his feelings. What I should have done was kick his ass out of the car and tell him to go straight to the attendant in front of anyone else in line, tell them it was an emergency and run back to the car immediately.
He ambled out of the gas station like a cripple. I wanted to run up to him and kick him in the nads. ‘I’ll give you something to limp about bitch!’, I thought.
He gruffly told me there was no bathroom, threw himself into the car shaking my bladder to pieces, winced in agony from his poor battered feed and slammed the door shut. I wanted to punch him in the face so badly. I swear, I wouldn’t lie. I wanted to rip his hair out, but he’s shaved it all off. At that moment if he still had that shabby excuse for a mustache I probably would have trimmed it off hair by fucking hair! I held my breath as I sat there squeezing my legs tight.
We drove off and continued to look. Ever shop, every liquor store and ever mom and pop restaurant looked so inviting. Hell, even the dark side streets started to look good, but I couldn’t even suggest it. I was just trying to keep myself together. I told him to stop being mean to me, to please be a little more considerate and that I’m really in a lot of pain. All he did was tell me how much pain HE was in, that and remind me that if I had just gone when he said I should go everything would be fine and we wouldn’t be in this predicament. BY YOUR COMMAND… Next time, I swear, next time.
Rigid drove into a burger joint, but there was a huge sign on the front window that said, ‘NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS!’
“Oh my god!”, I screeched.
Rigid said in his most exasperated tone, “What do you expect? We’re in the ghetto!”
He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t actually expect anything more. And that’s when I started to cry. I started to feel so sorry for myself. There I was, in terrible pain, something I’ve never really experienced before and all my husband could do was complain about his feet and the woman at the gas station that pissed him off because she had no key. He couldn’t find it in his heart to pat me on the leg or hold my hand. He couldn’t reassure me that he’d find a place and that everything would be alright. He couldn’t pretend to care so much that he would say he would go so far as to knock someone’s door down just for me. Just so I would be okay…Couldn’t even pretend to care. It made me feel so wretched and alone that I cried.
He must have felt something when he saw my tears because then said, “There’s another gas station up ahead. You’ll go to the bathroom and you’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
How special. It has feelings after all, no wait, isn’t that what they call an instinctive response? By instinctive response I mean the exact transition between non-feeling bastard to somewhat-feeling shit face as soon as the brain can process that a girl is crying. The following is an example of EXACTLY what happens in a mans head: Girl cry > Boy give comfort > Girl stop cry > Oogga oogga
Usually something stupid will come out. I’ve learned to ignore it.
He pulled into the gas station and parked sharply. For all I know it wasn’t sharply at all, but I was in so much pain I couldn’t tell anymore. I was shivering and felt a cold sweat about to come on. I tried to get out of the car, but I couldn’t move. One leg at a time I struggled to get up. He never offered to help me. Instead he stood there waiting for me to get out telling me that as soon as I went I’d be fine. Could have gone to see if there was a bathroom, true, but I didn’t even ask him. I just didn’t want to fight anymore. I did my best to walk straight. There were so many people at the station and in front of the store front that my cheeks burned. It felt like they knew exactly what was happening. They stared at me and knew I had to go to the bathroom really bad, but I walked as straight as I could and held the contents of my bladder in place holding my breath the entire way to the attendant behind the glass. Rigid hobbled beside me all the way.
We needed a quarter to get into the bathroom. Rigid handed me the quarter, but I couldn’t figure out how to use it. In my panicked state I just couldn’t figure out what slot it was and I didn’t want to screw it up. I had to get in there fast! He complained of course, but I just ignored him and told him to hurry. He opened the door for me and let me in, but the bathroom was a mess. There was a mess on the toilet seat and in front of the toilet as if no one had cleaned it for hours. It reeked. I asked Rigid to come in and help me, but he said no. I told him to help me please, but he said we’d be arrested. If I had the strength I would have yanked him in by his short and curlies, but instead I doubled over in pain and squealed that he at least fix the seat for me.
He was flustered and from the doorway reached for a toilet seat cover, waved it over the toilet seat all the while holding the door open with his foot so as not to violate any laws. I nearly caught his foot in the door when I pushed it closed and yanked him in. Still, he wasn’t much help and I did it myself. There was no pressure in my bladder. I mean, it came out, but the pressure was so low that it took me for ever to finish. I don’t think it’s ever taken me that long to go. It was insane.
I washed my hands and prepared for the humiliating march back to the car. Rigid hobbled right a long side me.
We then got back in the car and proceeded to fight with each other the rest of the way home shortly after setting off. I don’t know why and I don’t know when…I barely remember what was said, but at some point (probably because he had nothing else to fight back with) he threw in the PMS line.
OH NO HE DIDN’T!!!
Yes… He did. I think Al Paccino said it best, “ Pms…PMS? You want PMS? I’ll show you stinkin’ PMS. Say jehlloo to my bloody frien’! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA… AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…”
Yeah… I let it happen. He said it and I let it be exactly what he said it was. It became what I like to call a total PMS brain fuck, but things are different now. We can recognize it all now. We know what’s happening. If he doesn’t have enough caffeine or too much he can forget to recognize certain situations and tends to make them worse than they need to be. If he makes them worse and he catches me at the wrong time my monthly hormones rear their ugly head and I turn into a monster. Because we can recognize this, we eventually shut our traps and drove the rest of the way home in bitter silence.
We stopped for food, ate at home and barely spoke three words to one another. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. He pretended like he didn’t notice and acted surprised when I closed the door in front of him. He never bothered to say he was sorry. Maybe he did at some point in the car, but I’m sorry just doesn’t work. I’m sorry isn’t enough. So I closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere else.
That night, I dreamt of him. I dreamt that he was making me laugh. That his body was bulging with muscles I didn’t know he had. I dreamt that I loved him so madly I would do anything for him. When the alarm woke me up I nearly started laughing and I wanted to snuggle up to him and hold his warm body next to mine, but the bitterness came up like bad food leaving a ugly taste in my mouth. I was still angry. I heard him moan and groan. I heard him get up over and over again to wet his cloth moaning and groaning constantly. I heard him get more pills. I wanted to help him, but then I remembered what he said. He asked me why he should have to be nice and comforting to me when I’ve been in asshole to him when he doesn’t feel well. Why should he have to comfort me when he’s in so much pain? It wasn’t exactly like that but you get what I mean. The effect was the same, he put his feelings before mine and he didn’t care because apparently I’ve done the same.
I have not, but that was fine. Let’s see how he likes it when I don’t get up to help him with his migraine. When there’s no nice alcohol laden cloth resting on his head. No words of comfort whispered in his ear. No soothing hands at his neck and cheek making sure he’s not got a temperature. In fact, I think I smacked him in the arm while it was resting on his head. I think I threw my pillow in his stomach and my wet towel at his head. I slammed the door everywhere I went and came back in to slam it again after whispering choice words in his ear. I instantly regretted it. I regretted it all.
He called me as I was less than halfway through with the post I intended on leaving early this morning. I pretended like I hadn’t forgiven him. He apologized and said all the right things after a little prompting on my behalf. I was just checking honey. I was just checking if you thought I was still worth it. I stayed late at work to finish this because I truly couldn’t think of a better way to apologize. I’m glad everyone is gone because the tears are streaming down my face.
I’m coming home now.
Mistimed: 1:58 PM