Heartburn and Fuzzy Monkeys.
My right hand is shoved up a monkey's ass. My left hand is holding a nacho chip, saturated with salsa that is now running down my wrist, forearm and ultimately dripping from my elbow onto the table.
The monkey is a stuffed animal, a puppet. There's a two year old boy to my left, and a woman otherwise known as my girlfriend, sitting across from me. The boy is hyper. The girlfriend is hyper because of the hyperactive boy. The boy is writing his own Seinfeld script that goes beyond "double dipping"; his chip is now floppy-wet from his quadruple, quintiple, sextuple dippings into the salsa bowl (It's looks like a Mexican version of Dippin' Sticks candy, if you remember those). Inbetween his dippings and drippings, he barks an occasional two-year old tourettism, like "WIGGLES!" The girlfriend sitting across from me reminds him to use his indoor voice. She then threatens him with--ooooh!--a "Time Out." I'm trying to entertain the boy with the monkey puppet while simultaneously trying to eat salsa and chips. The girlfriend is trying to get him to be quiet and eat without looking like Jackson Pollack at work on a new canvass. The boy is hyper. The girlfriend is hyper. I'm in hell.
You see, I took the day off from work today for two reasons: 1) To clean up our cracked-out apartment. 2) To have some "me" time away from situations as described above. My girlfriend didn't originally know I had today off, but as is ultimately the case in any situation where I try to take back some control of my life, things for me became one big fuck-a-roo: In a last minute scheduling change, she didn't have to be at work today until 10:00 a.m. She's a nanny, by the way. The little boy is her job.
I was going to surprise her tonight by having her come home to a clean apartment. Things were to be cleaned. Things were to be dusted. Clothes were to be washed, with April-fresh fabric softener mind you, pressed and neatly folded away into drawers. Furniture was to be moved because of the new flooring that is going into our place. It was going to be a nice place to enter when she got home. I envisioned her opening the door, preparing to avert her eyes, as usual, to the white elephant not in the room but the white elephant that has become our entire living situation. And then--Nirvana! Before her would be the urban vision of the Elysian Fields. A place one could open his or her eyes to and bask in the glory as if it was a warming sun from a friendly god. This may or may not still happen. But now that I'm back from lunch with her and the boy what am I doing? I'm Ranting-n-Rolling. From the time I woke up to now, over five hours of productive time has been lost. This apartment needs more than a good cleaning. It needs a blessing from God or a pact with the Devil to get it back up to habitable standards. With a lot of time, I could work some magic here. But now? Well, take a look:
Part of the living room
The dingy dining area
My desk. . . Looking pretty normal, actually
I will not show the kitchen, bedroom or bathroom. Some states still have strict anti-obscenity and decency laws. I'm not angry at my girlfriend per se. I really enjoy spending time with her. Her employer gave her the car today, so she called me up to invite me out to lunch with her. This was nice. I did warn her that I still had a lot to do (the cleaning "surprise" was basically fucked when I found out she was going into work later). No problem. It would be a "quick" lunch. When we arrived at a Mexican restaurant, from time to time I could separate myself from the table chaos and just stare into her eyes and enjoy the company of this human being that I love. On the other hand, when the little boy was really beginning to dig into the salsa, I ripped it away from him and made the following funny comment, "That's enough for you kid. You've got two selfish adults sitting at the table with you, and we won't stand for this!" Ha-ha.
Ha-ha? Yes. What's not so "ha-ha" though is I realize there was a lot of truth in this comment. The girlfriend, the soulmate, the one I have actually pictured having kids with. . . Now, I wonder. I wonder and worry that for it to be possible with her if I wouldn't have to give up everything that is important to me. I mean, just to make this relationship work at all, sometimes I feel I have given up a lot that I would never have compromised on previously. Things like "time." Married people: Is it always like this? I'm starting to think there is a "Time Monster" that finds you once you're involved (or entrenched) in a serious relationship. I picture this monster to look like a cross between the Tazmanian Devil and Woody Allen. Its ears are much larger and very sensitive. It can hear you say things like "I'm free for the day" from miles away. It's eyes are larger as well. I don't keep anything written down in a datebook anymore for fear that the Time Monster's large, bespectacled eyes will be able to see what my plans are so that it can fuck them up. I worry that it can also hear your thoughts and see into your heart. Another reason, incidentally, why I don't write anything down in a datebook anymore is because I would need to write everything in pencil and have ten extra erasers on hand because of how quickly unexpected plans and changes pop up. Honestly folks, I'm more frustrated than a hemorroidal Richard Gere on a gerbil farm. To mutate a John Lenninism, Life is what is "happening" to me while I try, and have just about given up on, making other plans.
Finally, I have horrible heartburn right now. I don't think it's from the Mexican food I ate for lunch.
Something's gotta give. Thanks for letting me vent here, and I apologize for posting such a self-indulgent entry.
And honey, if by chance you read this entry, please don't freak out about me posting the pictures of our crack-den living conditions.
The monkey is a stuffed animal, a puppet. There's a two year old boy to my left, and a woman otherwise known as my girlfriend, sitting across from me. The boy is hyper. The girlfriend is hyper because of the hyperactive boy. The boy is writing his own Seinfeld script that goes beyond "double dipping"; his chip is now floppy-wet from his quadruple, quintiple, sextuple dippings into the salsa bowl (It's looks like a Mexican version of Dippin' Sticks candy, if you remember those). Inbetween his dippings and drippings, he barks an occasional two-year old tourettism, like "WIGGLES!" The girlfriend sitting across from me reminds him to use his indoor voice. She then threatens him with--ooooh!--a "Time Out." I'm trying to entertain the boy with the monkey puppet while simultaneously trying to eat salsa and chips. The girlfriend is trying to get him to be quiet and eat without looking like Jackson Pollack at work on a new canvass. The boy is hyper. The girlfriend is hyper. I'm in hell.
You see, I took the day off from work today for two reasons: 1) To clean up our cracked-out apartment. 2) To have some "me" time away from situations as described above. My girlfriend didn't originally know I had today off, but as is ultimately the case in any situation where I try to take back some control of my life, things for me became one big fuck-a-roo: In a last minute scheduling change, she didn't have to be at work today until 10:00 a.m. She's a nanny, by the way. The little boy is her job.
I was going to surprise her tonight by having her come home to a clean apartment. Things were to be cleaned. Things were to be dusted. Clothes were to be washed, with April-fresh fabric softener mind you, pressed and neatly folded away into drawers. Furniture was to be moved because of the new flooring that is going into our place. It was going to be a nice place to enter when she got home. I envisioned her opening the door, preparing to avert her eyes, as usual, to the white elephant not in the room but the white elephant that has become our entire living situation. And then--Nirvana! Before her would be the urban vision of the Elysian Fields. A place one could open his or her eyes to and bask in the glory as if it was a warming sun from a friendly god. This may or may not still happen. But now that I'm back from lunch with her and the boy what am I doing? I'm Ranting-n-Rolling. From the time I woke up to now, over five hours of productive time has been lost. This apartment needs more than a good cleaning. It needs a blessing from God or a pact with the Devil to get it back up to habitable standards. With a lot of time, I could work some magic here. But now? Well, take a look:
Part of the living room
The dingy dining area
My desk. . . Looking pretty normal, actually
I will not show the kitchen, bedroom or bathroom. Some states still have strict anti-obscenity and decency laws. I'm not angry at my girlfriend per se. I really enjoy spending time with her. Her employer gave her the car today, so she called me up to invite me out to lunch with her. This was nice. I did warn her that I still had a lot to do (the cleaning "surprise" was basically fucked when I found out she was going into work later). No problem. It would be a "quick" lunch. When we arrived at a Mexican restaurant, from time to time I could separate myself from the table chaos and just stare into her eyes and enjoy the company of this human being that I love. On the other hand, when the little boy was really beginning to dig into the salsa, I ripped it away from him and made the following funny comment, "That's enough for you kid. You've got two selfish adults sitting at the table with you, and we won't stand for this!" Ha-ha.
Ha-ha? Yes. What's not so "ha-ha" though is I realize there was a lot of truth in this comment. The girlfriend, the soulmate, the one I have actually pictured having kids with. . . Now, I wonder. I wonder and worry that for it to be possible with her if I wouldn't have to give up everything that is important to me. I mean, just to make this relationship work at all, sometimes I feel I have given up a lot that I would never have compromised on previously. Things like "time." Married people: Is it always like this? I'm starting to think there is a "Time Monster" that finds you once you're involved (or entrenched) in a serious relationship. I picture this monster to look like a cross between the Tazmanian Devil and Woody Allen. Its ears are much larger and very sensitive. It can hear you say things like "I'm free for the day" from miles away. It's eyes are larger as well. I don't keep anything written down in a datebook anymore for fear that the Time Monster's large, bespectacled eyes will be able to see what my plans are so that it can fuck them up. I worry that it can also hear your thoughts and see into your heart. Another reason, incidentally, why I don't write anything down in a datebook anymore is because I would need to write everything in pencil and have ten extra erasers on hand because of how quickly unexpected plans and changes pop up. Honestly folks, I'm more frustrated than a hemorroidal Richard Gere on a gerbil farm. To mutate a John Lenninism, Life is what is "happening" to me while I try, and have just about given up on, making other plans.
Finally, I have horrible heartburn right now. I don't think it's from the Mexican food I ate for lunch.
Something's gotta give. Thanks for letting me vent here, and I apologize for posting such a self-indulgent entry.
And honey, if by chance you read this entry, please don't freak out about me posting the pictures of our crack-den living conditions.
posted by Rant-N-Roll at 10:49 AM
1 Comments:
Rant,
Beautiful entry. So interesting that you apologize for a self-indulgent entry...on YOUR own blog that is for YOU.
Your home doesn't look that awful. I hope you were able to do a little of your surprise that day. It will always be one of those things that shifts from clean to clutter depending on how life is treating you at the time.
Speaking of time, there certainly is never enough of it. But you will undoubtedly transition from boyfriend, to husband, to father with grace. You will figure out what can stay on your schedule, what you are willing to sacrifice, what you will always make time for, and what you will juggle along the way. I have faith in you.
As a woman who is recently a wife (again) and attempting motherhood whenever nature will allow it, I am carefully watching and marvelling at how other couples as parents do it. The secret is definitely balancing it all and consistently making time for all three things: yourself, your spouse, and your kids. And it can be done. Notice the order...very, very important.
I wake up every Saturday morning when I damn well feel like it and say to myself, "Wow, another Saturday of anything I want. I will treasure all of these that I have left." I'm slowly preparing myself to be less selfish, more giving.
You get this time for you. And then later you will still carve out you-time.
Thanks again for the post. I wish you all good things in your future, with or without a fist up a monkey's ass.
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