Sunday, October 24, 2004

Sackful of weasels

I don't know what my problem is, but I have been as irritable as a sackful of weasels all weekend. The relentlessly optimistic part of my brain is already chiming: "Hey! You're not usually like this! Maybe it's a sign that you are pregnant."

To which I snarl, "Shut up, brain." I don't think I'm pregnant. I think I am just extremely cranky. For no apparent reason.

Like most people, I am very bad company when I am in a grumpy mood. Unfortunately, I have been taking it out on poor E. who has been very patient with me. He doesn't deserve the brunt of my bitchiness, but really, if only he would put his fucking dishes in the fucking dishwasher, he would immediately eliminate about 60% of my daily snipe. Honestly, it drives me berserk, the constant ensemble of plates, dirty cups and spoons in or next to the sink. The fucking sink being directly next to the fucking dishwasher.

This is truly a long running irritant, but maybe because I am in a pissy mood, this weekend it has seemed worse than ever. For example, yesterday I had just finished emptying the dishwasher, and the tray was still pulled out when the phone rang. I went to answer it (wrong number), leaving the empty tray and the door open. By the time I came back, E. had managed to walk up to the counter, dump his breakfast dishes in the sink and walk back to the table. Readers, I proceeded to rip him a new one. I felt badly later, but my God. I can't tell you how many times I have begged, pleaded, cajoled, whimpered, nagged, promised blow jobs and the sacrifice of baby goats, if only he would do this one thing- Put. the. dishes. in. the. dishwasher. Please. Please. Pleeeeeeeease.

Neglect of the dishwasher aside, everything else has seemingly conspired to get on my nerves as well. The list is long and mundane. And, at the risk of annyoing you all with my endless ramblings about the scheduling of one measly test, I will tell you that I received a letter from the private hospital for my HSG appointment. Happy news, yes? Oh Yes. Except.

Except that they have scheduled it for the one and only day next month when I will be unavailable, and indeed, out of the country. Which means I will have to call up and try to get it rescheduled. Or else cancel E.'s birthday trip to Amsterdam. Consequently, I have been worrying about it all weekend. Now, I am sure I will be able to sort out something else, but it continues to make me fret, which I hate.

Lastly, I discovered, quite by accident, during an online search for something entirely unrelated to fertility, that my ex-husband and his new-ish wife have had a baby son. I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I know I have absolutely no right to complain about anything the ex-husband may do. And if the fertility gods smile kindly on him, and not me, following the demise of our relationship, well, boo fucking hoo. But I confess it bothers me a little.

I mean, didn't he get the memo? The one that says he has to spend the rest of his life pining for me? Living in monk-like solitude burning candles by the shrine of his great love lost? Not getting on with things, finding a nice girl who was actually willing to have sex with him (whereas I was not), marry him and bear his children. Living happily ever after, with wife and son in harmonious bliss, while I flail desperately. The bloody cheek of him, how dare he. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me- he managed to irritate me intensely while we were married, and why ruin a perfectly good trend.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go sulk in the corner with a petulant little scowly face.


At 3:35 PM, Blogger Soper said...

Kissyfaces! Look, look, I'm mooning you! Made you grin yet? No? Oh well, you mean OCD dish-obsessed woman, you can come live with D and I'll go live with E, as I HATE doing the dishes and NEVER EVER EVER do them. E and I will lounge around in our filth, eating off the floor and scratching ourselves while you and D live in an immaculately clean house and speak in hushed tones.

Know what you mean about exes. Come on, was I not the BEST you've ever had? How can you even think about not maintaining a shrine to me? Cyber-stalking me at least? Sending me penitent emails?


Sorry 'bout the HSG. I guess you have to ask yourself "Would I rather take a test that moves me a step closer to having a baby, or go smoke pot and engage in kinky sexual practices with Nordic women?"

I think we all know what the answer to that will be....Just remember not to bring any of the good stuff home with you.

At 3:36 PM, Blogger JJ said...

These guys just don't get it do they? I don't have any ex husbands, but all ex boyfriends I hear updates on all have wonderful wives and a plethora of children. Um... don't they know they are supposed to remain miserable their entire lives regretting they did not choose to spend it with me?

I'm sure E is way hotter then your ex anyways!

At 3:49 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

First of all, the dishwasher thing. Same here. What's the fucking deal with that?

Second, the ex. I've never been married before, but my ex-boyfriend of 4 years started having babies about 3 seconds after we broke up. Dick.

Thinking of you and your sackful of weasels.

At 3:58 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yes, yes. J. will not, for the life of him, put his socks in the hamper. The very large hamper right next to his bed. Or the very large hamper next to the shower in the bath. Will not. Cannot.

Sorry your gumps. I think the ex having a baby would get to me, too. It just reinforces how unfair life can be.

Middle Way

At 4:50 PM, Blogger Julianna said...

Okay Barren my dear, at the risk of sending you over the edge I will tell you what I learned from thousands of dollars of therapy and years of going to those appointments. Ready? Here it is:

"If it walks like a duck, acts like a duck, talks like a duck, quit being so surprised it is a duck."

There. Profound, no?

No....well, okay.

But what I learned is I have to change me somehow when something completely out of my control irritates me - E. is not going to change. He could irritate you your whole life or you can come up with a plan.

Let's study that.

Plan A: he can never eat in the house again
Plan B: he only eats with paper and plastic utensils
Plan C: he must take you out to eat for every meal
Plan D: he must pay for a cleaning lady
Plan E: trade something (you clean kitchen, he dusts and vacuums)

Is there something that he does well around the house? Can you give him those chores and that is the deal. He obviously hates putting things in the dishwasher, so what else can he do to help? There is a way.

I should be embarrassed, but what the fuck......I HATE cleaning the kitchen. I only do it because I have to and before I got married, I would let shit pile and pile in the sink and counter until there was enough out there for a full load and then I would empty and load the dishwasher. Now, my sister and I were roommates for a bit and that would send her over the edge, my spoons or cups or a saucer in or near the sink. She especially hated the little coffee drop that my spoons left on the counter after I stirred my coffee every morning. What did she think? I was going to go get a sponge for a stupid drop?

I am much better now but I know how your E. feels. He hates to do it and I know it doesn't make sense. How can you help him not have to do it? What can he do for you that would be a great trade off? Something that will make both of you happy.

At 5:07 PM, Blogger lobster girl said...

Ohhhh yes, the dishwasher. The fucking dishwasher. I will never understand that something that would take ONE SECOND is so completely impossible for my husband to accomplish. Open door, put cup in, close door. Voila, done. And yet, he cannot manage it.

And the hamper thing too, Marla. My husband's clothes lay in big, smelly piles on the floor. Some times, he will deign to put his dirty socks on TOP of the hamper, but he rarely managed to actually take off the lid and put the toxic stuff inside. I guess that would just be way too exhausting.

Okay, now I'm ranting. Should save this stuff for my own blog. Anyway, Mare, I feel your pain. As for the HSG and Amsterdam, hell's bell's girl, it would have to be that one day wouldn't it? Any chance the trip can be scheduled for another day? I mean, E. would understand, wouldn't he?

And as for your evil ex... how DARE he have children before you? And how dare he marry a goddamn fertile? How tremendously annoying of him. Sigh.

At 6:47 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Serious, what the fuck is up with the dishwasher thing? My husband does the exact same thing and it drives me crazy. He stacks the dishes neatly on the counter, right above the dishwasher. It makes me nuts. When his Mom and Dad came to stay for Christmas last year, his Dad does the same thing, now I know where he learned it. It drives his Mom crazy too. We don't know of any known cure except bitching at them.

I'm cranky too, perpetually cranky in my case. Not even chocolate helps. Sheesh.


At 9:17 PM, Blogger Stacy said...

I realized J will never, ever make it to the laundry basket. Hes just not gonna do it. I have accepted that but I will not accept having to turn his clothes right side out. So, if they make it to the floor, hamper, laundry pile inside out, he gets them back inside out. They may even be on a hanger when he gets them back but I WILL NOT turn them right side out!

At 10:38 PM, Blogger Jen P said...

Our dishwasher is nutty. We moved into this v posh executive house only to find that the dishwasher is GERMAN and has no instruction sheet. The knobs are foreign, the symbols are incoherrent and omg we have lived here for 6 months and we have not found a way to get a clean load of dishes!!

So we are forgiven for stacking dishes as it really is a nightmare trying to figure it out. Our oven -- just as strange. WHY they chose these...I don't know. Must be why we've gone to take-away Chinese with a vengeance.

Mare, I'm sorry your ex has a son. I can't imagine how that would feel. Probably the way it feels knowing I started a year before my sister-in-laws and now they have 2 and I have none.

Hoping you're doing ok this weekend and treat those weasels well!! Best wishes!

At 10:40 PM, Blogger Orodemniades said...

Hey, did you ever read the book called 'If You Don't Love Me, Why Aren't You Dead Yet?'.

No? It's funny. I recommend.

I think the dish thing might be a Scottish trait. Mr Oro does exactly the same thing. He also puts things to be thrown away, such as, say, empty beer cans, or trash, on the counter. Right next to the garbage can.

Sometimes I feel like it's a divorceable offense.

At 10:43 PM, Blogger Orodemniades said...

Oh, forgot to add that I recently told Mr Oro that if his dirty clothes aren't in the laundry basket, they won't be washed.

As his socks and underwear dimished, he got the idea right quick...

At 4:32 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Damn...I am impressed by the usage of th word fucking so many times...

If there was not one great big body of aqua between us I think I would have had to come right over to your house for company because 1. your potty mouth is as bad as mine...and 2. because I have been the biggest bitch this weekend. Enough that my husband ducked out in the rain to go for a bike ride....poor know they are so challenged in life. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get those dishes in the rack?

alex here from the bitchy kitchens of the infertile gourmet

At 3:35 PM, Blogger sherry said...

We don't have a dishwasher.

And I live with a messy hubby and an even messier houseguest.

Love you, Mare.

At 10:13 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ack. Ex husband. My ex boyfriend (of six years, so he was a substantial one) said he never wanted to get married or have kids. Six months after dumping me, he was married. I haven't gotten in contact with him because I know--I just KNOW--the fucker has kids.

I hate those bastards. All exes should be shipped to an island. Trouble is, husband is an ex of someone. So maybe just all exes who get their new wives pregnant easy.

And the dishwasher??? Don't even get me started. My husband leaves stanky food-remnant filled tupperware out for me to open and puke all over.

love ya, girl
karen/naked ovary

At 1:28 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ugh. I get the "punched in the gut" sensation...very much so. Doesn't matter if you left him because he was an irritating clod - it still sucks to get such news. So...since I'm on a rampage against fertile sil's - I might as well be on a rampage against the ex-husband's wives (and their undeserved fertility - no less!) of my bloggy friends. I'll be dusting off the good-ol' voodoo doll tonight!



Post a Comment

<< Home