taking the passive out of passive-aggressive

Monday, March 14, 2005

A day in the life of the Home of Dismay:

Queen Bee is learning how to talk. Loudly, in the crib. No sense postponing the inevitable--it's gonna be bottle time soon. Poke husband in the ribs (same poke as when he's snoring--he's kind of used to it now). "Ugh?" he says, but in his superfine way gets up and makes a bottle of formula for the little miss. (He can't resist the ladies!)

Stumble downstairs and chug some cranberry juice, smoke cigarette in basement. Hope that no one wakes up for a little while so I don't have to speak.

Household begins to rouse, slowly but surely. Much grumbling. At least I washed Amanda's uniform last night. I feel so organized!

Mattie Poppins arrives. She has swollen glands and can't speak. Calls my mother to see if she wants the Queen Bee for a while, so she can go home and recover. Mattie Poppins is remarkable in many ways, not least of which is the fact that she is ill at least as much as The Husband. She reports that the box lacrosse match she went to in Philly was nowhere near as exciting as it should have been.

At my desk, which borders dangerously on the kitchen. The receptionist spends a lot of time in the kitchen, and tends to use my cube-mate's phone as though it's her very own phone, at her very own desk. She does not use my phone this way, which I attribute to my ability to deliver withering looks.

In the weeds. The new job seems to entail listening to everyone's problems. I find the Russian programmer's problems especially poignant. What is it about the Russians? All of life is a great, existential tragedy. When he tells me the clients actually call him directly, I feel as though my soul is being torn apart. I would do anything to stop his pain! And yet I suspect the pain is so deep, it can nevr be ameliorated.

Lunch to celebrate one of the boys' 25th birthday. I realize I am the oldest person on the team. Feel momentarily sad, then superior. After all, if I'm losing my looks, at least I'm gaining wisdom in exchange. Or something.

A meeting that was scheduled for 5:30 finally takes place. I'm not sure who in their right mind schedules a meeting at 5:30 but I'm going with it. I sit on the floor and then realize I have a hole in my tights. Quelle horreur.

Go to The Mother's to pick up the Queen Bee and snarf down some tenderloin and Caesar salad. Try to be nice to my Future Stepfather. Isn't there a statute of limitations on stepparents? I mean, after 18, aren't you incapable of having a stepparent? The Bee has been won over by The Mother. When I walk in (normally an occasion for handclapping and joy) she merely looks at me, nonplussed, and turns to The Mother. Suddenly her face is wreathed in smiles! I realize that they have been giving her hundreds of pieces of white bread and letting her play with the cell phone and paint-color chips all day.

Home again. Amanda is over at the neighbors, where they prepare special "children's meals" (e.g. mac and cheese). Evidently she is also dressed as a Druid, carrying a mock-scythe, and playing "Dr. Doomsday" with the neighborhood children. (She is "Mrs. Doomsday." Huzzah!) Husband has been drinking coffee & is cheerful. Consider going to bed early; abandon the idea. Talk to husband about superstring theory, which neither of us understands in the remotest way.

Spend some time reading other people's blogs; realize how smart everyone else is; undergo crisis of confidence (5 minutes). Put all children to bed. Smoke a few cigarettes. Think about blogging. Blog. Erase. Blog again.

Where the FUCK did this night go? I can't believe it's bedtime. No, wait. I can't believe I have a bedtime! I thought being an adult was all about having cake for dinner and staying up til 3am! Dammit! My wasted youth. I'm wasting it as I write! Goodbye, another day, goodbye!


At 4:19 AM, Blogger dogfaceboy said...

You have really brought back some sweet memories with all this talk of 3 AM bedtimes and cake for dinner. Cake is my favorite food. White with white frosting. From the Giant. I dream of cake. I wrote a 2,500-word essay about cake.

Don't lose confidence. I love your blog. And you get brownie points for mentioning cake in this particular entry. Or would they be cake points?

At 9:04 AM, Blogger The Cybrarian said...

What a great post, I might bite your style for my Bahamas travelouge!Speaking of, you need a vacation... without the family. But I guess you just started a new job. Hey, when are you going to the beach this year?


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