Monday, Feb. 03, 2003
When the spousal unit comes home after work I stop my own work and together we make supper. It's a nice way to decompress and while we work on the meal we fill each other in about how our day has gone.
So of course Friday night I told him about the unbelievable random senseless drive by ma'am-ing. Story done, I looked at him expectantly. At the least I expected a remark about the obvious visual impairment of the guy at the border.
I got zip.
Now another woman would have understood immediately. There would have been looks of shock and incredulity that I had been ma'am-ed. Sure, these looks might not have been absolutely heartfelt, but We Women Know When To Fake Things.
Just between you and me, there are times when I think it's a miracle that any women are straight.
Oh, and it gets worse. I must have registered my disbelief at his lack of supportiveness because THEN he rolled his eyes at me.
I know. I was chopping green pepper at the time with a very large, sharp knife which means I was freakin' ARMED. You'd think that at this point in his life the man would know better than to roll his eyes at an armed woman.
I was rapidly descending into an Olympic-sized snit when he pulled out the mail. In it was a CD box. The spousal unit should get on his knees and bow before the one of my three loyal readers who is named Amy. Not only did she save him from possible bodily harm, she also averted an evening of heavy duty snittage because the moment I opened the box I started to laugh.
Behold WAM (the World According to Marn--not to be confused to the 1980's phenomenon Wham! which included a man best known now for his public restroom hijinks--not like me, a person who would NEVER do anything goofy in a public restroom.)
Me, I think of WAM as a Utopia, a place in which a pudgy 51-year-old is NEVER ma'am-ed AND she makes The Hulk and The Rock feel as if they were, in the words of Hans and Franz, girlie men.
I live in hope that one day I will know such a world.
This morning I test drove WAM in my gym and it earned the coveted Ten Beads of Sweat Award. I must say that my three loyal readers continue to amaze me with their eclectic taste in music. This mix contains everything from Bob Marley to The Ramones and has not one but TWO wondrous bits of Marvin Gaye Goodness.
(Although I try to hide it, because the spousal unit mocks me for it, I love Marvin Gaye with the hot, hot love of someone who grew up only 60 miles north of DEE-troyt City and spent their teen years awash in Motown music.)
Wait. It gets worse. I actually know and will shamelessly mouth all the words to "Let's Get It On" while in a gym surrounded by people I do not know. I proved both these assertions this morning.
I think we can all agree that if they ever invent a Dork-o-meter it will immediately self-destruct in a spectacular shower of electrical sparks should it come within five feet of me.
You know, I've heard that for many people with age comes wisdom. Guess it's my destiny to be the exception that proves the rule.
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine. Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.
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