Friday, March 19, 2010

Dude Must Have a Deathwish

Last night I was sitting on the couch with Rob fretting about everything that still needs to be done before we can leave for our ski weekend, and trying to make some last minute decisions. I should clarify that I was doing the fretting and the decision making, he was playing Falling Down on his iPod. The big hang up for me was whether we should leave our dog with a friend or put board him at the vet. So I am making phone calls, thinking out loud, stressing out, and I finally ask St. Rob if he could possibly put his video game down for a minute and help me out and he says to me, "What's the big deal?"

What's. the. big. deal.

I can only assume that he has an unfulfilled wish to be bitten in the face, or crushed under my enormous weight, or otherwise maimed by me because if he didn't, he would never have uttered those words. What's the big deal. Jesus effing Christ.

Now, I get that I am a little type A when it comes to any kind of travel (exhibit A) I have enough self awareness to know that I am a total stressball before we go somewhere. I make a thousand lists, I talk to myself, I am irritable and shrill, and I am a complete martyr about the whole thing. I get it, okay? I know this about myself. But here's the thing: This man has been married to me for more than 13 years, people! HE SHOULD KNOW BETTER !!!

Oh! And you know what else? While I was looking at him in shock and horror after the What's the big deal comment, he says, "Why don't we just not go; you take all the fun out of getting ready for a trip like this." Holy effing shitballs. There are so many things wrong with this, I don't know how to separate them, but let's start with "taking the fun out of getting ready" for a trip: There is NO SUCH THING as having fun getting ready for a trip, which he would know if he ever actually got ready for a trip, but he hasn't, and do you know why? Because, while he sits in his climate controlled cubicle at city hall all day doing quiet and contemplative work, interrupted only by his noon yoga class and his nap on the bus, I AM DOING EVERYTHING! All this shithead will have to do is get in the car and put it in drive. Seriously. And knowing him, he'll probably have one of his headaches and ask me to drive. Well, I've got his headache right here.

He says I should delegate to him, but how does that make sense? He's going to come home from work, eat dinner, and then at 8 o'clock go out and do all the shopping? Or make spaghetti sauce? Or find gloves and goggles for Leila to borrow? Really? Is he new around here? HAS HE MET ME?

I know what you're thinking: I bring this on myself. I am choosing to stress out, I am choosing to make 5 dozen chocolate chip cookies for the trip, I am choosing to lose sleep and make lists and freak out, and I could just as easily choose to mellow out and go with the flow. You're wrong, I cannot choose to mellow out, but more importantly, Rob and our friends will directly benefit from my being stressed and agro now because, as painful as it is for everyone around me, I am efficient, I am organized, I front load the work so I can relax on the trip and put my feet up, and I will have everything covered when we get there.

So, as it is with many of the trips we've embarked on, I want to kill my husband. I wanted to kill him for half the car ride to Disneyland, and I want to kill him now. Most of the time he is a saint and I am a shrew, but some of the time the shrew is right and the saint is clueless douchebag.

If you're reading this, Rob, you should tread very very carefully...

11 comments:

Brynne said...

My favorite quote is "the saint is a clueless douchbag", not that I think Rob is a clusless douchbag, but that is classic!

Alice said...

This illustrates exactly why we don't go anywhere. The preparation is not worth it (to me).

Anonymous said...

Poor Rob.........

lama said...

Reverse the gender roles and add an artificially imposed departure time constraint like he wants to be sitting relaxed outside the tent with a book and a beer by 4:30 pm and that's exactly what happens when we go camping. Except that the 5 dozen cookies are replaced with 5 twelve-packs of beer. We've discussed the feasibility of departing at separate times so that we don't have the stress of dealing with each other's departure processes (or lack thereof). I hope you have a wonderful trip despite the stress!!

Anonymous said...

You are horrible. Rob is correct. Yeah all Rob does is work all day, everyday and all you do is sit around and write about how you do NOTHING all the time.

He is the one who needs the vacation.

I am thinking he needs a loooong vacation from you!

You had better wise up and start wondering what YOU bring to this relationship. Life is a partnership, and it looks to me that Rob has an adversary, not a partner.

Lighten up said...

Wow, yes, I don't know you but anonymous is right. And so is Rob. It sounds like you take all the fun out of preparing for and going on vacation. Why should your husband bear the brunt of your obsessive pre-trip worrying? I am willing to bet that if you did allow him to help, he would not do it right and you would yell at him. Am I right?

Anonymous said...

I'm with St. Rob on this one. He works and commutes and you get to go on two vacations (vacations from self-proclaimed "doing nothing") in two months? Sorry - playing the world's smallest violin...

Bored Housewife said...

Oh, relax, everybody. St. Rob laughed through the whole post. You'll see.

Prudie said...

You're right. He is clueless!

catherinette said...

Balls make men do stupid things. You should know this by now. ;)

Meg said...

Do you have a video camera in my house? Seriously, do you? Because more often than not, I am the shrew, Ryan is the saint...but every so often he makes in necessary for me to go on a killing spree. btw, you're effing hilarious.