Skip to main content

Spoiled

BMNB is out of town for a conference until Friday. I am completely out of whack.

When I was single, I never depended on the rhythm of someone else's life to set the rhythm of my own. It kind of creeps up on you when you're married, and you don't realize it until your spouse is gone for a significant amount of time.

When BMNB worked in the Bay Area and came home on weekends, I carried on as if I were single. I handled the bills, the dog, the cleaning, etc. Weekends were our time to catch up, and I didn't like wasting them on trivial stuff I could handle by myself.

But now that we live together full time, my what a wuss I've become! I'm spoiled, and I admit it. I am used to waking up to the sight of a handsome, naked man getting into the shower. I'm used to having someone to cuddle with when I come to bed, no matter how late. I'm used to having someone make up the bed shortly after I get out of it. I'm used to someone making my eggs for breakfast. (To my credit, I make my own coffee and toast.) I'm used to someone emptying and filling the dishwasher, taking out the trash, putting the garbage cans on the curb for garbage pickup, and picking up the dog poop. I'm used to someone dealing with service providers -- the water man from the city, the plumber, the contractor. I'm used to someone else being "The Verminator" and dealing with killing flies, Black Widows, and whatnot.

All of BMNB's daily routine triggers my own. Without him, whatever there is of my daily routine goes down the toilet. I sleep late, eat crap for breakfast, don't make the bed, and run the dishwasher when the dishes start to smell. But for the fact that our garbage can is rank, I would put off taking it to the curb for garbage collection until BMNB returns.

I can't wait until he returns, if for no other reason, to get back on track.

I'm spoiled. I admit it. You're probably wondering what I add to this marital equation, right?

Well, I cook. Okay, I cook when I feel like it, but I do a pretty good job when I do.

I clean out the fridge, pay the bills -- okay, I pay them online, but still -- grocery shop, plan the menus (when I cook) and walk and care for the dog (who is senile and suffering separation anxiety). Oh, and I can shop like a MF. This came in handy big time when BMNB had to go shopping to get clothes and shoes for his trip. He hates shopping and he sucks at it. I, on the other hand, take to shopping for others like a paratrooper dropped behind enemy lines. I accomplish my mission and get the hell out. BMNB likes that about me.

I keep the hardwood floors looking pretty spiffy. Does that count?

Oh, and I garden. The trellises, flowering vines, rose bushes and veggie garden? All me. BMNB waters. He's more of a "mow and blow" kind of guy.

I'm organizing the closet. I've put up shelf dividers and boxed and labeled most of my shoes (BMNB is still at a loss as to why women need so many shoes. I told him shoes are porn for women.) Does that count?

No matter what, I miss BMNB and can't wait for him to come home.

What a wuss I've become!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

When You Leave The Ghetto, Don't Bring It With You

NBA player Gilbert Arenas brings a gun to an NBA locker room. NBA player Ron Artest lets his pit bulls run wild and free in Loomis, California while playing for the Sacramento Kings. NFL player Michael Vick did time for fighting dogs. And NFL player Plaxico Burress is doing time for shooting his damn self.

What do all these men have in common? BMNB would say an inability to make a profound paradigm shift. I’m less eloquent than BMNB is, so I’ll say it differently: The inability to leave the ghetto behind.

Yes, call me saditty, bourgie, elitist, stuck-up, whatever. I don’t care. Until you’ve had a tweaker ruin your Thanksgiving turkey, you don’t even know (more on that later), and I’m not trying to hear you.

Living in Western Placer County, my husband and I continue to hear stories from folks like us who had to flee “those who can’t leave the ghetto behind.” You know these people, and they come in all races. In our case, we had returned to Sacramento in 2004 and 2005, respective…

Black Woman Blogging's Gun Control Proposal

Thanks to a relative who sent me death threats, I became a gun owner. Reluctantly.  What can I say.  You don't choose your family.

That said, I'm for gun control.

As far as I'm concerned, America lost its moral compass when we didn't do squat after Sandy Hook.  If you can allow a madman to murder children and not be moved to do nothing, you have no moral compass.  Period.

Now that we've broken an unfortunate record for the number of people killed in a mass shooting, perhaps we as a country are ready to get our minds right about gun control.  Perhaps.  So in that spirit, I offer my gun control proposal.

First, we need to agree on some real (not alternative) facts and principles:

1.  There is no such thing as an unlimited right.  Yes, people, there are no unlimited rights protected under the Constitution.  Your right to free speech?  Well, not all speech is protected under the First Amendment and even protected speech can be limited by time, place and manner.  Your…

Retired Man Walking: Too Young to Retire, Too Old to Take Shit

A while back I ran into a friend and fellow professional employed by the State of California, and he offered me his perspective on State employment as a tail-end Baby Boomer like myself -- someone who can't retire because he lacks the requisite age or years of service, but, unlike myself, is tired of taking shit from superiors who don't know what to do with you.

Although my friend gave his permission for me to use his name in this blog entry, I decline to do so because what he does is so specialized that it would not be hard for anyone to identify him as one of the few African American men, if not the only African-American man, in California state civil service who does what he does. For purposes of this blog entry, I will refer to him as he now refers to himself:  Retired Man Walking.

Retired Man Walking, or RMW, has an interesting philosophy he applies to working for the State as a professional who isn't old enough to retire but has been around long enough to know the s…