{"id":1380,"date":"2006-10-24T00:38:22","date_gmt":"2006-10-24T07:38:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/dee-rob.com\/wordpress\/index.php\/2006\/10\/my-life-as-a-50s-sitcom\/"},"modified":"2006-10-24T00:38:22","modified_gmt":"2006-10-24T07:38:22","slug":"my-life-as-a-50s-sitcom","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dee-rob.com\/wp\/my-life-as-a-50s-sitcom\/","title":{"rendered":"My life as a 50s sitcom"},"content":{"rendered":"

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\nSadly, Jane Wyatt passed from this mortal coil. <\/a> But, damn, at 96 years, she sure had a long run.<\/p>\n

I tip my hat to the woman who knew best, in that way women know better than their kindly well-meaning mates. Maybe with Donna Reed and Barbara Billingsley, aka Mrs. Cleaver, she was the seminal perfect woman. (Get it, huh, get it? I said “seminal” for like chicks.)<\/p>\n

The construct was simple. They knew the inside skinny and every now and again the man would piss them the fuck off. Then, there would be some moral, metaphorical kind of doghouse. And, hangdog hubby would sit out the storm.<\/p>\n

In the end, roses, candy maybe, a cheek smooch and some kind of santized grabass, and life was back on an even plain in a rainbow-studded horizon.<\/p>\n

So, guess who spent a chunk of the weekend in the doghouse?<\/p>\n

We’ve discovered the deeper, anxiety-ridden, ultimately Type A version of M. He got hired away by the major competitive force in the chosen area of his curren open source fanaticism, embedded technology. Everywhere there’s a chip and goddamnit someone needs to sell the OS and\/or software that’s firing them chips into action.<\/p>\n

In between his last gig, and the new, sweet promises of milk and honey from the real deal corporation, post-start up and with a current workable business plan, like money baby, bling, bling, he’s taken a couple of weeks. Turns out, he’s more neurotic than I am and that just fucking ain’t a ray of sunshine living. He’s grumpily unemployed and uncertain, despite knowing perfectly well what’s coming next. (OK, to be fair, new place, new people, new office, new rituals, all can stress you out like a motherfucker.)<\/p>\n

Lot’s of sitcom variety bickering and if we had a stuffed closet, no doubt Fibber McGee would send it’s contents rattling to the floor.<\/a><\/p>\n

Lots of fighting energy wasted. Perhaps the darkest hour being the ugly Madonna as African Mother “discussion.”<\/p>\n

Formula being formula, by the end of a weekend, which to be fair had it’s high points, like a night out in SF and checking out a house for sale just a left turn and a couple of blocks away from the ghetto, I was pouting, he was doghouse living. (Of course, apart from his stress, there’s the added joy of my job. This week is kind of a test of my sense of humor and any shred of patience extraordinaire. I’d write more, but you know recividism in weblog land is pure boneheadedness.)<\/p>\n

One thing about work, I’m learning my own version of a humble Buddhist existence with a dollop of twelve-steppiness. It takes a lot for me to sit by and just watch stupid unfold in it’s slow, creeping path and inevitable, inexhorable progress. To just nod and smile internally is surely a lesson and opportunity for growth.<\/p>\n

Angry woman + embattled spousal equivalent = That which I had successfully dodged for over 42 years. Namely, the dozen long stems delivered to the desk.<\/p>\n

The receptionists came up to my desk, beautiful vaseload of blooms in hand. I actually told him, “There must be a mistake, those aren’t for me.” He showed me the card.<\/p>\n

D’oh. Mortification doesn’t really do justice for my peculiar sense of embarassed shyness while the chicks in the office took note. Inward pleasure I can do, but I’m downright Amish and looking for something “plain” on the showy side. Yup, that’s my secret freakishness.<\/p>\n

The card said only, “By M.,” because he helped design the arrangement. (Try ‘splaining the M. appellation to people who cannot know the M. weblog chronicles even exist.)<\/p>\n

I took some massively crappy photos. But, one’s kind of cool thanks to a little Photoshop doctoring and a gray background.<\/p>\n

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