Just Because I'm Paranoid Doesn't Mean The Universe Isn't Against Me

I don't even know where to begin. Let's start with the totally irrelevant. My blog has been dissed. No, wait, that's not quite accurate . . . my blog's title has been sneered at by a young woman, actually, an ex-patriate American in the U.K. who claims to be tired of cynicism and then picks my blog as one of her illustrations of this flaw among blogs. She clearly hasn't read the blog, she just didn't like my description:

What I'm finding on Bloglines is everyone feels the need to pretend they don't care. Or they use things that are supposedly wonderfully and amazingly fantastic to entice you in. Foilwoman's Diary promises you'll read about the following problems: "It's hard to be a superhero in stylish, yet affordable shoes, especially now that Buffy the Vampire Slayer is ancient history. How do I save the world, support my family, not squash my spouse's fragile ego, raise my kids right, and find fulfilment while maintaining my moral compass?" Why the moral compass description? Why the comment about the shoes? Would that actually bring in an audience besides friends?

This under a post stating "I'm tired of being a cynic". I've got news for this chiquita. If she's tired of cynicism WTF is she doing living in the U.K.? And on what planet is my blog an exercise in cynicism? If anything, the mortal flaw of this blog is that it is painfully earnest. I am painfully earnest. Needless to say, this young woman has entitled her blog Criminally Vulgar. I am inclined to agree with her. Needless to say, I wrote something intemperate on her blog, which I don't regret yet, but probably will later. Oh well. Tell me what I moron I am (why do I care, again?).

Oh, I remember why I care: it is because my life sucks big time, like a big dog, beyond the telling of it, most particularly today. So, since the other problems are insoluble (no, they're not, but they feel that way now), I'll focus on what some completely-unimportant-to-me-and-amost-every-other-person-on-the-planet-twenty-something-who-doesn't-know-the-difference-between-cynicism-and-painfully-exposed wrote about my blog's title while she criticized everything else on the planet over a month ago -- yes, I just discovered the pan of my blog made on June 13 today, what can I say . . . I'm not such a quick study? (She's also a rabid fan of Depeche Mode, which I think means I should probably just feel pity). Except she's in IT, and could probably trash my blog, so I'll shut up now. Feel free to check out my intemperate comment and tell me how immature I am.

Back to real life, which seems increasingly like a nightmare, although one good thing has occurred: the Foilbaby arrived home hale and hearty. She has another tooth appearing, does some impressive flapping with the arms, and smiled non-stop upon seeing me.

Mr. Foilwoman immediately took exception to the state of the house. As I have been rising at 5:30 a.m. to walk the Foildog, then walk a mile to the subway, then work 8 hours, then walk a mile home from the subway, then work on my freelance projects, then walk the dog again, in order to make money to support his luxury habit addiction (and his vacation), no, I confess, I did not clean the house. Chances of me cleaning the house in the next millenia now? Zero.

Then he went into full "not-quite-here-in-the-real-world-rant" and accused me of disobeying him and not listening to him by cancelling the lawn service ($200+ per month) and buying a $10 used mower. I mowed almost all the front lawn yesterday, but the mower ran out of gas. Since I was carless, I didn't feel like walking two miles to the nearest gas station to carry home a gallon. So he was mad me not only for the extremely reckless purchase of a $10 mower, but for failing to finish the lawn. Although I had never previously been informed of this ailment, apparently he is allergic to grass (and we moved to the suburbs and he didn't mention this back in 2002, when we bought the damn house???). He wanted to return the mower to the sellers. Fortunately, they were diplomats who have left for Lima, and you can't make people in another country and on another continent rescind purchases.

We again got on the subject of retirement accounts. "Why do we need retirement accounts?" he asked me with a straight face. I said, perhaps a bit too snappily, "For our retirement?" He started screaming that we needed to use our retirement savings to pay our current expenses. I said, "No, we need to trim our current expenses." He said, "You just don't get it." No, I don't. You can finance your lifestyle on credit or future dreams, but eventually, you get to pay the bill. Before credit cards, if you didn't have enough money, you went without. We certainly haven't been doing without before the last few months, and even now, my "cost cutting" strategies would be increases in living standards for 99% of the world's population (cheaper long-distance, no lawn service, no steak, no lobster, buy food on sale, no more clothing purchases, sell second car (did that), sell jewelry (on the list), keep track of expenditures). The fact that I have to debate these completely rational and not exactly draconian belt-trimming steps as an alternative to liquidating our retirement accounts leaves me furious.

My husband also managed to get a speeding citation for reckless driving (more than 20 mph over the speed limit) on his way to vacation. This could result in increased insurance rates, a hefty fine, or even a criminal citation. He will have to make a court appearance in northern New York state a month or so from now. He wants me to tell him what to do. Since he doesn't trust my judgment regarding finances, I'm rather wondering why I am so the expert now.

My father will be calling tonight and I just dread the conversation he will have with Mr. Foilwoman. And my Dad is fond of Mr. FW. Mr. FW is my father's favorite son-in-law. Probably not for much longer. What do you do when someone just doesn't want to face reality. We're not poor by any stretch -- we're just not currently earning an upper-middle class salary. But you know, living on a middle class salary requires some monitoring one's expenditures, but really not a tragedy.

As a result of all this, Mr. Foilwoman being so (and inappropriately) angry about the cessation of lawn service and other potential cutbacks and general unwillingness to hear what I have to say, now in addition to searching for work, doing independent contractor work, working 40 hours a week at a temp job, walking the dog twice a day, doing the lawn, I now have to do the finances as well. I think I'll just start leaving clothes on the floor where they fall as I disrobe. He can pick them up and launder them. Unless he's out of town, I'm not doing laundry. Or cleaning. Or doing dishes. Can you say passive aggressive?

Oh, and I have poison ivy on my arms, legs, tummy, and breasts. Yup. I was gardening in shorts and a sports top. I am punished. Of course, I should have been more covered up. Me in that kind of outfit would be kind of like seeing the Queen in that kind of outfit. Or John Candy in a speedo. I'll never do that again universe, I promise!