You see, hubby and I were raised very differently, and we have many opposite likes. Him doing what he wants has the capacity to rub me against the velvet grain... A Lot. So this morning, I got up and went to get breakfast, and it became a fiasco that I won't even go into except to say, it was indicative of how my day was going to go.
You see, I came home to my hubby playing one of his many war-type-video-games. I hate these things. The constant shooting and barrage of shouts and yells and grenades and killing and being killed sets my hackles on edge. The fact that our son is in the room and being raised with this for 'background noise' irks me to no end. Having to listen to it for hours on end makes me angry--then again, maybe it's just the angry nature of the game. It's hostile and makes me hostile by proxy.
I went to the back for *ahem* personal business, and it got quiet... Finally. I guess I didn't send my thank you to God fast enough for the silence because before I knew it, I was being treated to an excessively loud rendition of one of his favorite Cd's. It is music that always makes me think of the part in Die Hard With A Vengeance where the Justin Long's character says of CCR, "...it's like having pine cones shoved up my ass." Ever since we've viewed that movie, I call this particular band 'Pine Cone Music'. It's the techno-sad-drug-addicted-newly-sober music of a band that I listened to in my teenage years, where my angst fit it's melancholy beautifully. 20 something years later, it simply makes me cringe and wish I could escape-- to a fire ant hill wearing nothing but honey. Add to the irritation, when hubby samples music, he does precisely that...samples it. You never get to hear the full song... OK maybe 'never' is the wrong word... but it's got the same stats as McCain voting with Bush.
Which reminds me, early voting ended yesterday, not, as I thought, this morning at the local polling place. So now I have to figure out how to vote on Tuesday even though voting hours are the exact same 12 hour stretch that hubby is gone for when he goes to work. Oh, how helpful. Not.
Add to this the fact that last night, for our Halloween viewing we watched Silence of the Lambs, and he busted out with the completely inaccurate statement, "this is the movie that MADE Jodie Foster." I could have died.
In utter astonishment, I replied, "Uh, hello, Taxi Driver?!!?!"
It wasn't until he came back with, "Never heard of it." That I didn't even try to list any of her other movies. I realized that I obviously Have Not stopped doing drugs. Somewhere in an unknown-drug-fueled-frenzy I must have entered an alternate universe. My brain is just calling it 'my address in Texas'.
I am as perplexed at how I wound up married to a man that has NO movie knowledge what-so-ever, as I was in my first marriage when my ex-husband revealed to me that he flat out, "doesn't get" comic strips. I mean, they are both a case for seriously bad karma if ever there was one. For someone raised on both movies and comic strips, along with TV, how can I expect my partner to truly understand me if he doesn't understand these basic-pop-culture-reference-categories. They are to my personality what dictionaries, encyclopedias and card catalogues are to libraries.
So here I am on this sunny Saturday, my head reeling from self-realization in relationship to my relationships interspersed with flinching from the sounds of war games and pine cone music.
Dear God, please let him want to listen to something not alternative or hard metal or suicidally sad, very, very soon...
PS. as I was editing this post Nickleback came on... There is a God in heaven--November is looking up!