Polish

.....Not, you know, the nationality, but the sort of poise and grace I can never hope to have.

When I was 19 years old, I was dating a man we'll affectionately call "The Alcoholic" or AA for short. AA and I shacked up together after my previous boyfriend shacked up with his "big brother" in his fraternity AKA some random blonde who he slept with on my birthday after getting piss-drunk and then called me to have me come get him the next morning. Oh yeah. THAT guy was the first person I ever slept with. Ever. And he didn't cuddle.

Bastard.

I digress.

So AA and I shacked up. He was a poet who was trying to learn to be that guy from "A Beautiful Mind" but was ending up more like what would happen if Ike Turner and James Joyce had a baby. If you're unsure about those references - Ike Turner took to beating Proud Mary and James Joyce was a good Irish who lost his damn mind and wrote a couple of books; one of which ends and begins in mid-sentence. Good stuff.

So, AA was a drunk, hot-mess, Irish, poet who really liked to see his handprints on my flesh. Not my finest hour.

He was also the man who taught me how to be a grown-up...or at least put me on the path to become what I am today. In addition to telling me that I was really more into being the victim than was generally acceptable, he also said this:

"You know, someday, you're going to have to start dressing professionally instead of like some gothic-slut-poet-nerd. Because, like, people aren't going to take you seriously as a doctor if you look homeless all the time."

Oh, really.

Well, it turns out, the idiot/asshole savant was right. I'm about to have to buy a new wardrobe. And I'm conflicted about this. I do NOT want to dress all stodgy and gross and dull. But I don't have enough money or a small enough ass to dress in an appropriately adorable/professional manner. I am all atizzy. What to do?

A. Lose weight.
B. Win lottery.
C. A and B
D. Revert to 19 and give the world the finger.

Man....D is so very tempting.

Politics

So - I've been taking it all in for a while. Whirlygigs waving around me in the form of people with whom I work freaking the fuck out about silly things and big things and things I didn't even know one should freak about.

Issue #1: Shoes. The school at which I teach has a dress code. I seldom abide by it. I realize this is irresponsible. Typically, from the ankles up, I'm all professional. I teach for 5 hour stretches, twice a day. That's a LOOOOONNNNNGGGGG time to be standing and pacing and walking and teaching. I want my feet comfortable. So I wear Chuck Taylors or flip flops or flats....sometimes heels...but not that often. Today, El Presidente de Collegirito rolls into a meeting and steps on my toes.
He says, "Dr. Smith, what are those?"
"Why, they're shoes, El Presidente."
"Oh, really?" says he, "Do we think those are appropriate?"
"Do you think it's appropriate and/or legal to comment on my dress and the alleged dresscode when I've never seen a single handbook on this campus, sir?"
"Let's start the meeting," says he.

Issue #2: Coffee. I love coffee. I spend many hours of my day dreaming of swimming in a lake of rich Colombian brew chilled to a refreshing 75 degrees. Alas, not possible. In lieu of said fantasy, I drink it. Copious amounts...except not so much any more because of that pesky Generalized Anxiety Disorder that is triggered by too much caffeine.

I digress.

Coffee in question was at Coffee Haven, my local watering hole, where I met one of my 3 bosses for coffee today to discuss the shambles of my performance on my last job assignment. No bueno.

Asshat in question orders a "large cappucino with no milk".

The barista kindly tells him cappucinos are impossible to make without milk, he is ordering espresso. He FLIPS THE FUCK OUT.

At some point, I hallucinate cutting this man. He berates the barista. She makes him an Americano (espresso + water) which is what he actually wanted. When he realizes, he tells her that she should make "her fucking signs more intelligible". Seriously? Dude. Who talks to people like this? I'd have gouged out his eyes with the stirring spoon.

Issue #3: Husbands. Mine. I spend a large part of my life contemplating what a joy it is to be married to JDH. The other, smaller part, I spend torturing him and acting like a total bitch. This issue has to do with the fact that on Tuesday, I came home from a very long day of work and found the house reasonable messy and him on the couch. I was pissed. I got MORE pissed the following morning when, shlumping from the bedroom with both kids awake for the second day in a row and school delayed two hours for the SECOND DAY IN A ROW and husband gone to work, I cleaned said house. With a vengeance. I vaccuumed at 7 a.m. Not my finest hour.

Then that night, he has the audacity, the out and out balls to text and say he'd like to catch a beer with the guys from work! The nerve! Even though I've been telling him for, like, 6 months to do just that. On MY bad day!

So I vaccuumed again. And put away laundry. And acted like a total bitch when he got home. He noticed. Went to bed pissed. We sent nastygrams all day today and we're now over it. Adult fight accomplished.

Suck it, JDH, that's what you get for being perfect 95% of the time. A self-rightous, outrageously demanding wife who wants to know just how you plan on fixing the totally unacceptable 5% of the time when you're only semi-awesome.

Seriously. Assholes of the world. Get over yourself.

:)