Tuesday, March 22, 2005

The pitts

Has anybody seen my wallet? I know I had it just before I walked past that black vortex known as my wife. In fact, a lot of shit is missing these days.

I broke down and took her to Best Buy to pick out a laptop of her own. I’ve been fucking around with the wireless LAN all night trying to get her hooked up. First the driver wouldn’t work, then the firewall was blocking, then the security code was wrong, then the fucking driver quit working again. I was ready to throw the son of a bitch out the window.

She’s been mooching my personal time on the computer, diddling around with her blog, rearranging all of my icons, bookmarking iVillage and About.com and educating herself on the preposterousness of our society. Take, for instance, the fact that Viagra is covered by Medicare. Yet, very few insurance policies will cover the cost of bone marrow donation. Oh yeah, she tore into me for that. Like I wrote the fucking bill or something. Seventy year old men get to have recreational sex on us, but children are dying from leukemia because the government doesn’t find them equally important.

Now before you Democrats start cheering, she’s still not for socialized welfare. She just thinks, and I loosely quote her here, “If he can’t get it up, then he doesn’t deserve to have it.”

Woah, there, slow the fuck down! That’ll be enough of that crazy talk. I don’t know how far she wants to take that, but if she so much as glances sideways at Big Jay on an off night she and I will fight to the death. You don’t go John Bobbitting somebody’s boy just because he’s a little non-responsive. I mean, let’s be fair about it. Maybe it’s the stimulus. I’m not saying you’re not sexy in your ex-boyfriend’s flannel boxers and giant, stretched out T-shirt that reads “I survived the heat wave of 1980,” but it’s possible Big Jay just needs a little more. Not much more, trust me, but should the day ever come all I’m asking is that he be given the benefit of the doubt.

Was I saying something before? Ah, the wireless LAN. I finally got her going, if you know what I mean, and told her to knock herself out. She sat down, clicked all of 9 times, then got up and went to bed with barely a thank you. That’s it? All that fucking hassle for her to click, click, click and go to bed? Well, fuck me running. I walked around, switched off the lamp, and glanced at her screen before closing the lid.

“I’ll be damned.”

She fucking put Brad Pitt up as her wallpaper.

That’s it. Let her ass rub up against some old fucker with a 36 hour erection for a little action. I’m officially holding out.