|Dangerspouse Rides Again|
Garage - Track
Jan. 03, 2004 - 11:25 a.m.
Tuesday December 23
Dangerspouse has finished his airshift. Hat in hand, he enters the dark sanctum of Faceless Radio Corporation's Engineering Department. The sign on the door says "Approach. Bow and Scrape. State your business." He does.
"Um...hi. Listen, remember two weeks ago when I put in a request to have the computer in my studio checked because it kept catching fire? And how you told me it would be taken care of ASAP? Well, I was just wondering if ASAP was coming up soon, because I kinda need it to do show prep. Oh...also, I keep this online diary thingy where I play a character called "Dangerspouse", and since my home computer is now basically an expensive doorstop, my only chance to update it is here at work. Which I can't do if my keyboard keeps melting. So do you think you could put your Tech School Equivelancy Diploma to use one of these days and hook me up...?"
Saturday January 3
You can see how effective my pleading was, despite the iron-clad logic of my argument. I still cannot access Diaryland from my regular studio. (This being a Saturday, I can scoot between mic breaks over to an unused studio that DOES have internet access and type this futile diatribe.) For some reason the Engineering Department was not frantically pulling out all the stops and working overtime to get Dangerspouse back on-line.
But seriously. I can understand that they'd look askance at my need to update a personal diary on company time. But I'm also required to do something called "show prep" every morning, and that means stealing jokes and witty lines I find on internet sites. Without that, I'm just another dumb "Time and Temp" guy, reading liners and out-cues from index cards. How do they expect me to ad lib stuff if I can't read it verbetim from witty peoples' diaries?
Oh well, at least I got some vague assurances that the situation would be rectified "sometime in the new year". Apparently several other announcers' computers have started acting up, and since THOSE announcers are actually important, the company will be flying in the Creme de la Engineers from Houston (who installed this monstrosity) to vivisect the entire network and evict the demons. We'll see.
Meanwhile, back at DangerHouse....
I never wanted to get married. I blithely waltzed through my 20's unencumbered by feelings of unfulfillment owing to my steadfast ability to remain single. Not for me the life of accounting for actions to any one shrew. My bachelor pad was comfortably rumpled, my hours scandalously bohemian. My pent up libido could be released on/into any drunken trollop who believed I really was the bassist for Whitesnake. And there were plenty of them, believe me. Why would I give that up? I certainly didn't want the multiple anchors of kids/extended family/regular hours messing things up. Not to mention the monotony of slamming the same loaf of bread night after night AND scuttling my meticulously maintained porn library.
What happened, you ask? Why "DangerSPOUSE" and not "Table-4-1"? Well, it's a bit of a long story, but basically...every man has his price. And she agreed to mine. NewWifey(tm) brought a brand spanking new racing motorcycle to the ceremony and presented it to me as her wedding gift (I got her...me). I had been so dazzled by the brochure months before that I blurted out "God, I want that bike so bad I'd be willing to marry anyone who bought it for me!" I should have kept that as an inner revelation, but...I kept my end of the bargain and now here we are. Mr. and Mrs. Dangerspouse.
Overall it hasn't been a bad deal. Most of my fears never bore fruit - NewWifey(tm) doesn't want a squalling wad of baby flesh clawing its way out her vagina either, and she takes an admirably enthusiastic approach to my "Lactating Asians with Strap-Ons" DVD collection also. Plus she races motorcycles, which right there is worth the price of admission. And cuffs and collar match, which is always nice in a redhead.
Unfortunately she does come with some baggage, in the guise of family. So far I've been pretty good about gritting my teeth and attending the odd sister's wedding, or uncle's funeral (something I don't do for my own side of the genetic line). But the past two weeks have caused me to have some serious "What the fuck was I thinking?" conversations into my beer. Check this out:
NewWifey(tm) has a brother who is 1. alcoholic 2. divorced 3. sharing parental duties of a learning disabled (ie: "tard") wife-beater wearing 16 year old.
This has, up til now, not even caused a blip on my radar screen, since they live in Houston. For all intents and purposes, that's as good as Botswana. Its far enough away to make obligatory holiday appearances nul and void, for one thing.
Or so I thought.
Late in November we got a call from the Tard's mom. "Guess what? Junior saved all his summer job money and will be flying out to spend his Christmas Holiday with you! You'll have to pick him up at the airport on Christmas Day, and he wants to watch the ball drop in Times Square on New Year's Eve. He's so excited!"
I was excited too, in the way that guys who watch their wives/daughters/pets being raped get. I wanted blood - spurting, copious bloodflow, from the necks of all parties involved in this unilateral invasion. Tell me, those of you who actually enjoy family interactions, is this normal? Will a relation call you up and inform you - not ask - of an upcoming visit? ON a major holiday?
Unfortunately, NewWifey(tm) took the call. I've spoken before about her Midwestern work ethic. Apparently, that same ethic extends to her numerous siblings and mongoloid nephews, because she said "Of course. We'd love to be the doormat you walk all over this Holiday Season!"
So Christmas Day, my one and only day off, NewWifey(tm) had to cut off our gift giving bacchinalia to drive two hours to Newark Airport, wait for a mulleted stutterer who'd forgotten to bring a jacket, then drive two hours back. No visits with neighbors or friends. No cuddling up with eggnog and porn (tradition). Just "Here's your gift. Thanks. Very nice, yeah. What time is it? Geeze, no, no time for dinner. Gotta get to the airport. Don't wait up..." *slam*
What really dug the knife in deeper was that Mother Demon had arranged for his flight home to leave at 5 AM on January 2nd! So NewWifey(tm) had to drag his (and her) grumbling ass out of bed at 2am for the two hour trip back to Newark. And after she dropped him off, she had to go to work, where she spent 3 hours in the parking lot waiting for the office doors to unlock.
In between arrival and departure he was stowed in our guest room, which also happens to be our computer room. So aside from frantically hiding all my worldsex.com files to innocuous sounding folders, I wasn't able to affect repairs that might allow me to post to Diaryland. So: minimal internet access at work, no internet access at home. I thought delerium tremens only affected drinkers....
One humorous bit of irony. We've been basking in an unusual warm spell here on the East Coast, with temperatures topping the 40 mark almost every day for the past two weeks. But it seems that one man's "warm spell" is another man's "Arctic Tundra". Particularly if that man has spent his whole life in Houston, Texas. So when NewWifey(tm) took the Tard into Manhattan to watch the ball drop on New Year's Eve and the temps started to dip below 30 for the first time in his life, he got a bit panicky. I'd lent him, grudgingly, a spare down filled coat, gloves, wool cap and cashmere scarf. All of which he donned whenever he ventured from his bedroom, which had two portable heaters and a steam radiator going full blast his entire stay. But there on the streets of Midtown, even garbed for an assault on K2, it was too much for him. By 8pm, yellow snot icicles bridging nose and chin, the Tard had had enough. He asked NewWifey(tm) to take him from this frigid lowest circle of Hell back to the arid furnace of our guestroom. She was only too happy to oblige.
He's gone now, leaving only the faint but unmistakable smell of teenaged spunk crusted on the sheets, which will have to be burned. God knows what he found so irresistable in there. Maybe my collection of Ernest Borgnine photos. You never can tell with kids. But as long as he's gone, I don't care. Au revoir, l'enfant....
I've made it clear to NewWifey(tm) that this will never happen again, motorcycle wedding present or no motorcycle wedding present. She's a good wife, so I know she'll comply. Besides, no one likes a beating.
Well, that's it for this edition. Thanks to all the people who left nice notes during my absence, and sent e-mails too. I wish I could tell you when I'll be able to post again, but god knows when the Fates will see fit to smite our engineers into action. As for my home computer, well, let's just say that I'm playing the lottery every week as my best chance to someday being able to afford a new CPU. But who knows, maybe the Tard's father will feel an overwhelming sense of guilt/gratitude and send out a generous check while in a drunken haze. Stranger things have happened.....