It’s PAYDAY!!!! How awesome… money! And also not awesome, because it’s the payday after vacation, which means it’s Payday: Intensive Version. Because I need to sit down and get to color-coding my check register orange for everything vacation-related, and tying all of that to the income tax transfer designated ‘vacation’. I know that’s anal, but I like to code things, so it’s easier to figure what we spent on vacation, what we did with the income tax. Brian bought new tires for his truck this morning, too, so that’s another transfer from income tax, with color-coding in green, since it’s a single-time purchase, not a week-long incursion on the income tax $$. And yes, why yes, my check register is very colorful… because all ATM/POS purchases are coded blue. Balancing the checkbook is intensive, at my house. In case you wondered. Which I’m sure you didn’t, but there’s a little more insight into my particular level of psychosis.
PS: Speaking of psychosis… I thought I’d share with you how wack I am: when we discovered the basement was an inch underwater on Wednesday, I called Brian’s work – I thought he might have a suggestion for me to try to get the sump working, again. Brian’s boss (read: THE OWNER) answered the phone, “Workplace Industries, this is Mike.” And I’m used to getting Very-Uninterested Front-Desk Patty on the phone, so that threw me off. I don’t TALK to big bosses… ever. Sometimes not-gay Gary (who sounds gay, and wears sweaters with animals on them, but is happy married with children) answers the phone in his high-pitched voice, but I’m good with him, like Patty … but I’m NOT good with Mike-the Boss. He’s the BOSS, hello!
So I put on my Anna-Is-Professional tone (which sounds like Office Barbie), and said, “Yes, may I speak to Brian, please?” (which, to be fair, is what I always say when I call, even when I get V.U.F.DPatty on the phone, just not with the same, stiff posture). Anyhow, Mike-the-Boss says, “Certainly… who may I ask is speaking?“ And… and… that was IT. First of all, neither Patty nor Gary ever question me, they just say, “One moment, please.” and page Brian. I did not CALL to be interrogated, not even one question’s worth. I’m already on tinterhooks, having to converse with Mike-the-Boss, and now he’s QUESTIONING me? Should I tell him that it’s Brian’s ball-n-chain, and I realize that it’s not lunch or break, but in my defense, it truly is an emergency, my basement is wall to wall water, and I’m in crisis? Does he even need to KNOW this? He shouldn’t even be asking me who I am!!! In spite of this HUGE internal discourse, I answer, “This is Brian’s wife.” in my most pleasant voice, hiding my complete hackles-up, totally on-edge true condition… and his voice gets pleased/pleasant (?!?!??!) and he says, “Ah! Just a moment.”
And meanwhile, I’m all shades of bristles on the other end of the line, thinking, “You should NOT be asking me questions. I don’t like questions. I don’t like bosses. I don’t want to explain anything to you – who I am is not relevant. I called to speak to Brian, not you. I don’t like this. I’m feeling defensive, and it’s YOUR fault!“ Of course he knows none of this. He thinks I’m a little, happy, blonde housewife with a Barbie voice and plastic manners, on hold. But I was SERIOUSLY traumatized… because of my own personal, unique level of psychosis. ((This is why I mostly avoid phones, at ALL costs.)) And Brian laughed his HINEY off as I went into this whole rant on the way to dance class, later that night, trying to convey my anxiety and the situation there. I got over this… it took about three days, and… well, okay. I wasn’t completely over this.
But as I was writing my payday FB status here, today, Brian called (his daily noon call). He says his workplace is sponsoring the Grand Rapids Whitecaps (baseball) a night in August, and the whole shop and their families are invited, and there’ll be a BBQ on the deck. Thing is, everyone else is signing up 2-4 people… we have SEVEN. Yikes. I initially told him to ask them if there’s a limit to the number of people an employee brings (because I could stay home with the littler kids)… but he seems to think we should ALL go. Okay… but then the gravity of the situation hit me. ALL of his co-workers (and bosses) and their WIVES are going to be there. With anti-social Anna and her herd of noisy, crazy, BBQ-dripping children.
I… no longer think this is a good idea. I don’t like people, or BBQs, or sports. Or co-workers, or bosses, or their wives. We won’t be able to pull off good behavior for THAT long, with THAT many kidlets. We shouldn’t go. It’s a bad idea. Brian just laughed and told me not to even THINK about starting to talk myself out of it, because we’re going. He’s tickled as all get-out over the fact that – by the end of our phone conversation (HATE phones!!) – I was a complete train wreck. I think my psychosis may kill me, with this one. If I’m dead by August, you’ll know what got me. I may be sick today… just finding out about this.
And now you have something to laugh at. The little blue update is now massive and green and… crazy as hell. But then, look who’s writing it. Anyhow… I gots t’go. There’s a checkbook register needing some colors and numbers. So… talk to you later. If I don’t die of a self-induced aneurysm over all of this.