Reasons why I hate, and envy, DB

A reflection: today's been a rather interesting day.

Most importantly, it's 10 more days until BGRR actually has vacation, which means it's 10 more days until we bring out the human rocket and aim her at the general direction of his chest, the basic idea being that if I squeal loud enough in my excitement to catch him off guard, and run fast enough, I can knock him over and finally one up him on his attempts on my life. See, DB! Not everyone has to resort to bribing pretty little birds as hitbirds! To celebrate, we'll be driving up to Lake Wallenpaupack for four days, two of which he'll spend RPGing with some friends and I'll be working on...erm...uh...sewing projects. Yeah, that's right. Uber happiness because I get to play trophy girlfriend again, and spoil him horribly. Unbeknownst to BGRR, the extra niceness is part of my plan to buy points in his attempts to off me, which to this point have all been rather lackluster and not even close to being pseudo-quasi-successful. Filet mignon anyone?

I'm still working on the whole six month bet losing thing sinking in. Probably when I get to sink into his arms again.

And the best part, my coworkers are gossipping about my love life again. If I were a weaker person, I could have oodles of fun with this - and believe me, it's tempting sometimes. This would be why I envy DB. While he's likely to have to deal with this in the middle of nowhere, he's a guy. Therefore, he's also going to ignore ALL OF IT. Additionally, I really don't think outdoor ed is as catty as the corporate world. People are so unbelievably nice and cheerful and it's disgustingly refreshing. Here, it's essentially every person for themselves. While I can handle it, such thinking offends him to the umpteenth degree. Something about sucking the very soul out of him evilness or something like that. See, he does have a poetic streak from time to time.

Dan called Friday morning because he had off, and of course I answered it despite being at the office. Wouldn't you? Over the course of this summer, I have lived for these phone calls. Naturally, one would be upset when told that there's no telling when the next phone call was going to come. I won't lie when I say I closed the "door" to my office and just cried for ten minutes. However I told people we had had an argument, and that pretty much stopped questions right there. Except that between the coworkers not being able to see the entire Facebook page and the knowledge of an argument, world is spreading that apparently BGRR and I have broken up. Nevermind that there's still photos of us blatently on my desk or random stuff that reminds me of him. We're apparently no longer together.

DB wouldn't have to deal with this. I envy him. He actually works with adults.....um.....who play with kids......yeah.......but at least they act mature!

Ugh.Drama. It sucks. Just don't do it.

Training 101

A momentous occasion in every trophy wife's life: her first dinner prepared and served completely on her own. It's a trial by fire (of the kitchen gas stove variety) filled with tears, panic, laughter, and triumph. This weekend, we have friends visiting - yes dears, it's our (read: his) never ending quest to merge both sets of acquaintances together into a homogenous bit of mush. I had planned for a simple roast chicken dinner with a pavlova for dessert. Have I ever made a pavlova before? Nah. But I've watched my greataunt make one, and the Infamous Ex made meringues look like child's play. How hard could this be?

Sidenote: the same day as said dinner, we also have my Civil War Reenacting tent to rewaterproof up on the peak, his errands to run, and kitchen recovery to attempt post-prep. Let's follow this, shall we?

1) attempt to wake up at 6. Yeah. That worked. Let's try 8?

2) debate over breakfast with BGRR the possibility of taking Charlotte (yes, I name my cars. Someday, I shall train him to name his too.) up the road to the peak to pitch and fix tent. Obviously, since the Camp's haywagon has problems going up, my little Civic will never be able to do it, right? "No, dear, I take her on hills all the time to unload at reenactments, this can't be any worse." "Honey, you'll rip the bottom out of your car.""No, I won't." "Yes, you will" Continue this argument in various forms for another 15 minutes, finally have Adoring Girlfriend say, "I'm taking it up anyways," get in car, and drive up without a single problem. No, delam, I'd never even think of saying I told you so. Set up tent, waterproof seams, and drive back downhill.

3) groceries and assorted errands. I left most of the dairy stuff as pickup out in Reading, merely for packing ease. Okay, fine, so it was really left in order for me to have a real excuse to be all housewife-y and be able to run errands with BGRR. I profess to getting a warm fuzzy housewife feeling when doing the simplest errands with him. Leave me alone. The big dilemma??? Frozen vrs Fresh strawberries. Note to self: ALWAYS cook with fresh fruit.

4) traditional banishment of BGRR from the kitchen. In my defense, I actually had him beat the meringue for a bit, but he was messing it up. So I banished him, and he disappears into his room to work on some shtuff, goodness knows what. Probably another method to take over the world, or solve world peace, or raise yaks in the city - none of which would surprise me, by the way. Since the oven's supposed to be lower for the meringue, it's best to start with that first. Now, when the recipe says "add sugar 1 tbsp at a time", it's obviously there for a reason. Seriously. LISTEN TO THE RECIPE. I don't, and about 45 minutes into beating this thing, it's got this lovely gloss, and it's considerably stiffer. But it's still not peaking.

Every trophy wife has a manual of procedure, and this would be about the time when I grab mine and start flipping through it frantically to the "What the Heck You Do When Things Aren't Working Like They're Supposed To" page, where it says in big, bold letters......

CALL YOUR MOTHER!

Well, it’s right there in the book! Call mom, who says, “I’ve never done meringue, call your greataunt.” Call greataunt, who sounds pleased as punch I’m cooking for my first dinner party and tosses out a few suggestions, including “if it doesn’t work, do am upside down cake. EVERYONE loves upside down cake.” Toss the thing in the oven, and 15 minutes later, her suggestion’s working. Sweetness.

5) clean kitchen and start on chicken. BGRR, in one of his bigger moments of wisdom, has gone out on campus with guests to show them about, and start closing things down for the night. Let me tell you, duckies, PAM olive oil spray is awesome. I love it dearly, and unless it’s really nice gourmet cooking, refuse to use anything else. Pull meringue out of oven and toss chickens in. Start to nervously watch clock for people coming back.

6) get through vegetables and potatoes, clean up some more. Pull out chicken, unwrap without burning self (BGRR's fingertips of steel are wonderful things), and set on table. Make gravy. Take to table, and then give men seated at table evil glare of doom so they stop waiting for you. In the grand scheme of things, BGRR's doing quite nicely! I've got him trained to start eating as soon as I put food on the table, irregardless of how long it takes me. Retreat to kitchen for one more round of cleaning, and then join for a quick bite.

7) clean off dining table, and then take meringue cake/pie/thing out with plates and spoons. Drop off on table while unaccustomed guests wonder what the heck you're doing and why you're not eating with them. Leave BGRR to make excuses and explanations. Wrap up dinner and leave for housemates to discover and finish later.

8) clean up (for the last time), ask BGRR to do dishes in the morning (because you've already done them 4 times), and crash horribly.

And that, my dearest readers, is Trophy Wife Practicum 101. Well, at least the 1-10 version.