In which politics rears its ugly head again

So I thought that once the election was over and Primo went back to work and I worked and we had no more alimony payments to Imelda that our life would return to normal and I would not have to think about politics ever again.

I was so wrong.

Primo still spends his free time going to meetings with His People.

I do not join him.

This is not how I want to spend my free time.

I have already saved the world. I am done.

Primo claims that I joined the Peace Corps for adventure, not to save the world.

Tomato, tomahto.

My key learning from my two years in the Corps is that the world? It does not want to be saved.

Or, at least, it does not want to be saved by the nice white lady from the US. People want to save themselves. They don't need do-gooders meddling in their affairs.

Primo has not had that experience and he is in the full clutches of a mid-life existential crisis.

Plus his mom and dad are driving him crazy.

So he still wants to be involved politically. Only now that he lost the election, he will have to be involved in another way.

Which is fine with me, but he would like this involvement to be full time.

As in, he would quit his job.

The very idea of which makes me sick to my stomach.

Once he quits that job, there is no going back. I don't know if I can get back to the salary I was making a few years ago. My salary now is not enough to sustain us. Well, it is enough to sustain us, but it is not enough for us to save for retirement or buy a new furnace (which we need) or put a new roof on the house (which I hope we don't need but it's coming).

He has promised he will not quit without discussing it with me first, but now he is discussing it every day.

Which again, makes me sick to my stomach. I just want a year of throwing some money in the bank.

I would also like a year without politics.

That, too, is not to be.

I came home from work a few weeks ago to find a political sign in the yard.

Lordhavemercy are we not done with elections in this state?

Primo decided to support a certain candidate in the judicial primary.

Are there any elections people care about less than local judicial races?

Maybe dogcatcher.

Anyhow, Primo is supporting this guy.

And he wants to have a fundraiser. At our house.

I shook my head. "No, no, no, no. No."

"But it would help me get some visibility," he protested.

I shook my head even more strongly. "No!"

"Please," he pleaded. "This will help me."

"Why?" I asked. "Why does it have to be here? Why?"

"I need to network," he said. "This will get my name out and it will help the candidate."

Like I care about helping the candidate.

"I don't want to!"

"But wasn't the fundraiser we had for my campaign fun? That was probably the only fun thing about my campaign. It was the only relaxed evening we had."

Note that it was fun and relaxing for Primo. I did all the cooking and the cleaning and the pre- and post-work.

"Fine," I said. "Go ahead. But leave me out of it. You have to clean the living room and the bathroom and you have to do all the setup and you have to do all the cooking. I am not doing this. I've done it already. That was our deal. I worked on your campaign but you promised I would not have to ever talk about politics again and I include putting together a party for someone else as 'talking about politics.'"

"I'll do the cleaning," he said, "and I'll just get volunteers to bring food. But -" He paused.

"What?" I asked impatiently.

"Could you -?"

"Just say it!"

"Would you maybe make that Memphis Junior League onion dip? That's so good."

"Maybe. If you're nice to me. And don't try to start any political conversations."

I hate politics. I hate it. I wish all politicians and their minions would drop dead.

In which I attempt to ingratiate myself with Sly and Doris

Did I tell you guys that at Christmas, Sly and Doris went off into a drunken tirade about me and threatened to disinherit Primo and I thought, Please, please do it! Please just get out of our lives! Please leave Primo alone and don't bother him with your threats of suicide and your talk of despair and your pressure that he is the only thing that makes you happy. Please stop telling him what a horrible person I am because I don't eat bacon right/don't address thank-you notes right/don't grovel. Please. Do it.

But they won't. Then they wouldn't have Primo to torment any more.

I asked Primo if I should write a note expressing my penitence.

He said it couldn't hurt.

I said that it would put the ball in their court. "They'll just use it as ammunition against me."

He agreed. But pointed out it would give me more blog material.

Now that the election is over, I can use more material. (Although I still have political material, as running for office did not get it out of Primo's system, as I had hoped. Now that he has tasted freedom - his sabbatical in 2011 and the leave of absence in 2012, he wants more. And he wants to quit his job. His job that pays him nicely. We are not rich, but his salary, especially now that the alimony is over, is enough that we do not have to worry about replacing the furnace or getting the car repaired. I like not worrying about those things and am not a fan of this proposal that he quit his job. But more about that later.)

(That's called foreshadowing. Or maybe it's a teaser. I can't remember. But the idea is to keep you reading. Will it work? Only time will tell.)

So. I said I would write a letter.

But I have delayed and delayed because really, who wants to write a letter like that? If the letter were honest, it would say,

Dear Sly and Doris,

I am sorry that you are such jerks that we have never gotten along. I have never said or done anything to you to deserve the way you treat me. Primo has never said or done anything to you to deserve the way you treat him. You are mean and spiteful and backbiting and gossipy and it's no wonder you have no friends. 

You are angry at Stephanie for "cutting you off?" Did you ever consider that perhaps you had something to do with that? You never say anything nice to her or about her. You insult her and me by wondering in disdain how the two of us could possibly be friends. The fact that we are both Catholic (i.e., that we are stupid morons who believe in God and therefore not worthy of any respect from you) is not the reason that we are friends. And yes - I am well aware that Stephanie did not go to college. I choose to be her friend anyhow because guess what? It doesn't matter to me that she hasn't been to college! I don't require a BA from my friends. As far as that goes, your son has a BS and I have a master's degree. Does that mean I shouldn't have married him? Wait. Don't answer that.

You are unpleasant to be around. You are unwelcoming. You are hateful. You have nothing nice to say about anyone. You start drinking at 4:00 p.m. every day and then you get worse. You have said mean things about my mother. You have never shown any interest in me. You have implied that there is something wrong with my family - we are not "close," which is why Primo should spend all holidays with you (including Christmas and Easter, even though you are strong atheists) instead of with me and possibly my family. 

You will probably die even more lonely than you are now. If you lived up north, nobody would shovel your sidewalk for you because you're too mean. 

I have no interest in trying to ingratiate myself with you. I just want to stay away and I want to keep Primo away. 

But I can't write that.

Here's what I wrote and sent to Primo for his input:

Dear Sly and Doris,

It really bothers me that we have such a horrible relationship. I had always envisioned being close to my husband's family. This is not how I wanted things to work out. I don't want to be estranged from my husband's parents. It's a loss for me and it's hard on my husband - he's caught in the middle and it causes him a lot of pain.

I don't know how we got off on the wrong foot. I wish we hadn't. I am truly sorry for anything I might have done to cause this rift. 

The three of us have something in common: we love Primo and we want him to be happy. What can I do to repair our relationship?

Now, this is all true. I am bothered by this relationship. Ideally, I would have nice inlaws. I would have inlaws I want to see.

I am not bothered that I stay away from Sly and Doris. I have a policy in my life that I do not spend time with toxic people. They are toxic. But I wish I had nice inlaws.

Primo answered.

Sweetie,

Maybe something short is good.

I know how we all got off on the wrong foot:  because I gave them the address of your blog, and because of that they disliked you before you even set foot in their house for the first time.  The negative feelings were started by them, not you -- but of course you won't be writing anything about that.  Still, I wonder about their reaction to a sentence like "I don't know how we got off on the wrong foot."

They seem to believe that it's the job of a future daughter-in-law (or even a girlfriend) to honor her elders and work hard to earn the respect (and, if she's really lucky, the love) of her partner's parents.  My mother apparently had to do that with my dad's parents, perhaps because they thought she was a homewrecker.  (My dad certainly didn't have to do that with my mom's parents.  He always criticized them, but I doubt that any negativity started with them.)

I would also replace "my husband" with "Primo" in the sentence that begins "It's a loss for me and it's hard on my husband."  The use of "my husband" in the previous sentence is effective.

You might also want to write "What can I do to begin repairing our relationship?" instead of "What can I do to repair our relationship?"  Thinking about full "repair" without qualifiers seems awfully optimistic!

How much does it really bother you to have a bad relationship with my parents?  Does that bother you on its own, or is it only the effect of that bad relationship on me that bothers you?

Primo and I messaged on FB last night about strategy.

when should I send the email to your mom and dad?

Or should I write a note by hand?

and send it to "Drunks?"

5:56pm

Primo

And sign it "Digger."

5:57pm

Gold Digger

absolutely

5:57pm

Primo

You can write "Dear Sly and Doris," but the envelope should be addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. S. Drunks" or "S. and Doris Drunks."

5:58pm

Gold Digger

How about, "their majesties Mr. and Mrs. S. Drunks?"

5:58pm

Primo

I was thinking of e-mail, but maybe a handwritten note would be better. I wasn't expecting you to do that.

Yes, that would be even better!

5:59pm

Gold Digger

And sign it, "Not worthy to be in your presence, not even worthy to be spit on by you"

6:00pm

Primo

How about "Reverently"?

6:00pm

Gold Digger

Humbly

6:01pm

Primo

"Humbly and reverently, Gold."

6:01pm

Gold Digger

Beggingly

Imploringly

"Not worthy of the name 'Drunk'"

6:04pm

Primo

Shamefully?

6:04pm

Gold Digger

"Head hung low in shame"

6:04pm

Primo

Maybe after this exercise you will finally be worthy of the name!

6:04pm

Gold Digger

Dear mighty superior beings whose toes I am not worthy to lick

So. I will let you know what happens.

In which Sly and Ted talk about sex in inappropriate ways

Last night, Primo and I actually went to bed together, a rare event in our house and one that does not help me sleep at all, as I am still, even after four and a half years of marriage, accustomed to going to bed alone and not having someone else's breathing to listen to. I have to swat the cats if they start bathing as I fall asleep - Primo's breathing, which turns quickly into snoring, is not a sleep aid.

But - it is nice to go to bed together because we have a chance to talk without any distractions and usually, Primo does not bring up politics, which is my Least Favorite Subject in the World.

Lots of times, we talk about whatever craziness Sly and Doris are up to, which usually ends well if we focus on the truly inane: how I address an envelope, how I eat bacon, if I sent enough of those Christmas cookies that they didn't even like, how I use cabbage.

Last night, we talked about Sly and sex and Ted. Which produces an image that makes me shudder with disgust. I don't even want to visualize attractive, nice people having sex. I certainly don't want to think about mean drunks. And yet, Sly persists in discussing the subject with Primo, complaining that since Doris broke her wrist or elbow or whatever it was that he has not been getting what is due to him as a  husband.

People. The man is 79 years old. Could he give his poor wife a break while her broken bones heal?

This is the conversation Primo and I had.

Primo: You know how on facebook, you can see when one of your friends comments on something, even if you don't know the other person?

Me: Yes. [I think that is a bad feature, by the way, although it does help keep me from going off the deep end by reminding me that nothing I write on facebook is private in any way. That's why I limit my posts to comments about the weather or food. Nothing about my co-workers or other people I know.]

Primo: Ted [Primo's half brother who asked how stupid I was and had I actually met Ted Kennedy when I said that Kennedy had used his political influence to avoid the consequences of having driven a car into the water and left a woman there to die] commented on something a friend of his wrote. Some guy from college and then someone else chimed in who had also gone to the same college. Ted didn't know the commenter, but recognized her name. He asked her who she was and they were bantering - almost flirting! [Ted is married]. She mentioned several other women and Ted wrote, "I never slept with any of them."

Me: He said what?

Primo: That he had never slept with any of these women.

Me: On facebook.

Primo: Yes. In public.

Me: Wow. That's so crude.

Primo: Yep.

Me: Tacky!

Primo: He gets it from my dad. My dad is always telling me how he's not getting enough and telling me about his cialis --

Me: How much is enough?

Primo: He says they do it three times a week.

Me: I don't believe that.

Primo: That's more than we do it.

Me: We both have jobs. Your parents don't do anything but drink. Which is one of the reasons I don't believe that three times a week. Alcohol is not an aid to this kind of thing.

Primo: That's what he tells me. And he always tells me about all the women who used to come on to him when he was still teaching.

Me: Yeah, right.

Primo: That's what he says. That's never happened to me.

Me: You are much more of a hottie than your dad ever was and you are a nice person, besides. You do not give off the "Of course I would cheat on my wife" vibe. Maybe your dad did. Besides, you have never had the power to change someone's grade. Maybe - if all these passes really happened - that's why. They were students who didn't like their grade.

Primo: Maybe.

Me: I cannot believe he talks like that to you.

Primo: I guess I come from a long line of hypersexual men.

Me: No, you come from a long line of men who have no boundaries and no sense of propriety. I am glad that you did not inherit those qualities. You are not like your dad, you know. [Thank God.]

In which Sly and Doris are baffled, BAFFLED by my relationship with Stephanie

In her email to Primo, Doris also wrote this:

Stephanie has for all purposes severed ties with us.  We hear from her about once in two weeks. We always were available to take Maria and Michael for various events when they were in high school and did so frequently.  She said recently that Pia's needs haven't required our help.  So just in case the Gold Digger is hearing other stories from Stephanie, I ask you to keep our discussions here to yourself.  I have NEVER understood GD's linkage to Stephanie.  It appears to stem from her rejection of us and a potential connection to Stephanie to confirm "our" sins.  Primo, I have spent much time trying to understand the depth of GD's rejection of us. Until I have a clearer head toward my recovery, I choose not to dwell on this enigma.  

So much material here. So rich.

Sly and Doris just cannot understand why Stephanie and I are friends.

"They think it's because you're both Catholic," Primo said. "Because you know - that's the only thing you have in common. After all, Stephanie's not an intellectual. How could you possibly be friends with someone who didn't graduate from college?"

I sighed. "I know. I need to quit associating with my relatives because they didn't go to college. They are not worthy of my attention. My mom! My mom didn't graduate. How can I stand to spend time with her?"

I talk to Stephanie frequently. I like her. She's nice. I like my nieces and nephew. I like to know what's going on in their lives.

Stephanie has cut Sly and Doris off because she is tired of being gossiped about and treated meanly. Doris will call her, drunk, and accuse her of things, then not remember the call. They complain that Stephanie doesn't help them enough but they give Jack, who is Sly's son and one would think, more responsible for helping than their ex-daughter in law, a pass.

Stephanie's tired of it.

I don't blame her. I think she's been a saint. If I lived 15 minutes away from Sly and Doris, they would not know it. They would not see me or hear from me because I do not want to be around people who are mean to me and who gossip about me.

Stephanie and I are not simply united by a common enemy, although that is part of it. Stephanie does understand why I might not want to spend time with Sly and Doris. She gets that if someone tells your fiance' not to marry you and that they are boycotting the wedding, that you don't just get over it, as Sly and Doris suggest. Yes, they know that is one of the reasons I don't like them, but they have told Primo that I should be over that by now.

No, they have never apologized.

I tell Primo that I really don't care any more about what Sly and Doris think about me  - which I mostly don't because who cares about the ravings of two mean drunks? - but I do care about how they treat him. They owe him an apology about the wedding fracas. And the emails where they've told him he's a "bad son" for not spending Christmas with them. And for the constant ravings against me.

So there's your enigma: Stephanie and I are friends and there is no solid reason why.

In which there is TMI about the possible lawsuit

So not only does Doris want to sue the hospital for her pain and suffering, Sly wants to throw in - this will make you gag - loss of consortium.

"Just how much consortium does an 80 year old man have?" I asked Primo. I snorted.  "What's that loss worth - a dollar?"

Primo sighed. "My dad wanted to tell me all about it. His son. He wants to talk to his son about that."

"No boundaries," I said as I rolled my eyes.

"He probably has more consortium than you and I do."

"Yeah, well it's easy to have time and energy for consortium when you are retired and don't do anything all day but sit on your butt."

"He wants more than he gets," Primo said.

"How much does your mom want?" I asked.

Primo sighed. "Not as much as he does. Probably not any."

"Your mom is probably thinking that the only good thing about her broken wrist is that it is getting her out of consortium."

Primo laughed. "You're probably right.

In which Doris contemplates suing the hospital

Did I tell you guys that Doris fell while she was visiting Sly at the hospital and broke her wrist? I can't remember. Well, she did. I feel bad for her because she is in pain all the time. I don't wish pain on her. I just wish niceness. This situation is not what I want with my in-laws. What I want are nice, loving, welcoming in-laws whom I would like to spend time with. I have liked the families of almost every other boyfriend I have had. They've liked me. Why couldn't I get nice in-laws?

But I didn't. You get what you get and you make the best of it.

The best of it is that I just don't spend time with them. I don't need to be around toxic people. I wish Primo would divorce himself from them, but it's more complicated for him. They are his parents and he feels sorry for Doris, whom Sly abuses verbally. I don't think Primo will lift a finger for his dad once Doris is dead.

So Doris fell and she and Sly think it's the hospital's fault because she says she tripped on tubing by Sly's bed.

That may be the case, but I have spent plenty of time next to a sick person in a hospital bed with lines going everywhere and I never tripped.

My mom never tripped. My brother never tripped. My 90something grandmothers never tripped. My sister, who is a neo-natal nurse practitioner and who works in a hospital, has never tripped.

The key difference between my family and Doris is we are not drunks.

Doris wrote to Primo,

Dear Primo,

Dad is taking a short nap because he has been very busy today. I am still unable to provide much/any help.  The orthopaedic surgeon's PA told him that I should pursue the likelihood that I may have a compression fracture of a spinal vertebra that would cause my prolonged lower rib cage pain.  It could be diagnosed by a CTScan.

Ted's closest friend is a high-powered successful attorney who deals exclusively with law suits related to negligence by hospitals, insurers, doctors, etc.  He is coming here tomorrow to assess whether or not I have a "case" about the hose I tripped over in the hospital while visiting your father.

That fall has triggered 3 and 1/2 months of pain and suffering with questionable treatment pursuant to the fall.  The extent of my misery is hard to measure.  I don't think I will ever recover enough to lead a "normal" life.  We trust the lawyer because of everything we know about him and his impeccable credentials.  He offered to assist us in evaluating the hospital's role following my fall. 

The national and world news remain disheartening across the board.  Obama's outreach for major corporate donations to his Second Inaugural is totally disgusting.  

Love,

Ma  

I feel bad for Doris. I do, really. She is in pain and she lives with someone who is mean to her all the time and she has nowhere to go, unless she were to live with us, which would be very, very difficult. If Sly were actually beating her, we wouldn't have a choice. We would have to take her in.

But I just can't stomach the idea of letting her move in with us to get away from Sly, although I can understand why she would want to. He's mean enough he would cut her off financially. She's never handled the money. She doesn't know any of it. It would be a mess. 

No wonder she drinks herself into a stupor every day. It's the only way to escape.

But she drinks. And she takes narcotics for pain. Which is fine with me. I think doctors should prescribe whatever it takes to get rid of pain. The people who want to limit access to narcotics are, I am guessing, people who have never had a bad headache for three straight days. Or back pain. Or any kind of pain that can't be banished with an aspirin.

So what if someone in pain becomes an addict? What's worse? Constant pain that ruins your life - and it does - when you are in pain, you cannot think about anything else, or addiction? At least with the addiction you are not in pain.

But I would not want to open myself to the scrutiny that would arise should I sue a hospital. Especially if I were probably the one at fault.

1. Doris has fallen many times in her own house.

2. Doris drinks heavily.

3. Doris takes narcotics.

You know the hospital's lawyers will subpoena all of Doris' medical records, which will show some of her falls. (She has broken her ribs a few times.) The records will show her narcotics. The records will not show her alcohol consumption, but a quick visit to Sly and Doris' house will reveal the huge recycling bin of empty bourbon bottles.

This is not a fight I would want to take on.

In which Sly and Doris complain about how I addressed a thank-you note I sent to them

Yes. You read that properly. Sly and Doris complained to Primo about the address on the thank-you note I sent to them.

I know. Every time you think it couldn't get any weirder than my being a Bad Bacon Eater, something else comes along. Sly and Doris: The Gift That Keeps Giving.

So Primo spoke to Sly and Doris yesterday. My Sins du Jour:

1. I didn't address the note properly. I just wrote "Digger" as my return name and "Drunks" instead of "Mr and Mrs S Drunks" on the "to" address name. They were offended that I didn't write out the "Mr and Mrs," which I don't do for anyone because I am lazy.

They were even more offended that I used my maiden name instead of Primo's surname on the return address. "Didn't she take your name?" they demanded, which strikes me as an odd question from confirmed liberals. Wouldn't they be the ones more likely to say, "Yay women's rights and keeping the maiden name! Down with the patriarchy!"

But no.

That is something I have noticed with my friends. Yes, I did change my surname when I married Primo - a big mistake, as I really do not want to be associated with Sly and Doris in any way, plus I miss my last name, but I don't use it anywhere except work. My email is still "Digger," as is facebook and on LinkedIn. I have never represented myself as Gold Drunk ever to anyone except the IRS and my employer and I am only that way at my employer because they said I had to use my legal name.

Yet it is my friends who themselves are the most adamant about using their maiden names who call me "Gold Drunk" instead of "Gold Digger." Seriously - these are women who pitch a fit if you address a letter to "Mr and Mrs Husband'sLastName." Yet they all wrote their Christmas cards to "Mr and Mrs Primo Drunk."
What's that all about?

2. Sly and Doris found the Christmas letter I wrote in 2005, the year I met Primo. I had sent it to Primo and he sent it on to his parents. Big mistake. Primo thought it was really funny and he thought they would like it as well.

They did not. That letter, they told him yesterday, confirms that they have been right all along not to like me.

The problem?

I mocked communism in the letter. I called it the Pravda. I wrote stories like this:


Five Pairs of Shoes to Paris
Capitalist Swine the Gold Digger took five pairs of shoes on her vacation to Paris. Shoes made with the
blood of the laborers but do they own the means of the production? No they do not but one day after the
Glorious Revolution they will and all will live in Peace and Harmony.

The Capitalist took not one but five, yes, count them, five pairs of shoes on her vacation when how can
you wear more than one pair at a time? You have only two feet, is that not true, Comrade? Yes, two feet. And how many shoes can you get on those two feet at once? Two shoes. One pair. So why would anyone take ten shoes on a bourgeois vacation while the laborers, they get no vacation at all?

So it is fitting that the Capitalist Swine (we spit on her) suffered much pain from the ill-fitting new shoes and the very-high-heeled red crocodile pumps on her Paris getaway with her Moroccan fling while she bathed in the blood of the People.


Sly and Doris did not appreciate it. Shocking.

3. I am self absorbed.

Not in the sense that I dominate every conversation with talk about myself. Not that I show no interest in other people. Not that I expect everyone to do things my way.

No, that would be sly.

Not that I blog about myself. (Who else am I supposed to write about?)

Nope. It's that I insist on going to bed when I want to, even when I am visiting Sly and Doris, which, for the record, no longer happens. I haven't been there in three years, I don't think. So they are ticked about visits that happened over three years ago. A third of a decade, people!

Apparently, when I am visiting there, in addition to cleaning their fridge, cleaning the mildew off all the exterior doors, pulling weeds, and doing the cooking and the dishes, I am supposed to socialize until late in the evening. Even though if I did stay up late with them and Primo, they would complain that I was not giving them any time alone with Primo. God, could they just get five minutes alone with their son? Would it kill me to go to the bedroom and give them some alone time, just the three of them?

"So how come when they visited us, they didn't adjust to our habits?" I asked Primo. "We had to put them in our bedroom. They got up at the crack of dawn and started making noise, even though they knew they were disturbing us in the basement. You had to move the stereo to the living room. We had to entertain them. We had to get the foods they like. They made no effort to adjust to our schedule."

Primo laughed. "No, no, no! That's not how it works! We are always supposed to be the ones to do what they want to do, no matter where they are!"