In which Primo discovers I would rather donate a kidney than talk on the phone

Me: Wow. That doctor who got ebola and survived came back to the States to give his blood to the nurse who got it. His blood must have antibodies from that experimental vaccine. I would do that. I would give blood like that, even though I would pass out.

Primo: Would you give a kidney to your sister?

Me: Of course.

Primo: Would you give a kidney to your brother?

Me: Of course.

Primo: But you won't call your mom on the phone!

Me: I HATE talking on the phone!

Primo: YOUR MOTHER!!!

Me: I email her.

In which Primo goes to a county board meeting to see if it even interests him

Which I think was an excellent idea.

I would think just knowing some of the county board members would have been enough to put Primo off wanting to be elected to the board, but apparently, he feels differently. He actually wants to spend time around these people.

But he thought the meeting was boring and tedious which of course it was! They were going through the budget! Who among us has  not sat through a budget meeting at work and not wanted to slit her wrists?

He is going to dinner tonight with some friends of his who are in town from his old job. I am very happy for him to maintain that connection.

In which I write about a bunch of stuff

I don't even know where I was and I am too lazy to re-read my previous posts.

1. The living and the dining room are all askew because on Sunday, Primo and the team filmed a political ad. Primo was all "Woooo!" because they were moving furniture and he thought they weren't being careful enough and he was worried they were going to damage things, which of course they did not. He was expressing his stress to me, even though I was not the source of the stress and I was not the person who could resolve it. I just kept baking and then finally went into the basement to watch "Last Tango in Halifax," which I strongly recommend.

2. One of the political guys brought me flowers because he knew they were messing with my Sunday afternoon.

3. Before they came, I asked Primo if he was going to serve snacks. He had not thought about it. Fortunately, I had cookies in the freezer. Got those out and Primo made coffee so we didn't look like totally ungracious people. I know it's not really a host situation when political people come over, but does it hurt to be nice to people? No it does not.

4. Primo is not as cranky as he was before he stopped working. I am not thrilled about the 67% drop in our household income,  but it is only fair that he should get a chance to do something he wants. And he has definitely upped his game on the housework. I didn't do a single chore all weekend - he had cleaned the house in preparation for our houseguests and then he did the rest of the weekend chores as well. This I could get used to.

5. But we still argue about bedtime and I am about to pop him one. He thinks he is being funny. He thinks he is being funny when he says he likes "them French-fried potaters" and when he says "pepper" the way Billy Crystal did in "When Harry Met Sally." I like that movie, but cannot buy Billy Crystal as a romantic lead because I find him so whiny and annoying. Primo is not funny when he mimics these lines, but he and his friends egg each other one and laugh the entire time. If I kill him and you are on the jury, will you please let me off? It is justifiable homicide.

6. Primo: Hey! I put away those guest towels that I washed!

Me: OK. Thanks.

Primo: And I straightened up the guest bed!

Me: Thanks.

Primo: Hey! I've been doing housework!

Me: Uh huh.

Primo: I need more praise!

Me: But I have been doing it for years without praise.

Primo: I need praise and affirmation!

Me: Whatever.


7. Of course when our houseguests were here and I wanted to go to the restaurant, Primo disappeared.

He does that. Someone will be visiting - someone he has invited - someone I don't even know - and all of a sudden, Primo will be gone and I will be stuck in the kitchen with the guest, whom I do not even know and do not want to know because it is Saturday morning and I have things to do and those things do not include entertaining Primo's political minions and allies. But I cannot just abandon a guest and go on about cleaning the bathroom or reading my book, so I remain stuck.

Meanwhile, Primo is upstairs doing God knows what. "I had to post something on facebook for the campaign!" he will say.

"It can wait until later," I will hiss.

"No! It has to be done now!"

And my heart hardens even further against his cause.


8. One of us gave this card to the other:







9. Overheard: "Her boyfriend finally quit smoking in jail."

In which I get to apply some of my knowledge about the children of acoholics

1. I read in some blog comment section that it is considered rude to refer to alcoholics as "drunks," to which I replied that offending my husband's parents was the last thing I was concerned with, as they have never been concerned about offending him.

2. I was talking to the manager of the IT help desk where I work. We sell systems that, when they are down, cause places like Amazon to grind to a halt. It is very, very expensive for our software not to be working, so it is a super high-pressure job. The manager said people usually burn out after a few years - that he sells it as an entry-level job to the company with potential for advancement. He is moving several of his people into new jobs within the company now, so has to backfill.

I asked how he recruits. He said he is de-emphasizing the tech skills and looking more for the soft skills. "I can teach them the technical stuff," he said, "but I cannot teach them how to deal with people. They have to be able to stay calm and solve problems while they are under a lot of stress and people are angry at them."

I paused, then asked, "Have you considered looking for adult children of alcoholics? They would be perfect for the job."

In which the one percent of the cookie holders does not want to share the chocolate

Primo has a couple of guys over to the house to film a campaign ad.

Me: Why don't I put out some of those cookies I made for book club for your friends?

Primo: OK. 

I go downstairs to get the cookies out of the freezer. I am back upstairs, putting cookies on a plate.

Primo: BUT NOT THE CHOCOLATE COOKIES!

In which Primo has a revelation about housework and what is entailed in the performing thereof

Primo: I just stripped the bed. Am I supposed to wash the sheets?

Me: It would be nice.

Primo: But that's a lot of work!

Me: I know. When I was with MariCarmen yesterday, I told her how nice it was that you had done all the housework to prepare for guests and that you had done a lot  of the other regular housework.

Primo: I did!

Me: And I was thinking about how nice it was that my Saturday was free because you had done the work. And I realized how much time I actually spend doing housework because I wasn't doing it!

Primo: I didn't know that it took so much time!

Me: Yeah.

Primo: It's a lot of work!

Me: I. Know.

In which Primo sort of cleans the house

Primo: I didn't vacuum the dining room. We're not eating in there tonight [with our friends who are spending the night].

Me: But aren't you having some political people over on Sunday?

Primo: Yes.

Me: And the living room and dining room won't be vacuumed.

Primo: No.

Me: Please make sure your political friends know that you are the person in charge of vacuuming in this house, not me.

In which Primo talks to a guy whose dying best friend asked him to date his wife once he was dead

Totally not making this up.

I don't make anything up on this blog. I do not have that much of an imagination. I am but a stenographer.

Primo: I talked to this guy last night - I have been getting to know him and we are becoming friends.

Me: Uh huh.

Primo: He said that when his best friend was dying - this was last year, he asked Zach if he would date Carrie, his wife, once the best friend was dead.

Me: That is so sad! And so touching!

Primo: I know! He wanted his wife to be with someone nice.

Me: What a great guy - to worry about what happens to his wife when he is dead.

Primo: It's really sweet.

Me: So what happened? Are Zach and Carrie dating?

Primo: No!

Me: Why not?

Primo: Because two days after the friend died, Carrie came on to Zach! He was so horrified that he hasn't had anything to do  with her since.

In which Primo gets a lovely donation from friends of mine from the Peace Corps, even though we did not ask them for anything

Primo and I went to the state capital (capitol? I can never remember) for a concert and visited some of my Peace Corps friends, who live there, before the concert. Arthur and Betty are 92 years old. They have lived in the same house for over 60 years. It is a simple little house that they built when they got married. They don't have a  bunch of junk. It is like the model house to Sly and Doris' Glamor Don't of a house. Arthur and Betty do not have any junk! Any!

Oh - some background. They joined the Peace Corps when they were almost 70. They had retired and weren't done working yet. Everyone in our group loved them. They are sweet, nice people.

Betty insisted on cooking dinner for us, even though I had told her we would pick up something at a restaurant and take it to their house. When I invite myself to someone's house, I do not want to create extra work for her. But she wanted to cook and I could not persuade her otherwise. I did, however, take homemade cookies - rosemary and pine nut, chocolate with ground pepper - and some pear jam I had made from the pear tree in our back yard.

She wrote me a note later - "What herb is that in the cookies? Rosemary? And the chocolate cookies taste very zippy!"

You can have a good palate when you are 92 and don't drink or smoke. Nope, there was no alcohol at supper. Arthur, Betty, and Daisy, their daughter, had milk, Primo and I had water.

They live modestly. Their house is on the lake. The neighborhood has changed since the first time I saw it 15 years ago, when the other houses were just as modest. Now, those houses have been torn down and replaced with McMansions - they are not building any more lakefront property - and neighbors who complain about Arthur and Betty's house as an eyesore.

It is not an eyesore. It is modest and simple and perfect.

What was my point?

Oh. So. Anyhow. My friends, whom I have known for over 20 years, and who have been retired for a long time and don't have a lot of money - Arthur worked for the state in a research lab at the university - wrote a check for $150 to Primo's campaign.

They are both passionately interested in politics. Primo actually met Daisy at some political events. He had already met Arthur and Betty, so when he heard that Daisy had the same last name as A and B, he asked if she was related. She was. Small world.

We spent supper talking about politics - not my favorite but they were fascinated by Primo's campaign and know who his opponent is. That's what they wanted to talk about and they are nice and polite and we were guests and they are my friends so even though I hate talking about politics, with them, we talked about politics. They talked, I listened.

And we told them the story about the donation from the Teamsters and how grateful we were because we had been worrying about having to pay ourselves.

A few minutes later, Arthur got up, went to the kitchen counter, pulled out his checkbook, wrote a check, and handed it to Primo.

I did not want them to give us money! I want them to use their money on themselves. I think they live an intentionally modest life, but I also think their income is not that much. I also know that Arthur has been having some spells of confusion and I most of all would not want to take advantage of someone's memory problems.

I pulled Daisy aside and said, "We won't cash it, OK?"

She smiled and said, "Don't worry. It's OK."

I hope she's right.

And I wonder about how it is that some people - my mom, Arthur and Betty - have not very much but are generous with what they have and other people - Sly and Doris - have enough to buy lots of booze every week and pay for a maid and a gardener and invest $280,000 in a restaurant -  but won't even consider telling Primo that they would like to see him and would send him a plane ticket if he would just come.

In which Primo doesn't want to kiss me

Primo: I can't kiss you! You're all germy.

Me: Oh for pete's sake. It's a cold. (But not a Man Cold.)

Primo: I can't get sick!

Me: It's not like you kiss me anyhow.

Primo: What? I kiss you!

Me: Nah. Not like before. It's all gotten kind of perfunctory.

Primo: What do you mean?

Me: Oh you know. We have a little pattern - a routine.

Primo: Are you saying our love life is boring?

Me: Well. Sort of.

Primo: What - you want to have an affair to spice things up?

Me: Are you crazy? The last thing I need is something else to suck away my precious free time.

In which Primo's campaign gets a very nice donation from a group

Remember I was worried that Primo and I would end up paying the campaign debts from our own money, not because we would have any legal obligation but because the money would be owed to friends who had done work for the campaign and we really can't treat our friends like that?

The Teamsters just gave him a multi-thousand dollar check.

We are covered.

Whew.

Primo is impressed that the check is signed by James Hoffa, but I look at that and think, Well, at least they have decent financial controls.

In which I tell Primo that if he cancels our friends' visit in one week because of a political event that I will divorce him

Primo: Oh no!

Me:

Primo: Oh no!

Me [trying not to get involved]

Primo: Oh no!

Me: What?

Primo: The governors' debate is the same night B and G are visiting us!

Me: So?

Primo: But it's here! In town! I want to go to it!

Me: But we already - over a month ago - invited our friends* to stay with us that night so they don't have to get up so early to catch their plane the next morning.

Primo: But the debate! I really want to go! I should have known not to plan anything social during the campaign.

Me: I am not cancelling another social engagement with our friends.**

Primo: But the debate....

Me: If you cancel with B and G, I will divorce you.




* Who have a lake house about an hour from here. They are wonderful friends who have been great hosts to Primo and me many times. They had a super-early flight and would have had to get up a whole extra hour early to leave from their house instead of ours, so I was happy to be able to host them.

** Months ago, I had to reschedule dinner at our house three times and then had to call the friends and ask them to be late the night they actually did come because Primo kept having political BS come up.

In which Primo's flight is delayed and he just misses seeing Major Political Figure

I checked the flight status when I got up and saw that Primo's flight was no longer arriving at 9:22 but would be in at 9:39 instead. I picked him up a few minutes after the plane landed.

"You don't have to take me to the bus stop," I said. "I brought a book. I will find a coffee shop while you go to the event."

He got in the driver's seat, plugged in the radar detector, and we flew down the highway. At 10:14, we were parking two minutes away from the party HQ where Major Political Figure would be speaking.

"Don't worry," I said. "Surely she would not be at this hour-long even for just ten minutes."

I went to get coffee. Primo ran to the event.

Thirty minutes later, he called me.

"I missed her."

"What?"

"I missed her. She walked out two minutes before I got there."

I was confused. "But the event didn't even start until 10! It was supposed to last an hour!"

"She spoke from 10 until 10:10. Then she left. She must have been driving away just as I was walking in the door."

"But that's so unfair! You went through so much effort to see her!"

"That's how it is with these national people. They throw a bone to the local people, but they don't want to waste time with us. Most of her time will be with the big money people."

And this is the industry you want to join? I wanted to ask.

In which Primo rearranges everything so he can see a major political figure who will be in town

Primo went to visit Sly and Doris because Doris has been ill - lots of diarrhea (sorry - TMI - but I have to give you some context) and he was really worried that she might not live very long. She is a little bit better - she has not been eating, but some of that is because she just prefers to drink, but no matter what I think of her and Sly, I do not want her to suffer. I just want her to be nice. I want Sly to be nice. I want to have nice in-laws who are happy and who are nice to my husband and do not threaten to disinherit and disown him for not keeping me in line.

Two days after Primo bought his tickets to visit Sly and Doris - a visit he had not planned on making until spring (I know it is spring now but it is October when I am writing this) but made because he was so worried, he discovered that a Major Political Figure whom he really admires - he bought her book and actually read it (he reads voraciously, but not books - I have seen him read only three books since we met - The Gathering Storm, when we were on vacation and he could not get an internet connection, The Kite Runner, when we were on a flight back from Morocco and he could not get an internet connection, and the book written by MPF) and quotes her to me a lot. It's not Michelle Obama, BTW. This woman is actually accomplished. Not Hillary, either. But almost that level.

Dang. I forgot my verb again. Anyhow, after he got the tickets, he discovered that MPF would be in town the morning of his return. He was not supposed to return until the afternoon. He couldn't change his ticket without paying a huge fee. As I am already not happy about the pay cut our household has taken, the idea of paying money to change plane tickets that he had just purchased for a trip I did not even want him to take did not go over well and to his credit, he did not even suggest it.

But then he discovered that he could change his ticket for no fee if there was a seat available less then 24 hours before the flight. The flight he would have to change to leaves the airport super early, which meant he would need to be up at 4 a.m., which is when he sometimes - not infrequently - is going to bed. But he really really wanted to see MPF.

I was not so happy about this because it would mean that instead of picking him up early in the afternoon, I would have to get him early in the morning and I already had plans for the morning. Like, sleeping late and goofing off and maybe going to watch the UT-OU game with some UT alums in the area.

Friday afternoon, I got an email from him. He had gotten on the flight.

And life was getting more complicated for me as a result.

(Primo said wistfully today that it would be nice to be married to someone who puts the spouse's campaign first and I replied that 1. he should have married a trust fund brat from his party if that's what he wanted and 2. I put having health insurance and a roof over our heads ahead of politics.)

He wrote,

I need to ask you for a favor: Please take my sportcoat (the dark blue one that's on the hanger with my tan dress pants) to the airport, and (if I'm on time) I would like you to go to [the event] with me from the airport. MPF will be there for a 10 a.m. event. That's the one I should try to attend because it's in the district.

I rolled my eyes and told him that sure, I would take his jacket but I had no intention of attending the event with him.

"But I get three political events this campaign!" he said. "This could be the last one."

"Not with less than 24 hours' notice," I said.

"That wasn't in the rules before."

"I am changing the rules," I answered.

We agreed that he would drop me at a bus stop on the way to the event and I would just take the bus home.

So I got home from work and found the sportcoat and hung it over the shower curtain rod. Then I did other getting home from work stuff, ate an apple pecan blue cheese salad, and started watching season 2 of Orphan Black.

As Cosima was coughing up blood, the phone rang.

It was Primo.

Could I also bring his shoes? And the argyle tan socks that were not to be found in the sock drawer but instead were in the middle of the could be worn at least once more before washing stack of clothes on his dresser? And that blue tie with the red stripe? And the tan pants?

If he had time, he would change clothes completely, but if he didn't have time, he would just throw the sport coat on with his jeans and button down.

OK OK OK.

And there was no apparent complaining about me from his parents. His dad needs knee replacement surgery. I asked at what point does someone - someone who is 81 years old and in very poor health otherwise - that it does not make sense to have knee replacement surgery.

Then I suggested that Primo might want to get some sleep before catching his early plane. He agreed and I returned to the show.

In which I find yet another reason to hate politics

You guys, I am going to write about the stresses on a marriage that result when the party of the first part quits his perfectly good job and the party of the second party almost passes out from fear and the fighting that ensues - fighting that the party of the first part actually admits is fighting, which he usually does not do about disagreement, and which includes POTSP telling POTFP that if he had quit to go into used car sales instead of politics that there would be some degree of respectability in the whole thing, but I am not going to write about that tonight.

Tonight, I just want to tell you that although I really like the guy who sent this postcard to Primo and this is not about him at all, I am not pleased that anyone is asking Primo for money.

The postcard, which I photographed and have been trying to download but I GIVE UP, says merely,

Primo,
Could you consider this a request?

It is not pushy. It is in writing instead of in person, which makes it easier to decline. As far as asks go, you couldn't find something more tactful.

But I do not want to donate money to anyone. I want them to give money to us.