The 7 Month Itch

So . . .

I've been married six months now. Yep. Officially six months on the 4th of February, so I'm actually closer to the seven month mark. What that means to me is that I can now call myself a relationship expert. That's right, I am going to go on the motivational speaking circuit hawking my knowledge in book and vitamin capsule form (Yes, there is a vitamin supplement for marriage. Its called "semen." It keeps you looking young.) and one day I will even have a 2 hour infomercial at 2 am on what was formerly court tv, now tru tv. I know you're wondering, "What makes you so qualified?" Let me share with you a few things. . .

Remember that philosophy that everything you REALLY needed to learn, you learned in kindergarten? Well thats the basis of my relationship expert credentials. I learned, during my first week of marriage, that the kind of shit that would get you cut from the team when I was single will not only NOT get you cut from the team, but I'm actually supposed to "work through" the shit. Talk about COMMITMENT. For example, during the first week of marriage, I found out my husband had actually spoken to an ex, via text message. Single Me's first reaction was to play it cool and shoot secret text messages to one of my exes, just to prove a point - that point being revenge. But nooooo. I's married now, and as a married woman, you have to WORK THROUGH whatever may be bothering you. So instead of playing it cool over dinner, I TOTALLY spazzed out, and damn near ruined dinner. Then I shut up, and we went home, where I picked right back up again with being angry . . . And again the next night. Which leads me to that whole "Never go to bed angry" thing.

I go to bed angry ALL THE TIME. Chris Rock says that you've never been in love until you have thought about killing the object of your affection. I figure once you decide to marry that person, that triples the number of homicidal thoughts on any given day. Going to bed angry gives you an opportunity to plan the perfect murder, up to and including where to dump the body, and how to explain your beloved's "disappearance." It also gives you the opportunity to think yourself OUT of murder because really, unless you can lift your husband's dead weight alone, I wouldn't bother. Accomplices equal witnesses which equals state's evidence. Snitching is the new black and the whole point is to get AWAY with it, and you can't do that when your best friend's skin cells are under your husband's fingernails and she all in the interrogation room, crying and telling on you. So now that you've talked yourself out of strategically placing a pillow over your spouse's face, you are left to your own devices, laying in the dark, and soon, you begin to contemplate a solution that doesn't include manslaughter. And of course, men have no such problems with falling asleep during a long, drawn out conversation about the lack of romance in the marriage, or the fact that he never says "how was your day?" And since he's sleep, and given you the chance to come up with a solution, why don't you just wait until the morning?

Because I don't want to, dammit.

So now he's more annoyed because you woke him up to share your epiphany, and you don't like his tone, and next thing we know, you're fighting about the bad attitude and say dumb shit like "I don't know why you're made, but whatever it is, you don't have to take it out on ME." Once my husband revealed to me, during one of these late night conversations, that he envisioned himself bludgeoning me with a wine bottle. At that point, I knew he loved me, and while I was still a little miffed because he wouldn't listen to my epiphany, I went to sleep anyway. It was either that or risk being bludgeoned. My point is, if you're tired, take your ass to sleep. The anger can wait until the morning where the chance of conjuring Satan during the witching hour is greatly reduced.

And you want to know what else I've learned in my almost 7 months of marriage? Only people who don't have jobs have a lot of sex. When I get home, I'd like to have 20 minutes of silence and solitude, and sex isn't included in that silence and solitude. In fact, that's almost the opposite. But I have also learned that I need to outsource some shit. In my mind, I have to work, be a mother, teacher, maid, cook, pet sitter, and sex goddess on top of being funny, informed and cute. . . Ummmmm . . . I didn't sign up for all that shit, so it occurred to me after a very random conversation with my husband about maids last week, that hiring a cleaning lady might NOT be such a bad idea. And I'm a mother, not a school teacher, and dammit, I just don't understand why my kid can't understand long division. You just friggin DIVIDE!! So maybe I should hire a tutor too. . . and a dog walker, and maybe someone to cook once a week or so. Then all that leaves me to do is work, be a mom that loves her kid regardless of his long division skills, and still be a funny, informed, and cute sex goddess. I'll let you know how that works out.

Another thing that I have learned about this whole marriage thing is that you really have to behave yourself. My husband is kinda cute, and really nice, and other women notice that too. When I was single, I considered the idea of cutting a bitch to be beneath me. Why bother? Men are like buses - another will be along in 10 minutes and if you're in Chicago, they line up behind each other. But now that I am married, if I even THINK i see you flirting with my properly tagged husband (He's wearing a RING, bitch!) you just might be risking your life. I got a lot invested in this relationship, and all i need is some skank to come along and cause Hillary Clintonesque problems. I ain't Hillary. I WILL cutta bitch. And the men who flirt with me get treated so wrong. I know you might not have seen my enormous ring from across the room, but once you got closer you should have, so WHY are we STILL talking? I once pointed at my ring to inform a man that I was taken, and his response was "So what? I got one of them too." Word!? Now I'm DEFINITELY interested. In fact, let's continue talking until one of Moses' tablets falls on your head from Heaven - the one with "Thou shalt not be a cheating asshole" chiseled on the front. You know, when I first got married, I received a congratulatory email from a friend who was also recently married. In that email, he called himself imparting words of wisdom which included me "staying on top of my game" so that no other woman would have the opportunity to "take my place." My initial response to that was to tell old friend to kiss my ass. In fact, that's my present response. (Old Friend, Kiss my ass!) I took offense to this because it implies that my husband finding my replacement could possibly be MY fault. Not to say that I'm perfect, but if you think I'm not sucking it enough, why can't you just SAY that versus finding you a hot, young, fashion-challenged intern to suck it? That says a lot about the spouse's character, not mine, so I can't appreciate the unsolicited advice. . . In fact, do i EVER?

And another part of this whole "behaving yourself" thing is the way you talk to your spouse. There are plenty of days where my husband looks at my annoyed face, and asks "What's wrong?" If I don't want to talk about it, I can't just say "I don't want to talk about it" because that will only further peak his curiosity. I usually deny there is a problem. He will continue to ask, I will continue to deny and i finally want to say "Please, go fuck yourself. " BUT, I am his wife, and saying "go fuck yourself" to someone you married might be a clear indication of the fact that you shouldn't have gotten married. *Like, tell us how you really feel.* So every communication that I have is a carefully crafted message that consists of a subject, a predicate, a term of endearment, and a peck on the cheek. THIS TAKES WORK, especially when you're on the rag.

Still on the subject of being nice: I am a junky person by nature. I tend to just have a lot of things, and not a lot of places to put those things, nor a lot of inclination to do so, therfore those things seem to accumulate and eventaully refuse to be tamed. My son is the same way. Its in his genetic code to be junky. To the contrary, my husband would live like he was in a college dorm room if I let him, meaning that he has a few things that mean a lot to him - like gaming consoles and a flat screen tv and wouldnt have sheets on his bed. He's neat, and what i mean by "neat" is that he can be anal. Not chronically anal, just anal enough to get on my nerves which leads me to something else I have learned about being married: Living with other people sucks ass. Period. People have to eat (which means dishes) and poop (sharing the bathroom). They read and watch TV (electric bills) and are alway hot or cold (higher electric bills). But when you're married, you don't have the option of NOT living together. Okay well you DO but then it would be clear that you got married just to get your green card. This person is not just some roomate who covers half the bills and isnt really around too much. This person LIVES here. They not only use the bathroom and eat and breath YOUR air, they also sleep in your bed and wear your clothes when you're not around. Yes, you LOVE that person, which is why you would rather see them dead then up and walking around, eating the LAST KLONDIKE BAR (Oh no, he didn't!).

Oh yes, he did. . .

It's called COMMITMENT, and if you mix the letters around, it spells, I'M A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT and if you add an E, it says, "I HAVE KILLED PEOPLE FOR LESS." Basically, nothing will prepare you for the task set before you - Nothing that is, but ME, your relationship guru, sensei, and dean of romantic affairs. I KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. I've been married for almost 7 months!

So for my break-out session entitled "I'm Too Cute for Frogs" (as part of my awesome lecture series), I will focus on the one thing I know for sure - You have to kiss a lot of frogs to realize that you are in fact, kissing frogs. You're not only gross for kissing amphibians, but you're crazy. Get some help. Set your sights a little higher. I'm not kissing frogs to find a prince. Kiss some princes to find a prince. Make your list of demands clear, and don't compromise. A deal breaker is a deal breaker. If he likes for you to rub him down with crisco and chase him around the house like a pig, and you're not into that kinky shit, you need to determine if this IS a deal breaker. If its not, then add that to your freaky list of shit to try. If it is, then run, bitch, he crazy! All I'm saying is don't settle. I have dated a man too immature to realize that he didn't have to lie to kick it, a perpetual dreamer with the habit of just NOT being there when I needed him, and a bi-polar alcoholic. But I liked the strong sense of family, the creative genius, and someone who knew how to have fun, and neglected to stick to my deal breakers (emotional neglect, verbal abuse, etc). Had I stuck to my guns and drawn the line at the foolishness, I could have saved a total of 5 years, a kid and 2 abortions. . . Listen to your instincts, ESPECIALLY when they say "Run, bitch! He crazy!" This applies to marriage too. Don't ever think murd- I mean divorce is not an option.

Love is a beautiful thing. I know it is. I love my husband with every inch of my being, even though he is the person MOST likely to get on my VERY LAST DAMN NERVE. But we're married and in LOVE. I also know that love is an emaciated, hairy, toothless harpy that will rip out your heart and consume it with a side of sardines and chocolate shake. Yet this is the risk we must take to enjoy the five moments of happiness that will be for naught when the one moment of negativity makes itself known. A second's hesitation when answering the question, "Honey, do i look fat/stupid/like an oompa loompa?" and the roses you bought last night might as well be flushed down the toilet with our fragile emotions. Its really a gamble out here in these mean love streets. Hell, match.com AND eharmony told me I was too weird for human companionship. AND they wanted me to pay 19.99 for that bullshit. . . Point - you gotta take some chances. A myspace profile and 2 and a half years later, I'm sitting here giving YOU love advice from the lofty perch of the pedestal of the recently married because I know everything there is to know about LOVE. . .

So all I need now is a title to my awesome lecture series/motivational speaking/life coaching. I was thinking I would call it "All i need to know about marriage i learned in the first almost 7 months" but that seems a little wordy. I think I'll just settle with "A Guide to Recognizing Your Stalkers: Pimpin' Ain't Easy."

See you on the speaking circuit!