Passive Aggressive Rocks!

Scooby Dooby Doo!

It's weekend time boy and girl (cuz I've got my readers numbered)! I usually only get one day off a week, but once a month the heavens open up and the powers-that-be smile down and hand down a second day. Because even the dogs get to eat the Scooby Snack crumbs from around the masters feet.

"Ranks Raggy!"

This is a 2 day weekend.

Scooby Dooby Doo!

So what am I gonna do? Nothing. Well at least not today. I'll blog because, you dear reader, are my sole necessity. I'll toss out a few words, you'll pretend to laugh and then go read a real funny blog, or the comics. I hear Marmaduke is really funny today. Ok, that's a lie. When was the last time that happened? Sorry 'bout that. It's what we do. I blog. You read. Marmaduke isn't funny. It's ok, it's our routine. We count in these things every day.

Everybody has them. In relationships we do the same thing. We build routines around routines like they're some intricate wave pattern from a pebble splash in a marital pond. In a relationship, It's two corresponding rings that meld and interlock to create new patterns as they rush the shore.

She may vacuum while he does laundry. Maybe that's not your pattern. Maybe your pattern involves one vacuumer and one sofa cushion flattener. Cushions are wily you know--and skittish too. Vacuum motors and sewing machine engines send them springing for the door. That's why I don't run my vacuum much. I also find the silt layer helps keep the cushion weighed down.

And before you write in to tell me, my Mr. Know-it-all friends with your boy Sherman. Yes, I know. A sewing machine has a motor, and not an engine. I was just having fun with words. Try it. Having fun? It's good. Oh…your fun includes picking apart Rob's words? Great, get in line. My fun includes talking to myself like I'm talking to you. I'm having a blast. It's my day off.

Anyway, the point is, we all have our patterns. When you get married, you try to blend them. Some blend, others crash and clash, canceling each other out. MyUnwife and I held pretty solid at most sound ripples. There were other things hurled that could tsunami out of control. Take the toilet seat cliché: not a problem for us. Little splash--so to speak. She didn't care if it was up, I didn't care if it was down. "look before you leap" was our bathroom motto.

On the other hand, there were other things. Things that were burs in the flesh. And a bur in the hand is worth two on the toilet seat. Take for instance our philosophy on refill. Refilling what? You name it: sugar bowl, toilet paper, cat fur…whatever. Her philosophy was "refill when low." How low? Well that was between her and God, and neither one wanted to share the divine secret.

Me? I'm more of a "refill when empty" kind of guy. Why would you refill before that? There's something there--use it. It makes sense right? Well this led to a few---we'll call them "misunderstandings." She called me lazy. Why? Because I never refilled anything. I called her "over aggressive." Why? Because she always refilled everything before I had a chance. How can I refill things that never get empty? The only things I could fill were the things that I liked and she didn't. Sardine tins: always empty when they needed filling. It was a well oiled tin machine. Product empties, Rob refills. Empty, fill. See the pattern? She broke my pattern and then accused me of making her do all the work!

It's ok, we reversed the trend when it came to money. She believed it was supposed to be empty, and I needed to stop spending before it got "low."

"I'm the only one working at keeping money in the account!" I'd shout through clenched teeth (try it. It's not easy! It sounds kind of like a garbage disposal eating those last few bone chunks).

"How can I refill the account if it never gets empty?" she'd smile through pursed lips while refilling the sugar bowl.

"Whatever."

See? We're busy working things out in our special Passive Aggressive way. Yeah, that was us too. It was cool. We looked like to submissive cats fighting: They both rush in then roll to their back, claws in the air, waiting for the other to attack. Neither one attacked; we just filled our little PA sacks for later. So while nobody was filling the sugar bowl, two individuals where loading up on PA anger.

I wish we'd had a weekend. Two days to just dump out our sacks and start over. We all need a release. Some couples argue, other couples play World of Warcraft.

"Honey! You nearly hit me with that arrow!"

"Hold still, I don't want to waste the second one. I know how important saving every friggin' penny is to you!'

Still the important thing is an outlet. This weekend I have an outlet. I've got an extra day to dump my Santa Sack of passive aggression. "this one's for the guy who cut me off on the freeway…this one's for the old lady with 23 items in the express lane…oh, and this one's for you Tiny Tim, next time you hobble your ass in my way I'm gonna kick that sorry ass crutch out from underneath you, then beat you with it!" I pour it out on the couch while I vacuum. Then when I'm done, and the bag's empty. I refill it. I'm Rob. That's what I do.