A Nurturing Kind of Love

As I mentioned the other day, I’ve been losing weight, via the magic process of burning more calories than I take in (TM physics).

My boyfriend Tad hasn’t said much about my weight loss, either because he wants to maintain the illusion that he’s just as happy when I’m fatter, or else because he’s actually a little happier when I’m fatter. Either way, he’s been sending me little Yahoo news articles about weight loss lately. The last one was about how reducing stress and anger helps you burn more calories. Reading that finally got on my last nerve, and I wrote to Tad thusly:

I feel like, now that I’m losing weight, you’re sending me all this information on how to lose weight. Or telling me to exercise more. Hello – I have been exercising more. That’s why I’m losing weight!

Also, I’ve been trying to reduce my stress/temper a lot in the last couple of years, but you don’t seem to notice that, either. I know you’re telling me this stuff because you care, but when you give me “advice” or “reminders” on stuff I’m already trying to do, it just makes it seem like you don’t notice my accomplishments.
[Omitted: Three paragraphs of analogies and examples illustrating my point.]

Do you want me to nag you to run at the park more? Maybe you feel like I don’t care, since I don’t tell you stuff like you tell me?

Jesus – diarrhea again…

What can we learn from this?
One: All the stuff I said to Tad — that is what he’s been doing lately.
Two: If you ever become my significant other, this is how you can expect that I will argue with you: via email, with many, many, many words. (But then, there will usually be makeup sex, provided you pass the pop quiz that proves you actually read the email.)
Three: If you ever become my significant other, I can promise that you will be continually updated on the state of my digestive system, as well as the latest theories on what causes me to be ill. (Very latest theory: My job itself turns my bowels to water.)

So… back to Tad and his transgressions.

“Yes,” he eventually said, when we revisited this subject post-makeup-sex. “I would like it if you nagged me to run more.”

Why?” I said. “Why do you want to be nagged? I don’t want to be nagged!”

“Because…” he said. Then, his cell phone rang. “Hello?” he said. Then, he started speaking the Chinese dialect of his people, which happens to sound almost exactly like when grown-ups talk on Charlie Brown. “Haw bwa, wa bwa,” he said. “Bwa haw… Okay, Dad! Okay!” Then he hung up, then turned back to me. “Because if you nag me to run, it lets me know that you care. That’s the only reason I sent you that weight-loss article, baby. Because I care about you.”

“What did your dad want?”

“Oh, nothing. He just asked if I ate any fruit today.”


“He’s been nagging me lately about eating fruit. He says I don’t eat enough. He bought a melon and wanted to see if I felt like coming over to get some.”

And that’s when I remembered that my boyfriend and his dad are crazy, and that they really do prove their love by nagging the shit out of people about their health.

(The next day, we were in the car, and Tad’s dad called and just said one sentence. “Bwa haw baw wah BWA HAW BAW!” Tad said “okay Dad” and hung up. Translation: “Don’t forget to EXERCISE!”)

OMFG, my bloggi-freaking-versary!

Tomorrow this web site turns ten years old. Here is your proof.

Incidentally, this is the first time in that ten years that I’ve remembered to mark my blog’s anniversary.

The ten-year gift is paper, btw. Feel free to send your surplus notebooks and cute Japanese stationery my way.

The Daily Quest

Every day at my job, in my department, some time after lunch, someone starts looking for a file.

Do you do this at your job? Do you have old-school paper files? If you do, you know how they go missing, right? And then someone will look for them and, depending on the standing of the person searching (hierarchical and social, both), one or more coworkers will aid in the search.

Usually when people look for files, I just check my desk and then yell, “Nope,” across the department.

Sometimes, however, I’m in the mood to be helpful, so I get up and walk around, searching other people’s desks and file cabinets, too. Whenever I do this, I like to get into the real spirit of it. I’ll say, “Didn’t Thomas Johnson come downstairs last week and ask us for that file?” or “I thought I heard Sharon asking Rhonda about that one.” And people will say, “Yeah, that’s right. I remember that,” even if I was just lying and remembered no such thing.

I like to see how far I can take it. “Jim Smith came downstairs yesterday, right after you left, Joanna. He looked really pissed off, and he was sort of sweating, and he twirled his mustache and said, ‘Is Joanna here?’ I said no and thought nothing of it, and went back to working really hard at my desk. I heard a bunch of scratching noises coming from the file room, and then I smelled smoke. You don’t think he…”

Then someone says, “Oh my gosh. Jim’s assistant, Brianna, was down here Monday. She looked really sneaky and had blood on her jacket!”

I say, “I’ve always hated Brianna. I told y’all she slept with my ex-boyfriend, right? Plus, I think she’s secretly bald.”

Then, right about then, someone will say, “Here it is. Found it. Here’s the file.”

Most embarrassing? Is when they find it on my desk.

Be Sociable, Share!
Posted in domestic, meta, my sex life, parenting, vanity, work on 06/28/2007 10:42 pm

Leave a Reply

Comments are closed.