New Life

It's been a full week now since the heavens opened up and rendered me the manna which I refer to as snow. It snowed for four and a half days. I got 20 inches. And it was STEADY accumulation. The kind where you pull your car in off the street and then don't move it for the duration. Which I so smartly did on Christmas morning. I was not in any hurry to go anywhere. There was no need. No one was bleeding or dying. The house was not on fire. We had plenty of food. So much so that five people came over to share it on Christmas. The cats had food and litter and water. I had a carton of cigarettes, coffee and tea... No NEED. (Please note the word need, here. It plays a later role in the story.) Plus, Gay Boyfriend's little Toyota does very well in the snow and he was staying at his sister's for the weekend. Only coming home to shower and go to his other job.

So imagine my surprise when Other Boy comes down on Saturday morning and knocks on my door, proclaiming, "I need you to move your car!" To which I respond. "I'm naked! Don't open the door." And he says, "Okay. Well, I'll be outside brushing my car off." Um. I'm fresh out of the shower and my hair is wet so I yell back, "It'll be a few minutes. I have to dry my hair." And I'd also like to note that the extra set of keys to my car are on the key thingy in the kitchen for emergencies. They are accessible. To everyone in the house. (This is also to be noted for future reference in my favor. I rock at story telling.) So about fifteen minutes later, I put my boots on and head upstairs ostensibly to move my car. No big deal. Back it out, drive it back in. And he's outside. Stabbing at his car with the brush. For fifteen minutes. He still doesn't have his car cleaned off or started.

Other Boy has this uncanny knack for helplessness that fucking INFURIATES ME. So I try my best to ignore it and be all plucky, get'er done and get out of there before I brain him with a shovel. Well, come to find out that this so-called "need" was not indeed, a need at all, but rather Gay Boyfriend's attempt to manipulate Other Boy into snow removal. As in, "Get the driveway cleared after the snow plow comes by before I get home from work." Demands to which I respond, "Are you fucking kidding me? Do it yourself, you freak." But Other Boy, he agrees to do Gay Boyfriend's bidding in such instances. If only to keep him from bitching about it later. To which I say, "Shut it." And Other Boy just tries to ignore it, but it makes him feel really guilty when no guilt is needed. Sigh. Not my problem, right?

So he backs up a little bit and then I back up a little bit in order to get the snow blower out. Well. It's not going to work. So I tell Other Boy that it would be best if he shoveled behind his car before he backed up any further in order to lower the risk of getting stuck. And he stares at me. I say, "Shovel." He looks at me. I go to the garage and pick up one of the shovels and say, "Shovel." He says, "Um..." And I START SHOVELING! Because I am not going to stand around and play THIS game all day. Then he backs up his car. I back up my car, he gets the snow blower out, pulls the cord. It doesn't start. He kicks it. I tell him to prime it and try again. He half heartedly pulls the cord. It doesn't start. He looks at me and says, "I guess it won't start." OH MY FUCKING GOD! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING! I walk over, rip the cord and it starts up. I adjust the throttle and move it about a foot and say, "There you go!" (Dude! I'm still smiling here.) He moves two inches and kills it. I get the puppy dog eyes thrown at me. I start it again. He kills it. I start it and tell him, "This is the last time." He kills it. I go inside. I'm not the one that agreed to do this shit.

Two minutes later, my phone rings. It's Gay Boyfriend. "You gotta go out and help Other Boy with the snow blower." And I'm all like, "I don't GOTTA do ANYTHING!" And he says, "Don't pull that attitude on me." And it's OOOONNNNNN! You don't talk to me like that. First of all, I'm a fucking RENTER and it's YOUR JOB to do SNOW REMOVAL. I don't CARE if you talked OTHER BOY into doing it FOR YOU, but I'm NOT GOING TO HELP! While he's going on and on, "Well, you need to adjust the throttle and keep adjusting it while you're starting." And I'm all, "DO YOU HEAR ME? It's NOT HAPPENING." And he says, "Just one more time, Kate." So in a state of complete and utter fury, I run up the stairs, start the snow blower one more time. (Other Boy has since given up and has completely disrobed from his winter gear and is sitting on the back steps waiting for God knows who to rescue him.) And by the time he gets back out there, I have half of the ENTIRE FUCKING DRIVEWAY SHOVELED. The heavy and hard kind of snow that the plow throws in from the street. And I utter through clenched teeth that I am DONE. I am LEAVING and I am NOT COMING BACK ANY TIME SOON. Poor thing. I scared him. Well, and I scared me too. I never get that angry.

Because the SOS I texted to Dirty Ben said, "Are you in town? Please come get me! I can't do this anymore! Please!" And he says, "I have to take a shower" And I text back, "HOW LONG, BEN? HOW LONG? I HAVE CRACKED!" And he says "20 minutes tops." So for 20 minutes, I shake and cry in a pile of snow on the corner in my boots and hat. He pulls up. I get in. I fall apart. He completely ignores the crazy and starts talking about his upcoming camping trip to Alabama and drives me to Home Depot with inane conversation about tow ropes and hooks and by the time we leave there (He got me Twizzlers and a Diet Coke. The man knows me.) I am no longer shaking. The tears have stopped, but MY GOD I'm exhausted in the head. Then he takes me to Target because I don't like the shirt I was wearing when I fled the house and then to HIS house and I take a nap while he plays video games and the crazy is over.

According to Carolyn (See, "Start Here Before You Say Something Stupid" in the upper left hand corner if you don't know who she is.) that was an inappropriate level of anger for the situation, so I told her to fuck off, too. It was a lovely, lovely day.