Pickles & Dimes

Name of month being evaluated: February

1. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being “AWESOME!” and 1 being “I WOULD LIKE TO PUNCH IT IN THE THROAT,” how satisfied were you with the treatment you received by February? 1

2. Considering your expectations about the month, to what extent did the month meet your expectations? If by ‘meet,’ you mean take my hopes for a nice month and pulverize them to the ground, pour lemon juice on them and leave them outside in the elements to freeze in a puddle of lemony despair, then ‘VERY WELL’.

3. On a scale of 1-10, compared to other months you have experienced, how well did this month perform? 1

4. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being “YAY, ANOTHER DAY TO REVEL IN MY STATUS AS A HEARTY MINNESOTAN” and 1 being “OH MY GOD, BELOW ZERO AGAIN, I AM GOING TO MURDER SOMEONE,” how did you feel about having an extra day (February 29th)? 1

4a. If you did not like the extra day, why not? It sucked, and I do not wish to elaborate for fear of jinxing myself further, especially since the day is not yet over.

4b. What alternatives do you pose for utilizing the extra day? I wish to move it to July 32nd. If that is not possible, then February can stick that extra day up its [ERROR: maximum characters allowed 103]

5. What happened to make February a bad month? Please check all that apply.

Shitty weather:

Death(s) in family:

Job frustration:

Car doors freezing shut during -40 windchill:

Not being March:

6. How could February have served you better? By letting me win the lottery and move to Hawaii.

7. Would you recommend February to a friend? HA HA HA HA - NO.

8. (Optional) If you are not satisfied with the services provided and wish to discuss your concerns in greater detail, please sign your name and phone number below, and Mother Nature will contact you at her earliest convenience.

Thank you for completing our Monthly Satisfaction Survey!

Jason: I received a package today for one of our sales reps. The return address said, “Dick Sample.”

Me: Heh heh.

Jason: I know! I asked her what she ordered and she got red when she saw the name. But then she said, “It’s not a product sample! It’s the seller’s name!”

Me: Whatever.

Jason: She claims it was something from eBay.

Me: Like the seller couldn’t have gone with “Richard”?

Jason: Or “Rick”?

Me: Yeah!

[minutes pass]

Jason: Dick Sample.

Me: Heh heh.

Jason: ‘If you’re not ready for the real thing, try our starter kit!’

[Uproarious laughter for the next 11 hours]

Last night, I dramatically declared I was “taking it back,” “it” being our evenings, which because of Jason’s completely unpredictable work schedule, either span endlessly before us like the view from a water tower, or else shut us down in the middle of our fun like John Candy in National Lampoon’s Vacation: “Night’s over. Moose out front should’ve toldja.”

At work, both of us are the last cog in the wheel, so to speak. Which means while everyone else dillies and dallies on projects, we get them thrown at us like anvils into our carefully balanced workflow, with no regard for whether we’re eating lunch, attempting to leave work for the evening or trying to have A LIFE. Meanwhile, everyone else has done their part, never mind that they’re thrusting impossible deadlines on us simply because they want to slip out of work early to have margaritas with their friends.

It’s frustrating, this total loss of control, and Jason has it a lot worse. I get home before him and do the daily little chores: open the mail, feed the cats and fish, tidy up the house. But the one thing I can’t do is start dinner because I have no idea when he’ll be home. And neither will he. And because he only knows the minute he is literally leaving the premises, I get only a 10-minute head start.

I dream of cooking made-from-scratch meals: hearty stews, roasts or full chickens, like a 50s housewife, even though during an argument once, I yelled that I didn’t appreciate being treated like one (I was exaggerating, as usual). As it is, we usually eat around 7:00 and too starved to wait, make meals of convenience.

And from then on, our nights shrink exponentially, like frying bacon. After the dishes are washed and we head downstairs to relax, it’s almost 8:00 and despair moves in for the kill. We normally start getting ready for bed around 9:30 and, as you might imagine, this timespan of “free time” is unacceptable to us.

So last night, I decided I was going to go to bed at 10:00, even though I apparently need 17 hours of sleep a night in order to create the dark circles under my eyes every morning.

But that extra time made a HUGE difference. We were able to talk, vent a little about work, play cribbage, relax and just generally feel in control of something for once, even if we were just puppet masters over 30 little minutes.

Dance, half hour, dance!

Excuse me, I seem to have expired. That is, I am dead. What do you mean you don’t believe me?!? So what if my eyes are open? Look at my paw, man! The back one; the one all stiff and afflicted with rigor mortis.

See? I told you I’m dead…OK, same show same time tomorrow, right?

So then I said, “Rectum? Damn near killed him!” Ha ha! Whaddya mean you’ve heard that one before?

You’ve got something on your face. Right th- no, the right side…your OTHER right. Nevermind, I’ll get it for you.