My So-Called Wife

My weekend began on Thursday night. I only say that because I didn’t work on Friday. So, I lounged. Our phone was hooked up the next day (and I already told you about that) so now we have a land line. It’s been a touchy subject, but I really don’t like cell phones. It’s probably just a principles issue, but it’s my issue and I love it dearly.

On Friday I drove to Big Stone. They seem to be doing construction on the interstate. It’s the kind where they force four lanes of traffic into two lanes and to accent the fact that driving on the left side of the road is wrong now, they put these bright orange colored plastic poles down the center. Not only should you not vary more than 5 inches to the left or right, but you cannot or you’ll have your driver’s side paint replaced with orange streaks. What I find more insulting (other than this goes on for 30 minutes) is that they slow the speed limit to 55 miles an hour (Minnesota Highway speeds) and they put up signs that read “No Passing”. So, there must have been someone who’s had that idea. Someone thought, “Oh, it’ll be like Mission Impossible. I love that movie and I’m super cool, too,” and tried to pass and either died when they got smoked by a semi coming the other direction or they sued the state over the damage to their car due to the “negligent placement of orange thingies in the road.”

I got home (and realized later that I could have taken highway and completely bypassed the construction instead, but didn’t) and ate. No one was around at first, so it wasn’t until I had been home for about an hour that Brenna irritated me. I think that might be a record for her. I’ve decided to give the girls a timeline. At 12 they can hug me. At 18 they can kiss me. So, Brenna is effectively out of the loop for two years (please let her mature in those two years), but I plan on sticking to the line even after she is that age and still is annoying me. I’m such a nice guy.

I was able to hang out and semi-converse with Camille. Her favorite webpages, I think, are google.fr and babel fish. Bryce’s favorite saying is, “You want the translator?” but that is more for his sake. I think she is getting really sick of typing out “aidez-moi, quelqu’un” all the time. I haven’t gotten around to translating that.

Breakthroughs were made. She asked permission to kill Brenna. We offered to trade Brenna for her sister (an annoying girl who can’t speak English can’t be all bad), but she said that we would regret it. She is pretty sure that Americans are crazy (she should see the Japanese) and I guess she doesn’t like being made fun of.

Camille, if you are reading this, I am sorry that I hurt your feelings.

Translator tells me : Je suis d�sol� que je blesse vos sentiments.

This translated back to English is : I am sorry that I wound your feelings.

If this is put back into French it is : Je suis d�sol� qu’I blessent vos sentiments.

If this is put back into English it is : I am sorry that I wound your feelings.

Well, that could have been a lot more interesting.

The next day’s event was a wedding. It was for my friend Lavyne Wieting who I know from Milbank High School. Her and Zach Rada “tied the knot” (that means “got married” in clich�) in about 40 minutes. My mother, Bryce, Camille, and I attended the ceremony. When we were first seated, I noticed that Camille was trying very hard not to laugh out loud (something about it being “rude” or “banjo”). Then I noticed Bryce was saying “LOL LOL LOL” a lot, so I asked him what the hell his problem was and if he wanted to eat a knuckle sandwhich. He said, “It’s time for Chem lab.”

The lady that sat in the pew (bench) in front of us had these googles over her glasses that looked very much like Chemistry safety goggles. They were huge. Why she had them, I can only surmise, but I think she was very confused. The fact that she was sitting directly in front of made me try very hard not to laugh. Camille was the color of tomato slices and Bryce had taken to drawing a picture of the lady. In the picture she held a test tube of bubbling chemicals and a large, proud smile. Camille took his pen and gave it to my mother and told him “No.” So we sat there. And waited. And waited.

Finally, Lavyne gets her act together and comes on down the aisle. I couldn’t tell if she was blushing, but she sure was grinning pretty hard. I guess that means she’s happy. She marched up to the front of the church and everything went as planned. I had hoped that things would NOT go as planned. Some variations I thought of would have made the ceremony much more entertaining.

Take the Baptist Minister. Paint him as a depressed alcoholic whose wife recently left him for a Methodist Minister. He stands at that moment where he lectures the young couple. “Take one string. It snaps easily. Two strings snap quickly as well, but three strings are not easily broken. So is it with us. A person alone is more prone to sadness. One person will more easily become depressed and broken. One person will more easily question why he ever loved in the first place.” The book falls to his side. He removes his glasses and wipes his brow. “He sits in his house, which he can’t afford anymore, and ponders what good drinking has done for him. Then he remembers how it made him forget, and he puts the bottle to his lips. One person doesn’t go to AA meetings anymore because, what’s the point? SHE’S the one who wanted me there in the first place. It’s not like I wanted to kick this habbit. You can’t drink alone anymore? When we that law?” He pauses. There is a long silence.

“God said it is not good for man to be alone. Go out and search your own. Men, leave your families. Women leave your parents and go to live with your husband. That’s right. Live with your husband,” book down, “Don’t come home in the middle of the night, a little flightier than usual, saying, ‘That Reverand Pierson is such a card’ like his very name was intoxicating. And then, after the battle, confronting me saying things like, ‘He is better off. He is stable. He doesn’t pass out every night.’ I can’t sleep, alright!? I have issues, I see that, but you made them so much worse!” He starts to cry and so does Lavyne. The minister makes his way out of the church and into the sunlight as the participants shrug at each other shake their heads.

Nothing like that happened. I stayed for the meal, but my family was getting together, so I didn’t go back to the dance. I saw Dan and David and the rest playing Bocci Ball (Camille included). Dan and David and I talked about school speeches (I don’t know why) and pretty soon everyone was leaving. Home was boring. I played guitar outside when Bryce and Lindsey got back. Then mom wanted to practice, so we did that while Bryce, Lindsey, and Camille watched a movie. I’m not going to mention the name of this movie, lest you feel the urge to check it out. It’s twisted.

It involves Jennifer Anistan with a southern accent (that’s bad enough, but her nickname is ‘Teeny’) who falls in love with a reject at the Wal-Mart (equivalent) where she works. Her husband and his best friend are house painting stoners. She’s having sex with her husband, having sex with the emo writer, and then ends up having sex with the best friend. In the end, the guy she loves kills himself after she tips the police to his location, her husband slaps her for cheating on him, the best friend starts dating a black women (a large one), and she has a love child with the ‘other’ guy. The guys at imdb.com have been torn in the comments section. Check it out.

I do want you all to know that Lindsey picked it out.

Sunday was uneventful. Mass, sitting around, a band concert (that my mom played in), Camille’s admission that she hates us, and, as the family was going to play golf, I went back to Madison. Before I went, though, I did get a hug from Camille (I’m so sly) and something to listen to. Since one purpose of my trip was to bring Bryce the Beatles CDs he let me borrow, that was what I listened to on the way to Big Stone. On the way back, however, I couldn’t do that. So I grabbed whatever I figured Bryce wouldn’t miss : his Disturbed CD. A brief review of the album : too many of the songs sounded the same with minor changes in power chords. I get bored with music like this. I basically listened to “Prayer” the entire way home. I would have listened to the last track, which features a lighter, guitar picked background sound, but Bryce didn’t like the CD, so there were a large number of scratches on that track, and it was unplayable.

For the last 30 minutes of the trip I had to listen to radio, and the oldies stations didn’t work…

Author: Miles Rausch

I've made a smart playlist of all the songs with 0 plays. I listen to them because I feel bad for them not because I like the music. I'm THAT guy.

6 thoughts on “My So-Called Wife”

  1. weddings make me sad…sad about the fact that i could have been doing something much more interesting

  2. she told you she hated you too?
    she wrote it to me and then said she would explain on the computer…
    we suck.
    you may have gotten a hug but she played piano with me AND we watched Terminator 2. Booya…
    we suck.

  3. the french are hilarious….well, okay….kind of. but, they do have a wonderful sense of sarcasm….and smell….

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