I stood beside our bed last night pointing the remote at our tv, pressing the buttons harder… (you ever see those old comedy sketches with the comedian talking louder and louder to foreign speaking people? that was me and the remote).
“As far as I’m concerned DirecTV can come and get all of their shit. I don’t give a fuck about NFL Sunday Ticket, I’ll find another way to watch the Packers. We’ve never been able to just turn on the fucking tv and get to whatever fucking station we want without enormous fucking effort.”
Now… in my defense; this statement is 100% true (with the exception of not caring about NFL Sunday Ticket). Our receiver in our room has given us trouble since day 1 – they sent us a new receiver last year and with it came a whole new set of problems. We just can’t seem to get a smooth working remote/receiver in our bedroom. It takes easily 3 to 7 minutes to get the station I want; the current situation makes me think the batteries are dead in the remote but they are not. I’ve missed many a climax because of this – a plot climax you weirdos.
With ‘Friends’ happily playing in the background I went to turn on my alarm. Dan has been making comments about my music choice – or should I say “choices”? It sounds as if 2 country stations are playing when my alarm goes off in the morning. I’ve mentioned his early, quick-to-get-out-of-bed rising of late only to hear, “well your dueling country stations are a great driving force.”
I’m not a country music lover (not a hater either but I’m sure I wouldn’t choose 1 country station, let alone 2, as my wake up call) so I’m not sure how this came about. Last night I decided to fix the problem. I hit the on/off button then turned the massive knob on the front of the radio – the station I wanted was quite a way from the station currently playing, so I gave the knob a good spin. Apparently that is the volume control and of course, the station I wanted was volume up (:/)…
I looked at this man who has done nothing but give me the best life a woman could imagine and said, “I don’t know why the fuck you hafta buy me shit like this. Are you trying to fucking kill me? Is there a reason a fucking clock radio has to look like it came from NASA? volume, tuner, and alarms – 3 maybe 4 God Damn buttons and I’ve got everything I need – this thing is fuckin’ ridiculous. I don’t even know how to change the son of a bitchin’ station….”
Now, this statement (if you filter through the swearing) is about 80% true. I do NOT like technology AT ALL. I begged for a Jitterbug phone; I’ve since embraced the smart phone technology. Things like an alarm clock however, should be fairly straightforward – this thing has an MP3 option… I’m not even sure what the hell an MP3 is…
I climbed into bed as he walked over to make my world right again; then I mumbled under my breath about him sitting on my covers and not being able to hear the tv with him dicking with my radio. He wordlessly walked back over to his side of the bed, climbed in and gave me a quick peck on the lips.
As he started to roll toward his own (even more involved, if you can believe it) alarm clock I said, “oh good. Now I get to listen to you hit the same 3 fucking buttons you hit EVERY FUCKING NIGHT. What changes? I can’t stand that 2 seconds of music you play; why do you do that shit? It’s always the same – same music, same alarm time, same 2 second sound check. Geezus you drive me fucking nuts…”
And then… he snapped.
Without changing his course he started laughing and said, “Holy shit you’re a mean mother fu…….”
And then we curled into each other and laughed ourselves to sleep.