Oompah Bands

Tonight was Oktoberfest at good ol' HBS. They did it Spangler-style (Spangler, if you recall, is the ostentatious student center). They had an oompah band, which for some reason we sat right in front of. They had two largish busty woman in low-cut frauline dresses dancing around. They had bratwurst, which was pretty darned good. And they had beer. You know. Bud, Corona, Sam Adams. Is that what they really serve at Oktoberfest in Germany? Of course the evening sparked a minor tiff between the boy and me. Kara and I were e-mailing and she said, "Are you going to Oktoberfest?" to which I replied, "Huh?" Adam has this nasty habit of forgetting to tell me when there are things going on socially, so I either a) hear about them at the last minute, b) hear about them from a friend, or c) hear about them after the fact. I think what annoys me most about this is I feel it puts me into the stereotypical "wife" position of "you never tell me anything! Why don't you talk to me?" which just makes me cringe, because I know Adam is not a social guy and I know that he tells me everything else (I think I could discuss half the cases he studies), but this just irks me. Half the other partners (who are we kidding? I keep calling them partners. Let's call a spade a spade. The other wives) simply go in and read their husband's e-mail. You know I won't go there. I don't want to snoop. I just want to know everything. You do see the difference, don't you? Now, he's started forwarding me every piece of social e-mail, so next week we have the Halloween party and despite the fact that I detest--and that's with a passion--costume parties, I've decided it's a good idea for us to go. I thought of an extremely low-maintenance costume, so that part won't be too painful. I'm not sure why I feel I subject myself to this, except that I do feel a little bad that we've been neglecting so many of the social events.

Obsessive-Compulsive

My line of work breeds obsessive-compulsive behavior. Scanning text over and over looking for minor typos, stray commas, misplaced modifiers. Makes you batty sometimes. When I'm doing my own writing, it's just as bad, obsessing over each word, trying to find that perfect combination of letters that's going to make my piece just leap off the page. But what this does is breed OCD into the rest of my life. I find myself checking the stove to make sure it's off; checking one more time, because am I really sure I saw that it was off? Sometimes I look at things without really seeing them; and then, just before I walk out of the house, I think, "Did I really see it off?" so I check a final time. Now my coworkers are adding to my neurosis. Adam and I have a new best friend. It's our crock pot. What a magical machine! Amazing how something that cooks so slowly can be such a huge time-saver. Throw things in the morning. Come home to a yummy dinner. When I mentioned it to my colleagues, they agreed the idea was a great idea, but they'd worry about fire. "Really?" I asked. "You think it could cause a fire?" "I once went home during lunch one day because I forgot to unplug the coffeemaker." "You unplug your coffeemaker?" "Sure! It could start a fire otherwise." I'm already paranoid about things touching the radiators and starting a fire when we're out (our paper bags are by the kitchen radiator). Now I have to start worrying about our appliances? Great. Thanks, guys.

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