Man Vs. Woman AKA Television Vs. Computer

He has his things and I have mine.

His are unnecessary, somewhat lame at times, mine are important.

He feels the same, but in reverse.

Blogging : My newest love / addiction.  Followed closely by Tweeting, but that one is actually a form of therapy for me, because anyone who knows me, knows that I can't even cut a one word answer down to 140 characters or less.  It's training me to only say what needs to be said, and forget the rest.

As you can tell, it's not really working that well for me.  I spend a LOT of time angry at the Twitter gods for the stress it causes me having to cut my brief 3829 character comment down to 140 characters.  I'm pretty sure I use more characters than that when I sneeze.  But I get the whole point of it, and so I persevere.  Which is my excuse explains why I sometimes don't make a lot of sense on Twitter....

#1 Hubby : Number one in my eyes...but also easily replaced by #2 Hubby, should Brad Pitt ever see the light.  He is obsessed with sports, as referenced in my recent post.  He is dearly in love with his Foxtel cable television.  In the event of a fire, I expect to see him rush out the door with the Foxtel box in his arms, screaming hysterically like a girly man.  Of course he will stop, take stock for a second and realise he's forgotten a vital and adored part of the family, and then heroically rush back inside - FOR THE REMOTE.

I once broached the subject of removing it, in order to save money for my shopping and cocktail fuelled holidays to pay off the credit card and claw our way out of debt, or something equally responsible.

He almost cried.  I swear to Vodka, his eyes were moist.  Right before he had an indignant hissy fit about it (total shades of Mstr2 and his raging random tantrums....like son like father, in this case).

So that was most definitely off the table.  Because #1 Hubby NEEDS it to survive.  It is his oxygen.  It is his blood.  It is his drug of choice.

It is the bain of my existence, especially when I have to referee between Miss5 and #1 Hubby over Nickelodeon Vs. Fox Sports.  Kudos to #1 Hubby for not playing the "I'm the parent and what I say goes" card.

While I hasten to take the piss out of #1 Hubby, if that hypothetical fire ever did take hold, I would most likely already be outside myself, clutching my laptop, mobile phone, jewellery, and the kids' medical records...frantically trying to cut my SOS message requesting someone call the Fire Brigade, down to 140 bloody characters.

#1 Brother from next door would be the first to realise we were missing the other vital family members, and rush in for the kids.  That's why we live next door, because in the event of an emergency he (he who jokes about electrifying his front door so the kids can't get it) will be the one who rushes in to save the offspring.

Anywho, back to my point (if I can still remember it).

Ah yes, the fundamental differences between #1 Hubby and I.

He's a boy and I'm a girl

Most recently manifested in his complete disregard for my need to spew verbal diahorrea for all the world to see, via a website detailing all the stupid shit I do, the insane crap the kids pull, and the dumb blokey stuff he does.  Diahorrea, shit, crap - we are a family full of refuse.

So while his "thing" is the Cable Television with the 24-bloody-7 sports.

My thing, is the computer.

Originally, emails.

Then online shopping (can't go into detail about that one, lest I incriminate myself for things I have previously vehemently denied when questioned by #1 Hubby about the newness of certain (all) clothing and other goods).

Then Facebook, where I became a master Facestalker (thanks to my niece for giving a name to my affliction) of all people I'd ever met, attended a class with, worked with, lived near, worn the same shoes as....etc etc.

Then I found Blogging.  Sort of by chance, sort of as a result of family and friends threatening to block my email address if I kept up with the epic War and Peace length emails re: family update on what we've screwed up this week.

My cousin (she is a Therapist, so I take this as being her professional opinion) suggested I start a Blog, as an outlet for my OH MY FREAKING GOD?!?! type moments and relevations.  It's pure coincidence that she's also one of the distantly located relatives who was being put into a comatose state by the time I got to the point in my infamous emails.

Also, she is one part of the #1 Godparent Army (with my feral 3some, I need an Army to back me up) who will take the little darlings when #1 Hubby and I fake our deaths to get away from them  expire in tragic circumstances.  They need to be kept up to date on which child has a fetish for eating which inappropriate inorganic object, which child has an aversion to all forms of clothing bar hats, and which child has developed a serious attachment to the kitchen tongs, and using them in a vicious and inappropriate manner.  On occasion, one child has been responsible for all three things.

Hence, the Blog.

As it gets bigger and better more addictive and more time consuming, #1 Hubby gets more antsy.  The more time I spend on the computer, the higher his stress levels.

I admit, I've burnt some (ALMOST ALL) meals as I just pop in to check out the latest Twitter updates while dinner is simmering away.  Only to emerge half an hour later when the smoke alarm rouses me from my hypnotic state.

#1 Hubby has developed what he thinks is a super covert and genius way of combatting this.  He sets the timer on the oven - even if I'm not using it to cook dinner - and it has a similar effect to the fire alarm, in that it snaps me out of my Computerised state and back to reality.

Meanwhile, the kids are going all kamikaze off the toy shelf right behind my laptop screen, screaming and hollering as they launch off the top, elbow out, bodyslamming the crap out of each other.  But that doesn't register.  Because I learnt one of the most important mothering survival skills early on - How to block out the sound of your own kids.

It's got to the stage where #1 Hubby's mouth twitches towards frownsville the second I head towards the computer/toy/crap room.  Sometimes I see this and have to bluff my way out of it by instead going straight past and up the stairs.  Only to go to the bedroom and pull out the Netbook and get my fix up there instead.

Our primary bone of contention as a married couple - Foxtel / Computer.  Not finances, the kids, household duties - or anything regular married couples may bicker over.

He watches too much Foxtel.  I spend too much time on the computer writing about him.  You can see why I've dedicated an entire post to this now, right?  It will totally give him the shits to see that I've blabbed on and on about him on the internet - not just over the phone to my Mum, not just over coffee with my girlfriends, not just over email with my other married Sista's - OVER THE INTERNET!

If you're interested in what specific event sparked this post - It was finding out all too late, that #1 Hubby had muted the volume of my laptop.  It is senior citizen type old, so has a manual dial on the side that you operate for the volume.  I had maxed it out and still couldn't hear a thing - I missed the entire audio of Charlie Sheen's first train wreck Ustream show! Devastated....because seeing is most definitely not as good as hearing.  Because, let me tell you, the emaciated look that is most definitely not a result of any drug taking (ahuh, tell it to Lindsay Lohan), does not appeal.  I had been looking forward to hearing (oxymoron?) the pearls of non-wisdom spewing from his non drug taking mouth all day.  Instead I had to attempt a very poor effort at lip reading.

Please, if you have a #1 Hubby of your own who is begrudging of your own computer time - don't hesitate to comment here.

Because I am fairly confident my own #1 Hubby will be watching and waiting for just one single supportive comment (for his side of the argument) to be all smugness and superiority.  Please, don't let that happen.  I don't think I could cope (without letting Miss5 loose on the Foxtel wiring with her best pair of Mullet cutting scissors)....