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Flying Solo for a Night

I’m on my own tonight. My wife’s off cavorting — or gallavanting, or maybe even merrymaking — with friends in Maine. Some sort of ‘girls night in Maine’ thing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder whether they’d slipped off to Canada for… well, for what, I wouldn’t know, exactly. I mean, I’ve been to Canada myself a few times, but I never went for anything. What do they have up there, anyway? Snow? Mounted police? Grizzly bears? I had a buddy back in grad school who went up every year for the strippers; maybe that’s what the ladies are doing. Maybe they’ve taught grizzlies, or Mounties, or the Mackenzie brothers, to shake their thangs and strip down to their skivvies and beyond.

(Though I frankly don’t see the point, given the subjects. None of those beasts are terribly attractive, for one thing. Seems like a helluva long way to go for that. Plus, all those things are so damned hairy, you’d never know they’d finished taking off their clothes, anyway. Buncha fuzzy-assed half-evolved goobers, anyway.)

But that’s not the point.

(I know, I know — you may wish that naked grizzlies and booty-shaking Canucks were the point, but they’re not. So sorry to disappoint.)

The point is that my wife is in Maine — or in some seedy Canadian weiner joint, but she’s most certainly, definitely not here. And so, I’m all by my lonesome tonight, here in this big old house.

I suppose that, technically, I’m not exactly ‘alone‘, of course. The dog’s with me — she’s sleeping at my feet right now, as a matter of fact. But the fact remains that I’m the only entity in the house tonight with an IQ higher than a block of formica, unless that moldy goop under the fridge has managed to get it together and form a brain. Last I checked, though, it was still buying lottery tickets and watching the WB, so I’m gonna go ahead and say that I’m the only measurably intelligent being here tonight.

(Hey, at least I watch Fox. Nyah!)

Anyway, the important thing is that this is the first time I’ve spent a night here without the wifey present. We just moved into the house in the spring, and she hasn’t taken any trips alone since then. So I’m not quite sure what to do with myself, I’ve got to admit. This is new territory for me, or at least familiar territory in a new environment. Either way, it’s a bit unsettling. Oh, not yet, really — I’m used to being alone here on the weekends from time to time, during the day. I’ve spent my time so far the way I normally would in this situation — piddling with the computer (but not on the computer, as that’s far less practical, and significantly smellier), watching TV, and… um, well, watching more TV. I’ve seen movies, Simpsons, football, and even my beloved Syracuse Orangemen — all in all, a rich, full day of boob tubery. The Panthers-Cowboys game is on now, and that should carry me into MadTV / Saturday Night Live territory, which in turn will see me through until well after midnight.

The problem is — what then? Go sleep in that big, empty bed, in the middle of that wide, empty room, stuck in the corner of that spacious, empty upstairs, in this barren, empty house? Humph. Not likely. Way too creepy, even if I could find my ‘Illuminate-Me-Elmo’ night light and plug it in.

(Which I can’t, because it’s probably packed in a box in the attic, and I am not goin’ up there tonight. That’s just crazy. What do I look like over here, Jamie Lee Curtis circa 1988? Pshaw.)

So, I’m gonna have to find some other ways to occupy my time for a while, until I’m ready to collapse into bed and sleep, no matter what the situation. It’s weird enough not having my wife here tonight to hang out with; I’d have to be exhausted to get to sleep in the bed without her in it, too. It just doesn’t feel right. Oh sure, I can sleep without her in the morning — hell, she goes to work at six a-friggin’-m — but late at night? No. It’s unnatural.

And this being the first time it’s happened in the new house, I’m not sure yet what I’m gonna do. I might stay down here and watch TV, I suppose. There’s probably some good comedy saved on the TiVo that I haven’t watched yet.

(I took care of all the Simpsons, Family Guy, Futurama, Coupling, and Monty Python since coming back, though — being stuck in the house with a cold for six days straight will do that to you.)

On the other hand, maybe I’ll pick out a computer game upstairs and get engrossed in that for a few hours. I could always put together a football team or basketball squad, and take ’em to the title. Or find some sort of strategy puzzler, or a nice shoot-em-up; anything that’s not too creepy or atmospheric. So, Madden NFL — okay. Civilization — cool. Max Payne — um, maybe a little too edgy for tonight. And Evil Dead — oh, my word, no. Good gravy, dude. I’m not goin’ there.

Anyway, I’m sure I’ll find something to do — if all else fails, I’ll work on my standup routine, or shave the dog, or do NyQuil shooters until I pass out. Really, it’ll work out, one way or another. And tomorrow, my sweetie will be back, and things will be back to normal. All I’ve got to do is get through the next sixteen hours or so without going crazy, or accidentally setting fire to anything important. So wish me luck — assuming I make it, I’ll be back with more tomorrow. And if not… well, that goop under the fridge has been bugging me about guest-posting for weeks now. I’m afraid it’s just gonna wanna talk about Felicity reruns and how funny it thinks Steve Harvey is… but hey, if that’s the only one around to post tomorrow, then you’ll just have to live with it. Let’s hope for all our sakes that it doesn’t come to that. That shit doesn’t help anyone.