The day following the drunk texts, I raced to to airport to meet up with Plastic Surgeon and Shawn. I drank a pot of coffee at home and another venti Starbuck's pumpkin spice latte (which was my favorite until I realized that it has more calories and fat than a Big Mac. From now on, I'm just grinding one of those up in a blender and drinking it from a Starbuck's cup.). I found them at the gate just as boarding began.
Tickets had been booked last-minute, so none of our seats were together. I settled into my seat and took one last look at my phone. A text came through from Sam, and we had a short conversation.
The first one from him said, "Almost, I am so sorry. All this time, I didn't understand what you were going through and I haven't been a good friend to you, but now I know first hand what you've been talking about."
Confused, I wrote back, "You've been a great friend to me, what do you mean?"
"I mean that I haven't been supportive of your situation and have only concentrated on business. I didn't realize how hard it must have been to get this company off the ground and deal with the personal stuff, too. But now I get it and I'll be a better friend to you."
"Huh?? What are you talking about?"
"There's a price on my head."
"A what?! What does that even mean?"
"I mean that I almost got jumped last night because the personal space invader put a price on my head." (I used to call Ex the Personal Space Invader, but at this point, couldn't quite process what I was reading.)
At that precise moment, the flight attendant told us we had to turn our phones off to prepare for takeoff. "Oh, this is just perfect," I thought. "Now I have hours to ruminate over what the f*ck is really going on here with nobody to ask for advice." Which is exactly what I did.
For the next several hours, I vacillated between kicking myself in the ass for my phone phobia, because if I had just called Sam when I received his first text I would have already been in the know, and wondering, could it be? Could Ex really have done something like that? No.... but would he? He's crazy, but he's not that crazy.... right? And what does, "price on my head," even mean?
We landed in New York and I checked voicemail. The first message was from a friend of mine who had been in the bar with Ex and B.B. (who was bartending) the night before. He said, "Almost, I'm sorry, this is an emergency. I overheard something last night and you have to call me back. I think someone is in danger. Call me." The second one was from the club owner, a long-time friend, and he said, "Almost, I need to talk to you ASAP. Something bad went down last night with Ex and I need to warn you."
We all took the same cab to the hotel, so I was trying to put on a front like everything was fine, but PS, damn her, is so perceptive that she knew something was wrong. Perhaps it was that she could see my heart uncomfortably lodged in my neck. I explained what I knew. She didn't look surprised.
"I don't know what's going on here, but I'll tell you this. I did not like that man from the moment I met him. I had a terrible vibe from him. You have 10 minutes once we check in to figure out what's happening and meet back in the lobby for dinner with the other surgeons and the PR reps. Try and figure it out and we'll talk about it on the way to dinner."
I was already dialing Sam's number on the way up to my room. When he answered, I didn't even say hello. "What in HELL is going on here?"
He explained to me that, at 3:30 am the night before, he'd received a phone call from the (very large) bouncer at the club who said he'd been hired to break Sam's legs because "my client thinks you're screwing around with his wife." Thankfully, Sam and Bouncer have a mutual friend, whom Bouncer had called first. The friend said he'd known Sam for years and that he certainly wasn't the type to screw with someone's wife, so he'd better get his story straight.
I was listening to this with my jaw hanging to my knees, while simultaneously trying to get out of my flight clothes and into something presentable for dinner, hopping on one foot, thinking, "OK, dress on, crap, backwards. Can this really be happening? Ouch! Shoe on wrong foot. Holy sh*t, he really paid someone to break this guy's legs?"
I had to wrap up the conversation because I was due downstairs, but I asked Sam if he was OK.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was freaked out at first, but eventually, I found it so absurd that it's now kind of funny. Bouncer and I talked for about a half hour and I explained that I'm not interested in you like that and that it's purely platonic. But you needed to know. Ex asked him to make sure I never walk again, and if he'd hire someone to do that to me, I'm worried for your safety."
I told him I'd call him later and ran downstairs to meet Shawn and PS. We had a 2 block walk to the restaurant, at which time I realized that my hasty dressing resulted in Olsen-twin homeless chic without the chic part. On the way, PS said to me, "We have about 3 minutes. Tell me and tell me quickly."
I told her and asked, "What should I do?"
"Almost, I need you firing on all cylinders tomorrow, so please don't deal with any of this until we return home. Don't call, don't text, nothing. Put it out of your head. And by the way, honey, what are you wearing?" That was enough to make me laugh and forget about this mob movie in which I was caught, so I was actually focused during dinner.
And I did put my own personal Godfather: Almost Edition out of my head for our time in New York. Well, sort of, since I filled Shawn in on the details of the debacle over an after dinner drink at the top of our hotel. Since this was our first meeting, I was surprised she didn't throw herself off of the balcony to get away from me or yell, "Check please," and run like FloJo. And aside from returning the two phone calls I'd received earlier in the day to confirm the events (which they'd both overheard at the bar), I put the situation aside.
We did our media interviews the next day and, thanks to the marvels of spackled-on makeup I don't think I looked as if I'd come from a night of hooking, and headed back to our city. PS walked back to my seat during the flight back and asked, "Are you going to be OK, honey?" I answered in the affirmative. "Well, just let me know if there's anything at all I can do for you. And make sure you stay in touch with me on the phone to let me know you're safe."
I agreed. After landing and saying our goodbyes, I headed to my car. It was the moment that I actually began to feel something about the situation, and it was a rage that supersedes words. My jaw was clenching and unclenching as I paid my ticket to get out of the garage, already dialing Ex.
When he picked up the phone, I took a deep breath and said, "Is there something you want to tell me about Saturday night?"
"No, what do you mean?"
"I mean, is there something that happened that maybe you woke up the next day and regretted? Or weren't that proud of?" I prodded.
His voice began to shake and I could tell his mouth was dry. "N-n-no. I don't know what you're talking about." He sounded like he was about to cry.
I tried every trick in the book to get him to just tell me, but to no avail. And then it hit me. I lost it. Blacked out. I don't even remember the trip back downtown because I was screaming so loudly. And I'm not one to raise my voice in a confrontation, so this shocked even me. I recall a few things I shouted.... "Who died and left you f*cking Tony Soprano?" "What, do you think you're Johnny Goombah now?" "I have 3 separate people who don't even know each other who confirmed this story!" "Are you out of your f*cking mind?! The ONE PERSON WHO COULD HAVE PUT THIS COMPANY ON THE MAP AND YOU WANT TO BREAK HIS LEGS SO HE NEVER WALKS AGAIN?!?!" "Drinking is not a f*cking excuse! I laugh when I drink, I don't hire thugs to go out and break people's legs!"
The entire time he was crying, denying, saying, "I was drunk, but I would never do something like that." "Almost, it's not even possible for me to do anything like that." "I don't remember, I was wasted." "It's just not in my nature."
Though I don't remember the drive downtown, the moment that he said this, I remember with crystal clarity that I was just about to drive into the parking garage at my condo. The automatic arm was just lifting to let me in when he said, "But I didn't mean it." And then he admitted the whole thing. "B.B. told me that he saw you at The Doc's party while I was overseas and that Sam was there. She saw him kiss you on the cheek. She said she was sure you were screwing." Ah, so that explained the text saying, "Just so you know, I know more than you think I know."
(As a little side note here, B.B. had once again sold me out because I had sent her a few texts on the Saturday night in question, asking her to please make Ex get a hotel room and not to overserve him. She told me she'd take care of him. She took care of him alright, and almost had Sam "taken care of.")
At that moment, I was like one of those sad, deflated helium balloons. The rage that had me so furiously high just moments before drained with amazing rapidity and I sagged back in the car seat, feeling like someone had just pricked me with an industrial sized pin. I shut down.
I told him I couldn't talk anymore and had to go. Ex disappeared for 6 days over the Thanksgiving holiday. I found out in court that he had gone to Vegas and lost $30K. When he returned, we agreed to meet. I knew already that the final, rusty nail - the one that had been waiting atop the coffin for me to swing the hammer that was just out of my reach - was now ready to be driven into place.
We met at the house where we'd lived together. I didn't even have to say a word to him. I sat down on the couch and looked at him.
He said, "How do you want to do this? Should we get lawyers involved or do you want to try and divorce amicably?"
Showing posts with label Shawn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shawn. Show all posts
Friday, October 5, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Don't Drink and Text Part III, and Leg Breaking Part I
This is a longer story than Anna Karenina (which I still haven't finished), so I'm sorry that it has to be told in two parts. Please bear with me.
PART I
Driving to City Airport in November of last year, I flipped down the vanity mirror in my car and groaned. Pete Doherty on a 3-day bender looks better than I did that day, and I was on my way to do media interviews in New York with Plastic Surgeon and Shawn about the FDA’s approval of silicone breast implants. I prayed for a sympathetic makeup artist with industrial strength tools. I was pretty sure the media wanted to see slutty-looking women who had been awake for a week. Those are some good ratings, after all. Despite my business suit, I still looked like I fit into the "gross, dumb blonde who wants big boobs," category.
But I’m not slut (at least I don't think), and I hadn’t been up for a week – only one night, in fact, thanks to Ex’s drunk texts.
As a little background, Ex and I started a company together a few years back. We needed sponsors - big ones - and coincidentally, I’d met a man named Sam that previous July. He is brilliant, ridiculously accomplished, connected, self-effacing, and helpful to boot. I didn’t intend to tell him about our company, but it came up in conversation when he asked what I did for a living aside from graduate school. He immediately offered his support, and thus began what would have been a mutually profitable relationship.
In order to promote the company, Sam put me in front of Fortune 50 companies, worldwide PR firms, and offered to put his personal name on the line, should it help our organization. Because Ex and I are small fries and didn’t have the access to these types of firms, Sam was integral in putting our company on the map. I once asked Sam why he was willing to help us out in this way. He shrugged his shoulders. “I like to see worthy companies and worthy people succeed. Your company is the future. If I’m lucky enough to help you contribute, I consider it an honor.”
Back to November and my trip to the airport, I couldn’t help but relive the previous evening, during which I had no sleep.
Long story short, The Doc and I had gone out to dinner the evening before and had run into Ex while we were out. And it turned fairly ugly. Ex sent us a bottle of champagne and, while we appreciated it, my flight was leaving early the following morning and I needed to head home soon. The Doc bounded over to Ex before I could do anything and thanked him while I was frozen in shock. I’d already moved out of the house and just wasn’t sure what to do with this situation. After The Doc returned from speaking with Ex, I made my approach to thank him for the gesture and invite him over to join us. He turned his back on me and muttered, "Ungrateful bitch."
I returned to The Doc and told him that I was about as uncomfortable as a whore in church and that we had to leave soon.
Text messages ensued. They began while The Doc and I were still in the bar, but continued far into the night. Texts that became clearly more and more drunk as the night and morning wore on.
Forgive me. This may be long, but I hope it’s worth it.
Prior to leaving the bar, I began receiving this:
Ex: 12:35 am: “Honey I can see how much you luv me..u wont even come over..thats okay..i just going to get fcked up.” (I had already asked him to join us.)
I didn’t respond via text. In fact, I went over to try and rectify the mess... again. He turned his back on me once more and uttered, "Slut." I was stunned because The Doc is probably more interested in sex with anteaters than with women. I went back to the Doc and told him we had to go. Doc and I headed toward the door, and despite the slight from Ex, I went back and thanked Ex again.
I returned home and then the texts proliferated. (I’m just going to alert you to all of the [sic]s here, because there are too many to add. The typos are not mine, I assure you.
Ex: 1:02 am: “Goodnite…sorry I wrecked your nite..i would have went somewhereelse..i am going 2 stay here & get fckd up..4th martini..”
I sent him a text, urging him to stop drinking and either get a hotel room or go home.
Ex: 1:18 am: “it is not that far…have a good nite…please do not worry about me.. u did this for awhile precondo..Ill be fine..I need it…” (I think he was referring to the short time I bartended while we were married and I had a commute to our home in the suburbs.)
Ex: 1:27 am: “honestly honey I wish you would have tapped my shoulder and not Doc..honestly..i was excited until I saw Doc and not u..i sent Cristal b/ci am very sad.”
Ex: 1:28 am: “but I will be ok.”
I responded that if he needed me to go back to the house and take care of the animals, I’d do it happily.
Ex: 1:34 am: “I will be fine and take care of the cats. YOU do not have to go back…prepare 4 tomorrow/Monday”
Ex: 1:40 am: “sorry I interrupted your talking..please do not worry..i will feed the cats..sorry I know your very busy and have a lot on your plate”
Ex: 1:42 am: “U know honey I texted u 3 times earlier and u did not answer.. I missed u and wanted 2 express and u did not answer”
Ex: 1:52 am: “I am on #7 and feeling fine…see? i am ok @%^$*””
At this point, I sent him a text, asking him to PLEASE get a hotel room. Clearly, this was not a rational man.
Ex: 1:54 am: “NO…..am on the payroll now…”
Ex: 1:55 am: “Having a shot with B.B…… YEAH!!!!!”
Ex: 1:56 am: “play by play of my nite..please shut your phone off”
Ex: 2:05 am: “#9”
Ex: 2:13 am: “#10..just starting w feel a buzz..must hve tolerance from my wife…..ur still my wife…oh boy..what a nite”
Ex: 2:17 am: “U can thank B.B…she asked if I was driving..I said I am OK”
Ex: 2:24 am: “go to sleep honey..u have busy couple of days ..thanks 4 sending Doc instead of you. Cool. I am actually on # 10..what is the record? Do you know?”
Ex: 2:28 am: “just so u know honey, u destroyed me by sending Doc..i did not know you were here but anyways why was I invited.. I was not on the list..that is ok…remember I luv u”
Ex: 2:30 am: Blank text
Ex: 2:30 am: “I am bawling inside..but showing pretty well.”
Ex: 2:56 am: “I am going late nite..benn a long time..just an fiy” (Umm, FYI, maybe?)
EX: 2:59 am: “u r probaby sleping..that is good”
Ex: 3:05 am: “u r in the mix..i am fck up”
Ex: 3:08 am: “since u carwe.so much
Please dont contact me”
Ex: 3:12 am: “hopefully.. u r sleeping well..do not contact me tonite..i am fckd up”
Ex: 3:17 am: “I am fuked up”
Ex: 3:19 am: “just so u know I know more than u know” (This is important later with Sam - integral in the topic of the next post)
Ex: 3:20 am: “there will be no [business that we started together]…I am backing out tomorrow..i do not need it…thanks honey..”
Ex: 3:21 am: “handle it yourself..it is over..thanks 4 not coming over…sending Doc”
Ex: 3:23 am: “do not contact me anymore unless u truly luv me”
Ex: 3:26 am: “I am so fckd up..i can even see dtright..call insurance agent just in case”
Ex: 4:22 am: “the world sucks”
Ex: 4:58 am: “hoe u r sleeping well right now…
Ex: 6:20 am: “5:25 am heading 2 another bar on the way home” (5:25, but I received the text at 6:20?!)
Ex: 7:21 am: “bottom line..we need a big talk and definitely our business is at risk..i do not want any of Sam’s connections…I do not care howbig… I willl tell [Fortune 5} company no go”
I didn't respond to most of these texts because I needed to try and sleep, but with each "ding" of the phone, I was woken up so I didn't sleep a wink. Like I said, Pete Doherty on a bender. Except I wasn't having any fun....
If these texts don't seem like a big deal to you, just wait. The second part to this story will follow soon and hopefully won't disappoint. I promise, this is all leading to a mobster movie scene. After all was said and done (and the final, rusty nail of the coffin was hammered), I think my response to Ex was, "Who died and left you Tony Soprano?"
PART I
Driving to City Airport in November of last year, I flipped down the vanity mirror in my car and groaned. Pete Doherty on a 3-day bender looks better than I did that day, and I was on my way to do media interviews in New York with Plastic Surgeon and Shawn about the FDA’s approval of silicone breast implants. I prayed for a sympathetic makeup artist with industrial strength tools. I was pretty sure the media wanted to see slutty-looking women who had been awake for a week. Those are some good ratings, after all. Despite my business suit, I still looked like I fit into the "gross, dumb blonde who wants big boobs," category.
But I’m not slut (at least I don't think), and I hadn’t been up for a week – only one night, in fact, thanks to Ex’s drunk texts.
As a little background, Ex and I started a company together a few years back. We needed sponsors - big ones - and coincidentally, I’d met a man named Sam that previous July. He is brilliant, ridiculously accomplished, connected, self-effacing, and helpful to boot. I didn’t intend to tell him about our company, but it came up in conversation when he asked what I did for a living aside from graduate school. He immediately offered his support, and thus began what would have been a mutually profitable relationship.
In order to promote the company, Sam put me in front of Fortune 50 companies, worldwide PR firms, and offered to put his personal name on the line, should it help our organization. Because Ex and I are small fries and didn’t have the access to these types of firms, Sam was integral in putting our company on the map. I once asked Sam why he was willing to help us out in this way. He shrugged his shoulders. “I like to see worthy companies and worthy people succeed. Your company is the future. If I’m lucky enough to help you contribute, I consider it an honor.”
Back to November and my trip to the airport, I couldn’t help but relive the previous evening, during which I had no sleep.
Long story short, The Doc and I had gone out to dinner the evening before and had run into Ex while we were out. And it turned fairly ugly. Ex sent us a bottle of champagne and, while we appreciated it, my flight was leaving early the following morning and I needed to head home soon. The Doc bounded over to Ex before I could do anything and thanked him while I was frozen in shock. I’d already moved out of the house and just wasn’t sure what to do with this situation. After The Doc returned from speaking with Ex, I made my approach to thank him for the gesture and invite him over to join us. He turned his back on me and muttered, "Ungrateful bitch."
I returned to The Doc and told him that I was about as uncomfortable as a whore in church and that we had to leave soon.
Text messages ensued. They began while The Doc and I were still in the bar, but continued far into the night. Texts that became clearly more and more drunk as the night and morning wore on.
Forgive me. This may be long, but I hope it’s worth it.
Prior to leaving the bar, I began receiving this:
Ex: 12:35 am: “Honey I can see how much you luv me..u wont even come over..thats okay..i just going to get fcked up.” (I had already asked him to join us.)
I didn’t respond via text. In fact, I went over to try and rectify the mess... again. He turned his back on me once more and uttered, "Slut." I was stunned because The Doc is probably more interested in sex with anteaters than with women. I went back to the Doc and told him we had to go. Doc and I headed toward the door, and despite the slight from Ex, I went back and thanked Ex again.
I returned home and then the texts proliferated. (I’m just going to alert you to all of the [sic]s here, because there are too many to add. The typos are not mine, I assure you.
Ex: 1:02 am: “Goodnite…sorry I wrecked your nite..i would have went somewhereelse..i am going 2 stay here & get fckd up..4th martini..”
I sent him a text, urging him to stop drinking and either get a hotel room or go home.
Ex: 1:18 am: “it is not that far…have a good nite…please do not worry about me.. u did this for awhile precondo..Ill be fine..I need it…” (I think he was referring to the short time I bartended while we were married and I had a commute to our home in the suburbs.)
Ex: 1:27 am: “honestly honey I wish you would have tapped my shoulder and not Doc..honestly..i was excited until I saw Doc and not u..i sent Cristal b/ci am very sad.”
Ex: 1:28 am: “but I will be ok.”
I responded that if he needed me to go back to the house and take care of the animals, I’d do it happily.
Ex: 1:34 am: “I will be fine and take care of the cats. YOU do not have to go back…prepare 4 tomorrow/Monday”
Ex: 1:40 am: “sorry I interrupted your talking..please do not worry..i will feed the cats..sorry I know your very busy and have a lot on your plate”
Ex: 1:42 am: “U know honey I texted u 3 times earlier and u did not answer.. I missed u and wanted 2 express and u did not answer”
Ex: 1:52 am: “I am on #7 and feeling fine…see? i am ok @%^$*””
At this point, I sent him a text, asking him to PLEASE get a hotel room. Clearly, this was not a rational man.
Ex: 1:54 am: “NO…..am on the payroll now…”
Ex: 1:55 am: “Having a shot with B.B…… YEAH!!!!!”
Ex: 1:56 am: “play by play of my nite..please shut your phone off”
Ex: 2:05 am: “#9”
Ex: 2:13 am: “#10..just starting w feel a buzz..must hve tolerance from my wife…..ur still my wife…oh boy..what a nite”
Ex: 2:17 am: “U can thank B.B…she asked if I was driving..I said I am OK”
Ex: 2:24 am: “go to sleep honey..u have busy couple of days ..thanks 4 sending Doc instead of you. Cool. I am actually on # 10..what is the record? Do you know?”
Ex: 2:28 am: “just so u know honey, u destroyed me by sending Doc..i did not know you were here but anyways why was I invited.. I was not on the list..that is ok…remember I luv u”
Ex: 2:30 am: Blank text
Ex: 2:30 am: “I am bawling inside..but showing pretty well.”
Ex: 2:56 am: “I am going late nite..benn a long time..just an fiy” (Umm, FYI, maybe?)
EX: 2:59 am: “u r probaby sleping..that is good”
Ex: 3:05 am: “u r in the mix..i am fck up”
Ex: 3:08 am: “since u carwe.so much
Please dont contact me”
Ex: 3:12 am: “hopefully.. u r sleeping well..do not contact me tonite..i am fckd up”
Ex: 3:17 am: “I am fuked up”
Ex: 3:19 am: “just so u know I know more than u know” (This is important later with Sam - integral in the topic of the next post)
Ex: 3:20 am: “there will be no [business that we started together]…I am backing out tomorrow..i do not need it…thanks honey..”
Ex: 3:21 am: “handle it yourself..it is over..thanks 4 not coming over…sending Doc”
Ex: 3:23 am: “do not contact me anymore unless u truly luv me”
Ex: 3:26 am: “I am so fckd up..i can even see dtright..call insurance agent just in case”
Ex: 4:22 am: “the world sucks”
Ex: 4:58 am: “hoe u r sleeping well right now…
Ex: 6:20 am: “5:25 am heading 2 another bar on the way home” (5:25, but I received the text at 6:20?!)
Ex: 7:21 am: “bottom line..we need a big talk and definitely our business is at risk..i do not want any of Sam’s connections…I do not care howbig… I willl tell [Fortune 5} company no go”
I didn't respond to most of these texts because I needed to try and sleep, but with each "ding" of the phone, I was woken up so I didn't sleep a wink. Like I said, Pete Doherty on a bender. Except I wasn't having any fun....
If these texts don't seem like a big deal to you, just wait. The second part to this story will follow soon and hopefully won't disappoint. I promise, this is all leading to a mobster movie scene. After all was said and done (and the final, rusty nail of the coffin was hammered), I think my response to Ex was, "Who died and left you Tony Soprano?"
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
THE RAID
This is one of my favorite stories of all time, and even though it's long, I just can't resist telling it today, especially since Tracy, Lauren, and Lynn just conducted a raid of their own.
My raid was much more dramatic than that one, and I have to say, so filled with laughs that it's nearly impossible to convey in words.
I had moved out of the house in the fall, and Ex and I initially tried to work out our divorce amicably. It clearly was not going well because we had too many assets and it was an insurmountable task to divide them equally. Add to that the many drunk texts I was receiving almost nightly, and it equaled a contentious relationship to say the least. I had already retained Lawyer, so I wasn't surprised when he called me shortly after the New Year one Monday morning and said, "Almost, Ex has filed for divorce against you. Let's get together later today and sign some papers. I already have them drawn up."
The next day while I was at work, I called Lawyer and said, "Listen, I think I should probably go get the rest of my possessions out of the house. What do you think?"
"Absolutely! Get over there as fast as you can!"
As I've already mentioned, Ex is gone during the week for work, and this presented the perfect opportunity to go back to the house and load up what remaining items I could fit into my car. It just so happened that this fell on Girls' Night, which is our weekly get together of whatever members of our girls' club are available, so I called all of the girls and asked a huge favor.
"Lauren, Anastasia, and Shawn, I need to get my stuff out of the house. Can you bring your SUVs and help me tonight? I promise, there will still be wine involved."
The wonderful friends that they are, they agreed and I headed to the house straight after work.
I was nervous while I was driving there because I wasn't entirely convinced that Ex wouldn't be home, but I was enormously relieved when I drove down the driveway and saw that the space in which he usually parked his car was empty.
I was the first to arrive. I traipsed through the inches of snow on the ground to the front door, almost breaking my neck in the Christian Louboutins I had worn to work that day.
I tried my key in the lock. It wasn't working, no matter how much I jiggled it. I was incredulous. Ex had changed the locks.
Again, almost breaking my neck in my heels, I walked to the back of the house and tried my other key. He'd changed those locks as well.
I promptly called Lawyer. I was in a rage. "Lawyer, he CHANGED THE LOCKS ON ME!!"
"Of course he did."
"Am I within my legal rights to break the window or pick the locks to get my stuff back?" I asked, while walking to the sliding glass door in the front of the house.
Just as Lawyer was about to answer me, I tugged on the sliding glass door and began to laugh. It slid right open. For all of Ex's attempts to keep me out, he had forgotten to lock that door and it amused me to no end. Lawyer laughed as well and we said our goodbyes.
The first thing I went to look for was a stash of physical precious metals we had acquired over the course of the marriage, which happened to amount to a substantial sum of money. My intent was to have Lauren photograph the entire stash for insurance purposes and then split it equally. I knew the going price of gold and silver at the time, so it would have been a simple task. It was gone.
Again, in a rage, I called Lawyer. "The gold and silver is gone!"
"Of course it is."
I was becoming irate as the girls started showing up. They were already in hysterics because of the manner in which I gained entry to the house, but I threw my hands in the air in frustration.
"Can you believe this bastard? First, he tries to lock me out of getting my own stuff, and then he steals the gold and silver! What a motherf*cker!"
Anastasia said, "Chill out, Almost. Let's open a bottle of wine while we get your stuff together."
Ex and I had been working on a wine cellar together when I moved out of the house, and by the time The Raid took place, it was finished. There was a key on the table near the entrance to the cellar, and it didn't work. I looked at Anastasia and said, "You're the cop, break in!"
Instead, she went on a hunt for the working key, and to her credit, found it. We began by opening a bottle of Opus One. An old one. A very expensive one, and the first of several that we would finish before the evening was out.
While we went to work packing up the remainder of my clothes, books, and everything else I thought we could fit into our various vehicles, Shawn said, "Wouldn't it be funny if we took all of the toilet paper in the house?"
Shawn didn't know this, but Ex has this thing about toilet paper. If there weren't 800 rolls in the house at once, he'd flip out, go to the nearest 24 hour convenience store and purchase their entire stock of Charmin.
Of course, Lauren was aware of Ex's obsession and the look in her eyes was priceless as she took off on a tear to grab every single roll in the place. On each spindle, she left an empty cardboard roll.
I went to look for a plastic bin containing thousands of photos that I can never replace, and it wasn't in the last place I'd left it. I began to panic because, honestly, of everything I was taking, this was the most important. I thought that perhaps it was in the garage, so I grabbed the garage door opener and went outside.
Ex had told me in November that he'd had my motorcycle taken to the dealership for winter tune-up and storage. I took him at his word and never called the dealership to confirm, so it came to me as a huge surprise when I opened up the garage door and found my bike sitting right there, not moved an inch from the last time I'd taken a ride. I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe that I couldn't find my pictures, but did find my bike. This whole situation was becoming more and more unbearable.
Immediately, I got on the phone with the dealership. These guys have known me for years, and I knew that even though it was after hours, a little begging might prod them into coming out and picking up the bike. I really needed them to do this because if that bike was still there when Ex came home and realized I had removed my belongings, he'd take a hammer to it. I explained my situation, and sure enough, a half hour later, two of the guys from the dealership showed up with their truck. After loading my baby into the back of their trailer, I invited them inside for some wine and laughs.
By this time, we'd pretty much packed up all of my belongings and we were sitting in the living room working on our third bottle of wine. I went into the wine cellar, picked up two collector's edition magnums of cabernet, and gave one to each of the guys from the dealership.
Anastasia said, "Almost, you should take something of value, since Ex took the gold and silver, tried to deprive you of your own possessions by changing the locks, did something with your photos that you can never replace, and lied to you about the bike."
"You're right. I need collateral, don't I?"
"Sure do."
I promptly added to the pile of belongings the three most expensive paintings we had in the house, as well as Ex's gold Rolex, of course with the intention of returning them eventually.
As the six of us chatted and drank more wine, Lauren got a mischievous look in her eyes. Ex and I had purchased a six foot wooden Cigar Store Native American statue a couple of years back which stood in the corner of the living room. Lauren said, "Wouldn't it be great if we took that thing out on the front lawn and wrapped it in toilet paper?"
We all giggled and the guys from the dealership groaned. They looked at each other and one muttered, "This is why the saying goes that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
I couldn't bring myself to do something like that, but Lauren had another idea. "Almost, why don't we dress up the cigar store dude in some of Ex's clothes?"
I jumped up. "His wedding tuxedo!"
I ran to Ex's closet, brought out the tux, and we proceeded to dress the statue in the clothes. We had no trouble with the shirt and jacket, but we couldn't figure out how to get the pants on because the feet were planted to a rectangular stand.
"Almost, go get some nails," Shawn giggled.
I went into the tool box, found a couple of rusty roofing nails and a hammer, which Shawn promptly grabbed from me and used to affix the pants onto the statue. We were in hysterics while we each took turns taking photos with the statue hilariously dressed in Ex's wedding tuxedo.
I knew that I couldn't leave it like that, so I eventually took off the tux and returned it to Ex's closet, though the pictures still make me laugh.
My boxes and bags were sitting at the door, and I thought it was time to get going. The boys from the motorcycle dealership helped us pack everything in the cars and SUVs, but I was having trouble because I was wearing good shoes that I didn't want to ruin in the snow. While I had been packing, I had come across a cheap, ugly pair of Frederick's of Hollywood mules with feathers on the toes. Though it was cold and snowy, I thought it was better to go in and out of the house in those rather than ruin a nice pair of shoes because truthfully, I'd rather have frostbite than kill expensive shoes.
When we were finished packing everything in the vehicles, Lauren said, "Almost, we have to do one more thing. Sort of like a signature..... hmmm.... oh, I know! Give me those cheap mules you've been wearing!"
"What? Why?" I asked.
She laughed and said, "Trust me on this one. If you like them that much, I'll buy you another pair."
I handed over the mules in question, after which Lauren dangled them from the deer antlers that hung over the main fireplace.
"There. Now Ex will definitely know you've been here," and she took a picture of it.
We were all in hysterics at this point after the toilet paper theft, dressing up the statue in the tux, the mules on the antlers, and 5 bottles of wine.
We slid the sliding glass door closed and left.
A few days later, Lauren was at work and she received a phone call from Ex.
"I want to report a theft. I've been robbed of my Rolex and three paintings."
"No you haven't."
"What do you mean?"
"You haven't been robbed."
"How do you know?"
"I was there."
"You.... you.... what do you f*cking mean you were there?" Ex stammered as he was apparently becoming more and more angry.
"I was there as your insurance agent to ensure that nothing was damaged."
"I still need to report a theft. I've gone to the police. They fingerprinted everything. And you had no right to break into my house."
"I didn't break in. You left the sliding glass door open."
"No I didn't! You broke in, and I want to report this f*cking theft! I have the police report and I'll press charges if I have to!"
"First of all, reporting a theft would be insurance fraud because the other person on the policy is in possession of the items in question. Second of all, you were well aware that it was Almost who came back to get her stuff and she had every right to do so. Lastly, if you want to be such an A**HOLE that you feel the need to bring down all of your wife's friends as well as her, then more power to you!"
"WHAT?? I want to speak to your supervisor!"
"Fabulous. I'll transfer you."
Several minutes later, Lauren's supervisor transferred him back to her.
"Yes, Ex?"
"I just want you to know that I only said good things to your supervisor about you."
"Then why did you want to be transferred in the first place?"
"I'm not a bad person, you know."
"Ex, until today, I probably would have agreed with you."
"Come on, Lauren, tell me who else was there," Ex nearly whimpered.
My own personal queen of one-liners said, "I guess you'll have to wait until the fingerprints come back. Goodbye." Click.
Since that time, I've returned the paintings and the Rolex, while Ex has put the gold and silver in escrow and returned my photos.
But I will always have one of the letters to Lawyer from Greasy Attorney regarding The Raid which states the following and makes me laugh all over again, no matter how many times I read it:
"What is even more upsetting is not only did your client and whatever other people she had in the home at the time, is that they drank 6 bottles of wine and/or champagne and left them at the house, as well as the empty glasses in the sink. Further, they placed a pair of stiletto heels on the deer's antlers which were above the fireplace mantle and removed every single roll of toilet paper, as well as emptying the toilet paper rolls on the dispensers."
The Raid is now forever commemorated in our state's legal system and I still haven't had to buy a single roll of toilet paper since that night.
My raid was much more dramatic than that one, and I have to say, so filled with laughs that it's nearly impossible to convey in words.
I had moved out of the house in the fall, and Ex and I initially tried to work out our divorce amicably. It clearly was not going well because we had too many assets and it was an insurmountable task to divide them equally. Add to that the many drunk texts I was receiving almost nightly, and it equaled a contentious relationship to say the least. I had already retained Lawyer, so I wasn't surprised when he called me shortly after the New Year one Monday morning and said, "Almost, Ex has filed for divorce against you. Let's get together later today and sign some papers. I already have them drawn up."
The next day while I was at work, I called Lawyer and said, "Listen, I think I should probably go get the rest of my possessions out of the house. What do you think?"
"Absolutely! Get over there as fast as you can!"
As I've already mentioned, Ex is gone during the week for work, and this presented the perfect opportunity to go back to the house and load up what remaining items I could fit into my car. It just so happened that this fell on Girls' Night, which is our weekly get together of whatever members of our girls' club are available, so I called all of the girls and asked a huge favor.
"Lauren, Anastasia, and Shawn, I need to get my stuff out of the house. Can you bring your SUVs and help me tonight? I promise, there will still be wine involved."
The wonderful friends that they are, they agreed and I headed to the house straight after work.
I was nervous while I was driving there because I wasn't entirely convinced that Ex wouldn't be home, but I was enormously relieved when I drove down the driveway and saw that the space in which he usually parked his car was empty.
I was the first to arrive. I traipsed through the inches of snow on the ground to the front door, almost breaking my neck in the Christian Louboutins I had worn to work that day.
I tried my key in the lock. It wasn't working, no matter how much I jiggled it. I was incredulous. Ex had changed the locks.
Again, almost breaking my neck in my heels, I walked to the back of the house and tried my other key. He'd changed those locks as well.
I promptly called Lawyer. I was in a rage. "Lawyer, he CHANGED THE LOCKS ON ME!!"
"Of course he did."
"Am I within my legal rights to break the window or pick the locks to get my stuff back?" I asked, while walking to the sliding glass door in the front of the house.
Just as Lawyer was about to answer me, I tugged on the sliding glass door and began to laugh. It slid right open. For all of Ex's attempts to keep me out, he had forgotten to lock that door and it amused me to no end. Lawyer laughed as well and we said our goodbyes.
The first thing I went to look for was a stash of physical precious metals we had acquired over the course of the marriage, which happened to amount to a substantial sum of money. My intent was to have Lauren photograph the entire stash for insurance purposes and then split it equally. I knew the going price of gold and silver at the time, so it would have been a simple task. It was gone.
Again, in a rage, I called Lawyer. "The gold and silver is gone!"
"Of course it is."
I was becoming irate as the girls started showing up. They were already in hysterics because of the manner in which I gained entry to the house, but I threw my hands in the air in frustration.
"Can you believe this bastard? First, he tries to lock me out of getting my own stuff, and then he steals the gold and silver! What a motherf*cker!"
Anastasia said, "Chill out, Almost. Let's open a bottle of wine while we get your stuff together."
Ex and I had been working on a wine cellar together when I moved out of the house, and by the time The Raid took place, it was finished. There was a key on the table near the entrance to the cellar, and it didn't work. I looked at Anastasia and said, "You're the cop, break in!"
Instead, she went on a hunt for the working key, and to her credit, found it. We began by opening a bottle of Opus One. An old one. A very expensive one, and the first of several that we would finish before the evening was out.
While we went to work packing up the remainder of my clothes, books, and everything else I thought we could fit into our various vehicles, Shawn said, "Wouldn't it be funny if we took all of the toilet paper in the house?"
Shawn didn't know this, but Ex has this thing about toilet paper. If there weren't 800 rolls in the house at once, he'd flip out, go to the nearest 24 hour convenience store and purchase their entire stock of Charmin.
Of course, Lauren was aware of Ex's obsession and the look in her eyes was priceless as she took off on a tear to grab every single roll in the place. On each spindle, she left an empty cardboard roll.
I went to look for a plastic bin containing thousands of photos that I can never replace, and it wasn't in the last place I'd left it. I began to panic because, honestly, of everything I was taking, this was the most important. I thought that perhaps it was in the garage, so I grabbed the garage door opener and went outside.
Ex had told me in November that he'd had my motorcycle taken to the dealership for winter tune-up and storage. I took him at his word and never called the dealership to confirm, so it came to me as a huge surprise when I opened up the garage door and found my bike sitting right there, not moved an inch from the last time I'd taken a ride. I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe that I couldn't find my pictures, but did find my bike. This whole situation was becoming more and more unbearable.
Immediately, I got on the phone with the dealership. These guys have known me for years, and I knew that even though it was after hours, a little begging might prod them into coming out and picking up the bike. I really needed them to do this because if that bike was still there when Ex came home and realized I had removed my belongings, he'd take a hammer to it. I explained my situation, and sure enough, a half hour later, two of the guys from the dealership showed up with their truck. After loading my baby into the back of their trailer, I invited them inside for some wine and laughs.
By this time, we'd pretty much packed up all of my belongings and we were sitting in the living room working on our third bottle of wine. I went into the wine cellar, picked up two collector's edition magnums of cabernet, and gave one to each of the guys from the dealership.
Anastasia said, "Almost, you should take something of value, since Ex took the gold and silver, tried to deprive you of your own possessions by changing the locks, did something with your photos that you can never replace, and lied to you about the bike."
"You're right. I need collateral, don't I?"
"Sure do."
I promptly added to the pile of belongings the three most expensive paintings we had in the house, as well as Ex's gold Rolex, of course with the intention of returning them eventually.
As the six of us chatted and drank more wine, Lauren got a mischievous look in her eyes. Ex and I had purchased a six foot wooden Cigar Store Native American statue a couple of years back which stood in the corner of the living room. Lauren said, "Wouldn't it be great if we took that thing out on the front lawn and wrapped it in toilet paper?"
We all giggled and the guys from the dealership groaned. They looked at each other and one muttered, "This is why the saying goes that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
I couldn't bring myself to do something like that, but Lauren had another idea. "Almost, why don't we dress up the cigar store dude in some of Ex's clothes?"
I jumped up. "His wedding tuxedo!"
I ran to Ex's closet, brought out the tux, and we proceeded to dress the statue in the clothes. We had no trouble with the shirt and jacket, but we couldn't figure out how to get the pants on because the feet were planted to a rectangular stand.
"Almost, go get some nails," Shawn giggled.
I went into the tool box, found a couple of rusty roofing nails and a hammer, which Shawn promptly grabbed from me and used to affix the pants onto the statue. We were in hysterics while we each took turns taking photos with the statue hilariously dressed in Ex's wedding tuxedo.
I knew that I couldn't leave it like that, so I eventually took off the tux and returned it to Ex's closet, though the pictures still make me laugh.
My boxes and bags were sitting at the door, and I thought it was time to get going. The boys from the motorcycle dealership helped us pack everything in the cars and SUVs, but I was having trouble because I was wearing good shoes that I didn't want to ruin in the snow. While I had been packing, I had come across a cheap, ugly pair of Frederick's of Hollywood mules with feathers on the toes. Though it was cold and snowy, I thought it was better to go in and out of the house in those rather than ruin a nice pair of shoes because truthfully, I'd rather have frostbite than kill expensive shoes.
When we were finished packing everything in the vehicles, Lauren said, "Almost, we have to do one more thing. Sort of like a signature..... hmmm.... oh, I know! Give me those cheap mules you've been wearing!"
"What? Why?" I asked.
She laughed and said, "Trust me on this one. If you like them that much, I'll buy you another pair."
I handed over the mules in question, after which Lauren dangled them from the deer antlers that hung over the main fireplace.
"There. Now Ex will definitely know you've been here," and she took a picture of it.
We were all in hysterics at this point after the toilet paper theft, dressing up the statue in the tux, the mules on the antlers, and 5 bottles of wine.
We slid the sliding glass door closed and left.
A few days later, Lauren was at work and she received a phone call from Ex.
"I want to report a theft. I've been robbed of my Rolex and three paintings."
"No you haven't."
"What do you mean?"
"You haven't been robbed."
"How do you know?"
"I was there."
"You.... you.... what do you f*cking mean you were there?" Ex stammered as he was apparently becoming more and more angry.
"I was there as your insurance agent to ensure that nothing was damaged."
"I still need to report a theft. I've gone to the police. They fingerprinted everything. And you had no right to break into my house."
"I didn't break in. You left the sliding glass door open."
"No I didn't! You broke in, and I want to report this f*cking theft! I have the police report and I'll press charges if I have to!"
"First of all, reporting a theft would be insurance fraud because the other person on the policy is in possession of the items in question. Second of all, you were well aware that it was Almost who came back to get her stuff and she had every right to do so. Lastly, if you want to be such an A**HOLE that you feel the need to bring down all of your wife's friends as well as her, then more power to you!"
"WHAT?? I want to speak to your supervisor!"
"Fabulous. I'll transfer you."
Several minutes later, Lauren's supervisor transferred him back to her.
"Yes, Ex?"
"I just want you to know that I only said good things to your supervisor about you."
"Then why did you want to be transferred in the first place?"
"I'm not a bad person, you know."
"Ex, until today, I probably would have agreed with you."
"Come on, Lauren, tell me who else was there," Ex nearly whimpered.
My own personal queen of one-liners said, "I guess you'll have to wait until the fingerprints come back. Goodbye." Click.
Since that time, I've returned the paintings and the Rolex, while Ex has put the gold and silver in escrow and returned my photos.
But I will always have one of the letters to Lawyer from Greasy Attorney regarding The Raid which states the following and makes me laugh all over again, no matter how many times I read it:
"What is even more upsetting is not only did your client and whatever other people she had in the home at the time, is that they drank 6 bottles of wine and/or champagne and left them at the house, as well as the empty glasses in the sink. Further, they placed a pair of stiletto heels on the deer's antlers which were above the fireplace mantle and removed every single roll of toilet paper, as well as emptying the toilet paper rolls on the dispensers."
The Raid is now forever commemorated in our state's legal system and I still haven't had to buy a single roll of toilet paper since that night.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Break the Law, Make a Friend
I've come to learn that I meet new friends in the oddest of ways. Ava and I couldn't stand each other when we first met, but yet, we ended up being best friends after we stopped throwing each other the stink eye in the hallway of our dorm. When I moved to this city, I initially worked in a restaurant and met Lauren on my first day, who made quite the impression on me because of her huge smile and even more impressive bust (they were brand new back then). She and I weren't even formally introduced until months later, but I remembered her from that night in the restaurant ("Weren't you wearing that red chenille sweater?") and she remembered me as well ("My first thought when I looked at you was, 'are they real or real expensive?'"). Shawn and I met when Plastic Surgeon friend took us to New York to discuss our silicone hooters on national television ("Why, yes, Ms. Couric, I enjoy my silicone tatas very much." Try keeping a straight face on that one.). I met Plastic Surgeon when I had a benign tumor that took up residence in my right boob and had to have my old funbags replaced, and we ended up becoming great friends.
Point being, I tend to become friends with people through some odd circumstances and they have been a huge part of my ability to get through this divorce. They have all made me laugh and prevented me from losing my mind somewhere between the drunk texts and Lawyer's fees, which quite frankly, are so high that I think they're probably the GDP of some small countries.
Now I think I have a new friend who's making me laugh hysterically and realize that my accident the other day may have resulted in more than just me curled up in the fetal position with visions of shackles and an orange jumpsuit. When I wrote about my mishap the other night, I didn't mention how I sent Officer Lentil a text after I went home, thanking him for being so kind. He responded with an equally kind text, and we've been sending each other texts off and on since.
After I wrote about the accident, I received several emails from ladies across the country that went something like this:
"Dear Almost,
A cute guy in uniform who also has social skills?? Is he single? Please, please, please tell me what city you live in because I want to hunt down car 1831!
Signed,
Single Girl Willing to Break Any Law to Be Handcuffed by Officer Lentil"
The answer to your question, ladies, is yes, I believe he's single. However, he doesn't want to meet you, thanks to me.
I sent him a text yesterday to tell him that it seems he has some fans who want to get to know him. I was drinking a bottle of water at the precise moment that I read his reply and promptly spit it all over myself in choking laughter.
"Great, Almost. That's all I need. Women from around the country running over joggers on my beat. Paperwork from hell. Thanks a lot."
Once again, I have met a new friend under bizarre circumstances who's already providing me with laughter. And hey, what's a little pedestrian run-in or an orange jumpsuit when you get a new friend out of it anyway?
Point being, I tend to become friends with people through some odd circumstances and they have been a huge part of my ability to get through this divorce. They have all made me laugh and prevented me from losing my mind somewhere between the drunk texts and Lawyer's fees, which quite frankly, are so high that I think they're probably the GDP of some small countries.
Now I think I have a new friend who's making me laugh hysterically and realize that my accident the other day may have resulted in more than just me curled up in the fetal position with visions of shackles and an orange jumpsuit. When I wrote about my mishap the other night, I didn't mention how I sent Officer Lentil a text after I went home, thanking him for being so kind. He responded with an equally kind text, and we've been sending each other texts off and on since.
After I wrote about the accident, I received several emails from ladies across the country that went something like this:
"Dear Almost,
A cute guy in uniform who also has social skills?? Is he single? Please, please, please tell me what city you live in because I want to hunt down car 1831!
Signed,
Single Girl Willing to Break Any Law to Be Handcuffed by Officer Lentil"
The answer to your question, ladies, is yes, I believe he's single. However, he doesn't want to meet you, thanks to me.
I sent him a text yesterday to tell him that it seems he has some fans who want to get to know him. I was drinking a bottle of water at the precise moment that I read his reply and promptly spit it all over myself in choking laughter.
"Great, Almost. That's all I need. Women from around the country running over joggers on my beat. Paperwork from hell. Thanks a lot."
Once again, I have met a new friend under bizarre circumstances who's already providing me with laughter. And hey, what's a little pedestrian run-in or an orange jumpsuit when you get a new friend out of it anyway?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Unexpected Blessings
Sometimes people come into your life and not only become great friends, but also bring with them unanticipated beneficence. I met my girlfriend Shawn less than a year ago, right before Thanksgiving. I knew almost instantly that she would become one of our group of girls. The first night we met was in New York, where we were both invited by a surgeon friend of ours to do a press conference. We spent the evening before the media appearance at the hotel's bar hearing about each other's lives. From that moment on, we've continued to grow closer.
She has a really interesting history, having worked in the nighttime scene in New York for awhile when she was in her early 20s, modeled for Playboy, then worked for Playboy doing makeup, hair, and layout. On top of that, she's an extremely talented sculptor and graphic designer. Now she's a mother of four and is adding an addition to her home, mostly by hand. She'll send me text pictures of the bathroom floor she just mosaic-tiled by hand or the shower she just installed and I have to sit back and wonder if Bob Vila suddenly morphed into a hot chick.
Along her travels across the country, Shawn has met some really interesting people, some famous, some not, and some infamous. When Shawn called me during the winter to see if I wanted to go visit her longtime friend Tony down south, whom she met while she was working for Playboy, I said an instant yes. The divorce had been filed, I was stressed out, and this was just what I needed to relax for a few days.
She said, "I know you ride motorcycles. You know who Tony is, right?"
"No, but his name sounds kind of familiar."
"Don't you ever watch the Speed Channel? He's on there all the time. He's a famous motorcycle builder!"
I said, "Sorry, I don't know exactly who he is, but maybe I'll recognize him when I see him." It's been a long time since I've read Hot Bike Magazine and even longer since I dated a biker, so I'm not familiar with some of the hot bike builders these days.
She sighed and said, "OK, well whatever, but Tony is flying us down there and taking care of all our expenses."
I was incredulous, but so grateful because I already knew that I would end up motoring through my savings pretty quickly in this ludicrously expensive divorce process. Spending a weekend in warm weather and riding motorcycles for free with my girlfriend? How could life get any better?
So we packed up our bags and off we went. When Tony picked us up at the airport, I still didn't recognize him. He seemed nice enough, really attractive in that dark, dangerous sort of way, but sweet at the same time. While Shawn and Tony were catching up on the way to his shop where we were making a stop, I remained pretty quiet. I became utterly mute when it began to dawn on me that I did know Tony.
As we pulled into his shop, my hands started to shake. I looked at the shop's sign and asked Tony, "This isn't your shop, is it??" Of course it was.
I instantly knew the very famous shop name and realized that I've been wanting one of these bikes for years. He builds bikes that are sleek, shiny, sensual.... they positively scream sex. To me, anyway. I simply could not believe that I was sitting in the car with this bike builder. I was saying a silent thanks to Shawn for inviting me, because of all people who would appreciate this weekend, it was me.
Walking into his shop was like walking the red carpet at the Oscars, with people shouting out from all over, "Tony, over here! Tony, man, I rode all the way from Colorado just to meet you! Tony, will you take a picture with me?" But I barely paid attention because I needed to concentrate on keeping my mouth shut so that I wouldn't drool or perhaps even lick one of those glorious machines gracing his showroom floor. While he was taking care of business, I grabbed Shawn's hand and thanked her profusely, explaining that I knew exactly who Tony was now and I felt I was in the presence of greatness. She laughed mischievously and said, "I thought I told you the name of his shop!"
We eventually headed off to his house and commenced a fabulous weekend on his waterfront deck by the pool with a bottle of Dom. The special, protective relationship between Tony and Shawn quickly became clear to me. They had a fling at some point long ago, but now he looks out for her fiercely and would do literally anything for her. Beneath that tough bike builder is a heart of pure platinum.
We had a wild weekend. Friday night consisted of a wonderful Italian dinner, after which we found ourselves in a strip club. Of course, Shawn got a dance from a super hot blonde, while I was graced with a decidedly unenthusiastic dance from a worn-out, roundish lady who sighed, "Some dude just walked out the door and gave me money to dance for you. So I guess I have to." It was a blast nonetheless, and I bought some shiny trinkets from the bathroom attendant who told me, "May Jesus bless you." Those are words you just don't expect to hear in the bathroom of a strip club.
Tony took us out for a ride in his boat on Saturday and then to dinner at a new, hot restaurant that evening. He told us that we were going to dinner with a famous actor, and asked if I minded. He called the actor by his nickname, so I didn't recognize it, and he asked, "Didn't you see Most Famous Gangster Movie of All Time?" I hadn't. Shawn was dumbfounded. She said, "I can't believe you don't know who we're talking about!"
As soon as we reached the restaurant and met up with Actor and his friend, I recognized him. I still haven't seen Most Famous Gangster Movie of All Time, but I have seen the show of which he's the current star. I liked him right off the bat. We sat next to each other and chatted about marriage, divorce, where we lived, and how his next film should be shot in my city so we could hang out.
The night stretched into the wee hours, throughout which Actor was hounded for autographs as we migrated from club to club. We took some pictures, one of which Actor looked at and said to me, "Should we make this our Christmas card?" When a drunken girl slid over to me and asked, "Hey, can I have a threesome with you and Actor?" Actor put a protective arm around me and replied, "My wife and I are happy with each other, but thank you." Tony pulled me aside and whispered, "You know that I introduced Actor to several of his wives, right?" at which time Shawn and Tony dissolved into hysterics. Since I had been feeling so destroyed for so long, I thoroughly enjoyed the night and the attention, I admit it. It was one of the best nights I'd had in ages.
We weren't leaving until Sunday night, so that afternoon we decided to go out for a ride, Shawn on the back of Tony's bike and me on a loaner from his shop. I was terrified riding one of Tony's bikes, but as soon as I got on and hit the start button, my nerves disappeared. Riding motorcycles for me is like a spiritual experience. Somehow, the wind in my face, the ear-splitting crack of pipes, and the unfettered feeling of two wheels instead of four leaves all of my troubles far behind. For a girl like me, it was the perfect end to a glorious weekend.
During our ride, we stopped to have a late lunch. We had a few mimosas, after which Shawn and Tony began talking about the days when they were involved with each other. Shawn said, "We did some wild things, Almost. I don't remember a lot of it, but you wouldn't have believed some of my antics in those days. Hey, Tony, remember that time with the Heineken bottle?" They both laughed uproariously. I'm not sure I want to know exactly what happened with that bottle, but I can just imagine.
Tony said, "Wait, I thought it was Corona...."
This time, all three of us were laughing uncontrollably.
As lunch drew to a close, we realized that ominous clouds had formed over head, and I thought, "Crap, if I have to ride in the rain, I might lay down Tony's bike and then they'll both be sorry they invited me." I hate riding in the rain because the pavement becomes so slick and the rain stings your skin like tiny needles. Sure enough, the skies opened with a rainfall of torrential proportions.
I rode behind Tony, and indeed, almost laid down the bike, but not because of the rain. I was practically doubled over laughing because there was a huge rooster tail of water spitting up from Tony's back wheel that was giving Shawn a water wedgie like nothing I've ever seen. I watched her frantically try to cover her butt, but her diminutive hand was no match for the 6 foot geyser soaking her entire back and probably giving her an unwanted enema.
By the time we reached Tony's shop, we were all literally dripping wet and laughing at how absurd we all looked. Shawn and I were going to be late for the airport, but we really needed to change because "drowned rat" is too attractive a term to describe our appearances. There was no time for running into the bathroom for privacy because we only had seconds to spare, so Shawn and I stripped down and changed right in front of the plate glass windows of Tony's shop while Tony covered his eyes, shouting, "I'm not looking, I swear!"
The weekend for me was salve on my heart's wounds. Shawn had recognized that I was stretched to the limit of my sanity, and she reached out a helping hand to me by inviting me on this trip. Actor had comforted me by telling me that he'd been through divorce, and yes, you do survive. Tony extended his protectiveness to me in a sense, at one point growling, "Ex is a f*cking assh*le," which seems small, but a little comment like that means the world when you're feeling beaten up. And riding motorcycles, even in the rain, with Shawn and a new friend was the best feeling I'd had in months.
We made our flight, arrived safely back in our city, and called Tony. Shawn handed me her phone when he answered and I said, "Hey, have you had a Heineken lately?" All three of us were laughing once again.
I'm still not sure that Shawn has any idea of the magnitude of that weekend's healing effects on me, but I will always be grateful for her gift of laughter and a few days in which my troubles were a couple thousand miles away.
She has a really interesting history, having worked in the nighttime scene in New York for awhile when she was in her early 20s, modeled for Playboy, then worked for Playboy doing makeup, hair, and layout. On top of that, she's an extremely talented sculptor and graphic designer. Now she's a mother of four and is adding an addition to her home, mostly by hand. She'll send me text pictures of the bathroom floor she just mosaic-tiled by hand or the shower she just installed and I have to sit back and wonder if Bob Vila suddenly morphed into a hot chick.
Along her travels across the country, Shawn has met some really interesting people, some famous, some not, and some infamous. When Shawn called me during the winter to see if I wanted to go visit her longtime friend Tony down south, whom she met while she was working for Playboy, I said an instant yes. The divorce had been filed, I was stressed out, and this was just what I needed to relax for a few days.
She said, "I know you ride motorcycles. You know who Tony is, right?"
"No, but his name sounds kind of familiar."
"Don't you ever watch the Speed Channel? He's on there all the time. He's a famous motorcycle builder!"
I said, "Sorry, I don't know exactly who he is, but maybe I'll recognize him when I see him." It's been a long time since I've read Hot Bike Magazine and even longer since I dated a biker, so I'm not familiar with some of the hot bike builders these days.
She sighed and said, "OK, well whatever, but Tony is flying us down there and taking care of all our expenses."
I was incredulous, but so grateful because I already knew that I would end up motoring through my savings pretty quickly in this ludicrously expensive divorce process. Spending a weekend in warm weather and riding motorcycles for free with my girlfriend? How could life get any better?
So we packed up our bags and off we went. When Tony picked us up at the airport, I still didn't recognize him. He seemed nice enough, really attractive in that dark, dangerous sort of way, but sweet at the same time. While Shawn and Tony were catching up on the way to his shop where we were making a stop, I remained pretty quiet. I became utterly mute when it began to dawn on me that I did know Tony.
As we pulled into his shop, my hands started to shake. I looked at the shop's sign and asked Tony, "This isn't your shop, is it??" Of course it was.
I instantly knew the very famous shop name and realized that I've been wanting one of these bikes for years. He builds bikes that are sleek, shiny, sensual.... they positively scream sex. To me, anyway. I simply could not believe that I was sitting in the car with this bike builder. I was saying a silent thanks to Shawn for inviting me, because of all people who would appreciate this weekend, it was me.
Walking into his shop was like walking the red carpet at the Oscars, with people shouting out from all over, "Tony, over here! Tony, man, I rode all the way from Colorado just to meet you! Tony, will you take a picture with me?" But I barely paid attention because I needed to concentrate on keeping my mouth shut so that I wouldn't drool or perhaps even lick one of those glorious machines gracing his showroom floor. While he was taking care of business, I grabbed Shawn's hand and thanked her profusely, explaining that I knew exactly who Tony was now and I felt I was in the presence of greatness. She laughed mischievously and said, "I thought I told you the name of his shop!"
We eventually headed off to his house and commenced a fabulous weekend on his waterfront deck by the pool with a bottle of Dom. The special, protective relationship between Tony and Shawn quickly became clear to me. They had a fling at some point long ago, but now he looks out for her fiercely and would do literally anything for her. Beneath that tough bike builder is a heart of pure platinum.
We had a wild weekend. Friday night consisted of a wonderful Italian dinner, after which we found ourselves in a strip club. Of course, Shawn got a dance from a super hot blonde, while I was graced with a decidedly unenthusiastic dance from a worn-out, roundish lady who sighed, "Some dude just walked out the door and gave me money to dance for you. So I guess I have to." It was a blast nonetheless, and I bought some shiny trinkets from the bathroom attendant who told me, "May Jesus bless you." Those are words you just don't expect to hear in the bathroom of a strip club.
Tony took us out for a ride in his boat on Saturday and then to dinner at a new, hot restaurant that evening. He told us that we were going to dinner with a famous actor, and asked if I minded. He called the actor by his nickname, so I didn't recognize it, and he asked, "Didn't you see Most Famous Gangster Movie of All Time?" I hadn't. Shawn was dumbfounded. She said, "I can't believe you don't know who we're talking about!"
As soon as we reached the restaurant and met up with Actor and his friend, I recognized him. I still haven't seen Most Famous Gangster Movie of All Time, but I have seen the show of which he's the current star. I liked him right off the bat. We sat next to each other and chatted about marriage, divorce, where we lived, and how his next film should be shot in my city so we could hang out.
The night stretched into the wee hours, throughout which Actor was hounded for autographs as we migrated from club to club. We took some pictures, one of which Actor looked at and said to me, "Should we make this our Christmas card?" When a drunken girl slid over to me and asked, "Hey, can I have a threesome with you and Actor?" Actor put a protective arm around me and replied, "My wife and I are happy with each other, but thank you." Tony pulled me aside and whispered, "You know that I introduced Actor to several of his wives, right?" at which time Shawn and Tony dissolved into hysterics. Since I had been feeling so destroyed for so long, I thoroughly enjoyed the night and the attention, I admit it. It was one of the best nights I'd had in ages.
We weren't leaving until Sunday night, so that afternoon we decided to go out for a ride, Shawn on the back of Tony's bike and me on a loaner from his shop. I was terrified riding one of Tony's bikes, but as soon as I got on and hit the start button, my nerves disappeared. Riding motorcycles for me is like a spiritual experience. Somehow, the wind in my face, the ear-splitting crack of pipes, and the unfettered feeling of two wheels instead of four leaves all of my troubles far behind. For a girl like me, it was the perfect end to a glorious weekend.
During our ride, we stopped to have a late lunch. We had a few mimosas, after which Shawn and Tony began talking about the days when they were involved with each other. Shawn said, "We did some wild things, Almost. I don't remember a lot of it, but you wouldn't have believed some of my antics in those days. Hey, Tony, remember that time with the Heineken bottle?" They both laughed uproariously. I'm not sure I want to know exactly what happened with that bottle, but I can just imagine.
Tony said, "Wait, I thought it was Corona...."
This time, all three of us were laughing uncontrollably.
As lunch drew to a close, we realized that ominous clouds had formed over head, and I thought, "Crap, if I have to ride in the rain, I might lay down Tony's bike and then they'll both be sorry they invited me." I hate riding in the rain because the pavement becomes so slick and the rain stings your skin like tiny needles. Sure enough, the skies opened with a rainfall of torrential proportions.
I rode behind Tony, and indeed, almost laid down the bike, but not because of the rain. I was practically doubled over laughing because there was a huge rooster tail of water spitting up from Tony's back wheel that was giving Shawn a water wedgie like nothing I've ever seen. I watched her frantically try to cover her butt, but her diminutive hand was no match for the 6 foot geyser soaking her entire back and probably giving her an unwanted enema.
By the time we reached Tony's shop, we were all literally dripping wet and laughing at how absurd we all looked. Shawn and I were going to be late for the airport, but we really needed to change because "drowned rat" is too attractive a term to describe our appearances. There was no time for running into the bathroom for privacy because we only had seconds to spare, so Shawn and I stripped down and changed right in front of the plate glass windows of Tony's shop while Tony covered his eyes, shouting, "I'm not looking, I swear!"
The weekend for me was salve on my heart's wounds. Shawn had recognized that I was stretched to the limit of my sanity, and she reached out a helping hand to me by inviting me on this trip. Actor had comforted me by telling me that he'd been through divorce, and yes, you do survive. Tony extended his protectiveness to me in a sense, at one point growling, "Ex is a f*cking assh*le," which seems small, but a little comment like that means the world when you're feeling beaten up. And riding motorcycles, even in the rain, with Shawn and a new friend was the best feeling I'd had in months.
We made our flight, arrived safely back in our city, and called Tony. Shawn handed me her phone when he answered and I said, "Hey, have you had a Heineken lately?" All three of us were laughing once again.
I'm still not sure that Shawn has any idea of the magnitude of that weekend's healing effects on me, but I will always be grateful for her gift of laughter and a few days in which my troubles were a couple thousand miles away.
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