Giggling on the Couch

I began the week thinking that I was going to give a deposition tomorrow in preparation for trial at the end of the month. It has made my stomach knot so badly that I think I’ve given myself my own gastric bypass, even though I need to gain weight instead of losing it. I want an ass again instead of two pancakes. But I digress.

I was heading toward the elevator this morning to begin work when I looked up from furiously text messaging to see that Dr. X was holding the elevator for me. I sped up my pace and thanked him for holding the door.

“So how are you?” I asked.

Though I didn’t mean to insinuate anything about his split, he answered with a half-chuckle, “Just fine, as you well know. Pasting that smile on my face and pretending that everything is terrific. How about you?”

“Oh, fan-freakin’-tastic!” I laughed.

We joked about our respective problems on the short ride up, sharing brief horror stories, laughing, and telling each other to hang in there when we exited the elevator and went to our separate clinics. It spurred me to think about how I can genuinely laugh about this horrific situation with certain people, and more specifically, the absurdities that make me laugh.

With Dr. X, I can laugh because I know his soon-to-be-ex is making his life a living hell and needling him for more than that to which she is entitled. I can commiserate on both levels.

With respect to the latter, that being the Ex needling for more than that to which he or she is entitled, I live it each day. Not only is Ex vying for half of my trust fund, but since I moved out, he’s refused to either split the furniture in the house with me or to reasonably furnish the condo. Both bedrooms in my place were furnished and there were bar stools at the kitchen island along with a couple of coffee table chairs when we separated, but dining room table and chairs? No. Couch? No. Coffee table or storage for books? No. You get the idea. Seriously, who doesn't have a couch? I'm not an 18-year-old undergrad anymore, so that makes the situation simply unexplainable and untenable.

I’ve already mentioned how I’m still a partner in and started one of Ex’s (very visible) businesses from which I never drew a salary, how I started two of his other companies for him, as well as how I’m a poor graduate student. My job doesn’t pay that well and the bartending gig is only one night a week. Really, is it too selfish to ask that the condo be furnished after living here for a year and a half and being his business partner for 5 years? I mean, I know I can be a selfish bitch sometimes, but in truth, that only happens if someone wants me to donate my motorcycle to them because they just really want it or perhaps make me foot the entire bill for a $3,000 night out. That being said, I’d give you my kidney if you needed it, even if I didn't know you. To boot, the law in our state dictates that we split the marital assets in half, of which furniture is one, and I asked for not even one quarter of that. Apparently, that’s too much, because he refused.

Lawyer called me today at work and said that the deposition had been postponed, potentially for Monday, but he wanted me to provide him with some photos in preparation. I was just thrilled that I’d been vomiting a little in my mouth all week for nothing. Regardless, he needed photos of all vehicles in question, which, if you count the motorcycles, ends up being 7. He also wanted photos of the house as well as those of the half-furnished condo.

I have photos of most of the vehicles and the house, and also have photos of the half-furnished condo that I took about a year ago, thankfully.

I say, “thankfully,” because someone helped me furnish the condo several months ago and current photos would not reflect the previously half-assed furnishings. This person is kind, generous, and sensitive. Sometimes air-headed, but the good things make up for that in spades. Again, I digress.

I was thanking my lucky stars for having the foresight to take those photos before the benevolent person to whom I referred helped me furnish this place. And then I thought about how I was able to laugh at the absurdity of not having furniture for so long, as well as laugh at the general incongruity of a contentious divorce like mine. It’s not that I now have furniture, because I laughed before that when the gorgeous Ms. Lemon Gloria Lisa visited and had to endure a night at my echoingly empty condo. It's not that I'm getting closer to a resolution, either.

I laugh because the sheer absurdity of the machinations of divorce confound me. I laugh because it takes so long. I laugh because sometimes I want to jump off of my balcony, and I’m not a suicidal person at all.

Then again, I think maybe Dr. X laughs for the same reason as this one. I laugh because if I don’t, I’ll cry.

And I laugh because….

"Where do the batteries go?"

I went to a baseball game on Tuesday night with Anastasia and Lauren. Because it's fairly difficult to catch a cab once the game is over, we joked about flirting with the cab driver on the way there so he'd pick us up on the way back.

When we were setting out for the ballpark, I said to Lauren, "I told Anastasia that we were going to pimp you out and make you take off your shirt in the cab, since you've already done that before."

Lauren laughed and said, "No problem!"

Anastasia looked confused. "What do you mean you've done that before? I need to hear this story!"

Lauren said, "If anything should have warned Almost not to get married, it was what happened on our way to the wedding. It wasn't, uh, the most auspicious of starts."

When we got in the cab, Lauren and I took turns telling Anastasia the story of our antics on the way to my wedding. I had a small destination wedding, during which there was a virtual hurricane, but more about that other harbinger later. Ex flew there the day before I was to arrive and since Lauren and I were on the same flight, we decided to go out for one last wild night together. After several cocktails and staying out way too late, we decided to head back to her house. The cab was coming at 5:30 in the morning and we needed at least a little sleep before we went to the airport.

"Almost, I don't feel too well. I think you should drive."

"That's fine. Do you need a plastic bag or something?"

"No, let's just go."

We weren't too far from her house, so I figured she could make it. I was wrong. Halfway home, she rolled down the window and began throwing up. We all know where vomiting in a moving vehicle ends up, so I pulled over in the first parking lot I could find and yanked her out so she could vomit on the ground instead of in her hair, on the car, in the car, etc. After a few minutes, she seemed OK, so we once again climbed back in, where I found a plastic bag for her, and drove home.

We went up to her bedroom to sleep when we arrived, only in a very un-Lauren-like fashion, she hadn't packed yet. She said, "Almost, I haven't even begun to pack my suitcase. I think I'll take a shower now and pack when I get up in the morning."

"OK, I'm going to sleep now. And by the way, it is morning."

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

I lay down on the bed and heard Lauren start the water. Then I heard her gagging in the shower. I admit it, I thought it was funny that she was still puking until I heard an enormous crash. I ran to the bathroom, flung open the door, and found her lying on the floor, feet still in the shower, laughing hysterically.

"Are you ok?" I asked as I rushed to help her up.

She waved her hand in the air in a Miss USA fashion. "I'm fine, I was just taking a little rest!"

This resulted in peals of laughter from both of us, after which she finally finished up in the bathroom and went to sleep. The next thing I remember is Double D yelling at us that the cab was there and, "Who puked all over the side of your car, Lauren?" Lauren woke up, looked at the clock evilly displaying 5:40 am, and freaked.

"I haven't packed!" she shrieked.

"Just throw some stuff in a bag! All you need is a bathing suit, some shorts, and a dress! Oh, and shoes, you need shoes!" I said, as I scrambled to get in my own clothes, makeup running down my face like Alice Cooper.

Ten minutes later, we were in the cab, headed to the airport.

"Wow, we are two hot messes," I laughed.

Lauren looked at me and grinned, "I know! Your mascara is all over the place, and I'm..." She looked down and rolled her eyes. "Damn, my shirt's inside out."

As I rifled in my handbag in vain to find some magical fix to my black eyes, Lauren pulled her shirt off in one fell swoop, at which time I saw that she wasn't wearing a bra. I looked up at the cab driver, who was intently peering in the rear-view mirror with eyes as big as plates. I was having a hard time stifling my laughter, despite the fact that he almost drove us off the road. These may have been the first boobs he'd ever seen because I don't think he even blinked until she once again put on her shirt.

The cabbie finally delivered us safely to the airport and we laughed all the way onto the plane about how he almost killed us, until Lauren suddenly became serious and looked at me with the same sized eyes as the cab driver when she had performed her impromptu striptease.

"Oh no. Almost, I forgot to pack any bottoms."

"You what?" I asked.

"I forgot to pack any bottoms! I packed tops, but I didn't bring any pants, skirts, or shorts. I only have the ones I have on!"

"Don't worry about it! Just go shopping when we're on the island. They have great shopping there," I assured her.

When we arrived at our destination (still looking like we'd been out partying all night, I'm sure), Lauren set off to find some much needed bottoms. In one store, she tried on a pair of pants with a very flattering fit and asked the salesperson how much they cost. After being told that they were $650.00, Lauren didn't miss a beat.

"But I can't find where you put the batteries in these pants," she said.

The salesperson looked flummoxed. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"Where do the batteries go?"

"I don't understand the question," the salesperson replied, suspicious and clearly perplexed.

"Well, for $650.00, these pants better have a vibrating crotch, so where do the batteries go?"

A good omen for my wedding? Certainly not considering I looked like a washed-up 70s rocker and Lauren was facing a naked-from-the-waist-down weekend, but it still provides me with laughter to this day.

As for the cab driver on the way to the game? He was as unamused as the salesperson when Lauren asked about the batteries. I'm fairly certain he was offended, because he didn't even offer so much as a grunt when we asked him to pick us up. But thankfully cabs are like relationships. After the game was over there was another one that came along when we were ready to go.

I wasn't going to talk about this but....

A couple of weeks ago I spent the evening at Lauren's house. It was Girls' Night, but the other girls were busy and Lauren's mom, Double D, was in town visiting and staying with her daughter. I love Double D so it was the perfect opportunity to catch up with her on a low-key evening and hang with Lauren's son TC, whom I adore.

After TC went to bed, the conversation eventually turned to (put on your big surprise face) sex. It all started because Lauren and I were rehashing a recent conversation we'd had with Anastasia for Double D.

"D, Anastasia still hasn't had the sex talk with her kids and she's freaking out," I said.

"How old are her kids?" Double D asked.

"Fourteen and twelve," Lauren answered.

"And Anastasia asked us to have the birds and the bees talk for her," I added, gesturing between Lauren and myself, "because she's afraid that she's going to be too, 'It's all about YOU, not the other person, so make sure YOUR needs are taken care of,' and she doesn't want to give them the wrong idea."

"Uh, Mom," Lauren announced. Loudly. I knew something was coming. "Speaking of which, you never gave me the birds and the bees talk. Almost, did you get that talk from your parents?"

I almost spit out a mouthful of wine as I looked at Double D's eyes widen with each passing moment. "Oh, geez, my Dad would never have talked about that, but my mom gave me that talk when I was 5 because I asked where babies came from. It was pretty clinical. She even went and got a book from the library. I remember the first page had a dot on it and said, 'You started out smaller than this pencil dot.' Then it detailed the procreation process with clothed stick figures lying in bed together. I swear, I thought I'd get pregnant lying fully clothed next to a guy until I was in college."

"Well," Lauren said dryly, taking a sip of wine and arranging her face into the I'm-about-to-drop-a-Lauren-line-on-you-bitches face. "Thanks to neither of my parents giving me The Talk, I didn't have my first orgasm until I was 35, MOM!!! Thanks a lot."

Double D hooted with laughter while she delivered a line right back, "Well, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW??"

Poor Double D.... although her line cracked me up, I do know her plight. You see, sex with Ex was not that great. Frankly, most of the time it was downright lame. It wasn't that bad before the wedding (it might have actually been good then, but I shudder to think about it as I choke back some bile), but starting Day 2 of the honeymoon, the tracks shifted, directing the bedroom compartment of the marital train through Dullsville with a layover in Rarely City, final destination: Nevertown.

There are specific reasons for this, which I'll discuss soon, but at the time I was simply shocked that a man would reject his new wife for such (to me) insignificant reasons. To be brutally honest (and totally TMI, so Mom, if you're reading this, you can skip over the rest of the paragraph), in our first year of marriage I once went into his office in the house specifically to give him *ahem* uh, non-reciprocated pleasure, and he actually pushed me off of his lap. With force. I landed unceremoniously on my ass and I can only imagine the look of shock on my face. Reliving the memory now makes me giggle, but frankly, at the time it was a tad humiliating.

I had a health scare one year to the day after we were married and that picked things up a bit since he was grateful that I wasn't ill, but the sex dropped off again shortly thereafter and I was once again left to ponder what was wrong with me. (As I said in my first post, did I grow a third nipple? No!)

The evening with Lauren and Double D ended up with D proclaiming that she'd just had a very informative education. This was after the detailed description of what my friend Sarah calls "the battery operated boyfriend." D's face was priceless as we detailed the different models, functions, prices, and places in which you could obtain such "boyfriends."

But the conversation left me wondering about the importance of sex in a relationship. Perhaps in our parents' time it didn't assume the role it does now, for whatever reason. But at this point it's certainly of primary importance. I can say with clarity that deprivation on either party's part is the beginning of the slippery slope. After that transpired, at least in my case (and I'm not assigning directionality, i.e., did the deprivation lead to the dissolve or did the dissolve lead to the deprivation?), the end was nigh.

Well, at least I know what I'm getting Double D for Christmas this year. It's easy to pick out, since I know personally all too well.

Dancing on the Tabletop with a Married Woman Does Not Earn Points With the Greek Mafia

I'm back from Greece after an indescribably fabulous week which culminated in a party in my city for Designer and his mother's birthdays this past weekend. I did not think about Ex once, which was a welcome relief. I don't feel rested in the least, but it was utterly worth it. I had planned on posting at least every other day from Greece, but was unable to follow through for a variety of reasons.

First of all, when you log on to Blogger in Greece, everything on the page is in Greek. I could not for the life of me figure out how to change the language back to English, so I just gave up. Actually, chalk it up to sheer laziness because every day I lounged at the pool, drank wine with my friends, and allowed my good intentions to float away on the Mykonian breeze.

Secondly, there's a sense of impossibility in attempting to capture the essence of the trip, Designer's party, and the amazing people who flew all the way there to celebrate with him. I feel so honored to have met some of the most brilliant, creative people I've ever known and to have had the chance to get to know them. It was truly a fabulous collection of people.

However insurmountable the task to describe the events, there are a few funny stories that just have to be told.

To grasp the craziness of this trip, you have to understand the schedule. Generally, you wake up around noon, go to the pool or beach, and begin with some lunch, mimosas, and chat with your friends. Around 7:30, you return to your hotel room, nap until 10, then ready yourself for dinner around 11:30. Dinner ends at about 2 am, then you dance until 7 am, go back to sleep and do it all over again. I believe that this is a regular schedule for all in Greece, at least during their 6 weeks of tourism in which they make all of their money for the year.

I'm pretty sure at this point that my liver is laying somewhere in an alley in Mykonos, crying out for mercy. I'm also pretty sure that I'm not the only one whose liver absolutely forbids them to ever return to Greece.

One evening, a group of about 35 of us went to a beautiful outdoor restaurant situated right on the water. We were all forewarned that the music would gradually become louder and that by the end of the night, everyone would be dancing on the tables. I frankly didn't believe the notion, but indeed, that is exactly what transpired.

After a wonderful dinner replete with many bottles of wine, big plates of fresh watermelon and ouzo showed up. Matthew, one of the most entertaining people in the party, proceeded to drink his way into utter oblivion. He, being one of the few straight men in attendance, was entertaining everyone with his grabbing of random women to dance on tabletops with him. Unfortunately, Matthew grabbed the wrong woman to dance with him toward the end of the evening. Correction: toward the beginning of the morning, since it was about 4 am.

He drew out a woman from a completely different party than ours, not realizing that she was not part of Designer's group. The two of them were dancing quite fabulously on top of one of the tables when Matthew lost his balance, grabbed the woman for support, and proceeded to take the two of them down. They fell onto the floor, knocking over all of the chairs within a 10 foot radius, both laughing hysterically.

As we all looked on giggling (because they weren't hurt), a quite intimidating looking man materialized out of nowhere and grabbed the woman, yanking her to her feet. It turned out that the woman was married and her husband had observed the entire debacle. To say that he appeared livid would be a gross understatement. Matthew is a really good guy, so he wouldn't have undertaken any of these actions had he known she was married and not part of our group. Or had he been sober. Or perhaps both.

In any case, the woman's husband was displeased to say the least. His wife walked back to her table while the husband took a swipe at Matthew's chin, just barely grazing him. Matthew apologized profusely and the husband growled something in Greek, which I think might translate to, "I'm in the Greek mafia, motherf*cker, so if you ever touch my wife again, you'll have free swimming lessons with a cement kickboard." But that's pure speculation. (And as a disclaimer, I don't know if he was in the Greek mafia or if such a thing even exists, but he appeared to me as the Tony Soprano of Mykonos.)

The next day, we were rehashing the prior evening's events. I jabbed Matthew in the ribs and said, "You were so funny last night when you fell off the table!"

"What? I didn't fall off the table. What are you talking about, Almost?"

We ended up having to retell him the story, of which he had no recollection. He looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "Hmmmm. I was wondering where all of those bruises came from."

Uproarious laughter ensued from all of us, and then we toasted Matthew's near-miss with some champagne.

That is just one of many stories from our trip, and more will come in future posts, but cheers to you, Matthew. And may you get your luggage back soon, since you've had no clothes for the past 2 weeks. At least you escaped the wrath of the Greek mafia and looked fabulous doing it.

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.

Priceless

This week I've had a lot of time to contemplate the impetus behind my marriage's flaming death. Perhaps too much time. My ultimate conclusion? Ex was an ass. (Profound, I know.) I, of course, had my own participation in The End and I would never be so pious as to suggest otherwise, but those are stories for the future. And believe me, those stories pack a big bang. I admire Barmaid and at some point in the future, I'll have her sense of candor, but I just can't write about that right now. So in the meantime, I've been forced, through this profundity of silence and nature, to mull over the reasons that I really wanted out.

As a distraction, I've been thinking of my friends' funny stories. Of course, Lauren is at the forefront. Months ago, before she was involved with Pascal, she had met a local guy on a dating site and began to see him. His name was Matthew and he truly seemed nice. They had grown quite close in the several months they saw each other and he was already talking serious commitment. I met him once at her house and he struck me as a good person. His mother is a cop in my city and I figured that the son of a single mom cop has to be a decent guy, right? Not so much.

After these months of dating, Matthew had invited Lauren to his company's Christmas party and she was excited. She bought a fabulous new dress that looked ridiculously hot on her, new stilettos, and tried on the ensemble for me. I was drop-jawed. She looked amazing and I told her as much.

Two days before the party, she still hadn't heard from Matthew about the details of the party - when he was picking her up, if she needed to bring a bottle of wine, and whether she needed to pack an overnight bag. Sure enough, he never even called. He did send her a text message in which he indicated that he was "pissed off" for work reasons, but she received no communication from him after that. The evening of the party came and went, at which time we girls went out in our finest, determined to have a fabulous evening despite the fact that Matthew turned out to be a super tool.

The next day, my favorite Queen of Redress pulled one of her classic revenge tactics. Based upon the Mastercard "Priceless" campaigns, she wrote a "Priceless" piece of her own. And faxed it to his company's main fax machine. The one that everyone sees.

It read:

"Priceless

3 MONTH MEMBERSHIP TO AMERICAN SINGLES $ 97.85

TALKING FOR 3 MONTHS TO A "GOOD GUY" $ UPLIFTING

GAS TO GET TO FIRST MEETING AND BABYSITTER FOR CHILD $ 57.23

BEST BLOW JOB HE EVER HAD $ 6 MINUTES

CATCHING HIM ACTIVELY ON AMERICAN SINGLES
WHEN IT HAD BEEN ESTABLISHED THAT WE WERE
TALKING ONLY TO EACH OTHER
$ FEELINGS HURT

BUYING INTO HIS BULLSHIT $ 94 PHONE HOURS

2 YEAR SUBSRIPTION TO GQ (CHRISTMAS PRESENT) $ 25.89

FINDING OUT HE HAS AN OVER INFLATED OPINION
OF HIS SEXUAL PERFORMANCE AND MAN TOOL $ HAHAHAHAHA

DRESS FOR CHRISTMAS PARTY $ 249.37

HAVING HIM BE "PISSED OFF" AND BLOWING ME OFF WHILE
NOT LETTING ME KNOW WHY $ ANNOYING

GIVING HIM A VALID REASON TO BE PISSED OFF. . .

PRICELESS"

Needless to say, Matthew was indeed pissed off and a relationship certainly did not bloom thereafter. Matthew was decidedly embarrassed, but his coworkers loved it. The fax still hangs in the main area of his office.

"I will beat a bitch's ass."

Newscaster Cousin emailed this video to me yesterday and I nearly spat tea all over my keyboard because I laughed so hard. I saw Hillary Clinton speak at my university when I was in undergrad and her husband was in his second term of office. I will never forget looking at her face and recoiling in terror because she looked like she was going to pull a Kimora Lee Simmons and "beat a bitch's ass." This may not seem like it fits into a Dump the Chump type of post, but Bill and Hillary have had their share of marital drama so this clip deserves inclusion here for so many reasons.

The look I saw on Hillary's face when she spoke at my university was much like this look....

"Hi, boys! Remember me?"

I have a pretty important court date coming up on Monday and frankly, I'm really nervous, so I need to tell a story that's making me laugh and that isn't about Ex.

Lauren has been talking to this guy online for about 6 or 7 months now. He lives several states away and until last week, they hadn't met. They had already become quite intimate via IM and video chatting, but she has wanted a face-to-face meeting for months now. When I say that they've become intimate, I don't mean just talk. I mean down and dirty naked intimacy, complete with adult toys with which I'm completely unfamiliar. Lauren had to explain their uses detail by detail to me because they are not your run of the mill Rabbit.

A couple of months ago, she went for a long weekend to his state with her girlfriend Tracy and Tracy's boyfriend, at which time she was supposed to meet up with Internet Man, who we'll call Pascal. He had asked Lauren to pack all of her various exotic toys for the weekend and she agreed. I was incredulous, not because of the fact that she was taking them, but rather because I was wondering about the logistics of getting through security.

"You're not carrying your baggage on the plane, are you?" I asked.

"No, of course not! Don't you remember that story with the woman whose vibrator went off in the security line and the guard had to fish it out and hold it up for the whole airport? I'm checking bags."

That weekend Pascal had a family emergency and they never ended up meeting, so she packed the toys for naught. However, when Lauren arrived in his state and unzipped the bag she had checked, she found a note from the ATF indicating that her entire bag had been emptied and the contents inspected. I laughed so hard at the thought, I could barely breathe.

"Can you imagine the faces on those security guys when they saw what you'd packed?"

"I don't even want to think of it."

"What do you want to bet that they took pictures with your toys that are now hanging on the wall at City Airport Security Office?"

We were both in hysterics with the mental image of Butch from the ATF posing with a strap-on and giving the old thumbs-up.

Last week, Lauren did meet Pascal. Before she left, I asked her if she was packing the same items and she responded in the affirmative. I have yet to hear all of the details of the encounter, but I did hear what is probably the funniest bit of information. Because she was flying out of the same airport on the same airline as she did previously and figured that her luggage would inevitably be searched again, she decided to include a note inside her checked bag.

It read, "Hi, boys, remember me?"

When she arrived at her destination and unzipped her bag, she had yet another ATF notice. This time, it had a handwritten addition.

"Sure do. Nice to see you again!"

LOL again!

OMG, do I love her!! Corri Fetman is at it again with yet another ad campaign that's making me giggle. I admit it, I looked her up online and read her CV after reading about her on CNN's website. I swear, somehow I'm going to track this woman down and force her to drink martinis with me and tell me funny stories. She freaking rocks and I don't care that other divorce attorneys think she's a scandalous bottom feeder just because she happens to have a sense of humor. I bet she'd have some good dating rules.

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.

The Best Sex Ever

When you're going through a divorce, your girlfriends (and in my case, my parents and sister) are your rock. They see you through grief-stricken tears and somehow turn them into tears of laughter. I'm blessed with an amazing group of girlfriends who are like family to me. Over glasses of wine (ok, bottles) or vodkatinis, we tell each other the latest stories of our complicated lives and inevitably end up doubled over in spasms of laughter, even when circumstances, well, frankly.... suck.

Lauren has been one of my best friends for years and we're like sisters. We've seen each other through a lot of suffering, but we've seen each other through even more side-splitting laughter than I can fathom. She's one of those women who's not only beautiful (both outside and in), but smart, with a quicker wit than I've ever seen in another human being, and she's infamous for her one-liners. She's been responsible for me spitting out whatever I happen to be drinking on more occasions than I care to remember.

Lauren has been divorced for years after a short marriage (replete with hilarious stories of its own, which I will discuss in future posts) and she is wise in matters of contentious situations with men. She and I were chatting the other day and I was telling her the latest saga of Ex's finagling out of having to appear in court yet again, while I took a day off of work and got up at an unearthly hour in order to prepare my documents and make it in time. I was so upset, aggravated and anxious in telling her this story and reliving it in my head for the umpteenth time, but she disarmed the teary lump in my throat with one sentence and turned what was another end-of-the-world moment for me into a cosmic joke.

I have to give you a little history in order for you to understand her comment. In my first post, I mentioned that Ex lost interest in sex. To be specific, he basically refused me for over a year and I later found out that the commencement of my sexual desert (not to be confused with "dessert".... waaaay different) coincided with his porn account registration. OK, seriously, to be refused by your own husband for a year? At my age??? I wondered for awhile if there was something wrong with me.... had I gained weight? (No.) Had I grown a third nipple? (Not that I could find.) And as far as I could tell, I hadn't transformed into some hideously frightening hogbeast from which a man would want to run and cry in his mommy's skirt. Nevertheless, I wasn't getting any.

Funny enough, when I faced the fact that the marriage was deteriorating and that I was miserably unhappy, Ex sensed this (probably because I told him I was unhappy.... that seemed to do the trick) and he suddenly wanted to hop in the sack. That's just a side note, though, and maybe I'll elaborate on that in a future post. The point is, I went for a long period of time without sex. As a married woman. Approaching my sexual peak. Isn't that supposed to be one of the benefits of marriage, that you get to have sex on a regular basis? Well, not for me. Bottom line, we ended up never having sex again.

When I was wailing to Lauren about how horribly anxiety-provoking this process is, and how insanely pissed off I was that Ex had once again wiggled out of a court appearance, she started laughing. Lauren has this infectious laugh that, even in your worst moment, catches you up and you end up laughing uproariously with her. I began laughing even before she delivered her one-liner, but when she did, I had another one of those spit-out-your-drink-and-choke-laughing moments. After she was able to contain herself enough to speak, she said.....

"Almost Free, if you have the chance, you need to say, 'Ex, in all the years we've known each other, the past 7 months have been the best f*ck you've ever given me.'"

Thank God for girlfriends and laughter!