My birthday just passed and I am so relieved because I hate that day. It has nothing to do with aging, since I've hated it for as long as I can remember. The year that I turned 11, my mother threw a surprise birthday party for me, at which time I locked myself in my room and refused to reemerge until everyone was gone. My poor mother - she really had her hands full with me.
Actually, this year's birthday wasn't too traumatic, since I spent the evening with friends at Scarlet and Guido's restaurant and wound up the night attending a drag queen show that I've been dying to see for years.
But since it's that dreaded time of year for me again, I can't help but dredge up my horrific birthday from last year. Ex had gotten the not-so-bright idea to throw me a surprise party despite the fact that he knew very well how much I hated them. This was during the period of time when he realized that the marriage was deteriorating faster than Britney on a coke and vodka binge, so he was going all out to try and do everything he could to save it.
Ava called me and tipped me off so that we could avoid the disastrous consequences, and we collaborated to get Ex to understand this plan was about as good as booking a ticket on the Titanic. Long story short, we ended up going to Vegas with the Doc, Ava, Anastasia, and a few other people so that I had a buffer.
The weekend was not progressing well. Ex and I weren't getting along and by the night of my birthday dinner, our last evening in Vegas, The Debacle began.
At some point during the weekend, Ex had gone through my purse and had found a business card from an attorney in Ava's city. I had spent the previous weekend with Ava attending a concert, and we ran into some of her old law school friends. We had hung out with them for a bit, and one of them ended up giving me his business card. I didn't think anything of it and just put it in my purse. When Ex went through my purse in Vegas and found the card, he assumed that I was having a torrid fling with the mystery attorney from Ava's city.
As we were walking to dinner, Ex apparently grabbed both Ava and Anastasia and growled, "I know that both of you are helping my wife have an affair," to which they were both too stunned to even respond.
Unfortunately I didn't hear about this until later in the night, or I might have just called off the dinner altogether. When we were seated in the restaurant, Ex began flipping through the pictures in my digital camera. He came across one from the previous weekend of me with Ava's attorney friend, which featured us simply sitting next to each other, not even touching. Though nothing inappropriate had happened and the picture was utterly innocent, he threw the camera at Ava and stormed away from the table. The first course hadn't even been served. And he never came back.
It turned out that he was taking turns pacing the hallway and sitting at the bar, crying and becoming increasingly drunk while smoking cigarettes like he was going to the electric chair. When dinner was over, I found him at the bar and thanked him for the lovely dinner. He responded, "You should be thankful. It was two thousand dollars."
I had become accustomed to comments like that, so I just sighed and suggested that we go to Pure for some cocktails and dancing. As we entered the club, I headed for the back bar and soon realized that I was alone. Turning around, I saw our entire group still at the entrance, featuring Ex wagging his finger right in Ava's face and screaming something. I returned to where they were standing and heard Ex finish his rant with, "F*ck you, and f*ck your friend!" She stood rooted to the floor in shock, looking at him wide-eyed.
He turned to me and followed me around in a little circle at the entrance of the club screaming various things at me and accusing me of sleeping with the guy from Ava's city, to which I replied, "Yeah, I always keep business cards from my sexual conquests. Sort of like a memoir," which of course, enraged him even more. I kept trying to walk away from him, but he wouldn't let me, screaming, "You always f*cking walk away from me! You're not going to f*cking walk away from it this time!"
By that point, my friends were looking on horrified and a group of onlookers had gathered to watch the spectacle. I was mortified. And scared. I hadn't seen him that out of control in public before. I tried everything I could to calm him down, but he was in an unstoppable rage. After 10 minutes that seemed like an eternity, he took off his wedding ring and shoved it at me.
"Here, Almost, I don't want to be married to you anymore. I want a divorce."
I shrugged my shoulders and said, "OK." I put the ring in my purse and said, "Come on, girls, let's go have some fun."
I was not about to let him ruin the evening, so Ava, Anastasia, my friend Kay who lives in Vegas, and I went to get drinks at another bar in the casino. We were having a nice evening, despite the drama that had already unfolded when I began to receive texts.
Over the next several hours, I received over 50 text messages and one very crazy phone call. Unfortunately, at the time I had a phone that only held 10 messages, so they're all gone now but I do recall the nature of the texts. They began with groundless accusations, to which I didn't even respond. Along with the usual accusations that I was getting it on with every man who had ever existed except for him, bizarre accusations began to emerge. At one point he accused me, Ava, and Anastasia of laughing at his man boobs. None of us had ever laughed at his man boobs, but the text itself did make us giggle.
As the evening wore on, the texts became cruel, replete with name calling and yet more bizarre accusations. When he realized that I wasn't going to respond to any of them, he chose another tactic. He sent me a text that said, "I'm leaving tonight," to which I responded, "OK, understood. Have a safe trip."
A few minutes later, I received another text. "At the airport."
I looked over my shoulder and saw him sitting at the blackjack table about 20 feet away, which made all of us girls howl with laughter.
I sent him one back and said, "Safe flight - let me know when you land."
This continued until 6 am, with text messages flooding my phone that insisted he was at the airport and me watching him type furiously on his phone just 20 feet away. It was not the show I expected to see in Vegas, but it was a show nonetheless.
I finally went back up to the suite, exhausted and sick of dealing with the situation. Anastasia had a 6 am flight home so she had already left, but when I got up to the room she forwarded a text to me as she sat on the runway.
Much to my surprise, Ex had been text stalking her as well, and his final text to her read, "Thanks for all of your support tonight... NOT."
Imagine my shock this year when I received only one text from him. It simply said, "Happy birthday."
Showing posts with label scandals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scandals. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
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.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Levitra: No Flirting Necessary
I said yesterday that I have a court date on Monday and that I was really nervous. I remain so, but a little less today, so I feel all right writing about Ex. I hope this trend continues so I'm not jittery when I have to take the stand.
I've already mentioned that Ex hadn't wanted to have sex for at least a year when The Great Email Debacle occurred, but after that confrontation, he suddenly wanted a roll in the hay all the time. He said that he realized that he'd been totally inattentive and absent (he was), and somehow I think he extrapolated that realization into thinking that sex would cure all of our marriage's ailments. My trust in him was completely destroyed at that point, so the thought of sex with Ex honestly made me sick to my stomach and after that, it was I who refused. Several months later, Ex and I had a fight. He was screaming at me and somewhere between the "f*ck you"s, he blurted out, "And I have to jack off 5 times a day because you won't have sex with me!"
Time stopped. I was dumbfounded. A 10 second silence ensued which seemed to stretch into eternity, after which I stammered, "F-five.....times....a day?? I wish I had that much time on my hands."
He tried to backpedal, but it was too late. The truth has a way of bursting forth when you're angry and your brain's censorship level is low.
My birthday came around about a month after that fight and it was a disaster of epic proportions, but that's another one of my favorite stories that I'm saving for later. After that horrific weekend passed, Ex danced every which way to try and explain his behavior. When he left for work that week (he was always gone most of the week and home on the weekends), the texts began pouring in. These weren't even drunk texts, they were just plain odd.
Keep in mind, at this point, I had not yet found out about the Granny Porn, so I was taking his explanations at face value.
"maybe some day i will tell u what else i have been taking..i think that led 2 my frustration/insecurity and let down..i did 2 myself"
I must have asked him what he was taking.
"please do not think i am crazy..i have been reading maxim magazine 4 tips and taking levitra hoping 2 give u some crazy sexual extacy sp ?..i guess i was thinking in my head..fantasy..just maybe..i know i am crazy..but i think it freaked me out...this is not something i can really explain over text"
I have no idea what I replied, but I do remember thinking, "Levitra?! For what??" And then it hit me. He'd been reading Maxim and taking Levitra so that he could, in his words, "jack off 5 times a day"? I was getting warmer, but of course, didn't hit the jackpot until I later discovered he was taking the performance enhancing drug so that he could get off to Grandpa Gets a Woody, among other equally edifying flicks. The thought still makes me shiver.
So when Ex left to go overseas last fall, I was relieved. I had 2 weeks in which I wouldn't feel as though a chloroform-soaked rag was being theoretically held over my face. At one point during the reprieve, I took Ex's car to run errands because I had just washed mine and it was raining. I spotted flashing lights in the rear view mirror. "Damn," I muttered to myself, "just when I thought I'd be drama free for a couple of weeks."
The cop came up to the window looking grumpy, but I suppose I'd feel the same way if I had to stand in the rain while some chick fumbled in her purse for her license.
"License and insurance, please."
This guy was all business. Not even a hello or a, "Do you know what you were doing wrong?" I quickly assessed that I would most certainly not be flirting my way out of this ticket.
"Here's my license, sir. This isn't my car, but I think the insurance is probably in the glove box."
"Ok, ma'am."
I opened the glove box and much to my surprise and horror, about 12 prescription pill bottles tumbled out. I was frozen.
"Ma'am, are those your prescriptions?"
"Uh, no, uh, officer. You see, this is my uh.... er.... husband's car, and I never drive it. He's out of town and uh, I mean, out of the country...."
"Ma'am, step out of the car, please."
I had no idea what the bottles were, so I meekly did as I was told and stood on the passenger's side. The officer opened the passenger door and I watched him pick up bottle after bottle, turning them over in his hands and grunting to himself, "Hm, Levitra..... Levitra..... huh, Levitra.... Levitra?!"
He left the bottles on the floor of the car, shut the door and turned to look at me. I thought I saw him try to suppress a laugh. He tipped his hat, looked me up and down, and said, "Have a nice day, ma'am," as he handed me my license.
I watched him walk to his squad, rooted to the ground in the pouring rain. It wasn't until he got into the car and shut his door that he let out a huge guffaw and got on his radio. I can only imagine what he must have been saying to his buddies working the afternoon shift.
I got back into the car and picked up the bottles to shove them back in the glove box. They were all empty. Ex's Levitra habit didn't do anything to save our marriage, but it sure saved me from a speeding ticket. As far as I was concerned, it was a job well done.
I've already mentioned that Ex hadn't wanted to have sex for at least a year when The Great Email Debacle occurred, but after that confrontation, he suddenly wanted a roll in the hay all the time. He said that he realized that he'd been totally inattentive and absent (he was), and somehow I think he extrapolated that realization into thinking that sex would cure all of our marriage's ailments. My trust in him was completely destroyed at that point, so the thought of sex with Ex honestly made me sick to my stomach and after that, it was I who refused. Several months later, Ex and I had a fight. He was screaming at me and somewhere between the "f*ck you"s, he blurted out, "And I have to jack off 5 times a day because you won't have sex with me!"
Time stopped. I was dumbfounded. A 10 second silence ensued which seemed to stretch into eternity, after which I stammered, "F-five.....times....a day?? I wish I had that much time on my hands."
He tried to backpedal, but it was too late. The truth has a way of bursting forth when you're angry and your brain's censorship level is low.
My birthday came around about a month after that fight and it was a disaster of epic proportions, but that's another one of my favorite stories that I'm saving for later. After that horrific weekend passed, Ex danced every which way to try and explain his behavior. When he left for work that week (he was always gone most of the week and home on the weekends), the texts began pouring in. These weren't even drunk texts, they were just plain odd.
Keep in mind, at this point, I had not yet found out about the Granny Porn, so I was taking his explanations at face value.
"maybe some day i will tell u what else i have been taking..i think that led 2 my frustration/insecurity and let down..i did 2 myself"
I must have asked him what he was taking.
"please do not think i am crazy..i have been reading maxim magazine 4 tips and taking levitra hoping 2 give u some crazy sexual extacy sp ?..i guess i was thinking in my head..fantasy..just maybe..i know i am crazy..but i think it freaked me out...this is not something i can really explain over text"
I have no idea what I replied, but I do remember thinking, "Levitra?! For what??" And then it hit me. He'd been reading Maxim and taking Levitra so that he could, in his words, "jack off 5 times a day"? I was getting warmer, but of course, didn't hit the jackpot until I later discovered he was taking the performance enhancing drug so that he could get off to Grandpa Gets a Woody, among other equally edifying flicks. The thought still makes me shiver.
So when Ex left to go overseas last fall, I was relieved. I had 2 weeks in which I wouldn't feel as though a chloroform-soaked rag was being theoretically held over my face. At one point during the reprieve, I took Ex's car to run errands because I had just washed mine and it was raining. I spotted flashing lights in the rear view mirror. "Damn," I muttered to myself, "just when I thought I'd be drama free for a couple of weeks."
The cop came up to the window looking grumpy, but I suppose I'd feel the same way if I had to stand in the rain while some chick fumbled in her purse for her license.
"License and insurance, please."
This guy was all business. Not even a hello or a, "Do you know what you were doing wrong?" I quickly assessed that I would most certainly not be flirting my way out of this ticket.
"Here's my license, sir. This isn't my car, but I think the insurance is probably in the glove box."
"Ok, ma'am."
I opened the glove box and much to my surprise and horror, about 12 prescription pill bottles tumbled out. I was frozen.
"Ma'am, are those your prescriptions?"
"Uh, no, uh, officer. You see, this is my uh.... er.... husband's car, and I never drive it. He's out of town and uh, I mean, out of the country...."
"Ma'am, step out of the car, please."
I had no idea what the bottles were, so I meekly did as I was told and stood on the passenger's side. The officer opened the passenger door and I watched him pick up bottle after bottle, turning them over in his hands and grunting to himself, "Hm, Levitra..... Levitra..... huh, Levitra.... Levitra?!"
He left the bottles on the floor of the car, shut the door and turned to look at me. I thought I saw him try to suppress a laugh. He tipped his hat, looked me up and down, and said, "Have a nice day, ma'am," as he handed me my license.
I watched him walk to his squad, rooted to the ground in the pouring rain. It wasn't until he got into the car and shut his door that he let out a huge guffaw and got on his radio. I can only imagine what he must have been saying to his buddies working the afternoon shift.
I got back into the car and picked up the bottles to shove them back in the glove box. They were all empty. Ex's Levitra habit didn't do anything to save our marriage, but it sure saved me from a speeding ticket. As far as I was concerned, it was a job well done.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
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.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Forgery, The Suspicious Husband's Best Friend
Around December of 2005, Ex asked me if I wanted him to take over my cell phone bill and assume it onto his corporate account. Up until that time, we'd had separate cell phone bills, and it never occurred to me to combine them. When he asked if that would be OK, I shrugged and told him to bring me the paperwork.
I was hesitant. I wasn't stepping out on him or anything of the sort, but I already knew that he had a predilection for suspicion, since I was pretty sure he'd put a private investigator on me during our first year of marriage. I can't prove it since Ex likes to do everything in cash, but let's just say I have good reason to believe that he had me followed. Too bad he came up with a big, fat zero for all that cash. Those PIs are pricey.
So when I was faced with the decision of whether or not I should let Ex assume my cell bill, I was concerned despite the fact that I had absolutely nothing to hide. I figured I'd just let it ride until he presented me with the paperwork and I'd see how I felt about it at that time.
Ex never came up with paperwork, so I figured that he was probably busy and would get around to it at some point. Several months later, I realized that I hadn't received my monthly bill. I called Acme Wireless and inquired about my balance, to which they replied, "This isn't your cell phone number. It belongs to Bug-the-Crap-Out-of-Your-Wife-Until-She-Leaves-You Company."
I was pretty shocked that my wireless company hadn't contacted me to approve the switch and I was even more surprised that they apparently didn't require paperwork. But I didn't protest. I figured, hey, if Ex wants to pay for my cell phone bill, so be it.
Ex was out of the country for a couple of weeks in the fall of 2006. During that time, I went into our joint Intelius account (Intelius, for those of you who don't know, finds owners of phone records, home addresses, and criminal records for a fee). Ex was hiring some new management and had asked me to run a background check on a potential employee.
But when I went into the account, what I found was a list of phone numbers upon which he'd run ownership checks. Phone numbers that I recognized. Numbers that I had called. Within the last month. What I found amusing about the whole thing was that, had he been a little smarter, he would have entered the numbers into his own phone and found 3 out of the 4 numbers were his friends as well. The fourth was Lawyer.
Ex had been tracking me through various means for months by this time (more on that later), and I was already getting fed up, but running my cell phone numbers was really the final straw. I wanted out and I went on a mission to get my cell phone number back under my own name, hoping to get it done before Ex returned from his trip. I called my wireless provider and asked the rep how it was possible that Ex had assumed my cell phone bill without them even contacting me. She was perplexed and told me that a change of ownership requires the signature of both parties. I explained my situation and asked her to please, please, please find the form that must have been signed. Sure enough, within a half hour, Goddess Customer Service Rep emailed me a copy of the form.
Ex had forged my signature. And badly.
To say that I was pissed off was an understatement. By this time, I was already the proud owner of a bug sweeper (yes, it was necessary, believe it or not), I had switched out the highway toll pass he'd given me and purchased my own so he couldn't track my car online, and I'd password-protected my computer so he couldn't read my emails anymore. Now I had to deal with getting my cell phone bill back, and it was no easy task.
Over the course of the next week, I went back and forth with the fraud department, who sent me to the business department, who sent me to the fraud department, who sent me to accounting, who told me to go to the police and press charges. It went on like that ad nauseum.
I was unable to gain ownership of my cell phone bill before Ex arrived back in the States. Upon his return, I showed him the evidence and asked for a separation. That didn't go over too well, but I moved out the next day and regained ownership of my cell phone bill the following week.
Ex has a family history of paranoid behavior, which I unfortunately didn't find out until after we were married. One of his family members takes everything out of the refrigerator before she leaves the house, puts it in a bag to carry along, and padlocks the refrigerator shut because she believes that someone is going to break into her house and take the contents of the fridge. The would-be robbers wouldn't want her jewelry, but they'd definitely want those dozen eggs and half carton of milk. She's also convinced that someone takes her car at night for joyrides, but she says she's OK with that, since they always wash it and fill it with gas. As funny as I found these stories, had I known about them before the I Dos perhaps I would have thought twice before walking down the aisle.
I was hesitant. I wasn't stepping out on him or anything of the sort, but I already knew that he had a predilection for suspicion, since I was pretty sure he'd put a private investigator on me during our first year of marriage. I can't prove it since Ex likes to do everything in cash, but let's just say I have good reason to believe that he had me followed. Too bad he came up with a big, fat zero for all that cash. Those PIs are pricey.
So when I was faced with the decision of whether or not I should let Ex assume my cell bill, I was concerned despite the fact that I had absolutely nothing to hide. I figured I'd just let it ride until he presented me with the paperwork and I'd see how I felt about it at that time.
Ex never came up with paperwork, so I figured that he was probably busy and would get around to it at some point. Several months later, I realized that I hadn't received my monthly bill. I called Acme Wireless and inquired about my balance, to which they replied, "This isn't your cell phone number. It belongs to Bug-the-Crap-Out-of-Your-Wife-Until-She-Leaves-You Company."
I was pretty shocked that my wireless company hadn't contacted me to approve the switch and I was even more surprised that they apparently didn't require paperwork. But I didn't protest. I figured, hey, if Ex wants to pay for my cell phone bill, so be it.
Ex was out of the country for a couple of weeks in the fall of 2006. During that time, I went into our joint Intelius account (Intelius, for those of you who don't know, finds owners of phone records, home addresses, and criminal records for a fee). Ex was hiring some new management and had asked me to run a background check on a potential employee.
But when I went into the account, what I found was a list of phone numbers upon which he'd run ownership checks. Phone numbers that I recognized. Numbers that I had called. Within the last month. What I found amusing about the whole thing was that, had he been a little smarter, he would have entered the numbers into his own phone and found 3 out of the 4 numbers were his friends as well. The fourth was Lawyer.
Ex had been tracking me through various means for months by this time (more on that later), and I was already getting fed up, but running my cell phone numbers was really the final straw. I wanted out and I went on a mission to get my cell phone number back under my own name, hoping to get it done before Ex returned from his trip. I called my wireless provider and asked the rep how it was possible that Ex had assumed my cell phone bill without them even contacting me. She was perplexed and told me that a change of ownership requires the signature of both parties. I explained my situation and asked her to please, please, please find the form that must have been signed. Sure enough, within a half hour, Goddess Customer Service Rep emailed me a copy of the form.
Ex had forged my signature. And badly.
To say that I was pissed off was an understatement. By this time, I was already the proud owner of a bug sweeper (yes, it was necessary, believe it or not), I had switched out the highway toll pass he'd given me and purchased my own so he couldn't track my car online, and I'd password-protected my computer so he couldn't read my emails anymore. Now I had to deal with getting my cell phone bill back, and it was no easy task.
Over the course of the next week, I went back and forth with the fraud department, who sent me to the business department, who sent me to the fraud department, who sent me to accounting, who told me to go to the police and press charges. It went on like that ad nauseum.
I was unable to gain ownership of my cell phone bill before Ex arrived back in the States. Upon his return, I showed him the evidence and asked for a separation. That didn't go over too well, but I moved out the next day and regained ownership of my cell phone bill the following week.
Ex has a family history of paranoid behavior, which I unfortunately didn't find out until after we were married. One of his family members takes everything out of the refrigerator before she leaves the house, puts it in a bag to carry along, and padlocks the refrigerator shut because she believes that someone is going to break into her house and take the contents of the fridge. The would-be robbers wouldn't want her jewelry, but they'd definitely want those dozen eggs and half carton of milk. She's also convinced that someone takes her car at night for joyrides, but she says she's OK with that, since they always wash it and fill it with gas. As funny as I found these stories, had I known about them before the I Dos perhaps I would have thought twice before walking down the aisle.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Best Boyfriend Ever
My best friend Ava and I have known each other for going on 15 years now. We met freshman year of college where she lived across the hall from me. We were destined to become best friends for so many reasons, but for the first month of school we would pass in the hallway and each throw the other a dirty look. I'm not sure why we did that and I can't even recall how we first started talking to each other, but we practically flunked out of freshman year because all we did was stay up all night talking and laughing. Cracking a book was pretty much out of the question.
Over the years, we've developed a completely different language that nobody else can understand. When we use words from our language in front of other people, they generally look at us as if we've sprouted fifth limbs. We call each other MODI, which stands for something we've never revealed to anyone else, but that name has also taken on a life of its own at this point and means so much more than it did originally. She and I laugh about how we're each other's Best Boyfriend Ever, since we've had our share of dysfunctional relationships and the one consistently good relationship we've both had is each other. Don't get me wrong, we don't have a romantic relationship, but we are definitely soul mates and I feel pretty sure we're going to end up in rocking chairs together at the nursing home someday. We laugh when we tell people that we fell in love when we were 18, and they inevitably look at us like we just stepped out of an alien warcraft.
Bizarrely enough, every boyfriend that we've ever had has been jealous of our relationship. The only fight that we've ever had in 15 years was over a boyfriend of Ava's that was so envious, he tried to drive a wedge in between us. He's history. I've had boyfriends who have asked me, "Why aren't we as close as you and Ava?"
Ava and I have been through a million and one different things together, and even though we don't live in the same city, we try to get together once a month or so. She's only a 50 minute flight away, so it's pretty convenient. Our weekends together always end up filled with adventures, late nights, and countless bottles of wine. Our livers and lungs hate us after our visits, but the weekends are so much fun that it's totally worth it.
Late last spring, Ava came to visit me for a weekend. At that time, Ex and I were still living together, and though I was already coming to terms with the fact that I was miserable, I had yet to find out about The Great Email Debacle. Wanting to hang out downtown and refusing to spend our weekend in Suburban Hell, Ava and I rented a hotel room in the city and spent the weekend there.
Ava and I had been planning to get tattoos of our nickname for years, and that Sunday afternoon we chose to do it. She had finally tracked down someone who could phonetically translate MODI into Chinese characters. It turned out that MO was one character and DI was another, so we chose to each get one, and when another 15 years passes, we'll each get the other.
Since Ava wasn't leaving until Monday, I called Ex on Sunday and invited him to come downtown and hang out with us for the afternoon. He asked what we were planning to do, so I told him about the tattoos and our plans to migrate afterwards to Outdoor Bar with great people-watching.
30 full seconds of silence ensued.
I said, "Ex, are you still there?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong?"
"I refuse to spend time in a tattoo parlor. I don't waste my time with lowlifes."
And then he hung up on me.
I turned to Ava and said, "Well, that went well. Let's go."
So we headed off to the tattoo parlor, got our tattoos, and I called Ex as we were walking out the door. I asked, "Are you going to meet us?"
"I'm already here. I've been at the corner of the tattoo parlor for over an hour. I can see you right now."
Creepy. But I said, "OK, well, we're heading to Outdoor Bar, so meet us there."
Click. He'd hung up on me again.
The afternoon was extremely uncomfortable. We were sitting at Outdoor Bar, Ex across from me and Ava next to me. I didn't know who had peed in Ex's Cheerios that morning, but he was all thunder and storm, barely saying a word. He didn't ask either of us to show him our tattoos. To make matters worse, I must have been throwing off some pheromones or something, because as Ex was brooding in his rage and pissing us both off that he was ruining the afternoon, I got hit on more than I have in the past 3 years combined. The guy next to us, who was in town on business from South America, started up a conversation and we ended up speaking in Spanish to one another. He asked me out in Spanish and I laughed, telling him that it was my husband who was sitting across from me. A girl approached a little while later and sat down next to me, saying, "I know this seems kind of creepy, but my friend thinks you're really hot and he's too shy to ask you out, so would you go over and introduce yourself?" Things like this kept happening all afternoon, and Ex was growing more and more..... actually, he was just growing, because when he gets mad I think he actually grows in height to about 10 feet tall. He was enraged. It was exacerbating an already uncomfortable situation, and I still couldn't figure out why Ex was so upset in the first place.
Ava and I went to the bathroom together, and she said, "MODI, I don't think I've ever been more uncomfortable in my life."
"Me neither. I'm so sorry to end the weekend like this."
"But it's funny how you keep getting hit on and it's making Ex so mad!" We both dissolved into laughter because it was so absurd that it was funny.
We arrived back at the house where Ex and I lived at around 9. Ava went to sleep almost immediately because we had to be up early to get her to the airport on time. I needed to check some emails, so I got on my computer. I spotted an email from a guy I'd met on a recent trip to Europe and saw the little arrow icon that indicates the message had been forwarded. I knew that I hadn't forwarded that email to anyone, so I went into my sent folder, confusion and rage beginning to grow.
The email had been forwarded at 1:42 PM. To Ex. That same day. When Ava and I were downtown.
I wasn't entirely sure that Ex had actually forwarded the email at first. I thought, "He didn't - wouldn't - really do that, right?" Ex was in the basement watching TV, so I went downstairs and asked him, "Ex, were you on my computer today?"
"Of course not. Why would I do that?"
"Are you sure that's your final answer?"
Ex began to cry. He said that he thought I was having an affair and he needed to find out. I told him he had no reason to think that I was having an affair. He wanted to know why the email he'd forwarded to himself was signed "big kisses." I told him that the guy who had emailed me was foreign and they kiss everyone, including other men. I again asked him why he would think I was having an affair.
He said, "How about that Spanish dude you were talking to today? Are you meeting him later? Is he better looking than me? And what about all of that being hit on? Do you enjoy it? Was it fun for you?"
I replied somewhat incredulously, "You're jealous, aren't you?"
He became enraged again. He shouted, "Yes, I'm jealous! I'm jealous of Ava, I'm jealous of the Spanish guy, and I'm jealous of Mr. European Big Kisses! And why did you go off of the birth control pill right before you went to Europe, hmmmm?" dripping with sarcasm and insinuating that I went off of the pill in order to have sex romps with European hotties. His argument made no sense at all because I have never wanted children, and Ex knows this very well.
I actually found this illogical argument funny. "Hellooo, Ex," I thought, "I went off of the pill because we haven't had sex in a year, so what's the point?" I stifled a laugh. I said, "Um, Ex, let's think about this. If I had wanted to have sex with European men, I would have stayed ON the pill."
His look of confusion, then thoughtfulness, then realization was priceless.
He didn't even address his insanely illogical accusation and said something that blew my mind. "But you never asked me for permission to get a tattoo! And you know what else, you never asked me for permission to go off of the pill, either!"
That moment crystallized for me in colors of rage, betrayal, and coldness swimming before my eyes. It was a feeling I can't quite describe, in which time seemed to slow and my thoughts were oddly and serenely concrete. I looked him square in the eye and calmly said, "Since when did you gain ownership of my uterus, or my skin, for that matter?"
Realizing that his suspicion of unfaithfulness was untrue and that the "permission" comments were way over the line, he begged for forgiveness and started punching himself in the head over and over. Frankly, I was frightened. In order to diffuse the situation and hopefully save him from a self-inflicted traumatic brain injury I said, "We'll work this out later. I'm going to bed."
The next morning, Ava took her bag outside and I backed the car out of the garage. I saw in my rearview mirror that Ex gave her a hug and said something. I could see that she looked puzzled. She got in the car and said, "MODI, the weirdest thing just happened. Ex just told me that it was the last time he'd see me because you were probably going to divorce him. What happened?"
I told her the story and said, "MODI, this is just one more reason why you'll always be my Best Boyfriend Ever."
So currently, I'm DI and my Best Boyfriend Ever is MO. Or perhaps I'm Beef and she's Broccoli or I'm Kung Pao and she's Chicken, since we have no way of knowing what these indelibly marked characters really mean. No matter, I'm grateful to have a best friend like her and I'm happy to be Kung Pao to her Chicken.
Over the years, we've developed a completely different language that nobody else can understand. When we use words from our language in front of other people, they generally look at us as if we've sprouted fifth limbs. We call each other MODI, which stands for something we've never revealed to anyone else, but that name has also taken on a life of its own at this point and means so much more than it did originally. She and I laugh about how we're each other's Best Boyfriend Ever, since we've had our share of dysfunctional relationships and the one consistently good relationship we've both had is each other. Don't get me wrong, we don't have a romantic relationship, but we are definitely soul mates and I feel pretty sure we're going to end up in rocking chairs together at the nursing home someday. We laugh when we tell people that we fell in love when we were 18, and they inevitably look at us like we just stepped out of an alien warcraft.
Bizarrely enough, every boyfriend that we've ever had has been jealous of our relationship. The only fight that we've ever had in 15 years was over a boyfriend of Ava's that was so envious, he tried to drive a wedge in between us. He's history. I've had boyfriends who have asked me, "Why aren't we as close as you and Ava?"
Ava and I have been through a million and one different things together, and even though we don't live in the same city, we try to get together once a month or so. She's only a 50 minute flight away, so it's pretty convenient. Our weekends together always end up filled with adventures, late nights, and countless bottles of wine. Our livers and lungs hate us after our visits, but the weekends are so much fun that it's totally worth it.
Late last spring, Ava came to visit me for a weekend. At that time, Ex and I were still living together, and though I was already coming to terms with the fact that I was miserable, I had yet to find out about The Great Email Debacle. Wanting to hang out downtown and refusing to spend our weekend in Suburban Hell, Ava and I rented a hotel room in the city and spent the weekend there.
Ava and I had been planning to get tattoos of our nickname for years, and that Sunday afternoon we chose to do it. She had finally tracked down someone who could phonetically translate MODI into Chinese characters. It turned out that MO was one character and DI was another, so we chose to each get one, and when another 15 years passes, we'll each get the other.
Since Ava wasn't leaving until Monday, I called Ex on Sunday and invited him to come downtown and hang out with us for the afternoon. He asked what we were planning to do, so I told him about the tattoos and our plans to migrate afterwards to Outdoor Bar with great people-watching.
30 full seconds of silence ensued.
I said, "Ex, are you still there?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong?"
"I refuse to spend time in a tattoo parlor. I don't waste my time with lowlifes."
And then he hung up on me.
I turned to Ava and said, "Well, that went well. Let's go."
So we headed off to the tattoo parlor, got our tattoos, and I called Ex as we were walking out the door. I asked, "Are you going to meet us?"
"I'm already here. I've been at the corner of the tattoo parlor for over an hour. I can see you right now."
Creepy. But I said, "OK, well, we're heading to Outdoor Bar, so meet us there."
Click. He'd hung up on me again.
The afternoon was extremely uncomfortable. We were sitting at Outdoor Bar, Ex across from me and Ava next to me. I didn't know who had peed in Ex's Cheerios that morning, but he was all thunder and storm, barely saying a word. He didn't ask either of us to show him our tattoos. To make matters worse, I must have been throwing off some pheromones or something, because as Ex was brooding in his rage and pissing us both off that he was ruining the afternoon, I got hit on more than I have in the past 3 years combined. The guy next to us, who was in town on business from South America, started up a conversation and we ended up speaking in Spanish to one another. He asked me out in Spanish and I laughed, telling him that it was my husband who was sitting across from me. A girl approached a little while later and sat down next to me, saying, "I know this seems kind of creepy, but my friend thinks you're really hot and he's too shy to ask you out, so would you go over and introduce yourself?" Things like this kept happening all afternoon, and Ex was growing more and more..... actually, he was just growing, because when he gets mad I think he actually grows in height to about 10 feet tall. He was enraged. It was exacerbating an already uncomfortable situation, and I still couldn't figure out why Ex was so upset in the first place.
Ava and I went to the bathroom together, and she said, "MODI, I don't think I've ever been more uncomfortable in my life."
"Me neither. I'm so sorry to end the weekend like this."
"But it's funny how you keep getting hit on and it's making Ex so mad!" We both dissolved into laughter because it was so absurd that it was funny.
We arrived back at the house where Ex and I lived at around 9. Ava went to sleep almost immediately because we had to be up early to get her to the airport on time. I needed to check some emails, so I got on my computer. I spotted an email from a guy I'd met on a recent trip to Europe and saw the little arrow icon that indicates the message had been forwarded. I knew that I hadn't forwarded that email to anyone, so I went into my sent folder, confusion and rage beginning to grow.
The email had been forwarded at 1:42 PM. To Ex. That same day. When Ava and I were downtown.
I wasn't entirely sure that Ex had actually forwarded the email at first. I thought, "He didn't - wouldn't - really do that, right?" Ex was in the basement watching TV, so I went downstairs and asked him, "Ex, were you on my computer today?"
"Of course not. Why would I do that?"
"Are you sure that's your final answer?"
Ex began to cry. He said that he thought I was having an affair and he needed to find out. I told him he had no reason to think that I was having an affair. He wanted to know why the email he'd forwarded to himself was signed "big kisses." I told him that the guy who had emailed me was foreign and they kiss everyone, including other men. I again asked him why he would think I was having an affair.
He said, "How about that Spanish dude you were talking to today? Are you meeting him later? Is he better looking than me? And what about all of that being hit on? Do you enjoy it? Was it fun for you?"
I replied somewhat incredulously, "You're jealous, aren't you?"
He became enraged again. He shouted, "Yes, I'm jealous! I'm jealous of Ava, I'm jealous of the Spanish guy, and I'm jealous of Mr. European Big Kisses! And why did you go off of the birth control pill right before you went to Europe, hmmmm?" dripping with sarcasm and insinuating that I went off of the pill in order to have sex romps with European hotties. His argument made no sense at all because I have never wanted children, and Ex knows this very well.
I actually found this illogical argument funny. "Hellooo, Ex," I thought, "I went off of the pill because we haven't had sex in a year, so what's the point?" I stifled a laugh. I said, "Um, Ex, let's think about this. If I had wanted to have sex with European men, I would have stayed ON the pill."
His look of confusion, then thoughtfulness, then realization was priceless.
He didn't even address his insanely illogical accusation and said something that blew my mind. "But you never asked me for permission to get a tattoo! And you know what else, you never asked me for permission to go off of the pill, either!"
That moment crystallized for me in colors of rage, betrayal, and coldness swimming before my eyes. It was a feeling I can't quite describe, in which time seemed to slow and my thoughts were oddly and serenely concrete. I looked him square in the eye and calmly said, "Since when did you gain ownership of my uterus, or my skin, for that matter?"
Realizing that his suspicion of unfaithfulness was untrue and that the "permission" comments were way over the line, he begged for forgiveness and started punching himself in the head over and over. Frankly, I was frightened. In order to diffuse the situation and hopefully save him from a self-inflicted traumatic brain injury I said, "We'll work this out later. I'm going to bed."
The next morning, Ava took her bag outside and I backed the car out of the garage. I saw in my rearview mirror that Ex gave her a hug and said something. I could see that she looked puzzled. She got in the car and said, "MODI, the weirdest thing just happened. Ex just told me that it was the last time he'd see me because you were probably going to divorce him. What happened?"
I told her the story and said, "MODI, this is just one more reason why you'll always be my Best Boyfriend Ever."
So currently, I'm DI and my Best Boyfriend Ever is MO. Or perhaps I'm Beef and she's Broccoli or I'm Kung Pao and she's Chicken, since we have no way of knowing what these indelibly marked characters really mean. No matter, I'm grateful to have a best friend like her and I'm happy to be Kung Pao to her Chicken.
Friday, June 22, 2007
"That doesn't look like Lou Ferrigno...."
Several years ago, over cocktails and dinner on one of our nights out, Lauren and I were talking about her wedding. This was prior to my having any firsthand experience with marriage and before I even met Ex, so I was bewildered when she told me that she knew as she was walking down that aisle that she would end up getting divorced. I wondered what on God's green Earth would possess someone to go through with a marriage when they were reasonably certain that it wouldn't end up working out. Obligation? Embarrassment at canceling? The Wicked Witch of Weddings Soon-to-be-Past? Looking back on that conversation, I now realize that she probably had some inkling that not everything with her groom was as it seemed on the surface.
She said, "I drank so much champagne before getting married that I barely made it down the aisle."
To which I replied, "Why did you get tanked before your wedding? Didn't you look wasted in your pictures?"
She shrugged and said, "I didn't care. I knew that if I didn't get drunk, I'd be running in the other direction faster than you can say, 'Hell, no, I don't take this man!'" (This brings up my own thoughts of Valium mixed with champagne - not a combination I recommend - but more about that in the future.)
Lauren got married, probably entirely thanks to the urgings of Mr. Dom Perignon, had a honeymoon that was less than ideal, and wound up living on the third floor of her in-laws' three-flat. Living with your in-laws may sound like being in Dante's Inferno to most of us, but I'm pretty sure that the only reason Lauren's marriage lasted as long as it did is because she and her mother-in-law were instant BFFs. She told me that the only loss she mourned in her divorce was that of her mother-in-law, with whom she would pass evenings smoking Marlboro Lights, drinking coffee, and gossiping. Lucky bitch.
Anyway, for months after the wedding, Lauren's husband, Mike, had been begging her to see a Lou Ferrigno movie that he'd rented, about which he was practically obsessing. Not being the biggest Lou Ferrigno fan on the planet, she kept blowing him off. One morning, Mike went out the door to work and Lauren happened to have the day off. She said to herself, "Oh well, I suppose I'll watch that movie Mike's been bugging me about."
She went over to the TV, found a video entitled "Hilton Head," and, thinking that this was the movie Mike had been asking her to watch for months, popped it into to the VCR.
Mike had forgotten something that he needed for work, and walked back into their apartment just as the movie began to play. He said, "What are you doing?"
Lauren replied, "Watching that Lou Ferrigno movie you've been bugging me about."
She told me that the look of panic on his face matched the look of shock on hers as she spun back to the TV and saw two naked, heavily-muscled men (neither of whom were Lou Ferrigno) engaging in the most intimate act possible for us humans.
In her usual fashion, she turned around to him and said, "Um, that doesn't really look like Lou Ferrigno."
A few months back and after years of no contact with him, Lauren spotted Mike in the grocery store. She exercised her best Charlie's Angels moves, bobbing and weaving through the aisles to hide behind the Starbuck's display, but he had already seen her and tracked her down. After some small talk, she asked him, "So, have you seen any good Lou Ferrigno movies lately?"
She said, "I drank so much champagne before getting married that I barely made it down the aisle."
To which I replied, "Why did you get tanked before your wedding? Didn't you look wasted in your pictures?"
She shrugged and said, "I didn't care. I knew that if I didn't get drunk, I'd be running in the other direction faster than you can say, 'Hell, no, I don't take this man!'" (This brings up my own thoughts of Valium mixed with champagne - not a combination I recommend - but more about that in the future.)
Lauren got married, probably entirely thanks to the urgings of Mr. Dom Perignon, had a honeymoon that was less than ideal, and wound up living on the third floor of her in-laws' three-flat. Living with your in-laws may sound like being in Dante's Inferno to most of us, but I'm pretty sure that the only reason Lauren's marriage lasted as long as it did is because she and her mother-in-law were instant BFFs. She told me that the only loss she mourned in her divorce was that of her mother-in-law, with whom she would pass evenings smoking Marlboro Lights, drinking coffee, and gossiping. Lucky bitch.
Anyway, for months after the wedding, Lauren's husband, Mike, had been begging her to see a Lou Ferrigno movie that he'd rented, about which he was practically obsessing. Not being the biggest Lou Ferrigno fan on the planet, she kept blowing him off. One morning, Mike went out the door to work and Lauren happened to have the day off. She said to herself, "Oh well, I suppose I'll watch that movie Mike's been bugging me about."
She went over to the TV, found a video entitled "Hilton Head," and, thinking that this was the movie Mike had been asking her to watch for months, popped it into to the VCR.
Mike had forgotten something that he needed for work, and walked back into their apartment just as the movie began to play. He said, "What are you doing?"
Lauren replied, "Watching that Lou Ferrigno movie you've been bugging me about."
She told me that the look of panic on his face matched the look of shock on hers as she spun back to the TV and saw two naked, heavily-muscled men (neither of whom were Lou Ferrigno) engaging in the most intimate act possible for us humans.
In her usual fashion, she turned around to him and said, "Um, that doesn't really look like Lou Ferrigno."
A few months back and after years of no contact with him, Lauren spotted Mike in the grocery store. She exercised her best Charlie's Angels moves, bobbing and weaving through the aisles to hide behind the Starbuck's display, but he had already seen her and tracked her down. After some small talk, she asked him, "So, have you seen any good Lou Ferrigno movies lately?"
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Ex Has AIDS
Quite some time ago, after the divorce had been filed, Lawyer called me out of the blue.
He said, "Almost Free, Ex has developed AIDS."
Now, keep in mind, Lawyer is 50% therapist, 50% comedian, and 100% shark. At that time, I truly hoped that it was Lawyer's comedian part with whom I was speaking, because his statement shocked me. I frantically flipped through my mental calendar, heart pounding, trying to think of how much time had transpired since Ex and I had sex. I concluded within seconds that it was a fruitless task, since it had been too long for my feeble memory to recall.
In my oh-so-eloquent fashion, I answered, "Ummm.... what???"
He repeated, "Almost Free, I am so sorry, Ex has AIDS. " Then he started to laugh. That's when I knew that it was Lawyer-Comedian talking.
Lawyer continued, "Don't freak out, he either had AIDS or RAIDS, and I'm not sure which one it is yet, but be assured that I will find out."
Several months prior to this phone call, I had found Ex's financial statement. For some reason unknown to me, he left it in our fax machine at the house in which we used to live together. He had faxed it to a bank for one of his businesses and I had the foresight to make a photocopy at the time because I was already certain of the fact that we would divorce within the very near future. Of course, I gave a copy of that statement to Lawyer.
Throughout the process of the divorce filing and subsequent hearings, Ex supplied the court with 3 different financial statements, each one diminishing in net worth. His latest financial statement shows his net worth to be approximately 1/9 of the one I photocopied just 7 months ago. A real Houdini, that one, making millions of dollars disappear over the course of just a few months. (And by the way, no, I am not seeking half or anything even close to that, nor am I seeking to ruin Ex's financial life, but this divorce process does require that both parties disclose all finances, and these just happen to be the facts.)
Though Lawyer was laughing, I still couldn't figure out the reason, so I again said, "Ummm, huh?" I'm a genius word smith, as you can tell.
Lawyer said, "Almost Free, AIDS and RAIDS are fairly common conditions among divorcing couples, and Ex has definitely developed it. It's known in our community as Acquired Income Deficiency Syndrome or Recently Acquired Income Deficiency Syndrome. I'm very sorry, but don't worry, it's not contagious."
It took a good 20 minutes for my heart rate to go back to normal, but when it did, I raised a glass of good Italian red wine to Lawyer and thanked my lucky stars to have yet another person in this process who makes me laugh (and gets the job done).
He said, "Almost Free, Ex has developed AIDS."
Now, keep in mind, Lawyer is 50% therapist, 50% comedian, and 100% shark. At that time, I truly hoped that it was Lawyer's comedian part with whom I was speaking, because his statement shocked me. I frantically flipped through my mental calendar, heart pounding, trying to think of how much time had transpired since Ex and I had sex. I concluded within seconds that it was a fruitless task, since it had been too long for my feeble memory to recall.
In my oh-so-eloquent fashion, I answered, "Ummm.... what???"
He repeated, "Almost Free, I am so sorry, Ex has AIDS. " Then he started to laugh. That's when I knew that it was Lawyer-Comedian talking.
Lawyer continued, "Don't freak out, he either had AIDS or RAIDS, and I'm not sure which one it is yet, but be assured that I will find out."
Several months prior to this phone call, I had found Ex's financial statement. For some reason unknown to me, he left it in our fax machine at the house in which we used to live together. He had faxed it to a bank for one of his businesses and I had the foresight to make a photocopy at the time because I was already certain of the fact that we would divorce within the very near future. Of course, I gave a copy of that statement to Lawyer.
Throughout the process of the divorce filing and subsequent hearings, Ex supplied the court with 3 different financial statements, each one diminishing in net worth. His latest financial statement shows his net worth to be approximately 1/9 of the one I photocopied just 7 months ago. A real Houdini, that one, making millions of dollars disappear over the course of just a few months. (And by the way, no, I am not seeking half or anything even close to that, nor am I seeking to ruin Ex's financial life, but this divorce process does require that both parties disclose all finances, and these just happen to be the facts.)
Though Lawyer was laughing, I still couldn't figure out the reason, so I again said, "Ummm, huh?" I'm a genius word smith, as you can tell.
Lawyer said, "Almost Free, AIDS and RAIDS are fairly common conditions among divorcing couples, and Ex has definitely developed it. It's known in our community as Acquired Income Deficiency Syndrome or Recently Acquired Income Deficiency Syndrome. I'm very sorry, but don't worry, it's not contagious."
It took a good 20 minutes for my heart rate to go back to normal, but when it did, I raised a glass of good Italian red wine to Lawyer and thanked my lucky stars to have yet another person in this process who makes me laugh (and gets the job done).
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Father's Day
Yes, I know that Father's Day has already passed, but Ex did something so outrageous on Sunday night that it actually made me laugh once I got past the black, blind rage of fury.
My relationship with my Dad has always been good, but never has he been more of my hero than throughout this grotesque process. When I found out about the granny porn issue, I called my Dad and he made me laugh about it, despite my sadness and disgust. When I fell apart in January and called him in tears (something that I rarely do, because I don't want him to worry), barely choking out the words, "Yes, I need you," he hopped a flight the next day and spent the weekend with me. When Ex financially cut me off 8 months ago and sent me a text message that said something to the effect of, "I'm not giving you a dime, bitch, get a J-O-B," my Dad has always been the first one to ask me if I'm solvent. And by the way, yes, I do have a job.
I'll go into details at some point in the future, but it's sufficient at this point to say that I was insanely stupid enough to let myself become financially dependent upon Ex, even though I was completely independent prior to marrying him. Despite my financial dependence upon him (I think I just felt some bile rise at even having to type those ugly, honest words) as I work my way through a Ph.D. program, he came up with a wildly untrue notion that I have a 5 million dollar trust fund. More about that later, but the fact is, I don't have a 5 million dollar trust fund. In fact, I'm currently pretty much broke.
But Ex thinks that I'm rich. He thinks that I'm so rich that I should pay his legal fees. He thinks that I'm so rich that I'm, in his attorney's words in court a couple of weeks ago, "living the life of a rock star." Because Ex thinks that I'm swimming in pools of Benjamins, he had his attorney subpoena my Dad and the trust fund last week (yes, there is one, but no, my sister and I have no access to it until both of my parents no longer walk this mortal coil, God forbid).
My Dad called me last night and said, "I have a question for you. The trust has been subpoenaed. I have no problem with supplying documents, but how would you like the company to handle it? Does Divorce Lawyer have any suggestions?"
Now, I knew this was coming. I was prepared to testify under oath 4 months ago in court with regard to the nature of the trust, but Ex wiggled out of that one as well. I told Ex's greasy attorney that day that I have no access to that fund, to which he replied, "Oh, we'll definitely find that out, because I'm going to subpoena the records." But despite knowing that it was immanent, I was nevertheless appalled last week when my Divorce Lawyer (heretofore "Lawyer") called me and told me that the fund had been, indeed, subpoenaed.
My approach is this... say whatever you need to say about me, do whatever you need to do to me, but do NOT disrespect my parents, my sister, or any of my friends, for that matter. Disrespecting my Dad is even worse to me than if Ex had punched me in the face (which he did not, never laid a hand on me, in fact). I'm a Leo, and we're fiercely protective of those we love, so dragging my Dad into this and embarrassing him in front of his financial adviser is a big no-no, to put it mildly.
But back to Sunday. At this point, the facts were and are as follows: I'm a broke grad student, my Dad has come to my rescue on more than one occasion because Ex has completely cut me off, and Ex has had the disrespect to subpoena my Dad's financials. The week before Father's Day.
Father's Day had almost passed, and I received a text from Ex. Ex never calls, by the way. He only texts, and because of the nature of the texts and the time at which I receive them, I suspect that he's wasted. That will be relevant in the future, but for now what's important is that shortly before midnight on Sunday, Ex's text arrived. It said....
"If u r with ur dad..wish him a happy f-day from me..i will always have the utmost respect 4 him"
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.
My relationship with my Dad has always been good, but never has he been more of my hero than throughout this grotesque process. When I found out about the granny porn issue, I called my Dad and he made me laugh about it, despite my sadness and disgust. When I fell apart in January and called him in tears (something that I rarely do, because I don't want him to worry), barely choking out the words, "Yes, I need you," he hopped a flight the next day and spent the weekend with me. When Ex financially cut me off 8 months ago and sent me a text message that said something to the effect of, "I'm not giving you a dime, bitch, get a J-O-B," my Dad has always been the first one to ask me if I'm solvent. And by the way, yes, I do have a job.
I'll go into details at some point in the future, but it's sufficient at this point to say that I was insanely stupid enough to let myself become financially dependent upon Ex, even though I was completely independent prior to marrying him. Despite my financial dependence upon him (I think I just felt some bile rise at even having to type those ugly, honest words) as I work my way through a Ph.D. program, he came up with a wildly untrue notion that I have a 5 million dollar trust fund. More about that later, but the fact is, I don't have a 5 million dollar trust fund. In fact, I'm currently pretty much broke.
But Ex thinks that I'm rich. He thinks that I'm so rich that I should pay his legal fees. He thinks that I'm so rich that I'm, in his attorney's words in court a couple of weeks ago, "living the life of a rock star." Because Ex thinks that I'm swimming in pools of Benjamins, he had his attorney subpoena my Dad and the trust fund last week (yes, there is one, but no, my sister and I have no access to it until both of my parents no longer walk this mortal coil, God forbid).
My Dad called me last night and said, "I have a question for you. The trust has been subpoenaed. I have no problem with supplying documents, but how would you like the company to handle it? Does Divorce Lawyer have any suggestions?"
Now, I knew this was coming. I was prepared to testify under oath 4 months ago in court with regard to the nature of the trust, but Ex wiggled out of that one as well. I told Ex's greasy attorney that day that I have no access to that fund, to which he replied, "Oh, we'll definitely find that out, because I'm going to subpoena the records." But despite knowing that it was immanent, I was nevertheless appalled last week when my Divorce Lawyer (heretofore "Lawyer") called me and told me that the fund had been, indeed, subpoenaed.
My approach is this... say whatever you need to say about me, do whatever you need to do to me, but do NOT disrespect my parents, my sister, or any of my friends, for that matter. Disrespecting my Dad is even worse to me than if Ex had punched me in the face (which he did not, never laid a hand on me, in fact). I'm a Leo, and we're fiercely protective of those we love, so dragging my Dad into this and embarrassing him in front of his financial adviser is a big no-no, to put it mildly.
But back to Sunday. At this point, the facts were and are as follows: I'm a broke grad student, my Dad has come to my rescue on more than one occasion because Ex has completely cut me off, and Ex has had the disrespect to subpoena my Dad's financials. The week before Father's Day.
Father's Day had almost passed, and I received a text from Ex. Ex never calls, by the way. He only texts, and because of the nature of the texts and the time at which I receive them, I suspect that he's wasted. That will be relevant in the future, but for now what's important is that shortly before midnight on Sunday, Ex's text arrived. It said....
"If u r with ur dad..wish him a happy f-day from me..i will always have the utmost respect 4 him"
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
LOL!
Much debate has transpired around the country regarding this billboard which was posted in Chicago for a time, but I have to give props to the attorney behind the all of the salaciousness. I think she's hilarious and I love it! She sounds like the type of girl I'd like to share a vokatini with and gossip. Some divorce attorneys seem to think it has set the practice back 30 years, but most of them don't have a sense of humor anyway after constantly having to deal with us divorcing nutjobs. What do you think?
"The Daily Motivator"
Yes, I'm getting divorced. No, I'm not bitter, and no, I am not jaded about relationships in general. In fact, I find the divorce process, although traumatic, quite amusing in certain ways, and I hope that this blog helps anyone reading it who's going through the same thing to find the humor in what could otherwise be devastating. Because, hell, divorce stories are hilarious when you get a little distance!
As my first post, I thought I'd tell you a story that I found amusing. Last summer during a fight when Ex and I were still living in the same house, I found out that he, in his paranoia, was routinely going through my emails and forwarding them to himself for the entirety of our marriage. I felt betrayed and angry, even though there was nothing for me to hide. In response, he screamed at me to go through his email, gave me his password, and said that he wanted me to see that he had nothing to hide. It took me a month to actually go ahead and do it, but at the urging of my friends, I finally did. I found a folder in his online account entitled "The Daily Motivator." Thinking that it was probably a collection of inspirational quotes, Bible verses, or cheesy thoughts for the day, I clicked on it. To my surprise, I found that it was a registration for a porn account. Incidentally, the registration date coincided with the time that he completely lost interest in sex, but that's a story for another time.
Anyway, I was shy about logging into his actual porn account, but yet another month passed and I finally got up the nerve to do so. I was expecting the usual.... Jenna Jameson, Tera Patrick, whatever. But what I found truly shocked me and made me laugh so hard I nearly choked! I won't divulge titles, but let's just say that the collection of porn featuring women and men in their golden years was extensive, and the titles .... well, those creative types behind granny porn have fertile imaginations to say the least! Yes, Granny Porn. There is such a thing.
He still doesn't realize that I have this information, but be assured that he will find out very soon. At least I now know what motivates him daily. And I know to keep him far, far away from my grandmother.
As my first post, I thought I'd tell you a story that I found amusing. Last summer during a fight when Ex and I were still living in the same house, I found out that he, in his paranoia, was routinely going through my emails and forwarding them to himself for the entirety of our marriage. I felt betrayed and angry, even though there was nothing for me to hide. In response, he screamed at me to go through his email, gave me his password, and said that he wanted me to see that he had nothing to hide. It took me a month to actually go ahead and do it, but at the urging of my friends, I finally did. I found a folder in his online account entitled "The Daily Motivator." Thinking that it was probably a collection of inspirational quotes, Bible verses, or cheesy thoughts for the day, I clicked on it. To my surprise, I found that it was a registration for a porn account. Incidentally, the registration date coincided with the time that he completely lost interest in sex, but that's a story for another time.
Anyway, I was shy about logging into his actual porn account, but yet another month passed and I finally got up the nerve to do so. I was expecting the usual.... Jenna Jameson, Tera Patrick, whatever. But what I found truly shocked me and made me laugh so hard I nearly choked! I won't divulge titles, but let's just say that the collection of porn featuring women and men in their golden years was extensive, and the titles .... well, those creative types behind granny porn have fertile imaginations to say the least! Yes, Granny Porn. There is such a thing.
He still doesn't realize that I have this information, but be assured that he will find out very soon. At least I now know what motivates him daily. And I know to keep him far, far away from my grandmother.
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