Court Dismissed

Yesterday is behind me, thank God, and I don't have another court date until mid-fall. I really need to stop working myself into such a nervous, edgy frenzy over these things because they never end up being as awful as I thought.

Ex's Greasy Attorney had a conflict so he sent another partner, a perky blonde in her 40's with a dazzling, right-hand Cartier diamond ring that I coveted all afternoon. I'm glad she wore it because it gave me something other than my terror on which to focus during the proceedings. Usually I focus on Greasy Attorney's choice of white tube socks with his dark suit and Dollar Store black rubber shoes, so I was happy to focus on something much more aesthetically pleasing.

I walked into court and saw Ex for the first time in months. Correction: I didn't actually see him since I didn't look at him directly for fear of becoming the modern day version of Lot's wife and turning into a pillar of salt, but I was able to make out the undeniably square shape of his head in my peripheral vision. Since this was finally the hearing for which I've been waiting 4 months, I sat next to Lawyer at one of the two attorney's tables instead of sitting in the gallery, which is my usual position when I'm not required to testify. I hoped that nobody saw my heart pounding out of my chest through my thin shirt. I swear, I wouldn't have been surprised if it had just popped out and sat there on the table, pounding and looking around with interest as if nothing was wrong.

Ex tried to get my attention all afternoon. I don't know if he wanted to say hello or if he wanted to spit in my face, but I didn't look at him once. Perhaps if he had adhered to the judge's order from our last court date I would have looked at him and greeted him cordially, but since he didn't, I wasn't entirely sure that I could see him and quell my urge to jump over the table and scratch his eyes out. There are cameras in courtrooms these days so I thought it was wise to keep my mouth shut and hands folded, each hand locking the other away from doing something that would land me in county jail.

The afternoon consisted of the two lawyers making a brief statement to the judge, then a back and forth between lawyers, Ex, and me. Ex and his attorney were in the conference room while I remained at the table and chatted with the clerk much of the time. Lawyer ran between me and Ex and we eventually came to an agreement that all of us hated. When Lawyer first started telling me about it, I cut him off with a firm, "NO."

"Lawyer, Ex is hiding assets, you know that. Why does he get to go to Vegas and spend $35,000 in a weekend and then cry poor to everyone else while I'm working in my paltry-paying position and busting my ass to finish my grad program?"

"Almost, Ex doesn't like this, either. If he gets what he wants, he'll drag his feet on the divorce. I know you won't do this, but from his attorney's perspective, if you get what you want, you'll drag your feet. We want to expedite the process and the only way to do it is if you're both uncomfortable."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, Lawyer, do whatever you think is best. I trust you."

"You don't understand, this is a great result! You should be thrilled and don't worry, we'll address the hiding issue later."

"OK, do what you have to do. I just want this to be over."

After handwriting a three-page Agreed Order and handing it to me for approval, Lawyer had Ex and his attorney sign it, I thanked the judge, clerk, and bailiff and we were done. Though I wasn't entirely happy with the order, I was still literally limp with relief because I hadn't even had to testify. Lawyer was gleeful with the result, so we decided to head out for an early dinner where we met up with Lauren.

We sat at the bar, ordered dinner, and drank the finest Italian wine in the place while Lawyer filled Lauren in on the particulars of the afternoon. Not even 10 minutes passed before 2 guys at the end of the bar bought all of us a round. I raised my glass and yelled a thank you down the bar, to which one of them yelled back, "Bob here just signed a multi-million dollar deal today!" and clapped his friend on the back so hard that he lurched forward and impaled himself with his cocktail straw.

Fifteen minutes later, they bought us another round and we responded in kind.

"Ladies, this dude is rich! Wanna piece of him?"

"Yeah, that's my first f*cking priority," Lauren groaned to us as she rolled her eyes.

"I don't think my divorce lawyer here is going to approve just yet, but thanks," I shouted back, my hand on Lawyer's shoulder.

"Whoah-ho, Bob, a single gal and a divorceè," the boisterous one nearly screamed. "Hey, you a good lawyer?"

I've known Lawyer socially for almost 9 years and I love him as a person. Truthfully, he's one of the top 3 divorce lawyers in the city and I'm very lucky to have him. He only took my case because of our friendship, so of course, I'm proud to shout out his accomplishments. "Did you see City Newspaper over the weekend? He was on the front page," I shouted back to Boisterous Patron.

"Almost, pipe down. I don't pick up clients in bars," Lawyer admonished.

But Boisterous Patron popped up behind Lawyer and said, "I really need your card. I'm going to have to talk to you very, very soon."

Lawyer doesn't carry his cards with him, but he wrote down his number for the man. They ended up talking for a few minutes and when Boisterous Patron asked him again if he was actually a good attorney, Lawyer responded, "Why don't you turn on CNN tonight and see for yourself. I'll be on it."

Boisterous Patron shrieked with excitement, promised to call soon, and left with his friend. Lawyer, Lauren and I chatted some more, then we wrapped things up and I headed to Lauren's house for the remainder of the evening.

Lauren told me all of the details of her visit with Pascal. It was not a good weekend. He wasn't who he portrayed on the internet and she was pretty disappointed. That got me thinking about the things we hide when we're in relationships, whether they're on the internet or in real life.

Ex hid assets, secrets, and behaviors from me but I hid things from him as well, both concrete and more abstract, personal aspects of myself. Pascal hid behind a computer screen and created a persona - this person that he wishes to be instead of his actual self. I didn't really talk to Boisterous Patron, but I'd be willing to bet that he hid Lawyer's phone number so that his wife won't find it and I can't help but wonder what else he's hidden from her. An affair? An addiction? A fetish for prancing around in her lingerie while listening to show tunes when she's out of the house? When Bob strikes up a conversation with a single lady at a bar, I wonder if he'll start out by telling her about his multi-million dollar deal because he's afraid that who he is as a person isn't enough. It seems to me that the human condition predisposes us to hide behind a variety of screens, and for what, I'm not yet sure, but I am pretty sure that most of us have practiced and perfected our veils so well that it's practically an art form.

With all of their experience in digging up long-buried secrets to be held up under the court's bright, scrutinizing lights in order to gain good results for their clients, even divorce attorneys hide. When I complimented Perky Blonde Attorney on her ring, she laughed and said, "My husband still thinks that this is cubic zirconia!"

P.S. Thank you for the dinner, laughs, and all of your hard work, Lawyer.

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.

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.

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.

"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?"

"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.