Prologue: As I sit here, with this blog written, I'm hesitant to hit 'publish'. Yes, this blog was created so I could share my experiences and my journey as I navigate life post-divorce. Still, I saw it as a tongue-in-cheek look at my bizarre dating life, or those silly stories that happen late on a Saturday night with friends after one too many drinks beginning with the letter 'T'. And yet, here I sit- contemplative and exposed. It feels good, but scary. I'm not sure who will read this, who will benefit, or who will judge. Perhaps it doesn't even matter. Perhaps the answer is 'no one'...and maybe it's 'everyone'. Alas, it isn't a true look into my life if it isn't a whole look. So, if you so choose...I'm going to allow you to now look...
The best thing I've done for myself recently, or perhaps ever, is to find a good therapist. We met for the second time this afternoon, and it was not-so-simply...and yet quite simply...powerful.
Today, we decided to spend our time focusing on my marriage and divorce. So many of my friends have also been through a difficult divorce, or are experiencing trouble with their marriage- so I think the tools I've been given may be of use to someone reading this right now. Thus, I've decided to openly share my journey from today. It's all hitting me at once, so I feel the best way to explore my thoughts is to create a list. I hope you won't mind.
1) She asked me what feeling dominates my thoughts about my ex. Easy...it's anger. Why anger? Because I feel he stole my time. I gave my ex 8 years of my life and received nothing in return. For 8 years we lived a lie, and for 8 years I was denied a good and honest marriage. For 8 years I was slowly stripped of my self confidence and robbed of my sexuality- all so he could keep up appearances to the outside world. I'm angry he refused to touch me for all of those years, angry that he made me believe it was my fault, that somehow I was undeserving of his affection...8 years of my life gone just so he could paint the perfect picture for himself, for his 'fans', and for his family. She asked how long it's been since I left him. We are coming up on 2 years. She pointed out that for every day that I don't come to terms with my anger, for every email he sends that I allow to upset me all over again (and that I choose to read), for every second I spend lamenting the past- I am only giving him more of my 'time'. As of now, I have not just given him 8 years...I've given him nearly 10.
A decade. A decade of my life given to a controlling narcissist, when it's been in my power all along to reclaim my time. Quite empowering when you think about it.
2) She asked what the number one thing was that my ex stole from me. Again...easy...my self confidence. I won't go into detail here, but he did and said some things that stripped me of my confidence and self worth in the way only the sickest of men would dare do. I thank God every day that I am still able to date, that I still feel desirable. Because that man said things to me that literally brought me to my knees- things so awful I still have trouble discussing them, let alone ever writing about them. And even though I knew they were lies, and that the issues were his- they scarred me worse than his fists ever could have. In fact, there were days I wish he did hit me- just so I had something tangible to look to in order to explain my pain.
But while I am able to date, my confidence and self-worth stay wrapped up in whatever 'man x' thinks about me. Rejection remains my greatest fear- therefore I'm willing to sacrifice my standards in exchange for anything that resembles praise or affection. I explained to my therapist that I want to regain my self confidence and find my true worth within and from myself, not from external opinions.
Question is...How?
3) How. Yes, she actually had an answer. We made a list of the things I love to do, the things I'm great at, the things that bring me peace. The exact same things...I have not done since I left my husband. I've been doing none of them. She asked me which of my hobbies I miss the most. Easy, I miss taking pictures. What do I love to take pictures of? Candid street photography. She had me open my calendar and asked me what my plans were for tomorrow. Well, I work until 4. After that? Nothing. She had me write in my calendar that I would drive downtown, take my camera, and spend 2 hours walking the streets and taking pictures. No excuses, no delays, this will happen. Even if my energy is low, even if I have a thousand other things I 'should' be doing...this matters more.
Why? Because I'm really, really good at it. And by doing the things that I love, the things I know I'm good at- slowly I will begin to regain my self confidence...and my true self. Each week, as often as possible I have to schedule time to do the things I love. It's vital to my recovery. And to hold me accountable, she has asked to see the photos next week.
4) Now, just relax. Last week I wrote about the importance of taking time to relax (according to my therapist). And I have. I've been doing pilates again, and taking time to walk away from the computer and catch a good movie in the evenings. I've spent time with friends, and not just in a crazy party way- but in a meaningful way that involves good food and greater conversation. She's right, it's working. As I type this now, it's just occurred to me that my house is silent. Completely silent. I believe it's the first time I've allowed that to happen since my dog died.
Wow.
5) She asked me what I feel I've gained in the last decade. It was a tie between an interesting career and friends that have helped me grow, think, and live. She asked for an example. I didn't have to think hard. Yesterday evening, following a fantastic house warming party in which a very eclectic group of people were brought together with the sole intention of everyone meeting someone new and interesting, my boy best friend (BBF) and I were chatting. He's never been married and has no intention to ever do so, his life is simply too perfect the way it is. I told him I hoped to get to that place someday. He was quick to point out I was already there. What? No I'm not! He asked me if I was happier today than I was 2 years ago, 3 years ago, 5 years ago. After some thought I knew he was right. I am happier. I was never as sad and lonely as I was while married to my ex. Even my worst day today could never be that bad. There were days I wished to be dead. That would not happen now. My life now really is quite amazing when I allow it to be. I get to work, spend time with friends, see new places, eat new foods, meet new people, experience new inspirations. Everything can be new and beautiful...or not beautiful and yet still make for a good story. It's within my power, it's within my ability to choose.
Once I regain my confidence, my focus, my determination, and my drive? This world better watch out baby!
But for now, I have one goal...one giant and important goal...
To create a life so beautiful, so exhilarating, so diverse, so interesting, and so inspirational...that I won't want to share it with anyone else. Unless, of course, I deem them 110% worthy of me.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Giving Myself Permission...
Today I met with a therapist for the first time in almost 2 years. Which means I might have to change the subtitle of this blog. Well, shit.
The last time I sought counseling was at the end of my marriage...which ultimately helped me walk away. I've never had an issue with seeking help when I felt I needed it, but despite living through the most difficult 2 years of my life- it was only a week ago that I realized I really, really needed to see someone. My catalyst came during a normal day at work, doing something I've done for over a decade...and yet, I had a full-on panic attack that nearly lost me a long-time client in the process.
Thus, therapy. It's been a long time coming.
The hour went a little something like this...
Therapist: Why are you here today?
Me: I've had a difficult couple of years and the stress and anxiety have finally reached a boiling point. It's affecting my work.
Therapist: What happened in the last 2 years that caused you stress?
Me: Well, I left my husband and filed for divorce after discovering he was a gay narcissist, then I packed my things and moved halfway across the country to be closer to family. I left behind a fully furnished 5 bedroom house and my 2 cats. But I got to keep my dog...and half his debt. When I got here, I learned I had to have major abdominal surgery to fix multiple tears in my abdomen that were a result of living with prolonged stress while married. During my recovery, they discovered a mass in my left breast and told me it looked like cancer. 2 mammograms, 3 ultrasounds, and 2 biopsies later (and over a month of time)...I was told it wasn't cancerous. A week later the baby my sister was 2 weeks from delivering died while still in the womb. I was there for the birth and spoke at my niece's memorial. Around that time, the guy I was seeing turned into an verbally abusive alcoholic. It took me months to finally get him out of my life. A week after he left, my one true love- my dog- died from a brain tumor at 5 years old. While recovering from that loss, my ex-husband was given a huge promotion and an enormous pay raise, and his new favorite past time has become sending me messages telling me how rich and happy he is. 6 weeks ago I learned I had a brother that was given up for adoption over 40 years ago and I met him for the first time 2 days ago. He said some things that reminded me of things my father used to say, and now my long-burried daddy issues have resurfaced. That's all I can think of right now...so I guess we can start there...
Therapist: (staring at me wide-eyed)...........I've heard of bad things happening in threes, but never in twenties.....so.......when was the last time you felt any sense of calm or peace?
Me: .......................(thinking)...............6 years ago. When I used to spend my weekends hiking with my best friend. And I had a garden.
Therapist: When was the last time you did something kind for yourself, something to help you feel centered?
Me: .....................(drawing a blank)
Therapist: Take your time, I'll wait.
And there it is. The reality that I have become so accustomed to living in chaos and stress that I don't even take the time to breathe each day. I've been conditioned to expect the worst (so to speak) so I create my own anarchy before it can be thrust upon me.
Basically, I am Pavlov's dog. Just not as famous...or well fed.
Thankfully, I now have a really good therapist who gave me the best homework ever for this next week. I have to go get a massage. And my intense cardio workouts will now be replaced with stress-reducing yoga. I am to continue writing in this blog, but I have to also keep a journal for my eyes only.
She told me I've been in 'survivor' mode for far too long, and that I've never given myself even a second to heal before moving onto the next thing. My memory loss as of late is most likely a result of my brain finally giving me the middle finger, my anxiety is a result of too much change in too short a time. She has asked that I not make any intentional changes for a while- no switching gyms, no major anything...unless it's somehow beneficial to my mind, body, and soul (Bora Bora anyone?).
She said it's time I give myself permission to be still, be calm, be happy, be centered, and be whole.
So there we go. My life continues on. But maybe, just maybe there comes a point down the road that I don't feel like I'm in a constant state of, 'what NOW?!' Perhaps someday something really great comes from all of this.
And if not? Fuck it. This dog is off to find a treat...
The last time I sought counseling was at the end of my marriage...which ultimately helped me walk away. I've never had an issue with seeking help when I felt I needed it, but despite living through the most difficult 2 years of my life- it was only a week ago that I realized I really, really needed to see someone. My catalyst came during a normal day at work, doing something I've done for over a decade...and yet, I had a full-on panic attack that nearly lost me a long-time client in the process.
Thus, therapy. It's been a long time coming.
The hour went a little something like this...
Therapist: Why are you here today?
Me: I've had a difficult couple of years and the stress and anxiety have finally reached a boiling point. It's affecting my work.
Therapist: What happened in the last 2 years that caused you stress?
Me: Well, I left my husband and filed for divorce after discovering he was a gay narcissist, then I packed my things and moved halfway across the country to be closer to family. I left behind a fully furnished 5 bedroom house and my 2 cats. But I got to keep my dog...and half his debt. When I got here, I learned I had to have major abdominal surgery to fix multiple tears in my abdomen that were a result of living with prolonged stress while married. During my recovery, they discovered a mass in my left breast and told me it looked like cancer. 2 mammograms, 3 ultrasounds, and 2 biopsies later (and over a month of time)...I was told it wasn't cancerous. A week later the baby my sister was 2 weeks from delivering died while still in the womb. I was there for the birth and spoke at my niece's memorial. Around that time, the guy I was seeing turned into an verbally abusive alcoholic. It took me months to finally get him out of my life. A week after he left, my one true love- my dog- died from a brain tumor at 5 years old. While recovering from that loss, my ex-husband was given a huge promotion and an enormous pay raise, and his new favorite past time has become sending me messages telling me how rich and happy he is. 6 weeks ago I learned I had a brother that was given up for adoption over 40 years ago and I met him for the first time 2 days ago. He said some things that reminded me of things my father used to say, and now my long-burried daddy issues have resurfaced. That's all I can think of right now...so I guess we can start there...
Therapist: (staring at me wide-eyed)...........I've heard of bad things happening in threes, but never in twenties.....so.......when was the last time you felt any sense of calm or peace?
Me: .......................(thinking)...............6 years ago. When I used to spend my weekends hiking with my best friend. And I had a garden.
Therapist: When was the last time you did something kind for yourself, something to help you feel centered?
Me: .....................(drawing a blank)
Therapist: Take your time, I'll wait.
And there it is. The reality that I have become so accustomed to living in chaos and stress that I don't even take the time to breathe each day. I've been conditioned to expect the worst (so to speak) so I create my own anarchy before it can be thrust upon me.
Basically, I am Pavlov's dog. Just not as famous...or well fed.
Thankfully, I now have a really good therapist who gave me the best homework ever for this next week. I have to go get a massage. And my intense cardio workouts will now be replaced with stress-reducing yoga. I am to continue writing in this blog, but I have to also keep a journal for my eyes only.
She told me I've been in 'survivor' mode for far too long, and that I've never given myself even a second to heal before moving onto the next thing. My memory loss as of late is most likely a result of my brain finally giving me the middle finger, my anxiety is a result of too much change in too short a time. She has asked that I not make any intentional changes for a while- no switching gyms, no major anything...unless it's somehow beneficial to my mind, body, and soul (Bora Bora anyone?).
She said it's time I give myself permission to be still, be calm, be happy, be centered, and be whole.
So there we go. My life continues on. But maybe, just maybe there comes a point down the road that I don't feel like I'm in a constant state of, 'what NOW?!' Perhaps someday something really great comes from all of this.
And if not? Fuck it. This dog is off to find a treat...
Sunday, November 20, 2011
A Sleepy Orgy
A conversation that just happened between me and my favorite cousin via text:
Me: Date tonight. I text that I'm exhausted. He responds that I won't be once I've seen him. Hello, creepy.
FC: Be sure to keep your panties on!
Me: It's a group date- so if they come off, Lord help us all.
FC: Maybe it'll be your first orgy. Or the first orgy I know about!
Me: Yes, there are some things even I haven't done...but I'm soooooo tired.
FC: Well, then make sure your part of the orgy is over at the beginning.
And now you all know why she's my favorite ;-)
Me: Date tonight. I text that I'm exhausted. He responds that I won't be once I've seen him. Hello, creepy.
FC: Be sure to keep your panties on!
Me: It's a group date- so if they come off, Lord help us all.
FC: Maybe it'll be your first orgy. Or the first orgy I know about!
Me: Yes, there are some things even I haven't done...but I'm soooooo tired.
FC: Well, then make sure your part of the orgy is over at the beginning.
And now you all know why she's my favorite ;-)
Thursday, November 17, 2011
A Few Short Thoughts...
A short post with a few random thoughts...
1) It seems Blogger is deleting paragraphs from my blog posts when I make an edit, thus making me re-write what was already written. Unfortunately, my memory is shit- so I'm pretty sure my blogs are morphing into new blogs as time goes on. Which in many ways is a remarkable parallel to the current fucked-up-edness of my life.
2) After a shit week and a lot of thought, I've decided to see a therapist. No, not date a therapist (as Red mistakenly heard me say at dinner tonight)- but see a therapist. It seems my short term memory loss and mild ADD have been getting worse over time and I need to do something about it. Thankfully, I won't remember how distracted I am right now, so we're good. My first appointment is Monday.
3) Last night I had to cancel a first date with a Doctor I met on the plane Sunday when I was returning from my insane weekend in LA... because I wasn't feeling well. Irony is a fucking playful little monster, isn't she?
4) Now, getting back to my ADD...
Elephants are cool and I'm hungry...guitar.
1) It seems Blogger is deleting paragraphs from my blog posts when I make an edit, thus making me re-write what was already written. Unfortunately, my memory is shit- so I'm pretty sure my blogs are morphing into new blogs as time goes on. Which in many ways is a remarkable parallel to the current fucked-up-edness of my life.
2) After a shit week and a lot of thought, I've decided to see a therapist. No, not date a therapist (as Red mistakenly heard me say at dinner tonight)- but see a therapist. It seems my short term memory loss and mild ADD have been getting worse over time and I need to do something about it. Thankfully, I won't remember how distracted I am right now, so we're good. My first appointment is Monday.
3) Last night I had to cancel a first date with a Doctor I met on the plane Sunday when I was returning from my insane weekend in LA... because I wasn't feeling well. Irony is a fucking playful little monster, isn't she?
4) Now, getting back to my ADD...
Elephants are cool and I'm hungry...guitar.
A Chance, A disappointment, and a Lesson
"You will soon receive an unusual gift freely given. Accept!"
I believe in signs. Fucking sue me. This fortune, opened a few weeks ago, was quite the precursor to a fascinating adventure I recently embarked on.
Two weeks ago I received a random text from a guy my acting coach has been trying to set me up with for some time, but it never worked out. The guy was bored and thought he would say hello. He was also drunk, and I'm pretty sure now he was high on something as well. As you know, I can be a remarkable smart ass, and it was clear he could play along, so the texting conversation was funny. Really funny. And only because he was so unbelievably douchey in those first few texts.
In fact, for this blog...let's just call him 'LAD' (Las Angeles Douche)
For the sake of trying to keep this blog from turning into a novel, I'll spare you the details of all of the texts that first day...but he held nothing back and answered every question openly and honestly (and douchily, if there is such a word). Then he declared he was going to send me a picture with the letter 'K' for my name. He sat on a sofa, used toothpaste and a couple of toothbrushes across his chest, and surrounded himself with women for the photo op. No photo has ever been sent in such poor taste...and with my sick sense of humor, no photo has ever made me laugh so hard.
Throughout the week he continued to text. On day three he asked if he could fly me to LA for a weekend just to hang out. No pressure, no promises, let's just take it one step at a time. Perhaps it was my new 'anything goes attitude', or perhaps I had a feeling it would make for a good blog...either way, I easily agreed. The flight was booked that night. And for the next eleven days we spent a lot of time texting, emailing, and getting to know each other.
"Soon you will be sitting on top of the world"
I opened this fortune the day I left. I sent a picture of it to LAD and he shot back a photo of the view from his house. 'On top of the world' was an understatement...I have never seen a view like that anywhere in LA.
My flight landed Friday at 5pm...a driver named Igor was waiting for me at baggage claim. LAD texted me throughout the entire drive. After 45 minutes, the car turned off of Sunset and onto his street. Up and up and up we went...to the top, passing some of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen. We parked, and I noticed a door standing open that led into a small courtyard. There I was, luggage in hand, knocking on a large smoked-glass door. Finally it opened and there stood LAD.
"Hi, I'm KJ," I said. He smiled, hesitated a moment, than walked across the courtyard, grabbed me by the back of my head, and kissed me. A long, deep, powerful kiss. When he pulled away we looked each other up and down and started to giggle. "I'll get your luggage, come inside..." he beckoned. I walked through the front door and...
My jaw dropped. The entire back wall of his huge house was made of glass over-looking downtown LA, Century City, Santa Monica...you could see it all. Even more spectacular was that the giant glass panels were all pulled open so it felt like you were literally floating over the city lights, I could feel the wind in my hair.
A bottle of wine was uncorked and the weekend was on. We couldn't stop making out, and before we even had a full conversation, we 'fully' christened the pool table in his living room overlooking the city lights. The chemistry was intense. Again, for the sake of brevity, I'll just give you the highlights of the weekend. Dinner at Boa, a Vodka tasting in an ice bar, fantastic conversation, endless laughs, ...We hit it off, really and truly hit it off. Day two was more of the same- great food, great talks, we even spent some time playing guitar and talking about work. We watched the sunset over LA and curled up on a sofa outside as a light rain passed overhead. LAD had thought of everything, he had stocked the pantry with my favorite foods and the bar with my favorite wines and liquors. We spent a lot of time discussing how excited we were that this was all happening, how it felt so real. It was the perfect first weekend together until...
At 8:30am on Sunday morning- I awoke. Alone. I walked downstairs and noticed lights on in his office, so I chose not to disturb him and went back to bed. 10am- I awoke again. Alone. The lights were still on in the office, so I walked inside. LAD wasn't there. He wasn't in any of the other gajillion rooms in the house either. Then I checked the garage. No car.
I texted, "You left?" No response. An hour later I texted again, "Are you coming back?" A response: "Hey sorry, you were dead asleep so I went out partying with my friends." Ahem. "You've been gone all night?" LAD: "Yeah. Look, if you're up I'll come back." Another hour passed..."Are you still coming back?" Thirty minutes more, LAD texted: "Yeah, sorry. I'm too fucked up to drive- I'm waiting on a cab." "You're too fucked up to drive at 1 in the afternoon?" LAD: "Yeah, sorry."
Another hour passed. I called a cab to take me to the airport for my 5pm flight. Finally, LAD came stumbling through the door. A sly smirk across his face, he asked, "Do you hate me?" "No, I'm just confused." LAD: "Guess we'll never end up married, huh?" "Uhm...no." LAD: "This will make for a great story you know." "Well, there's always that."
Just then my cab arrived, and I walked upstairs for my luggage. He followed, apologizing. "I'm really sorry, but you were asleep." "It's not ok to fly someone 1500 miles and then ditch them for an entire night and day so you can get fucked up with your friends!" LAD: "I may be a drug addict." Me: "Clearly, that was the one question I should have asked before flying out here."
On the way to the airport he texted, "I didn't think I was going to be gone for more than an hour. I thought I'd be back before you woke up. But you're right, in hindsight I shouldn't have left. I'm a work in progress. I had more fun with you than I could have imagined. I sincerely apologize. I didn't mean to be gone so long. Let's just go step by step. We went 3 steps forward, 1 step back." My response: "3 steps back."
The following morning LAD texted to see how my flight home was. I asked him how he was feeling. No response. And there hasn't been much contact since. In the end, LAD blew me off, and then he really blew me off. I won't lie, it hurts.
But as my favorite cousin so perfectly put it, "If someone is going to be with you, they should have to impress you, not apologize to you."
I think I'm going to listen to Favorite Cousin...and stop listening to fortune cookies.
I believe in signs. Fucking sue me. This fortune, opened a few weeks ago, was quite the precursor to a fascinating adventure I recently embarked on.
Two weeks ago I received a random text from a guy my acting coach has been trying to set me up with for some time, but it never worked out. The guy was bored and thought he would say hello. He was also drunk, and I'm pretty sure now he was high on something as well. As you know, I can be a remarkable smart ass, and it was clear he could play along, so the texting conversation was funny. Really funny. And only because he was so unbelievably douchey in those first few texts.
In fact, for this blog...let's just call him 'LAD' (Las Angeles Douche)
For the sake of trying to keep this blog from turning into a novel, I'll spare you the details of all of the texts that first day...but he held nothing back and answered every question openly and honestly (and douchily, if there is such a word). Then he declared he was going to send me a picture with the letter 'K' for my name. He sat on a sofa, used toothpaste and a couple of toothbrushes across his chest, and surrounded himself with women for the photo op. No photo has ever been sent in such poor taste...and with my sick sense of humor, no photo has ever made me laugh so hard.
Throughout the week he continued to text. On day three he asked if he could fly me to LA for a weekend just to hang out. No pressure, no promises, let's just take it one step at a time. Perhaps it was my new 'anything goes attitude', or perhaps I had a feeling it would make for a good blog...either way, I easily agreed. The flight was booked that night. And for the next eleven days we spent a lot of time texting, emailing, and getting to know each other.
"Soon you will be sitting on top of the world"
I opened this fortune the day I left. I sent a picture of it to LAD and he shot back a photo of the view from his house. 'On top of the world' was an understatement...I have never seen a view like that anywhere in LA.
My flight landed Friday at 5pm...a driver named Igor was waiting for me at baggage claim. LAD texted me throughout the entire drive. After 45 minutes, the car turned off of Sunset and onto his street. Up and up and up we went...to the top, passing some of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen. We parked, and I noticed a door standing open that led into a small courtyard. There I was, luggage in hand, knocking on a large smoked-glass door. Finally it opened and there stood LAD.
"Hi, I'm KJ," I said. He smiled, hesitated a moment, than walked across the courtyard, grabbed me by the back of my head, and kissed me. A long, deep, powerful kiss. When he pulled away we looked each other up and down and started to giggle. "I'll get your luggage, come inside..." he beckoned. I walked through the front door and...
My jaw dropped. The entire back wall of his huge house was made of glass over-looking downtown LA, Century City, Santa Monica...you could see it all. Even more spectacular was that the giant glass panels were all pulled open so it felt like you were literally floating over the city lights, I could feel the wind in my hair.
A bottle of wine was uncorked and the weekend was on. We couldn't stop making out, and before we even had a full conversation, we 'fully' christened the pool table in his living room overlooking the city lights. The chemistry was intense. Again, for the sake of brevity, I'll just give you the highlights of the weekend. Dinner at Boa, a Vodka tasting in an ice bar, fantastic conversation, endless laughs, ...We hit it off, really and truly hit it off. Day two was more of the same- great food, great talks, we even spent some time playing guitar and talking about work. We watched the sunset over LA and curled up on a sofa outside as a light rain passed overhead. LAD had thought of everything, he had stocked the pantry with my favorite foods and the bar with my favorite wines and liquors. We spent a lot of time discussing how excited we were that this was all happening, how it felt so real. It was the perfect first weekend together until...
At 8:30am on Sunday morning- I awoke. Alone. I walked downstairs and noticed lights on in his office, so I chose not to disturb him and went back to bed. 10am- I awoke again. Alone. The lights were still on in the office, so I walked inside. LAD wasn't there. He wasn't in any of the other gajillion rooms in the house either. Then I checked the garage. No car.
I texted, "You left?" No response. An hour later I texted again, "Are you coming back?" A response: "Hey sorry, you were dead asleep so I went out partying with my friends." Ahem. "You've been gone all night?" LAD: "Yeah. Look, if you're up I'll come back." Another hour passed..."Are you still coming back?" Thirty minutes more, LAD texted: "Yeah, sorry. I'm too fucked up to drive- I'm waiting on a cab." "You're too fucked up to drive at 1 in the afternoon?" LAD: "Yeah, sorry."
Another hour passed. I called a cab to take me to the airport for my 5pm flight. Finally, LAD came stumbling through the door. A sly smirk across his face, he asked, "Do you hate me?" "No, I'm just confused." LAD: "Guess we'll never end up married, huh?" "Uhm...no." LAD: "This will make for a great story you know." "Well, there's always that."
Just then my cab arrived, and I walked upstairs for my luggage. He followed, apologizing. "I'm really sorry, but you were asleep." "It's not ok to fly someone 1500 miles and then ditch them for an entire night and day so you can get fucked up with your friends!" LAD: "I may be a drug addict." Me: "Clearly, that was the one question I should have asked before flying out here."
On the way to the airport he texted, "I didn't think I was going to be gone for more than an hour. I thought I'd be back before you woke up. But you're right, in hindsight I shouldn't have left. I'm a work in progress. I had more fun with you than I could have imagined. I sincerely apologize. I didn't mean to be gone so long. Let's just go step by step. We went 3 steps forward, 1 step back." My response: "3 steps back."
The following morning LAD texted to see how my flight home was. I asked him how he was feeling. No response. And there hasn't been much contact since. In the end, LAD blew me off, and then he really blew me off. I won't lie, it hurts.
But as my favorite cousin so perfectly put it, "If someone is going to be with you, they should have to impress you, not apologize to you."
I think I'm going to listen to Favorite Cousin...and stop listening to fortune cookies.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Life's Little Ironies
Never one to hold a grudge or be in any way vindictive, I'm more prone to let things simply roll off my chest than to have 'In Your Face Motherfucker' skywritten the way I may sometimes want to.
But then life just hands you something so beautifully ironic that you can't help but tell someone. And you, my dear reader, are my someone. xo and handholding and stuff...
Anyway, I'll proceed with the story at hand...
I've been loosely keeping in touch with Clarence the Rockstar via text. (If you need a refresher on the Clarence story, feel free to click here) We're also Facebook and Twitter friends- or twits- or whatever you call it. The other day someone posted a video of his band on one of these sites and the link led me to YouTube. I've seen just enough of the band online (without ever having seen them live) to know that they are really, really good- so I wanted to check out their performance.
You know how YouTube will display related videos to the right of the screen? Well, something caught my eye. It was the name of an old reality show I was mildly obsessed with several years ago along with the name 'Clarence the Rockstar' (you have no idea how much I wish it really did say 'Clarence the Rockstar', that would be so awesome!). It was one of those American Idol type shows but the difference was that this show was looking for a frontman for a rock band.
I immediately clicked on the video.
<insert 'Inner Dialogue" caption here>
"Holy shit! That's Clarence the Rockstar...on that show I used to obsessively watch! And I remember him now because he was really really good! And I also remember saying to my husband at the time - 'WOW! I would so love to fuck that guy!' to which my husband replied - 'WOW! Me too!'"
OK fine, that conversation never happened...but it would have been so fantastic if it had because then my sham of a marriage would have ended so much earlier, but I digress...
Tonight I received a text from Clarence saying he read my blog about the boardroom. I was both mildly mortified and rather impressed! (Who knew rockstars could read? Ok, JUST kidding...) He mentioned that I had left out a few details, to which I replied that some serious editing had to take place or it would have been a novel, not a blog. He responded, "I want to see the full length. It was a fun night! Chip heard most of it." (Chip being the guitar player)
Me: "I'd like to read Chip's version of it, he could likely fill in more of the blanks than I could."
Clarence: "I think we got it covered!"
I share this little conversation with you because as these texts were being sent, an e-mail from ex-husband popped up. Oh how I live for ironic timing...
He was emailing to inform me that his first paycheck from his new high-paying job had just arrived and he couldn't contain the tears in his eyes after seeing all of those numbers. He sent an entire page gushing about how rich he is. Now, you might be wondering...do I benefit in any way from this? Is there a legitimate reason he would send a note like that?
NOPE. I. Won't. Get. A. Dime.
His parting written words were, "Even with the God forsaken taxes taken out of it which were f*ing insane, I keep counting the numbers like a little kid getting his first $5 for shoveling snow off the neighbor's driveway! Anyway, hope all is well with you."
I need to be very honest with you. It is currently taking every fiber of my cool, calm, non-vindictive self not to fire back, "I fucked Clarence the Rockstar."
Instead I'm: Breathing in. Breathing out. Popping a Valium. And thanking God for my awesome and extraordinary new life...
Monday, November 7, 2011
Be Bold. And Slutty.
This past Friday I went out with my girls Jazz and Red. Somehow they managed to talk me into meeting them at the one club in town I hate the most.
Club Douche reeks of erectile dysfunction. In fact, there should be a law that all men even considering showing up bring some form of pedigree proving they are real men. From 9pm-2am it's like a bad Saturday Night Live sketch, in which you are guaranteed to leave with some form of male narcissistic slime trying to claw it's way into your pores as you walk to your car.
Red and I were the first to arrive, and while Red ran around to say hello to her friends, I huddled in a far corner staring intently at my phone. The single most UNattractive man I have ever laid eyes on made his way over to my table, gyrating to the song in his head which was clearly not the same song the band was playing.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing sitting here all alone just staring at her phone?" He asked.
"Well, I was hoping it would send a clear signal that I didn't want company, but since it hasn't I'm now contemplating whether hurling myself out that window would end this night faster than breaking this shot glass and using one of the shards to slit my throat."
"Oh! Hahah! You are a feisty one! I like feisty!"
Since I couldn't figure out a way to stress-vomit onto his shoes, I instead glared straight ahead while he droned on and on about I don't know what.
Finally Red came back to the table and sensing my impending suicide, she managed to come up with some clever way to make that asshole go away. Jazz arrived and judging by the brimming tears in her eyes I knew we were both ready for something stronger than beer.
"Wanna talk about it?" I asked. "Nope," she replied.
"I don't think they sell Valium by the bucket, but I could grab us a couple of Patrons." I offered. And so the night really began. I made it my sole mission to have a great evening, and to get Jazz as drunk as possible. I mean, what are friends for if they can't insure your next-day-suffering is at least three times worse than your current suffering?
It took us about twenty minutes to attract half the bar over to our area. One thing I have learned, men love women that make an obvious show of just wanting to hang out with each other. No, not like THAT...just by not scoping the joint for prospects...by laughing, dancing, and having a genuinely good time. An hour or so later I happened to glance across the bar...and boom! I was smitten.
The one guy, the only guy, not dressed to impress. His dark, dirty hair stuck out crudely from his scull cap, his black converse and torn jeans didn't match the button downs and slacks around him. The darkest eyes I have ever seen and that perfect bad-boy smirk. He glanced my way.
"Hey!" I yelled over the band. "You should want to meet me!"
He shook his head no.
Challenge on.
"Your loss asshole!" I hollered as I turned my back. Five seconds later he was right next to me. Easiest trick in the book, and it has never failed me.
The rest of the night flashed by in a blur of Patron, bad pop music, and a sexy Russian accent. Yes, he was Russian...which I'm pretty sure only tequila can make sound sexy, but whatever. At the end of the night we said our goodbyes and ended with a kiss that could have killed any cold war.
"Can I get your number?" asked Vladimir.
"I'm not really a fan of vodka or communism, but it was really nice meeting you!" OK, I didn't say that...but I did somehow politely decline.
Look, I'm no fool- I get that my new awesome 'I have nothing to lose attitude' comes from a darker place than some Hallmark cliche 'needing to live fully and freely'. I miss my dog. I miss my American dream...the one where I thought I was going to live in big houses and birth babies for a living. That ship has sailed and I'm clinging to the life raft that comes in the shape of a disco ball and a shot glass. It's working, and I'm having fun. But I have no desire to collect a closet full of one night stands or broken hearts. I don't have much to offer right now, and I'd rather navigate this new fucked up path alone than with Mr. Wrong. (No matter how brooding his eyes, how perfectly pouty his lips, or how sexy his accent)
I'm living with less fear for the first time in my life...because the only person I have to hurt is me. And me and myself are enjoying the best relationship of my life, so I don't think I'll dump me anytime soon. And I've never been good at that cheating thing.
Plus, it turns out I'm actually inspiring a few folks to live a little less fearlessly, a little more carefree.
Or as my friend put it to me today, "You're inspiring me to be more bold. And slutty."
Hey, I do what I can.
Or as I'm sure Vladimir would put it:
Весело́ весе́лье — тяжело́ похме́лье. (Translation: Revelry is jolly, Hangover is heavy)
Club Douche reeks of erectile dysfunction. In fact, there should be a law that all men even considering showing up bring some form of pedigree proving they are real men. From 9pm-2am it's like a bad Saturday Night Live sketch, in which you are guaranteed to leave with some form of male narcissistic slime trying to claw it's way into your pores as you walk to your car.
Red and I were the first to arrive, and while Red ran around to say hello to her friends, I huddled in a far corner staring intently at my phone. The single most UNattractive man I have ever laid eyes on made his way over to my table, gyrating to the song in his head which was clearly not the same song the band was playing.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing sitting here all alone just staring at her phone?" He asked.
"Well, I was hoping it would send a clear signal that I didn't want company, but since it hasn't I'm now contemplating whether hurling myself out that window would end this night faster than breaking this shot glass and using one of the shards to slit my throat."
"Oh! Hahah! You are a feisty one! I like feisty!"
Since I couldn't figure out a way to stress-vomit onto his shoes, I instead glared straight ahead while he droned on and on about I don't know what.
Finally Red came back to the table and sensing my impending suicide, she managed to come up with some clever way to make that asshole go away. Jazz arrived and judging by the brimming tears in her eyes I knew we were both ready for something stronger than beer.
"Wanna talk about it?" I asked. "Nope," she replied.
"I don't think they sell Valium by the bucket, but I could grab us a couple of Patrons." I offered. And so the night really began. I made it my sole mission to have a great evening, and to get Jazz as drunk as possible. I mean, what are friends for if they can't insure your next-day-suffering is at least three times worse than your current suffering?
It took us about twenty minutes to attract half the bar over to our area. One thing I have learned, men love women that make an obvious show of just wanting to hang out with each other. No, not like THAT...just by not scoping the joint for prospects...by laughing, dancing, and having a genuinely good time. An hour or so later I happened to glance across the bar...and boom! I was smitten.
The one guy, the only guy, not dressed to impress. His dark, dirty hair stuck out crudely from his scull cap, his black converse and torn jeans didn't match the button downs and slacks around him. The darkest eyes I have ever seen and that perfect bad-boy smirk. He glanced my way.
"Hey!" I yelled over the band. "You should want to meet me!"
He shook his head no.
Challenge on.
"Your loss asshole!" I hollered as I turned my back. Five seconds later he was right next to me. Easiest trick in the book, and it has never failed me.
The rest of the night flashed by in a blur of Patron, bad pop music, and a sexy Russian accent. Yes, he was Russian...which I'm pretty sure only tequila can make sound sexy, but whatever. At the end of the night we said our goodbyes and ended with a kiss that could have killed any cold war.
"Can I get your number?" asked Vladimir.
"I'm not really a fan of vodka or communism, but it was really nice meeting you!" OK, I didn't say that...but I did somehow politely decline.
Look, I'm no fool- I get that my new awesome 'I have nothing to lose attitude' comes from a darker place than some Hallmark cliche 'needing to live fully and freely'. I miss my dog. I miss my American dream...the one where I thought I was going to live in big houses and birth babies for a living. That ship has sailed and I'm clinging to the life raft that comes in the shape of a disco ball and a shot glass. It's working, and I'm having fun. But I have no desire to collect a closet full of one night stands or broken hearts. I don't have much to offer right now, and I'd rather navigate this new fucked up path alone than with Mr. Wrong. (No matter how brooding his eyes, how perfectly pouty his lips, or how sexy his accent)
I'm living with less fear for the first time in my life...because the only person I have to hurt is me. And me and myself are enjoying the best relationship of my life, so I don't think I'll dump me anytime soon. And I've never been good at that cheating thing.
Plus, it turns out I'm actually inspiring a few folks to live a little less fearlessly, a little more carefree.
Or as my friend put it to me today, "You're inspiring me to be more bold. And slutty."
Hey, I do what I can.
Or as I'm sure Vladimir would put it:
Весело́ весе́лье — тяжело́ похме́лье. (Translation: Revelry is jolly, Hangover is heavy)
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