Is it too soon for me to play this game?

We shall see…

*****

*theme song*

WELCOME TO THE DATING GAME!

Host: Our next bachelorette is a 40-year old 2-time loser divorcee from Utah, who likes music, movies, camping, and crafts, feels horny alone, and feels the need to get laid get back out there. Please welcome…STACEY!

*applause*

Host: So, Stacey. You’ve signed up on a couple of online dating sites.

Me: Yes I have. (No, I’m not gonna tell you which sites I signed up on. And no, it wasn’t eHarmony, cuz they have this tiny little ANNOYING quirk that your divorce has to actually be FINAL before they will let you become a member. And it wasn’t yet. Assholes.)

Host: You’ve survived the challenges of creating a username (eliciting help from a friend who has experience in online dating, laughing at every suggestion she came up with, and in the end choosing an absolutely retarded safe name), completing your profile, uploading a picture, and writing your description.

Me: *nervous laugh* Y-yes.

Host: And you’re not looking for anything serious?

Me: That’s correct. I just want to meet new people and have some fun.

Host: Well great! Let’s get to know the bachelors then!

Me: Bachelor #1, you have a really nice smile.

B1: Thanks.

Me: How would we get to know each other better?

B1: Well, we would start by e-mailing each other while you are in Vegas for the weekend with friends. After a few great e-mails, you would give me your cell number.

Me: Sounds good.

B1: We would start texting each other and those would be good too. I’d even suggest that we go dancing so that we can fix your out-of-practice 2-step. We would trade pictures and your friends would tell you I’m cute.

Me: I like that.

B1: And on the day you’re going back home I would ask if you made it back to the hotel before dawn. Then I would comment that your trip couldn’t have been all that great if you didn’t gamble and didn’t hook up with anyone.

Me: Oh……ok.

B1: We would continue to trade texts for a few hours while you are driving back home. And then I would just stop texting. For no reason. And when you send me an email a few days later, I won’t respond.

Me: ………

B1: And to top it all off, a week later, I’ll include you in a generic holiday greeting I send to all my contacts. That spans 7 text messages.

Me: Well, you would only have been the 1st I’ve met, so cute or not, I won’t let you discourage me. But you should know that I would think you’re an asshole. I’m just saying.

Me: Bachelor #2, same question.

B2: Have you had any luck yet?

Me: Not yet. I’m new to this. What about you?

B2: I’m new too.

Me: So how would we get to know each other better?

B2: Sex.

Me: Wha?

B2: Sex. You want sex, right?

Me: (YES!) No, that’s not what I’m looking for. (That’s good. Sound innocent so he won’t think you’re a ho.)

B2: Well, it’s been over a year for me. And I’m a nice guy. And you’ll get an orgasm.

Me: (Which means you’re prolly an axe murderer. And it shouldn’t matter that it’s been over a year for me too.) Mmmm… (Oh shit. Did I say that OUT LOUD?)

Me: Bachelor #3.

B3: Pick me! Hint hint.

Me: What would be your idea of a good first date?

B3: Well, after trading some text messages, I would suggest that you should invite me over for a drink, cuz you clearly need ice or…something. You would invite me over, we would have a few drinks, talk, and get to know each other.

Me: That sounds nice.

B3: At the end of the date, I would act confused on whether I should shake your hand, hug, or kiss you. You would offer me a hug, and I would not let you go very quickly, even though you try to pull away. I would insist on quite a few more hugs before I leave, too.

Me: Um……

B3: After I got home, I would text you pictures of my cats and tell you I wish I had gotten even more hugs from you. Then I would text you just about every day (including more cat pics) and tell you I miss your company. And your liquor cabinet.

Me: Making me wish you would lose my number. Like yesterday. The people I text every day are those that I’ve known for a couple of DECADES. Not a couple of DAYS. Btw, can I get your last name? I need it for the restraining order.

*****

Perhaps it is too early for me to be playing this game.

P.S. It’s taken me forever to finish writing this.

P.P.S. I keep having to stop writing and start drinking.

P.P.P.S. To try to forget.

P.P.P.P.S. That Bachelor #3 WON’T. STOP. TEXTING. ME.

P.P.P.P.P.S. I think I might put Bachelor #2 on speed dial.

The phone beeped in my ear.

You know, that tell-tale sound announcing that someone is calling on the other line.

Except, I didn’t even want to look and see who was calling. Whoever it was could just wait until I was through with the call I was on first.

But, I was curious. Who was calling me? I should peek at who it is.

So, I pulled the phone away from my ear.

*sigh*

It was my attorney.

I was expecting this call. And dreading it.

After the last conversation I had with the husband, I knew this call wouldn’t be good. I knew my attorney was calling to advise me the areas that the husband said he was going to contest. And probably advise me that there were even more now.

I really didn’t want to talk to him. So, I let the call go to voicemail. I would deal with it later.

I finished the call I was on and then decided to check my voicemail. The message started simply enough:

Stacey, this is Johnny Cochran. I have some bad news. The glove fits. You’re screwed.

Oh, wait. Sorry. That was a dream I had last night.

Here’s how it REALLY went:

Stacey, this is JH.

(Yeah, and?)

Give me a call when you get this message.

(Ugh. Do I have to? I really don’t wanna hear what you’re gonna tell me. I mean I already know, but I still don’t wanna hear it again.)

I got the papers in the mail.

(Um, don’t you mean you got a copy of his response?)

They’re all signed and ready to go.

(Wha?)

So just give me a call when you get this.

(What. Did. You. Say?)

Talk to you soon.

(I know I didn’t hear you right. I can’t have heard you right.)

Bye.

(Wait…WHAT?????)

I immediately called my attorney back and told him I was shocked to hear that the papers were signed. He said that he was too.

And I was still half waiting to wake up and realize this was a dream. Or for someone to jump out and tell me I was on Candid Camera.

I found out that I had one more document to sign (so I don’t have to physically appear in front of a judge) and I made an appointment to get that done.

By the end of the conversation, my voice was thick with emotion. I hung up the phone and the tears that I knew were coming started to fall.

It’s over.

It’s really over.

He’s not contesting.

No more fighting.

I can’t believe it.

I continued to cry. For the end of my marriage. For the fear of being a single mom again. For the unknown future.

Mostly, I cried because I was so geared up for the fight I expected and it wasn’t gonna happen now. It was a huge shock.

But it was also a huge relief.

So, he has the papers now.

And you would think that would allow me to finally talk about it, right?

WRONG.

I have been waiting (not so) patiently to scream talk about the divorce. Waiting until he received the papers. Because he didn’t know I had retained an attorney. To protect myself, he couldn’t know.

And now that he knows? Not much has changed. I still can’t really talk about it right now.

I CAN say that it’s not going well. But, I also recognize that it could be a whole lot worse.

And I’m grateful that it’s not.

Dinner with a friend tonite. YAY!

**********
I know y’all wanna join in the fun with us, so click here to get more info on Six Word Saturdays.

WARNING: This post is a HUGE rant that covers a couple of decade’s worth of shit and even then I’m barely touching on SO many things. I TOTALLY understand if you want to run screaming from it. I want to run screaming from it, and it’s my life! If you do dare to actually read it, well then, consider yourself forewarned.

*****

I have an ex-husband. I admit it.

It’s not that I hide my first marriage. Not in the least. My first marriage played a very big part in shaping the person I am today. I just usually refer to it indirectly (second marriage, second husband, etc.). If you have checked out my sidebar, you might have noticed that I acknowledge my ex-husband briefly. Very. Briefly. And then I go on to say that I don’t like to talk about him. EVER.

I hate my ex-husband. Hate him. Yes, I did just use the H word. And yes, I do know how harsh that sounds.

I met my ex when I was a senior in high school. My first job was at the local roller skating rink (remember those?) and my ex worked there too. We met and got along well enough and started dating about a month after I started working at the rink.

Our relationship…..overall…..was volatile. I can’t think of a better word to describe it. We fought A LOT. I wouldn’t say it was abusive. But it sure as hell wasn’t healthy. It took me years to figure out that I jumped from the frying pan into the fire. I used him as my excuse to get away from my family, which was dysfunctional with a capital D.

I fooled myself into thinking that I loved my ex and stayed in the relationship because the alternative to me was so much worse. It was either him or my family. And it was imperative that I stay away from my family. They were quicksand to me (but that’s a post for another day). So I stayed. Even though he treated me badly. Even through the drugs. Even through the lies.

And then we broke up for a while. Sure, I know NOW that the break up was the best thing. But then? Breaking up with my ex forced me back to my family, which by this time was totally falling apart. I didn’t want to be around that. I still felt I had to get away from them. So when my ex apologized, I took him back.

I was pregnant with my son soon after and we were married a few months later.

After my son was born (at least I think it was after), my ex started having unexplained seizures that left him on disability and without a driver’s license. We had to move in with his parents, which just added more stress and things were already bad between us. By the time he went back to work and we moved out, the relationship was in shambles. The lies started again. When I confronted him with the huge lie he had told all along about his health issues, I said it was over. I took my son and left.

I struggled on my own. And I made mistakes. HUGE mistakes. Mistakes that I still kick myself for. One of those mistakes gave my ex the foothold he needed to separate my son from me. After that, he filed for divorce. Before the divorce was final, I felt like I hadn’t given the marriage 100% effort. I know now that it really was about still staying away from my family. I just didn’t have enough faith in myself.

The lies continued. My ex said that he had a vasectomy. Can you guess what happened next? You got it. I wound up pregnant. Luckily, that pregnancy did not go to term. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like if we had another child together. I don’t want to.

Sadly, I stayed with him for quite a few more months. The divorce was final, but we were still dating. At some point, I FINALLY got a clue! I realized that I had given the marriage every effort, and that I deserved so much better. I told my ex that it was over.

To say he took it badly was an understatement. And he had the upper hand. He had my son. My ex knew that I wanted nothing to do with him, but he knew I wanted my son. And he used it against me every chance he got. When I moved out of state a few years later, I tried to work with my ex on a reasonable visitation, but he would have none of it. The day I left CA was the worst day ever. I didn’t see my son after that for 7 years.

My ex wasn’t planning to make it easy for me to stay in touch. He changed his phone number and refused to let me have it to try to keep me from contacting my son. He even took my son out of town on a weekend I drove back to CA. Yes, my ex knew I was coming. I made plans with him a month in advance. He was just being vindictive. I also knew he was bad mouthing me to my son (which was confirmed in a conversation my son and I had a couple of year s ago). He even told my son that if I attended his high school graduation, he wouldn’t be there. I showed up anyway (TAKE THAT MOTHERFUCKER!).

Thankfully, my son’s (paternal) grandmother made sure I was in his life. She is the primary reason I have such a good relationship with my son today. I will never forget her for that.

*****

I told you all of that because of the phone call I received from my son today. It started off as any other normal conversation. He wanted to get a phone number from me. The more he talked, though, the more I knew something was off. So I asked what happened. He said his father kicked him out last night.

And I wanted to kill my ex. Right fucking then and there.

My son was out here in Utah for a visit just a week ago. We talked about how things were at home. I was concerned at how my son described his father’s recent actions. They didn’t make sense to me. I wondered if his actions had anything to do with my son coming out to visit me. I kept it to myself, though, for my son’s sake. I only said here and there that I didn’t agree with certain things and that I didn’t understand why his father was being that way.

When my son went back home it seemed like things were going to be okay. He told his father he was going to move up to Sacramento because the city college there had space available in his degree (the junior college in Stockton where he currently lives is full). I supported his decision and it sounded like his father did too.

I don’t know what changed. And neither does my son. An argument yesterday culminated in my ex telling my son to get out and leave his keys. He also told my son that he is not allowed to call the house or his father’s cell phone. My son is not allowed to go to the house to get his things. Until this Thursday. For 3 hours. Seriously?!?!

I am at a loss. I don’t understand this at all. My son doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He goes to his classes. He EXCELS in his classes. He is responsible. I DO NOT understand what could have happened that would justify this kind of reaction from my ex.

And it makes me wonder if it has to do with me. Is this my ex’s final vengeful act? He can’t use custody against me anymore, since my son is an adult. So is this his one last ditch effort to try to hurt me? I don’t know.

What does hurt me is that I’m not close enough to help my son. I want so badly to be there for him. But I can’t. And it kills me right now. I’ve been crying on and off since I got his call today. I know my son is strong and he will get through this, but I feel like he needs me. And dammit I’M HIS MOTHER! I should be there, right?

Good job, sperm donor. You get an A+ for acting like an ass and driving your son away. I hope you’re proud of yourself. Because in the end, YOU’RE the one who has truly lost.

He was pissed off. At me. I didn’t understand why. So I asked.

Instead of getting an answer, I was insulted. I was called a whore.

I didn’t understand why.

The insults continued.

I explained that I didn’t deserve to be treated that way. I didn’t do anything wrong.

I was told that I was not trusted. That I was in danger of crossing a line.

I wasn’t. I was falsely accused.

I never did anything remotely close to what I was being accused of. I know I didn’t. I explained that and the insults stopped. I thought things would calm down.

I was wrong.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, I was the bad person again. The insults resumed.

And then it was quiet. He left.

Hours later, I received an apology, but I was still upset. I wasn’t being unreasonable. An apology just didn’t sweep it all away and make it not have happened. And when I explained that?

I was told to bury it.

Not asked.

Told.

Demanded actually.

I was supposed to bury the fact that I had been treated badly. I was supposed to act as if nothing ever happened.

How could I do that? WHY would I do that?

And because I wouldn’t ‘bury it’, I was the bad person all over again. The cycle repeated. The insults resumed.

Except that I still had not done anything wrong.

And I still didn’t understand why.

The next morning, I received another apology. I was told he was wrong. I was told he overreacted. I was told he acted immaturely. But he still didn’t acknowledge that I didn’t do anything wrong.

I explained that I can’t let this keep happening. I can’t continue to be a verbal punching bag. He agreed.

So now I try to get past it. But it’s hard. It gets harder each time. And when I think about what happened…

…I still don’t understand why.

*sigh*

Yes I miss you. Call me.

I don’t believe love is elusive.

Wanna know more about Six Word Saturday? Head over to Cate’s page.

I’ve missed that past few SWS (so sad) and my six words today are not spooky (well, I guess they could be depending on how you look at them LOL), but here they are:

Have you ever had days where you were upset, really upset, about something but you don’t feel like you can talk to anyone about it cuz everyone knows that you made a decision and that your reasons behind that decision were logical and if you complain about having a bad time you will hear them say just suck it up or move on and you desire neither being unfair to them for having to hear about your situation YET AGAIN nor hearing someone else say what you have already said to yourself repeatedly, leaving you feel completely alone?

Yeah, me neither.

Except today…..aaaaannnd maybe yesterday too…..and maybe the day before that. So pretty much every damn day.

Ok…..so maybe not every day.

There are days when the logic prevails and I’m reminded that this was a GREAT decision. It’s been going well. Everything has been moving forward. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting a little closer.

Then there are the days when I repeatedly kick myself at the stupidity of this self-torture I’ve subjected myself to on a freaking near-daily basis. The days when I wonder just how small I will be made to feel. The days when I think I would be so much better off on my own as a single parent. The days when I think of possible reasons for hiring a hit man drinking myself into oblivion running off with a sugar daddy avoiding going home.

I won’t go into detail as to why I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs today (many days actually). The details aren’t important. And I know that when my best friend in the whole wide world reads this, she’ll be saying, “I’ll take Dumbasses whose names begin with the letter ‘R’ for $200 Alex.” Cuz even though I won’t tell her what’s going on, she KNOWS. And I love her for that.

And I know I will get past this. I will get to one of those days when logic will win out. Hopefully I will start to see more of those.

Well, I just finished my homework, so let’s see if I can downshift and talk about this weekend. I know there are some curious minds out there. Now, it’s entirely possible that this will make sense to no one else but me. And I will not be in the least offended if you run screaming from this post. LOL

Last Friday is the Rick Springfield concert in Wendover. The show starts at 8pm and the trip takes 2 hrs from our house(especially going down Bangerter). I plan to leave home around 5 pm to allow time for motel check-in and maybe food (big maybe). The husband leaves work at Noon to take our daughter to stay with his mother. Even with travel time, he has plenty of time to get ready. I leave work at 4pm, like I planned, cuz I can’t take the day off or leave much earlier than that. I plan to dress casual, cuz it’s not Vegas people. It’s just Wendover. But I want to fix my hair and makeup a little, though. Anyone who really knows me knows that I didn’t already have my hair and makeup done for work. And I still need to pack a few things. I get home to find the husband dressing up. And I’m all, “You don’t need to dress up. I’m not.” He says he wants to dress a little nicer. Fine. Whatever. I pack my stuff in the suitcase and all that’s left is to change my top and fix my hair/makeup. Husband says he thought about going to the bank, but didn’t actually do it cuz we can stop by on the way out of town. That makes no sense to me since he left work more than 4 hours ago, but fine. Whatever. He then remarks that he didn’t realize this was a dress rehearsal. And I’m all, “Dress rehearsal? WTH is that supposed to mean?” And he says nevermind, which of course pisses me off. So when he does finally answer me, it’s a derogatory remark about me wanting to make myself look a little nicer. And I’m all, WTF? You’re dressing up and you can’t understand why I wanna do my hair and put on some makeup? You left work when? And you couldn’t bother to stop by the bank to save us some time? Seriously? Ok, so that was all in my head, but still. I was pissed. So I go into the bathroom (slamming the door for the desired effect) and realize that there’s no time to do my hair or makeup. That’s just great. Thankyouverymuch. I throw my hair up in a ponytail and come out of the bathroom to start throwing my last few things together. Maybe I’ll have some time once we get there to put some makeup on. I tell the husband that I’m upset about not doing anything wrong, but yet being made to feel really small for needing to do a few things. The husband then decides to tell me to go by myself and to have a good time. I NEED to have a good time by myself, he says. And I’m all, “Absolutely not! I’m not going to give you an opportunity to throw it back in my face later that I was a bitch who kept you from going to this concert! You’re going!” I may not speak to you for the entire trip, but you are FUCKING GOING! Ok, so that last part was an exaggeration. I grab everything except his CPAP and stomp down the stairs. The husband is behind me mumbling how I’m stubborn for not letting him carry anything. And I’m thinking, Dood, you just need to shut the hell up and get in the damn car before I change my mind! I throw everything in the car. And realize I’m starving. I know I won’t be eating before the show and I WILL be drinking. A LOT. That’s a given at this point. So I search the pantry for something to eat and the husband asks if I want yogurt. And I’m all, “Yogurt? And exactly how am I supposed to eat that?” He says with a spoon. And I’m all, “Seriously? While I’m driving?” Cuz I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let YOU drive! We get on the road and he doesn’t say a word. Not one. For like 30 minutes. And I’m thinking, Dood, you are SO not helping your case. He finally apologizes, and for once it actually sounded sincere (Long story. Really REALLY long story.). And he offers to drive so I can get ready. No way I’m letting him drive when we’re in a time crunch. HELL no. So we settle into a slightly less awkward silence for a while, which is just fine by me.

The rest of the drive was uneventful until the last 30 miles or so, which is where we encounter a bunch of drivers that are freakin’ STOOPID. They have no idea of how to drive on a two-lane highway (hint: YOU DON’T CAMP YOUR ASS IN THE LEFT LANE! I’m just sayin.). My tolerance on the road is…oohh…zero. Zilch. Nada. Especially now. So, to get away from them, I end up doing 100 the rest of the way to Wendover. The husband looks over at one point, and I’m all, “Yes, I AM doing a hundred!” Just stay on your side of the car. You’re still on my shitlist! Ok, so I only really said that first part. But the rest was on the tip of my tongue, I promise you.

Capping off the night? The motel. I have a reservation, but there’s a delay checking in. The desk clerk goes to get someone’s help. Oh shit. This other person comes out and says that the reservation was cancelled. Ummmmm, I didn’t cancel my reservation. The new clerk says they have one room available (a suite) that’s $129.95. Ummmm, I STILL didn’t cancel my reservation that was booked at $60. She says they’ll get it fixed. She calls customer service who tells her they cancelled the reservation per a phone call on 9/6/09. Ummmm, oooook. I supposedly called to cancel my reservation that I made ONLINE and no one thought to send me a confirmation ONLINE that it was cancelled? Sure, I totally get that. I do it all the time. Amazingly, I stay calm (I have NO idea how at this point). The clerk says they’ll fix it and gets us a room. I’m all, Didn’t you just say that you only had one room? Sweet, we’re gettin the suite? Niiiice! Oh, we’re getting a regular room? Fine. I’ll take it. We’re running out of time before the show starts, so I don’t fucking care anymore. I just want a place to sleep tonight. Wait! Didn’t you just say that you only had one room left?

We head straight to the concert hall after that and I’m so close to spewing forth the slew of 4-letter words I’ve been bottling up for the past 2 hours. Ask Twitter. I’ve got just enough time to throw on some mascara before the concert. And with a wave of that magic wand, I’m transformed into Princess Cinderella who gets swept off her feet by Prince Charming. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t quite that magical. Rick never got anywhere near me. But I got to see a great show.

And I can’t believe it just took me 3 hours to write this. I was reliving it…..in real-time. Great.