Is this the bottom?

Is this the bottom? Is this the worst of it? Because if it hurts worse than this, sedate me first.

Perhaps it is the PMS talking, or, rather, crying.

I'm mad because I'm having all these emotions and there are people far more worthy than I am of being this sad and hurt.

I'm crying today because for as long as I can remember I was the kid that studied harder, worked harder, and sacrificed more because I knew that would make me special. Special enough to get some kind of special reward. I forgave and forgot and supported and went on. I believed in the good in people in general and the good in one person in particular.

I might have been the hang-toothed bitch he so angrily describes, but I never lied or cheated. I usually took the harder way because I knew there would be more reward in the end. I did the best with what I had. I didn't cut corners and tried to follow my conscience.

I've tried the whole handing it off to God thing...but so far, as hard as I've tried to listen, I'm just not hearing. I'm feeling more alone and confused and hurt and angry and embarrassed than ever before.

I didn't chose this. Well, I chose not to continue to cast a blind eye. I could have sucked it up and just lived with it and just pretended. I didn't chose to have a husband who was incapable of loving me and respecting me and our marriage vows. I chose a handsome, sweet, funny guy who was working two jobs because he liked them both-- and the extra money went into his fancy car. That didn't last very long and I should have hit the road with the first red flag. Dumbass.

So he's standing in the doorway right now asking if he can hug me. I told him I hope his arms fall off from leprosy.

I think I can't really see a future that isn't going to be without struggle and pain. I'm feeling a little cheated, because while my life wasn't nearly as horrible as some, I feel like I've had my fair share.

There are lots of 'if I'd only known' scenarios running through my head. But I did know. Deep in my heart, I knew it could never be right.

I'm scared, really really scared. I'm not sure there is a whole lot I can do right at the moment. He promises to be out by 2PM Saturday. Happy freakin' birthday to me. Maybe I can start to heal a little then. But the fear, I don't know that it will every really go away.

I don't want to be the one people feel sorry for, but I've lost my courage.

You don't send me flowers...

Does it still count as a gift if later (within a few hours) the giver asks to borrow money in an amount that significantly exceeds the value of the gift? Because they need gas and lunch 'till pay day?

Am I being greedy to say that I'd rather pick out my own damn gift?

Or that I would rather have spent the money differently because I'm trying to save up to be able to afford my divorce?

Am I just being bitter because I can pretty directly trace every gift I've ever been given from this person back to a credit card that I later had to pay off or some other transaction because they were so intermittently employed, under employed and had the perpetual need to live beyond their means?

Is it childish for me to point out that their entire life style is provided by my hard work and at this point any gifts are just well...funny and maddening at the same time?

The Yardstick

I'm an odd mix of someone who likes to be a dreamy hopless romantic who flings caution to the wind combined with someone who has a minor obsession for Excel spreadsheets and making firm, quantified decisions.

I'm sure the latter is a backlash behavior since the first one hasn't quite served me so well (especially the romantic notion that brought me here).

So, I propose a rating system so that I can reconcile my head, my heart and my over-active libido.

For example, they'll earn 5 points for every $10,000 a year they make more than me. Own their own completely livable single family home? Plus 25 points. If they live with their parents/exwife/sibling's family/children -25 points.

For every inch their belly hangs over their belt -3 points. They earn one point for each time they visit a salon in a given year.

Insist on walking me to my car in a dark parking lot (and not just to cop a feel?) or drop me off at the door in the rain? Plus 10.

Since all is fair in love and war-- frizzy hair, baby related stretch marks, and flabby upper arms score a '0' because then we're equals.

For fun, we'll measure folks we know or fantasize about against the yardstick.

Please feel free to propose your own--I'm sure someone has done this before!

Fat Girl Costumes and Eyore

In my attempts to try not to think about how my spouse totally fucked up my life plans, I decided to give up trying to find a sexy Halloween costume that would be age-appropriate and cover my thighs. I Googled "Fat Girl Costumes". As God often does, He gave me a huge laugh.
So what if it was from last year-- it was exactly what I needed. I'm partial to the Sylvia Plath costume, but only 'cause it is hitting close to home.

See, today was the last of the pre-planned family outings. The last of the outings where, say, I bought the fuckin' tickets before Spermdonor finally proved his worth to me. (Grant it, he's been very sweet when we're alone since the magical day I realized I never wanted him to touch me again. However, he's been an ass in public (quite a switch).)

While riding Thomas the Tank Engine's 9th car today, I realized something. He shall be referred to as Eyore rather than Spermdonor. Eyore, that lovable donkey from Winnie-the-Pooh-- anyone who knows me how ironic it is that I choose this name on SOOO MANY LEVELS. Eyore, says, "I lost my tail again."-- Our Eyore says, "I lost my family again." Dumbass.

I intentionally dropped one of the e's. He doesn't even deserve the second one, and why confuse a sweet children's book character totally with him. So he's Eeyore with only one 'e'.

So, anyway, I was trying not to take 'family' pictures, but lots of Eyore and the boys. I doubt he'll have the balls to take the kids anywhere by himself. They'll outsmart him and make off with the car.

The funniest part was Tippytornado who SLEPT with his Thomas T Shirt last night and practically ran to Strasburg, PA from Columbia, MD. Once he saw Thomas, Sir Topham Hat, and rode Thomas, he said, "I go home now".

No stupid tents or silly marketing ploys for my wanna-be preschooler. Nope. He came, he saw, he conquered and within about an hour of arrival, he was done. Which is exactly how I approach these kinds of things. I tried to make light of it, and since that is the OPPOSITE of Eyore's approach (look at every nook and cranny no matter how long it takes, and buy everything you see) he didn't find it at all funny. Thank you Tippytornado for being my son and making some of my worst behaviors kind of cute.

I sadly watched the other families fight and smile and interact. Eyore and I were almost as polite as strangers. He did everything I asked him to do, without compliant. He just moped. And texted my cell phone with apologies.

I get the Sylvia Plath costume because I'm just a few steps away from a bathrobe, or a straight jacket. Plus, I've already got all the supplies---and I can be naked underneath--gross for those who know, but secret smile just for me! :-)

I will lull myself to sleep with images of Rob Thomas (with hair) who bears no resemblance to a certain dude from college with whom the timing was never quite right.

Beige Bras and Oatmeal

There is a line I seem to remember from The Color Purple. In my head it was from the movie, but who knows 'cause I read the book, too. (and if you'd like it, I'd be happy to swap with you)

Anyway, one of the lesbians said something like: Every day of my life, I got up, I put on a beige bra and I ate oatmeal for breakfast. I did it the day before I fell in love with a woman and I still did it the day after. Everything else can change, but beige bras and oatmeal will be the same.

Not an exact quote, mind you, but you get the gist. There are fundamental things that we value that we're not going to change.

(As a side note, my sweet gay sister gave me permission to hop the fence. If nothing else just to freak out our other way-over-the-top-hetero sister, I seriously considered it. Don't get me wrong, Heterosister's husband wouldn't mind watching...or touching my boobs. We're that close, baby.)

So, what are my beige bras and oatmeal? What are yours? For the Spermdonor, is it selfishness and porn? Talk amongst yourselves. That's what commetns are for (and I removed that silly you-have-to-get-your-own-blog thing, I think)

WHAT THE HELL?

My mind is made up, this is really it, but why is God in cahoots with the SPERMDONOR?

The constant compliments and subservient I'll-do-anything-for-you-baby behavior has been stomach turning. WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU DO THIS 2-4-6-8 YEARS AGO DUMBASS?

The requests for kisses and hugs and the sad puppy face was stomach turning.

Yesterday? What did I get. A relatively mature sounding e-mail about growing up and being independent. It sounded almost....Healthy.

Today? Just to screw with me. He was happy! There was a twinkle in his eye that I haven't seen in a really, really long time. Like maybe last seen in 1991. He was elated about everything. Complimented my ass four times in less than an hour....That was more than all of 2005 COMBINED. Comments like, "whoa you shouldn't bend over like that." So, cynic that I am...

"Did your doctor change your meds? You're freakin' me out"

"No..ha ha ha...(smile, twinkle, smile)"

"Go take a shower"

No screaming at Karateboy at dinner, backed off when I said I wasn't going to stop on the way home to pick up cat food because I'd just spent an hour at the grocery store.

My internet friends, don't go all flippy and post that maybe he's bi-polar or something. I've waited through 13 years of various illnesses. I have the bedside manner of a python. No way, baby. There is only one person I know who stood by her man, and I stood with her. She was right, and I know I'm right. Sperm donor is the kind of crazy I don't want to be legally tied to forever.

So God...I'm horny...I'm lonely...I'm scared and self conscious....and your dropping the twinkley-eyed wonder boy at me. Memories of why I went back to him all those times are quite painful and embarrassing.

God, what the hell are you trying to do? Do you KNOW WHO YOU'RE DEALING WITH? I'm not the kind of girl who backs down. Not this time. I asked for support from you...to carry me through this difficult time...and THIS IS WHAT I GET?

NO FREAKIN' WAY BUDDY. IF you keep this crap up, I'm quitting the band at church. Don't mess with me.

The death of my beloved minivan (conceptually)

I was a proud minivan driver. It had everything I need and was the very symbol of the suburban life I wanted to be leading. It's got room for my crap, my kids, other folks' kids....I drove it with pride.

Then, my young, handsome friend invited me to my first adult Halloween Party--where I'll get to meet his lovely wife. A party that I'll be attending as a single woman. I was really excited about that--and meeting new people-- single people--with alcohol. Until tonight.

We joked about how he was going to get me both drunk and laid. We had so much fun playing kickball and we almost won...so I was on a high. He was gonna be my pimp. As our kickball game wrapped up he walked me to my van, because apparently there is a whole world of cute, chivalrous men who insist on making sure the ladies get safely to their cars and that they don't have to struggle carrying a net full of kickballs. But they're married.

He joked that the van needs to go...he actually suggested, "a nice Rav 4" (which I will foreverassociate with my mother --eww!). I joked about my Mercedes convertible and we agreed that I couldn't afford that and divorce all in the same year.

As I drove away, it hit me like a brick. I'm not hot dating material. Not even close. I've got bags both figuratively and stuck to my body. I've got kids. I made a choice when I was 17 to stay with one guy. All my eggs in one basket. I never got to explore my wild side. It is not reasonable to expect to date any time soon, much less just get laid, or even just go 'out there'

When You're 32 with two kids it's desperate and pitiful . I cannot reconcile the all the parts of me because being a mom and a professional have to come first. If my kids or my co-workers ever found out that really I'm also sexual--- I have to figure out how to be all of me. I don't have a safe place any more to express that private side.

I wish I could turn back the clock.

The brightest bright spot....

Karateboy is in first grade. He started reading books aloud (FINALLY) and there is no nicer sound in the world....other than maybe when he and his brother are giggling together.

He's going to test for his yellow belt in Tai Kwon Do on 9/29...so it is really a gift to have something to look forward to.

Thank GOD for my boys. They are so freakin' cute, and they're my biggest fans (who can beat that!)

Spermdonor is soooo missing out on what makes life worth living!

He did however do the toughest thing today. Heather our diabetic cat has not been doing well and after 5 years of cleaning up her pee, he took her to be put to sleep today. So sad...my first baby...our first child....and yet NO MORE PEE ON THE FLOOR!! sniff!sniff.

I just cannot seem to get a break. A seemingly innocuous e-mail reminding him and my mother of the weeks' activities turns into the climax of a depressing movie right before the antagonist goes on a wild rampage with a kitchen knife.

9/19/06
From: Me
To: Mom; Spermdonor
Tonight: Acupuncture > Tomorrow: Logos meeting > Wednesday: Kickball > Thursday: Let's Eat Dinner (just like lets dish! @ 7:30 > Friday: BLESSEDLY NOTHING! > Saturday: O's Game > Sunday: Up early to go see Thomas the tank engine in Strasburg. >
Totally normal, right? He responds:
I don't know if I'm going to go. > > Saturday: O's Game > Sunday: Up early to go see Thomas the tank engine in Strasburg
OK, maybe I start the barbs here. This is a little edgy. I respond:
I bought your tickets and it is something for the boys, so how far up your ass is your head?
Yes, I hear you shaking your head. It was rude, but OH MY GOD. Is he going to crawl into the family room couch and never come out? OH, update. Before he got my e-mail, he called me on the cell to tell me that 'Our Song' was playing. Unchained Melody like at our wedding? No, 'She Hates Me' by Nirvana. So I merely clarified by singing "Since you've been gone, I can breathe for the first time! I'm so movin' on, yeah yeah!...you had your chance and you blew it..again and again and again!" the Kelly Clarkson one....
my head isn't up my ass. with how much you don't want to be or want me around. i wouldn't want to make you do something to make you more disguised then you are already having to do. also if i wasn't living here you wouldn't have called to see if i wanted to go, especially with your friends who are afraid to have me around because you told them i was in to little girls. why would i want to go where i'm not really wanted, and ruin everybodies day at that game. you felt years ago you needed to separate yourself from me. so this would just be one of those things, just like this past weekend. i'm not taking it or this out on the boys. i know i'm not wanted there and i do feel comfortable going. the things you said last night hurt so bad, if i could have left days go or today i be gone. it hurt so bad it feels like somebody ripped my heart out, and now there's just a big hole.

you got me so bad, the all day i keep think i should quit and stop fighting to save this marriage.
My response.
Why would you call me about a song on the radio about hate if you didn't want to hear it back?

Why is it OK for you to be grumpy and mopey and make the kids sad (and mad at you for making you that way) and I'm not allowed that luxury-- because one of us has to be sane and re-assuring?

Why, if you wanted to talk to me, would you call and leave a voice mail at work at 11:30 at night-- and follow up with an e-mail at work? Because you wanted to ruin my day?

So, your plan is to waste the $30+ I spent on tickets, skip out on something important that we planned FOR THE BOYS, and spend the weekend moping around the house? Sounds healthy to me! Sounds like they're really going to feel this isn't their fault and they've still got their dad.

Stop trying to save this marriage and save yourself. You blew it. It's over. I can name 15 milestone dates where I made it crystal clear to you that this was not working for me (and just about every day in between). I've suffered no-so-quietly and miserably while you apparently enjoyed life. You even told me at various points how happy you were.

So don't tell me about having your heart ripped out. It happened every time you rejected me, talked down to me, and ignored me. It happened every time I heard you saying things to other people that I needed you to say to me.

Don't come to me with your drama. Suck it up and be a man. Karateboy is 6 and Tippytornado is 3. If you don't make an effort to be a part of their lives now, they'll forget we ever even tried to be a family.

You are such a selfish ass. If you weren't doing anything wrong or to be embarrassed about, walk around with your head held high...I'm the lunatic, right?

OK, you're not going to believe this.

Last night, he asked to kiss me. The man who makes my skin crawl because he chose kiddie porn over me wants me to touch him with my lips. No WAAAY! (for those of you new to this story it has been documented since 19992---I kid you not-- you're just joining us in the middle.)

Him, " Can I kiss you?"

Me, "Have you lost your mind?"

Just because I haven't changed the locks yet doesn't get you anywhere near these panties.

Oh, but if there was someone who wanted in these panties, I'm a bit, well randy you know?

And there was a sign.

The lawyer's office (which I'd never visited, we'd only talked by phone) happens to be right next door to the acupuncturists new digs. Coincidince? I think NOT!

So the trip was a bit surreal. Everyone had little babies that were crying with the grandparents like accessories rushing about to quiet the child WHILE THE PARENTS STOOD BY CHATTING WITH BEERS IN THEIR HANDS!

I totally f'ed up in that department. Why didn't I marry into a family where the grandparents wanted to suck it up and do all the work? Well, I guess my mother in law tried, but she's got as much tact as Anna Nicole Smith has style and grace.

Ah, you Jersey folk have it made. Enjoy.

Sorry about the odd answers regarding the sperm donor. I really wanted to jump up and down and sing a song of joy...but I just stammered...

Three hours up and three hours back really gives a girl time to think.

This is the right thing. If I go back to him, I'm just re-making the same mistakes again and again. I'm an idiot if I trust him again. My children need to know that behavior isn't normal and that I think more of myself than to stand for it. They need to see either an example of a relatively healthy adult relationship, or at least a sane mother.

So sad, that girl who wrote the letter in 1992 who blamed the future sperm donor's addiction to phone sex lines on herself. Because she obviously wasn't good enough in bed. Not kinky enough for her mostly unemployed love.

Sad girl who willingly compromised her values and then was sadder when all the love ended because she became a mother. She decided that she wanted a relationship with just one man to be a good example for her baby. Sex with other women just wasn't the life she wanted, even if it made her husband happy.

I don't want to be her--and I haven't been her for 8 years. But the other direction is scary.

Sperm donor was on the phone with Karateboy and told him he was sad. He said something else about it being all his fault and Karateboy screamed at ME that it is all my fault.

Good move, ass. I could be less selfish and stay married to you. But then I'd have to tie you to the bed and light your pubic hair on fire just to listen to you scream in pain.

Kinda like the pain I felt when I opened that stupid laptop at had all of my worst fears confirmed. I married a pervert....worse, I married my father.

Oddly, today is Daddy's birthday. I wonder if he's still alive?

I just noticed that I start all of my posts with OK.

Maybe I'll just cut that out.

So, I'm taking my little pumpkins on a trip tomorrow to see some friends in NJ. Perhaps their babies (twins!) will take my mind off of the situation with the sperm donor.

I just know that if he tells me I'm beautiful one more time, I'm going to stuff a bat up his ASS and swing him out a window. It would have been nice to hear before I decided you make my skin crawl. ASS.

And stop sleeping on my good couch. Sleep on the stupid family room couch that you insisted on buying..... and me....trying to please everyone, especially you, living with it, and biting my tongue every time I had to look at it.

The chocolate velvet couch IS MINE! I PICKED IT OUT! I PAID FOR IT! IN MY HOUSE THAT I BOUGHT WITH NO HELP FROM YOU! ASS!!

Wrap that up in your unemployment check and smoke it. USER!!!!

OK, so I'm sad.

My older son, Karateboy, is 6 and a half. He's not really going to remember our family times when he grows up. That is good...and bad. I'm shooing out his father.

The baby, Tippytornado, will not remember anything at all. Just pictures and stories we tell.

I brought two beautiful kids into the world (and thank God becuase I'd have killed myself from lonliness by now otherwise) and I'm screwing them out of their right to a nuclear family.

Actually, I'm not. Their father did. And don't tell me it takes two to tango. He was dancing all by himself. (if you think the porn thing was our only mounting problem, smoke more crack, it is good for you)

OK, so I think I'm going to start a list.

If someone is ever going to replace the sperm donor, I think he'll need to be older than me. And a wee bit more successful, but not so much so that he feels the need to mentor me, but so maybe I can learn a few tricks and he can stand on his own. And I on my own. Yep. Older. I'm not training another one.

But he must be devastatingly handsome.

But how would a devastatingly handsome successful older man feel about

• my committment to motherhood?
• my flabby baby belly?
• the fact that I've never had an adult relationship
• my need to control and be a bitch

Yep. He doesn't exist. Certainly not in this zip code.

It's been a week. He even proposed a great arrangement with the kids. Now if he would get the F*&^k out.

Yet, somehow, he keeps trying to hug me and touch me and kiss me.

Doesn't he understand that I'm mortified by the very thought that my husband would even enjoy looking at little girls bodies? ICK! Just gross!

And our friends...who have daughters...who are grossed out by letting them sleep at my house.

Now his hobby is hurting me...this really sucks.

OK. The usual begging and crying.

It isn't like this is the first time I've tried to end it. So, he thinks he'll over-promise and under-deliver and everything will be fine.

Asshole.

He just doesn't get it.

Skin is crawling. Begging is pitiful. Moving on.

Today I accidentally picked up my husband's laptop to show my mother something I was bidding on on E Bay...there it was the last bit of straw that showed me my husband and I are in no way compatible. What was displayed on the screen was not shocking (for anyone who knows us), but took things that pissed me off in a whole new direction.

Forget that it was very plainly sitting in the living room for my impressionable 6 year old to find.
Forget that I don't think the girls were 18.
Forget that I've been feeling quite unnatended to for the last two to six years.
Forget that I was pretty sure he must be gay.
Forget that as the child of a child molester there is probably just one place he should never go.
Forget that they're probaly 18 in some mal-nourished third world country-- but look like twelve year olds to me.
Forget that I'm about as curvy as they come and CLEARLY I'm not his cup of tea.

Forget all that. We're just telling the children that after 16 years as a couple, 13 married, it just didn't work out.

Just forget it.

I tried to and go went to my kickball game.