I’ve lost my house, my marriage to a man I’ve been with for 14 years is over, I’m so physically fucked up I can’t earn a decent living right now, and I’m still having to deal with drama queens who mess with me and expect me NOT to lay a shitstorm at their feet. That I’m “a bit stressed” is the understatement of the year. At some moments, “homicidal” is an understatement! What, are we in fucking high school? Divorce is ugly, messy and an emotional rollercoaster even when all involved parties are mature adults… add in a few loose cannons who revel in the misfortune of others and lower themselves to the sort of antics teen girls engage in and it becomes downright disgusting. It’s interesting (and would be amusing if it weren’t so damned sad, really), but the people I’ve pissed off the most (excepting, of course, the husband I left) are those I’ve confronted with a demand that they prove what they claim as “truth.” Shit, I’ve stood by my words… even knowing they hurt some people… because to not do so would make me a liar and a fraud. People can call me a LOT of things (even some really bad things) and maybe hit upon a few that are true, but “liar” is certainly NOT one of them. I’ve told the truth to my own detriment more times than I can count, because lies never do anything but make a bad situation worse. The truth might put me in a bad light to others, but being dishonest would make me hate mySELF, and that’s so much more important than what other people think—especially those who’d like nothing better than to see me fail, and better still if I can suffer while I go down.
Today while chatting with a friend, we touched upon something I guess I hadn’t really thought too much about until now: my disappointment in there just being no “fight” in the man who claimed he wanted to be with me forever. He didn’t fight to keep me (striving for more, showing me the growth I wanted to see would’ve counted) when I was there and telling him what I wanted and expected; he chose flight over fight when I told him I wanted to separate, and just bailed with his few belongings as though he didn’t have 8 years worth of whatever in our house that needed to be wrapped up, too; hasn’t even mentioned in a fit of emotion maybe fighting the man he thinks I left him for (which I didn’t, but still… territorial issues and all… doesn’t every man just want to kick the ass of the “new guy” no matter what?) and at no time between my leaving and now has he even asked what, if anything, he might possibly do to “win” me back. Then again, it’s entirely possible that he’s just relieved; glad he doesn’t have my expectations to live up to… in which case his just walking away and giving up without any fight whatsoever makes perfect sense. If that’s how it is, I’m not sure how I feel… For starters, I guess it’d sorta piss me off, because it would seem he’s playing up his victim role for the benefit of others - he’s hurt by my leaving, but not so much as to care enough to even ASK whether there’s anything he might do to fix those things that I couldn’t live with? I may have been the one to leave, but that certainly doesn’t mean I’m immune to the heartbreak, or to feeling unwanted and a failure.
Fuck, if anything, I deserve to feel that way MORE than he does… I begged and begged for him to hear me and change things because I saw it going South, and everything I said fell upon deaf ears. It was only when I brought my conflicted feelings about another man (which wouldn’t even have arisen, had we reached some sort of compromise in our marriage before then) into the conversation that he finally realized just how serious the breach had become, and by then it was too late. I asked for a separation, he wanted (after being counseled by family & friends) a straight-up divorce; and I’m giving it to him. Since he’s made it clear that he’s the “same person” he was when I married him all those years ago, and will “never be any different,” I’d be a fool to even consider a reconciliation (an offer which, I’ll reiterate, is neither forthcoming from him, nor mine to put on the table). I left because I needed a mature, responsible man and he wasn’t making the cut - and now says I should never have expected him to ever grow up, really. What possible purpose would be served by signing on for more of the same? And from what I gather from his own comments, my having sex with someone else is what makes our differences officially irreconcilable to him. I’m pretty annoyed (and maybe even a little hurt) by that, I must say… but now I think to myself, “Are you so surprised? A man who’s not only content with, but rather proud of, saying that he’s no different today than he was at the age of 22, has shown himself (more than once) to be primarily concerned with the sexual aspects of his wife’s estrangement and their failing marriage. Go figure!” Then again, I may just be “full of myself,” as he claims I am; and in reality his pointed interest in whether or not I’ve had sex with someone new isn’t really about me at all, but about his feeling like he’s now officially free to go off and stick his poor, neglected (by me, all these past months) dick into the next redhead that strikes his fancy with a clear conscience. Git on wit’ your bad self then, boy… just keep your shit tightly wrapped, since whatever hole you’re sticking it into has likely been plowed by a fair number of other swaggering cocks (including some you know) during the past 14 years of your/my monogamy. Wouldn’t want you to get far more than you’ve bargained for!
Two men, same situation: Life in shambles, marriage over, family ripped apart. After consideration and the counsel of loved ones, each decides upon a course of action to repair what damage he can and begin a new, better way of life. One goes off to Jesus Camp, digs ditches, prays and returns a few months later drug-free and committed to doing whatever it takes to put what’s left of his family back together, make amends for what he can and make a better life than he could give his children before. The other guy’s solution is to move in with friends and seek his “healing” in a place where the last thing anyone’s interested in is their life as a responsible parent, acting like a grown-up, or in learning how to be better at anything truly useful (other than pretending to be someone else, which is useful for some people, I guess… like if they get paid for it). A place where it’s the height of success to have as few responsibilities as possible, as few obligations as possible, and as many drunken nights and sexual conquests as one can manage before their genitals explode or they contract HIV because they’re too stupid or just too fucking hammered to be responsible every time they have sex.
Having known them so long, and loving each of them, and (all things considered) in nearly equal measure, is it any wonder that a woman who has certain, somewhat traditional, expectations of what a man’s role in a relationship should be would see Bachelor #1 as more suitable, as more likely to at least come close to fulfilling some of those expectations? Bachelor #2’s behavior is prima facie evidence that he’s neither equipped for nor interested in being a provider, and in fact would seem to be quite happy living a life in which he’ll never be called upon to put aside childish things in order to fulfill the sorts of obligations so many other men see as their duty, and take pride in doing.
In the cold light of day, I suppose that little story is an illustration of what’s truly at the heart of the matter in the choice I made. It would have been nice to feel as though I, and my marriage, was worth fighting for… worth some hard work at a thankless job… to keep. But as time goes by, I just see more evidence that I/it wasn’t… not to him anyway. For years I fought (and worked) as hard as I could to make it successful, in the only way I knew how. Now, in the end, I see that what was worth so much to me for so long, wasn’t worth a moment’s fight or a moment’s hard labor (that is, maybe doing some less than pleasant things that might have healed the breach - marriage counseling comes to mind). And yeah, I’m still disappointed, often really fucking angry and always just plain SAD about that. His having waited to get some sort of okie-doke to get laid is no comfort in the face of the harsh reality that his marriage and the wife he claimed to “love more than anyone or anything” was less important than his own desire to flee the scene and “forget,” absolving himself of any responsibility because he’s been “crushed” by my leaving and is therefore justified in… no, virtually obligated to find comfort wherever and in whatever manner he can, in the interest of the all-important “moving on.” Well, that’s what his friends and family want him to do as quickly as possible anyway, so I guess it works out.
Eh, I suppose doing all that’s probably been far easier for him than it would have been to, y’know, like step up during our marriage or doing something equally as indicative of things meaning to him as much as he claims they mean/meant.
But what the fuck do I know? I’m just a woman, and a stupid one at that. Well, not so stupid anymore, I guess… since I’ve become so enlightened today on important matters that are no longer important to anyone but me.
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It may be a comedy bit, but Mr. Brigstock makes some brilliant observations about how ordinary religious people are responsible for propping up insane, power-mad leaders who’d be in psycho wards if not for the support of their faithful followers. Never mind how Christians, Muslims and Jews take any criticism whatsoever as an attack on their faith.
Damn good shit! The comments on Gadfly’s blog are friggin’ priceless, too 
I called the HR rep who’d told me I wasn’t banned from the Company, and asked if there was some way to officially appeal that clause. For fuck’s sake, it’s not like I was terminated for embezzlement, or an EEOC violation, or some other nefarious deed… I took the fall for a series of errors, including some that weren’t made by me, because in the end the Process put the responsibility squarely upon my shoulders and any future I might ever have with the Company was utterly destroyed by my failure to send one email.
The former co-worker for whom I would have been working at my dream job was as surprised as I was to learn that I was ineligible for rehire at the Company, as are most others who found the circumstances of my termination political, unjust (or simply “so fucked up!"). Regardless, I have neither the time nor desire to mourn or avenge my being fucked in the ass - no kiss, no grease - by the Company as a soulless entity, and most disappointing of all by people who failed to speak up for me when they could (and should) have. My heartfelt gratitude goes out to the people who saw how things went down and have expressed their outrage and sympathy. To those who were complicit in my being railroaded: Kindly go fuck yourselves.
In the end, once again I shall take full responsibility for exactly where I did, indeed, screw the pooch. I should have gotten a lawyer before I signed anything. It was a grave error to have ignored what I know to be true: that there are certain people in every company who, despite their assurances to the contrary, never do anything that isn’t in the best interests of the Company (or their own careers). I should have put more of my salary into my retirement and pension accounts, because as I’m cashing them out in order to survive, I’m finding they don’t amount to much in comparison to the years of blood, sweat and tears I put into my years in various jobs with the Company… and the cash-out payments are hardly compensation enough for the depression, pain and humiliation of being blackballed from a Company where any number of people in the position to do so would gladly hire me based on my experience and recommendations; nor the anxiety and worry of trying to survive on Unemployment Insurance in Southern California.
Oh well, no turning back now… Why Bother? I suppose I can always go back to porn 
Other gifts included a bottle of the best mead I’ve ever tasted, and a beautiful sculpted metal crossed-cutlass Jolly Roger tile from my dear friend and fellow pirate, Robin St. Graves of Medieval Fantasies. My life is filled with such talented artists and craftsmen… and it’s a good thing, since my own artistic talent is limited to singing, and maybe this writing thing that I enjoy so much but don’t do nearly enough of.
Special appreciation to my sister, Liz, dear hubby, Rob and the rest of my family who made my birthday so great by helping get the joint cleaned up, kept my glass (and my belly!) filled, and kept me laughing even while getting skewered by our friendly local Sadist.
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So many gods, so little time…
]]>Condolences to Mr. Falwell’s family, but it would be dishonest for me not to bid good riddance to one of the people who would turn America into Jesusland with the complicity of his congregation and his political influence at every level of government.
It’ll be interesting to see how the good Reverend is memorialized in various media outlets, that’s for damned sure!
----------------- Bulletin Message -----------------
From: Fight Fanaticism
Date: May 16, 2007 8:34 AM
----------------- Bulletin Message -----------------
From: Cheryl
Date: May 16, 2007 8:01 AM
Thanks to: Atheist ApologetiX
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Cross-posted to MySpace
]]>I’m old enough to remember the Civil Rights marches, racial tensions and riots in the 60s; and as the daughter of a jazz & blues musician was raised without those prejudices of many of my peers. Unlike most of the kids I grew up with, I didn’t even realize our black friends were different, much less deserving of the distrust and prejudice I later encountered, until I went to school (where I was horrified to learn just how fucked up people can be to anyone unlike themselves). 40 years later, I realize that my family, my upbringing and my life’s experiences have always given me a greater sense of kinship with blacks (and as time’s gone by, latinos) than I could ever possibly have with “white” people. White folks own houses, have educations, clearly defined family trees whose branches are all legitimate, and don’t seem to have (or are quite astute at hiding) so many of those “family characters”: the crazy auntie or grandma… the drunken uncle or cousin crackhead. That certainly doesn’t describe MY family! There are baby-daddies, adopted out kids, teen motherhood, addicts, criminals and straight-up nutjobs in my huge, matriarchal, Catholic-on-both-sides family, who landed in NY back in the late 19th & early 20th centuries, and settled in a mill town in CT that’s now a shit-hole. A bunch of us escaped and have been in Southern California since the 60’s and 70s, but on the whole we’re still just dirtbags from Waterbury at heart (and I use the term with the greatest affection), and there’s plenty of drama and gossip.
The family members that’re my age actually own homes now, and our kids are the first generation to go to college (and NOT be forced to go to church!).
It’s taken generations to get to this point - and now I’m not talking just about my own family, but for everyone’s; because popular culture now comes into play. The glamorization of “gangsta” life, pimps, hos, greed and criminality in general, while really nothing new, seems to be taken more seriously by young people today - or maybe is just more easily and quickly adopted by way of their attire, speech and mannerisms, due to their much greater exposure to media. There’s nothing glamorous about being a criminal, a teen parent or any of that low life. Which is not to say that I don’t appreciate the stories being TOLD through the media… it’d just be so much better if people (especially kids) would take them as entertainment and cautionary tales, rather than as depicting a way of life worth aspiring to.
If there’s one rather common thread I’ve seen, it’s that it’ll need to be the women who take this particular bull by the horns. Mothers (many of them too young, and single) have to kick their sons’ asses into shape, and refuse to bring men into their lives who serve as a bad example. Not-mothers, girls and young women should start having more respect for themselves and stop hooking up with guys who have a string of baby-mamas, a criminal record and the attitude that women are inferior and/or exist for their pleasure and exploitation. Stop having sex with these losers, or otherwise giving them attention, and maybe they’ll finally get their overinflated heads out of their asses and realize that being a real man - responsible, hard-working and honest - will get them more of what they want (women), and as a result they’ll get further in life.
Yes, I just said what you think I said… in as “family-friendly” a way as I could manage.
]]>Within the past week more than a few people have mentioned this movie, “Crank” and said it was just unbelievable. By happy coincidence, it arrived from Netflix yesterday, and for the first time in a while I actually sat down and watched a whole movie from beginning to end.
Fitz told me it was one of those films that keeps you on the edge of your seat from beginning to end… and boy, he wasn’t kidding! I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen it yet, but I will say that the premise of the story and the way it was shot was friggin’ brilliant… there was suspense, fear and danger, and it seems as though you’re right inside the main character’s body and mind. Wow… just wow!
It’s full of violence, blood and gore, but there are also moments of romance and comic relief in the most absurd settings. The more than memorable, and very public, sex scene includes one of those moments. I won’t ruin the laugh in the scene, but I will say the (completely clothed) sex scene in general is pretty hot - especially if you’re one of us voyeur-types or fans of public naughtiness! (OK. I admit it, I’ve been feeling a bit randy all day *sigh*) From now on, anytime I walk through Chinatown I’m sure I’ll hear my inner sex freak’s knowing chuckle and get just a little breathless. Hmmmm… 
Isn’t it interesting how a few moments’ time can replay in your memory over and over, and actually affect you physically? Then again, I suppose that’s a double-edged sword, being that not all memories are necessarily good ones.
There were no special features on the DVD, which sucked; I’m nearly as interested in the special features as the movies themeselves… dammit, that’s what DVDs are for!
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