Oh, dearest of all chronicles that ever existed. I've let you be for a mere month and twenty days. What a month and twenty days will bear can truly shock a person, lest that person be me. Which leads me to ask... am I a person? Or maybe I'm just a blob. Maybe I'm a mixture of both and heaven only knows if that's true or if it even matters, really. What a contemplative ex I am. So... It's March 25th and it's about 2:40am and I'm at work. Yes... I have a day job. I am at my day job. You see, I work in a fancy little accounting office in a fancy medium-sized auto dealership that's part of a fancy large corporation. I try to steer clear of using the internet resources for my own amusement and merely because I'm fully aware of my own uncanny sense of humor and even more so aware of the tech support brigade that probably sits there and does nothing but reads my e-mails or looks at all the overly-clever things that I like to fancy up for my own amusement.
Maybe I don't belong here... who knows? I'm creative, sure. I probably am not the perfect image of your average office worker with my 4" stillettos and a half-sleeve tattoo. But I do find this whole accounting thing quite soothing in a very odd way. I say very odd way because I'm married to my job. You see, I work a good 50-60 hours a week in order to stay caught up. It's partially due to the lack of functionality of other inhabitants of this workplace of mine, these creatures that I am forced to call co-workers against my better judgement. It's also partially because I don't have a social life. Sadly enough, I'm perfectly happy without a social life, and so I don't stress out about anyone's lack of functionality nearly as much as I used to. Plus I made this whole deal with myself in which I admitted to the lack of productivity that stress brings with and how accepting things for what they are brings greater happiness and all this other spiritual bullshit. It really isn't bullshit. I think it was called growing up somewhere along the line.
Anyway... so it's really late. I just remembered that my very smart computer won't stay adjusted to the Daylight Savings so it's actually really 3:50am now. I suppose I should probably go home and take a shower and get ready to play Tuesday daytime, but I'd rather sit here and think about how exactly to phrase that whole what-a-month-and-twenty-days-can-bring story out. That and contemplate bulimia... I've gained 6 pounds in the last two weeks. I think I'm PMSing. I hope I am. Why would I ever hope to PMS? Ah! You see... if I would PMS that would mean that my hormones are still functional and that I still have some sort of a chance at becoming a big tall Amazon woman in my afterlife. These dreams probably sprout from my Petitecomplexphobia or whatever it is, but being 5'2" has drawbacks. Anyway... if I would PMS that would mean that Mr. Ex was completely wrong in telling me that I'm sexually inept and that my vagina is dysfunctional. He declared that theory after the umpteenth time of not being able to get me to even conceive touching his skin without gagging.
That brings me to a whole another subject. You see, Mr. Ex is actually attractive. Don't get me wrong, he's certainly no Brad Pitt, but he's attractive. When other girls I know see him, they make the whole "Aww... he's cute! What's wrong with you?" comment. Good Heaven knows that there is NOTHING at all wrong with me and that the sudden nausea that occurs when I think about the fact that I once used to VOLUNTARILY engage in reproductive practices with this man is completely justified in my mind and in God's eyes. Oh... no... there is nothing wrong with me. Nothing at all. Because none of my friends ever tried to engage this man in conversation, tried to get him to wake up, tried to get him to grow up, or really tried to get him to change a light bulb. No, they never did. Mr. Ex has absolutely zero seductive skills and even less social skills, he has such limited masculinity and absolutely no femininity that you wouldn't even question that he's straight, but would think it sad that he isn't gay. See, if he were gay, I'd probably like him more. Isn't that sad?
Anyway... Mr. Ex and I are no longer living together. Really, the whole story of us living together went something like this:
Him: "Hey. I hate your dog."
Me: "I'm sorry."
Him: "Hey. When are we gonna do it?"
Me: "Never."
Him: "Hey. Your dog breathes."
Me: "I'm sorry."
Him: "Hey. When are we gonna do it?"
Me: "Never."
Him: "How 'bout a blow job?"
Me: "No."
Him: "I hate your dog."
Me: "My dog loves you."
Him: "Hey. Are we ever gonna do it?"
Me: "No."
Him: "I'm telling my mom."
Me: "You wouldn't."
His mom: "Honey, don't you think it's proper that since you guys live together you should you know... be together?"
Me: "I really don't think that I'm ready for that."
His mom: "Have you tried drinking?"
Anyway... this went on for longer then I'd like to remember. During that time, I slept very little, I developed terrible insomnia. Every night after I'd put my daughter to sleep me and the Deoge would take a walk and then we'd go sit in my car and watch the snow fall, listen to jazz, I'd smoke cigarettes and write a page or two in the O.G. "X" Chronicle, my little black book. I'd write about what polite and clever response I had for his "When are we gonna do it?" drill on that particular day. I'd write about how he'd purposefully insult and belittle me and try to start fights in front of our daughter, how disappointed he'd get that he couldn't get a visible reaction out of me. I'd write about how he'd kick, hit and say mean things to my dog. I'd write about just how glorious it was that even though I begged him to, he didn't have the social skills necessary to go out and meet another girl that may be interested in how many gigabytes it takes to make him last longer then 22 seconds in bed, and one who may not be able to resist his lack of charm and wit. I'd write about how empty and lifeless I felt and about how I was digging for the last bit of it in my dog's sorry eyes and the quiet falling snow.
Then one thing led to another and he put my clothes in this crate he'd make me force my dog into so that he wouldn't "be in his way" and left it on the front porch. He all but used his hand to beat me off the porch when I was picking it up. And so when I write all this, it sounds really sad. And I cried a lot that day and night, I did. I missed my daughter, I missed the fact that I couldn't make it work... again. That I really truly couldn't bring myself to fall in love with this thing that I picked to father my only child. I cried because he has family to fall back on and I cried because his life isn't any sort of a financial catastrophe and because in that crate was nothing of my daughter's. It was just me... and so I cried. And I still cry and it's been almost a month. Actually, a month today.
It's 4:26 am and I think I'm going to go smoke another cigarette. Maybe have another cappuccino out of that fancy little productivity machine we have, and then maybe I'll take my dog home, jump in the shower, and get dressed and get pretty for Tuesday. I like Miss Tuesday... I think today, Miss Tuesday and I are gonna get along just fine and she'll bring with her something extravagantly, extraordinarily delightful and perhaps I'll sleep sometime before she leaves me in 21 hours and 33 minutes.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The "X Chronicles" 101
At one point in life, I proclaimed that if I don't spill, I may explode. I started spilling on a MySpace blog and... well... MySpace is just a child's game and so I nixed that whole idea for something a bit more wholesome: a diary. I kept a diary forever and ever, and then this whole big huge thing happened and it went something along the lines of I-Now-Live-With-My-Ex-Husband-To-Avoid-Splitting-Custody and my ex-mother-in-law discovered my little black book. Now... what you, the reader, need to understand is that this woman is ALWAYS nice, and I could tell by the ever-so-slight decrease in her niceness, that something negative took place and that I was not supposed to find out about it. So now I am opting for a more discreet spill but a hearty one while at it, and I do solemnly swear to realize that if this spill were to be discovered, it will wreak havoc and cause mass destruction of catastrophic measures... But here we go anyway:
My name is Ms. Ex and I am steadily strolling the path to a Jerry Springer show. I'm 26, thin, witty and attractive, and in my luggage here are an ex-husband and a little daughter. I've never lived in a trailer, collected welfare, or child support, and I consider myself to hold very high standards for all things in life. With that being said, I feel it acceptable to move on with my intro story here.
A few years ago, I came to a very important conclusion that I couldn't force myself to fall in love with Mr. Ex and that the marriage we had needed to be dissolved, and the sooner the better. How did we get married? Well, you see, I met a little man named Mister Jello Shot. Mister Jello Shot decided to jump into my mouth with Mr. Ex following closely into my pants, and lo and behold, I was pregnant. Now... I didn't know that this really happens quite often since I'd led somewhat of a sheltered life, but when I told my mother she immediately screamed "marriage" and off we went to a little room with a big shiny label that said "Marriage Licenses" and then and there we were married, I in blue jeans and a brown shirt, and he in who cares what. Oh, yes... a blue button-up shirt and jeans. The marriage cost $15-seriously. Since I had already been pregnant, I didn't have any liquor and we went home and resumed our lives as a "married" couple, me with a growing belly and a growing dislike for this thing I married, and he with a growing video-game collection.
I've always made these tragic mistakes in all my relationships... I was always the perfect girlfriend. I cooked, I cleaned, I took part and interest in their hobbies, their tastes, I compromised, I gave freedom, I could hold a conversation about a subject I had absolutely no idea about, and all of this while still standing my ground and not backing down for anything or anyone, but politely so. Add to that the fact that animals, children, and parents, as well as elders always adored me. I've never had a clean break-up... I've never had a relationship I wanted to be in. It was always just a place I found myself and stayed in order not to hurt anyone's feelings. I'd eventually start feeling trapped and flee only to end up being stalked or otherwise inconvenienced by guilt or calls to my parents. And so... I'm 26 years old. I have a great job, I have a great sense of style, I'm witty, pretty and funny, and I've never been in love. But I do have a daughter that I love more then life itself and a dog that follows closely behind. And an ex-husband whom I live with and an ex-boyfriend that's been stalking me for 6 years.
So now that you know all that, you should see that I divorced Mister Ex simply because I couldn't fall in love with him and could no longer pretend to love him. I figured that I'd be happier with my daughter alone, but I swear that this man promised someone that he was going to make my life miserable with or without him, and so he decided that he'd pursue the fact by insisting we split custody. I couldn't stand to be alone, I rode the depression train for three whole years, every other week, and after three years decided that it wasn't worth it and that we could live together and that I could stand him in order to see my daughter every day.
I vowed and I swore, and I WILL do it. But if I don't spill, I will surely explode. And if I explode... well, that just wouldn't be any good. So here is a start to the "X-Chronicles", this little place in cyberspace where I can gather these random acts of insanity and never kindness into one handy little page to help me remember the ways I passed my youth, the lessons I aimed to learn, and the pricks and thorns that came along.
P.S. - Pardon any gramattical errors, English isn't my first language.
P.P.S. - I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I will writing it.
My name is Ms. Ex and I am steadily strolling the path to a Jerry Springer show. I'm 26, thin, witty and attractive, and in my luggage here are an ex-husband and a little daughter. I've never lived in a trailer, collected welfare, or child support, and I consider myself to hold very high standards for all things in life. With that being said, I feel it acceptable to move on with my intro story here.
A few years ago, I came to a very important conclusion that I couldn't force myself to fall in love with Mr. Ex and that the marriage we had needed to be dissolved, and the sooner the better. How did we get married? Well, you see, I met a little man named Mister Jello Shot. Mister Jello Shot decided to jump into my mouth with Mr. Ex following closely into my pants, and lo and behold, I was pregnant. Now... I didn't know that this really happens quite often since I'd led somewhat of a sheltered life, but when I told my mother she immediately screamed "marriage" and off we went to a little room with a big shiny label that said "Marriage Licenses" and then and there we were married, I in blue jeans and a brown shirt, and he in who cares what. Oh, yes... a blue button-up shirt and jeans. The marriage cost $15-seriously. Since I had already been pregnant, I didn't have any liquor and we went home and resumed our lives as a "married" couple, me with a growing belly and a growing dislike for this thing I married, and he with a growing video-game collection.
I've always made these tragic mistakes in all my relationships... I was always the perfect girlfriend. I cooked, I cleaned, I took part and interest in their hobbies, their tastes, I compromised, I gave freedom, I could hold a conversation about a subject I had absolutely no idea about, and all of this while still standing my ground and not backing down for anything or anyone, but politely so. Add to that the fact that animals, children, and parents, as well as elders always adored me. I've never had a clean break-up... I've never had a relationship I wanted to be in. It was always just a place I found myself and stayed in order not to hurt anyone's feelings. I'd eventually start feeling trapped and flee only to end up being stalked or otherwise inconvenienced by guilt or calls to my parents. And so... I'm 26 years old. I have a great job, I have a great sense of style, I'm witty, pretty and funny, and I've never been in love. But I do have a daughter that I love more then life itself and a dog that follows closely behind. And an ex-husband whom I live with and an ex-boyfriend that's been stalking me for 6 years.
So now that you know all that, you should see that I divorced Mister Ex simply because I couldn't fall in love with him and could no longer pretend to love him. I figured that I'd be happier with my daughter alone, but I swear that this man promised someone that he was going to make my life miserable with or without him, and so he decided that he'd pursue the fact by insisting we split custody. I couldn't stand to be alone, I rode the depression train for three whole years, every other week, and after three years decided that it wasn't worth it and that we could live together and that I could stand him in order to see my daughter every day.
I vowed and I swore, and I WILL do it. But if I don't spill, I will surely explode. And if I explode... well, that just wouldn't be any good. So here is a start to the "X-Chronicles", this little place in cyberspace where I can gather these random acts of insanity and never kindness into one handy little page to help me remember the ways I passed my youth, the lessons I aimed to learn, and the pricks and thorns that came along.
P.S. - Pardon any gramattical errors, English isn't my first language.
P.P.S. - I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I will writing it.
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