F-ing paperwork

In my haste to go through documents and pictures, tearing me out of the ones I let him have, sometimes, I think I gave him all the tax records.


Why did I do that?

Now I need them for my financial affidavit and I FOR SURE don’t want to ask him for anything.  I have a few more places to look, but spending all this time and not getting what I need, is making me cranky.

I’m one of those people who saves things.


I used to work with someone who said a prayer to St. Anthony when she lost something.  She would always, then, find it.  No shit.  She would offer to say it for you, if you wanted her to.

That’s an option I guess.

Moving crankily on



Shocker…to no one but him


A co-worker of mine, but mostly friend, came to my desk about 9:15 after I came in from a doctor’s appointment last Thursday, and said she heard my X “-” was asked to resign. He is a commissioner of a department in our state government.  He is only in year two or three of a six-year term.

She heard it at Zumba.

Why?  Did someone tell on him?  Do they finally know he’s been seeing one of his employees, living with her, in fact, and her three school-aged children?  Do they know they succumbed to their passion for each other on a departmental trip?  Is that it, or something else?

The Zumba mole said the rumors were that he and his girlfriend went on an unauthorized “business” trip together.  Apparently it’s scandalous over there.  The gf stopped working for him a month or two ago and got a position at a place where they met originally, about eight years ago.

There was a cryptic article in an obscure online news source that detailed how “-” and his lawyer came to see the governor, had a meeting, then the lawyer “whisked” “-” away.  Hmmm…very crime drama-ish.  Since I made such a point of not hearing about his life, I don’t know anything concrete about this, just the rumor.

Then my boss heard similar gossip at something he attended.

I finally emailed “-” and said I couldn’t sign a pending home equity loan modification because of the rumors that he had lost his job.  He wrote back that wile he wouldn’t “respond to rumors…” it was a fact that the governor accepted his resignation.

Well, that’s one way to spin it, I guess.



He had asked me to keep it quite when he told me about his girlfriend last March.  He said if people found out, he could lose his job.  If he lost his job, there would be no vestment of his retirement money (vesting was scheduled for 4/16, of which I would get at least half as a parting gift) and our family would lose his income.

Don’t you see how it was really ALL up to me?  No? Me neither.

Oh, and I’m also not supposed to tell our daughter that he’s lost his job until he can tell her in person over Thanksgiving break.  Again, my secret to keep or fuck up.  He knows she has friends with parents who know him and might ask her about it, right?

And all of this isn’t “tawdry.”  He is “just living his life.”

The silver lining:  He has finally agreed to reach out to my lawyer (who he refused to deal with all this time because he didn’t like him) with a divorce settlement proposal he drafted over the summer, but had not shared, because I was “not ready to receive it.”  Gag.  The untamed judgmentalist.

There are other juicy details, and near-emergency issues, but that’s the gist.

To “-“:

Te he, thinking with your dick lost you your family and your prestigious job.  But now, motherfucker, go get another job asap; you have responsibilities.

Moving on

Whoa cowboy…

“The modification agreement is very good.  We both have to sign two originals in front of a notary. Can you meet at our bank some time today to sign?”

– X

Whoa cowboy.  This isn’t the good ole days where when you said, “Jump,” I said “How high?”  My lawyer needs to review it.  I don’t need to go to the bank, and certainly not together.  “Our” bank isn’t even the loan holder.  I can have someone at my office notarize my signature without you and then have you pick it up.  If, in fact, I agree to sign the document.  No face to face is necessary, for chrissakes.

My lawyer has already looked at it, and given me his advice, but…

I don’t see a rush on this little ole thing….


Do you?

Moving on at my own pace

Rumination – We meet again you heartless bitch

Does he really love her?  Does she really love him?  Do they even know each other’s middle names?  Where were they when I drove by their house this morning?  It was quiet with no lights; did they both go on his business trip?  Was it the one to San Francisco?  The one I was promised and dreamed of?  Do they fight?  Does he swear at her in front of her kids?  Do her kids like him?  Will my kids visit him at her, “their,” house for Thanksgiving?  Why doesn’t my happy life help push these thoughts from my head?  Why do they win?  Why am I a bit player in their lives instead of the STAR of my own?  Why me?  Why do I have to go through this?  Why am I still asking these questions this far along?  What’s wrong with me?


Really Gandhi?  Now it’s my fault?  Blame the victim?  Or is it really my fault?  Why am I doing this to myself? Why is this so hard?

I’m so tired.  Fighting the good fight blows.

Ok, I don’t give them permission to hurt me…

Now I’m a LIAR too!

Gotta go to work.

Moving on

I could write about this; instead I’ll write about that

I could write about how I went to my online pharmacy and saw that -‘s medication is being sent to his gf’s address.

I could write about how it dawned on me that the books he ordered for my daughter from Amazon in late August had his gf’s address (and name) as the addressee.

I could write about how when I refused, upon legal advice, to move from the house so he could rent it, he said, “And how do you propose to make up for the shortfall?”  I said that he created this mess and he could figure that out.  I guess he did, by moving in with her and her three children under 12.

I could write about that.


Instead I’ll write about how one of my best friends is coming for dinner Friday night.

She lives quite a way away so she’s staying over.  Why not?

I’ll write about how we added a newer friend of ours to the pj party and she said she’d love to come!

I’ll write about how I keep falling in slow motion toward a warm pool of love with one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

That’s what I’ll write about.

Because if you want the example to be to your son and daughter that you can leave their mother without ending it like a man, starting up with another woman before divorce proceedings have even started, and move into another man’s house, fuck his wife, discipline his children, and benefit from his hard-earned life, that is now being enjoyed by his ex-wife and her new broken man, I’m not the parent to look to.

If you want to be the example that rare people can bring you to your knees, where you take the opportunity to puke out your nausea while you’re closer to the ground, and you somehow pull your way back to standing, connect with your friends and enjoy time together, and not get involved until you are sure the person is caring, loyal, loving, and faithful, you can look to me.

I am that parent.

How long will it take each family member to sort out the truth?

Moving on

Bad mom, bad person – confessions

Will this be good for my soul, or damaging?  Maybe not today, but someday, when this blog gets read by people I talk about.  I’m trying so hard to not be bad, that when I confessed to myself that I am, it was such a relief, and a wayth1H85ALWU to cope at the moment.

You may have read here, or known, that my X is going to my daughter’s college parents’ weekend and toting his girlfriend along, despite my daughter’s request that he not.

Then she called me and whined a little about it, and when I asked how this is happening if she said no, she said she wouldn’t discuss it with me anymore.

So, I’ve been desperately trying to mind my own business, concentrate on the good things in my life, let go of trying to control my daughter’s relationship with her father, but, that is only masking the filthy darkness that flowed down the shower drain in tears this morning (spoiler alert – stop reading if you want to maintain a good image of me, if you have one):

  • I hope the reservation I made to go to parents’ weekend, that I gave to X because he hadn’t made one, and my daughter didn’t want to deal with us both being there, is denied them because it was paid for with my credit card;
  • I hope they can’t find any accommodations (which I hear is typical in that small town and area) and causes strife between X and his 38-year-old girlfriend with three of her own kids she left behind to visit my kid;
  • I hope my daughter freaks out.  I can’t help it; I do.  She hasn’t talked to my X’s girlfriend since she babysat her kids approximately eight years ago, when her dad was married to me.  That has to be awkward, but hey, they’re all asking for it;
  • I hope they don’t do all the things they have planned to do because my daughter pulls out of them.  They’re all things her dad wants to do anyway that she does not;
  • I hope someone calls the girlfriend Mrs. [my last name].  After all, they expect my daughter’s parents;
  • I hope my X tries to call me for the first time in over a month for me to give permission for he and his mistress to use the room I booked and paid for and I ignore the call;
  • I hope he has to resort to asking our daughter to call me, so that maybe I’ll pick up, and I won’t answer her call either;
  • I hope she calls all upset about her choice to appease her dad, and how awful it is, and I don’t answer;
  • I hope she resorts to calling her big brother and then he tries to call me and can’t reach me;
  • I hope X wishes he hadn’t treated me badly;
  • I hope he wishes he had waited to leave until after our daughter graduated from high school, was the star of award ceremonies, went to prom — all the milestones, and moved right after to live in another town before college;
  • I hope she understands that a mistress is no substitute for her mother;
  • I hope they all cry like I did this morning in the shower.

It’s been nice knowing ya…