Screwed, Blued, and Tattooed

The other day, a friend relayed a message to me from her friend, "Pat". Sadly, Pat is an addict who fell off the wagon and will now be serving time for crimes related to her relapse. Although she probably won't be able to read it in prison, she wanted me to know that my blog had kept her going during some of her dark times recently. It's weird to think that my self-indulgent little pastime has any sort of impact on another person, but it makes blogging feel a bit less selfish. If I can bring a smile to someone's face I kind of have to, right? With no further ado, then, here's a post that's all about me, but not in a self-centered way. :)

Surprise!

This is the grill of the Mack truck that just smacked into me head-on a few hours ago. Metaphorically, that is. In an extremely rare turn of events, MathMercy is speechless. I literally have no words. Please help.

Hypothetical to the scores of scorneds out there: How would you react if you were informed that your ex was coming back from the other side of the country, and that you had something - however small - to do with it? Think about it for a second. Now really think about it. Do you have your response in mind? Good. Hold onto that thought. Let's continue.

Are you feeling vindicated in the knowledge that you were right? Are you feeling at all pissed that your ex has the audacity to pop back into your brain and your life when you have finally rediscovered yourself and realized that you will never be yourself with him, or probably anyone else? Are you imagining what you would say if a mutual friend said your ex wanted to meet up with you?Are you fantasizing about the things you would say to said ex's face if you happened to bump into said ex at some event? Are you feeling perhaps just a little too much glee that everything is going right for you and not so much for him?

So, I have this friend. Let's call her, um...MythMary. These are her reactions to the hypothetical situation above: Um, I don't want to be all, like, "told you so", but who didn't know that moving away with your mistress/rebound wasn't going to work out? What a jerk.  I just hope his friends let him know that he has nothing to gain by contacting me, as I have nothing to say to him...except maybe "told you so". Ha. Told you so. 

As you can imagine, MathMary MythMercy Myth...screw it...MathMercy is extremely grateful to her multiple sources. Yes, moles, you can rest easy in the knowledge that you were not the only one to warn me, so no one has to know I heard it from you. I am eternally grateful that you all tried to warn me of the blindside. Armed with good intel, I felt I was prepared to know that my ex-husband was living in the same state as me within the next couple weeks. Now I can avoid unpleasant surprises. No drama, no sweat.

Okay, new hypothetical: How would you react if your ex started texting you from the road on his epic drive "home"? What the FUCK?!?! 

In the first hypothetical, did you ever imagine that your ex would actually contact you? It never occurred to me. What if the things he said were all things to which your only response would make you look like an asshole? You know this is not your home, right? Yep, you are a coward. Of course I was right - you don't have to tell me. Sorry it didn't work out for you, but my life is honestly a whole lot better now, so thanks for leaving. As far as I'm concerned, he doesn't have the right to use my name and/or phone number anymore, but I'm not really enough of a bitch to tell him that while he's driving cross-country with his tail between his legs. I haven't replied yet. What would you do?

Up In Smoke

You know what awesome thing I did last night? Burned the pages of the stupid journal my dissolution counselor made me write. Poof! All that negativity gone because I will never need to revisit those thoughts again. I even closed my eyes as I ripped out the pages so I couldn't see what they said. 

Burn, baby, burn!

Secrets

I am now a member of a not-so-exclusive club, as my divorce became legally final yesterday. It has been over, dead, final, muerto, finito, erledict in my head for so long that Monday was really not that significant. However, it is nice to have the book completely closed.

About a month after he-whose-name-shall-not-be-spoken left me, a friend from high school posted an elegant, yet heartbreaking, status on Facebook announcing her separation/divorce. As soon as I read it, I sent her a private message thanking her for her bravery, as I was still trying to screw up the courage to make my own situation public. Today I was humbled to receive a private message that was virtually identical to the one I had sent a few months before. The sender told me that her husband had left and they were filing for divorce, and she thanked me for writing and sharing my experiences. As I wrote my reply, I started wondering: Why is it that we (women, in my experience, but probably the same for some men) feel we have to keep our separation a secret? I don't have the answers, just my own secrets to tell.

I sincerely enjoyed being a wife, and I thought I was pretty good at it. When my ex announced (pretty much out of the blue) that he didn't want to be married anymore, I felt like a failure. Shame crippled me for a long time. I felt I couldn't confide in anyone that knew both of us (like 120 mutual Facebook friends) because they would judge him or me, and I was still trying to protect him and the image I had of my perfect marriage. Honestly, it was a relief to find out that there was another woman. It helped me to separate myself from the situation long enough to finally get angry. Oh boy, did I get angry. I was furious, and it actually felt pretty great to just let myself go and yell and curse and kick stuff. It turns out processing divorce really does require you to go through all the stages of grief, and I was getting hung up on step 1 (Denial).

If you only know me from reading this blog, you might not know that I am a painfully shy and fiercely private person. I have no problem letting on that I'm happy, but allowing myself to feel and, certainly, to express anger/sadness/depression just isn't done. I believe that you can choose to be happy or not, and I choose to be happy. (Can you say Gemini?) Just slap on a smile, tell a joke, and wait for the shit to roll off your back. It usually works great, but it turns out that some stuff doesn't roll off, it just gets bottled up deep, deep down inside. Our divorce counselor (yeah, most couples go to counseling before one party decides to leave, and that's probably a better idea) gave me an assignment to contact at least one person every day, even if it was just to say hi. It was a challenge and I wasn't really able to do it every day (I just don't like to impose on people that much), but it was honestly REALLY good advice. It took a while for me to open up publicly, but I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the flood of love and support I've received since I started talking. One thing that I've learned through this process is that I have amazing friends and family members who have been waiting for me to open up to them; to ask for help or just tell them when I'm feeling blue. I don't think I would ever be able to do that last bit, but I don't need to. For the past couple months, I have genuinely been happier than I can remember being for a long time. Writing the blog as a public confessional has been pretty damn therapeutic for me. Tough, but therapeutic.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Don't keep too many secrets, especially from yourself. You are not alone. Don't feel guilty or ashamed. Let yourself get angry. Reach out to people. You don't have to pour out your soul, but call up a friend that you haven't seen for a long time and ask her out to lunch. Call up a different friend tomorrow. It will get easier. There will come a day when you wake up with nothing but joy in your heart. Embrace it. Confess the dark secrets and keep the delicious ones. I have a couple secrets that make me smile. Those are the ones worth holding on to, really.

Sorry for the downer post. Here's something lighter:

According to this ad from Facebook, there is but one startling secret preventing me from having millionaires begging (BEGGING!) to marry me. What's that you say? Just ONE startling secret stands between me and my lifelong dream of being a gold digger?! Oh wow. Just let me grab a pencil so I can take notes. Whew, the sarcasm is getting thick over here.

I'll end with this because I know the song is already stuck in your head. You are welcome.

Introduction

After 13 years with the same man, I suddenly found myself divorced. Shock and devastation are gone and I'm starting to see that I have been given a new opportunity to shape myself and my future. While I'm not ready to jump into any kind of relationship yet, I have decided to put myself out there and see what dating in the 21st century looks like. Having never really dated before, I'm treating this as a grand experiment. I created this blog to document my adventures in middle-aged dating.

So here I am: a nearly 40, menopausal, divorced, workaholic. I know that sounds super hot, but back off boys. I can only date one at a time! I created an online dating profile at Plenty of Fish and am slowly learning the ropes of internet dating. 

I would like to start with a few observations: 

1. I don't care how sexy you are. If you can't take the time to proofread and spell-check your dating profile, I won't give you a second look. Yep, I totally pull out the mental red pen and correct your grammar.
2. Asking a lady if she is a C or D is not appropriate in your first contact. (Too bad for you, dude. You will never get to see these Ds!)
3. Explaining how you spent a few years in prison for robbing a McDonald's might not be the best choice for the "About Me" section of your profile. Just saying.
4. If you're 61 years old and mark me as a "favorite"...that's just creepy. 

Having said all that, I have communicated with a few men who seem perfectly nice. Also, it is pretty flattering to have multiple men say they want to meet me. It's entirely possible that I'm only doing this for my ego. That's okay, right?