On Saturday, I am relatively certain I nearly died.
I went to Target, and feeling in a particularly cheery mood, I bought AC a Barney DVD, dropping a whole $4.75 on this prize. Previously, Barney had been banned in our home, and I took pride in the fact that AC had never seen Barney...or so I thought. When I presented her with the DVD, she shrieked, "Oh! Barney!", so it appears someone in our inner circle has been breaking the Barney-free rule.
She insisted that we immediately watch Barney, and we climbed into the "Big Bed". Previous to my separation from AC's baby daddy, we had been sleeping apart, and in our small house, this was accomplished by me sleeping in an air bed in the living room. AC grew quite attached to what she called the "Big Bed", so sadly, it has become a permanent fixture in our living room. Very high class. It makes me quite eager to invite others over, be it friends or dates.
While lying in the Big Bed, AC became so engrossed in Barney that she began kicking me in the head. I told her to stop kicking me, and rolled onto my side, to prevent the unfortunate kick to the face. She continued kicking the back of my head. As I was on the brink of losing my patience, I told her she had a choice: I would stay in the Big Bed and cuddle with her if she quit kicking, or I would sit on the couch. She pointed at the couch.
I plopped myself down on the couch, and pulled out my iPhone, so I could work on my imaginary social life, the one that exists primarily through Internet contact only. Suddenly, I felt a strange feeling in my chest, like my heart bottomed out. I suspected a severe heart palpitation, and stayed put. I then started getting dizzy and lightheaded, and started to suspect that I might actually pass out. Up until this point, I had never actually "passed out" before. Sure, there might have been a night or two in my younger days that I don't actually remember going to bed, which could be considered "passing out", in an alcoholic sense. But I'd never physically passed out.
Meanwhile, AC hopped off the Big Bed and began demanding that I get a puzzle that was on the fireplace mantle. I did so, hoping that if I walked, the feeling would disappear. It did not. My last memory was that of sitting back down on the couch, and AC stuffing a green octogon puzzle piece in my face.
In my lack-of-oxygen stupor, I stumbled to get my estranged husband, who happened to be at my house, because he'd picked AC up from my mother's house. He was in the bathroom, removing ear wax from his ears. No joke.
On my way to get him to tell him I needed an ambulence, I blacked out. I have no memory, except that of everything going black. When I came to again, I was aware of blackness and of the room spinning...and of Barney, happily singing, "I love you...you love me...we're a happy fam-i-ly..."
Once I managed to get to the bathroom, I knocked on the door, and was again reminded of the reasons that my husband and I were never a happy fam-i-ly: he stood there, and insisted I did not need an ambulence. I had to beg him to call the ambulence, which fortunately, he did.
When the ambulence arrived at the house, he did not wait for the first responders to come to me. Instead, he shoved me out the door. Fortunately, one of the first responders walked me to the ambulence, because I could barely breathe. Upon getting myself into the ambulence cot, sure that this would be my last memory of life on earth, I heard a voice say, "Oh, hi Jen..." What?!? Not being a religious person, I thought, oh no...it's my higher power coming for me...I really am dying...
But naturally, in my small town, I WOULD have to know the ambulence guy, wouldn't I? I was mortified to see that it was an, *a-hem*, close friend of a friend, whom I've seen on a social basis. After determining that my heart was beating at 230 bpm, my buddy put in IV in me that resulted in my blood spurting all over me and him. Not cute. Guess that time he jokingly suggested a three-way with our mutual friend just ain't gonna happen...
By the time I arrived at the hospital, my condition had stablized and the doctors and nurses treated me as though I was a freak of nature. Had the first responders not presented the readout that showed my heart beating at 230 bpm, I doubt they would've believed it. After my chest x-ray, blood labs and EKG all showed normal, I was sent home and told to call my doctor, to see what would come next.
The next day, I saw the movie, "The Men Who Stare at Goats". I'd so looked forward to seeing this, as I love George Clooney and, obviously, I love dark, sarcastic humor. It was a terrible disappointment. The irony? The end result of the movie was the report that Iraqi prisoners held as POWs were forced to listen to Barney sing, "I love you...you love me...we're a happy fam-i-ly..."
Lesson learned: should you hear this melody, run for your life. It is the theme song of both heart failure and Iraqi imprisonment.
Showing posts with label separation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label separation. Show all posts
Monday, November 16, 2009
...And I Don't Even Know His Last Name...
It's been a while since I last posted, for so many reasons...I forget. I work too hard at a job that pays me too little. I get run like a racehorse by a two-and-a-half year old child. I am terrified of cruel criticisms by strangers or stalkers. But after my nagging--err, encouragement--from my many Facebook groupies, I decided that if I ever want to be successful, I better get back to this blogging business of mine, and prove that I can actually put the money where my mouth is.
In early October, I separated from AC's baby daddy. It wasn't really that hard of a decision, considering I had not been happily married for roughly six-and-a-half years of my seven year marriage. This was a no-brainer type of decision, and over these rocky years, I have come to the conclusion that there is no one on the face of the earth who is actually happily married. The ones who claim they are, are probably lying to save face. It's like when I am at work, and someone says, in a saddened voice, "But don't you just miss AC so much when you are here?" Naturally, I have to answer yes, to avoid the stigma of being labeled a socially unacceptable mother and human being, but really, inside I am thinking, hell no, I don't miss that kid. Are you kidding me? Coming to work full-time allows me to avoid the realities of living with a toddler, like being kicked in the face, having my home destroyed piece by piece, and digging sticker residue out of the ceramic tile grout in my kitchen.
At any rate, as soon as I got AC's baby daddy out of my house, I was anxious to begin to date again. I figured I wasn't looking for a replacement baby daddy--lord only knows I learned that lesson once, the hard way--but rather just some casual dating. When I was at the age where people typically "casually date", there was no such thing for me. I dated only for the purpose of securing a husband. If a boy did not show husband potential, forget it. And for sure I would never put out on a first date, a second date--maybe not even a third date!--because girls who put out don't land husbands. Alas, I figured at 31, this re-entrance into the dating world would be terrific, because I am certainly not looking for a husband, and at this point, the joke is up: I was married for seven years and have a child. Everyone knows I put out. Why not take advantage of this new world?
The first problem is that I needed to find a date, as quickly as possible. In a matter of days after my separation, I decided that I needed to pursue online dating--what I saw as the quickest means to an end. No risk-taking in having to go out to bars to find a man, no time-wasting in waiting for these dates to come around. Within a couple of days, I got a nod of interest from a boy the same age as me, and I read through his profile. I was easily able to figure out what he was up to: there's a large number of temporary workers in my town right now, working on the pipeline. No question this was a "piper", in town for only three months. But I thought, why not? Pipers are known around town for their united slogan of "wine, dine and pipeline", so I figured I could take advantage and get some free dinners and maybe some gifts and possible some good, old-fashioned, Southern boy sex.
Upon our online conversations, the Piper did not disclose his name until I asked for it. When he told me, I was so mortified that I could not even save him in my phone with his real name--it was simply too unacceptable for northern Minnesota culture. I had to tag him as "Pipeliner" in my contact list, because even to have THAT name in my phone would signal social doom, in my conservative, professional circle.
When the Piper called me for the first time, I was stunned to silence. His Texas accent was horrific, very near to speaking to someone who uses a foreign language. He sounded so ignorant that when his profile said he had a "graduate degree", I became certain that by "graduate", he actually meant "high school graduate". Alas, my friends told me to give the guy a chance, because he probably found my Midwest accent grating as well, so I should not judge him based on that alone.
Piper and I agreed to meet for dinner and margaritas at a local Mexican restaurant. Because this was my first "date" in eight years, I had to spring for the new date outfit, and I thought I looked damn cute. So cute, in fact, that when my estranged husband just happened to drive by the restaurant as I was walking in, he later told me that his thoughts were, "Hey, who is that hot chick walking down the street? Oh sh!t...that's my wife!"
Now, I've never had a one-night stand before, but I figured that I was good and entitled to one, after living an entire lifetime without this experience. So, all afternoon, before I left for my date, I geared myself up for the sinful act I was about to commit: sex is an act, not an emotion; sex is an act, not an emotion; sex is an act, not an emotion...
When I met Piper at the bar, he was hot. Not white collar hot. Naughty boy hot, with lots of visible tattoos and earrings. I was instantly attracted. Now this was the perfect candidate for my one-night stand goal. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, I realized I needed to get him home as quickly as possible. His favorite word was "motherf*cker". Over and over and over. At least every other sentence, if not more. Motherf*cker.
The quicker I removed him from a public place where I could be spotted with someone like this and potentially ruin all of my social standing that I have worked so hard to maintain, the better. So, Piper and I went back to his place, to watch a movie. I thought, SCORE! Back in my young days, "come back to my place to watch a movie" actually meant "come back to my place to get it on."
On the drive, he told me of his two children, one named after him. Piper Junior. The other, with a nickname used in a Reba MacIntyre song, when the song's character is turned into a prostitute. The children had two different baby mamas, the first his high school sweetheart, an understandable choice. The second? In the words of Piper, "Some f*ck buddy who wanted to have a kid so I married her and got her pregnant. We were married for 10 months, so I got married and divorced in the same year!"
Upon arrival at Piper's residence, it was obvious that his truck cost more than his home. Worse yet, upon entering the home, a mouse skittered across the floor: an honest to goodness mouse. I still question if this was a mouse or a rat, having not actually ever seen a mouse in real life, apart from the zoo and the pet store. The mouse seemed to have an awfully long tail, and it seemed to have no real concerns over being observed by humans, which leads me to believe that there was a strong possibility that it was a rat. It took up residence next to a glass door, happily munching on crumbs. Admitedly, I had never been on a date involving the viewing of rodents, either caged or in a natural state. This should've been a warning.
Piper decided that he wanted to watch the new Will Ferrell movie out on DVD. I found it ridiculous. He laughed at all the inappropriate moments, in between conversing with me about what a "funny motherf*cker" that Will Ferrell is. At this point, I just wanted to get down to business. In my mind, I was there for one reason, and one reason only: I needed to get laid for the first time following my marriage.
Things were not looking promising as far as reaching my goal, and my hopes were diminished even more when he explained that he had to work late that day, and had to choose between washing his truck or taking a shower before our date. He chose to wash his truck.
After fielding text messages from my friends wanting to know how my date was going, I asked Piper to bring me back to my car. On the drive, he cranked up his Garth Brooks and sang along, as loudly as possible. I am a conservative sorta girl. I prefer that my dates communicate with me and show interest, rather than scream along to country western tunes, particularly on the first date.
When he walked me back to my car, Piper pulled his sweet Southern boy act, and kissed me on the cheek, before waiting until I turned and he really kissed me. By really kissed me, I mean "jammed his tongue down my throat while I attempted to back up to save myself from accidental choking." However, as a girl who just got her first "first kiss" in eight years, I decided I could forgive the fact that he cohabitated with mice, said "motherf*cker" every other sentence and would be socially unacceptable for any social gathering I could possibly attend. I figured I'd keep him as my dirty little secret.
Piper made plans to see me again, but thanks to my custody arrangement, that would not happen until the following Friday. I suggested a casual yet quaint brewhouse-style restaurant. He informed me that he only drank Coors Lite, not homebrews. Again, this was a fact that I was willing to overlook, because as a frequent patron of the brewhouse, at least I did not have to be seen with a man who said "motherf*cker", as though he had Tourette's.
Two days later, Piper sent me a text message: "Thought about it, and you just are not my type. Sorry." Huh. Well, as a newly-single girl, I am ashamed to admit that I cried over this rejection. Yes, I cried over a man who was so socially unacceptable that I could not be seen in public with him. I could not introduce him to my friends, coworkers or family. Yet, I cried over my "rejection". In my own defense, I was overly tired because AC had been sick, and I had just spent the past 48 hours covered in vomit, so I was feeling especially vulnerable.
After I got over the sting of my first rejection, I got to laughing about Piper. I mean...seriously? I was upset over the loss of this prize? First, who has to "think about" if you are his type or not? Second, in what region is "motherf*cker" a socially acceptable term? Third, I never even knew the guy's last name. If it was anything like his first name, I was pretty sure I didn't want to, either.
I wasted my cute Silver date jeans on him. I wasted my coordinated collection of Philosophy Amazing Grace products on him. I wasted four valuable hours out of my life on him. But at least I didn't waste a condom on him.
In early October, I separated from AC's baby daddy. It wasn't really that hard of a decision, considering I had not been happily married for roughly six-and-a-half years of my seven year marriage. This was a no-brainer type of decision, and over these rocky years, I have come to the conclusion that there is no one on the face of the earth who is actually happily married. The ones who claim they are, are probably lying to save face. It's like when I am at work, and someone says, in a saddened voice, "But don't you just miss AC so much when you are here?" Naturally, I have to answer yes, to avoid the stigma of being labeled a socially unacceptable mother and human being, but really, inside I am thinking, hell no, I don't miss that kid. Are you kidding me? Coming to work full-time allows me to avoid the realities of living with a toddler, like being kicked in the face, having my home destroyed piece by piece, and digging sticker residue out of the ceramic tile grout in my kitchen.
At any rate, as soon as I got AC's baby daddy out of my house, I was anxious to begin to date again. I figured I wasn't looking for a replacement baby daddy--lord only knows I learned that lesson once, the hard way--but rather just some casual dating. When I was at the age where people typically "casually date", there was no such thing for me. I dated only for the purpose of securing a husband. If a boy did not show husband potential, forget it. And for sure I would never put out on a first date, a second date--maybe not even a third date!--because girls who put out don't land husbands. Alas, I figured at 31, this re-entrance into the dating world would be terrific, because I am certainly not looking for a husband, and at this point, the joke is up: I was married for seven years and have a child. Everyone knows I put out. Why not take advantage of this new world?
The first problem is that I needed to find a date, as quickly as possible. In a matter of days after my separation, I decided that I needed to pursue online dating--what I saw as the quickest means to an end. No risk-taking in having to go out to bars to find a man, no time-wasting in waiting for these dates to come around. Within a couple of days, I got a nod of interest from a boy the same age as me, and I read through his profile. I was easily able to figure out what he was up to: there's a large number of temporary workers in my town right now, working on the pipeline. No question this was a "piper", in town for only three months. But I thought, why not? Pipers are known around town for their united slogan of "wine, dine and pipeline", so I figured I could take advantage and get some free dinners and maybe some gifts and possible some good, old-fashioned, Southern boy sex.
Upon our online conversations, the Piper did not disclose his name until I asked for it. When he told me, I was so mortified that I could not even save him in my phone with his real name--it was simply too unacceptable for northern Minnesota culture. I had to tag him as "Pipeliner" in my contact list, because even to have THAT name in my phone would signal social doom, in my conservative, professional circle.
When the Piper called me for the first time, I was stunned to silence. His Texas accent was horrific, very near to speaking to someone who uses a foreign language. He sounded so ignorant that when his profile said he had a "graduate degree", I became certain that by "graduate", he actually meant "high school graduate". Alas, my friends told me to give the guy a chance, because he probably found my Midwest accent grating as well, so I should not judge him based on that alone.
Piper and I agreed to meet for dinner and margaritas at a local Mexican restaurant. Because this was my first "date" in eight years, I had to spring for the new date outfit, and I thought I looked damn cute. So cute, in fact, that when my estranged husband just happened to drive by the restaurant as I was walking in, he later told me that his thoughts were, "Hey, who is that hot chick walking down the street? Oh sh!t...that's my wife!"
Now, I've never had a one-night stand before, but I figured that I was good and entitled to one, after living an entire lifetime without this experience. So, all afternoon, before I left for my date, I geared myself up for the sinful act I was about to commit: sex is an act, not an emotion; sex is an act, not an emotion; sex is an act, not an emotion...
When I met Piper at the bar, he was hot. Not white collar hot. Naughty boy hot, with lots of visible tattoos and earrings. I was instantly attracted. Now this was the perfect candidate for my one-night stand goal. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, I realized I needed to get him home as quickly as possible. His favorite word was "motherf*cker". Over and over and over. At least every other sentence, if not more. Motherf*cker.
The quicker I removed him from a public place where I could be spotted with someone like this and potentially ruin all of my social standing that I have worked so hard to maintain, the better. So, Piper and I went back to his place, to watch a movie. I thought, SCORE! Back in my young days, "come back to my place to watch a movie" actually meant "come back to my place to get it on."
On the drive, he told me of his two children, one named after him. Piper Junior. The other, with a nickname used in a Reba MacIntyre song, when the song's character is turned into a prostitute. The children had two different baby mamas, the first his high school sweetheart, an understandable choice. The second? In the words of Piper, "Some f*ck buddy who wanted to have a kid so I married her and got her pregnant. We were married for 10 months, so I got married and divorced in the same year!"
Upon arrival at Piper's residence, it was obvious that his truck cost more than his home. Worse yet, upon entering the home, a mouse skittered across the floor: an honest to goodness mouse. I still question if this was a mouse or a rat, having not actually ever seen a mouse in real life, apart from the zoo and the pet store. The mouse seemed to have an awfully long tail, and it seemed to have no real concerns over being observed by humans, which leads me to believe that there was a strong possibility that it was a rat. It took up residence next to a glass door, happily munching on crumbs. Admitedly, I had never been on a date involving the viewing of rodents, either caged or in a natural state. This should've been a warning.
Piper decided that he wanted to watch the new Will Ferrell movie out on DVD. I found it ridiculous. He laughed at all the inappropriate moments, in between conversing with me about what a "funny motherf*cker" that Will Ferrell is. At this point, I just wanted to get down to business. In my mind, I was there for one reason, and one reason only: I needed to get laid for the first time following my marriage.
Things were not looking promising as far as reaching my goal, and my hopes were diminished even more when he explained that he had to work late that day, and had to choose between washing his truck or taking a shower before our date. He chose to wash his truck.
After fielding text messages from my friends wanting to know how my date was going, I asked Piper to bring me back to my car. On the drive, he cranked up his Garth Brooks and sang along, as loudly as possible. I am a conservative sorta girl. I prefer that my dates communicate with me and show interest, rather than scream along to country western tunes, particularly on the first date.
When he walked me back to my car, Piper pulled his sweet Southern boy act, and kissed me on the cheek, before waiting until I turned and he really kissed me. By really kissed me, I mean "jammed his tongue down my throat while I attempted to back up to save myself from accidental choking." However, as a girl who just got her first "first kiss" in eight years, I decided I could forgive the fact that he cohabitated with mice, said "motherf*cker" every other sentence and would be socially unacceptable for any social gathering I could possibly attend. I figured I'd keep him as my dirty little secret.
Piper made plans to see me again, but thanks to my custody arrangement, that would not happen until the following Friday. I suggested a casual yet quaint brewhouse-style restaurant. He informed me that he only drank Coors Lite, not homebrews. Again, this was a fact that I was willing to overlook, because as a frequent patron of the brewhouse, at least I did not have to be seen with a man who said "motherf*cker", as though he had Tourette's.
Two days later, Piper sent me a text message: "Thought about it, and you just are not my type. Sorry." Huh. Well, as a newly-single girl, I am ashamed to admit that I cried over this rejection. Yes, I cried over a man who was so socially unacceptable that I could not be seen in public with him. I could not introduce him to my friends, coworkers or family. Yet, I cried over my "rejection". In my own defense, I was overly tired because AC had been sick, and I had just spent the past 48 hours covered in vomit, so I was feeling especially vulnerable.
After I got over the sting of my first rejection, I got to laughing about Piper. I mean...seriously? I was upset over the loss of this prize? First, who has to "think about" if you are his type or not? Second, in what region is "motherf*cker" a socially acceptable term? Third, I never even knew the guy's last name. If it was anything like his first name, I was pretty sure I didn't want to, either.
I wasted my cute Silver date jeans on him. I wasted my coordinated collection of Philosophy Amazing Grace products on him. I wasted four valuable hours out of my life on him. But at least I didn't waste a condom on him.
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