I live in a middle-sized city in northeastern Minnesota. It's small enough to be cliquish and gossipy, and not big enough to be considered urban or at all hip.
Because of the relative smallness of the area, the local newspaper prints "Matters of Record". Matters of Record consist of court reports for trivial misdemeanor crimes, property sale transactions, bankruptcies, and my personal favorite, marriage license applications and divorces.
The marriage license and divorce section only comes once a month, usually the second Friday of the month. Typically, when I grab my newspaper that morning, I remember what day it is, and I briefly get excited, because there's sometimes little else to be excited about in my life. Ten years ago, I would've been more interested in the marriage section rather than the divorce section, because no one I knew was getting divorced and everyone I knew was getting married. Now I am far more interested in the divorce section. Not only do I get to see who is just as screwed as me, but occasionally I see the name of someone that I would possibly consider dating once his divorce is final.
January was an especially frustrating month for me, because Friday after Friday passed with no marriage and divorce records. I considered cancelling my newspaper subscription, based on the lack of gossip it was providing me. But the payoff of that is when they did finally print this information, it was two months at once, so there was a lot to review.
As I was scanning the divorce section last week, I was delighted to see the name of an ex best friend. We had been best friends ten years ago, when we worked together at a cell phone store. She was ten years older than me, and in my opinion, the epitome of glamour and fun. She had a bit of a drinking problem, but that suited me just fine, since I was 21 and liked going to bars. Unfortunately, she got three DUIs in a time frame of six months and had to go to jail. It was work-release jail, but nonetheless, it was jail. It was a rough 60 days, having to pick her up and drop her off at the jail each day. Plus, we could never go shopping or out to lunch, because it would seem that "work release" actually requires "working", not shopping or lunching.
After her jail sentence was up, she had three months of house arrest. This was again not great for the social life, but we made do, and I made out with her roommate, the brother of her sister-in-law. A few months after her house arrest ended, she met her future husband. At a bar, natch. Because where else would you meet your prospective life mate?
They had a whirlwind romance, consisting of one unplanned pregnancy, one abortion and one engagement, all over a four-month period. I was the maid of honor at their wedding, and by then, I was engaged to one of the groom's friends. It was a great day, if you exclude the fact that I got car sick on the trolley ride to the reception and that my shoes damn near cut my toes off.
As the months passed, we grew apart. We no longer worked together, so we didn't have that 40-hour-a-week contact. She got pregnant three months after her wedding, so that temporarily curbed her alcoholism. I ended my engagement with her husband's friend so I could date my now ex-husband, causing palpable tension in the group. The last time I saw her was about a week after her son was born, when she stopped by to show him off. He was born three days before their first wedding anniversary.
As the years passed, I'd occasionally see her name in the Matters of Record court section. I saw that she'd gotten a fourth DUI, and that she'd been charged with domestic assault, a story I'd sure like to hear but bet I never will.
About a year ago, I ran into her at the mall. I didn't know that she had a three-year-old daughter. She didn't know that I had a two-year-old daughter. She bragged on and on about her terrific life--her husband's fabulous engineering job, her perfect kids, the house they built, the enhancements she was getting on her already huge engagement ring. I wasn't even wearing my engagement ring, because it was during one of the many brief separations I had with my ex, before we actually got separated. She didn't notice this, and asked how my husband was. I lied and said he was fine.
Over the years, I used to wonder how her husband could deal with her alcoholism and her apparent domestic abuse. After seeing that they are now divorced, I guess I know the answer to that.
So, needless to say, after the impression that her life was perfect just barely a year ago, it did fill me with a sense of delight to see her name in the divorce section, to know that even though she put up a facade, her world was really crumbling around her. Plus, there is always comfort in knowing that other people you know are just as screwed in this world as you are.
Showing posts with label wedding ring. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wedding ring. Show all posts
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Phantom Missing Ring Syndrome
So, yesterday I went to my regular nail salon, because I needed a fill, and I figured since I still have money left from my holiday bonus, I'd get a pedicure, too. Not that anyone sees my toes, mind you, but it was a good way to have a little relaxation in the middle of the work day. It's my version of the "afternoon delight" right now.
One thing I totally hate is being in the presence of really cute girls. I am pretty dang cute myself, but every so often, you encounter one who is so cute that it makes you sit and stew and think about how uncute you are. This is what happened at the nail salon.
As I soaked my feet in the lovely peppermint foot bath, I noted the cute girl. And she was cute: perfect hair, well dressed, extremely tan. And then I realized who she was: it was this girl that used to work at the tanning salon I used, like, 12 years ago. She was really skanky back then, and at the time, we were so young that we were going to "dry night" at the local bars, and she was known for stripping down to her bra. It took me a long time of discreetly observing her to decide that yes, this was indeed Pammy. The Pammy I knew was totally classless. This cute girl had a lot of class. But when she opened her mouth, it was the squeaky little Pammy voice, so I knew it was her.
Pammy and I were scheduled to be married on the same day--the first time I almost got married. I didn't get married that day. She did. She ended up divorced within two years--maybe even one. She moved back in with her parents. At least I managed to stay married for a whole seven years, and I have my own house. Pammy ended up in the same category as my ex-husband: cellar-dweller in the parental basement.
Because I always notice rings on both men and women, I noticed that Pammy was not wearing an engagement ring or a wedding ring, so I would assume that she learned her lesson the first time around and has not re-married. She did, however, have a fabulous ring on her middle finger, and now I am coveting it.
Even before I was divorced, I stopped wearing my wedding ring. My ex-husband did not know this, because I'd wear it out of the house, and as soon as I could, I'd slip it off and store it in my Coach pill case. But suddenly, looking at Pammy's ring, my own left hand felt really empty, and I can't shake that feeling. Usually my bling-y watch takes care of that, but now I can't get over the feeling of the missing ring--the Phantom Missing Ring Syndrome. My left hand feels so empty, even though this is what I wanted more than anything.
While I claim that I will never marry again, this is a blatant lie. I do hope to marry again someday, and sometimes even spend time daydreaming about my beach wedding and my wedding ring. My next wedding ring, I have decided, will be a cushion-cut diamond of 2.5 carats--minimum--and have two pave accents surrounding it: one in amethyst for AC's birth month, and the second in diamond. The wedding bands will be two--one for the top and one for the bottom of my 2.5 carat ring--and will be pave amethyst to match the pave amethyst row on my engagement ring. I hope my next husband has a lot of money, because I plan for this to be one hell of a custom ring. That's the only thing that is missing from my future wedding plans: the groom.
Alas, with no grooms lined up, I think I might need to do something about my Phantom Missing Ring Syndrome and shop for a nice middle-finger band, like Pammy's. I'm thinking tomorrow will be the perfect day to shop for this. New Year, new ring.
One thing I totally hate is being in the presence of really cute girls. I am pretty dang cute myself, but every so often, you encounter one who is so cute that it makes you sit and stew and think about how uncute you are. This is what happened at the nail salon.
As I soaked my feet in the lovely peppermint foot bath, I noted the cute girl. And she was cute: perfect hair, well dressed, extremely tan. And then I realized who she was: it was this girl that used to work at the tanning salon I used, like, 12 years ago. She was really skanky back then, and at the time, we were so young that we were going to "dry night" at the local bars, and she was known for stripping down to her bra. It took me a long time of discreetly observing her to decide that yes, this was indeed Pammy. The Pammy I knew was totally classless. This cute girl had a lot of class. But when she opened her mouth, it was the squeaky little Pammy voice, so I knew it was her.
Pammy and I were scheduled to be married on the same day--the first time I almost got married. I didn't get married that day. She did. She ended up divorced within two years--maybe even one. She moved back in with her parents. At least I managed to stay married for a whole seven years, and I have my own house. Pammy ended up in the same category as my ex-husband: cellar-dweller in the parental basement.
Because I always notice rings on both men and women, I noticed that Pammy was not wearing an engagement ring or a wedding ring, so I would assume that she learned her lesson the first time around and has not re-married. She did, however, have a fabulous ring on her middle finger, and now I am coveting it.
Even before I was divorced, I stopped wearing my wedding ring. My ex-husband did not know this, because I'd wear it out of the house, and as soon as I could, I'd slip it off and store it in my Coach pill case. But suddenly, looking at Pammy's ring, my own left hand felt really empty, and I can't shake that feeling. Usually my bling-y watch takes care of that, but now I can't get over the feeling of the missing ring--the Phantom Missing Ring Syndrome. My left hand feels so empty, even though this is what I wanted more than anything.
While I claim that I will never marry again, this is a blatant lie. I do hope to marry again someday, and sometimes even spend time daydreaming about my beach wedding and my wedding ring. My next wedding ring, I have decided, will be a cushion-cut diamond of 2.5 carats--minimum--and have two pave accents surrounding it: one in amethyst for AC's birth month, and the second in diamond. The wedding bands will be two--one for the top and one for the bottom of my 2.5 carat ring--and will be pave amethyst to match the pave amethyst row on my engagement ring. I hope my next husband has a lot of money, because I plan for this to be one hell of a custom ring. That's the only thing that is missing from my future wedding plans: the groom.
Alas, with no grooms lined up, I think I might need to do something about my Phantom Missing Ring Syndrome and shop for a nice middle-finger band, like Pammy's. I'm thinking tomorrow will be the perfect day to shop for this. New Year, new ring.
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