The “Bad Husband” Chronicles

Just another day for you and me in Paradise

Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

Broken toes mend a broken heart

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 8, 2012

It has always amused me that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’ve climbed the proverbial corporate ladder for nearly twenty years now and the adventure in hysteria and ultimately, amusement, continues to unfold before me with each new professional adventure. I’ve discovered that there will always be ‘characters’ in each office with their inevitable stereotypes, quirkiness, and overall clueless existence, just sitting there…waiting and needing to be written about. And that, I’m certain, is my calling.

I recently visited Denver for the first time to attend a conference sponsored by my current company. Like most conferences and trade shows, all sorts of personalities attend and put on their best ‘game face’ to meet customers, prospects and network with partners. The networking and nurturing of those partner relationships is what facilitated my attendance at the conference in the first place. You see, I am often the invisible marketing ‘Wiz’ behind the corporate curtain, crafting the brand message, and spoon-feeding the blind B2B masses much like feeding broccoli to a seven year-old. And if the truth be told, I’ve discovered that if you cover anything with enough cheese, someone will ultimately eat it. 

The majority of those in attendance were men in their 40s and 50s, sporting their receding hairlines and stuffing their beer-bellied midriffs into the required, company-branded golf shirt. To put it bluntly, these men are starved for female attention. The overwhelming majority are married with either teenage or college-bound children, and operate their personal lives with the same boring, predictable precision they present in the workplace. Unimaginative, robotic clones who somehow believe that the story of how they caught the prize-winning trout in their local fishing competition will bring women hopelessly to their knees. And it never fails that these men are utterly captivated by the bubbly and otherwise vacant blonde whose actual purpose is to flirt mindlessly with these men and somehow help assuage their own personal shortcomings. This conference was no exception to the rule and that blonde….and come on, we all know who she is at every company….was there in all her flighty magnificence. 

Ironically, despite my ability to see these women for who they actually are rather than what they pretend to be, I am inherently a nice person and get along with nearly everyone. And at my company, this blonde to which I am referring, I will hereby call The Flight Attendant. Bless her sweet soul, she is dripping in Southern accolades as well as physical beauty, and her syrupy accent is all that’s required to lure men under her spell.

After the conference closes on the last afternoon, a handful of co-workers decide to let off some steam and meet up at a local Denver bar and club for some drinks. I receive a call around 5pm in my hotel room from The Flight Attendant: “Mozzie, are you up for it? Come on and go out with us, girl!” Despite my feet aching worse than an Irish clogger, I reluctantly agree to join them. I arrive at the bar around 9pm and the festivities are well underway. The strobe light is flashing, the hip hop is blasting, and The Flight Attendant is on the dance floor, surrounded by an overwhelming group of male admirers, most still dressed to the nines in their company golf shirt. Bless their hearts.

I make my way to the bar, order a double vodka tonic and scan the room for cohorts and partners in crime. I feel the overwhelming sense of relief when I spot a great buddy of mine who is nursing his third or fourth drink, and wave him over to my direction. We chit chat, share some laughs and begin what turns out to be one of the most hilariously funny nights I’ve experienced in quite some time. Before too long, we’re throwing back shots of Grey Goose and cackling at the quasi-American Bandstand maneuvers we’re witnessing on the dance floor. The Flight Attendant is in her element…shaking her money maker and batting her eyelashes in every direction. By the end of the night, I’m fairly certain she will need not only an interpreter from her advanced state of intoxication, but also an escort to find her way back to her hotel room. Naturally, I help her back safely to the hotel, politely say good night and that I will see her the next morning around 8am.

7am arrives and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t kick my nearly 40 year-old ass. But, I shower, get my act together and head over for the last morning of the conference. It’s 8:30am and there’s no sign of The Flight Attendant. I excuse myself, step outside, and call her mobile number and then her hotel room. No answer. Yikes. 

I quickly make my way back to the hotel and begin knocking on her door. I hear groaning on the other side and then the door swings open with the naked Flight Attendant peeking around the corner. She’s hungover. She’s completely overslept and she’s limping. She wails in pain only to look down and discover bruised and bloody toes. “Mozzie, what the hell happened? OMG, my foot kills! I was dancing with some guy last night and he kept stomping on my toes. Help me…I can’t walk!” I do my best to contain the uncontrollable laughter swelling up inside me and tell her to get her act together, clean up and head over to the conference if she wants to keep her job. Tough love…sometimes, we all need it. 

Later that afternoon, we all depart for the airport, most of us on separate flights, and I don’t see The Flight Attendant until the following day at the office. She arrives, late as usual, on crutches with apparently two broken toes from her late night Denver escapade. Upon seeing her, I race for the bathroom or anywhere private because I know I am going to lose it. I laugh for at least half an hour at the sheer comic gold that is unfolding before me. Like I’ve said many times before, often real life is funnier and more entertaining than fiction.

Several days pass and The Flight Attendant receives flowers in the office from the Toe Stomper. She is touched and agrees to a dinner date with him. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony of the entire situation. Later, she sends me a text on my mobile: “Mozzie, you won’t believe how nice of a guy he is! After my divorce, I was convinced there were no nice guys left out there for me. I really like him and think he might be the one.”

So there you have it, my friends. A possible answer to the age-old question: How do you mend a broken heart? Answer: Go dancing and have someone break your toes. You might just fall in love.

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The year 2012….has it changed anyone here?

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 6, 2012

Image

Stay tuned.

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Destination unknown

Posted by mozziestarlet on March 13, 2009

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A week has elapsed since I lost my job.  Truly, it took nearly three days just for the shock to dissipate and the full irony of the situation to settle into my subconscious.  I mean, really…what are the odds of being laid off as many times as I have and now in the worst of economic times?  Surely, they must rival the lottery by now.  To be completely honest, yes, losing my job gutted me.  But, it has happened to me so many times now I can hardly be shocked when I hear ‘the speech’ again and again.  I placed first in the national ‘I’ve been laid off’ competition, reciting the speech verbatim in my sleep, standing on one toe, and washing my hair simultaneously.

I really have no idea what I will do now except keep trudging along as I always have in this situation.  I’ll keep networking, sending out hundreds of emails in the hope that they don’t land in someone’s ‘spam’ folder, and maybe, hopefully, something will come my way before I starve to death.  Isn’t it a sad commentary on the state of the world today when a college degree, fifteen years’ experience, and handfuls of personal testimonies to your abilities can’t even land you secure and steady employment? If this is happening to me and millions of other capable professionals, what hope do today’s graduates have when they walk off that stage, degree in hand, hoping to land the job they’ve been preparing for?

One of the most ironic things I’ve found about the corporate arena is that the crummier a person you actually are, the higher up the ladder you seem to climb.  I know you may shake your head in disbelief at this, but I can assure you, it’s so entirely true.  As I’ve progressed through the rungs, one painful step at a time, the more corrupt and dishonest people seem to be.  Why is this?  Does it take this type of person to be able to keep the wheels of capitalism spinning?  Do you have to be a self-centered loser to do well professionally?  Perhaps that is the root of my problem.  You see, I am neither of these things and couldn’t be even if I gave it a hero’s effort.  As sarcastic as I appear, I am a painfully nice girl and actually do care about others.  I realize that into every life a little a-hole must fall, but wouldn’t it be grand if there were a place where people actually treated one another as they wished to be treated?  What an absolute utopia that place would be.

And if I found that place some day, that place of genuine goodness and sincerity where being a good person meant that a good life would befall you, well…who knows. 

“I think I need a vacation –

More than a day or two,

or even a week,

but truly, a vacation.

A time to reflect on

the promises of tomorrow

and shelve away past regrets

and present sacrifices;

If only I could find a place of peace

(if such a place exists)

I would pack my bags

and leave nothing behind,

not even a forwarding address.”

– Mozziestar, 1999

uncertaintytypes

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Sorry doesn’t help

Posted by mozziestarlet on February 2, 2009

It’s strange, but I was certain that when the ‘final judgment’ was made in my divorce case, both the husband and I would feel a sense of closure to the entire situation.  I must say that I certainly felt a shift in my attitude when the judge uttered the words, “Well folks, that’s it.  You’re all done.”  It was as if an insurmountable albatross was lifted from around my neck, an incredible weight released from my heart and chest, and I was able to take my first breath in months, if not longer.  I drove home from the courthouse reeling from the entire afternoon, recounting the rational nature by which the judge systematically divided and conquered each unsettled item of our marriage.  I realize that our legal system must take this approach due to the overwhelming number of divorce cases they see every day, but the manner in which your personal matters are resolved is almost laughable.  The judges and mediators trudge through your issues decidedly and quickly, almost as if they have a ‘Divorce checklist’ that they follow and check off as each item is satisfactorily handled.  Even though this approach threw me for a loop at first, ultimately, I was grateful that the case was handled much like the dissolution of a business or partnership, rather than an enormous emotional battle of ‘He said, She said.’  And, when all was said and done, all of that really didn’t matter anyways.
Four days have elapsed since our divorce settlement and the husband continues to call and text as if nothing much has changed.  I’ve urged him to get his affairs in order, begin packing and making arrangements for his departure in a few weeks, but I sense that he is still living in an emotional cloud of denial, regret and sadly, reminiscence as well.  He still tells me how much he misses me and my smiling face to greet him each morning and evening, the way I always took care of him, and how I made everything in his life beautiful.  Most of the time, I respond either in silence or do my best to change the subject.  Despite my feelings or lack thereof towards him now, I do not want to add to his pain or suffering as he is obviously coming to grips with his own demons now.  And on occasion, he will tell me how sorry he is that things came to end how they did and that he wasn’t a better husband.  Ironically, I do sense the sincerity in his apologies now, even though they don’t change an iota of how I feel about him.  I suppose you can chalk it up to the old adage:  ‘It’s a little too late’ for regret now. 

If there is one thing I can pass on to others from this whole catastrophic experience, it is this:

If there is an area of your life or relationship where you know you are falling short, DO something to change it.  Don’t expect the situation to miraculously improve if you are unwilling to contribute your share to the betterment of the relationship.  If things do not work out favorably or as you hoped, you will have the peace of mind in knowing that you put forth a truly valiant effort.  You did all that you could.  Once you accept this, you can acknowledge the loss, and ultimately, move on with your life.

And one more bit of unsolicited advice:  Don’t say you’re ‘sorry’ once all is said and done.  Sorry’s are a dime and dozen, and as Morrissey says…

“Sorry doesn’t help”

Sorry’s pour out of you
All wide-eyed simple smiles
certain to see you through
like a QC full of fake humility
you say:
“Oh, please forgive…”
you say:
“Oh, live and let live…”
but sorry doesn’t help us
and sorry will not save us
and sorry will not bring my teen years back to me (any time soon)
Forced back, it springs right out
seasoned, you have no doubts
you lied about the lies that you told
which is the full extent of what being you is all about
you say:
“Oh, please forgive…”
you say:
“Oh, live and let live…”
but sorry doesn’t help us
sorry will not save us
sorry will not bring my love into my arms (as far as I know…)
sorry doesn’t help us
sorry will not save us
sorry is just a word you find so easy to say… so you say it anyway
sorry doesn’t help us
sorry won’t protect us
sorry won’t undo all the good gone wrong

 

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The certainty of uncertainty

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 28, 2009

Despite the months leading up to my current marital precipice, I still feel fairly unprepared for all that is facing me.  The funny thing about life is that oftentimes, despite how much thought or preparation you can take to plan for the future, there is still so much left in the hands of fate.  For someone like me, a careful planner by nature, this element of uncertainty is such a grueling factor to take into account.  Yes, I can make all the plans in the world for how I want my immediate future to unfold, but the truth of the matter is that so much of it isn’t up to me.  Tomorrow, I will face a judge, present ‘my side’ of the story concerning why I am seeking a divorce from the husband, and hope that he/she will be fair and reasonable.  The problem with family and divorce law is that these courts are sadly overflowing with cases.  Day in and day out, these judges hear stories that would boggle the mind and most certainly make any judge swear off the vow of marriage for the rest of their lives.  Isn’t it ironic how your wedding day, one of the most memorable days of your life, can be turned on its head and become something to be battled out in our legal system?  When I think of how nonchalant society has become about marriage today, it does bring to mind Morrissey’s words, “Heavy words so lightly thrown”…a sad commentary, but painfully true.

 

 

You see, those who are close to me frequently remark that one of my biggest flaws is that I can be ‘too nice’ and don’t put my needs first.  They say that I should ‘get tough,’ and if necessary, be mean to the husband to drive the point home that our marriage is over and that he needs to grow up, stop hassling me, and take care of himself for a change.  At first, I thought this seemed like cruel and unusual punishment, so I’ve been nothing short of accommodating to the husband during our separation.  Now, as months have elapsed with me living with my parents and the husband acting like a real jackass, I’ve come to realize that this tougher approach is the only way to handle him.  At first, I did feel sympathy for the husband, knowing that I am the one filing for the divorce and leaving him behind.  But yesterday, when I went home briefly to gather a few personal items, I completely changed my mind. 

 

The husband was at work and had no idea that I would be stopping by my house, so I got to see firsthand exactly how the husband has been living in my home during our separation.  I flung open the door and was nearly knocked down by the sweltering heat coming from the living room.  I approached the thermometer only to find it set on 80 degrees with the heat blowing full blast throughout the house.  Mind you, it was 65 degrees in Atlanta yesterday and hardly chilly or even cold.  My beautiful home, my once perfect solace, was cluttered with dirty dishes on every table, laundry slung over the furniture and floor, and trash piled up high enough to perform an impressive Olympic high jump.  Not to mention, the stench of dried food and sweaty socks permeated throughout my house, which once smelled of flowers and potpourri.  I noticed new stains on the carpet, undoubtedly from the husband not letting the dog out to potty regularly, and instead allowing him to do his business on the den carpet.  I surveyed the damage and thought to myself, “Is this MY house?  How will I ever get it back the way it was once before?  How could anyone be so thoughtless and utterly disgusting?”  My appalled state of mind lasted for a few minutes before I felt rage boiling inside of me, imagining my slovenly husband sitting on his lazy ass, trashing my house and running up the gas and electric bills with no regard for the person who will actually be stuck paying for them.  And then I thought about how he’s continually pleaded with me through these months not to be thrown out in the street ‘like an old dog’ with nowhere to go.  Well, you know what?  I simply don’t care anymore.  My tenure of playing Mommy to him is finally over and it’s time to reclaim my life.

 

The way I see it is that the husband is single-handily responsible for sabotaging any remaining feeling I might have had for him.  He’s made his bed and must now lie in it.  Does that make me a ‘bad’ person for thinking this way…cold-hearted, callous?  Well, I hold no degree in family or marital law, but I can hardly imagine any intelligent or rational person seeing the husband for anyone other than EXACTLY who and what he is.

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The power of good-bye

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 26, 2009

As the old Southern saying goes, I am dreading this week “with a purple passion.” Thursday is the first court hearing scheduled for the husband and me in our divorce case. Mind you, this has been a long time coming and even though the husband has had months to prepare, you would think that I just sprung this on him in the last few days. As the hearing date approached, the husband’s phone calls, text messages and never-ending email tirades have increased ten-fold. It undoubtedly frustrates him a great deal not having me as his ‘beck and call girl’ to rant, vent and make culinary requests of me 24/7. Additionally, being relinquished of the power to wake me at 3am to “talk” when I have to rise for work at 5:30am is, by all accounts, really getting under his skin. Those of you who have been faithful readers since the blog’s launch in September of last year know that I always believe in trying to keep a positive attitude and a sense of humor amidst life’s trials and tribulations. However, even the brightest of stars can creep beneath a lackluster shadow after months of treading water on dark, turbulent seas. I have tried to keep my eye on the end goal, and continue to do so, but navigating a process like this is just about the most difficult thing in the world.

 I’ve read many times that a divorce is very much like experiencing the death of a loved one, and having been through this before, I can definitely attest to that. When husband #1 decided to walk the wide road of infidelity and end our marriage, it was the most painfully heart-wrenching experience of my life. Even though it’s been nearly ten years now, the memory of that loss still haunts my dreams far too frequently than it should. And now, facing yet another loss in the marriage arena, I can only imagine how much Xanax and therapy it will take to put Mozziestar back together again.

When you are going through a divorce, despite whether you desire it or not, you feel almost as if you cannot breathe or think clearly at times. It’s very much like being a passenger on a volatile roller coaster ride, with the rises and falls representative of your personal ability to be strong and endure. Some days, you’re at the top of the coaster, feeling strong and certain in your path and what is facing you ahead. And then other days, you can actually feel the wind knocked out of you as the coaster plummets below, with you holding tightly and squarely to the railings. Occasionally, you’re able to catch your breath when the coaster is gliding between destinations, but you always know that the unexpected is right around the corner and that fear grips you every day until it’s finally over. So, those of you who are inclined to think, “Just kick ‘em out and divorce ‘em! You’ll be better off without that loser!” should think before you speak. It’s always easier to give advice and comment on someone else’s life when you’re watching from a safe distance.

Never assume that things for others are as easy as they appear and always be mindful of another person’s situation and circumstances before you open your mouth to speak or offer unsolicited advice. Chances are, the recipient already knows what you are going to say. They are already aware of what and how they should handle things without you giving them a blow-by-blow debriefing. The best thing you can do as a friend or loved one is to support them and give them time to think, grieve, and sort through all the mental clutter that is trapping them. When all is said and done, I (and countless others) will survive and will learn to stand on my own two feet again, even if it takes training wheels at first. Eventually, the roller coaster will stop and we will all finally be able to step off, catch our breath, acclimatize, and most importantly, take that first step forward.

 

“The Power of Good-bye” by Madonna

“Your heart is not open, so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no
Walk away…
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something’s wrong
I pray to God that it won’t be long
Walk away…

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye
Your heart is not open, so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress…


There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye
There’s nothing left to lose
There’s no more heart to bruise
There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye
Learn to say good-bye
I yearn to say good-bye”

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TGIF funnies

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 23, 2009

These are too adorable and funny not to share.  Enjoy!

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The best Moz song in years

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 23, 2009

As many of you know, Morrissey’s new album, ‘Years of Refusual’ is due to be released next month.  Thanks to fellow fans, I was fortunate enough to be able to download the album two months early.  Needless to say, there’s nothing in the world like new Moz material.  For the diehard fan, it’s like having an indescribable drug administered intravenously.

Below is the video for my favorite track on the album, “All you need is me.”  And Morrissey, you couldn’t have hit the nail more squarely on the head when you sing, “You bang your head against the wall and say you’re sick of it all – except for me.  All you need is me.”

Enjoy!

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How long does a tear take to dry?

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 13, 2009

Despite being busy and preoccupied with my new job, I spend so much of my time internalizing and contemplating my personal situation.  I think about my bad husband, the heartbreak of divorce, and the task of starting my life over again on my own.  If I am truly honest with myself, I’ve been alone even in my marriages.  I enjoyed several blissful years with Husband #1 before he became a slave to his pocket compass and travelled the road of infidelity.  So, I know the beauty of a truly fruitful relationship, even though the memory has become faded over the years and through the natural progression of time.  Do you ever find yourself wondering why some people ‘get lucky’ and find their ideal match in life while others fall into peril?  I in no way mean to appear flippant as if I do not take any responsibility for my poor decisions, but I can’t help but ponder how there appears to be no rhyme or reason to it.  I’ve known others, like myself, who carefully dated their spouse for years before taking the walk down the plank, only to discover an intricate web of deception once they were married.  Then, on the other hand, there are those who are swept into a whirlwind romance of only a few months before marriage and are STILL happily married many years later.  This just proves to me that there is truly no magic formula involved.

Despite the hardship the husband has caused me over the years, I do care for him and wish for his happiness.  As I’ve mentioned before, he still doesn’t ‘get it’ and grieves over the loss of me and our marriage.  He emails or texts me lamenting messages of how he is miserable without me and general tales of ‘Oh Woe is me’ on a daily basis.  How do you deal with a situation like this?  It seems responding to his repeated cries only makes things worse and perhaps the best route is avoidance.  I am not the one who can ease his pain and comfort him.  That can only be something that he must learn to find within himself.

It reminds me of one of my favorite scenes from the movie ‘The Way We Were.’  Katie, a headstrong and opinionated gal, has lost her true love, Hubbel, and he moves out to stay with a friend.  He’s gone for only a few hours and she picks up the phone, out of sheer torture and habit, and pleads for him to come home and stay with her until she can fall asleep.  She says, “You see, Hubbel.  You are my best friend and I need to talk to my best friend about someone we both know.  So, will you, Hubbel?  Will you come and see me through tonight?  I promise I won’t touch you or beg you or embarrass you.  So Hubbel, could you come over right away?  Please…please?”  This scene has always touched me, but I truly understand the meaning of it now in my own life.  As Morrissey says, “I’ve seen this happen in other peoples’ lives, but now it’s happening in mine.”

So, how long does a tear take to dry?  I think, for some, it takes an eternity.

 

Below is the movie clip referenced above.  Enjoy.

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Bright lights, Big city

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 12, 2009

Well friends, this Southern Belle is currently in New York City on her first business trip with the new rockstar job.  I’ve been to NY many times before, but for some unknown reason, I am enjoying this trip so much more than usual.  I had a hilarious co-worker with me the past few days who really showed me a good time and unbelievably, is a Morrissey fan as well.  ‘Thanks, Big JC.  I owe you one for that.’  He departed this morning, so now I’m on my own.  It’s so ironic to me that there are so many European tourists here with what I consider to be much more interesting accents than mine, but my Southern accent appears to be the fascination of everyone around.  I’m guessing they must get a lot of foreign travelers here, but maybe not too many from the heart of the South or those who know about the Mason-Dixon line.  Either way, it has been fairly entertaining to the locals to listen to me talk.  Go figure.

Yesterday, I met a fantastic guy from outside of London who is also here on business.  When I first heard him speak, naturally I asked him if he was from Alabama.  It took a moment for my corny sense of humor to register with him, but once it did, we struck up a terrific conversation.  And yes, I know what your next question is…did I mention that I am a huge Morrissey fan?  WELL, YAH!  He was too cute and said, “Wow, I’ve never met an American Morrissey fan, much less one with your accent!”  I chose to take that as a compliment and hopefully, he didn’t immediately phone home and tell his family what a nutty berry he met in NY.  It certainly wouldn’t be the first time!

What really strikes me about this city is the hustle and bustle that seems to come so easily to everyone here.  Being from the South, I was born and bred on Southern hospitality, waving and saying hello to everyone I pass.  Well, after several of times of doing this out of pure habit, I started to notice all the strange looks I was receiving from my friendly actions.  The people seem stunned, almost put off, that I am speaking to them for no apparent reason other than being friendly.  Do they think I am a crack dealer or just escaped from the local mental institution?  Either way, I am who I am and I firmly believe in always being friendly and hospitable to people I meet.  No doubt, I would never survive living in a city like this, nor would I want to.  It’s just not this gal’s style.

So, I’m enjoying myself and trying to stay below the radar and not attract too much attention to myself.  And to add insult to injury, NONE of the women here look anything like me or my physical features.  I’ve noticed most of them are dark haired and skinned, and a bit weathered around the edges.  No offense ladies, but just say ‘yes’ to proper skin care!  😉

asouthernbel

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New York, New York

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 11, 2009

Hi friends,

I am currently in New York and have not had a chance to update the blog in a few days.  I will be back later for today’s entry.

Keep shining,

Mozziestar   🙂

p141986-new_york-times_square

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Happy New Year?

Posted by mozziestarlet on January 5, 2009

While I was awaiting my turn in the nail salon this afternoon, I started to space out and think about how it’s 2009 and another year has come and gone before my eyes.  I began to recollect the day when I was 22 that my parental units told me how life would really start to fly for me now.  They explained how once you graduate from college, get married and settle down, secure your first professional job, etc., everything begins to zoom past you at lightening speed.  I remember shrugging at this notion, feeling invincible and forever young at 22.  Now, nearly 36, I completely understand what they meant by this.  I mean, wasn’t it just yesterday that we had this conversation?  Wasn’t it just last week that I graduated from college, degree in hand, ready to put that first foot out in front of me?  Where in the world has all the time gone and what do I have to show for it? 

Being pegged quite frequently as the eternal pessimist, naturally asking these sorts of questions usually lands me in a depressive stupor.  So, I choose to take an objective look in retrospect.  Yes, professionally I have done very well for myself in the past decade, despite the whirlwind storms of layoffs and rehires.  I’ve climbed the corporate ladder, one painful step at a time, and finally it seems, have a real opportunity with a dynamic and stable company.  I can only be thankful and grateful for that.  Personally, however, I’ve managed to do a bang-up job at marrying the wrong person (twice) and making a royal mess of things.  As Morrissey says, “It’s my life to wreck my own way.”  

When I look back on my relationships, yes, there were signs and things I did notice before saying ‘I do,’ but I chose to overlook them, even if it was often done on a subconscious level.  I thought that love could conquer all and that if I worked hard enough at the relationships, they would survive and endure.  After years of living this way, I finally owned up to the fact that it takes two to tango.  If you both aren’t equally committed to making one another happy, you will spin your wheels until there simply isn’t any steam left in your little engine.  I certainly have.

So, what now?  Well, I choose to close the chapter of 2008, and for once in my life, look forward to the new chapter ahead:  the chapter of 2009 and new beginnings.  A chapter where I will learn to stand on my own again, let go of the hurt and blame for my own and others’ failures, learn from my mistakes and endeavor not to repeat them, strive to be a better judge of character, and hope to always be a better friend and person.  But, most of all, to learn to forgive and forget.  I truly believe that it isn’t until we let go of the past that we can begin to embrace our future.

Happy New Year, friends.

Keep shining,  🙂

Mozziestar

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I was looking for a job and then I GOT THE JOB!!

Posted by mozziestarlet on December 23, 2008

Quick update:  I received and accepted a job offer for the rockstar job this afternoon and am excited beyond belief!  🙂

I will be back later for your regularly scheduled blog entry.

2006_job_tuesday

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The lights are on, but no one’s home

Posted by mozziestarlet on December 22, 2008

Firstly, let me apologize for the delay between Thursday’s blog entry and today’s.  I realize that I left so many of you hanging and I was stunned by the number of email inquiries jamming my inbox once I returned online.  To answer your burning questions…yes, I am still alive and kicking and yes, I had the third interview for the rockstar job opportunity on Friday.

To preface, I am a seasoned professional when it comes to being laid off in the corporate arena and then forced into the hell phase of endless interviewing for a new job.  Given this fact, I’ve become a bit convoluted in my judgment when it boils down to whether or not I feel I’ve got a job in the bag once I’ve completed the final interview process.  I’ve left many interviews with the gut feeling that I would receive an employment offer because of positive comments the potential employer made to me during the interview.  I would wait with baited breath for the offer to come and for some unknown reason, it never would.  So, I eventually got to the point where I stopped trying to ‘guesstimate’ whether or not I felt I would get the job.   I know this may seem like a negative way to think, but I’ve found that if you don’t expect anything, you’re not as deeply disappointed if it doesn’t pan out for you.  Nevertheless, my point in all of this is to say that the final interview went fantastic and I’m very hopeful that an offer will be made before the holiday break.  Do I expect one?  Yes and no.  Yes, because there is absolutely NO reason why they shouldn’t pick me for this position given how tailored my experience fits the niche they require.  And no, because of the expectation bit that I just explained in the prior sentences.  But, let’s just say that I hope to be pleasantly surprised for a change.

Since I’ve been temporarily taking refuge at the home of my parental units, I’ve purposely tried to distance myself from the husband so that he can familarize himself with the idea of not having me around.  I know that getting used to not having your spouse there is not entirely possible when you’ve spent years with them as the center of your universe.  When that center falls out, it completely disorients your entire reality.  Having been the one who was abandoned in my first marriage, I thought about why distancing myself from the husband is ultimately the best course of action for us both as we are going through this process.  When I reflect on my first marriage, I recall all too well what it felt like when my ex-husband told me he didn’t want to be married to me anymore, yet still hung around the house as if the declaration of his intent to bail shouldn’t affect my daily living pattern.  How can anybody think this way?!  This is the epitome of being a self-centered bastard who is thinking only of himself and his own comfort.  Telling your spouse that you desire to end your marriage, but staying in your residence with them during the process is the proverbial cherry on top of the cruel and unusual punishment cake.  If you have any love or compassion for your spouse and desire to inflict the least amount of collateral damage possible, then living in separate residences while you are getting divorced should be the only option.  It is the fastest route to self-reliance for both of you.

The ironic part about me purposely distancing myself from the husband is that he actually thinks that I’m being selfish by not calling him and keeping him company in his lonely state.  I mean, “I obviously don’t care (and have never cared)  about him if I am able to be remove myself so easily from our marriage.”  And yes, that’s a direct quote from the husband’s mouth.  He actually is dense enough to think that I’m allowing him to live in my home with my dog while I live with my parents because I “don’t care about him.”  After all, doesn’t everyone want to live with their parents when they are in their mid-30s and they’ve been independent for years?! 

So, when the husband makes these and other ridiculous and unfounded comments, I choose the path of least resistance and ignore them rather than respond to them.  When push comes to shove, what good comes from banging your head against a brick wall that can’t comprehend any measure of reasoning?  And this, in a nutshell, is the husband.  Yes, the lights are on, but no one’s home.

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Loved and lost

Posted by mozziestarlet on December 16, 2008

I’ve been thinking deeply these last few months about the old proverb, “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”  I have to be honest and tell you that I really struggle with this notion.  When I look back over my life, I can say whole-heartedly…Yes, I have loved much and loved completely.  I have felt the joy that only arises from true love, the anticipation of spending every waking moment with that other person, and ultimately, the abject bliss of sharing the promise of spending the rest of your lives together.  However, having been through marriage twice now (I am so thrilled to admit), I honestly feel that marriage in and of itself is just that:  a promise.  It is a promise that you will love the other person utterly and completely with everything you are, respect them even when they aren’t at the top of your ‘likeable’ list, take care of them when they are sick and unable to care for themselves, and help shoulder the burden when your family of two falls on difficult times.  Above all, it is a promise of partnership; a vow that you will always contribute everything you can to the other person, your life together, and to your future.

My point with this elementary explanation is that if I am totally honest with myself, I’ve never experienced marriage as it should be.  In both instances, I gave more than I received, loved more than I was loved, and held on to that promise with more zeal and respect than the other partner involved.  So, by the most basic definition, I have loved and lost.  Many people I know often comment that I’m just ‘jaded’ by my experiences and that it isn’t like this for everyone.  Believe me, I know it isn’t.  I have family members who have sustained happy and fulfilling marriages longer than I have been on this earth.  Is there some great secret that they are aware of that I was never told?  Are they that much better judges of character than I am when it comes to choosing their life partner?  Or, did they just get ‘lucky?’  I think it’s probably a combination of these things and quite frankly, the idea of marriage for my generation is much different that it is/was for the generations before me.  Marriage wasn’t viewed as a potentially temporary situation where one party could bail if they got bored with the other person, thought they could get a younger and hipper model, or just simply got tired of being around them.  They realized that they were making a lifetime commitment to the other person and it was the most sacred covenant they could possibly ever make, perhaps other than parenthood.  But today, in our easy-come easy-go society, people are disposable and promises are made simply to be broken.  Nothing guts me more than this behavior.

I know many of you are thinking, “Wait a second, Mozzie, isn’t that what you are doing by divorcing your husband?  Aren’t you breaking your promise to him?”  I suppose on the surface, yes, I am.  But, it is so much deeper and more involved than that.  When I look back on my marriages, it wasn’t me who broke the promises.  It wasn’t me that vowed to be one way when we said “I do,” but ended up acting and living a life contrary to that.  I was the one who gave everything and sacrificed all that I was.  I was the one who fought tooth and nail to make the marriages work and for the other person to see what needed to be rectified in the relationship in order to have a happy life together.  I did all the praying, made all the counseling appointments, initiated all the talks, and pleaded for understanding from the other person.  And in both marriages, nothing was gained from my efforts but loss and heartbreak.  In both instances, I loved completely, and ultimately, lost everything.

So, is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?  I really can’t say at this point in my life.  Perhaps in ten years, I will feel differently and be able to answer unequivocally ‘yes.’  But right now, with so much loss consuming me, I simply don’t feel that it is.  Jaded?  Maybe.  Or maybe I just allowed myself to fall so deeply that I wasn’t able to see the whites of their lies.

And today, only one song will do…

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A ‘need to know’ basis

Posted by mozziestarlet on December 15, 2008

I spent the weekend with a  dear friend whose sense of humor and genuine support is a welcomed distraction from my current reality.  Perhaps what I like most about this friend is that they don’t bombard me with a littany of questions about my situation with the husband.  Yes, they are naturally concerned for my well-being, however, they almost seem to ‘know’ that I’m just not equipped to answer certain questions right now.  Does this make any sense?  Probably not, however, I will do my best to explain.

You see, being a private person, my innate instinct  is to keep my personal business to myself.  Even among my closest loved ones, I prefer to share what is necessary and keep the details to myself.  First and foremost, it’s really not anyone else’s business to know the intricasies of my life, daily routine and personal situation.  I’ve found that the more you ‘invite’ others into this space, the more crowded your reality becomes…eventually, too close for even your own comfort.  So, I share what I must to reassure my friends and loved ones that I am ‘okay’ and they need not worry about me 24/7.  I got myself into this situation and yes, I am working towards finding my way out.  I often find myself wondering why those closest to you feel the need to ask every little emerging question about your situation.  ‘What are you going to do?  Why can’t you kick him out?  When is he going to leave and why don’t you make him? What does he say to you when you talk?  Why did you marry him anyways? (Sheesh!)”…etc etc.  I do understand that these are reasonable questions, but why do others expect what they feel is an acceptable answer to these questions when I am unable and unwilling to address them?  How do they feel this scrutiny is helpful even in the slightest regard?

I suppose my point with all of this is that sometimes the greatest gift I can give a friend or a loved one is simply listening and being supportive.  This entails hearing what they have to say without opinion or judgment, and easing their mind by reminding them that they can still laugh without being overwhelmed by their current situation.  People have no idea what a gift this is to another soul who is struggling with divorce, death, or even life in general.  If a friend is troubled and seeks your advice or opinion, they will ask you for it.  Don’t assume that you have free liscense to inquire about the ins and outs of their personal situation or tragedy.  Trust me, your friend is having a difficult enough time navigating these waters on his own, searching for answers and understanding that often takes months and years to emerge.

So, for this particular friend to whom I am referring:  Thank you for being exactly what I need right now.  Thank you for listening without constant commentary.  Thank you for reminding me to laugh when I feel it’s impossible.  Thank you for expecting nothing more but what I am able to give.  Thank you for seeing me for who I am and not who you feel I ought to be.  And most of all, thank you for being my friend.

privacy

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Chapter 23: The Countess of Wedgewood

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 11, 2008

10am:  It’s Saturday morning and I am preparing for a much needed ‘Girls day out’ with my Mom and favorite aunt, ‘The Countess of Wedgewood.’  She was crowned with this title years ago when I realized how much fun it was to surprise her with a wedgie or two when she was completely unsuspecting.  I don’t know how it still manages to be so funny after so many years, but it’s always sufficiently hilarious.

 

1pm:  The husband phones me to request if I can pick him up some lunch since “I am already out and about, you know?”  His car parked in the driveway can only be operated in conjunction with his grueling work schedule of four days per week.  I firmly stand my ground and tell him that he’s on his own for the afternoon and he’ll have to remove his fanny from the recliner and make his way into the kitchen.

 

4pm:  ‘The Countess’ and I are shopping for shoes and comparing notes and styles.  Given that I am blessed with grace and coordination, I back into an enormous display of stacked shoe boxes.  Inevitably, they all come crashing down in a thunderous display and I work quickly to cover my tracks.  Other shoppers are staring out of curiosity as to what caused the calamity, so I turn to ‘The Countess’ and say, “Good grief!  I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”  Being the sweet Southern belle that she is, it takes her a second to realize that I am pinning my clumsy behavior on her.  She starts to blush (as I often do) from other shoppers gazing her way.  Thankfully, she has always appreciated my sense of humor and we both begin to giggle uncontrollably.  Not a bad way to spend an afternoon…chuckling and teasing someone who is so close to your heart.  She has always held a top spot on my list.

 

11pm:  I arrive home after my full day off with my bed beckoning from upstairs. I head upstairs and complete my nightly routine: shower, scrub my pearly whites and change into an old t-shirt and floppy, cotton shorts.  I slide into the bed, snuggle up with my snaggle-toothed puppy and submerge myself in Morrissey’s lyrical genius, “Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep, I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”  The husband has exceeded the recommended dosage of Tylenol PM tonight, so it’s looking like a real possibility for me.  I say my prayers and tell the Big JC, “Thanks.  I owe you one.”

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Poem and song of the day

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 9, 2008

“i carry your heart with me”

by e. e. cummings

i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

 

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

 Brilliant song of the day:

“A little time” by The Beautiful South

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“Why I am convinced that Morrissey should marry me”

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 26, 2008

Right. So, I’ve spent 20 years pondering this and I’m fairly certain (like all heterosexual women in the free world) that Morrissey should marry me, immediately, if at all possible.

5. We have identical tastes in music…him, him and well, him.

4. We both think Oscar Wilde was a brilliant lad even if he liked to play with the other boys’ ding dongs.

3. Like every American, I have surrendered my political views and have decided to vote ‘none of the above’ in the upcoming election. Therefore, Morrissey can feel comfy in wearing the political pants in the family.

2. We both adore animals and find humor in the smallest of things.

1. Since marriage ultimately turns into friendship when all is said and done, why not ‘walk the plank’ with a Georgia peach?

   

“Will never marry” by Morrissey

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Chapter 8

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 26, 2008

7am: I enter the husband’s sleeping quarters to arouse him from peaceful slumber. I find myself pondering how long a person can keep their mouth completely open without their jaw becoming unhinged. My bet is about 5 hours.


7:15am: The husband is finally up and about and stumbling around upstairs. Realizing that he has overslept once again, I am completely caught by surprise when I do not hear the sound of the shower running upstairs. The husband quickly delivers his predictable “I just don’t have time to shower today” speech, which I could recite standing on one foot and tapping my head at the same time.

7:30am: The husband packs his body odor and halitosis into the car and heads off to make another stellar impression at work. I quickly realize the significance of recently purchasing the family size SUV to allow adequate room for the husband and his impeccable personal hygiene.

8am: I hit the shower and become a knock-out in less than 30 minutes. Hopefully, no one will notice that I’ve made it out of the house wearing two different shoes. After all, the husband always says, “Oh babe, nobody notices STUFF like that. Seriously, babe!”

8:30am: The husband has once again neglected to roll the trash out for garbage pickup this morning. Given that there are now two weeks of rotten trash sitting on the back porch and I am rapidly moving up the ranks on the ‘Favorite Neighbor’ list, I perform my usual ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ll handle it, dear” duties and put the trash out on the curb before leaving for the office. Arriving to the office wearing ‘Eau de Egg Salad Sandwich’ is a lovely, feminine fragrance that is sweeping the nation.

9am: I’m ready to face another daily adventure in stupidity at the office. Of course, the coffee pot in the break room is below the red line and all that remains is the sludgy grime at the bottom of the pot. I eye it closely and weigh my level of desperation and obvious need for caffeine before pouring a cup.

10:30am: My second favorite co-worker, ‘Peace Out’ arrives promptly two hours after the office opens for business. She lets out her usual *sigh* because let’s face it, having time to pick up a bagel and make it to the office on time is simply asking TOO much. After her mandatory two hour lunch and nap in the car, she works a full hour before giving me her trademark ‘Peace Out’ hand salute before she slinks out the back door to face another grueling, ten minute drive home.

3pm: The husband phones me at the office to ask me the $24,000 question:“What’s for dinner, Babe?” He selflessly offers to defrost the hamburger meat so it will be thawed and ready for me to cook by the time I arrive home. His thoughtfulness has no conceivable limitations.

8pm: After dinner, the husband requires my immediate attention to assist in removing his socks and shoes. His ‘belly to foot ratio’ causes him a great deal of difficulty, so it would be “really nice of me if I could lend him a hand, ok?” I silently think to myself, “I can lend you a swift kick in the jimmy JUST as nicely.”

1am: The husband decides to enjoy a late-night snack to enhance his all-night movie marathon experience ahead. His compassionate nature extends to the dog as he decides to share his chicken nuggets with our furry friend. Suddenly and without warning, I jolt into consciousness by the unmistakable and horrific sound of the dog hurling all over the carpet downstairs. I guess it’s a good thing that I purchased the VIP membership with Stanley Steemer. I figure that between the husband and the dog, we more than account for 75% of their annual revenues!

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Chapter 7

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 25, 2008

9am: It’s Saturday morning and I am looking forward to a quiet and peaceful morning spent in recovery from managing the Goat Ropers’ Rodeo in my office. The husband meanders downstairs and brightens my early morning routine by proclaiming: “Babe, check it out! Look what I found!” My curiosity is naturally peeked so I glance over to see what hidden treasure he has undoubtedly unearthed from the clutter of his living quarters. “It’s my high school class ring! Isn’t that SO cool?” I smile and give him my ‘Aww, isn’t that SPECIAL?’ look when I notice that not only has he found his high school class ring from 1982, but is now also WEARING it. Given that we are all the exact same size as we were during our high school years, this makes complete sense that he has squeezed his 1982 high school class ring onto his chubby finger.

10:30am: The husband is beginning to show signs of loss of circulation in the finger now sporting his 1982 high school class ring. He’s trying to remain cool and collected like every man does, but I detect the panicked look in his eyes. In my peripheral vision, I notice that he is now twiddling and maneuvering the ring in a desperate attempt to get it off his finger and with no such luck.

11am: The husband is now in the bathroom trying to locate any and every possible form of household lubricant to remove the high school class ring. I give myself a ‘thatta girl’ pat on the back for purchasing the family size container of liquid soap a few days earlier that is now a dire necessity. The husband begins groaning and moaning because the class ring simply will not budge. His finger has now completely swollen over the entire circumference of the ring and is a lovely shade of burgundy.

11:30am: The husband has begun to employ desperate measures to remove the class ring and restore proper circulation to his right hand. He has now made his way outside to rummage through his survival kit of random tools and necessities that clearly includes a tool labeled as ‘What to use when you are a complete imbecile and nothing else is working.’ He makes his way back into the den with a tiny, thread-like survival saw in his hand. He then proceeds to loop the thin thread beneath the space between his class ring and now swollen finger and begins to saw back and forth. I temporarily excuse myself to the bathroom where I proceed to pee in my pants from the absolute comedy unfolding.

12:30pm: After an hour of employing the ‘What to use when you are a complete imbecile and nothing else is working’ survival saw, I recommend to the husband that we call 911 before the situation gets any more serious. Within 10 minutes, the paramedics arrive to assess the dire situation involving the husband and his newfound appreciation for his 1982 high school class ring. Given that paramedics are trained in truly unpredictable events and to ‘Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups,’ I know that they will be able to immediately rectify the problem.

1pm: After 30 minutes of trying to remove the class ring, the paramedics concur that the husband will need to be taken to the hospital where appropriate removal measures will be taken. The husband reluctantly climbs aboard the ambulance and begins sharing the truly nostalgic notion that led him to try on his 1982 high school class ring in the first place. All of the paramedics are completely moved and touched by the husband’s heartwarming tale and total grasp of good judgment.

1:15pm: I stand at the front door and wave goodbye to the husband, his swollen finger, and his 1982 high school class ring as they head off to the hospital. It’s always good to know that your family has helped the local medical community reach their daily imbecile quotient.

5pm: The husband arrives back home from the hospital with his finger in a splint. Apparently, during all of his desperate maneuvering earlier in the day, he managed to break the finger that sported his 1982 class ring. I take one look at the broken finger, now supported by a metal splint, and completely lose all composure as I break into a hysterical laughing spell. Between the class ring, the liquid soap, the survival saw, the paramedics, and now the splint…it’s just too much, even for me!


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Chapter 6

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 25, 2008

8am: The husband is dead asleep and I come downstairs to let the dog out for his morning potty break and patiently wait while he tends to his ‘business.’ I grab the pooper scooper and fling the poop out into the wild, blue yonder of my backyard. I’m puzzled because I don’t hear the usual ‘thump’ of its landing. Within seconds, the poop has plummeted down and hit me directly in the head. I let out a panicked scream which provides some much needed comic relief to my ‘Chatty Kathy’ neighbor next door who is watching on pins and needles. I’m always thrilled when I can inject a little humor into another person’s daily routine, most of all, hers.

10am: I am introduced to our latest staff member in the office who will be in charge of Business Development. I politely shake his hand and receive the full-frontal body scan that is innate in ALL men. After shaking off an unmistakable ‘Serial Killer’ vibe from him, I retreat to my office and close the door. Time to re-visit the company’s ‘Sexual Harassment’ policy as we definitely have a dark horse in the running.

1pm: ‘SK’ (Serial Killer) asks me if I can “CARVE out some time” in my schedule for him later to discuss Marketing initiatives. He continues to tell me how he collects animal skulls and carcasses as a hobby. I reluctantly give him the “Oh really, that’s SO interesting” smile and finally realize the significance of having watched The Silence of the Lambs over a dozen times on those back-to-back TNT weekend marathons. ‘SK’ has now been crowned ‘BBSK’ (Buffalo Bill Serial Killer) by Yours Truly. I’m wondering if he’s going to keep a close eye on my fat back and issue me the following command: “Now IT rubs the lotion on ITS skin.”

4pm: ‘Clueless VP’ rings my desk to ask me if I can print out the email and documents that I emailed him earlier that morning. Apparently, the ‘print’ icon on his desktop is as immobile and useless as he is. But, given that I have 8 arms, I politely oblige and take pride in knowing that I continue to reinforce the company’s ‘Consider the environment before you print this’ policy.

6pm: I arrive home to the welcomed surprise of ‘Chatty Kathy’ in my driveway with both unruly children in tow. Since her driveway is cluttered with patio chairs, bikes and every toy Mattel produces, it only makes sense that the kids practice their artistry in the form of sidewalk chalk all over my driveway. Oh, joy. And people have the nerve to say that I do not support ‘the arts’ in my area!

 

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Chapter 5

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 24, 2008

8am: I practice the clever ‘boot scootin’ boogie’ from the front door of the house to my car. The husband’s parking talents continue to amaze me as he leaves just enough room between his car and mine to put a really impressive dent in my car door. My ‘custom’ paint job is the envy of all my neighbors.

8:15-8:45am: I retreat into my daily lyrical bliss of my true husband, Morrissey. I count the reasons in my head of why I’m convinced he should marry me. I will definitely need to chronicle these reasons later in the day because I’m 100% certain that I can present a worthwhile argument.

9am: I do the ‘happy, happy, joy, joy’ skip from my office to the conference room for the Monday 9am staff meeting. ‘Clueless VP’ has impeccable scheduling abilities and always takes into account the Monday morning commute for everyone in the office.

11am: The husband phones me at the office to tell me his car won’t crank. Given that I apparently keep an Auto Repair Guide on my hip at all times, I immediately know how to solve the problem.

12:30pm: The husband phones me at the office again to ask if I can “have lunch with him.” My husband ‘lingo and behavioral translator’ immediately decodes the message to mean that he wants me to spend my hour lunch by bringing lunch to him.

2pm: Time for a meeting with my favorite co-worker, ‘Deer in Headlights,’ a real dumb as a stump girl who always has a surprised look on her face no matter what we are talking about. She amazes me how she can live in a constant state of exhaustion from chatting on IM all day. My sympathy is beyond expression.

6pm: I arrive home to be greeted by my ‘Chatty Kathy’ neighbor next door. I’m convinced that she must work for the CIA, as she is able to predict the precise moment every evening that I pull into my driveway. I smile as she makes her way over to my yard. Heavy briefcases and arms full of filing folders are no deterrent to a woman with nothing but time on her hands.

7pm: Praise, the Lord for Easy Mac dinners. The husband and I would certainly starve to death without them on a regular basis. 100 ways to make Mac-n-Cheese ranks higher than The Catcher in the Rye in terms of required reading material.

9pm: I decide to attempt a meaningful conversation with the husband who is exhausted and drowsy from surfing the net all day. I’m astounded that a person can be asleep, but still manage to increase the volume on the TV while I’m talking. Surely, the odds surrounding that are staggering!

11pm: Time for a brief episode of the ‘Let Mama love the puppy game’ with the dog. This is when I say, in my best beck and call voice, “Come see Mama and let’s play the Let Mama love the puppy game.” This is, without a shadow of a doubt, the highlight of every day as I am showered with puppy affection that is almost entirely unsolicited. The best part of the game is that he manages to stay awake until I am finished!

 

 

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Chapter 4

Posted by mozziestarlet on September 23, 2008

10am: The husband phones me at the office to ask if I think we “need” to pay the mortgage this month. Apparently, he’s had his eye on the comfy spot under the bridge on 7th street for quite some time now. Relocation expenses would be “really low” for us. Really!

11am: ‘Clueless VP’ rings my desk to ask me to email him the email he sent me on Monday. Any emails received from me automatically filter into his ‘deleted’ folder.

12pm: The husband phones me at the office to ask if we have any money in the bank for him to buy lunch. Balance inquiries and deposits only work from my debit card. Withdrawals work from his.

3pm: The husband phones me at the office for the third time today, obviously taking into account what projects I’m handling in the office. It’s imperative that I hear about why the economy and dollar is failing at that precise moment. An understanding of this is crucial to the success of my afternoon and evening.

6pm: I arrive home to the sparking glory of the husband’s dirty dishes from the day. The dishwasher only operates properly when I turn the knob to ‘start cycle.’

1am: I stumble blindly in the dark to use the bathroom and relieve my bladder pressure. Just a few steps closer and I’m there, only to be welcomed by the cold ‘jolt’ of the toilet rim on my butt cheeks. I mean, everyone likes a gal with rosy cheeks, right?

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