What's Mine Is Mine

And what's yours is mine, too.

That would be DH's way of thinking of things.

Since all of the toys I have gotten for DD are possessed by little mythical beings that peck out eyes and bite off fingers (or at the very least are dangerous choking hazards), DH had to bring along a new toy for DD to play with while he was visiting this week.

So they played with DD's new toy.

As he was leaving, he picked up the toy and took it with him.

In an ever-so-perplexed manner, I inquired as to why he would be taking DD's toy with him.

"Because I bought it," he said.

This would be the most bizarre ritual of gift-giving I have ever encountered. Giving a child a toy, then taking it back when he left?

My therapist (yes, I go to a therapist because I am "nuts", "insane", and "crazy"), prefers to view this behavior as an extreme form of manipulation and control.

Surprisingly, DH thinks my therapist is as crazy as I am.

Despite being completely unbalanced and incapable of rational thought, I have instituted a new rule that any toy brought into DD's home for DD shall stay in DD's home until such time as I see fit to sell it at a garage sale, donate it to Goodwill, or bury it under a tree in the back yard.

The Replacement

No, not by Beth.

She's long gone.

Turns out, he was only using her. He told me so.

It was his way of explaining why it was okay.

You know, kind of like the Work Ho fling was okay because it was only a one night stand.

But, really, I have been replaced. By the most unexpected of people.

I took Molly up to visit yesterday, per my court-ordered obligation. Right there, smack dab in the middle of the wall, hanging slightly askew, was a picture of DH with his ex-wife #1.

How odd. I distinctly remember our wedding picture hanging in that exact same spot not long ago.

Apparently, now that all his misguided anger and bitterness are directed at me, he has abandoned his hatred for his first wife and is left feeling all fluffy and cuddly toward her.

Too bad she detests him as much as I do.

But not to worry. He already has another love interest in the works.

I'm sure it will work out splendidly.

Wow

I got a phone message from DH today.

All I can say is...

Wow.

Wow. Wow. Wow.

I have to speak with my attorney before I say anything else.

Just wow.

I married an idiot.

It Takes One To Know One

An Asshat, that is.

Since DH is living in a reality of his own creation that makes no sense to those of us who have not had a frontal lobotomy, it is no surprise he would chose an attorney of equal perspective.

Wacky Attorney Jackass, as my attorney liked to call him by the day's end.

By about 10:00 am, it had become the general suspicion of both my attorney and myself (and quite possibly the judge), that Wacky Attorney Jackass had learned to practice law by reading Nancy Drew mysteries and watching episodes of Matlock while eating Cheetos and drinking boxed wine out of a teacup.

First impressions can make or break you...or, in Wacky Attorney Jackass's case, cause the judge to push a 9:00 am hearing to the very bottom of the docket because he is ticked off at you.

It is not presumably wise to try to direct a judge in how he manages his courtroom. Or continue to talk over him once he has decided he has heard enough.

And then to do it again.

Wacky Attorney Jackass does not appear to agree.

Some highlights of his wackassly behavior are as follows...

Apparently, the expectation of the court is that the attorneys meet just before the hearing to come to an agreement. Wacky Attorney Jackass chose simply to refuse to have discussions with my attorney prior to seeing the judge. Nope. Not going to do it, he said.

While we were waiting in the hallway, he did what all highly qualified and exceptionally prepared attorneys would do...He asked other attorneys in the hallway for legal advice.

He demanded the court re-mediate our visitation agreement since "DC is no longer an infant." Unless I've gotten my math skills wrong, DC is ten months old. I do believe that qualifies as infancy.

Our judge, with whom I was very pleased, was all warm and fuzzy smiles when he addressed me. He was like a young, thin Santa without a beard.

He was all scowls and furrowed brows, with his jaw dropped open, when he addressed team Asshat.

Oh, and that fortune I've been hiding away off the coast of Antarctica...Wacky Attorney Jackass seems to have gotten wind of it. He kept referring to my "high" income and "large" deposits made to my bank accounts. I have positively not a clue which accounts those would be, but when he locates them, I do hope I get a cut of the funds.

The judge was clearly not feeling the love for Wackjackly and Company because he was most generous in his award of support to me.

We do have to go back to court at the end of January, at which time, Wacky Attorney Jackass will be responsible for substantiating his claims of my wealth. I have no idea what I will do once he discovers that I am really a princess in line to inherit all of the treasures of ancient Greece.

He will probably be too busy chasing ambulances to take notice.

An End In Sight

At long, long last, I am finally approaching my custody hearing on the 28th of November. While I am doing my best to be calm, especially since my attorney - whom I hold in the highest regard - says I have nothing to worry about, it has been a rather difficult task.

Certainly the 28th will not mark the cure of DH's deviously wicked evilness. As hard as I try to refrain from paranoia, there are those nagging thoughts here and there. What more could he be planning to avenge himself of my cunning plan to have a baby and leave?

Lately he has taken to referring to me as "genuinely crazy," "a nut case," and "completely insane." In fact, he makes these comments with such frequency and in such a calm manner that I begin to wonder...

Could it be?

Could I be insane?

Could he, who has been known up until now as nothing more than an Asshat, actually be a Board Certified Psychiatrist in disguise?

I could choose to worry endlessly about his plans to prove me an insane, unfit mother. But I have other interests to pursue as I await our court date.

So here I sit, whiling away the time on my tropical island paradise that was paid for out of my well-concealed fortune of rubies, gold, and chicken feet, feeding gooseberries and mint leaves to my magical pet unicorn, as I bathe in the sun with my dear friend, the one-eyed pork chop from a land far, far away.

They Were Wrong

The scientists.

All of them.

Those who are particularly under scrutiny for being incorrect are the astronomers.

Boy, did they have it wrong.

The earth, it would seem, does NOT actually revolve around the sun.

The sun doesn't even revolve around the earth.

There are a lot of text books out there in need of revision.

It is around DH's surf schedule that the entire universe revolves.

In fact, I would go so far as to say, the entire universe was CREATED to facilitate DH's desire to sit on the beach alone and surf, interrupted only by the occasional dalliance with a snaggle-toothed girlfriend.

Great extremes are required to separate DH from his surfing schedule. For example, being so sick with the flu that he cannot muster the strength to suit up and paddle out.

Being too sick to surf, he decided he ought to settle for visiting DC instead.

Not feeling certain that smothering a baby with flu germs was advisable, I questioned whether DH ought to visit today.

My uncertainty was laid to rest, however, when DH told me not to worry, he wouldn't get DC sick.

While I am sure DH's super hero magical powers would prevent his flu bugs from transmitting to DC, I told him it was probably best that he stay home and rest so that he might return to surfing sooner.

For The Sake Of Comparison

We all know by now what a dismal failure I was as the wife of an Asshat. I do hope DH has been a bit more selective in choosing his current girlfriend.

I thought to do a quick comparison to see how Beth stacked up.

Let's see...

~DH said I was fat at my pre-pregnancy weight of 145 and 5'3".
Beth is 175 and 5'3".

I wonder how long until DH starts to ration her cheese?

~I am blonde.
Beth is bleached blonde.

~I did not earn enough money per DH's expectation.
Beth earns substantially less.

~I can spell, or at least use a dictionary.
Beth prefers not to maintain skills in that area.

~I am 33.
Beth is 38 and might possibly have more wrinkles, bags, and overall sagginess than me.

~I have two cats that DH hated (and tried to feed to the neighborhood coyotes while I was moving out.)
Beth has something akin to a zoo and probably smells of cow manure and cat urine.

~I, while slightly more dramatic than the average folks, am most certainly mentally stable.
Beth appears to be somewhat of a cross between a manic-depressive and a Tazmanian Devil on crack, although I have no medical substantiation to these claims.

~I was baggage-free.
Beth has "a long history of bad relationships with men."

~I have flawless teeth.
Beth is snaggle-toothed.

Yep, I'd have to say he's taken a step up in the world.

Mama Bear Will Squash You Flat

Forget the woman scorned...hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her child.

I brought DC over to DH's this morning for his two hour visit. In addition to falling asleep while watching her, his other favorite father-daughter activity seems to be taking her over to the neighbor's to look at dents and scratches on the neighbor's car and engage in friendly automotive man-talk...

While said neighbor is dangling a cigarette 14 inches from my baby's face.

So, in an attempt to remove DC from the situation in as expedient of a fashion as possible, I began bellowing at the top of my protective mommy lungs, "GET MY BABY AWAY FROM THAT CIGARETTE SMOKE - NOW!"

Not having received a suitable response, specifically, noting that I was being ignored, I persisted in my dramatic admonitions that "YOU DON'T PUT A CIGARETTE NEAR A BABY'S FACE!"

Ah...I finally got a response. DH began to casually mosey back on home, with cigaretted neighbor right by his (and DC's) side.

After one more round of protective raging, and a shout of "Good for you!" from a passing pedestrian, I darted inside to retrieve my diaper bag and strode out the door with a battle cry of my intent to reclaim my child.

In passing, I did ask DH's neighbor what kind of human being he suspected he was, smoking near a baby.

DH, of course, said DC was just fine and it was no big deal.

While being humiliated in front of his neighbors by a raving lunatic wife will not likely make him into a decent parent, at least he was humiliated.

And The Award Goes To...

It really is hard to tell at this point in time who is the...er...less sensible of the two - DH or his attorney.

In light of the recent subpoenas I have received, I am left no room but to speculate that someone must be up to no good.

Who is in charge here, exactly? Is it DH, directing his attorney's bizarre behavior like a schizophrenic puppeteer?

Or is DH's attorney pulling a fast one on him, having somehow discerned that DH might be a bit...lacking...in the intellectual astuteness department (in addition to having vast quantities of cash lying around that would convert very nicely to attorney's fees.)?

SOMEBODY in this whole business is obviously forgetting to THINK.

Subpoenaed item #1 out of 52 different items was...

ALL TAX RETURNS FILED EITHER INDIVIDUALLY OR JOINTLY WITHIN THE PAST THREE YEARS.

Hmmm...Well, at least that shouldn't be too difficult. I mean, I'll just go to my file marked "Tax Returns" and make a photocopy.

Oh, wait.

I was married for the past three years. I filed jointly with DH. He has all of the tax returns in HIS file at HIS home.

I don't have any copies at all.

Oh dear.

I would hate to be found in contempt of court for not complying with DH's attorney's subpoena.

So I called DH.

Me: DH, I will need to get a copy of the tax returns from you. *snicker* *snicker*...er...*cough* *cough*..,Oh my goodness, I seem to be choking on a cracker *snicker* *cough*

DH: Why do you need that?

Me: Because you have subpoenaed them from me. So, I will need to get a copy from you so I can go to Kinkos and pay to make another copy for my attorney. Then, I will give my attorney his copy and pay him to make another copy for your attorney. Then I will have to pay my attorney to send that copy to your attorney and I'll also have to pay for him to type a cover letter. Then, you will have to pay your attorney to make a copy for you. Then, you will have to pay your attorney to mail that copy to you. Most likely, he will be including a cover letter, as well. You'll have to pay for that, too. Then you will have a copy of the tax returns that you have subpoenaed. *snicker* *cough* *cough* So sorry, very tricky cracker I've got stuck in my throat there.

DH: Oh, okay. Well, you can come over on Saturday and take the tax returns to make a copy.

Me: Okay. Then you will have the original tax returns and the copies I paid my attorney to make, so I could pay him to send them to your attorney, so you could pay your attorney to send them to you. You'll have both then. Does that sound good? *snicker* *snort* *cough*

DH: Yeah, that's fine.

Me: Hmmm...it seems like it will be a bit costly to get you copies of the documents you already have. Does your attorney communicate with you much before making decisions, or does he just spend your money all crazy-like? *snicker* *cough*

DH: I don't know what game you are trying to play. *click*

Is he serious? ME, playing games? As far as I can see, I have been no more than a spectator to his...what would you even call his behavior? Really, I am becoming more and more convinced that he was abducted by aliens and received brain cell transfusions from extraterrestrial fungi.

Out From Under My Rock

Oh my! Has it been that long? I have to admit, under a rock has not been one of my most favorite vacation locales. Someplace with bright sun and a cool breeze would have been preferable.

As of late, DH has been most agreeable to creating a long, dramatic, made-for-television type of divorce - he finds it soothing to his ego. I imagine he spends most of his evenings lounging on his sofa with a dainty handkerchief draped across his forehead, bemoaning his sad victimhood at the hands of a cruel and demented wife.

Meanwhile, his attorney has been most busy making a fool of his client in exchange for vast quantities of money. This has elevated our divorce to a place of great amusement to my attorney, despite his normally stoic demeanor. The quality of his correspondence with me has deteriorated from extreme professionalism to comedic sarcasm, intermittently besmudged by the occasional teardrop from hysterical laughter that spatters upon the page.

Let’s see if I can get this right…

Following my disastrous appearance in court, I received the formal recommendation of the mediator. While it was evident that the mediator hated me and was quite possibly in allegiance with DH, the recommendation was no different than that of the first mediator (three hours per week under my supervision).

As thrilling as this news was, it did not sit so well with DH, since his child support payment is based on the amount of time DC spends with me.

And so the wheels began to spin once more in his cleaver little brain.

If he could force me to stop breastfeeding, DC wouldn’t have a need to be with me so much. With his great plan in mind, he joyfully paid his attorney another large sum of money to draft a stipulation that would force me to wean her. To gather evidence, DH called my pediatrician…once…twice…thrice…how many phone calls does it take to annoy a doctor? Somewhere in between six and nine, I would say.

Fortunately for DC, her pediatrician did not take kindly to a previously uninvolved parent calling to request her medical files be sent to an attorney, along with a letter recommending she no longer be breastfed.

Way to charm the doc, DH.

At her 9 month appointment, I found the doctor to be as impressed with DH as I am.

Then, on DH’s birthday, which I TOTALLY forgot to acknowledge, I had to call the police on him. He thought it would be elevating to his spirit to refuse to hand DC over to me at the end of his visitation with her. His prideful smirk was priceless as he used my sweet baby as a pawn to try to control me.

Happy Birthday, DH. I hope you enjoyed your chat with the police.

In a final attempt to “win”, DH’s attorney has subpoenaed all records of my membership to country clubs and beach clubs. You know, because I frolic the day away sipping tea and playing croquet with other single moms who have loads of money and time to spare.

I am also required to produce evidence of any inheritance I have received in the past three years. When my cat died, she did leave me her dishes, collars, and toys.

And half a bag of catnip.

And a cat bed.

And some hair bunnies under the sofa. But I didn’t keep those.

But I do have one of her baby teeth that might be of some value. I’ll have to look into where I might get an appraisal.

Then the worst happened…

I got a letter from my attorney informing me that DH believes me to be a TYCOON.

Yes, an EBAY tycoon.

To prove it, his attorney subpoenaed my SISTER’S eBay records, because that makes sense, doesn’t it?

I am now faced with the sad task of informing my sister that she will have to pay alimony to my DH.

Then, to reward me for being the sole parenting influence in DC’s life, DH decided to report me to Child Protective Services. Yes, because I am a neglectful and abusive mom. I just didn’t know it until DH was gracious enough to bring it to my attention.
My sweet DC likes to think of DC's self as being quite skilled at walking gracefully across hard-tiled floor in slippery socks. I do believe I forgot to reminder her last week that she is not, in fact, skilled at walking in ANY circumstance, let alone one so perilous.
Thus, she fell and conked her poor baby head, leaving a bruise the size of a dime.
When DH came to visit three days later, he demanded to know what had happened to her, obviously suspecting that I had lost my temper and tried to discipline her with a frying pan to the forehead.
He started to take pictures of her head, then left rather abruptly well before his two hours were up.
Two days later, during his midweek hour visit, he got his panties all knotted up over a small bruise on her arm (pencil eraser sized). It’s from her TB test, I said.
Alarmed, he said to DC, “You have bruises all over your body. That doesn’t seem right. All over your body…”
I am a crazed maniac in need of restraint. It is a good thing DH is getting me the help I need. My attorney said I should probably expect the visit from CPS within a week or so.

As for the final custody arrangements, we still have to go to court on November 28th. My attorney is not worried in the least, and I do have a very good attorney, unlike DH. After that, our divorce should be final in January, unless DH gets wind of the billions of dollars of assets I am currently hiding in a sunken pirate ship off the coast of Antarctica. That could possibly cause some legal delays.

In the meantime, DH is beginning to busy himself with his new girlfriend, Beth. I can only imagine she is of exceptionally outstanding character. Especially since she started calling him “babe” and staying for the weekend after knowing him for seven or eight long days.

Please Excuse My Absence...

Please excuse my absence from my usual realms. I have been working undercover as of late.

Incognito, you might say.

It is stunning what one finds if they poke their curious nose around one of the dating websites out there.

One might meet some interesting people. Doctors, lawyers, hairy men in thongs...

Or even, perhaps, an asshat once known as DH.

It is amazing what you can attract with a catchy alias, a few photos of a busty blonde, a fictitious love of surfing, an enviable income, and a bit of sensual mystique.

I feel like a foolish school girl awaiting the outcome of my courtship with my new-found love interest.

In all seriousness, however, I believe I spent a bit of my time (okay, most of it) wallowing in a bit of pity. I'm over it now, having successfully emerged from intensive "retail therapy". Life goes on, and I can't imagine I won't come out of this less worse for the wear than Asshat.

Thank you for everyone's concern.

Let the games continue...

The Second Mediation

*sigh*

I woke up in the Twilight Zone.

Our mediator was a reincarnation of Kathy Bates' character in the movie Misery.

I do believe she also had fangs.

And horns.

They must have imported her from Were the Wild Things Are.

Either that, or I forgot to remove the "I'm an unfit human, please berate me" sign from my forehead before I arrived.

She gave me approximately 5 minutes 8 seconds to speak. DH was given upwards of an hour. During one pause in his sob story about how I had abandoned him and taken his daughter away from him, I asked very nicely if I would have an opportunity to respond.

She abruptly informed me that I had already had a chance to tell her everything and it was his turn. She then bit off three of my toes and spit poison in my left eye.

I, she would have me know, am "highly reactive, overly sensitive, and high strung".

That seems to be a lot to garner from a person who sat quietly and patiently while being insulted for eating too much cheese while she was pregnant.

We are both bitter and nasty towards one another, she said. Again, I'm not certain how she was able to come to this conclusion, as I was not given the opportunity to behave bitterly or nastily. Anytime she did allow me to speak, she promptly cut me off mid-sentence because she felt everything I was saying was irrelevant.

Most importantly, were DH's observations that I contributed nothing to our marriage, lied, exaggerated, withheld information, stole his baby, and turned my father against him. Oh, and I ate his cheese.

She asked me to explain exactly why I would have stayed married to him if he were really abusive and why I would have had a baby.

You know, blame the victim.

She also rolled her eyes at me once and criticized me for staying married to an abusive man.

I'm currently waiting to hear back from my attorney.

My mom is currently on the phone to SeaWorld to see if they are planning to release any sharks to the wild. There is particular surf spot in our area she would like to recommend.

Custody Hearing - Take Two

Our custody re-mediation is scheduled from 8:00 to 10:00 am Pacific time. I will post an update once I return home.

Rules of Engagement

DH has been such a good sport through all this mess. He has tried so hard to make our parting of ways amicable.

And I...I have been nothing but a troublemaker and an instigator.

Despite my poor behavior, DH is, it turns out, determined to be the peacemaker. He wants so badly for us to get along civilly. He's just a good guy, trying his best to get along.

He invited me over on Labor Day to get the remainder of my personal belongings. Or as he phrased it, so he "didn't have to spend the money on gas to drive to see DD."

As I was packing up my things in the bedroom, I noticed out of the corner of my eye something that required closer examination.

It was a note on my dresser. It was for me. A note to me!

DH had gone and written me a list of rules for how to behave in our divorce.

I flushed with embarrassment at the thought that I had been so wayward in my behavior as to require rules.

I quickly photographed them so that I might memorize them at my leisure. I have also written them on my bathroom mirror in lipstick.


RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

1. No name calling. (I can only assume DH has taken offense to the title of my blog.)

2. Don't keep trying to get me to UNDERSTAND or ACKNOWLEDGE you. (Fine, then I will ignore you too and whistle the tune to the Dukes of Hazard every time you open your mouth to speak.)

3. Do not do or say things out of SPITE, like make phone calls. Because whether or not you think I am right or WRONG or your family or friends or a therapist agree you, I DON'T and these things will make me unhappy and bitter. (Okay, everyone must IMMEDIATELY stop thinking poorly of DH. We simply wouldn't want him to become unhappy.)

4. Please when I say STOP NOW it is because I am becoming frustrated and angry and I don't do well like that. It brings back Bad Mood DH and I will never be Bad Mood DH again. I don't want anyone to hear or see that DH. (Generally, when you have a NAME for your alter ego...that's not a good sign.)

5. Sometimes I feel like I am being grilled or interrogated. I hate that. (Hmmm...so my "good cop, bad cop" routine is working then?)

In light of DH's benevolent willingness to help me be better behaved, I am going to put a most sincere effort into getting along. Perhaps next time we speak I will tell him he is looking rather dashing in his straight jacket and padded room.

Nuttier Than An Almond On A Walnut Tree

Um...

PSYCHO!

DH's parting words to me today:

"Take care of yourself...I love you."

WHAT?!?!

The Mole

My recent comments in a telephone call to DH ;) Just trying to keep him on his toes.

"DH, I have told you once before...There is someone in your inner circle of associates who loves me more than they love you. So, all those things you've done that you think I don't know...

I do.

And if you think I will lift one finger to stop them as they come barrelling down upon you to bite you in the ass...

You are mistaken."

I Want To Be Your Personal Asshat

DH has another love interest.

A highly top secret inside source has informed me that the reason he did not visit DD this weekend was that he had a date.

It was definitely someone new. I can't imagine what the others are going to think!

Here I sit, with my brow furrowed and fingernails tapping impatiently on the table...wondering how, oh how, DH has managed to accumulate such an impressive collection of mistresses in such a short period of time.

His charm, sincerity, generosity, compassion, and intellectual aptitude - while admittedly great - seem hardly enough to attract such attention.

A quick search of the local personal ads for "asshat" yielded nothing.

It did occur to me that he might be using an alias...something a bit more flattering, perhaps?

Whatever his method, there seems to be an unusually high demand for cruel, abusive, dim-witted, narcissistic tightwads who have recently kicked their wives and infants out of their homes.

I would encourage everyone to rush right out and get their own before the supply dries up.

Meet Me Under The Mistletoe

Halloween has not yet arrived and I already find myself fretting over what to get DD for her first Christmas. I do so prefer to finish my shopping early, so as to avoid being trampled to death beneath a herd of shoppers scrambling for $10 DVD players at Walmart.

The trouble is, DH had recently made me aware of some rather serious deficiencies in my parenting. Specifically, my ability to choose suitable toys for DD.

I am one of those moms that more competent parents (like DH) speak of in hushed tones while shaking their heads reproachfully.

See, I had bought DD a toy, an inappropriate toy. Clearly, I had not put much thought into the wisdom of giving such a toy to an infant.

I should have known better.

Fortunately, DH has "raised three children and has a granddaughter," and does know better, so he was able to correct me on the matter.

Here is the toy I had been so neglectful in allowing DD to play with:



At first glance, it may seem quite harmless, however, if you peer a bit more closely...

...you will see all those little pieces in there. Now, while I had thought this was commonly known as a "rattle", it turns out that it is actually a "choking hazard."

It is. All those little pieces are unsafe.

DH told me so.

I humbly accepted this embarrassing correction to my dangerous parenting choices. Still, I was trembling with fear over having to pick out appropriate toys for DD's Christmas.

What if my lack of sense lead me to buy her a chainsaw or a pencil sharpener?

Much to my good fortune, DH stepped in to provide me with some brilliant ideas during one of his visits with DD.

Prizing literacy himself, and wanting DD to get an early start on learning her alphabet, specifically the letters C, A, U, T, I, O, and N, DH found this nice bit of dirty plastic "caution" tape at the construction site around my home.

At first, I had questioned DH about the advisability of allowing DD to play with plastic. Not to worry, though, because DH assured me that he would "not let her do anything to harm herself."

Then, I was troubled over the dirtiness of the plastic tape.

Again, it was a misplaced concern. A brief browsing of the Internet informed me that dirt is a source of the valuable vitamin B-12.

Heaven forbid DD develop scurvy, rickets, or some other nutrient deficiency due to my lack of attentiveness to her intake of filth.

Another part of DD's playtime routine with DH consists of learning timekeeping. She has already developed a familiarity with digital watches that far exceeds that of her peers. While DH particularly enjoys letting her chew on his watch, it is not something I need to worry about. DH takes his watch out of her mouth periodically to make sure no little pieces have fallen off.

Again, I had been slightly bothered by the fact that this watch spends much of its time in the ocean with DH while he is surfing. He surfs sometimes when the beach is closed due to a sewage spill. But I'm sure all the poopy germs evaporate before he puts the watch in DD's mouth

I was also inspired by this toy. Notice the loose lid and removable plastic ring. These are great for helping babies develop fine motor skills.

With all of DH's great baby toy ideas in mind, I thought I'd try my hand at coming up with some ideas of my own.

Since she is teething, I was thinking that a bit of barbed wire might be just the thing to help her cut her teeth. I was also thinking that a bag of marbles would be great manipulatives for teaching her how to count. Maybe she would even be up to learning addition and subtraction.

That's really all I could come up with for now. But I believe DH will be back again this weekend to visit, so I will keep my eyes peeled for more ideas.

Warmest Welcome to Attorney Asshat

I spoke with my attorney the other day about my great concern over being up against the mountain of intellect that is my DH. I had made a careless mistake that gave him access to "Exhibit C" and forced me to make my blog private. I didn't want to make any further missteps.

You never know where an asshat might be lurking.

My imagination causes me to envision him hiding out in the dumpster where I dispose of my garbage, rooting around for some incriminating tidbit of evidence to support his claims of my wickedness. Somehow, this seems to be an entirely suitable environment for him.

Certainly, he would whimper and drool at the opportunity to gain access to the rest of my blog entries. Then he would find out about all of my crimes and misdeeds against him.

You know, that plan I had to marry him just to have a baby, leave, and take all his precious money. And how my mom was in on it because she wanted a grandbaby. And my dad - he was in on it too. From the very beginning. He paid for the wedding, just so I could put my plan into effect.

Just to be safe, I asked my attorney if it was safe to continue blogging. He assured me that it was, however, anything I put in writing could, eventually, be read by DH.

If DH read my blog, my attorney cautioned, it might make it difficult for us to get along and communicate.

Since DH is already impossible to communicate with, even without any help from my blog, I figured I had nothing to lose by continuing to write about him.

So, any day now, Never Marry An Asshat may be visited by Attorney Asshat (I have changed his name to protect his identity - Asshat is not his real name).

Attorney Asshat, we bid you fond greetings and very happy reading! Please feel free to stay and comment!

My Sweet Lovey Asshat

Awww. DH came to visit DD today. He is such a sweet and lovable man. So kind and courteous.

I ignored him the whole hour and a half, except to intervene twice when DD was crying hysterically.

Despite my lack of warm fuzziness, DH gave me a cuddly squeeze on the shoulder just as he was leaving.

There was no warning.

I didn't even have time to defend myself with a swift kick to his groin.

It was such a surprise, really. Especially considering, not 24 hours prior, he had used all kinds of colorfully worded phrases to describe me.

And here I thought he was a bad guy when he is really just a fluffy bunny! Boy, did I ever misunderestimate him ;)

Declarations Part 2

The only time I wasn't there was when I would go to work and go to the gym three times a week. I would stay at the gym until 8:00pm and be home by 8:30pm (let us do the math here...if baby goes to bed at 7:00pm, exactly how many hours per week was he available to "help with the baby as much as he could"?). After Petitioners mother left she became very distraught and easily upset (I had come to the grim realization that I was married not to a man, but to an Asshat). She stressed about everything concerning the baby and contacted her mother about everything because her mothers a nurse and knows everything (My mom is thoroughly tickled that DH would compliment her so kindly on her wisdom, and make it part of a legal document, no less. She really is a wise mom and it is nice to know DH has the sense to publicize it. She was SO flattered, in fact, that she intends to add this praise to her resume).

Petitioner couldn't be separated from the baby to go to the bathroom, she was afraid to leave the baby with me to go to the bathroom at Walmart because she was concerned I would wander away from the baby (I'd say this is a very unusual fear for a new mother. I wonder if I could possibly be a paranoid lunatic...or could there be something else behind this fear? An incompetent father? Let's see...that might be a bit tough to sort out. How WILL the courts decide...) and didn't know what I would do if anyone tried to touch the baby (well, he'd let CHILDREN with unwashed hands and drippy noses touch my low birth weight, RSV season newborn, so why WOULDN'T he let a stranger infected with leprosy or the plague touch DC too? Got to build up an immunity early!). This was unreasonable because she knew that I had raised three (3) children and I have a granddaughter (raising children who would be more suitable additions to a prison community than to society and having a granddaughter born addicted to methamphetamine - whom you've only seen a half dozen times in her two years of life - are EXCELLENT qualifications for parenting). This was the type of interaction that led to our separation she moved to her mothers (shocking...simply SHOCKING!).

4. Petition claims that I have failed to provided adequate support for her and my DD. Since March up until today I have given Petitioner $XXX (he is going to FAINT when he finds out he should have been paying me THREE TIMES as much).

5. Petitioner claims to need spousal support but has the capability to be self supporting and earn enough money to support herself. Prior to marriage, Petitioner was an accountant of some sort (at least we know he took an interest in the specifics of my life). When we got married, Petitioner was going to school to get her teaching credential and was working part time. When Petitioner graduated from college she began working as a substitute teacher.

6. In or about the month of October 2006 (it was October 23, to be exact. But he would have had no way of knowing that, as he was too busy "attending to my needs" to be bothered with the particulars of my preterm labor), Petitioner was put on bed rest by her physician (or was it my dentist?), and in February delivered the baby via C-Section. Petitioner claims that she is not able to work because she is caring for our infant. However, Petitioner nor the baby have any type of existing medical condition where they need to be together at all times. Petitioner did experience complications during pregnancy but is capable of gaining employment and earning a living. Petitioner is currently nursing the baby but she is able to extract her milk (this is a complex and somewhat painful process involving all sorts of farm equipment, heavy machinery, and coal driven furnaces. I realize MOST women prefer to EXPRESS their milk using a breast pump, however, I find this method to be rather boring, really) to supply it to a babysitter or day care facility where the baby can be cared for while she works (and substitute teachers earn just enough after taxes to pay the cost of day care with approximately 32 cents per day left over - not bad for a day's work).

7. Petitioner claims to not be able to get a teaching job because she is no longer substituting but with her college degree she is able to obtain other types of employment (My degree was in Anthropology, specifically Primatology. There is currently a regional shortage of jobs catering to people who can train captive chimpanzees to use tools and and sign the words "asshat" and "deadbeat dad").

8. Petitioner claims that I have a safety deposit box with $150,000, this statement is ridiculous. time (I seem to recall the years of our marriage being very profitable oThere is no money or any other items in this safety deposit box (then where, exactly, is the money? In your freezer? Funny coincidence how the safe deposit box was opened...let's see...two days before you received a ginormous check from your bank that had some resemblance to that amount of money. Or is the safe deposit box where you are keeping your underwear, now that your dresser drawer is full of cash?).

9. The marital standard of living was based entirely on my income simply because PETITIONER DID NOT WANT TO WORK (I am finding SO MANY errors in this document! Proofread! Proofread! Proofread! I'm sure this was intended to say "because Petitioner did not want to work full time as a substitute teacher, work part time for a family member AND get a job at Kohl's Department Store on the weekends, all while trying to finish school." Had I been a little less lazy, I am sure I would have succeeded in being so industrious. As it was, I spent most of my time sitting around on my hindquarters all day, watching soap operas and eating chocolate covered bonbons).

12. Petitioner claims that I have been withdrawing cash from our accounts however we never had a joint bank account. There is substantial amounts in savings that are premarital assets and tracing to support this claim will be provided at a later nes for DH. Can't wait to see his documentation). I did make a withdrawal (A withdrawal?????) and had the money at home in my sock drawer (Um, that would be his panty drawer, but I'm guessing he thought it was more respectable to hide money in his sock drawer). I later discovered in a blog posted by Petitioner that she had come into the home and took $3,000 from my sock drawer and a grocery bag full of quarters. A copy of the blog is being provided to the court as "EXHIBIT C" (upon rereading this blog entry - which I had deleted - I find endless amusement in the fact that it is now part of court record). Petitioner complains that I have cut off all access to community funds but she never had access (Ahhh, he admits to being financially abusive!).

I declare under penalty of perjury under the laws of the State that the foregoing is true and correct (tee hee hee).

Signed
Mr. Asshat, Respondent

The Declarations of a Competent Asshat

Just when I thought all my birthday gifts had been unwrapped and the celebration was over until this time next year, a package arrived in the mail.

It was a copy of DH's response to my divorce filing.

I had no idea that DH was a writer of comedy! I have highlighted my comments to some of the more interesting points in yellow to aid you in being mesmerized as you gaze into the mind of DH's greatness.

In addition to his highly dramatic and moving storytelling, I have also received a petition requesting that I pay his legal expenses. Yes, that is correct. HE wants ME to pay his attorney fees. I can only imagine, in light of all the other circumstances surrounding this soap opera, that a judge will find that to be a perfectly reasonable request.

I quiver in fear.

So, here it is, in DH's very own words which have been heavily edited by another person (please remember that DH feels neither punctuation nor proper spelling to be essential elements of coherent writing).

(I have omitted some of the standard legal stuff and identifying information)

DECLARATION OF MR. ASSHAT

I offer the within declaration in lieu of personal testimony.

1. I am the Respondent in this above noted matter. I have personal knowledge of the facts stated herein and if called to testify as a witness, I could and would competently testify thereto (competently, could he? As competently as during our custody hearing, perhaps?).

3. Since Petitioner moved out I have been driving to her home to visit on Saturdays or Sundays to visit with the baby. These visits are very brief lasting between thirty minutes to one hour because Petitioner and I have gotten into arguments. We argue because I want her to come home with the baby (he conveyed this desire with the words "I hate you" and "I can't believe I ever loved you") and she brings up past problems resulting in a disagreement that becomes an argument at a level that I feel uncomfortable in front of the baby (he can say he didn't want DD in front of her, but an argument would just be crossing the line), it becomes a "he said" "she said" argument and I don't want to continue in front of the baby so when she pushes my buttons I leave because I don't want to argue (the mark of a stable man - he has "buttons" that turn on his rage). I can't visit my DD in the presence of my wife because she will always start an argument which forces me to leave.

Before Petitioner became pregnant we argued about twice every six months (this may have been how often I actually KNEW what the arguments were about, since he was very good at one sided fits of anger). Generally we got along pretty well (as long as I was submitting to his will and didn't ask for a glass of water or eat any of his cheese). During the pregnancy our relationship was pretty stable (I was stuck in the house, in the dark, without any human interaction from my DH, or any air conditioning, or any cheese, for FIVE MONTHS).

I accompanied her and her mother to purchase the crib, car seat, bassinet and other necessary baby items (because I told him he had to. My MOM paid for the whole lot of it). I went to as many doctors appointments as I could (ONE, because my mom MADE him) and took her to the hospital when she delivered the baby (hmmm, let's see if I recall my birth experience correctly...my MOM took me to the hospital. He did not arrive until many hours later and would have gone to the gym had my mom not INSISTED he come sooner).

I spent the first night with her after the baby was born and the next night Petitioners mom gave me a break and I returned the next day (in the late afternoon. He had to go surfing first. I gave him a "break" because he thought he should sleep through the night and make me get up and down out of bed with a C-Section to get the baby, not once getting up to help). When we came home from the hospital I did everything I could to help her with the baby (I just don't even know where to begin commenting on this statement *sigh*). Her mother came home from the hospital with us and spent the next two weeks caring for Petitioner.

Since her mother was a nurse she took over and cared for Petitioner since I had to go to work (he could take two weeks off to go on vacation while I was home with a new baby, but he did not take one single day off after I came home, despite having mounds of vacation time available. Better to save that time off for a future surf trip, I reckon). I was very concerned for her since she had a C-section (what he MEANT to say was that he was very concerned that I did not lose all of my baby weight before I came home from the hospital). When I came home I tried to help but when her mother was there she took care of them (my VERY naughty mom. How dare she actually take care of me when DH desired for me to exist in a completely despondent and neglected state. She always did ruin his plans like that).

I helped with the baby as much as I could (how many times is he going to say that? Hmmm? Anyone keeping track?). Petitioner nurses so I would sit next to her (and watch boxing) and helped out if needed (his grunted responses to my attempts at conversation and moans of inconvenience at being asked for a glass of water were helpful to a fault. And so nice to see that he "helped out" with nursing. How exactly did he do that, I wonder? With a supplemental nurser, do you suppose?). When I got home from work I would help change diapers and help out as much as I could (that would be a career total of three diapers - wiped back to front, BTW - you know, the proper way to do it for a girl).

TO BE CONTINUED

Happy Birthday to Me

DH called this morning and left a heartfelt message on my voicemail. He hopes I have a happy day and was so sorry to have missed me. He actually asked me to call him back, if I got a chance.

Despite searching the vast depths of hell, I was able to come up with not one single chance.

I imagine he will be sitting at home in the dark right now, feeling lonely and rejected. I am such an ungracious wife, ignoring his well-wishes in such a rude manner.

~~~~~~~~

I apologize for the interruption...there are big things brewing. A better birthday present I could simply not hope for. It is going to take me a moment or two to type it up. Please bear with me. I promise it will be well worth the wait.

In the meantime, please cruise on down to your local drug store. You are going to need to pick up some Depends to get through it. I'm serious.

Going for a TKO

I got a dreadful call from the courthouse the other day. We have to go back and start all over again. The person handling our case took a leave of absence without finishing her documentation.

All that drama for nothing. I am so disappointed.

I called the courthouse to express my disillusionment at the fact DH will get a second chance to make a false impression. Maybe there was a thing or two he would have preferred to have omitted.

I mean, he couldn't really be stupid enough to repeat all those things he said before, could he? This can only mean I must be extra astute in pushing DH's buttons during our interview. I'm generally quite skilled at this.

The other day, it took only a single question about his relationship with the Work Ho to set him off. It sent him into such a wild rage I thought for sure some major blood vessel in his body would burst.

He reminded me - in language festooned with much profanity - that this had been my plan from the beginning.


To marry a psycho loony nut? Be verbally, emotionally, and financially abused? Have a baby - only to be kicked out of the house 5 weeks postpartum? Have to be supported by my parents, while struggling to ensure my baby escapes the evil clutches of a man gone mad?

What a brilliant plan I had! Saw right through me, he did.

And what's worse, my mom was in on the whole thing. She wanted a grandbaby, complete with child support payments. What a wicked woman.

Then there is my dad, who financed the whole scheme. Paid for the wedding, simply so I could put my plan into action. That was a very naughty thing to do.

I suggested he invest in a good psychiatric evaluation. I can't say for sure, but he may not have take this comment to heart.

I fear that I may have, in response to his raving tizzy, emitted a less-than-stiffled giggle or two. One of the side effects of remaining calm against DH's onslaughts, is that it gives my mind the clarity to find humor in the insanity of his words.

Lest I give the impression of DH being a total monster, please know that he did call the next morning to wish me a fine day.

And the next evening to tell me he loved me and was deeply regretful that he had not done a good enough job at being a husband.

And the evening after that to tell me good night.

He even told me again that I was pretty.

See, that makes up for his tirade just a bit, doesn't it? I will just sit by the phone, then, and await his next explosion of rage. It should be arriving any day now.

101 Ways to Hide Money

DH is still sneaking around with the money.

He must fancy himself to be a secret agent or something.

Having exhausted all of his ideas for secure hiding places for his money - his underwear drawer, the kitchen counter, his truck - he has resorted to the next best thing.

Giving it away.

Specifically, he had given $75,000 to a friend. I assume with the intention of getting it back after our divorce was final.

I can't say I have any friends I'd trust with $75,000 in undocumented money. He sure is a lucky fellow to be surrounded by such loyalty.

A Few Things You Should Know

I thought I would pass on a few tidbits I forgot to mention about my custody meeting.

DH tried to get the mediator alone.

Yeah, I know...he tried that move with his mistress from work, too.

He must not have read up on the definition of mediation before attending. We had barely rested our hindquarters on the sofa when he raised his hand to make a "special request."

Could the mediator meet with him first, then with me? Separately.

Why? She inquired.

Because he would simply feel more comfortable that way.

But we only do that if there is a restraining order for domestic violence. Do you have one of those?

No, he said, but he still would prefer if we could meet apart from one another because I am better at explaining things than he is.

Too bad, she said.

Hmmm...I must be a formidable enemy if he is requesting court protection against my articulation skills.

~~~~~

At one point, she asked if either of us was in counseling.

Yes, I said.

She thought that was fantastic. What about you, Mr. Asshat?

No. He was not. He had been in counseling so many times in his life, he had lost count. They always told him the same thing. Over and over again. The same old thing. He's heard it all before. He doesn't need to hear it any more. Why should he be in counseling if he already knows what they are going to tell him.

I could tell the mediator was impressed. I began to worry.

Why would she award custody to the parent who needs professional help, when the other parent is so...stable.

I must try not to lay awake at night fretting over the favorable impression DH made upon the woman who will be deciding my baby's fate.

~~~~~

I mentioned previously that DH had whimpered and whined about the break up of his first marriage. I realize now that I did not specifically indicate that he actually cried about it during mediation.

Yes, he was facing the dismantling of his current marriage and he was crying over his heartache over his first divorce.

Did I mention that this divorce occurred nine years ago?

This strategy, I suspect, was highly effective in demonstrating to the mediator just how sensitive and caring he is capable of being in his role as father to a young child.

~~~~~

I had also noted his resistance to driving to my house due to the high cost of gas prices.

Wanting to be very precise in his reasons for insisting I drive to his house instead, he actually tallied up his projected gasoline bill out loud so the mediator would be very aware of how much it would cost him to visit his baby.

I'm surprised he didn't give her a list of all the things he would prefer to spend that money on.

~~~~~

I always fear that I misportray DH by omitting many of the details of my encounters with him. In the interest of accuracy, and given the extreme importance of this custody battle, I've added the above comments to ensure a fair and complete representation of DH, to the best of my ability.

One For You, One For Me, One For You...

Poor DH.

In addition to suffering the indignity of having found himself on the losing end of a battle wits, he will shortly find himself to be a bit lighter in the wallet.

Several days ago, he came to the realization that he might possibly need an attorney. Since his initial efforts at protecting his assets by tucking them away in his panty drawer have failed, he must have given up on his notion of representing himself.

His new lawyer has been hard at work, having done a grand spanking good job of preparing DH for our custody mediation.

He has also, in recent days, placed a call to my attorney.

He knows that his client, Mr. Asshat, has been removing money from the accounts and concealing it in fool-proof hiding places. He and Mr. Asshat will promptly make an accounting of all the money and I see to it that I receive half.

I'm quite certain he is hoping that I will be too busy swooning at the kindness of his offer to nit-pick over what, exactly, constitutes half of the money.

The reason I am so certain of this sneaky plan is that he has clearly instructed his client to make every effort to appease me, so as to stay out of trouble for his money embezzling scheme.

Since the time his attorney jumped aboard DH's sinking ship, DH has slathered me with terms of endearment...offered to return all of my dinnerware - neatly packed, at that...inquired about the health of my mother - a concern near to his heart...and wished me health, happiness, and good cheer at every opportunity.

Or maybe he is simply being so friendly because he has concluded that it would be far, far cheaper for him to reconcile with me. Heck, if we were to stay married, he could go back to spending his usual $100 per year on me, and $7.99 every six months for DD.

One hundred fifteen dollars and 98 cents per year is quite a bargain for a wife and kid.

While he continues to make plans to play nice, I am busy clearing off a safe place on my kitchen counter top to keep my money.

Or maybe I'll keep it in my van. That might be safer.

The Big Day

Okay, it didn’t go exactly as I expected, but here’s the scoop…

We had to sit in this itty bitty room for a half hour watching a video of how tragic divorce is. After that, we met with a court mediator to see if we could come to an agreement by ourselves.

Since we were unable to accomplish that, the mediator is sending a recommendation to the judge, based on our meeting. I am told that these judges very rarely go against the mediator’s recommendations. Unfortunately, I will not know the exact details until the paperwork is mailed to me in a week or so.

The mediator did tell us the maximum he would be entitled to, but that was before he made several highly endearing comments to the mediator.

But first, he asked for every other weekend and all day Sunday on the remaining weekends, with ME driving DD 100 miles round trip to drop her. Best he will actually get is one hour each weekend at my house and two midweek visits for an hour each, also at my house. Also, this agreement will stay in place unless he goes back to court to change it. So he will not get any increased visitation as DD gets older unless he goes to considerable trouble.

Of course, he made it very clear to the mediator that he could not be inconvenienced by midweek visits. You know…with gas prices what they are these days. And there is absolutely no way he is willing to go into work early on those days so he could leave early. That would be too much of a hassle.

The mediator asked if I could pump milk so he could feed DD. No, I said. My milk contains too much lipase (sincere thanks to whomever gave me that info) and it spoils, even when frozen (this is true, BTW). How does he know this is really true, he asked. I told him I would be entirely willing to pump milk in his presence, allow him to store it in the manner of his choosing for several hours, then taste it himself to determine its worthiness to be fed to DD.

He blamed me for taking DD away from him. I countered with the fact that I left after he said he did not want DD. That comment, he said, was part of a heated argument. He went on to clarify his comment to the mediator…What he had really said was, “You just need to shut f*** up. I never even wanted a baby.” Oh, and the topic of the argument...I was upset because he left 5 week old DD alone in a running car in a parking lot.

You should have seen the mediator’s eyes go all agoogle when she heard that! She asked him if he wanted DD. *crickets*…*crickets*…*crickets*...”well…yes,” he said. Later on, he accidentally slipped and said, “I didn’t want a…we weren’t ready to have a baby.”

With regard to DD’s peanut sensitivity, he said he wanted proof. He thought I was making it up to get back at him for sticking a cashew-coated finger into DD's mouth when she was 2 days old. You want proof, do you? I whipped out my most recent paperwork from the pediatrician and calmly directed his eyes to the line that read “DIAGNOSIS: Allergy to Peanuts”. The mediator gave him a lecture on the seriousness of peanut allergies and admonished him that this was not a topic he should be arguing with me about. She reiterated THREE TIMES that children can die of this type of condition and he should have been supportive of me seeking treatment for DD.

When I told him that DD’s pediatrician wanted her to be exclusively breastfed until 9 to 12 months to avoid additional allergy issues, he said “she will just have to learn to eat food like any other kid.” At this point, I could tell by the mediator’s expression that she was heartily impressed by DH’s parenting sense.

He ended the whole debacle by whimpering and whining to the mediator about the dissolution of his first marriage and capped the day off by telling me I was pretty and calling me “Hon” in the parking lot before heading off in to the glaring afternoon sun.

Overall, I would say that DH faired much better in the eyes of the mediator in the area of being a concerned and competent parent.

The Hearing

I'm sorry I haven't posted much lately.

We have our custody hearing this coming Wednesday and I have been a bit wrapped up trying to prepare (mostly mentally) for it. If everyone could please keep DD in your thoughts and prayers, I would be very grateful. My only hope is that everything works out for DD's best interest, both now and in the future.

Thank you for everyone's continued support through this difficult time. I will be back to post updates as soon as I am able.

The Man in the Little White Truck

The wheels are turning in DH's piddly brain.

He received the divorce papers.

He read the divorce papers.

He had a near-psychotic fit of rage over the divorce papers.

But if he never signs the divorce papers, maybe he will win.

All the while he was waiting for the papers to arrive, he kept referring to "the man in the little white truck" who would bring them. This was, it appears, the man who had served his first divorce papers 9 years ago, and not a reference to the little-known divorce fairy, who rides on a winged unicorn.

So, he was waiting for the little white truck. With the man. And we know how DH likes to repeat history.

I had my attorney mail the papers out of courtesy for DH's privacy. And he has yet to return them, signed. He must still be waiting for the man with the little white truck.

I know, DH is not especially deserving of my courtesy, but I must have momentarily mistaken him for a sentient human being.

Now I have to go to the trouble of finding a man with a little white truck to serve DH with his divorce papers.

I'm certainly not going to go out of my way to track down the divorce fairy. Not for DH.

Like Mother, Like Child

This past weekend, DH's grown son was married. In addition to a sizable monetary gift, DH paid for the rehearsal dinner.

It was $1,300.00.

For fewer than 20 people.

In contrast, our rehearsal dinner had been only $450, of which DH paid nothing.

Actually, his total contribution our whole wedding was approximately $0.

Give or take a nickel.

I'm surprised he was able to afford to be so generous with his son. After all, he's been telling me for a long time how little money he has.

Our household financial struggles go back a long way.

While I was pregnant, I developed pneumonia. One hundred three degree fever, I had. For three weeks.

I was sick.

It was also the hottest summer in recent history.

One hundred ten degrees.

But I endured this all without turning on the air conditioner once.

We couldn't afford it, DH kept reminding me.

It's so funny how I've recently discovered that he put over $3,500 into saving and retirement in just that one month.

No wonder there was no money for air conditioning!

Unfortunately, it is evident that DD must endure the same sort of treatment that was lavished upon me.

Prior to my moving out and demanding child support (of which he is not paying enough), DH's total contributions to all DD's needs (including baby furniture, diapers, clothes, everything) was...









Take a deep breath...









$7.99.

But no hard feelings...I'm sure that is all he could afford.

Dinner for...Nine and One Half?

Couple of years ago, a Lenox store near my mom was closing. My mom bought me a $700 *gasp* set of dinnerware for Christmas. She paid a lot less than $700, but I did check, and replacement coffee cups were going for $17.99 each on eBay.

It should really come as no surprise that DH hated...HATED the dishes.

I mean, was there ever anything that he really loved, other than himself?

But the dishes were just awful. The texture was wrong. The weight was wrong. The color was wrong. Even the sound they made was wrong. Who ever knew one could be so wronged by a dinner plate?

The suffering caused by my dishes was so profound that DH could simply not start out the day by eating off them. He would tolerate them at dinnertime, with a scowl and a two snotty comment minimum. But never, ever at breakfast.

He much preferred the three white Corningware plates and two Tupperware bowls he had taken from his first wife in his first divorce. Now those were acceptable breakfast dishes. I hear she pitched quite a fit when he took them, breaking up the set and all.

I probably should not have been surprised at the course of my telephone conversation with DH today.

A regular old person, who had never before encountered DH's utter lack of reasoning skills, might have greeted his conversation with a jaw drop to the floor.

But I...no, I should not have been surprised at all.

He told me I could have the dishes.

How kind, seeing as they were a gift from my mom and he despised them. I was nearly moved to tears by his generous offer.

And to think I have accused him of never giving me anything?

But could I just please leave him a couple bowls and, maybe, three plates? After all, there are so many of them.

HUH?

Hiding my momentary confusion with indignant laughter, it dawned on me that this must be his trademark.

Like Jack the Ripper or the Masked Bandit.

Two bowls and three plates. The women he leaves behind will always be recognized by their inability to provided table service for more than nine and a half guests.

And he...two more wives and he'll have a full set of dinner plates.

My Fantastic Drama

When engaged in battle, it is always wise to rally one's allies around oneself.

Regretfully, DH has no allies.

So he has been reduced to soliciting support from my family members. Specifically, my sister-in-law.

Now, it should be noted that attempts to win my SIL over to the dark side would be about as effective as DH raising an army from within the ranks of MZ.

Yet he persists in his efforts, tripping over himself in his hasty attempts to brand me as a family outcast.

One such effort, so craftily created, entailed sending SIL a brutally honest account of his warped reality. He addressed, in his email, my vast failings as a wife and human being, primarily during the period of my doctor-ordered bedrest for preterm labor, although he prefers to refer to this as the time I "sat on my lazy ass." In my defense, I spent the rest of our marriage working full-time, sometimes with a second part-time job.

For the sake of honesty, please note that I have edited this email for grammar, punctuation, and proper spelling, none of which he chose to include. I would hate to give the false impression of...intelligence...on DHs part.

So do you believe everything [007] says? Maybe you or your husband [my brother] might want to call me and get my side.

OUR bank accounts and investment accounts? Those were MY accounts. During OUR marriage she did not do shit. OUR house in Utah was bought with MY money. OUR vending machines that I bought so that she would be able to stay busy while she sat on her lazy ass all day are MINE. Oh, by the way, I have to take care of those damn machines because, well, [007] did not have time.

She wanted a baby and as soon as she got what she wanted she left. She told me on 6/21 in front of my therapist she had filed for divorce. She had been gone three months with no sign that she wanted to work things out. I took her seriously.

On the 26th of June, I sent an email to a girl at work. I am sure you know of it because everyone else does. She had been gone for three months!! Why is that no one questions her? She was so mistreated? She lived off the fat of the land ever since she met me. I never asked her for anything. So she can fuck off DAMN bitch.

In case there is any question, he gave me less than $100 per year for the duration of our marriage. That would be roughly, oh...one cent per hour. Quite a bargain, even for a wife who sits on her lazy ass to keep from birthing a 23 week-old baby.

In contrast, I generally spent $200-$300 per month on his general comfort and care, including his cheese (that he would not allow me to eat) and his hemorrhoid cream.

The Rise and Fall of 007

I made a mistake.

It was bound to happen eventually. I knew this. Although, I was banking on DHs dimwittedness in aiding the postponement of the inevitable.

Unfortunately for me, my mistake was caught. I had sent an unpublished blog entry to my brother. Hoping to avoid being snagged by the SPAM filters, I used an old email address.

I forgot to delete the sent message.

Like a highly trained circus animal, DH pounced on the opportunity to mimic the actions of the master who had beaten him so brutally.

In the quiet of the darkened night (probably to avoid my spying eyes), he got in to my account and checked the sent folder.

Surveying the damage by the light of day, I received the shock of all shocks...

DH had forwarded my account of his chicanery and philandering to everyone in my address book.

How utterly mortified and shamed beyond words I was, as I sat there whimpering in defeat.

My entire address book.

I slowly made my way through the list of names, thinking to act quickly to stem the flow of humiliation that threatened to overwhelm me. What would I do if my entire circle of friends found out what a weasel snit booger my DH was.

He had sent it to...

me

me

me

me

oh! another me

my sister's closed account

and my dad.

Wow! That's the slap on the wrist I get for keeping track of my junk email accounts in my address book.

He also sent a personalized email to my SIL telling her of my worthlessness (more on that later).

To add a final, wounding blow, he closed my account.

That's right.

The account I had not used in over 5 months. Closed. Gone.

Pausing briefly to wail at my loss, I considered my options.

Knowing that DH had likely spent a wakeful night recounting the ways in which he was more clever than I, I thought I should call this morning to burst his bubble.

I could hear the snicker in his voice as he asked me why I was calling.

I gave him until the end of the day to see to it that my account was restored, lest my attorney and the police become involved.

He hung up.

It took him only an hour to reconsider. It was a mistake, he said. He didn't know what he was thinking. He shouldn't have done it. He was stupid. He guesses he is just a stupid man.

Oh really?

Matters of Heart

Recently, my mom found herself admitted to the hospital over some concerns with her heart. Fortunately, everything turned out just fine.

Everything, that is, except for the blemish left upon DH's soul for conduct unbecoming even a remorseless asshat.

In a moment of worry, it would seem that my common sense suffered from a minor slippage. I confided in DH about my worry for my mom.

Yes, I know...this was about as effective as asking for sympathy from the pile of doggie dung baking in the sun on the edge of the sidewalk.

DH was charitable enough to inform me that I was personally and solely responsible for my mother's heart troubles.

It seems that I, being a lazy, selfish, worthless, whiney, ungrateful, childish, manipulative, LOSER of a helpless little girl am driving my mom ("that poor woman") to have a heart attack.

If anything happens to her, it will be MY fault and my fault alone.

"Don't ever forget it," he admonished me.

It was kind of him to tell me, really. I chose to pass it along here because I feel that I've been really hard on DH lately. I may have somehow given the impression that he was heartless or perhaps, just plain evil.

In truth, as you can see by the deep and moving concern he expressed for my mom, he is a kindhearted, benevolent soul.

A Reversal of Fortunes

He read it.

I was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen. It has been a week. I thought the dissolution of his marriage might have been noteworthy enough to read about. Especially since he had tried so hard to work things out.

I guess he had more important things to do.

Like go surfing in the desert.

It would be safe, I believe, to assume that his reading of the documents precipitated his angry tirade the other day. Whew! Maybe I'm not such a GDFB after all!

True to form, he called the next morning and...I could hardly believe this...ACTED LIKE NONE OF IT HAPPENED!

Oh, he was pleasant...all chit chatty and accomodating. He even said I could come over any time to get anything I wanted. He would leave the door unlocked. He would make sure I had a key.

What a gentleman!

This was, of course, after he had changed the locks twice and told me I was never allowed in again.

But wait! There's more!

In the course of my daily inspection of the bank accounts, I received yet another shocking surprise! I know, DH sure keeps me on my toes with the shocks and surprises!

There were three sizable DEPOSITS made to the bank accounts on the day of his tirade.

DEPOSITS!

And they were CASH!

I wonder where it all came from?

It was, by no means, all of the money. More than a pinch, but less than an armful.

Let's call it a fistful. Three of them. Put back into the accounts.

Now, why on earth would he do that? To make himself look less guilty?

Good Job DH! How very effective!

I can hardly wait to see what happens to the rest of the money. How much fun will I have watching him try to dig himself out of his hole?

What Went Wrong

DH called to inflict upon me the rantings of a man on the verge of a breakdown. Specifically, he wanted to let me know what I did wrong to bring about the end of our marriage. In his uncontrolled rage, it was difficult to make sense of his communications, so I have attempted to summarize.

I am a G** D*** F***ing B****!

I am a GDFB!

I AM a GDFB!

I had a plan from the beginning.

A devious plan. A devilish plan.

I married him with a devious, devilish plan.

I planned to take the money and run.
Take the money and run.

I planned to have a baby and leave.
To leave. Oh yes, I planned to leave.

I am a GDFB!

I am a GDFB!

I AM a GDFB!

It's not how it was supposed to be.
He told me so. I should have listened.

I would work and he would play.
He would surf and play all day.
Frolic and play and surf all day.

But now he has to work instead.
To work. Until he is dead.

I am a GDFB!

I am a GDFB!

I AM a GDFB!

I am smarter than him.
I have a plan.
I am going to win.
He just doesn't know how.
Yes, I am smarter than him.
He told me so. He knows that now.

I am a GDFB!
I am a GDFB!
I AM a GDFB!

Sneak Attack!

Once again, I found myself passing by my old home.

As before, the lure of discovery and the drive of adrenaline were just too much to resist. I couldn't help myself. I was drawn to the promise of adventure as DH is drawn to his mistresses.

But I couldn't risk being seen by questioning neighbors. My cover would be blown.

I needed a disguise.

Rummaging through the contents of my vehicle I found what I needed.

It is amazing what a cotton receiving blanket, a pair of sunglasses, curly brown doll's hair, bright red lipstick, and a seductive pout can do to hide one's identity.

I approached the door, key in hand. Now, DH had just recently changed the locks, but I had gotten a key last time I stopped by.

Turning the key in the lock, I received a shocking surprise!

He had changed the lock again!

Stunned at his obsession for keeping me out of the house, I returned to my car.

What is it that he could be hiding in there?

I drove away, defeated for now, but determined to find a way to get some answers. The plans are already taking shape...

Surf's Up!

I am absolutely giddy right now.

I am just ROFL while peeing in my pants kind of jovial.

DH has no idea. None. About anything.

How can he be so lacking in any sort of sense?

He just called me.

Me: How was your weekend?

DH: Okay. I just hung out with [grown] DC. We just hung out.

Me: Did you surf?

DH: Uh...we did.

Me: In the morning or the afternoon.

DH: Uh...well, the morning.

Me: How was the water? (BTW, I'd checked the surf report...it was 64 degrees and windy).

DH: Oh...um, it was warm. It was 75 degrees and clean [non-windy]. It was really clean. And warm. It was nice.

Me: Did you go with the guys?

DH: Um...well, um...Xxx went. But, um, Yyy and Zzz were not around.

Me: Oh, it's so nice you got to surf with DC. *stifled giggle*

DH: Yeah, it was good to just kick back at the beach with DC and surf.

He never got the memo that his wife has SuperMan X-ray Vision Telescopic Cat Eyes in the Back of Her Head.

In case anyone was wondering...there is no beach and no surf in the MIDDLE OF THE DESERT, where his debit card places him. Unless he drove 1,200 miles round trip just to get gas.

I hope he goes to sleep tonight with his lying guilty conscience eating away at him like an infestation of diseased bedbugs.

Hi Ho! Hi Ho! It's off to the lake we go!

Finally! An acknowledgement!

"I got the papers."

Yes, but have you read them yet?

The answer would still be "no."

An even larger chunk of money was stealthfully removed from the accounts again this morning.

There were also four suspicious debit card authorizations for four different gas stations. All within 24 hours. That would be an odd amount of gas to be using.

Could it be that DH is fleeing the country with his ill-gotten gains?

Ahhhhh...that would be perfect. He would miss his court date and I would win. I eagerly plotted his gas station stops on a map to see where he was heading.

Much to my dismay, it was not a remote island prone to tsumanis or an African savannah surrounded by ferocious lions.

There could be only one destination he had in mind.

A lake.

But not just any lake.

The lake he has visited with The Lake Ho for the past 20+ years.

Hmmm...this could mean only one thing...

I'm thinking DH thinks he's too sneaky for me to ever figure it out.

Dumb Runs Deep

It would seem that dumb is even dumber than one might imagine.

While we are all sitting around, waiting for DH to begin the literacy classes he so obviously needs, he has been quite too occupied with other things to take note of his apparent inability to read.

It is sad, in a way, that after all the trouble I have been through, my divorce declaration sits on his coffee table, untouched by the eyes for which it was intended.

But, to DH's credit, he has been very busy. In fact, I can hardly blame him for having so little time to devote to reading a crumby divorce paper (and he only had to get to Page 2 to read about his money laundering scheme).

See, just this morning, he withdrew FOUR times his usually daily amount from his (our) accounts. He also took out an additional $75,000 cash from his home equity line of credit.

I can't imagine what he is intending to do with all that cash...

SURELY, he would be smarter than to hide it in his car...or in his underwear drawer...or on his kitchen counter top...surely.

Further, in the process of my thorough review of his daily activities, I have found that I was mistaken about The Lake Ho.

I hate when I'm wrong. It makes me look less competent at what I do.

I may have given the impression in my previous post that DH had contacted The Lake Ho on the Fourth of July. This was in error. Shame on me for not checking my facts first.

DH actually called her right after I left, many months ago. The door had barely swung shut behind me and he was already on the phone with his Ho-Mistress.

Now I know for sure that he was being absolutely sincere when he told me he wanted to work things out.

There's nothing like taking up with your old mistress to show your wife how devoted you are to saving your marriage.

Read the BOLD PRINT

Sixteen pages.

That's how many pages were in DH's little package o' divorce papers.

I know it must be a lot to sort through, however, there was only one sentence written in bold type.

That's the one he should have read. Certainly, it was the easiest to see.

Why, oh why, did he not read it?

He must not have.

It said "Respondent also has approximately $XXXXXX in cash in his safe deposit box that he has been trying to launder and conceal in anticipation of divorce."

Surely if he had read it, he would not have stopped at the ATM this morning and taken out even more money.

Sigh...Now I have to wait until this evening for him to get home and have another opportunity to read the stinkin paperwork before I can provide an account of his explosive reaction to finding out that I know.

The First Ho

I don't know what to say.

If DH is going to continue to insist upon being stupid, I am going to have to insist upon being smarter than him.

He's been sneaking around. Very surprising, I know. And he has already demonstrated how oh-so-top-secret he can be in his sneakiness.

The first ho...the one from the lake...the one who broke up his first marriage...she's back.

Now, I'm not supposed to know this. In fact, DH still swears it is not true.

Just like he swears he has no money.

And I'm supposed to be too dumb to figure it out.

Too bad his cell phone contract is in my name. Heck, I even spend 10% of my child support paying his bill. Not because I'm a particularly benevolent person towards adulterous frauds, but because I would like to maintain my high credit rating.

It would probably come as a shock to him to find out that cell phone bills come with a handy call detail section.

When I see an unfamiliar number appearing on the bill with alarming frequency, I would be remiss if I did not call the number to find out to whom it belonged. After all, phone companies do make mistakes.

It is quite possible, I suppose, for them to make over three mistakes per day. Hmph! He never called me three times per day.

You just never know what those silly phone companies will do...

It would probably be no surprise, at this point, should I reveal the owner of that phone number...

That's right. The Lake Ho.

And he still denies it! In fact, he still whines about why I don't want to work things out.

For a lonely husband who's wife left him for no reason...just up and left..., he sure has been keeping busy. I wonder what One Night Stand Chick would have to say about this???

Anyway, he gets his divorce papers tomorrow. I'm just on pins and needles waiting to find out how he reacts when he learns that I know about all the money he's hidden!

One Ho, Two Ho, Red Ho, Blue Ho

Clearly, I am having difficulty putting to words the events of my delightful Fourth of July. After five days of pondering, my thoughts on DHs two Patriotic Hos are still a-jumble in my head. I'll have to set the whole thing aside for a bit until the mess straightens itself out.

Besides, I've had other, more exciting things to think about!

DH has made me a kind and exceedingly generous divorce offer. Really, I had my panties all wadded up in anticipation of a costly and bitter battle over the assets, but it was all for naught.

Had I known he possessed such a soft-hearted and giving streak, I would have never left to begin with. Boy was I wrong!

During his most recent visit, DH offered to keep the house and let me pay half the mortgage.

I know...I was shocked when I heard it too! And here I thought he would try to keep everything for himself.

I blush when I think of how harshly I judged him.

He wants to share the debt!

It's beyond anything I could have hoped for. Wow! I feel all lighthearted and fluffy from the burden that has been lifted from me.

DD and I will have to live in a little cardboard box under the overpass, but at least I'll know I got a fair settlement.

Until I realized...

That house was my birthday gift. And my Valentine's Day gift. And my Anniversary gift. And I'm pretty sure Easter, St. Patrick's Day, and at least one get-well gift were included in that, too.

I specifically recall, the year we bought the house, DH didn't buy me any gifts.

No cards. No dinners. Not even a sweet little nothing whispered in my ear. Heck, he didn't even come home on my birthday.

His excuse - the house was my gift. It was for me. He said so. Honest he did.

I shouldn't have to pay for my own gifts. How tacky would that be?

Ugh! Just when I thought there was progress being made, DH comes along and digs his hole a little bit deeper.

I wonder how much it will cost him for me to discuss this with my attorney?