Whoa! Didja get the numbers off that truck?!?


September 30, 2001 - 11:06 p.m.

What a nice weekend it was

Not at all depressing like last weekend. And it ended with a big laugh.

As you may know, as faithful readers of this diary, I am divorced. I am divorced because I never should have married this person. Never. Newt and BigBro actually had a bet riding on how long my marriage would last. I think Newt won.

There were many things about Spidey that drove me fricking nuts. The one trait that just sent me over the edge was one that should have tipped me off in the very beginning. It was unforgivable. Against my nature. But this was love people, L-O-V-E love. Or so I thought.

Spidey is a slob.

That last sentence is an oversimplification of a concept that would take several Michener size chapters to fully describe. Saying she is “a slob” is like merely saying “Jerry Falwell is an asshole.” You’ve barely cracked the seal on a huge volume of descriptive words that could barely represent the infinite depth of her slovenly behavior.

When we were married I often said I had three children to pick up after. I once told her that my dream house would contain a room filled with chairs, so that she would finally have a room where she could carelessly fling her coat. The world was her trash can. More precisely her world was her trash can and I was there to clean it up. Resentful? Not me!

When we split and she got that tiny little place to live in. I could have predicted how it would look in a few years. She filled it with cheap furniture, and the stuff she got from her side of our life and a bunch of craft and sewing shit I knew she’d never ever use. I walk in that place, look around at the sea of filth, and I am suddenly thrown back into a time I’m still trying to forget.

Of course it’s the kids fault. They trash the place, dontcha know. She takes “three steps forward and two steps back” when "cleaning" the place. I know that dance, I could do it in my sleep. But I had three children to pick up after; she only has two. The worst part is that my children live in that filth, and they don’t like it. But they live the example set before them.

They don’t get away with that shit at my house, and they know the difference.

Spidey has a new boyfriend. Blimey was born in the UK so he has this charming British accent. I think she likes Blimey because he’s pretty good at throwing money around, and he drives a BMW. (… Which reminds me of the joke describing the difference between a porcupine and a BMW: the four legged critter has the prick on the outside.)

I knew Blimey never visited the castle in which Cinderella lived because it still looked like a shithole. When we were together the house never got clean unless someone was about to pay a visit. Then I would see unprecedented cleaning standards from her, almost as if she was possessed by Mr. Clean. We had boxes inside closets filled to the top with shit that was formerly piled onto any horizontal surface in the house. Those boxes stood like obedient sentinels inside closets for years. I used to take stuff from those boxes and toss it in the trash, and the stuff was never missed.

I dropped Son2 off tonight at her house and there was a BMW parked in the guest space. Blimey! I had dropped off Son1 at Sweetie’s house earlier. I circled back to Sweeties to see if he wanted a ride back to see the strange convergence of events at spidey’s place. I got there just as the phone was ringing. The look on Derek’s face indicated that something truly strange had happened. Did someone die? Had aliens landed? Another terrorist attack?

Son1 disconnected with a sly smile on his face. “That was Son2. Blimey’s there, and the place is spotless. It’s just too weird.” I offered him a ride back over there so he could be part of the otherworldly aura of a strangely ordered former shithole. He declined. I’m sure it’s a temporary thing.

It’s funny how some things never change. She cleans for other people. At least I’m not there for her to shriek at when it’s 1:30 AM the night before and we’re not done yet. She had to do it all herself, I wonder how many boxes she had to fill.







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