Tag: shoes

Can’t we just be friends??

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“Single men and women can’t be friends. The possibility of sex always gets in the way…”

At least according to my brother-in-law. (And I’m assuming he must of watched ‘When Harry Met Sally’ at some point, because I’m pretty sure that’s where the quote comes from…) I remember him telling me this after my divorce. I was talking to him about a man who was texting me. “We are just friends,” I told him with confidence. “We have been through a lot of similar shit. He’s divorced. His wife cheated on him. We are practically soul sisters!”

“Nope…your not.”he insisted. “He’s sniffing around to see where you stand and what his chances are. He doesn’t want to be your friend. Don’t be naive.”

God I hate it when people tell me I am naive. I thought he was wrong. In fact-I was positive he was wrong. I rolled my eyes silently. I mean we are adults. We can easily be friends. I don’t care if he is a man. I don’t want to have sex with every single (emphasis on single) man I have a conversation with. In fact- I want to have sex with almost none of them. And not every single man wants to have sex with me!

But I have been divorced for awhile now. And it does seem a little more complicated than I originally thought. (It turns out- that first man after the divorce I was texting with. He wanted to be more than friends. So our texting relationship came to an end…) So what the hell is going on? I can’t tell anymore. I have had several friendships in the last few years that eventually resulted in one of those awkward moments where you walk away feeling confused. Or if you mention this ‘male friend’ in passing to someone more than once, everyone assumes that it must be something more. They nod and smile in the most annoying ways. And then there is the dreaded text message that seems a little weird. You find yourself reading it out loud to one of your friends…repeatedly… just to see what they think. And that’s what happened recently.

“He used the word friendship and said I was a sensual woman in the same message…is that weird?”I ask my brother-in-law. I had just received some new messages from a friend and I was struggling with deciphering the intent. My brother-in-law is definitely not usually my ‘go-to’ expert, but I was desperate. And…all my girlfriends were currently unavailable. And…I was drinking wine. Maybe a male perspective wouldn’t hurt?! Plus-I could always run it by my girls later.

“Yes…it’s weird. He doesn’t want to be your friend.” Case closed apparently. He doesn’t seem interested in engaging in the ‘minimum of 20 minute’ discussion that my BDF (Best Divorced Friend) would give me. He doesn’t ask for the entire run down of every interaction we have ever had. He doesn’t care what shoes I was wearing when I met my male friend the first time. He doesn’t even ask the guys name! (And he probably knows I wouldn’t tell him anyway…) He is confident in his assessment of the situation with minimal information.

“Let me read it again.”I insist.”And this time take note of how he say’s he wants to have a female friend…” I don’t think my brother-in-law is really trying to see it from both sides. I already know what he thinks of male and female relationships. But he doesn’t know what it’s like to be single in your 40’s. He doesn’t know everything! So I find myself trying to convince him anyway. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself. Can’t we just be friends?? I refuse to give up on that!

“You don’t need to read it again,”he interrupts.”I heard exactly what he was saying. The man typed the word sensual. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve used that word in a sentence. Let alone sent it in a message to one of my friends.”

“But he also used the word friends! Several times actually. Specifically- female friendship. That’s pretty clear!” I refuse to give up. “And did I tell you I was wearing boots the first time we talked? They are a very friendly shoe.” He rolls his eyes…

“Let me know how that works out for you…”He isn’t giving up either. Imagine that. We can’t agree.

The truth is…I would love to have a male friend. Especially a single one. I think it would be brilliant. I imagine some really great guy who is living the same life as me. As a divorced, single, working parent. Just waiting to be my friend. I think it could fill a big void in my life.  Having an honest male perspective from someone who isn’t related to me could be ground breaking in my ‘single working mom’ world. And in return I could offer him an honest female perspective. Without any ulterior motives. Just friendship. We would be each others secret weapons! Super-single friends to the rescue!

So I will keep hoping. I think the right single man is out there waiting to be found. To be my Best Male Friend (BMF)…

Plus- I really like men. Especially when I’m not married to them…👠

 

(PS…as for my friend who thinks I’m sensual. I’ll let you know how that one turns out. I still think it has potential. He may be the one…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can’t we just be friends??

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“Single men and women can’t be friends. The possibility of sex always gets in the way…”

At least according to my brother-in-law. (And I’m assuming he must of watched ‘When Harry Met Sally’ at some point, because I’m pretty sure that’s where the quote comes from…) I remember him telling me this after my divorce. I was talking to him about a man who was texting me. “We are just friends,” I told him with confidence. “We have been through a lot of similar shit. He’s divorced. His wife cheated on him. We are practically soul sisters!”

“Nope…your not.”he insisted. “He’s sniffing around to see where you stand and what his chances are. He doesn’t want to be your friend. Don’t be naive.”

God I hate it when people tell me I am naive. I thought he was wrong. In fact-I was positive he was wrong. I rolled my eyes silently. I mean we are adults. We can easily be friends. I don’t care if he is a man. I don’t want to have sex with every single (emphasis on single) man I have a conversation with. In fact- I want to have sex with almost none of them. And not every single man wants to have sex with me!

But I have been divorced for awhile now. And it does seem a little more complicated than I originally thought. (It turns out- that first man after the divorce I was texting with. He wanted to be more than friends. So our texting relationship came to an end…) So what the hell is going on? I can’t tell anymore. I have had several friendships in the last few years that eventually resulted in one of those awkward moments where you walk away feeling confused. Or if you mention this ‘male friend’ in passing to someone more than once, everyone assumes that it must be something more. They nod and smile in the most annoying ways. And then there is the dreaded text message that seems a little weird. You find yourself reading it out loud to one of your friends…repeatedly… just to see what they think. And that’s what happened recently.

“He used the word friendship and said I was a sensual woman in the same message…is that weird?”I ask my brother-in-law. I had just received some new messages from a friend and I was struggling with deciphering the intent. My brother-in-law is definitely not usually my ‘go-to’ expert, but I was desperate. And…all my girlfriends were currently unavailable. And…I was drinking wine. Maybe a male perspective wouldn’t hurt?! Plus-I could always run it by my girls later.

“Yes…it’s weird. He doesn’t want to be your friend.” Case closed apparently. He doesn’t seem interested in engaging in the ‘minimum of 20 minute’ discussion that my BDF (Best Divorced Friend) would give me. He doesn’t ask for the entire run down of every interaction we have ever had. He doesn’t care what shoes I was wearing when I met my male friend the first time. He doesn’t even ask the guys name! (And he probably knows I wouldn’t tell him anyway…) He is confident in his assessment of the situation with minimal information.

“Let me read it again.”I insist.”And this time take note of how he say’s he wants to have a female friend…” I don’t think my brother-in-law is really trying to see it from both sides. I already know what he thinks of male and female relationships. But he doesn’t know what it’s like to be single in your 40’s. He doesn’t know everything! So I find myself trying to convince him anyway. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself. Can’t we just be friends?? I refuse to give up on that!

“You don’t need to read it again,”he interrupts.”I heard exactly what he was saying. The man typed the word sensual. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve used that word in a sentence. Let alone sent it in a message to one of my friends.”

“But he also used the word friends! Several times actually. Specifically- female friendship. That’s pretty clear!” I refuse to give up. “And did I tell you I was wearing boots the first time we talked? They are a very friendly shoe.” He rolls his eyes…

“Let me know how that works out for you…”He isn’t giving up either. Imagine that. We can’t agree.

The truth is…I would love to have a male friend. Especially a single one. I think it would be brilliant. I imagine some really great guy who is living the same life as me. As a divorced, single, working parent. Just waiting to be my friend. I think it could fill a big void in my life.  Having an honest male perspective from someone who isn’t related to me could be ground breaking in my ‘single working mom’ world. And in return I could offer him an honest female perspective. Without any ulterior motives. Just friendship. We would be each others secret weapons! Super-single friends to the rescue!

So I will keep hoping. I think the right single man is out there waiting to be found. To be my Best Male Friend (BMF)…

Plus- I really like men. Especially when I’m not married to them…👠

(PS…as for my friend who thinks I’m sensual. I’ll let you know how that one turns out. I still think it has potential. He may be the one…)

 

Guess what? I don’t like laundry either…

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My X doesn’t do laundry. I was married to the man for 15ish years. This is no news flash. We are now divorced so whether he does laundry or not is irrelevant to me..right? Wrong answer.

For many years I did the laundry. It was my job. I was a stay at home mom and laundry was my domain. That is a reasonable job assignment..in theory. But what if said laundry ‘doer’ has the flu? What if it’s her birthday? What if the laundress had a recent radiation treatment on her thyroid? What if she is 9 months pregnant with 2 other small children to care for?? This man actually brought me dirty underwear to the hospital once.. I was 7 months pregnant and just had endured a painful surgery. He brought me dirty underwear because there was no one at home to do the laundry…and the ones in my drawer looked way to small for someone as fat as me. (True story- the nurse happened to be in the room and overheard this ‘here’s your dirty underwear’ exchange. She told him he should probably just go ahead and leave now. I remember after he left her standing by my bed patting my hand. I closed my eyes in embarrassment.)

But I digress. My X apparently still doesn’t do laundry. My X and I share custody of 3 children who (get this shocking revelation) wear clothes! They wear clothes that then become dirty…and somehow appear on my front porch in a trash bag. Or I find them stuffed in one of my kids suitcases. For me to wash! To say it pisses me off is an understatement. I promise you I’m not sending dirty laundry to his house! It brings back clearly the way it made me feel when I was married to him. My job was the manual labor. I did the dirty work of parenting. The dirty clothes, dirty diapers and dirty dishes. That wasn’t in his job description. He worked. He made money. He was important. And I was lucky to have him-obviously. I was the housekeeper. And nanny. It wasn’t that hard of a job, right? Anyone could do it. I was like the hired help. (And btw…he was perpetually unimpressed. I was like the hired help who was constantly afraid I was going to get fired.) My job had no value-because he could pay anyone to do it. And do it better! Housekeepers and nanny’s are easy to find. And probably cheaper and less needy than a wife. My X did not respect me as a housewife. (Because remember-I wasn’t Martha Stewart…or his mother). And judging by the dirty laundry he sends back with his children every week…his lack of respect obviously continues.

But I have news flash for my X. I don’t like laundry either. I fucking hate it to be exact. Sometimes my laundry pile is so big you could lose a small child in it. I think I actually have lost a small child in it before. I know for sure I once lost a turtle… (Don’t worry-everyone’s fine). But you know what? I put on my big girl shoes and do the damn laundry anyway. And I make my kids help! It’s just what you do. Because being a family takes teamwork. And that is something my X doesn’t understand…

And if you haven’t already guessed…my ‘big girl’ shoes are fierce.👠

So what’s the point?

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My bdf (best divorced friend) is sure that everything bad we go through has some kind of a purpose. Like divorce. Like break-ups. It’s a learning experience. She thinks that once you wade through the pool of shit of whatever you are currently struggling with..there will be something better waiting on the other side. One of Oprahs ‘ah-ha’ moments. The holy grail..

I’m unconvinced. It seems to me that sometimes we wade through the shit..to find a mountain of shit on the other side. Or maybe the pool gets a little shallower..more like a puddle. But still no prize in sight. And the smell is atrocious. Life is just like that.

And that’s the hard part. I think that’s why we all get stuck. We need it to have meaning. I mean surely all this pain wasn’t for nothing? Right?!  If we can just figure out the why..the lesson..we can move on and find the good that is waiting patiently for us somewhere. And so here we all are-standing in crap- and can’t figure out where to go next. Plus..I’m getting used to the smell anyway.

So what’s the point? The skeptic in me says maybe by trying to figure out what happened and why..we become to afraid to move forward. To try again. I mean we definitely want to avoid being hurt again. And how are we going to avoid it if we haven’t figured out the answer? That’s logical..right?

For several years after my divorce I dreamed about my X almost every night. Not good dreams. The ones where you wake up in a full blown anxiety attack. Even my subconscious was trying to come up with a why for me. But the truth is that a why is really hard to come by in relationships gone bad. Because his side and her side don’t match up. He obviously doesn’t realize he is a narcissistic cheating ass. I think by definition that’s what makes him a narcissist. I promise he isn’t spending time worrying about the past. So why am I?

Maybe instead of looking for the answer- maybe we should just bury that shit and move on. Call it a draw and walk away. And let me say I don’t think it will be easy. We are conditioned to worry. To take responsibility. To be understanding. To solve the problems of those around us. But really? What’s the point? I’m tired of other people’s crap. And if I bury it-maybe I can grow some lovely roses. Shit does make the best fertilizer.

So grab your cutest heels and a shovel!

Do you smell something? Sniff sniff? I hope I don’t have something on my shoe..💩👠

So who says bitter is bad?

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I think I might be bitter.

I mean not overtly bitter..people at work aren’t afraid to make eye contact or anything. Yet. But I have an edge. I admit it. I think it’s a common side effect of divorce. I know you are surprised. But you know what? I’M BITTER AND PROUD OF IT! I’ve earned it. It represents hard learned lessons of life..loss of naivety. It represents survival. Street smarts. Honesty. It says yes- yes I was rejected by my own husband and lived to tell about it. Yes I take out my own trash because I no longer have a man at my house to do it. Its a dose of reality. Like Monday mornings or a flat tire. Or a flat tire on a Monday morning. It’s my own little protective suit…like Iron Man. But it’s not Iron Man…it’s just me.

And why is a little bitterness a bad thing? Does it have to have such a negative connotation? It seems unfair.. The expectation put on us by society to forgive and forget is a bit much in my opinion. Like we are all supposed to be walking around exuding inner peace. Not everyone deserves to be forgiven. And I would be pretty stupid if I forgot. I actually googled this question. Why is bitterness bad? Google doesn’t seem to see a lot of good in bitterness (unless we are talking about bitter food..they apparently are all kinds of good for you. Remind me to pick up some bitter melon..yes that really exists). I mean Google just wanted to talk about how ‘Keep Calm and Bitter On’ may not be my best idea for a catch phrase. She was a complete buzzkill. But I think she is wrong.

I don’t think Google has been divorced…

I love Hoarders..

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Omg…Hoarders is on. I love Hoarders. It brings back memories.. Its a wretched show…a train wreck of human tragedy. It could be one of the most depressing shows in existence. So it was the perfect show for me to binge watch repeatedly when my husband left me. Makes perfect since right? The show was practically made for the emotionally fragile woman going through an unwanted divorce. I mean I don’t really know who else is watching it..

I remember watching episode after episode. A woman who keeps bags of her own feces? Seems reasonable. A lady who buried herself under purses and moldy teddy bears. It could happen. Filling the empty pit of grief in your stomach by saving every newspaper you ever laid eyes on- it could help…who am I to judge. No running water because your house is so packed with junk you can’t fit an entire plumber in the kitchen to fix a pipe-that’s why God made rain. Haven’t seen the floor in your home for 7 years-seems legitimate. Have 72 cats, 1 dog and a parakeet- who doesn’t dream of this? These are my people. We are one..united in pain and sorrow and delusional thinking. They know my grief…they feel my rejection…they are showing the world how I feel on the inside with their hoards. Overwhelmed. Sad. Angry.

I remember at one point laying in my nest (bed) watching yet another Hoarders marathon. I was on ‘my side’ and I glanced over to the ‘X’s side’. It was covered with crap. Laundry..books..mail. Clothes and shoes. I think maybe a rolling pin and a cat. An empty water bottle and an almost empty jar of Vicks Vapor Rub. My wedding album in case I want to look at my Wedding Photos again at 3am. A real live pumpkin I painted with my daughter for Halloween. Stuff everywhere. Important stuff. I literally had 18 inches of space left in my king size bed. I had my own little hoard. My blinds were drawn tight and I was hunkered down. I was actually filling up my loss with shit.. I was teetering on the edge of the hoarders abyss. I have to admit this didn’t terrify me like you are thinking. I was oddly comforted by it. Unbelievable right?

My friends however- they foiled my genius plan. They were not as enamored as I was with the hoarding lifestyle. Apparently being depressed and slightly delusional is a requirement of this subculture. They kept cleaning up my house against my will..so my days as a potential Hoarder were short lived.

Just like my marriage…

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Divorced Friends

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I remember hearing my mom talk about how there are different friends for different times in a persons life… You have your high school friends, the college friends, your mom groups, your couple friends… I’m not saying these groups are mutually exclusive. But they all represent different parts of who each of us are as a person.

When I was going through my divorce I was terrified. It was literally the most miserable experience I could imagine. I was totally unprepared. I remember feeling like I was drowning. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely think. Yet here I was in the middle of a contentious divorce. It wasn’t pretty. I needed to be at my best. And I clearly was not. (It’s like someone asking you to run a marathon tomorrow..with no previous training..and did I mention you have the flu?) I felt like a failure.

So I would try to seek some kind of relief. Some words of wisdom. I felt very alone. I didn’t know how to make it through my divorce. I didn’t know if I would be ok.. I asked Google. I literally typed it into Google ‘How to get through my divorce..’ (and I apparently wasn’t the only one..) She didn’t show me what I was looking for. (In my mind Google is a girl..) She sent me to sites that told me how to make lists and organize your visitation schedule. Advice on divorce lawyers. How to pray. How to ‘forgive.’ It wasn’t what I needed. I needed a real live person who had been in my shoes before. Who understood how divorce feels.

Married friends didn’t understand. How could they? I know that they cared..and that they were trying. But their advice seemed critical. These people knew how to be married..not how it feels to be getting divorced. They were going home to their husbands everyday.

That’s how I acquired my DF’s. Divorced friends. The people who also had driven by their X’s house at midnight on New Years Eve and realize this is perfectly acceptable ‘going through a divorce’ behavior. These people understand that sometimes you have to take a shower just so you have a place to sob uncontrollably. They know that Holidays are brutal. They tell you to avoid all TV commercials in the month of February. They don’t expect that you should be better in a few months..they know it will probably be a few years. They know what it’s like to pack suitcases for kids that you have spent only a handful of nights apart from since their birth- and send them off with the person who recently ripped out your heart. They won’t say dumb crap like it will be ok..it’s for the best..you’re not alone..you’re better off. They understand that this f***ing sucks and it’s going to suck for a really long time. So get used to it. They are willing to talk endlessly about what a complete narcissistic asshole your X is and how much you wish you were still married-and they don’t see any need to point out how that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. They will hate the other woman passionately for you-just because. They get it..they know..they are divorced.. They have been in my shoes. 👠

The Fabulous Four

 

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We are a team now. The Fabulous Four! Or maybe it’s the fabulous three..

With divorce things in your family change. It’s not what I planned- but it has been an interesting transformation. There are no longer two parents to take care of everything.. Now there is one. And she’s tired. And overwhelmed. And anxious. And did I mention tired??

At first I actually believed I would take care of everything. I’m the adult. The parent. My kids didn’t ask for this. In fact it was the opposite. They begged for no divorce. Please don’t! That was their vote. However we all learned pretty quick that it only takes one yes vote..then poof. Divorced.

I have 2 teenagers (boys) and a preteen (daughter)…and somehow we have worked out a system. I couldn’t do it without them. Now don’t get the wrong idea…not everyone is always willing..they are regular kids. They aren’t running around here asking for chores. “Quick mom! Tell me something I can do to make your life easier..” (They actually have perfected the art of ‘laying low’) Sometimes they pout. The always sigh and roll their eyes. They aren’t exactly happy about it.. But by God-we are a team- and when it comes down to it they always take their place on the field. That’s part of being a divorced kids. You grow up faster. No time to sit the bench.

My oldest is 18. He drives!! This is obviously his gift to the family. He drives a truck..so did I mention he is in charge of the trash? Naturally. He also is the best at moving furniture and lifting heavy things. He checks the oil in things. He changes lightbulbs. He jumpstarts dead batteries.. He’s our muscle. He will also have my back when I am checking out creepy noises in the garage.

# 2 is smart. Like seriously smart. He can do math. He helps with homework. He is technologically inclined. He resets the router-hooks up electronics- fixes my computer.. He also reads directions. So anything that requires more than 2 steps to put together- he’s your go to guy. He is responsible (and patient) enough to wait for the cable man. He’s the kid I call with specific requests like ‘go to the mailbox and see if my check from your dad is here’ because 1) he will answer the phone and 2) he will do it.

My daughter is mini me in training. She knows what’s going on. She makes everyone’s business her business. She eavesdrops as a hobby- and that can be quite useful. She loves all of our pets..so she naturally gets to assume all pet care responsibility. She feeds them and let’s them outside without being asked. She also passes out fashion advice (sigh) as needed. She knows how to make brownies and macaroni and cheese. She will make everyone breakfast. She is learning to sew. She can find stuff (because she is a girl..) She is happy and that reminds the rest of us to be happy too.

My kids have bonded in a way that I never expected. The 3 of them maneuver between 2 households, and all the chaos that comes with that, together. It is an experience that is uniquely there own. They have supported each other with the complete understanding that only they can provide for one another. They are each other’s ‘constant.’

We are a team… We mutually respect each other as team members do. It’s how we deal..how we cope. I have to I am admit I didn’t expect to see how the we would all pull together. It makes me proud. This experience has forced us to deal with things differently than we ever would have if there was no divorce. My kids are on the front lines of this family… And they are fabulous.

Divorce Shoes….

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My divorce shoes… I had divorce shoes. I still do! They were heels. After my X moved out I was devastated. It took me months to even begin to wrap my head around what was happening. As I began to fight my way out of the fog… I discovered my divorce shoes. I don’t remember how it happened- but it might be one of the all time hands down best accidental discoveries of my entire life. I wore high heels. Everywhere. Black ones, blue ones, even red. Wedges. Boots. Fancy ones. All kinds! No discrimination here. If they were heels I wore them. Leopard print and patent leather. Sparkly and suede. Some were expensive…most were not. I remember seeing a friend one time who mentioned that another friend had seen me at the grocery store….’WEARING HEELS.’ Yes- my shoes were that noteworthy. They were receiving third party sightings.

Divorce is always hard. When your husband leaves you for his lawyer girlfriend…brutal. I felt the rejection deeply. It hurt. I felt fat and frumpy and pathetic. I was invisible. My shoes made me feel better. They were one high heeled step in the right direction. They helped revive that tiny spark of pride buried deep inside. I wore those shoes with determination. The worse I felt the higher they got. No more house wife uniform of sweat pants and sketchers. No way… This chic was wearing heels to Walmart! At one point I would have ran a friggen marathon in those shoes. I actually wore them around my house. For no reason. By myself.  On Sunday afternoons. I held my head high and got dressed with purpose. No more slouchy comfortable shoes for me. My life was no longer comfortable…and I had the shoes to prove it. By God if I can survive a divorce with 3 kids- I can wear 3 inch heels at the f***ing mall. Bring it. Comfort isn’t always the most important thing- sometimes its survival- in whatever form that may be.

Divorce shoes…I love you. You were always there for me…