witifulramblings

The Storyline: Day Trois

In life, wit on July 18, 2010 at 2:21 am

Today my thighs feel huge and I think that there’s good reason for it.  Last night I just couldn’t resist, after all my intellectual-cupcake- talk, and made a detour to the bakery.  Yesterday’s calorie intake topped around four thousand.  I’ll try to make up for it today with water and crackers, wish me luck.

This day has only just begun and I am already here waiting for something exciting to happen.  Like yesterday, when I overheard my co-worker converse with her son, Brandon (his name has been changed to protect his identity).  “You’re in high school now you have to wear underwear when you go on dates.  What?  You’re wearing basketball shorts?  I bet they don’t even have a string in them.”  She sighs pathetically.  Then Brandon’s Father calls, “Honey, he’s not wearing underwear again and they’re going wakeboarding.  I’m afraid his shorts are going to fall off and that girl is going to see his hoo-hoo.”  Last week Brandon had an STD test–we’re still waiting on the results.  Maybe he should start wearing underwear as a form of protection.  I’m secretly longing for a phone call from B himself or his physician.  I also secretly hope this co-worker never gets fired.

Aside from Mellisa the entertainer and her freeballing son, I spent most of my day checking and re-checking data, sounds fun?  Not so much.  Then on every break I kept reading this book, which I absolutely love.  I would love to travel the world like she does. If only I could manage a book deal and a publisher willing to front my sebatacle.  Oh, and if I can also get my monster to agree to a custody settlement including a provision where I take Emerson with me, yeah right.  So, now another part of my adventure reveals itself.  I promised you before– only subjectivity– and now I am revealing the most subjective thing in my life, my ex-husband.  In this book, the main character decides to Petition God for a finalized divorce and amazingly her request is granted.  Her ex-husband signs and she’s off to travel the world on her publisher’s dime (money advanced through a book deal).  How great is that?  Wonderful I’d say, but yet again we’re dealing with the fantasy of fiction and fairytales.  When you get a divorce, well a bad divorce, that never happens and people don’t typically advance you anything unless you agree to give up your car title to a guy with dreadlocks and a T-shirt inscribed, Rehab is for Quitters .  For those of you who’ve experienced a “good” divorce then you shouldn’t read this.  In fact, I feel like giving you a certificate of merit– it would say, “Congratulations, you have accomplished the unspeakable, which means you must be sterile and on welfare.”

So, I’ll tell you the truth, the very ugly truth.  Divorce attorney’s are not real lawyers, it’s true, believe it.  They are actually overpaid referees who completely understand this concept and use it their exact financial benefit.  Divorce is just like a game of volleyball, back and forth, on the sidelines you got two men (or women) screaming and whisteling, “don’t stop, keep going, you can do it! ”  All the while, you’re thinking, “do what, DO WHAT?” For every new spike and hit and curve (and whatever else they do in volleyball) you’ve got a cheerleader on the side urging you onward.  The only downfall, that cheerleader charges three hundred dollars an hour and you never win the game.  They win the game.  I’ll tell you something attorneys don’t tell you.  I know this because I worked as a family law paralegal for two years.  They are all friends.  They actually sit in their mahogany covered offices and talk to one another laughing at your misfortunes.  They never fight, and after they’ve discussed ingenious ways to waste all of your money then they arrange their next game of golf.  This is why I decided not to go to law school.  This is also why I fired my attorney two years ago.

You’d think people would learn.  Have you ever heard anyone say anything good about their divorce attorney.  I haven’t–people don’t carry around their cards and say, “here, go to this guy, he’s great.”  No, they say, “he charged me up the wazoo and then I fired him.”  That’s what they say unless, of course, they sleep with their divorce attorney to write of their bill.  Then they just don’t say anything at all.  Back to the paradigm of others, this also applies to attorneys, however it’s a bit reversed.  They look like scathing slimeballs on the outside but we believe that they’re angels, sent from heaven, to solve all our marital woes and restore peace.  Not true.  Save your money and instead go get some really good counseling, trust me, it’s almost the same thing but a lot cheaper.  I didn’t learn this lesson until eighty thousand dollars too late.

I know this blog is supposed to be about three hundred and sixty five days going forward but really to progress even twenty four hours I’m going to have to relive my past day-by-day.  I’ve spent three years wondering what would be adventureful enough, humourous enough, and entertaining enough to blog about.  Then the other night it came to me, while standing in the kitchen, staring blankly at my refrigerator–my life.  A friend told me she feels like she has nothing coherent enough to string along into some sort of storyline worth reading.  Oh, but I do, I do.  I’ll tell it to you, just like it happened to me, but I’m warning you it will probably take me three hundred and sixty five days to get through while capturing the present simultaneosly.  However, it will explain where I am now and it might even help make the present a little clearer for both of us.  Someone once told me, “if you look hard enough at someone else, somewhere deep within, you will always find yourself.”  I hope you find yourself here amidst the the chaos of my life.  After all, I’m not just writing this for me.

We all begin being who we are somewhere–whether it’s in high school testing the waters of commando practice or twenty two and divorced.  Our lives begin, they keep on going, and its up to us to define them.  No one else can do that for us–define us.  Unless, of course, we let them but I wouldn’t suggest that.  Be you.  I began being me three years ago in a desperate call to the one one person in my life that always picks up her phone–my mom.  I didn’t know it at the time but the journey would be one of the toughest I could encounter.  You see, finding yourself after you’ve been lost for so long isn’t an easy thing.

signing off and wishing you a wonderful day–

your whit. ing. addict.  Today you must be yourself.

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