Pause

The large entertainment company I work for has been sold to an even larger entertainment company with various offices all over Canada.

I was having a look at the new company's locations and noticed there is one in Hamilton. As I was looking at this location's particulars, I thought to myself, "Maybe I could apply to that office and Simon and I could buy a house in Hamilton."

And then my brain stopped. And my heart stopped. And everything was suspended in time for what seemed like days.

Why do I keep doing this to myself? What the fuck is wrong with me? I am getting so tired of feeling like this. Why haven't I felt any relief yet? When is this going to stop?

Reuse, Recycle

For those of you on Facebook, you'll know what I mean when I say that most people suffer from installing too many applications on their personal page. Admittedly, I am one of those people, but I'm not as bad as some people. Like my soon-to-be-ex-husband. He has a ridiculous amount of apps installed. One of which is for dedicating songs to people.

I am not a fan of making a song "ours". I have made it a point NOT to dedicate songs to men since Grade 7 when a boy named Sean broke my heart, after having given me Richard Marx's album "Repeat Offender" on tape, because it had our song "Right Here Waiting". That song broke my heart over and over for a good couple months and that's when I decided I would never let a boy ruin a song for me ever again.

I managed to stick to that rule until I met my husband. Simon and I met at karaoke. Obviously during our relationship, we went to a lot of karaoke bars. And even more obviously, we'd sing songs for each other. One of the songs Simon would dedicate to me is "Amazed" by Lonestar. It would start with something like, "This is for my wife. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me." And the song I would sing and (begrudgingly) dedicate to him is "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Grand Funk Railroad, as reinterpreted by Joss Stone. The only reason SKOW ended up becoming the dedication song was because I sang it the night we got engaged - at the karaoke bar where we first met.

The band I'm in does a cover of SKOW and during every performance Simon would expect, nay DEMAND, I dedicate the song to him. Again, I begrudgingly obliged. I thought it was fucking ridiculous that he expected this out of me EVERY TIME. I know it was more for the benefit of his ego, and to let every male in the audience know I was his woman.

After we broke up, and I broke the news to my band, I told them under no circumstances would we ever play SKOW again. They all understood and quickly researched other tunes to take its place. My favourite thus far is a Bonnie Raitt tune called, "Love Me Like a Man". Ha! You can bet I'll be dedicating that to Simon.

At any rate, last week Simon called me to make sure that everything was on track to us getting divorced. His exact words were, "Is our divorce going to be normal?" Normal? Normal?! What the fuck is NORMAL about a DIVORCE? I mentioned that we did not own any property together, nor did we share any spawn, so as far as I could tell, it should be NORMAL.

I found it interesting that he was concerned about ensuring our divorce moves along quickly. Simon is not the type of person to tie up loose ends. Case in point - he's never bothered to go to court to get a proper custody agreement between him and the mother of his child. Yet he complained endlessly about how his rights were being trodden on. I would hardly think he would be concerned with the details of our divorce proceedings. Unless ... he's ... already ... planning ... to ... PROPOSE TO HIS NEW GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I called my brother after work that day and ordered him to check Simon's Facebook profile to see if anything has changed. The screen capture brought back this image:

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Let me say that again.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Never mind that he is already saying "I love you" to someone he only met at most 2 months ago. He's using the SAME song and the SAME DEDICATION.

How many times has he used this song with the women who came before me? That song was released in 2000, so it's entirely possible he dedicated that song to his first wife, 2nd engagement, 3rd engagement, 4th engagement & mother of his child, and then me. Lucky Number 5. And now Ms. Anderson has the dubious honour of being Number 6.

After finding out this piece of information, I went back to my band at rehearsal (conveniently that very same night) and told them about Simon's penchant for recycling. And then I told my band that I was taking that song back. I was going to follow Simon's environmentally friendly ways and TAKE THAT FUCKING SONG BACK.

Not only is it MY song again, I plan on dedicating it to whomever is standing in front of me any time I sing it. And it will be because THEY are the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Burned

I had a dream about Simon last night. I dreamt I was in my bed smoking a cigarette because I was so upset about him. (I don't smoke.) I noticed the ashes at the end of my cigarette formed a point like a pencil. So I started to draw with my ashes. I drew pictures of Simon and myself.

Then Simon walked into my bedroom and I crumpled up the drawings so he couldn't see. We went into the living room and took off all our clothes and laid down on the futon. He asked to see my drawings. At first I said no, because I didn’t want him to know I was still thinking about him and missing him. And then I changed my mind and said okay since it looked like we were going to get back together, given the fact we were there naked together.

I climbed on top of him and started hugging him and kissing his face. He looked at my drawings and started to laugh a bit. And I pulled back and looked at him and his face had changed into an exboyfriend of mine who was also extremely abusive.

I asked him if he still wanted to be with me and he said no. I asked why. He said because he didn’t care about me anymore. He didn’t care about my kiss and my touch. I got up and walked away, back into my bedroom. I could hear him calling me back but I ignored him.

I closed the door and lay back down in my bed. I picked up what was left of my cigarette and kept smoking it right down to the butt. I almost burned myself with the last drag. I threw it onto the floor when it was finished. That’s when I woke up.

And Also With You

Wedding Number 2 happened yesterday and overall, I had fun. But not without moments of utter melancholy and hysterical crying.

I started the morning with my usual crying jags in the shower and while blow drying my hair. Had to reapply the make-up only once. Changed my outfit about 3 times before settling on a silver sparkly top with black pants. Yes, pants. I was not in the mood to be girlie or to shave my legs.

My friends (check Mazel Tov posting) picked me up from Yorkdale and we drove out to Mississauga for the ceremony. It was an 11am mass at the local Polish Catholic church. I was waiting to burst into flames passing through the front door, as I haven't been to church since my cousin's wedding back in 2004. I managed to escape the wrath of God and found a seat in the third row.

I was surprised by how much I remember of what to do during mass. My friends who are Jewish were truly amused (or bemused?) by the pomp and circumstance surrounding Catholic mass. They were perplexed by where the organ music and vocalist were coming from (above and behind us in the balcony) and by the amount of getting up, sitting down and kneeling that was required. (Every week? Yes. Why? That's how Catholics get their exercise.)

Since it was a traditional mass, communion was served, er...performed. My mother was extremely devout, so as a kid, I was baptised and communion-ized. I was waffling on whether or not I should take communion as I do not believe in most of what the Catholic church proclaims to be the word of God. However, I erred on the side of caution and took communion.

Since my break-up, I have become extremely superstitious in partaking in whatever ritual is required by the particular faith. At my DT's wedding, I didn't have any of her cake. At my wedding, nothing traditional was included. And both of our marriages went into the toilet. So at the weddings I've attended this year, I've been especially careful to observe ALL traditions.

I made it through the ceremony tear free. We hit the receiving line early and then made a mad dash back to North York to hang for 4 hours. My friends kept me well fed with some traditional fish for Jewish New Year, and kept me very amused with reality programming on their 42" plasma wide screen TV. We also went through their wedding proofs and I helped pick out the keepers. All tear free. :)

We were fashionably late for the reception in Brampton, at a very fancy golf club. First stop was the hors d'oeuvres table and the bar. I started feeling like the third wheel. Whenever my girlfriend wanted to go to the bar, she would send her husband and she'd stay to "babysit" me. I think my face was getting sadder and sadder because they kept bringing me more and more alcohol.

Everyone at our table was coupled off, except for me. Even the two single guys at the table had arrived together and were seated together. I felt like the 9th wheel. As the evening progressed, I regressed more and more into myself. I just concentrated on taking lots of pictures while everyone else was participating in some lively conversation.

As dessert was served, the DJ announced the special father/daughter and mother/son dance was about to take place. I put down my fork and grabbed the camera to capture this special moment. Of course, this brought back memories of the fact that I did not have this traditional dance with my Dad because we never ended up having a proper reception. I could feel the tears starting to burn my eyes so I went back to the table and resumed eating my wonderful mocha cheesecake.

About half way through the song, the DJ asked everyone to join the family on the dance floor. My entire table set down their forks and got up to go to the dance floor. Everyone, except for me that is. Even the single guys had somehow managed to find a partner for this dance. It must have been via ESP because I certainly did not observe them asking anyone prior to that moment.

I looked around and pretty much everyone was on the dance floor. And boy could I feel those tears burning out my eyes. Now I really had to concentrate on eating my cheesecake. I was having an incredibly hard time swallowing the cheesecake because that damned lump in my throat was fighting very hard to come up.

When I thought I had everything under control, my friends came back to the table and asked me to dance with them. "No, that's okay. You guys go, have fun. I'm just eating my cheesecake." They insisted I go with them. "Come on, dance with us! We want you to dance with us!" Begrudgingly I obliged and set down my fork.

I took exactly three steps onto the dance floor and the lump in my throat won out. I broke out into hysterical tears. Thank goodness the music was really loud because I'm sure the sounds of my choking on my tears would have put a slight damper on everyone's evening.

I ran back to my table, with my friends close behind. I grabbed my napkin and buried my face in it. Of course, the song ended at that moment and the rest of my table were heading back to finish the rest of their cheesecake. I had to make a quick recovery before anyone noticed. I think I managed only to fool myself.

The rest of the night involved shots and dancing. And some crying in the bathroom. And a guy who kept asking me to dance, but he was short and I was upset. He got me a shot too.

At the end of the night, I went to the bride to say my goodbyes and of course, starting sobbing uncontrollably. I tried my best to keep it together for her, but in the end I couldn't.

A lot of my tears had to do with the fact that my friends are marrying good men. I married a bad man. I know my friends' new hubbies are going to treat them with respect and decency. My husband did not respect me one ounce. I know my friends are going to have long, happy and productive marriages. My marriage was short lived and produced nothing but heart ache.

Two down, one more to go. My brother's wedding in 2 weeks. We'll see how long it takes before the tears and the lumps win out.

Seconds

Just when you think you know someone, you find out there is way more underneath than you could have ever imagined.

I am finding this to be more and more true as I get the opportunity to hash out my feelings with my friends and family.

I have been stunned twice this week, by revelations that people I know who are in marriages of 20+ years have in fact been married once before.

It's not like I don't know people who are on their second marriage. I know quite a few, and they have been incredibly supportive and vocal about the fact that I did the right thing, and I WILL BE OKAY. (Caps are for my benefit.) However, these two particular cases revealed themselves to me in moments where I didn't even realize how desperate I was for some hope.

Both of these people are in incredibly stable, loving, productive and happy marriages. And both of these people went through a short-lived first marriage. It really blew my mind because had they not told me, I would have never in a million years guessed they were on their second.

I am starting to feel hopeful. I am starting to feel a teeny bit better about all of this. I can see a pinpoint of light at the end of this really long tunnel I am traversing. I am carrying so much with me, but I am slowly shedding it and leaving it behind. And these two people provided me with a moment of light where I could see hope.

Chicken

Just skin me and marinate me, because I am a big fat CHICKEN.

I took my sedative an hour prior to the MRI, just as it was prescribed, and it did NOTHING for me. I panicked and cried and generally flipped out. The MRI technician was a sweet lady and hugged me, patted my head and sent me home.

My friend who had driven me to the hospital took me back to her place to make me some food and help me calm down. When we arrived, I sat down on her couch and unceremoniously passed out cold. For 14 hours.

Apparently, the instructions should have read "take 2 hours prior to the procedure".

MRI

Back in November 2005, I started getting brutal migraines that would last for days. I chalked it up to stress with the job I had back then (my boss hated my guts).

I went to the doctor of course, and he ordered an MRI. I tried to do it in February 2006, but it turns out that I'm a big chicken shit. Or as they like to call it, claustrophobic. I've been cancelling and rescheduling this thing for over a year. In the meantime, the migraines have stopped.

At my friend's 40th birthday party back in April, the right side of my face went numb for absolutely no reason. And since then, I experience numbness about as often as I had the migraines. So now I'm thinking whatever was causing the migraines, is now causing the numbness.

I suppose I have to go get this done. I'm convinced I have a tumour and it's all due to the stress of my marriage, and now my separation.

If they do find a tumour in there, I'm going to name it Simon, have them cut it out, and then mail it to him.

Wish me luck on Wednesday folks.

NBN

As I expected, Simon already has a girlfriend. It took him exactly 52 days to get over the love of his life. That's gotta be some sort of rebound record.

My first hint was a transaction in his bank account. I still have access to the account because he hasn't bothered to go get me removed. So I check it every now and again to see if he's won a million bucks to which I would most definitely be entitled half. I noticed he deposited a hefty sum of cash, to the tune of $1000. Interesting, seeing as he spent the last 7 months on EI. Then I noticed a stop at the LCBO. And then I spotted a trip to Naughty But Nice.

For those of you who don't regularly visit such establishments, Naughty But Nice is a chain of stores specializing in sex toys, gadgets, lubricants, and fetish gear. Simon and I never visited NBN in our entire relationship. And that's solely due to the fact that I refused to be his personal porno star.

According to Simon, I am a "nun", a "prude" and there is "something definitely wrong" with me because I don't have crazy-swinging-from-the-ceiling sex. I don't even have sometimes-on-the-couch-in-the-middle-of-the-day sex.

When I would politely refuse his suggestions, he would get so fucking mad at me. He would SCREAM at me in bed. One particular gem went something like this, "YOU CAN'T KEEP A MAN SATISFIED IN BED, THAT'S WHY NONE OF YOUR OTHER RELATIONSHIPS EVER WORKED OUT." Take a moment and imagine how absolutely humiliating that is - having your spouse scream at you while you are naked in bed about to make love. I'm sure that would make anyone feel super sexy and willing to put out.

I am a very plain person when it comes to hitting the sheets. I prefer to do it in a bed (shocking), with the lights off, and in the same position. If something works, don't break it. I tried different positions with him (and other partners for that matter), but they never got me the big "O". They were just extremely uncomfortable and embarrassing. So why do it in a way that doesn't satisfy me, just so Simon can get his porn star rocks off?

My second hint was his Facebook profile suddenly becoming private. Obviously he's got something to hide now, when for over a year his FB has been public.

My third and final clue was an email from one of his friends from high school, ranting about what an asshole he is for flaunting his new tart in his "Relationship Status" on his FB profile. Since I couldn't see it for myself, I enlisted the help of my brother who still has Simon listed as a friend on FB - which up until that moment pissed me off to no end.

My brother begrudgingly sent me a screen shot. Simon's status is "Simon is awesome!!" and he listed himself in a relationship on September 4th.

I could spend the next 37 hours or so explaining all the different kinds of hurt I am feeling. But I will simply sum it up with this point.

Simon could go fuck the stars of every porno ever made. That absolutely would not bother me. But the fact that he's fucking someone, AND giving her the special status of GIRLFRIEND so quickly after I abdicated the special status of WIFE - well, that really burns my skirt.

That fact alone makes me want to send him an email saying he was right all along. I fucked everyone he ever accused me of fucking. And not only did I fuck them all, I went to NBN with each of them, picked out the sluttiest outfits in stock, and screwed in public places all over the city in positions the Kama Sutra couldn't ever imagine.

But of course that would get me no where. Just like the last two years of my life got me no where.

AH

I got the call on Friday morning about my ring. And as expected, the message left was for Simon.

I drove up there after work to pick it up. I didn't want to delay picking it up, just in case Simon shows up there buying something for the person I'm sure he's already sleeping with. (I'll get to that in another post.)

I let the receptionist know I was there to pick up a ring. She waved me around the corner to the desk. There were about 3 sales people along with the receptionist all hanging around. I guess ring sales are slow during the Labour Day weekend.

She asked me for either the work order receipt, or some identification. My heart stopped. I don't have any ID with my married name. I never legally changed it - a point of contention with Simon - again, a story for another post. I panicked for what seemed to be a good 30 seconds. Then I remembered shoving the receipt into my purse. Thank goodness I shove EVERYTHING into my purse. I dug around and found the magic paper.

She sent one of the sales people to the vault to get my ring. As I was waiting, one of the sales people asked me what I was picking up. Again, my brain went into stupid mode and it took me a moment to come up with the answer. I finally managed to string together, "I had my ring sized down to a pinkie ring". The guy just kind of looked at me funny. I guess Spence is so entrenched in promoting engagement/wedding rings, the people who work there are not capable of imagining a ring being worn on any other finger other than the left ring finger.

The first sales guy came back and presented me with a little blue box. I opened it, and there was my ring, all sparkling and shiny, waiting for me to slip it on. Which I did immediately. Everyone oohed and aahed over it. I thank them and start to leave when the receptionist stopped me. Again, my heart stops. The jig is up. They've figured out that Simon and I aren't together anymore and they are going to charge me for the sizing.

"You need to sign this receipt acknowledging you've picked up the ring."

Ah, yes. Sign for the ring. Stupid stupid me.

I grinned sheepishly and mumbled something about my mind already being on long weekend mode. I picked up the pink pen (honestly, can they get anymore hokey?) and started signing my name. I got through my first name just fine, and as I started my last name, I realized that I should probably sign it with my married name. I didn't know whether to cry or throw up. I wished them all a nice long weekend and ran the hell out of the store.

Anyway, here it is. I have to admit, it looks way cuter than I thought it would. Thanks Oprah.