08-FD-336102 - Part II

This was written at a coffee shop on the corner of Queen St. W. & John St.

It's done. Done. Over. Signed and sealed, just waiting to be delivered.

I'm usually very particular about what I choose to wear on days like today - life changing events. However, as I thought about it in the shower this morning, I decided that I really don't give a shit today. It's not like my outfit is going to bring me luck or change the outcome.

I wore my white Ginger Spice shirt with an off white skirt and black flip flops. I purposely didn't wear my mother's earrings. Instead I wore a pair of amethyst and diamond earrings I bought myself back in March, after my first failed attempt at finishing off the divorce. I also purposely wore an old grey sweater that I stole from my Dad about 12 years ago. I always wear it when I need comfort.

I contemplated wearing my wedding band. I had a vision that as the clerk turned away to file my case, I'd take off my ring and leave it on the counter. The clerk would turn again and see that I was gone, and in my place, my lonely ring. The music swells, the camera pulls back into a wide shot, and then fade to black.

In reality, the clerk would pick up the ring, toss it into a drawer with countless other rings whose owners were feeling dramatically melancholic, and the sell the lot on Ebay in her monthly auction.

I had Amy Winehouse blasting in my earbuds as I got off the subway. Ironically the songs "Wake Up Alone" and "Some Unholy War" were playing at the time I was making my way into the courthouse. I decided that I shouldn't feel any different when I finally got up there. Today was just an arbitrary line in the sand. Had my separation agreement stated July 14, 2007 as the last day we were together, then I would have been making that walk yesterday. And yesterday I was just as ready and not sad about the marriage ending. I did sad back in October when I lost my marbles and had to take a leave of absence from work.

I got up to the 10th floor, hung a left and started the process again. James Bond was at his desk giving directions to two ladies in line ahead of me. One thing I hadn't noticed the first two times at the courthouse was how many women were there. I'm sure most of them were there for the same reason I was.

James looked over my paperwork and asked if there were any children born of the marriage. Nope. He hand marked zero on one of the pages of my affidavit. He questioned an order I'd asked for covering my costs. "Let me know how that goes. I don't think it's going to wash with the judge." Geez. You'd think I was asking the court to order Simon be skinned alive. I did all the grunt work in getting this shit together. The least the asshole can do is pay for it.

James ordered me over to the file room to pick up my case file. As I crossed that hallway, something changed. Suddenly, the whole situation really started to suck.

I filled out the case file request card and a clerk retrieved my folder. He handed it to me and I walked away, back to where James was waiting on the other side. "Ma'am! Ma'am! You can't leave the room with that!" Oops. "We don't want to have to call security." Oh for fuck's sake, it was an honest mistake. I forgot about that rule - look only, no touching. Another clerk grabbed the file from me and walked it back behind the counter. The first clerk pointed out my mistake, I had checked "Viewing" instead of "Counter Tray". Excuuuuuuuuse me. The second clerk took my file and walked it over to James. He was guarding it like I was about to mug him for it. I could have taken him, he was a pussy. :P

I got my number from James - B3 - and sat down to wait. Again, the feeling of weird was happening. Not quite sad, but I was no longer happy. I thumbed through my paperwork until I got to my marriage certificate. That little piece of paper was still binding me to Simon.

I remember one particularly nasty fight we had where he had grabbed the certificate and threatened to rip it up. I totally fucking lost it on him. I grabbed his sketch book that had a number of drawings he had been labouring over for a few weeks.

"Give it back or I trash your drawings!" I yelled.

"You fucking stupid bitch. I hate you!" He screamed back.

"Give it back RIGHT NOW!" I screamed as I held his book up over my head.

He relented and put down the certificate. I threw his book at him. I picked up my precious piece of paper. He'd bent the folder it was in a little bit. That infuriated me even more because the folder had cost $25, and I hadn't wanted to spend the extra money on top of the already $500 we were spending on the ceremony. I tried to bend it back into shape. I opened it up to make sure the paper itself was okay, which surprisingly it was.

It was such a pretty certificate, much nicer and more ornate than the ones they hand out for Ontario marriages. It was colourful and had a pretty silver seal. That piece of paper represented the only time in my marriage that I had been truly happy. The five days we were in Vegas getting hitched were an absolute dream. That piece of paper was the keeper of my sweet blissful memory. And that motherfucker tried to rip it up.

And now I was a few minutes away from having to hand it over to an anonymous clerk. I didn't want to. I wanted to keep it, to keep my small moment of happiness, where all my dreams had come true and I was to live happily ever after.

There was nothing I could do to keep the clerk from getting it. I couldn't threaten to tear up her files. I couldn't cry or scream or freak out. I had to surrender it, in exchange for my freedom.

She was going over my paperwork and asked me, as James had, if there were any children born of the marriage. "No, THANK GOD" was my response. She hand marked another part of my affidavit saying as such. That made me wonder how many people have lied on their application. I wonder if it was mothers lying so the fathers wouldn't have claim over the children? Perhaps they were protecting the children from abusive fathers. Perhaps they were being vindictive and using the kids as weapons.

Stamp, sign, stamp, sign, staple, label - done.

And that was it. Done.

She wished me a nice day.

I left with my receipt of payment and suddenly I felt really sad. I remembered all the excitement I was filled with when Simon asked me to marry him. I remembered how happy I was that he agreed to eloping in Vegas and getting married by Elvis. I remembered all the planning and booking and organizing I did to make my dream wedding a reality. I remembered finding my dress, finding his suit, finding my wedding band and getting it sized the day before we left. I remembered the morning of our wedding and breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The limo ride to the chapel. The crazy awesome way Elvis walked me down the aisle. The vows. The kiss. The pictures. The champagne toast in the hotel bar. The call to our parents. Their reaction of pure joy. All our firsts as husband and wife.

And all that's left is a receipt for $280.

I sent a text to my DT. "It's done. I feel weird."

"I know. It's ok. Enjoy the spa and let this day wash over you and wash away."

I walked to the corner of Queen & John. I don't know what it is about that particular spot in the city, but whenever I need solace, I go there.

And as I have been sitting here, drinking coffee and writing it all down over the last hour, I've cried. My tears are mixed up - some of joy, some of anger, and some of sadness.

I didn't get to live happily ever after as a Mrs. I didn't even really get to live all that happily.

But now it's just me - Miss Paprika. And I get to choose how my ending is to play out, and everything in between.

R.I.P.
One Really Bad Marriage
08 JAN 2006 - 15 JULY 2008

A new life begins today.

Singular Sensation

"Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow! You're only a day away!"
From the musical Annie

"One, singular sensation! Every little step she takes!"
From the musical A Chorus Line

I woke up this morning without a voice. Yup, totally voiceless. I tried to yell at the cat for swatting my head to wake me up and no sound came out.

Nothing.

For a moment I thought I'd died, because of course you can't make sounds when you're dead. Then for a moment I thought I'd died still married to Simon. Then I jumped out of my bed and really hurt my abdomen. I'm not catching any breaks this month when it comes to my health.

Ironically, I've had quite a few dreams over the last few weeks where I've lost my voice. I've been in really bad situations where I need to scream and I am physically unable to make any sound at all.

The last time I lost my voice was 5 years ago when I was producing/directing/writing/starring in a play for the local Fringe Festival. There was a lot of crap happening on and off the stage. I felt like no one was listening to me at all. Not as a fellow actor, not as the director, and certainly not as the boss-girl producer.

About 3 weeks before opening night, I woke up and my voice was gone. I went to the doctor and he diagnosed it being stressed induced laryngitis. I had to take a vow of silence for 3 weeks and even then, I only managed to squeak through opening night. That was one of the roughest months of my life. The show was well received, however I ended up losing a thousand dollars on the show overall and never spoke to the cast ever again.

My current condition could be due to the fact that I had two consecutive shows with my band, and then I spent the day at Canada's Wonderland hollering my head off on the roller coasters.

Or it could be due to the fact that tomorrow, I will be finally putting the last nail in the coffin that holds my dead marriage.

I'm really scared that something is going to go wrong between now and tomorrow morning. And maybe that fear has manifested itself in laryngitis.

All I can do is suck back honey & warm water and try to relax. Everything is going to be fine. I will be at the courthouse at 8:30am tomorrow and I will finally sever the ties that have bound me for the last 2 1/2 years. And then it's off to the spa!

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

Tutu

Two

To

Too

Tu

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

Trinity

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

IIII

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

ה

Jackson

New Edition

NKOTB

BSB

N'SYNC

Spice Girls

Maroon

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

VI

Six is the second smallest composite number, its proper divisors being 1, 2 and 3. Since six equals the sum of these proper divisors, six is a perfect number. As a perfect number, 6 is related to the Mersenne prime 3, since 21(22 - 1) = 6. (The next perfect number is 28.) Six is the only number that is both the sum and the product of three consecutive positive numbers.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

604,800

One more week.

Seven more days.

168 more hours.

10,080 more minutes.

604,800 more seconds.

I'm having a hard time hanging on now. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin. I'm having trouble sleeping again. I just want this week to zoom by so I can get to that courthouse and get it done.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

One Weak Week

Seven days later and I'm still bloated, still sore, and still alone.

I just re-read my last post...what does a girl have to do to get a little bit of attention from the guy she really likes? One would think surgery would do it, but not in this case.

I have heard zilch from my Butterfly since those few fleeting text messages after my surgery. No emails, no phone calls, no text messages, no smoke signals, and no pigeons (although there are a few nesting on my balcony, none came with a note).

NOTHING
NOTHING
NOTHING

Which is what I should be feeling for him now. NOTHING. He has shown me beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is a grade-A-son-of-a-bitch-loser-mother-fucker.

But last night I was lying in bed wishing on a star, hoping with all my might, that he would contact me. He's leaving tomorrow for a 2 week vacation to Portugal. His Facebook status says "Butterfly wants your home address if You want a postcard from him." I am soooooooo tempted to email him my address. But I know I'll only be disappointed when he doesn't send me a postcard. Just like he didn't call me this WHOLE week. I'm housebound, and he's currently between jobs so there's nothing stopping us from being together for a few hours.

Okay, I think I'm done being a whiny loser. But you gotta cut me some slack. It was the first guy I allowed myself to care about since my husband. Since LAST SUMMER! I knew it would be hard, and I knew it would hurt, but I didn't anticipate it would suck this badly.

Ms. Appendectomy

I had quasi-emergency surgery at 1:30am yesterday morning. It was to remove my inflamed-but-getting-close-to-bursting appendix. I am really glad I listened to my body enough to get myself to the doctor for the diagnosis.

The pain started on Sunday night, after eating a few hamburgers my brother had cooked on the BBQ. I figured my tummy just wasn't liking my brother's cooking. I was running a fever and feeling super duper nauseous. I slept it off and woke up Monday morning ready to take on the world! Well, I was ready to get my annual physical from my family doctor, aka hand-up-in-my-junk exam. I skipped breakfast knowing he would be sending me for blood work, which usually requires at least 8 hours of fasting.

I was feeling fine during my examination so I figured whatever was bugging my tummy the night before had worked its way out. Along with the blood work, my doctor wanted me to get an x-ray on my left leg to make sure I didn't break it from dropping a box on it 6 months ago. There's still a bruise which is tender to the touch.

As I was waiting for my x-ray, I started to feel a bit queasy. Then as I was getting my blood drawn, I was feeling down right vomit-ious. Of course, I chalked it up to not having had anything to eat since the disaster burgers the night before. The remedy for nausea is of course, getting a cheeseburger Happy Meal from McDonald's on the drive back to Toronto.

I got to the office at about 2pm and by 3pm, I was running a fever and feeling down right bad. I left the office at 4pm and when I got home, I called Telehealth Ontario. After being on hold and then getting on the call back list (there's even a wait time for a phone service!), a nurse listened to me describe my symptoms and suggested I see a doctor within 4 hours. And upon that advice, I ate a plain piece of bread and passed out around 9pm.

Tuesday morning arrived and with it, more pain. There was no sleeping off whatever this was. I emailed work to let them know I would be going to the doctor and would probably be in the next day. Famous last words!

The doctor at the clinic took a look at me for about 2 seconds and declared me to be suffering from appendicitis. He asked me if anyone had come with me, to which the answer was no, as I don't have a husband or even a boyfriend. He advised me to "get someone" and get my ass to a hospital ASAP.

I called my Faux Beau and of course, he came to my rescue (as per usual). I checked into the ER at 2pm on the "urgent care" list. Two hours later I was finally examined, on a chair outside of the nurses station. Apparently, they were all full up, not an empty bed in sight. My doctor was this beautiful, delicate, picture-perfect woman. I wanted to punch her for that, and for telling me they were going to yank out my appendix. I started to cry and she told me to save my tears for later. Later? Later?! Like how about right at that moment when I realized that my family was 2 hours away, my cat was at home unfed, and I had my FAUX beau there with me instead of my HUSBAND or even my Butterfly.

I sucked it up long enough to get an ultrasound which took an hour and a half because my appendix was hiding behind all sorts of gas in my bowels. The technician couldn't get a clear picture so she suggested a vaginal ultrasound. Sure! Why not?! That's exactly what I needed - a condom covered wand that would make all my dreams come true. Sadly, that was the most action I'd seen since my Butterfly faded away.

Still with no appendix in sight, the technician called in not one, but two doctors. Thankfully there wasn't going to be a repeat wand-up-the-vajayjay. However they had me half twisted on the exam table and jabbing me mercilessly with the ultrasound wand. Finally the gas passed enough for them to get a picture of my appendix. Yup, as suspected, it was angry and inflamed.

They shipped me back to the ER to await my doom, er, the surgeon. At this point my Divorce Twin had arrived. She did quite a routine to keep my mind off the impending abdominal slicing. When my surgeon finally arrived around 8:30pm, both DT and I fell in love with him. He was the CUTEST thing EVER! Tall, brown hair, bluuuuuue eyes, slightly unshaven. Heaven in scrubs!

He explained the surgery to me and asked if I had any questions. (Question: How many of these have you done? Answer: 500, all lived to tell the tale.) When he left my room, my DT suggested I should ask him out. Ha! Really, how do you ask out someone who's about to go head first into your bowels? I took a pass on that one.

Midnight came and went and so did DT as she had an early morning meeting with her boss that was not to be missed. Faux Beau let me play with his blackberry and I updated my Facebook status to let everyone know I was going under the knife sooner rather than later.

Then it was time to go up to the OR. This is the part where I really wished I was in the alternate universe where Simon was not insane and still my husband and holding my hand as they wheeled me into prep. This is the part where I wished my Butterfly wasn't so fucking neurotic and afraid of his feelings and was beside me, holding my hand while the anesthesiologist was explaining how he was going to shove a tube down my throat to keep me alive during surgery. This is the part where I wondered why someone who is as smart and funny and wonderful as me was lying there by herself, having to face her own mortality because of a little useless organ that decided to get angry.

My heart rate hit 166 beats per minute before the anesthetic kicked in and knocked my sorry ass out.

Faux Beau told me it took about 2 hours before they brought me out of recovery. Apparently I had a hard time waking up. He emailed my dad & brothers to let them know I was alive and then headed home to get some much needed sleep. It was 4:30am and I was lying in a bed with 3 shiny new cuts in my belly. I was lying there shivering, in pain, and ALONE.

I fell in and out of consciousness until about 9am. My McDreamy Surgeon came in to check on me and he told me a bunch of stuff I can't remember because I was totally STONED on MORPHINE. Again, another reason why it's better to have someone with you during life changing events.

Later, when I could make out solid shapes, I turned on my cell phone and there were a few worried text messages from my Butterfly. Yay! He actually cared!! I responded to let him know I was alive. He sent a message back asking where I was. Yay! He's going to come and visit!! I sent him the info. He asked me if they'd given me jello. Yes, I said. What colour, he asked. Red! I said! And then NOTHING. I truly must have been stoned out of my mind to think he'd actually show up.

Faux Beau, DT and my friend Jason all arrived in the afternoon with tea, flowers and jogging pants respectively. They kept me entertained while I ate my shitty hospital food and then packed me up and brought me home. My cat had thrown up while I was away. He does that if I don't let him know I'll be gone overnight. It's touching, yet sad that the only creature on this planet who throws up if I'm gone, licks his own balls.

And then I was alone, again. And again I was wishing for that alternate universe where Simon would be taking care of me. Or where Butterfly would be over, trying to make me laugh but not because it hurt my stitches. Or another universe where there was SOMEONE, who loved me in the biblical sense, taking care of me.

Sleep last night was excruciating. I should have stayed in the hospital where my fancy bed could maneuver me into a position that didn't feel like my stomach was being ripped apart. I should have stayed so that I could pull on the cord and someone (although paid for it) who gave a shit would come help me to the bathroom.

This experience reinforced why it is that I so badly want to be in a relationship now. Alone hurts. Alone and scared hurts more. Alone and facing the unknown is truly unbearable.

Brush and Rinse

Girl misses boy.
Girl wants to send boy an email.
Girl knows better than to lay herself out like a doormat (even more so than she has already).
Girl posts would-be-email here.

"So I came home and found your toothbrush laying helpless in the sink. It looked like she was trying to commit suicide. My toothbrush was still confined to his holder. I'm not sure if he had anything to do with assisting her in flinging herself off the edge. I've called in the SIU with this case.

I picked her up and cradled her in my hand. She looked up at me with her gorgeous blue & white eyes and asked me why you haven't been around.

I shook my head and shrugged. I sort of know the answer, but I'm still not really clear. And being a believer in not passing along misinformation, I didn't answer her question.

She asked me to pass along a message to you. She wants you to come back soon, it's safe here.

So that's all. I'm just passing along the message..."

Flatline

Things between me and my butterfly are pretty much dead. He cancelled a sleep over last night. He said it just wasn't in the cards for him, as he's in a "bad head space".

What the fuck is a bad head space? Honestly, I don't get that. How bad can your head be to turn down SEX?!

I know that when I dumped Simon, I was in the worst emotional state of my life. But my head still had enough sense in it to recognize that I shouldn't start a relationship that I couldn't fully participate in.

Butterfly started a relationship with me, and is now backing out because he's not emotionally equipped to deal with it.

I wish he would have just said from the beginning, "All I want is sex from you, whenever I want it. Don't make plans with me, don't introduce me to your friends, just boo-tay please and thanks." That way I could have made an informed decision about whether to get involved. But that's not what happened. He wooed me. He played the part of a boyfriend, which is what I was looking for.

So with that, I quit. Again.

Never again.
Never again.
Never again.
Never again...

Final Countdown

In 32 hours, my Divorce Twin will be filing her second set of court papers. And in 30 days, she'll have a shiny new divorce decree.

In 44 days and 8 hours, I'll be filing my second set of court papers. And then you'll find me passed out in a bar somewhere shortly thereafter. I won't be drinking to drown my sorrows, I'll be drinking to celebrate my freedom!

As identical as this experience has been for me and my DT, there is one fundamental difference. I'm happy about it being over. She's profoundly sad. I am having a hard time providing her support at this point in time because I'm just so bloody happy it's almost done. I'm sure she doesn't want to hear how happy I am.

DT - I love you. You are amazing and strong and even though you are sad, you will be okay. I'm going to keep telling you this until one day you will look in the mirror and realize it's true. It's okay. It'll all be okay. You have the strength to do this, I promise.

Twelve months ago, the beginning of the end arrived. It was June 2007 when everything started to unravel at a speed I couldn't manage. Watching my life dissolve before my very eyes was overwhelming to say the least.

And now sitting here, with twelve months in between that life and this life, all I can do is breathe. Big breath in, and all of it out. My life is better, but not. My outlook is clear, but fuzzy. My hope for the future is there, but not at all. Conundrum. I never really understood the weight of that word until now.

I've had to patch myself back together, piece by microscopic piece. I don't think I've found all the pieces yet. I don't think I ever will. Some were completely obliterated on July 15, 2007. But for the most part, the core of me has been reset to where I was prior to meeting my husband.

I wish life could be like a computer. You can always reboot when everything crashes.

Flutter

After two weeks of not talking to my butterfly, I broke down and sent a message via FB. It simply said, "Why aren't you talking to me anymore?"

I got back a huge diatribe. My favourite line was, "I offended you grandly, you offended me specifically." I replied with a simple, "I'm sorry. I miss you." And I got back another long diatribe, at the end of which was "I miss you too."

That was enough for me. Seriously, he had me at hello. (groan) So I sucked up my pride and made nice.

We went for a walk on Thursday and made small talk. I linked my pinky around his. He squeezed my hand. At the end of our walk, he gave me a really great hug and said "sorry" in my ear. I would have given him anything at that moment had he asked.

We made plans for the next night, dinner and a movie. Dinner was great. Lots of smiling and genuine conversation. Then it was back to my place.

We never did end up watching the movie...

Jerk Punch

I think there should be a law that allows women to punch men in the balls with brass knuckles when they act like assholes in a relationship.

Men are like dogs, you have to train them. And I think if men knew a brass knuckled punch in the balls was a consequence for their actions, that would probably make them think at least twice before going ahead with said asshole-ish action.

I saw my dead butterfly outside of the office yesterday. I know he saw me. And he didn't even acknowledge my existence. That hurt my feelings on top of everything else he did to hurt them.

A solid jerk punch should be allowed in this case.

I'm Worth It?

My good friend's husband has this to say about my dead butterflies. I think it's absolutely correct. I'm posting it here so I can come back and reference it whenever I need a reminder.

“Men are LAZY. They will only treat you well enough to keep you. The reason I treat my wife so well is because if I didn't, she'd be GONE IN 60 SECONDS. The reason she'd be gone is because she KNOWS she's worth it, and DEMANDS that level of respect. The reason men walk all over Paprika is because she doesn't like herself enough to believe that she deserves better. She SAYS that she loves herself and she's confident, but if that were true, she wouldn't spend so much time worrying about "What does THIS mean? What does THAT mean? What does it mean when he does THIS?" You want to know the correct answer to those questions? WHO CARES? Even if you're going to lie awake at night worrying about how your relationship is going, trust me, HE'S NOT. You talk about what you WANT (I want him to want to spend time, call, think about me, whatever). If what you want has to come from someone else, you're never going to be happy.”

Dead Butterflies

So much for that. Just when it was feeling so good, it crashed and burned.

Perhaps I'm just meant to be alone. Perhaps I'm not worthy of anyone to care about me for more than a minute.

Somehow my crazy ex-husband can convince a woman to carry his baby while he's living in his parents' basement without a car and is still married to me.

I can't convince the guy I was dating to spend more than one evening a week with me.

Let's say it together - WTF?!

I'm going to NYC next week. I think I may have to follow in the foot steps of Kim Cattrell's character of Samantha in "Sex and the City". Find me a random hottie and just fuck him.

Stranger Love

Lately I've been getting a lot of hugs from either total strangers or slight acquaintances. I don't know if I have some sort of pathetic look on my face, but people (mostly men) have felt the need to put their arm around me in comfort.

I've had a coworker, a film director, a band mate, a doctor and a mechanic all scoop me into their arms. Some have even kissed me on the forehead.

Do I look sad? I don't feel sad. And I'm finally all the way off my antidepressants. I am happy to report that I feel totally fine. I've been a little sick lately with blocked sinuses, but other than that, this is the happiest I've been in a long time.

Maybe it's because I'm just way too cute. So totally cute that these men can't help themselves. :)

Or maybe the universe is showing me some love. Either way, it's nice. Sometimes a little weird, but nice.

Baby Mama #2

Not only does Simon collect wives, he collects baby mamas. I found out through a friend of mine that he's gotten his current girlfriend pregnant. My friend wanted to break the news to me gently so she asked me out to dinner last night. She didn't want me to find out the way she did, via Facebook. Apparently, both Simon's profile picture and the baby mama's is a close up shot of the positive pee stick. (Eeewww!)



Now before you all shake your head thinking it was a mistake, I also found out that it was planned.

Planned?

PLANNED?

P.L.A.N.N.E.D?!?!?!?!

HELLOOOOOOOO? MCFLY?! Did you forget about your first daughter, for whom you can't provide child support? Did you forget you are living in your parents' basement? Did you forget you make minimum wage? Did you forget you don't own a car? Did you forget you don't even know how to file your own taxes?

Two words come to mind - mandatory sterilization.

And a few more words come to mind - thank GOD it's not me.

Bingo

I have a huge smile on my face. And it's because a man put it there last night. :)

Butterflies...