10 Regrets
1. What little I can remember was deeply unsatisfying. I spent the next day vomiting neon-orange goo and the next three years in a maelstrom of self-loathing. It takes a truly horrendous mistake to make you marvel at the multifarious evils present in both your mind and digestive tract.
2. Mr. Blonde: he claimed in all seriousness to have committed multiple murders. I moved in with him anyway. Bet that beats YOUR horrible ex-boyfriend story!
3. It took me a long, long time to realize that he wasn't a killer, wasn't a paragon of pure evil, but rather a nasty, spoiled little beast, a cocktail of coddled gifted child, unmedicated bipolar-I and Objectivist idealization even more noxious than the quarts of Jack Daniels and Mountain Dew I downed while living with him, his beloved Playstation and mountains of Taco Bell wrappers in his parents' basement (those three months of my life make this song look like "Walkin' On Sunshine").
4. If you do the RIGHT thing, and are, in fact, the amazing man I thought you were, then every moment of doubt and fury I've ever felt towards you. If you DON'T, then not beating the ever-loving shit out of you while simultaneously stapling a restrictive custody order to your dense fucking head as soon as I found out.
5. My first and only experience with hallucinogens: alone, in my bedroom, the day after my sixteenth birthday party, at which I'd been stood up by my crush du jour. Trip the light fantastic, my ass. I'm still afraid of that damned tape deck.
6. Living without therapy and SSRIs for so long.
7. Picking at it (and not using Q-Tips dipped in alcohol, either).
8. On occasion, being too decent, moral and non-vindictive of a person to e-mail every single person in your life a picture of my little family with the caption, "Hi! This is me, my husband and our baby. One guess as to which one YOUR [daughter/sister/friend/employee/vague acquaintance] is fucking! Hint: baby's only got eyes for one set of tits, and mama don't swing that way."
9. But being petty enough to needle you about it in a public forum anyway. Oh, fuck it: make this "9.5 Regrets"; this one still feels delicious. Needle needle needle.
9.5. This post. I've always preferred to keep things relatively impersonal. Whoops!
10. Placing anyone in the world on a higher pedestal than my own messed-up, hilarious, pretty-even-with-undereye-circles, halfway-to-an-associates-degree, good-mama-even-though-I-want-to-bash-my-head-in-with-a-board-book-sometimes, ambitious, non-nutritious (but aspartame-sweetened!), expeditious self.
And yet every single one of these helped me move towards where I am right now, which, despite everything, is the best place I've ever been. Regrets, I salute you! (Insert Miller Lite "Real Men of Genius" clip... "And today we salute YOU, Ms. Cohabitated-With-Self-Proclaimed-Psychopath!... [falsetto] Oooooh, he's watching 'A Clockwork Orange' WAAAAY too MUUUUUUUCH!")
Feel free (nay, COMPELLED) to comment with regrets of your own (unless, like Ol' Blue Eyes, you've had too few to mention, you lucky bastard). Um, anonymous posts welcome, obviously.
2. Mr. Blonde: he claimed in all seriousness to have committed multiple murders. I moved in with him anyway. Bet that beats YOUR horrible ex-boyfriend story!
3. It took me a long, long time to realize that he wasn't a killer, wasn't a paragon of pure evil, but rather a nasty, spoiled little beast, a cocktail of coddled gifted child, unmedicated bipolar-I and Objectivist idealization even more noxious than the quarts of Jack Daniels and Mountain Dew I downed while living with him, his beloved Playstation and mountains of Taco Bell wrappers in his parents' basement (those three months of my life make this song look like "Walkin' On Sunshine").
4. If you do the RIGHT thing, and are, in fact, the amazing man I thought you were, then every moment of doubt and fury I've ever felt towards you. If you DON'T, then not beating the ever-loving shit out of you while simultaneously stapling a restrictive custody order to your dense fucking head as soon as I found out.
5. My first and only experience with hallucinogens: alone, in my bedroom, the day after my sixteenth birthday party, at which I'd been stood up by my crush du jour. Trip the light fantastic, my ass. I'm still afraid of that damned tape deck.
6. Living without therapy and SSRIs for so long.
7. Picking at it (and not using Q-Tips dipped in alcohol, either).
8. On occasion, being too decent, moral and non-vindictive of a person to e-mail every single person in your life a picture of my little family with the caption, "Hi! This is me, my husband and our baby. One guess as to which one YOUR [daughter/sister/friend/employee/vague acquaintance] is fucking! Hint: baby's only got eyes for one set of tits, and mama don't swing that way."
9. But being petty enough to needle you about it in a public forum anyway. Oh, fuck it: make this "9.5 Regrets"; this one still feels delicious. Needle needle needle.
9.5. This post. I've always preferred to keep things relatively impersonal. Whoops!
10. Placing anyone in the world on a higher pedestal than my own messed-up, hilarious, pretty-even-with-undereye-circles, halfway-to-an-associates-degree, good-mama-even-though-I-want-to-bash-my-head-in-with-a-board-book-sometimes, ambitious, non-nutritious (but aspartame-sweetened!), expeditious self.
And yet every single one of these helped me move towards where I am right now, which, despite everything, is the best place I've ever been. Regrets, I salute you! (Insert Miller Lite "Real Men of Genius" clip... "And today we salute YOU, Ms. Cohabitated-With-Self-Proclaimed-Psychopath!... [falsetto] Oooooh, he's watching 'A Clockwork Orange' WAAAAY too MUUUUUUUCH!")
Feel free (nay, COMPELLED) to comment with regrets of your own (unless, like Ol' Blue Eyes, you've had too few to mention, you lucky bastard). Um, anonymous posts welcome, obviously.
Labels: Divorce Song, The Compleat Thumbscrew
posted by thumbscre.ws at
6/02/2006
28 Comments:
OH MY GOD I'm so lucky that you're my sister. And I love you. And the fact the you posted this- OH MY SWEET JESUS IT'S SO FUCKING PERSONAL- is either a sign that you've reached a critical junction at which your life will begin again, or a sign that you're about to ascend the belltower.
Btw, stapling the restrictive custody order is not enough. You need to use a fucking NAIL GUN.
Awww... thanks, Sar. I am still sane, I assure you. Plus, the belltower thing isn't even an option, since my aim is roughly as good as Mr. Magoo with severe conjunctivitis.
Re: stapling. Or maybe one of those bolt guns they use on cattle! Nah, I still love the bastard enough to track down and use friggin' Post-It glue. Hypoallergenic Post-It glue, so he doesn't get a rash.
Fuck him! Stick it there with honey and push him over the rail into the grizzly den at the zoo! Afix it with napalm! Rebar can be a terrific fastener when pounded in deep enough! You're a terrific seamstress; will his head fit in your sewing machine if you print the custody order on cotton?
Kick his ass to the curb - you may still love him but YOU DESERVE BETTER. I hung on for 7 years, and I did not leave that marriage a better person. Nope, it took me 7 more before I started feeling better and was ready to feel and love again. Once that sacred trust is broken, it is so fragile that is NEVER heals completely. I don't care what others say, I've been there and have the scars to prove it.
Yeah! And then STAPLE his ass to that curb!
Ok... I don't know you and you don't know me and I am just a nobody lurker that checks on you every now and then... But....
1: I have always thought once a cheater always a cheater.
2:Conversely.. I love my husband unconditionally. Really, unconditionally. If he ever cheated on me... I'd still love him. I just wouldn't RESPECT him any more.
3: Respect is something earned..
4: For me, it all comes down to wether or not he is willing to earn that respect back. If not, then I'd still love him, but I can't stay married to someone I don't resppect. It wouldn't be fair to me, my children... or him.
In the end, the whole "once a cheater" thing is totally debatable.
But that doesn't mean you shouldn't consider that whole honey/bear option... just for stress relief.
Strength to you.
Stress relief? I'm in favor of outright Husband Relief by way of honey/bear. That said, for stress relief alone, the bear half of the equation is not strictly necessary- Mr. Thumbscrews could use a little hair removal and honey alone would be orgasmically stress relieving as Jul ripped strips of it from his flocculent hide. (Thank you, thesaurus.com!)
I had hoped cheating wasn't IT. Just baby adjustment.
But FUCK, it is.
I am so sorry. And really sincerely hope you DO send out that email. Someone fucks another woman's husband, she deserves it.
Happy to open up a can of Detroit whoopass on him or her.
Ugh. I didn't even suspect infidelity from your previous posts. I am really sorry. I have no advice other than keep on putting yourself and JQ above all else as he needs to earn your respect back big time.
The only thing I regret right now is that I am not there to take you out and show you a good time (not "that" way ladies).
If you don't pay attention to the lyrics of "Basement Apartment" you might think it was "Walkin' on Sunshine" whether being compared to living with a psycho or not. Why do some folk singers insist on putting EVERYTHING to an upbeat poppy riff?
I don't even know what to say about Mr. Thumbscrews. I suspected that this was the case, from your sisters' comments and such. I hope he makes you regret your doubt and fury. It's good to see that you've kept your humor through such a harrowing experience.
We're here. As always.
Hmmm, a regret. I guess going for that gender re-aqssignment procedure in a small town in Guam only to find out later that saving money by using endangered animals to help with the surgical tool sterilazation is a bad idea....sorry, I got nothin'. Tried to take your mind off of things for a sec.
Everyone SING: (!!!)
You got to know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away,
Know when to run...
Seriously, you've done your part--worked on yourself, given Mr. T. every chance in the world, protected and cherished your child. Now it's up to him. Either he fights like a drowning man to win back your love, or you make plans to get on with your life sans remorseless bastard. This is one of those life situations we have to insure against, and it is obvious from the comments of those who visit here that you have some wonderful friends (and our tight family) to see you through whatever may come.
Love you always,
Yo Momma,
Priscilla
oops sorry, didn't mean to post anon
De-lurking just to say it's hard to fathom why anyone would do anything to threaten their relationship with such a smart, funny woman and such a beautiful child. I wish you luck and strength as you deal with this.
You amaze me. First you tell us about some pretty heartbreaking stuff, and then manage to make me burst out laughing with "Oooooh, he's watching 'A Clockwork Orange' WAAAAAY too MUUUUUUUCH ..."
I'll be thinking of you. (I'm sort of on Team Nail Gun, but will attempt to trust you to do what's best.)
1. Does he read this? Because if he does I'd like to take a moment and tell him what a stupid, selfish, immature, and cowardly little (and having never seen him I'm using that in the figurative sense, which is worse) man he is.
2. Regarding item four, why is it up to him? You should be thinking about what YOU want, not about what he wants (he's already demonstrated that he is thinking about what HE wants and not about you). If you want to work on it, that's okay, no judgements here.
3. Regarding item eight--I thought that if you dumped Mr. T and I dumped Pyg we had a date? Very disappointed now.
4. My grandmother once observed that the women in my family mask pain with humor, and that the funnier we were, the worse we were hurting. I think your family has the same thing going on (but at least in both cases there is some element of talent involved, because if we were really, really dumb and forced to result to slapstick? Dunno about you but I'd probably be dead by now).
5. Call me. ANY TIME. I mean that.
Dammit, this sucks. And yet you still make me laugh my ass off. There it is, rolling around on the floor, making me regret that I did not appreciate it when it was attached to my body.
You are awesome, and you will make it through this. Take care of yourself.
p.s. If you need to borrow my evil cat to use as a weapon, just say the word. I'll overnight him.
Hopefully, his list of regrets number more than 10 and include things like "repeatedly running a semi over my wife's heart" and "being a selfish fucking slattern" and "indulging my worst and basest self and betraying the man and husband and father I'd like to be."
People can do stupid things, really stupid things, and sometimes deserve to be forgiven -- it's all in how they subsequently deal with their behavior. The whole personal responsibility, doing what needs to be done to gain back trust and respect, etc. As a smutty puppet sang to me last night (Avenue Q is the best), "there's a fine, fine line between love and a waste of your time."
Biggest regret ever: not taking out stock in the honey industry. Mr. Thumbscrews is a big dude.
Not coming up with such a perfect, sane, funny, piercing list after I left First Husband.
Reason for leaving First Husband: crowded marriage.
I hear you.
Oh, and Mr Bihari (aka The Tall Doctor) chimes in to say, "I just don't get men who do that. You took the damn vow, buddy; have the balls to live up to it."
I'm really sorry to hear it.
And I most relate to item 10. I regret ever allowing someone's reflection of me to outshine the way I saw myself.
Aw, fuck.
I don't know you, but we're in the same club now. Fuck.
I'm sorry.
You rock.
Fuck.
Regrets? I regret that I never dealt with my cheating 1st husband without first completely losing my mind with rage. Therefore I was either a) blandly denying anything could POSSIBLY be wrong or b) frothing at the mouth like a lunatic, throwing my wedding ring across the parking lot, getting the cops called on my ass...yeah. Nice.
I regret that I never had it together to say something like this.
Ah fuggin shit I'd hoped things were improving.
Well. If you'd like to drown your sorrows I make a mean blueberry pancake. And I spring for the REAL syrup.
I am very, very angry, reading this. Also sad. And sorry. I recently purchased my first power tool, and though I have only used the screwdriver attachment, it has many others that look as though they could do serious harm to the delicate flesh of the scrotum. I could send you this tool, if you like.
Honestly, I am amazed that someone could be foolish enough to treat so cavalierly the love of a woman as kind, funny, and whip-smart as yourself.
Fie on him. Fie.
i really can't remember where i heard it but it was the worst thing i ever heard one person say to the other and i still think it is and if you can apply this to him i think you have your decision..."love is wasted on you"
and a fucking rock on for the megapower support you are receiving from your family--my husband wants me to add that as we live outside d.c. we could be there in 1 1/2 hours for any ass kickin' that needs to occur and having two psychopathic cats of our own we would be able to use the earlier proferred cat to his or her best effect while doing so--maybe all three would be good--i have no blog thing so the name must do (i'm also the one terrified though not judgmental! of the breastfeeding see other link...)
I would like to arrange a convenient time for ass-kicking. His, in particular. Can that be scheduled, please?
I second the "send her family the email" vibe. Good grief.
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