Should I Divorce Him?

Pair O' Normal Crows?

Sun, 07 Jun 2009 19:49 EST

I'm not sure what I believe about the hereafter, or spirits, or reincarnation. There does seem to be a lot of stuff in my life I can't explain - and let me tell you, my experience with the crows is the most unexplainable so far.

My mother recently passed away. She was ill for a long time with cancer, and although she was an amazingly tough cookie, in the end her body gave out.

I got to my parents' house about a week before she died. As part of the body shutting down process, my mom was saying loopy things from time to time. According to the hospice nurses, it's normal for people in the end stages to get confused and talk to people who aren't there. One morning, maybe it was the Wednesday before she died, my mom asked, "Have those people left yet?" My dad asked who? But she wasn't sure. Then were in the kitchen having breakfast.

Suddenly, I heard thumping noises above me. Like it was in the attic, or maybe on the roof. I thought to myself, "I didn't hear that" and continued slicing my strawberries. But I heard it again. I turned to my dad and asked if he heard it. He said he did. I said, "THAT's weird...." and he went outside to investigate.

He came back in and said it was odd, but there were crows pecking on the roof. I asked him if there were normally crows around, and he said he hadn't seen them. We both said hmmm.

My mother spent her days in a rented hospital bed in the family room. Most of the day she slept. I brought my laptop into the room and did my work there so I could be with her. The room has large floor to ceiling windows, and looks out onto the patio and backyard.

Each afternoon, I noticed two crows up on the telephone pole...and what was odd was another crow walking around the patio. In fact one day, maybe Thursday or Friday, I actually got up out of my chair and went to stare at it out the window. It had walked right up to the window in the family room. I remember saying to it, "What are you doing here?"

I began to get curious, and Googled crows/death/symbolism and found all sorts of articles about the symbolism of crows. One post caught my eye in particular. It said some Native American cultures believe the crow comes to escort the spirit away.

On Sunday, my mother died. My dad and I held her hand until the end.

On Monday, I told my dad what I had read. I said, if the crows leave soon, I will become a spiritualist. He said, if they do, so will I.

We folded up the hospital bed my mother had used, and put it into another room out of the way until it could be picked up. The crows were still around - two on the telephone pole at times, but the single crow now had moved its position.

Instead of hanging around the family room window, it was now behind my parents' bedroom. Sometimes I could see it in the planter box, but often it would be behind the house, staring up at the room.

I had this feeling the crow would leave once the hospital bed was picked up. It was scheduled for Thursday.

Thursday morning I ran out to run an errand. When I drove back there were two crows on our driveway looking towards our house. I instinctively said, "Mo-om" in that two syllable way kids do, and the crows flew away.

The bed was picked up the end of that day, but I forgot to check for the crow in the backyard.

Late Friday I told my sister and father that I would do the "crow watch." I looked out into the backyard and saw a black shape by the planter. I walked out to investigate.

The crow was dead.

My dad got a shovel and I said I'd hold the bag. He scoop up the crow into the plastic bag. The very second that I was tying the bag closed, a crow flew directly over us and cawed loudly. When we got back in the house, my sister said "I heard the fly-by."

I have not seen crows in our backyard since.

I cannot explain it. If it's a coincidence, it's the weirdest coincidence I've ever experienced.

But I sort of like to think the one crow came to escort my mom's spirit. She wasn't ready to go immediately, but the crow said, when you're ready to go, I'll go with you.

Lucky Bastard

Thu, 07 May 2009 13:27 EST

Good things do happen to bad people. J-Fed is living proof.

About a month or so, I noticed a trend. Whenever J-Fed called he "happened" to be in a convenience store. By now I had realized there were no coincidences in J-Fed's world. Itcould only mean one thing -- either he was drinking Fraps again, and lots of them, or he had relapsed on video poker. It didn't take me long to realize it was the latter. If J-Fedweren't so damn lazy, he'd likely be a candidate for GA (gambler's anonymous).

But I knew better than anyone that getting hooked on the slot machines would require actually getting in his car and driving to the casino. This might require he shower, shave and change out of his work clothes -- and that most certainly wasn't going to happen.

So J-Fed stuck to the basics, which meant settling for illegal video poker at the local gas station. When I first found out his dirty little secret, I couldn't fathom a grown man sitting in a dingy gas station playing video poker for hours on end. But then I remembered that J-Fed was just a boy, and suddenly it all made sense.

I did find it a little funny that there was this whole new seedy underworld I didn't know about, a place where someone actually paid video poker winners in cash. Boy, if the gas station owner only knew... You see, even if he wasn't collecting cash rewards, J-Fed would still pour money into the stupid poker machine.

Truth be told, what really pissed me off about J-Fed's video poker habit was that he won... and he won big. I wouldn't be so lucky. The only prize I'd ever won was J-Fed, and well, look where that got me. But J-Fed... he was always cashing in.

It was about a month ago on a Friday, and I had gone over to the Fedster's new house to run some stupid errand for him. After all of this time, the "big favors" all seemed to be a big blur so I'm not exactly sure what it was he needed on this particular day.

What I do know is what I needed -- and that was money for something or other from him. "Something or other" is usually defined as an amount of money that J-fed owes me for buying something for him as he promises to pay me back in the near -- or not so near -- future.

When I pointed out that there was an outstanding balance of a couple hundred on his tab, a flash of delight crossed his face. He grinned wildly as he opened his wallet. At first I wasn't sure why he owned a wallet. You see, a wallet usually implies that you have some money and since he was constantly telling me how broke he was, it kind of seemed pointless to carry around the extra weight...

To believe it, I had to see it with my very own eyes. He unraveled a fat wad of cash. WTF? It occurred to me that maybe he had knocked over a gas station. And in his own special way, he had.

"I hit the jackpot on video poker today. I put in $20 and I won $250. Who's your daddy?" He squealed with delight. Okay, my daddy is not some dope who hangs out in the gas station playing video poker, that's for sure.

I threw up in my mouth thinking about how freaking lucky J-Fed is. What are the odds that I'd walk into a gas station, drop a 20 spot in a video poker machine and walk out almost $300 richer? Little to none... Why, you ask? For starters, you couldn't catch me dropping my hard-earned money into one of those stupid machines. And even if I did, an inflatable beer bottle would likely fall from the ceiling of the gas station and render me unconscious for being such an idiot. J-Fed, on the other hand, ends up with a roll of cold hard cash.

I would have chalked it up to beginner's luck if J-Fed weren't such a veteran. I don't know how he did it, but the schmuck was always bunking the system one way or another.

As he handed me the cash, I thought about how long it would have taken me to actually work for that amount. Yet somehow, by the power of numbskull, J-Fed struck it rich.

A few weeks went by when I came collecting once again. It was time to register daughter for summer camp, and it was going to cost $695 for the summer. I very politely asked J-Fed if he would split the cost with me. At first he hemmed and hawed that he was a broke joke who couldn't afford to cough up the cash. I explained to him that it wouldn't be so painful if we divided it down the middle. That would mean $350 for him and $350 for myself.

Suddenly, I saw that old familiar smile as he once again pulled out his magic wallet. Sure enough, he had a wad of cash. He peeled off two one hundred dollar bills and slapped them in my hand without even flinching.

"Video poker," he said with a smirk. "I put in $5 bucks while I was waiting at the gas station and I walked away with $200."

I seethed thinking about this bastard's luck. I mean, really. Here I had to cut corners for a month or so to come up with the $350 for camp. J-Fed... He just spun the freaking wheel and voila, camp was nearly paid for on his end. I know it isn't healthy to covet what someone else has, but for the love of God, why isn't that just my luck? Oh to have $10 for every dollar that went into J-Fed's pocket. I'd be doing pretty damn well.

Of course, the irony in J-Fed's winnings is that it's a case of easy come, easy go. Money burns a hole in J-Fed's pocket, a hole so big that it's difficult to comprehend how he doesn't lose his wallet, along with all his video poker winnings.

I'm just hoping that sad sack plays the lottery. With his luck, he's bound to win it. And when he does, we'll most certainly be headed back to court to discuss our child support arrangements. You see, he's told me countless times that you can't get blood from a rock, but you damn sure can get it from a lottery winner.

One More Try

Thu, 07 May 2009 12:13 EST

Since leaving Prince Charming I have been staying with my family. Since I moved across the country to follow Prince Charming and his job I really haven't seen them much in the past two years. I figured this was the perfect time to visit everyone. So for the pass few months I have been to my mom's, dad's, both sets of grandparents, and almost every aunt and uncle I have.

It's been great visiting and catching up with everyone. I really have just been focusing on spending time with them, not on how I have been feeling.

A while ago Prince Charming asked for another chance. I have been thinking about it for a while, and have finally made a decision. It took a while because, although it was fun, spending time with my family it did come at a price. I had to hear
every single one of them give an opinion on me leaving my husband.

First there was my grandparents, both being old fashioned, said I was totally wrong in leaving him. Their opinion was that no matter what a wife stands by her husband. Then there was my mother, who was left scorned by my father and hates all men. She
said to leave his no good ass, don't ever feel guilty, and don't ever look back. Then my aunts and uncles who are somewhere in the middle. Some say to leave, others say to stay.

I have made a choice. I can't believe I have decided to go back, but I have. I have decided to give Prince Charming another chance. He keeps telling me that he has realized his mistakes and wants to make them right. I think maybe, just maybe he means it. Maybe he has gotten a wake-up call to what life is like without me, and realized he doesn't want to lose me. I know it's a long shot thinking that after all the things he did wrong, he could just turn around and change, but I figured it's worth a try. It's worth just one more try.

After all what do I have to lose?

Tears of a Clown

Wed, 22 Apr 2009 10:31 EST

With J-Fed's new move, we're neighbors again. Yep, just a hop, skip and jump away from each other. The last time that we lived in such a close vicinity, he ended up shagging the neighbor, who I now lovingly refer to as T.O.W (the other woman). I'm not worried about him banging my neighbor this time around for two reasons. One -- we're no longer married so it really doesn’t matter. Two -- my neighbor is my mother and well that's just too gross to even contemplate.

I guess living so close to me again has made J-Fed a bit sentimental. In reality he's not really thisclose to me. It takes about four minutes to travel by car from the house I share with Mr. Ex to J-Fed's new abode. Being so close, I thought J-Fed would step it up and help a little more with chauffeuring the kids back and forth for visitation. But not so much. I've now come to accept the fact that the bulk of the movement J-Fed is capable of is traveling from his couch to his refrigerator. And that's being generous. Just the other day, his ass was planted so firmly into his bed, he had our 7-year-old daughter looking for his wallet.

Ironically, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. In true Kiki fashion, daughter asked J-Fed why he couldn't get up and get it himself.

Oh darling, I wanted to tell her, I spent almost 10 years asking that very same question.

Anyways, I was a bit taken aback yesterday when J-Fed rung me to discuss the arrangements with the kids for the day. Apparently, he had some meetings for work and he would be unable to take them, which was fine. However, the Fedster caught me off guard when he informed me, "I had myself a good cry this morning."

I wanted to point out that I, myself, had a good crap this morning. I'm sure you can guess which one came more from the heart.

"Oh, really. Why?" I asked curiously.

Had he and T.O.W. had a falling out? Had they shut down the video poker machine at his favorite gas station? What could have possibly melted the Prince of Darkness's cold empty heart?

"I was thinking of all of the things I did to you when we were married. I'm sorry," he said, doing his best impression of someone who actually had a conscious.

I paused for a moment. Was he apologizing for all 10 years, starting with when he dumped me the first time on my birthday after just dating seven months? You see, I had always wondered about that one in particular. There were 364 other days in the year. So I was never really certain why he had selected that special day. Was that for effect? If it was, he had gotten his point across. But heck, now that he said he was sorry, it was all better now. Right?

Um, wrong. It wasn't okay. There were so many things that weren't okay. How about all of those times the Fedster called me lazy? Or when he insinuated that I was a crappy wife who didn't do shit but raise the children, pay the bills, keep up the house, do the shopping, blah, blah, blah? What about pissing in our brand new armoire after a long night of drinking and then blaming it on the dogs? Did his apology include blowing shittons of money on go carts and calling me controlling when I got pissed off about it? I was kind of curious as to what exactly his apology encompassed. And I thought about asking...

But I refrained. What did J-Fed want from me? Forgiveness? Absolution? Well, fear not my little friend. You have it all. You see when J-Fed signed on the dotted line and traded me in for the other woman, he got it all and then some. Forget apologizing J-Fed. I should be the one thanking you. And I'd like to extend my gratitude to T.O.W. as well.

The two of you, together, have made me the happiest person on Earth. There's not a day goes by that your union doesn't leave me simply giddy. I can only hope that the two of you can share the same kind of happiness that we shared.

When Does The Pain Go Away?

Mon, 20 Apr 2009 07:51 EST

Sorry I’ve been MIA, ladies. I started grad school a couple of months ago and it’s been a bear! Great, but lots of work.

After reading the message boards today, I noticed a recurring theme; women asking, “When will I feel OK again after the divorce?” Unfortunately, there’s no stock answer. Each person and marriage is different. I can only tell you about my personal experience, and maybe that will help put things in perspective for you.

Even though I knew 100% that I needed to get out of my first marriage that was full of neglect and unhappiness, I still had moments where I questioned my decision, felt nostalgic, etc. It took YEARS of back-and-forth before I had the courage and money to file. As a matter or fact, I filed once and called it off. When I filed for the second time, I had already done so much work in counseling that I knew I was ready to leave. After I filed for divorce and moved into my own place, I felt a million times better. Only rarely did I have pangs of regret, and that was when my son had trouble adjusting at first. Fortunately, he adjusted very quickly.

I’ve been divorced for three years and remarried for two. I can honestly say that I feel “fine” now. I don’t ever feel heartbroken or sad over the end of my first marriage. I still get angry at my ex because I don’t agree with his ideas about parenting, but the sadness is 100% gone.

I can’t tell you if it will take you two days, two months, or two years to feel better. Give yourself time to grieve the loss of your marriage. But I promise, you WILL feel better. Think about it, how many people do you know ten years after a divorce that are still angry, miserable, and heartbroken over it? Sure, there are a few, but most people go on to live happy and fulfilling lives. You may have moments of sadness, like when you see your ex at your child’s high school graduation or at their wedding. But those moments will be so few and far in between, they’ll barely register on your radar.

During my first marriage, I was miserable and completely convinced I was doomed to live a life filled with loneliness, unhappiness, shame, and sadness. Trust me, if I can feel happy and content, you can, too. Unfortunately, you can’t wave a magic wand and feel better instantly, but time will heal your wounds and you’ll go on to live a wonderful life.

Copy Cat

Wed, 15 Apr 2009 14:38 EST

Helping J-Fed get into a new house was no small feat. You see, the king baby still believes that when he says "jump," the rest of the world should say "how high?" Apparently, that includes accountants, bookkeepers, loan processors and real estate agents. It was almost like he believed they were all part of his staff, only they weren't.

That’s right, J-Fed. They ain’t on your payroll so prepare to play the waiting game.

I can't count the number of times J-Fed would call me seething. It was always something.

The agent didn't call him right back. The loan guy hadn't gotten the numbers.

The inspector hadn't shown up. Of course, I had to tread lightly. Initially, I would

shove it up his ass and explain to him that believe it or not the world didn't revolve

around him. And yes, there were actually other people out there buying a house besides himself.

He'd usually get pissed and respond, "I don't know why the hell I call you."

Then he would promptly slam the phone down in my ear, but only after threatening to call

the whole thing off if progress wasn't made within 24 hours. I felt like somebody

facing a kidnapping deadline, except the only thing being held hostage was my freaking

soul. Honestly, I shouldn't have cared that much, but I really wanted the kids in

a better environment and much closer to me. I knew it would help me sleep better at night.

For almost four months, I went through this fire drill on a weekly, make that daily, basis.

Being his own worst enemy, it occurred to me that J-Fed could very well screw this sweet

deal up by simply running his fat trap. With that in mind, I took precautions. In other words,

I stepped in as the middle man and cut him out of the loop. Instead of having him deal with

the loan officer, the real estate agent and any other parties involved, I did the

dirty work. And I was fine with that.

And then the day arrived. Closing time, and not the kind that bar-hopping bastard was used to. I was so happy I wanted to cry. My hard work had come to fruition. It was a done deal. All pencilhead had to do was go to the closing, put pen to the papers and keep his moneymaker shut. Could he do it? I had my doubts.

But he did it. Yes, there was a God and he was looking at for all creatures great (me) and small (J-Fed).

Of course, this entire process reaffirmed my belief that you can bring a jackass, er horse, to water, but you can't make it drink.

J-Fed was well aware that the purchase of his new home entitled him to a tax break. And when it comes to money in his pocket, J-Fed is on the case like a fly on shit. In what I hoped would be his last request, J-Fed asked me to contact the accountant we use and ask him what he needed to do to get the credit. Simple enough. The accountant just needed a copy of the HUD statement. Shit, I thought to myself, it doesn't get any easier than that. Well, apparently, it does.

Thirty minutes later, J-Fed called me in a tizzy.

"This is bullshit. I can't fax the HUD statement. It's too long," he yelled.

"Okay, so go buy some legal paper, copy the HUD and drop it in the mail," I said rationally.

"No, I don't have time for that," he sulked.

"Then drop by Kinko’s and pay them to fax it," I offered another solution.

"Kiki, I don't have time for this shit. It's ridiculous. I'm just going to mail the HUD statement from the closing papers to him. Screw it," he pouted.

"Um, J-FED. You can't mail the ORIGINAL! Are you out of your mind?" I said incredulously.

"Why can't I? What do I need it for?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know. How about to turn on your water for starters? You don't ever send an original. Come on. Common sense J-Fed," I said, shaking my head.

"Whatever, I'll figure it out myself." With that, he hung up on me.

It wasn't long before he called back and informed me that he got the job done all on his own. Well, wonders never cease. I put away the roll of toilet paper figuring that king baby wasn't going to need me to wipe his ass after all. The happy homeowner was a big boy now... at least until the next thing that needed to be done.

Papa's Got A Brand New Pad

Fri, 10 Apr 2009 09:29 EST

The unthinkable has happened. It's been almost two years since divorce and J-Fed marked the anniversary of our split by making things official. And not in the way you think... No, he didn't tie the knot with The Other Woman (T.O.W.), but he did settle down -- in his very own home.

That's right. The Fedster is a homeowner. Yes, it took everyone by surprise, everyone but me that is. Why? You may ask... Because I was driving that train before it ever left the station. Before you breathe a collective sigh of frustration, let me explain.

For the last two years, J-Fed has been holed up in an apartment, the very same digs he took up when he left our domicile. When I picked it out, it seemed okay for J-Fed, but that's only because I thought it would be a temporary thing. I believed in my heart we'd reconcile and he'd be back to home sweet home. When I convinced him to move in to the place, I never expected it would become a second home to my two girls.

That said, I had many sleepless nights worrying about our daughters when they were over there, especially the time the two biker broads across the hall were banging each others' heads against the door while my two angels were just feet away. Or the time an unsavory suspect accosted the Fedster and tried to sell him a gift card to Cheesecake Factory likely so the proceeds could fund his drug habit. Hey, if I lived that close to J-Fed, I'd need drugs too. But regardless, it was time for a change.

So when the end of J-Fed's lease was approaching, I sat him down and we had "the talk."

"J-Fed, you're a big boy. I think the time has come," I told him.

"For what?" he asked.

"To buy a house," I said firmly.

"But if I buy a house, how will I pay for go-carts, video poker, fast food, Blockbuster videos and beer?" he exclaimed.

"Just take a collection down at the fraternity house," I said. Ok, it didn't go down EXACTLY like that, but it was damn close. What I did do was explain that if he ever wanted to become a homeowner, the time was now. It was a buyer’s market. I could tell by the look on his face that J-Fed had his doubts. After all, a home meant work. An apartment was like an extended hotel stay for J-Fed. Every day was holiday!

In the end, he agreed. I could breathe easy knowing that the girls would be out of Motel Hell and in quarters that met my standard of approval. It didn’t need to be the Ritz, simply a place where J-Fed didn’t need to sleep with a shotgun at night to ensure the kids were safe.

This was going to happen, if it was the last thing I ever did. I was going house hunting for the Fedster. By now, it's common knowledge that J-Fed doesn't like to get his hands dirty. It was a fact that I would use to my advantage. You see, I would find him a place in a nice neighborhood, one that was in closer proximity TO ME. He could see the kids when he wanted and I would be just a hop, skip and a jump away in the likely event that the kids might need my assistance. And by kids I mean the girls, not the man child.

For a few weeks, I packed the pavement, searching high and low for an abode that tickled my fancy. I dragged my mom Kuku along for the ride. I also had Mr. Ex in tow for some of my house hunting expedition. Mr. Ex knew I wanted nothing more than to have the kids in the proper place. So he acquiesced. Plus I knew he was relieved to know we'd have to schlep the kids back and forth since you know the onus with usually on us to get them back and forth.

While I saw some real doozies, it wasn't long before I hit pay dirt -- a quaint three bedroom, three bathroom townhouse just right down the road for where I lived with Mr. Ex. It was picture perfect. I hit the net and searched the area for sex offenders and then I called up the Fedster and had him come out to see his new home

"This is the one," I told him.

At first he was quiet as he surveyed his possible surroundings. He wasn't sure if it was "the one," but I was certain and in the end, that's what mattered the most...

Leapin' Lizards

Mon, 02 Mar 2009 07:16 EST

It wasn't until J-Fed got together with The Other Woman that I realized he had such an affinity for reptiles.

At that point, it had no real bearing on my life. Now, it's a different story. You see, no longer content with the cold-hearted snake, J-Fed has developed a yearning to integrate lizards into his life. Yes, creepy crawly lizards.

It all started a month or so ago when J-Fed and I were at war. We had been feuding miserably for at least a week. Right around that time daughter, who's going on eight, began showing an interest in reptiles. Maybe she had been spending too much time with T.O.W. I'll never will be sure which came first -- the chicken or the egghead -- but truth be told I'm guessing the grand idea came from her father.

As we perused the local Petsmart, daughter explained to me that she wanted a pet lizard, a request I immediately shot down.

"You know Mr. Ex's rule. Nothing else that poops or eats is allowed in our house."

And with good reason. On any given Sunday, our household includes Mr. Ex, Mr. Ex's mom, myself, our four kids and three dogs... all under one roof. Sometimes you just have to know when to say when. Can I get an a WHEN?

Regardless of where her interest stemmed from, it somehow turned into a reality when her father dropped the L word on me. I thought the issue was dead. Boy was I wrong. Obviously, daughter had resorted to plan B and decided to back door me.

At the pinnacle of our worst argument, daughter went in for the kill. In the midst of our verbal sparring, J-Fed sent a text message to my phone.

Daughter won't be making it to dance today. We're off to buy a lizard.

Kiki: Daughter IS going to dance. She has a commitment to attend.

Daughter's ankle hurts. She's not going.

Kiki: Daughter's ankle was fine this morning. If her ankle hurts so much, take her to the doctors.

She's in my care and I don't feel she needs to see the doctor.

And how could I possibly argue with his assessment? I had temporarily forgotten that J-Fed had orthopedic training.

Of course, we were both well aware that there was nothing wrong with daughter's ankle. The only difference was one of his cared and one of us didn't. That's because I was the sucker forking out $150 a month for dance lessons. In the end, J-Fed did force daughter to go, but not before spending $140 on a lizard and a brand spanking new habitat for his four-legged friend.

Knowing J-Fed the way I do, it shouldn't have come as a surprise when he asked me if "Lizzy" could come stay at my place. Obviously, he must have missed the blazing "NO VACANCY" sign in front of my house. Besides, I had enough trouble keeping the one fish in daughter's room alive. Judging by the other four that are no longer with us, I hadn’t been doing such a hot job.

I temporarily forgot about the great lizard debacle until J-Fed informed me that "Lizzy" was getting a roommate. But the madness didn't stop there. One week later, daughter was the proud owner of a bearded dragon. That made for not one, not two, but three lizards. Of course, two of the lizards weren't compatible so J-Fed had to set up a SECOND lizard sanctuary. In my humble opinion, it appeared that someone had watched one too many Geico commercials.

It didn't dawn on me that J-Fed's lizard love affair could have more serious effects until after he'd grown comfortable with his new compadres. One thing he'd overlooked during his scaly shopping spree was a little thing called Salmonella, a disease that was spread by these creatures that naturally shit where they eat, much like someone else I know.

The problem was this -- these lizards had taken up residence in daughters' room, and by daughters, that meant not only our seven-year-old, but our two-year-old as well. Oh and did I mention that old people, small children and the immuno-compromised were most at risk for this deadly disease? Of course, brain dead exes didn't fall into the danger zone.

I had no choice but to start my Blitzkrieg. I found every article I could about lizards as pets and salmonella and rapidly fired off a slew of emails that were bound to put the fear of God into the Fedster's heart... provided he still had one. The Fedster was smart enough to realize that lizards and small children did not a good combo make. The notion of them getting deathly ill because of the lizards was hardly something he wanted on his conscious.

"I wish you had told me this before I went out and spent hundreds of dollars on all this. Oh wait, I guess I should have discussed it with you first..." he said in a moment of lucidness.

Oh. My. God. For a instant, I saw a light on in there. Sadly, daughter was heartbroken that her dear friends "Lizzy" and Co were on their way out. But she quickly cheered up when J-Fed promised to set up an aquarium for her with all kinds of ocean critters.

Some people never learn.

What If He Means It?

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 09:38 EST

I expected Prince Charming to come crawling back. I figured he would be very sorry after the fact. Telling me things like, "I will change, I love you, I'm sorry, things will be different, just give me one more chance". Sure enough he has left several voicemails and emails saying just these things and lots more.

The problem is that I thought I would be a lot stronger. I didn't think I would miss him and I sure didn't think I would be interested in hearing anything he had to say much less believing it.

I figured he would start talking and I would simply roll my eyes and say too "little, too late". But I guess if my failed marriage has taught me anything it is that things NEVER go the way you think they will.
Now he is saying everything I want to hear: He will treat me better. I can travel, go to school, and do whatever else I want. He will help will the housework. He will be emotional supportive and so on so forth. On one hand I am just like whatever dude all you are trying to do is say whatever you got to say to get me back, and then you will just go back to being the world's being jackass.

However, on the other hand, what if he is serious? What if he means everything he is saying? What if this is just the wake-up call he needed to know that I am just not going to take it anymore? This has got me thinking what if I gave him another chance? Just ONE more chance. Just go back to him and see if he really means what he says. I can always just pick up and leave again if it is still the same. I could just give him a certain amount of time and see if he acts any different.

Once that time is up I will know if he meant it or not. If he did then we could have a whole new beginning. If he didn't mean it then I could just leave again. Why would I have to lose? And if he does mean it I could have everything to gain.
I haven't made a decision yet this idea is just flowing around in my head. I only know one thing I don't want to look back and have any regrets. Years from now I never want to feel like there was more I could have done to try and make my marriage work and I didn't.

The Danger of Downsized Dreams

Sun, 08 Feb 2009 09:27 EST

I think the biggest loss I’ve had as a result of the crashing economy is not my 401(k), not the value of my home, not my overall loss of net worth, not financial liquidity, but my loss of optimism.

My optimism was always one of my best qualities (in my opinion). It fueled my ambitions and my creativity. It allowed me to take risks – without fear – experiment, try new things, and dream.

Now I’m in a funk. I worry that if I lose my job it will be very hard to find a new one. I worry that I don’t have a big enough cash cushion. I worry my tenant will move out and I’ll have to dump my rental property for peanuts. I worry that I’m not enjoying the moment. I worry that I’m not working enough. I’m not sleeping well. I’m not concentrating well. My brain is reined in by pessimism.

The ONLY good thing is I’ve lost my appetite and I can get back into my “skinny” jeans. (That’s always the way it is for me, by the way – blobby and happy, or miserable and svelte)

My dreams have TOTALLY been downsized. Whereas before I was thinking about making a million with a new product/company/book and buying the house of my dreams and getting a new car, NOW I dream about not having any major health issues and keeping my job so I can continue to pay all my bills. That’s it.

Some would say having simpler dreams or desires is a good thing. Perhaps so – but in my case it has come hand in hand with fear about the future.

Where did this negativity come from?? I don’t get it. Actually NOTHING about my personal situation has changed in the last few months or even year. In fact, it’s actually gotten better. The problem is, I’ve allowed all these outside factors to affect me and penetrate my little bubble of optimism. What the news says, seeing people I know go through hard times, and projecting what could happen to me. In other words, if THIS happens and THAT happens and THAT happens all at the same time, I’m SCREWED.

I’ve always been good at having what I call a little “escape route” emergency plan. I always knew what I would do in the worst possible scenario. Now I don’t feel so confident about it.

And worst of all, I don’t feel so confident about me. It really pisses me off, because if I go back and think about what it was I wanted to achieve, I actually achieved it. I DID do what I set out to do. So if I didn’t achieve something else more, it’s probably because I didn’t set out to do it.

To me, that’s the biggest problem with downsized dreams – they generate downsized results. If you only ever desire to “just get by,” that’s all you’ll ever achieve. And you get yourself into this terrible little hole where you measure success by “just getting by.” Pretty soon you will begin to believe that’s the extent of your ability: just getting by. It’s a poisonous attitude.

I am exactly the same person I was 6 months ago. I have not had major brain damage to affect my faculties or abilities (to the best of my knowledge). All my years of experience and training have not all of a sudden evaporated. My brain’s “net worth” is still the same.

Frankly, the only thing standing in the way of restoring my full-sized dreams and optimism to their pre-2009 levels is…me.

Do I need to slap you? Maybe. But I know one thing for sure. One person who really needs a good slap upside the head is me.