10 Things I Hate About YOU

It has been weeks (about 6, in case you were wondering) since I have stalked Berlin's facebook page. I looked at it again today -- but solely for the purposes of this posting. I'm chalking it up to journalistic curiosity.

The truth is there's nothing there anyway. Just a bunch of stupid comments from old friends, and frankly, I figure its about time to end the madness anyway. I know what I need to know. He sucks. We've both moved on.

But that doesn't mean that I have been entirely mature about the whole thing. In fact I was decidedly childish. But what can I say, love drives you mad sometimes, and not being loved - well that drives you madder.

You know the old adage ... hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And damn, had I ever been scorned. So scorned my skin was on fire, and if there was some way, any way, that I could hurt him back, I was going to take it. I'm not proud of my vindictive streak, I'm just honest about it.

So in mid December, I sent him this email:

Please do me a favor and return the items that I gave you. You can mail them when you are back in the States after Christmas, since I know you are too cheap to spring for the international postage. I would appreciate it, if you would also burn the letter I wrote, delete emails and whatever other items might connect you to me, that is, if you haven’t done so already.

I threw out the plants.

Please don’t reply.

The thing about the plants was just a way to piss him off. He had given me a bunch of plants when he moved. He had studied botany or horticulture or plant biology or something like that in college. He could name all sorts of plants, and when we'd be out on walks he would always be teaching me something about some kind of plant or flower. I loved it. I happen to know relatively little on the subject, but I have always had an interest. I used to have a big orchid collection, and a lot of plants at home, but over the years of moving, and apartment dwelling, it became hard to really maintain, and most of them either died or had to be given away. I have always wanted my own backyard and some time to design a garden. I had started one when the X and I bought a house, but since we moved and the house is going into foreclosure, my lovely yard is now a sad, and untended mess. It took so little time to undo that labor of love - and while I'm talking about the Garden, it seems an apt metaphor for the relationship as well.

I actually cared about the plants, and I figured Berlin knew it. And I know that at one time he cared that they might actually have a proper home in which to flourish. Me deliberately killing them was a destructive act that was meant to be hurtful. Who knows. Maybe by then he had long since given up on them, and me. They were just plants. But even so - I couldn't REALLY throw them out. I said I did (and I kinda wanted to throw them out the window on a couple of occasions) but in the end I simply couldn't do it. So I still have them, I just lied and said I didn't.

After that email I waited. And when he did exactly what I asked - that is he did not reply - I began to stew in my own angry juices and I chose to further provoke the situation. I emailed Marian. Yup that's right. I emailed her and told her that Berlin and I had been having an affair. I told her that he told me he wasn't sure he loved her and that he suspected her of cheating, and that he had said he was awful and uncaring and that he wasn't sure he was making the right choice in moving in with and across the world for her. I said things he told me in confidence. Things that only he could know. Private things, so that she would know I was telling the truth.

I justified it by claiming that I would want to know if I was her. And I think the truth is I would. But it would be a bald-faced lie for me to claim that revealing the sordid details of my sexual tryst with Berlin was something I did out of kindness. It was pure, unadulterated spite, and targeted wholly at him.

I knew he had already bought a ticket back to the town in New York where he was from for Christmas. I had a sneaking suspicion that he would be back here for a visit. He's incredibly social and can't stay away from his friends, plus he mentioned he was thinking of driving to Texas with his Dad - and my fair city happens to be a hop skip and a jump off that path. I wondered if he might show up on my doorstep to berate me for outing his indiscretions. I sort of hoped he would. I was itching for a face-to-face fight.

I wondered silently for weeks whether my actions invoked the ire I had anticipated. I got my answer on day when I came home from the store and noticed a package wrapped in a plastic bag in my mailbox. Inside was the journal and the ipod I had given him as a parting gift at the airport, and on the first page was a handwritten note.

If you need to demonize me inside your deranged mind in order to justify why you are a cheating wife that is one thing. You have no basis for this, but it is something that I can accept. What I cannot accept is that you attacked Marion, a woman you really know nothing about, with your evil, "I know this about you," and "I know that about you," comments. You have no justification for this, it is purely evil, and a window into the true despicable person that you are. I have nothing but disdain for you. You should be ashamed and I am happy to report that your evil plan did not work, but has brought Marion and I closer together. please leave me alone you deplorable person.

When I finished reading it my hands were shaking . And then I started laughing. The whole thing was so incredibly ridiculous. I had been such a complete fool in every respect. I was strangely relieved by the fact that he was as immature as I was, but still pissed as hell. I wanted to kick and scream and beat him with my fists and tell him how much he had hurt me and how much I wanted to see him suffer. I wanted to see the anger on his face. I wanted to create a scar so deep he would never forget it.

The idea that after everything he just couldn't fucking say"I'm sorry that I hurt you this much you feel the need to lash out in such an inexcusable way." The fact that he was unable to shoulder even a drop of blame infuriated me. And what was the bitterest pill to swallow was his accusation that I was a "cheating wife." Perhaps it was because it was true. I had been a cheating wife. I was once as dishonest and untrustworthy and adulterous as he was. But not with him. I wanted something better from him, and instead, he turned it into something ugly. And I hated him for it. If I could have I would have gotten on a plane, tracked him down at his doorstep and given him a piece of my mind while I straddled him with my hands around his throat. It's a good thing I didn't choose that route since I'm much more skilled with my words than my hands, and I probably would have been the one getting choked. Sp I did the next best thing. I wrote him one final email, and I swore it would be the last communication between us.

Berlin-

The idea that of the two of us, I am the cheater, is absolutely laughable. Months before I met you I told my husband it was over and I planned to see other people. The fact that I kept it quiet and didn’t throw it in his face was my being respectful of his feelings. And let’s not forget, I moved OUT. You moved IN with Marion. Who are you kidding?? I was not hiding our relationship from my friends or my X. You were. The only deranged one here is you.

Oh, and should you feel like sharing it with him, be my guest. I told him about you long ago. He asked me why it ended and I told him it was because there was someone else – and you know what he said? So why was he seeing you then? Good question. Better question: why was I seeing you? Answer: Because you lied to me and told me the relationship was ending. Because you were not forthcoming with your full relationship history with Marion, or your future intentions toward her.

You go right ahead and make me into the devil if you want, because whatever haughty, self-righteous “disdain” you have for me, it does not even begin to scratch the surface of the pure hatred I have for you. The fact that I ever even had the slightest affection or respect for you is the only thing that pains me now. The fact that I turned a blind eye to your obvious fucked-up character.

You are a spineless, insensitive, delusional, selfish, washed-up loser with zero integrity, and I cannot thank God enough for ending that pregnancy and not binding me to you with a child. If the knowledge of the indiscretions brought on by your obvious mid-life crisis has served to draw you and your teenage lover closer together then, bravo. You have my blessing, because there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that you two deserve each other. Go with God.

And here’s a little piece of advice. If you decide to cheat on Marion again, when you break it off with your lover, do yourself a favor and show just the smallest amount of tenderness and respect to her. Make her feel that even for a little while she was valued, and that the moments you shared were ones you will remember fondly. Show her a few small gestures of affection and appreciation for the fact that she cared for you, went out of her way to help you pack, let you share her home, was thoughtful enough to buy you a present, and got up at 4 in the morning to carry your heavy boxes and drive you and your dog and all your shit to the airport when even your closest friends wouldn’t. Comfort her in her time of deepest loss, and when she says she’s going to miss you, the appropriate response is “I’ll miss you too.” Not “GOOD.” For someone as adept at lying as you, I would have thought telling one or two more wouldn’t have killed you. But then again that would require a level of empathy and thoughtfulness that is evidently beyond what you are capable of.

If it makes you feel better to call me evil and deplorable and despicable, you go right ahead. If nothing else, convincing yourself this is all part of my evil plan should make it easier to look in the mirror every day. But the facts are this: I was always completely honest. You were not. My relationship with you was never a secret. If revealing it to Maria is perceived as an attack – well – that’s probably because YOU kept it a secret. And it’s probably because YOU actually said all the things I said you did. Did I have to share them with her? Nope. But I really began to wonder if your depiction of her as a cold-hearted tease who kept you hanging at the end of an endless string of lovers was accurate. Maybe that was bullshit like everything else. A way for your “deranged mind” to justify that you are a cheating boyfriend who was just stringing me along. If it was, then you’re an asshole and she ought to know the truth, and if not, well then none of what I said should have come as any real surprise now should it? If she’s really fucking every guy in sight right under your nose, and believes in open relationships, then she shouldn’t really give a shit, should she? Either way, you can both feel free to hate me all you like. I’m not losing too much sleep over it these days.

The irony that I hope one day you’ll come to appreciate is the ire and wrath I am invoking on you now could have all been avoided – by either the smallest amount of genuine tenderness on your part, or... with a few compassionate white lies. How funny is that?

It’s almost as funny as the fact that you hand-delivered your hate mail. Brilliant! You are even cheaper than I thought.

And I haven't written or spoken to him since.

Though this cool line of hate mail cards sure makes me wish I had one more round of venom in me. Check em' out : http://www.junkmailgreetings.bigcartel.com/

The Ice Cream Wars

I am picky about ice cream. You may have already figured that out, based on my refusal to bend to the whims of Berlin and his cheap ice-cream buying ways. Call me crazy, but I just think that with all the calories that stuff packs, you had better damn well be enjoying yourself while you're eating it.

The same night the Doctor broke my wine glass, we shared some post-coital Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough Ice Cream that he had brought over for dessert. A very thoughtful gesture I might add. You know you love a man when you can lie naked an bed with him and eat ice cream right out of the carton.

Now Ben and Jerry's is perfectly good ice cream, and by no means falls into the cheap, grocery store generic category that isn't worth the waxy cardboard it's packed in. However there was something off about this batch. For starters, it was really, really frozen. And while there wasn't anything really obviously wrong with it, it just did not press my "this is really delicious" buttons, and make the spoon move magically from carton to mouth all by itself. And that's really the test of ice-cream goodness. How hard is it to stop eating it, even when you're full? This one was too easy to put down.

So the Doctor ate his fill, and returned the carton to the freezer, the door of which he failed to properly close. So sometime in the middle of the night, when I stumbled to the bathroom, I found a partially open and defrosting freezer. It didn't seem to have passed the point of no return, so I shut it and went to bed. Crisis averted.

But the poor ice cream had already suffered. It got that disgusting layer of ice on the top, and even below the ice, the creamy, yummy goodness was now intermixed with crunchy crystals of ice that absolutely ruined an ice cream that had been already teetering on the edge of the sub-par dessert category anyway.

So for several weeks, the poor B&J's languished in the freezer, untouched, and relatively unnoticed, until I finally threw it out.

In exchange I bought two other flavors of Edy's to take it's place - vanilla, and Spumoni - two of my favorites. I figured since the Doctor really hadn't touched that cookie dough ice cream since it's inauguration to my freezer, he wouldn't really miss it.

I was wrong. When one gets a craving for ice cream, you go looking for it, even when it has long since passed its prime. It's like the And to prove that point, just other day, I was on the couch watching TV, when I noticed him rooting around in the freezer. And before I had the chance to ask him what on earth he was looking for (I already had a sneaking suspicion) he wandered slowly into the living room with a quizzical look and somewhat taunting glint in his eye.

"You threw out my ice cream, didn't you?"

He raised an eyebrow. I thought I saw just the slight crack of a smile, but he maintained composure.

"well....," I hedged, "it was gross. It was all frozen and yucky."

The Doctor nodded, the corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smirk. "Sure whatever." He said turning and walking away.

"Oh come on, you weren't gonna eat it anyway." I called out after him.
"Yes I was. It was perfectly good. there was nothing wrong with that ice cream," he said over his shoulder.

I bounced of the couch, followed him back into the kitchen and put my arms around his waist. I looked up into his eyes and we stared at each other for a moment.

"Are you mad at me for throwing out you're ice cream?" I asked trying to stifle a giggle.

"No, but I'm pretty sure why you did it."
"Why?"
"Cause you wanted to make room for all of your stuff. You got your ice cream, the kind that you liked, and there was no more room for my ice cream in your freezer."

Now I couldn't help it - I was full on laughing.

He continued. "I've never thrown your ice cream out of my freezer - my freezer is wide open to your ice cream."
"Whatever!" I shot back. My ice cream has never even made the acquaintance of your freezer, much less moved in."
"oh so that's how it is? Your ice cream would be welcome in my freezer any time, and would be in no danger of being tossed out. Ice cream should never be so hated."
"I'll get you some more - you want cookie dough?"
"No, no - the damage has been done. I understand. There's no place for for my ice cream here."
"I'll get you some more," I laughed.
"I won't eat it."
"Yes you will"
"No I won't."

I rolled my eyes.

The next day I stopped at the store and bought a gallon of Edy's cookie dough ice cream. It was the only brand of cookie dough ice cream they had (lest you think I am a walking advertisement for Edy's)

I sent him a text message.
"I got you a present." I wrote.
for the next few hours while he was at work, he pestered me about the nature of his surprise.
"If I give you a hint it will give it away," I told him teasingly.

He works nights, and the next day he came over after work, just as I was on my way out to work... In the freezer I left his present ... with a note (see above). He was sleeping when I left, but I knew he would find it when he eventually woke up and went rummaging around for something to eat. I was cracking myself up all the way to work.

The eventually found ice cream did elicit a good chuckle, though he still hasn't eaten any. I plan to break him down though. I'll leave him alone in the apartment with nothing to eat but that ice cream.

Or maybe I'll just eat it all myself. That'll teach him.

Be My Valentine, But make sure you wash your hands first.

Let's face it - if you're not in love Valentine's Day can be a pretty dreadful holiday. And a month ago, I thought I was going to be one of the Valentine's Day haters. I was not looking forward to this day AT ALL.

But a lot has changed in a few short weeks - and even though I'm really not much into the commercialism of conventional American holidays, the Doctor and I had planned to spend the day together in pink-hearted, candy-coated, goofy-smiling bliss.

Well, our own version anyway, and there were a couple of snags....

Valentines day this year fell on a Saturday, and the Friday night before I had planned to go to a concert at the House of Blues with a girlfriend, her husband and some other mutual friends. She had asked me weeks in advance and the tickets were already bought. The doctor was invited, but he declined. He didn't feel like going out after a pretty busy work week, but said I should go anyway. We decided I would meet him at his house later - sometime in the wee hours of the morning, then we would spend Saturday together.

So slightly tipsy after a few too many drinks (not too tipsy to drive in relative safety, but certainly over the legal limit and with somewhat of an impaired judgment ... I know I know .. please don't lecture) I drove my friends home, then stopped at the 24 hour Giant Eagle to buy little bags of Valentines Candy for the Doctor's two girls, and then headed to his apartment. By this time it was about 2:30 in the morning, he had left the door unlocked for me and was already in bed.

I wasn't sure if he was sleeping, so I crept in quietly, and the little shiny red bags filled with tissue paper and candy on the kitchen table.

From the kitchen table I could see the outline of his body under the covers. He didn't say anything, or move - so I assumed he must be sleeping. I had planned to climb into bed with him, and nuzzle him awake gently, perhaps giving him a reason not to go back to sleep. I balanced precariously, one hand on the table, equilibrium slightly impaired, and slipped off my boots. I slid out of my jeans and sweater and when I had undressed down to a baby doll t-shirt and black lace panties I padded across the carpet to the bedroom pausing a moment to look in on my sleeping man, before I slipped into the bathroom to relieve the beer induced overfilling of my now throbbing bladder.

I peed. Quietly. Now don't ask me why, but sometimes in the middle of the night I don't flush the toilet. Especially when there is someone sleeping right next door who you don't want to wake up. Or someone whom you would like to wake up, but who you would rather wake up to the feeling of your skin next to his, or the alluring and irresistible scent of your pheromones and sweat mingled with perfume, not to the sound of a flushing toilet. So I didn't flush. It was just a little pee, after all.

I switched off the light, opened the bathroom door, and crept into the bedroom. Tiptoeing around the bed I climbed in and slid under the covers. I snuggled up behind him. reaching my arm around his waist I pulled him in close to me kissing the back of his neck. I was in sort of a dizzy, drowsy, alcohol induced stupor. He lay quietly and then in a rather matter-of-fact way he spoke.

"You didn't flush the toilet. Or wash your hands."

I stopped. I was not sure what to do. He had been awake the whole time. And yes, I did not wash my hands. I also didn't pee on them. And who cares anyway if I did have microscopic amounts of urine on them anyway, it's not like he hadn't happily planted his face where I peed on a number of occasions without asking me to wash with soap and water first, and if I had my way he was going to do it again in a matter of moments. Why did he suddenly care if I washed my hands NOW?

Now here is where new relationships differ from long established ones. I am pretty certain if my former husband had ever said something like that to me I would have set him straight about what a buzzkill that remark was, starting with the words "so the fuck what?" and if we had ever had any sort of sexual chemistry I might have reached over, taken his hand, placed it between my legs and said

"Now we're even. Shall we wash our hands together when we're finished here?" Which in retrospect is exactly what I should have said to the doctor.

But in my slightly drunken state, and seeing as I hadn't quite become that comfortable or that bold with him, I was caught off guard and became slightly embarrassed. I had come to bed attempting to be seductive and desirable and, if I understood correctly was now being shunned for my poor hygiene practices. This was not how I had planned this to go. So I simply got up, walked across the hall, flushed the toilet and washed my hands, and came back to bed.

Returned to the sanctum of the covers, I attempted to re-awaken my inner seductress - but the drowsiness was taking over and the sexual image of myself now loomed less large and pressing after this whole hand-washing business. I was going to need some positive reinforcement in the form clear signs of my desirableness, or I was going to give up and fall asleep.

I offered up some gentle kisses, some soft caresses, some nudging and nuzzling in what I hoped was the right direction. He lay motionless staring at me. I had no idea what that meant, and I was beginning to be too tired to care. I closed my eyes to think about what to do next and that's the last thing I remember.

The next morning, the inner-seductress was re-invigorated and after brushing my teeth, peeing, flushing and washing my hands (I learned my lesson), I managed to finish what we started.

Later the doctor told me he was disappointed -- that it had been his ultimate fantasy that I would take him by force because I absolutely could not wait one minute longer. I was flattered - and yet slightly annoyed, pointing out that if one's goal is sexual disinhibition, perhaps it's best not to interrupt the process with hygiene instructions that would have been utterly futile should we have gotten it on in the manner he had envisioned. And furthermore, one good "you've got the right idea" kiss would have set us both on the proper path, and I cannot read his mind after all. ugggg. MEN. I was however grateful for this morsel of information which I have now filed away in my brain for future use.

It had begun snowing during the night, and since the doctor hates snow and cold, my idea of spending the morning taking a hike through the arboretum was losing steam. Besides which, I still hadn't managed to finish his Valentines Day present - a somewhat sappy love song CD with songs that I had been picking out over the last week or so. The problem was my spindle of blank CD's was in a box of office supplies that managed to find their way to x-husband's house instead of mine. All week I had neglected to stop an buy some new ones, or drop by the x's and pick them up. I had to figure out a way to get this done.

We made a plan that I would drive home, shower and change, and (secretly) stop at the drug store, buy aforementioned lank CD's, burn said CD and have ready and waiting as if I had been prepared for this day for weeks. Less secretly, he admitted that he had not had time to stop and buy my present either. He would do his shopping and meet me at my place. Now, when you are in a hurry, nothing happens easily. I drove to the drugstore. Could not find the CD's. Found CD's, Waited in long line. Tried to leave parking lot and got stuck behind a 15 minute (I kid you not) funeral procession that prevented me from making the appropriate left hand turn onto the highway. Got home, burned CD, wrote on the cover, and was just about to get in the shower when the doctor arrived.

"what? you haven't even gotten in the shower yet? What have you been doing this whole time?"

"uhhh..." I really, really did not want to tell the whole story.

"If I would have known I wouldn't have rushed around so much. I got to the store, there was this long line, and some woman who wanted to use a coupon or get money back or something and there was just one cashier, and I was thinking the whole time that you were here waiting for me impatiently."

I couldn't help but laugh and thankfully so did he. I told him the CD story.

"I can't believe I finally met someone who procrastinates more than me. Hurry up."

His gift by the way was a set of red wine glasses. On what was maybe our third date I think, he came over and we made dinner together. We had some wine, and afterward when he was helping clean up he attempted to dry one of my wine glasses and squeezed a little too hard. I told him I didn't care - and it was true. Stuff breaks when you use it. Wine glasses can be replaced. No big deal. Butthe gesture was rather sweet. I gave him my CD, and we both agreed that maybe pink-hearted, candy-coated, goofy-smiling bliss was best left to everyone else.

Making it Official

It's funny how when something new comes along how easy it is to let go. I finally went to see a lawyer to draw up the papers for the divorce.

Divorce was something I had been putting off for months. Even though I had moved out, even though I had started and ended another relationship -- and ended it - with Berlin. Even though I knew I was happier on my own, and I was rebuilding my life and my independence, I just couldn't quite manage to make it official.

I had been thinking about selling my engagement ring. In November, I sent the paperwork to the jeweler where we bought it from to see what kind of offer I could get. I got a decent response - but then I panicked. I would take that ring out of its satin box and hold it in my hand. Feel the weight of it in my palm, cool metal against my skin. I would turn it over between my fingers and look at the detail of the engraving and tears would well up in my eyes. There was so much promise in that ring. So much hope for a future different from my present reality. So much lost.

I even put it on a few times, holding my hand out in front of me, remembering the first time I wore it, showing it off to my friends in the silly girlish ritual of engagement goofiness. I remembered how, when I was out alone, men would give me flirtatious looks until I casually lifted my left hand into view so they could see that I was already spoken for.

It's hard to say exactly why I couldn't fully walk away- but I guess I was just scared. Scared that I was making a mistake -- that I was deluding myself into thinking there was something better out there for me. Maybe this was it. This was all I was going to get. Maybe we all just have to do the best we can wit the cards we're dealt.

In my heart I never truly believed that. I always kept one eye on my source of secret inner strength - my belief that there was love and happiness out there for me that could be completely fulfilling, someone that could fill me to overflowing and surpass my expectations. But the seeds of self-doubt can creep in at the most unexpected moments, making me waver in my resolve to forge ahead into the great unknown for the ultimate prize. I suppose none of us is perfect.

So I held onto that ring. And I held onto my marriage. If for no other reason than I was too weak to stand alone and face the possibility of a lifetime of me against the world. I wanted to hold someone's hand and face it together. I didn't want to do it all alone. I couldn't. Not yet.

But love changes everything. Someone is holding my hand and telling me its OK to let go. Telling me they'll face the world with me, and it's time to put the past behind me. And suddenly I wasn't scared anymore. I wasn't afraid to say goodbye to the ring, or the dreams it had once represented. So I called the jeweler back. then I called the lawyer and made an appointment. Then I called my husband and told him.

I can't say that he was happy about it, but all in all he took it pretty well. There were only a few pretty harmless rounds of him blaming me for our current financial disaster, and then accusing me of running off when the going got tough. Of course he was lashing out as a result of his own grief. I reminded myself that I had spent a lot of time thinking about this, getting used to the idea. And that I now had someone to hold my hand -- but he didn't. It was going to be harder for him. I was going to have to be the stronger one.

He agreed to all the terms - which is to say he keeps his stuff, I keep mine - and we part as friends. I told him I planned to sell the ring in order to pay the lawyer and that I would cover all the expenses. He wanted to know whether I would try to take the dogs from him and I almost couldn't believe my ears. I love those dogs like children, but I know he loves them too - and as much as it kills me, I know that he is better equipped to care for them at the moment than I am. Of course I would let him keep the dogs.

And there it was. A ring, a lawyer, an agreement, a handshake and new life. I have never felt so free.