Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Fly The Friendly Skies of Daisy May

Apparently, the most exciting event of 2009 was April 1; unfortunately I missed it. It was at a Dave Matthews Band concert in Cleveland, Ohio. Mr. N was lucky enough to have attended and I have never seen my husband so euphoric over anything in his life, including our wedding day and the birth of our daughter.

It was, coincidentally, my birthday and I was out of town, doing my yearly "You deserve to get away by yourself, honey (so that I can stay here and fuck around)" vacation. I have only recently started calling it the "You deserve to get away by yourself, honey (so that I can stay here and fuck around)" vacation. I used to call it the "Isn't my husband sweet? He wants me to be able to have adventures on my own" vacation, but those were the good old days when I was blissly ignorant of Mr. N's shenanigans.

January 14th I got a call from him that was rife with perplexing details about the night before. He was breathlessly excited about having gone out with his friends John and Bill and it was all that he could talk about. When I say, "all he could talk about", I mean that he was not talking about my birthday or that he had forgotten it completely. He said that John and Bill, who live five minutes from us, drove into the city together and that he drove separately (perplexing detail number one - PD#1). He said that he got separated from them and couldn’t find them (PD#2 – the venue was pretty small – and they couldn’t have just called each other on their cell phones and met at the front door?) but luckily just happened to run into "a bunch of United Airlines gate agents that he sees all the time". He said that he ended up hanging out with them and having the best - time - ever. (PD#3).

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Couldn't We Just Try An Exorcism?

A lot of people started telling me to leave Mr. N but my biggest surprise came when I met with Father A (not my parish priest – I wanted a more anonymous experience). Frankly I went to him for spiritual and not marital advice and so you can imagine what I was thinking when the first words out of his mouth were, “I can start your annulment right now”.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Bloody Mary - The Big Fucking Succubus

So if Mom Jeans is the least of my troubles, Bloody Mary is the most of it. Mr. N's former employee , she quit, years ago (I now believe it was because her husband is smarter than I am, figured out what was going on between them, and made her quit) but their relationship lives on to this day.

When I started poking around Mr. N's emails and phone records I was alarmed to see that they talk on a daily basis. Funny, he never mentions her to me, not ever in 15 years since she left the company unless I ask. And they'e so close, it's obvious. Among other things, he does homework for her kids and helps her family members get jobs; oh, and that car we gave to the poor down-and-out soul at work? The poor down-and-out soul was Bloody Mary's sister. He's taken a more active interest in her and her family than in ours and I pretty much immediately decided I needed to get a look at her, so planned a field trip to her house.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Thank You, Mom Jeans!

I'd  like to rip her hair out, but someday I'm going to have to thank Mom Jeans for the super sexy emails she sent Mr N. Without them, I would never have discovered all of the other women - the ones that are actual threats to my marriage.  So THANK YOU, Mom Jeans! Thank you, you middle-aged, cow-faced love goddess. If you hadn't gotten the crazy idea that my husband was in love with you and so brazenly pursued him, I'd never have found out about the other younger, prettier women that have an actual chance with him.  You piss me off, for sure, but I have to admit getting a big kick out you at times and you have been, without a doubt, entertaining.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Poor Charlotte

I'm Poor Charlotte, or rather, I'm Charlotte, but I became "Poor Charlotte" when my husband of 25 years started cheating on me. Who knows? Maybe I've been "Poor Charlotte" ever since I met him and I never knew it. I found out that the "Poor" had been added to the "Charlotte" back in January of 2009 when the life that I thought of as relatively happy and carefree took a nasty turn. I asked my therapist if there was a pill that would make me forget everything I'd found out about my husband and I'm only half kidding when I tell you that I would swallow that pill with no regards to the side effects. 

First and foremost I'd like to thank the woman that brought me out of the dark and helped me see the reality of my marriage - "Mom Jeans". I call her that because she's my age and very drab; she actually wears mom jeans. She's not at all pretty but she's somehow under the impression that she's hot. She's a friend of the family and I never for one second considered her a threat to my marriage, but I did begin to take notice of her when she developed an unhealthy interest in my husband. More about that later.

My husband? We'll call him Mr N - "N" for "narcissist", because he's as big of one as you'll ever meet. My girlfriends, my therapist (Dr. Bowtie) , and my priest (Father A)  all agree.

When I found out about my husband's shenanigans I got sad, and mad, and hurt - but I also got even. I have a story to tell - some even call it inspiring - and through the course of this blog you'll learn about one woman's struggle to keep it together and amuse herself when her husband forgot he was married. Getting even can be amusing, especially when the people involved really have it coming to them.

When Mr. N decided to cheat on me, he obviously didn't know who he was dealing with. If I can't stop or control his actions, I can at least make them a little more difficult and and a lot less fun. You won't believe the things I've done to screw with him.

Once, when I was in my therapists's office and whining about something Mr. N had done, Dr. Bowtie laughed and said, "I'm not worried about you. You're a strong woman and you'll be OK."

Eventually, I saw that he was right. Save your "Poor Charlotte", and your pity, for some Charlotte who can't take care of herself.