Before she died...

... my mother told me that I should write a book. She's been gone for five years now and I was thinking that it's about time to do what she asked me to do.

I've had a hard time thinking up a really good idea for a book and that's been holding me back for the past five years. But it finally occurred to me that what my mother was telling me was that I write well. It's time I had some faith in what my mother thought. As the years go by I find her to be right about more things that I had ever realized so maybe she was right when she said that I was a good writer. I'm going to act as if she's right and just sit here and trust that the words will come if I do what I've always done, just put my thoughts down and hope for the best.

After waiting for an inspiration, I suddenly had one. I remembered the supply of Marinol that was in my refrigerator. I grabbed the bottle of the THC containing appetite stimulant and yada, yada, yada...here I am.

I find myself divorced and not knowing how to be a divorcee. It's a very uncomfortable position to be in. The word itself sounds so smoking jacket and martini, doesn't it? Divorcee. I'm something French. Jambon et Frommage.

Jambon et frommage is what I learned in Paris, before I became a divorcee, so that I didn't order any animals with which I was unfamiliar. Paris was actually the end of my marriage. It was officially end on top of the Arc D' Triumph. I just didn't know it then. Luckily, I had the camcorder up there so the death of a marriage has actually been recorded and I have it in my bedroom closet. The bedroom that is pretty much the room where I change my clothes. I couldn't sleep on the bed if I wanted to. It's covered with a week's worth of tossed off clothing.

Apparently, divorcee's sleep on the couch. I know I do. Any night of the week you can find me and my Boxer lying in front of the television, me on the couch and Jack on the floor in front of me. I sleep well with my dog.

I guess I should tell you right now that I am very bitter over the break up of my marriage. I can't deny it. I don't want to deny it. I think I've heard the term "bitter divorcee" bandied about. I have only one explanation for the bitterness that I can exude when it comes to the death of my marriage and the people who killed it...I am, indeed, quite bitter.

The bitterness comes out in one way or another and at one point, it came out in sex and a lot of it. That was my obligatory 6 months of freedom fucking that one enters into after they become a divorcee. Why not? I lost the obligatory post divorce weight. I was looking as good as I had in years and it was, as I saw it...my last chance at that type of romp so I took it. It was fun. I really had a lot of...fun. Whatever.

So at one point I tried the online thing and I met some true cretins. It was absolutely my experience that 100% of the men on the Internet are trying to have sex on the first date.

I told one guy that I hated to be hit on. He hit one me. I told another guy that the first guy hit on me after I told him that I hated being hit on...and then HE hit on me. It was terribly distressing. I would tell every guy that I met that story and every single one of them thought, "Duh...she can't possibly mean ME!"

So, there I was, sitting on a park bench next to a man who just one half hour ago was dining you like a gentleman and now...on the bench in the park in the middle of Marietta Square, the man took...he took it out.

What he did as I stood to leave was almost a criminal offense...he grabbed my hand and tried to brush it against Mr. Happy as though the mere hint of an erection would make me rip my clothes off....right there in the middle of the Square. It just occurred to me that he must have wanted me to...oh ick. I get it now. Duh. After all these months, it just now occurred to me that the goofy guy wanted me to...pleasure him.

There was no way we could have actually done IT...there were too many people walking around. Ick. That put the kibosh on the internet dating thing. I know some people get a kick out of that and God Bless you, but I give up on that escort service.

Computers. Speaking of which, my ex used to contact his little friend. I'm trying to be kind although I don't know how long it shall last. I'll use the computer for something good...the bum. I'm glad he's gone.

I did meet an aging, bald (shaved bald) headed ex disc jockey who wondered why he couldn't get laid like he could when he was working in the music business. He believed his own press and never stopped to look in the mirror. He doesn't understand the level of women that he attracts. He's used to a much better class of women. He is one incredibly self centered creature and he is my friend. His name is Jeff.

I met Jeff online but we became friends after I found myself wearing a negligee in his apartment and he never looked away from his computer for a half an hour. I actually changed back into my clothes a half an hour after I walked out of his bathroom wearing a lovely antique white silk nighty and he never noticed me. For thirty minutes, I sat there dressed up all pretty and he wouldn't stop talking about something stupid. I felt so incredibly inadequate.

Whatever...we eventually became very good friends and I listen to his bullshit constantly. He's a hoot. He's a male divorcee. I don't know if the men have their own name or if we're all just divorcees, but divorcees sounds so female, doesn't it? But we women have to be divorcing someone and it's usually men although I have heard that the first lesbian divorces are being litigated. Once again, whatever. So, the lesbians can BOTH be divorcees...I don't know about the gay guys but I tend to think they wouldn't mind the term at all. I can see gay divorcee dudes...can't you?

HE: I can't believe that you could cheat on me.
HE: You were never there for me.

I think it's a good role for gay men, actually.

But, that's probably politically incorrect and I don't want to offend people so early on. It's poor form and I'm nothing if not as proper as I know how to be on any given moment. I do what I think is right, close my eyes and hope for the best. Besides, there's plenty of time to be really annoying now, isn't there?

That's the thought that gets me out of bed in the morning. There is always time to be annoying. If you know that you can do that well, you don't have to do it often. I operate on a Mutually Assured Destruction Level. I know what I'm capable of and I am very disciplined in withholding the tempest that is my wrath. That's very lucky for most people because I would ordinarily just walk away from a slight.

But, there are some slights that I cannot walk away from. Not quietly, anyway.