Remember the 90's? I do. I was in my teens, more or less. I was less in my teens during the era of the "power ballad" (think Ted Nugent, folks), when big hair and men having feelings was the new black. Oh lord, I loved that shit. I'd dance and sing along, and imagine myself singing these amazing power ballads myself, onstage, in front of millions of fans... oh, and I'd imagine being in love too.
The thing about power ballads is, behind the amazing lyrics and men standing in little groups playing their guitars and singing their souls, a lot of those men were on drugs, cheating on their wives, or in the case of Bret Michels (allegedly), didn't even have real hair. Those power ballads were about as genuine as Dolly Parton's mammaries. The 90's was one big steaming pile of bullshit.
So let's talk about my marriage. I used to have an amazing marriage. My husband and I spent every moment together, texted each other all day at work, shared all of our challenges and accomplishments, held hands, cooked dinner and talked, and no matter what, we always had each other. People were goddamn jealous of us. We were a fairy tale, although sort of in reverse -- I was the successful one, sweeping the less career-blessed but sweet and loving husband off his feet and taking care of him forever. Sure, he had no aspirations in life, but he did anything for me (no really, this part is serious). Inwardly, I sort of wondered when the other shoe was gonna drop, but decided one day, nah, that's never gonna happen. We're soul mates and perfect for each other, and I can relax.
Enter Tits McGee.
Just like it was on cue, my neighbor one day announced her little sister was coming to visit. And she was a former gymnast with gigantic boobs. That she was! Short, a little round, but with giant boobs and lots of backflips. The first night she stayed in town, she stayed up chatting on the porch with my husband till about 3AM. Cue the Ted Nugent ballad, because those idiots were smoking the stinky plant like it was going out of style. They couldn't take each other high enough, so they smoked more. Every day. And it was all pretty much downhill from there. More and more fights with me, more and more time over there. Fewer and fewer IQ points. And the fights eventually turned into "I don't even want to be around you anymore", and finally, at long last, "look... I'm just not good enough for you. I really don't have any aspirations in life other than to smoke weed and hang out with my friends. I don't like talking to you. You use all these big words... I just like being retarded. I never grew up. I'm sorry."
Seriously, did I just get dumped for a plant?
So we've separated, whatever the fuck that means. Apparently, "separation" is what you call it when you don't bother to get divorced, but one person goes out all night and then stops by the house in the morning to ask you for lunch money and give you a hug. So much for soul mates.
But I realized, this evening, crying in my living room and wishing my marriage would magically reappear, that my whole marriage was a 90's power ballad. Oh yeah, we were all standing there in a circle with our guitars once, but he's on drugs, thinking of her instead of his wife, and her hair color isn't even real.
Shit.
Great. What's under the goddamn rug this time? What happened? Oh, it's easy to say that he's just an asshole, he changed, it's his fault, yadda yadda, but the fact is, my marriage was probably one big steaming pile of bullshit to begin with. Anyone whose life is that perfect without any effort deserves a kick in the face anyway. Mine happened to come from a size 5 shoe attached to a 36DD chest (there were legs and stuff in between too, I was just highlighting the amusing parts). I thought crap like that only happened to first wives that gave up their perfect bodies to have children, but oh no, folks, if you're a thin woman sporting a mere 34B, it can happen to you too. I wasn't immune or exempt from anything, I was subject to the same laws of all marriages that so many people break. I'm human. I have flaws and weaknesses. Unfortunately, my husband has flaws too, and he likes them. A lot.
So here's to you, Tits McGee. Without you, I'd never know the truth. Cue the music.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
So, You've Discovered You Have No Life
Every once in a while, someone asks you a question that really knocks you on your ass. It's always something that should be harmless--one of those mundane, "how's the weather"-type questions that people ask to make conversation because they don't actually know what the hell else to talk about, and it catches you, in just the right way. Something about that mundane question exposes to you, for the first time, that you, your life, your marriage,your favorite pastime, something with you, is really, embarrassingly, fucked up. And you've been letting it sit for waaaaaayy too long. And you think to yourself, shit. And all of the things you ignored come flooding back to you at once, all of the things you swept under the rug crawl back out (dirtier than ever), all of the truths you denied come undeniably true once again. And now that it's been brought to light, you can't put it back in the dark. Oh, how it burns.
Of course, this amazing process of enlightenment happens entirely in your head. So in that split second where your life unravels in your mind, the poor soul who asked the question is waiting for an answer. And if you're like me, that person is wondering if you're in pain, because your face has suddenly scrunched itself up like someone shot you in the eyes with lemon juice. So now you have two problems: whatever you were bullshitting yourself in the first place, and the fine social predicament you've now gotten yourself into. Life, while you were screwing around doing something else, has kicked you in the face.
The question that got me? "So, Jane... what do you do in your spare time?"
Now, I've made plenty of comments in my time about having no life. They were jokes, of course, I didn't really think I was that boring. But this time was different.
Unbeknownst to the person asking the question, who is an old friend, my life had recently turned to crap. For all intents and purposes, I should have it made in life right now. I'm 32, good looking--I think, my weight, blood pressure, and cholesterol are all good, I have a great job and career path, a house and a dog and a husband. But recently, the husband had left the picture. After seven years of marriage, he had decided he wanted to separate, and spend every spare moment of his time across the street with his woman "friend". This man, who I had moved for, changed and rebuilt careers for, spent every moment of my life working for, providing for, loving, yadda yadda--showed his appreciation by telling me I used too big of words to be interesting conversation and took off one day. Gee thanks, asshole. Fact was, I hadn't eaten, slept, or had a coherent thought in 3 months. I was sick as hell and I was going to stay that way, probably due to my own cranial-rectal inversion. (That's lame-ass writer speak for "my head was up my ass".)
Of course, I sure as hell wasn't going to come to dinner with that fine news. No one wants to show up to a happy social event to end up comforting the pretty girl with the good career who's loser of a husband, by popular opinion, did her a favor by leaving.
So, when I was asked what I did with my spare time, I realized, I did nothing. I quite literally had zero hobbies. I belonged to no social groups, I wasn't on twitter, I boycotted Facebook, I had no weekly things that I attended. I had spent seven years doing what my husband wanted to do. I'm not sure if it's because I'm really that boring, or if it's because he was too much of a whiny man-child to do anything other than what made him happy, but I used to have tons of hobbies so I'm hoping for the latter. That one, stupid, boilerplate conversational question made me realize that I had completely lost my identity. And that was the kick in the face.
Shit.
I've never felt more naked and exposed in my whole life (and there are stories that really give this competition). I had no answer. I had nothing. zip. De nada. In that moment I realized that I officially Have No Life. So for the rest of dinner, I tuned out of the conversation and panicked. And I thought, "what do I like to do? what are my hobbies? Crap... what is my identity?" and when I came up with nothing, I thought, "ah hell, I'll start a blog." I've tried all sorts of things and fucked them all up, but writing was always that thing that kept me up till all hours of the night, developing ideas, fleshing things out, but most importantly, finding parts of me that I never knew existed. Now that I Have No Life, I think it's time for a little more late-night discoveries. Maybe if I sit here and babble on the interweb I'll become interesting!
So hello, readers, you are my newest hobby. I make no promises. I may or may not have intelligent thoughts, I may or may not be funny, I may or may not make you feel better about your own life because mine is ultimately more fucked up. But it occurred to me tonight that I Have No Life, so here I am.
Of course, this amazing process of enlightenment happens entirely in your head. So in that split second where your life unravels in your mind, the poor soul who asked the question is waiting for an answer. And if you're like me, that person is wondering if you're in pain, because your face has suddenly scrunched itself up like someone shot you in the eyes with lemon juice. So now you have two problems: whatever you were bullshitting yourself in the first place, and the fine social predicament you've now gotten yourself into. Life, while you were screwing around doing something else, has kicked you in the face.
The question that got me? "So, Jane... what do you do in your spare time?"
Now, I've made plenty of comments in my time about having no life. They were jokes, of course, I didn't really think I was that boring. But this time was different.
Unbeknownst to the person asking the question, who is an old friend, my life had recently turned to crap. For all intents and purposes, I should have it made in life right now. I'm 32, good looking--I think, my weight, blood pressure, and cholesterol are all good, I have a great job and career path, a house and a dog and a husband. But recently, the husband had left the picture. After seven years of marriage, he had decided he wanted to separate, and spend every spare moment of his time across the street with his woman "friend". This man, who I had moved for, changed and rebuilt careers for, spent every moment of my life working for, providing for, loving, yadda yadda--showed his appreciation by telling me I used too big of words to be interesting conversation and took off one day. Gee thanks, asshole. Fact was, I hadn't eaten, slept, or had a coherent thought in 3 months. I was sick as hell and I was going to stay that way, probably due to my own cranial-rectal inversion. (That's lame-ass writer speak for "my head was up my ass".)
Of course, I sure as hell wasn't going to come to dinner with that fine news. No one wants to show up to a happy social event to end up comforting the pretty girl with the good career who's loser of a husband, by popular opinion, did her a favor by leaving.
So, when I was asked what I did with my spare time, I realized, I did nothing. I quite literally had zero hobbies. I belonged to no social groups, I wasn't on twitter, I boycotted Facebook, I had no weekly things that I attended. I had spent seven years doing what my husband wanted to do. I'm not sure if it's because I'm really that boring, or if it's because he was too much of a whiny man-child to do anything other than what made him happy, but I used to have tons of hobbies so I'm hoping for the latter. That one, stupid, boilerplate conversational question made me realize that I had completely lost my identity. And that was the kick in the face.
Shit.
I've never felt more naked and exposed in my whole life (and there are stories that really give this competition). I had no answer. I had nothing. zip. De nada. In that moment I realized that I officially Have No Life. So for the rest of dinner, I tuned out of the conversation and panicked. And I thought, "what do I like to do? what are my hobbies? Crap... what is my identity?" and when I came up with nothing, I thought, "ah hell, I'll start a blog." I've tried all sorts of things and fucked them all up, but writing was always that thing that kept me up till all hours of the night, developing ideas, fleshing things out, but most importantly, finding parts of me that I never knew existed. Now that I Have No Life, I think it's time for a little more late-night discoveries. Maybe if I sit here and babble on the interweb I'll become interesting!
So hello, readers, you are my newest hobby. I make no promises. I may or may not have intelligent thoughts, I may or may not be funny, I may or may not make you feel better about your own life because mine is ultimately more fucked up. But it occurred to me tonight that I Have No Life, so here I am.
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