Fact Finding Tour: Part Two

Back in September of 2009, I had been to see a divorce lawyer.  The purpose of that meeting was for me to get a better understanding of the divorce process.  At the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about our situation.  In order for me to make an informed decision, what I needed was information.  I had to know how things worked, what I needed to do and in what order I needed to do them.  I didn’t want to make any assumptions about anything, especially about what and how much I was entitled to.  I also had not a clue as to how much it would cost or how long it would take.  I let my fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages, and settled on an attorney I felt would suit my needs at this point.  This is not the best way to choose an attorney, and I would not suggest it to anyone.  I knew it was better to ask around for recommendations, but I really didn’t want anyone to know what was going on just yet.  Besides, I wasn’t going to hire this person; I was going to pick their brain.  I chose a woman a few towns away.  I felt that a woman would be more understanding and that I would feel more comfortable when it came down to revealing all the intimate details of the demise of my marriage.  Most importantly, she was free.  Well, not really, but she offered a free consultation so…sold!

When Lila LaRoux walked into her office I took one look at her and immediately had this feeling I was definitely going to get my money’s worth from her.  By the time I left I knew that meeting was going to be the only time our paths would cross.  You know what they say…you get what you pay for.  The consult was free, but all I could think was that she should start charging, something, because she obviously couldn’t afford a comb.  Her hair was reminiscent of Rosanne Rosanna Danna, of Saturday Night Live fame.  Her clothes did not fit the image of a lawyer, at least not in my mind, and they didn’t fit her either...literally.   She looked like…keeping with the Saturday Night Live theme here…The Church Lady…on crack…in hooker shoes.  It was really most bizarre.  The consultation was not what I had expected either.  She did answer all of my questions, so that was good, but the rest of it was kind of odd.  Ms. LaRoux hardly ever looked at me.  She kept her head down as she wrote all my answers to her question on a legal pad.  I started to tell her the saga of Dick’s affair, but she was more interested in knowing if there had been any abuse in the marriage.  I began to explain how he belittled me, and used mental and emotional warfare.  Apparently those were not abusive enough for her.  Then her head popped up and she finally looked me in the eye and said, “Ya, that’s rough, but did he ever hit you or physically threaten you?  Have you ever felt not safe around him or in fear for your life?”  Now, these are good questions, questions that should be asked.  It wasn’t what she was asking that was so off-putting, it was two other things.  One, being that she was dismissive of what I felt was important and two, the look on her face when she asked and waited for me to answer those questions.  It was creepy.  I wanted to get her a drool-cup because she was salivating as she tried to imagine what gory details I would tell her.  When I answered with a simple “No,” she made no attempt to conceal her disappointment.  Her head dropped back down and she said, “Oh.  Well that’s a shame...too bad.” as she began writing on her yellow legal pad again.  The phrase, “Excuse me?” came out of my mouth as I was thinking, did she just imply it was not a good thing that Dick had never beaten me or threatened my life?  Without raising her head she briefly explained that she meant it in terms of ammunition against Dick when it came to the judge deciding the amount of alimony I would receive.  Well, that made some sense, but she was just a bit too eager in hoping that I had been beaten within an inch of my life at one time or another.  I’ll say it again; you definitely get what you pay for.

 I left Lila LaRoux, never to return, armed with enough decent information to give me a clearer picture of what I was in for if I decided divorce was my only option.  That afternoon, before Dick got home from work, I began copying everything and anything in that file cabinet that had to do with money.  I did a little each day.  I made copies of bank statements, three years worth of tax returns, investment statements, some paycheck stubs and oh, a check…a very large check.  Apparently my darling Dick had closed out one of “his” accounts back in August and still hadn’t done anything with the bank check.  I later found out that this was part of a large sum of money he had hoped he could hide in the event of a divorce, by loaning it to a friend.  This was when I began to realize that Dick had more money than I ever could have imagined.  He was constantly crying poor mouth, trying to make me feel bad.  Now that the table was turned, I was not going to be the only one feeling bad.

Tell Us How You Enjoyed Your Stay!

“Guest Satisfaction Survey”, was the heading on the piece of mail that became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back; me being the camel, of course.  I remember it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.  It was January 16, 2009, a Friday.  When the mail arrived there was this customer survey from the Hampton Inn/Suites, addressed to Dick.  I opened it.  I knew I had never been a guest in any of their establishments with Dick, and I was curious to know when he had been there.  I knew who he had been there with, but not when.

Dear Guest,

Your recent stay at our Hampton Inn/Suites in Woburn is most appreciated.  Because we value your business and confidence in Hampton Inn/Suites, we would like your opinion as to how well we met your expectations….blah…blah…blah…yada…yada…yada…

I’ll bet it met his expectations just fine…of course he had been doing it in the car with her on occasion so anything would be a step up.  The survey could be filled out by hand and returned in a postage-paid envelope that was included for his convenience, but I decided to fill it out for him online because as they said in the letter, it was “faster and easier”.  It also provided me with the actual date that Dick had been there.  It was listed as the “check-out” date, December 31, 2008, so he had checked-in on the prior evening.  He must have treated Charlot to early New Year celebration.  Dick hadn’t gone on any overnight trips with, “the guys” since August, so it must have been one of those nights when he made a 3:00 am return home.

All righty then… so the envelope was addressed to Dick, so I may have committed a bit of a Federal offense by opening his mail, so what.  I could not have cared less.  Besides, he was never going to see this piece of evidence that was pointing the flying, fickle, finger of fate straight at his in-fi-delity.  I didn’t know what I was going to do with it, but I knew I was never going to confront him with it.  If I did, I would have to hear his “explanation”. I couldn’t stand the thought of listening to him try and bullshit his way out of it.  I would have to have him hurt.  Since I had shared all of his activities with just about everybody I knew, I had had many offers of, “I know a guy”, if you know what I mean. Of course, then I might need the services of a criminal defense attorney and a divorce attorney.  One case at a time, I told myself…I can always take care of my anger issues later. 

My best friend, Ann, had been a travel agent at one time, so I brought the survey letter to her just to be sure that it was revealing what I thought it was.  As she was reading it, I asked her if it could be some sort of promotional literature or if there was any other reason why he would receive something like this, other than the fact that he….she cut me off, finishing my sentence with….”That he’s a lying, cheating, asshole, piece of shit?  NO…there isn’t.  Hotels only send guest surveys to guests.  He’s obviously too stupid to realize that even if he paid for the room in cash when he checked out, he had still given them his credit card, with all his personal information, when he checked in.”  Then she pointed out how the reservation number and date were coded at the bottom of the page, noting that there were two listed, not just the one they had sent the survey for.  Apparently Dick had become one of their frequent flyers.  I had no idea what he had said he was doing those two nights, but I had been keeping a calendar of his comings and goings since September so all I had to do was look it up.  “Plowing, home 3 am,” was my entry for the night of the 20th;  we had a lot of snow that season.  On the 30th it said, "Shooting darts, home 2:30 am."  Yea, he was out those nights, "plowing" and "shooting", but it had nothing to do with snow or darts.

I sat there, staring at the numbers on the bottom of that survey.  A strange sense of calm came over me and I said, “Well, I guess that’s it then…we really are done.” I felt numb.  “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.  You don’t deserve this.  He doesn’t deserve you.  He never did.”  Ann said consoling me.  Then before I could say anything else, she had grabbed a steak knife off the counter and added, “Oh…I can’t stand him…I just want to stab his eyes out!!” as she thrust the knife up and down into a cutting board….”I hate him!”  I think she was channeling the anger I should have been expressing, but couldn’t for lack of energy.  After that we just sat there in silence for a bit.  And in the quiet of that moment I heard a flushing sound…it was the sound of my marriage going down the toilet.

When I got home Dick was out.  His note said “Gone to Mike’s.”  I knew that was really just code for, “Out with my whore.”  Call me a glutton for punishment, but I just couldn’t leave it alone.  I got back in my car and drove to the European where Charlot worked.  I think I went because I felt so numb, because I wanted to be angry.  I wanted to feel something, and if it wasn’t anger, then hurt, because anything was better than feeling nothing.  I felt dead inside and I knew if I was going to survive what was a head of me, I needed to feel.  I needed to hurt.  I needed to be angry so I could fight.  I pulled into the parking lot and as I rounded the corner the door to the lounge opened and there they were.  They were smiling and laughing as they walked arm in arm right past the car and never even noticed me.  I can’t remember Dick ever looking so absolutely happy, but at that moment, I also knew it was going to be the last time I would ever see a smile on his face.  I was going to file for divorce as soon as I could find the right attorney. He was about to lose half of all the money he had worked so hard to accumulate (and hide) during our marriage. With that and the cost of getting divorced would definitely slap that smile right off his face.  And if it didn’t, I was more than ready, willing and able to lend a hand to help it off.  Yup, there was a long, sad road called "Reality" ahead for Dick and I couldn't wait to get the ball rolling and lead him down it.

Dear Dick....

Dear Richard,

Hope you are well…no, that’s not right…what am I thinking?...
Listen up Shit-head…hmm…too harsh…although, harsh can be good…
Dear lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch...that pretty much says it all…but still…
Hey Dick, how’s it hangin? …No. No. No… this has to be serious…
What’s up Dick? ...Got any gum on ya Dick? …Got a pencil Dick? …Hah, that felt wonderful! Okay, now that I’ve got that out of my system, no more fooling around, I’ve got to do this, and do it right…….

To:   The Man who tore my heart out and then stomped on it.

   I suppose you are wondering why I am writing this letter to you now after so much time has passed. Well, the only answer I can come up with is this; I need closure. There are so many things that I need to say to you, that I should have said long before this, but I have been trying not to dwell on the past and have been focusing on moving forward. Funny thing about trying to move forward though, looking at the past, back at what got you where you are is not what stops you from moving on; it is not looking back that hinders the forward momentum.

    Lately I have found myself thinking about you a great deal, and you have been invading my dreams which I find extremely annoying. I would appreciate it if you would stick to your own nightmares and leave my dream world alone. There are so many everyday happenings that bring memories of you to the surface. I still find it difficult to make an indulgent purchase without feeling somewhat guilty. It reminds me of how often I would buy something I wanted, then have to sneak it into the house and find a place to hide it so you wouldn’t know. This of course meant I could only enjoy it when you were not around. Those days are long gone, but the fear I felt at that time still haunts me now and then. When I vacuum I hear your voice in my head saying the same thing you said every time I picked up that dam machine, “You’re cleaning? What, are we having company?” insinuating that I never did any house cleaning at all. I can’t clean a toilet or scoop cat shit without feeling like I might not be doing it right. I remember washing the car once, but all you could talk about was how dirty the windshield was on the inside. You would never allow me hang pictures on the walls because I could ruin the plaster. You had to do it…whenever you got around to it. By the way, do you still have naked wall? I never expected praise for everyday chores, but neither did I expect or deserve to be criticized or berated.

    When I think of what I need to say and all the questions I want answers to the first thing that comes to mind is --Why? I know that’s not very specific, but there are so many ‘whys’. If I were to list them all, I would be writing this for months, and frankly I don’t know if I have that kind of energy to waste on something I will probably never get an honest answer to anyway. But in the spirit of what this letter is meant to do for me I will attempt to list as many as I can think of right now. These are only the tip of the iceberg, but here goes:

    Why could you never talk to me? Why didn’t you want to spend time with me? Why did you lie so much? Why did you think I was so stupid that I wouldn’t figure things out? Why did you take Charlot to a luxury hotel while I was lying in a hospital bed recovering from major surgery? Why was I never enough? Why couldn’t you tell me what you needed? Why did you never even attempt to stop drinking? Why couldn’t you be bothered to even try? Why did you not fight for us? Why did you torture me to the point of tears over phantom money problems? Why did you threaten me with “ending us”, before I had any idea you were cheating? Why did you use honesty as your weapon to beat me down until I was on my knees begging your forgiveness? Why were you such a hypocrite? Why was it okay for you to hide money? Why didn’t you just leave? Why didn’t you stop seeing her? Why did you lie about not seeing her? Why did you let me think there was hope? Why didn’t you just “end us”, instead of letting the two of us exist in that hell for all those months? Why could I never do anything right in your eyes? Why did you always talk down to me as if I was an idiot? Why did you never compliment me? Why didn’t you ever tell me you were proud of me? Why did you marry me? Why do you act like you’re the victim in our demise? Why do you think nothing is your fault? Why can’t you be a man and tell your family the truth? Why did you change the locks? Why wouldn’t you give me what was mine? Why did you deny me children? Why are you so dam selfish? Why did you stop loving me? Why?

    There are some other questions that I can answer, but they only bring up more questions. Why did I put up with all your crap? I loved you, that’s why. Why did I love you? Because I thought you were worth it. Why did I think you were worth loving? I saw something in you back when we were new. It drew me to you. I saw a need in you and I thought I could fill it. I tried my best, but over the years there were times when I wanted to give up. I thought I was failing you, but then you would say or do something, or just look at me a certain way and I would see it again. I would know that you needed me, that I was where I was supposed to be. Need and love are two very different things, but somehow they got all mixed up with us as if they were the same. Needing is about oneself, loving is about someone else. Loving and giving, needing and taking, that’s what our relationship was based on. I loved, you needed. We were doomed from the start.

    We have always seen things differently, you and I, so I am sure my view of the past is not the way you see it, and that’s okay. Because I really don’t care what you think about anything, anymore. It doesn’t matter, you don’t matter. This is my truth…this is the weight, the baggage, the crap I’ve been carrying around for far too long. It’s time for me to put it down because I don’t want to own it anymore. It all came from you and it’s all yours now because I am giving back to you. I think I told you once that I forgive you and I want you to know that I do. I forgive you not for your sake, but for mine. I won’t carry that with me anymore either. Mostly, I am forgiving myself for holding on to the weight, the baggage and the crap. Like I said to you on the day I left …”I am done,” but now, finally…I am free.

Forever your Ex-Wife,

Betty.

P.S….What goes around comes around. Karma can be an evil bitch. It would do ye well ta be lookin’ over yer shoulder so ye’ll know when payback time is at hand. And ye best be wearin’ yer leather undies lest ye lose a huge chunk of yer backside when she comes back around ta bite ye in the ass.

People Let Me Tell Ya 'bout my Best Friend: Part 2

There is something that needs to be mentioned before continuing any further, and no other way to do it, except to just say it. Harry is dead. Dick’s best friend Harry died this past March, after suffering a massive heart attack. It happened while he was driving home after running an errand one morning. Just like that, here one moment, and gone the next. I still find it difficult to wrap my brain around it. I was informed of this news by none other than my old neighbor “Jack”, at the same little store where he told me he had met Dick’s “new” girlfriend. Harry was a big part of my life for many years. Although in the end Harry turned out to be just as much of an ass as Dick, he was at one time someone I considered to be my friend and it saddens me that he has left this earthly plane.

That morning when Jack told me, I was stunned. I started babbling things like, “Harry? What? Who? Harry? You mean Dick’s Harry? You’re kidding! Harry? Are you sure?” The strange thing about my stunned reaction was that Harry was someone I always thought would meet his end just that way. He was one of those people you would refer to as a heart-attack-waiting-to-happen. I guess I was more shaken by the news than I was surprised, like I would be if Jack had told me that Dick ran into a telephone pole or a tree while driving drunk and died. I most certainly would be upset and shaken by it, but surprised...um…not so much. I would probably be more amazed that it hadn’t happened sooner….talk about an accident-waiting-to-happen!

Jack delivers newspapers in the morning and had a copy of the one containing Harry’s obituary. He gave it to me, I thanked him and we parted ways. As I walked to my car I started to cry. I cried all the way to work, and then some. When I got that out of my system this very odd feeling came over me. I started to think about Dick…I hate to admit it, but I felt so bad for him. I thought about my best friend Ann and how much she means to me. I have no idea how I would ever deal with losing her…it is inconceivable. Years ago, before things really ran amuck in my marriage, I remember saying something like, “If anything ever happened to Dick…like, God forbid, if he were to die, I would be devastated, but eventually I would get over it and move on. But if Ann were to die, you might as well just box me up and put me in the ground too because I would not be able to survive without her.” That’s how important my friendship with Ann is to me; how important she is to me. I tell you this to illustrate how important Harry was to Dick. I just couldn’t see how he was going to survive without Harry. Dick had other friends, but none meant as much to him as Harry did.

Dick was not emotionally equipped to deal with something like this. Then again, Dick was and still is not emotionally equipped to deal with many things, but this…this was beyond anything I could imagine. I had this vision of him in my head. There he was, lying on the bed, curled up in the fetal position, staring off into space and totally unresponsive, as if in a coma. Wait… come to think of it, that wasn’t a vision that was a memory. I had seen him act that way once before. That was exactly the way I found him three days before our wedding…hmm…how the hell did I miss that red flag? I’d totally forgotten about that. I’ll have to cover that little episode at some point, but for now let’s continue with Harry’s death. I was actually very worried about Dick, so much so that at one point I even considered calling Charlot to make sure he was all right, after all, I did have every single number that she could be reached at logged in my TOW (The Other Woman) file. I know… I almost did WHAT?? I didn’t. I only considered it for about a second, maybe less. I must have been experiencing some sort of brain-freeze or brain-fart, brought on by the recent shock of Harry’s death. But, I snapped out of it pretty quickly when I finally had the time to really read Harry’s obituary.

The obituary brought to light some information that while reading it I began feeling something quite different from the concern I had been having for Dick. I realized that it had been almost 2 weeks since Harry died. I had missed it all, the wake, the funeral, everything. My concern for Dick morphed right into anger and then some. Harry’s funeral was held at my parish church…where I work! I was way passed anger at this point. I was there that day and never knew because Dick obviously did not think it was necessary to inform me of Harry’s passing. I can understand that Dick was probably in quite a fog as a result of losing his friend, but I didn’t care. If the shoe had been on the other foot I know I would have called him, or at least had someone do it for me, but then again, I have a heart. What I find most annoying is that I was right there. I walked right passed the funeral Mass that morning on my way downstairs to get my daily delivery. The church was so full of people, I remember thinking to myself that it must have been someone young or very important that died, because of how crowded the service was. Little did I know it was someone I had known for more than half of my life. Later on I was chatting with the priest who said the funeral Mass. I commented on the number in attendance and how many cars there were in the parking lot. He told me it was very sad…this young guy, Larry, 49, married less than three years, went out to run an errand and never came home…heart attack. He died in his car...very sad. Yes, the priest had said “Larry”, not Harry. No, it wasn’t a mistake on his part. Harry is Larry, they are one in the same. Harry’s full name is Lawrence Harold Awhaule Jr.. His family and anyone who knew him since he was a teenager called him Harry, short for Harold. His business associates, friends from work and even his wife, called him Lawrence or Larry. It’s all very confusing and part of the reason I didn’t make the connection. When I finally was able to see the whole scenario and realized what had taken place I was furious. Dick went from “poor-guy” to “that Rat-Bastard!!!” in seconds.

 

    I don't know why I let myself get so worked up by Dick's behavior or why I keep thinking that someday he will surprise me and not be so...well..."Dick-ish", but I do.  You would think that having spent twenty-five years being married to me he would have learned what decent behavior is.  Maybe, in some way he did, but just as I could never behave or be like him, he can't be any other way.  It would feel so wrong to him, like he was wearing someone else's skin.  I have to keep reminding myself that he is who he is, and he will never change.  He will always be....Dick.

Viewer Discretion is Advised

I made the following video one night after a long day of work and an evening of cake decorating with my friend Ann...I was tired, very tired. I was playing around with some left-over fondant (basically a clay made from sugar)and I created a fondant version of Dick...an anatomically correct version which is one of the reasons I am advising "Viewer Discretion". The other reason is because of what I then did to the fondant Dick. I used my phone to video tape my assault on the little clay man. Later I added some music and edited in some of the pictures from this blog. To say I was feeling a tiny bit evil would be a slight understatement. I sincerely apologise to any male readers who may take offense to a certain portion of the video. This blog is supposed to be about me and the affect Dick has had on me, then and now. This video gives insight to just how deeply I have been "affected" by him. Things like this just come out of me from time to time. They are not premeditated, they just happen.

Okay then, enough with the disclaimers. Here for your viewing pleasure is what I call, "Betty's Dream."

What's In a Name? A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet

Well, the only excuse I have for letting so much time go by since I last posted is...I've been busy. Going to college has been taking up a lot of time, but I love it, so that's just the way it’s gonna be until my name is on that degree. By the way, that name will be the one I was given at birth, not the name I took when I became Mrs. DICK. So, how is the former Mrs. Dick? I’m just fine and dandy most of the time. I still have moments when I want to run him down with my car, but they pass and my life moves on. Luckily I have not been anywhere near him or in my car when one of those moments has occurred.

In my last post of November 2010, I mentioned a little Facebook rant I had. I suppose you are all wondering if Dick’s family ever got the message about his extra-marital activities. The answer to that would be no. Apparently Facebook does not have the power I thought it did, at least not in this case. I never heard from a word from him, and I know that if he knew what I had posted, he would have called me…or his lawyer, who, by the way, is now a judge and presides over cases like ours and where he can tell plaintiffs and defendants like Dick what morons they are. I like to think it was his reward for having to put up with Dick being his client. I suppose I could assume that in his new life, Dick has learned to take the high road and not let petty things like my airing his very dirty laundry on Facebook bother him. Then again, as far as I know hell has not frozen over. I also haven’t seen any pigs flying around lately and bears do still shit in the woods, so I’m pretty sure that I can instead conclude that he never found out about my posts on Facebook. No matter, it just gives me something to look forward to. It will be much more fun to tell one of them in person someday, just so I can see their reaction.

I started out the New Year with my old name. Actually I should refer to it as “my name”, not my “old name.” It is just one of the many pieces of “me” that I put aside when I became Dick’s wife. I misplaced a lot of those pieces along the way, but every now and then one of them turns up and I put it back where it belongs and I feel a bit more whole. Twenty five plus years ago I replaced my last name with his last name. Six months after our divorce was final I decided it was time to hit the “backspace” key and delete the link to Dick. It would have been wonderful if it were that simple…highlight…delete…poof…gone. Unfortunately it turned out to be quite a long and tedious process to change my name, but in the end it was well worth the effort. Every time I take out a credit card or my license and see my name on it, I smile. When the mail arrives, it bears my name, and even if it’s a bill, I smile. I get such a kick out of signing my name that I breathe a sigh of contentment when I look at it, and I smile. I know it’s a bit silly, but I can’t help it. Every time I see it, say it or sign it, there is this little voice in my head singing “I’m ba-ack!!”

At first I didn’t think it was all that important to go the extra mile and take back my maiden name. I was weary from 14 months of divorce proceedings all the crap that went along with it. I just didn’t have the energy to deal with anything else that had to do with me not being Mrs. Dick. After a while I noticed that whenever I had to tell someone my name, saying it left a bad taste in my mouth. Hearing someone else refer to me using it caused a “nails on the chalkboard” reaction in me. Eventually it just felt wrong, like I was lying. That’s when I knew it was time to put one very big piece of “me” back in its place.

At the time Dick and I married, keeping your maiden name was not as common as it is now. I changed my last name to his because I was his wife, but mostly because I very much wanted his name to be mine. The day we were joined together as husband and wife, I truly believed that it would be “until we are parted by death,”… silly…silly me. I took those vows very seriously. I just wasn’t aware that Dick…did not. I didn’t have any delusions that marriage was going to be a cake walk, but I never thought it would turn out the way it did. I truly believed that I would die being Mrs. Dick. Fortunately it never came to that. I don't recall there having been any big deal about changing my last name when we were married. I really don’t remember doing it. Divorcing him was extremely complicated, exhausting and just plain annoying; I have no idea why I ever thought that getting rid of his name would be any different. I guess that just goes to show that I am forever full of hope in my new life. It was quite an undertaking to get “my” name back, involving trips to the court house, the Social Security Office, the Registry of Motor Vehicles and the bank. On top of that I had to contact my insurance company, my doctors, AAA, credit card people, cellphone carrier and, well, you get the picture. This process started back in December 2010 and the last change was made in April at the college I am attending. After it was finally done, the entire name change experience was filed in the "Pain-in-the-ass" folder; right along with all the other Dick associated files.