December 7, 2012

Foolish Trust

It’s been a bit of a rough week.

Several days ago, Mr. Right decided that he wanted to switch cell phone carriers because the service with mine was better. So we bundled up and headed off to our local Best Buy, teasing each other about our shared cold and holding hands as we are wont to do.

Our general state together is happiness; the day prior, we’d been discussing marriage. It had been inspired by BFF, whose mr. right has indicated that he’d like to get married next year (though he has yet to propose, since he knows her reservations about weddings). I’ve had very life-altering changes to my thoughts about marriage over the past year, thanks to my Grandparents and Mr. Right himself, and I told him so. Mr. Right wants to marry me. You can imagine how light my head was in the clouds after that lovely conversation.

Fast forward to the following night: we’re sitting in the Best Buy while the clerk searches for Mr. Right’s old account.

‘You have a mobility account???’

‘Yep,’ was his only response. He tells the clerk that he doesn’t know the postal code or the account number, and I hand my iPhone over to him so that he can log into his online account to retrieve the details.

‘The postal code on this account is --- ---‘

I’m not stupid. As a child, I was tested with a genius level IQ. I have a photographic memory and an extremely analytical mind. So it took less than the blink of an eye for me to connect said postal code with the city that ex-nonwife lives in. Which she just moved to some three months ago. Where she still has a cell phone contract under Mr. Right’s name.

Normally this would not be an epic, tantrum-worthy issue. But here’s the thing: Mr. Right lied to me about it. Also, they split almost two years ago. And lastly, it’s not just the cell phone account… it’s also the joint bank account that they still share and the vehicles that they have in each other’s names. And maybe, most importantly, the fact that ex-nonwife still hasn’t gotten over Mr. Right.

Two years, and none of this shit has been resolved. Back when Mr. Right and I decided that we wanted to live together, I told him right up front that he would have to be completely uninvolved with ex-nonwife, except for connections required due to L~. Which, in my mind, is child support, co-parenting decisions, and legal custody agreements. Mr. Right agreed, and promised me that everything would be in order by May 2013, which is when his lease is up on his house. We have discussed this several times since, and each time the only thing that he told me about was the vehicles and the joint bank account. So you can imagine my surprise when I learned that ex-nonwife has been using his cell phone account for 2 years, and I had to learn about it while sitting on an ass-bruising wooden bench in a big-box electronics store.


My m.a.d. was ON. Just like that, I went from Cloud 9 to wanting to tell him to take ex-nonwife’s phone and shove it. WWI started as soon as we got into the truck; I lambasted him. Normally when I’m fighting with someone, I turn calm and cool and suddenly have epic control over myself. I listened to him tell me that he never lied to me… that he just hadn’t remembered that ex-nonwife was under his account. I countered by saying that a lie by omission is still a lie. He told me repeatedly that there was nothing he could do about it, that he didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, it’s just a cell phone for christ’s sake!, and I calmly informed him that I didn’t appreciate that BS and that if he really wanted to move forward with me, he would start taking action and resolving these outstanding issues with ex-nonwife.

‘You want me to just cut all ties with her. It’s not that easy. You want me to hate her!’ he told me. I think I actually sputtered at that; I helped her get a fucking job when she decided that she wanted to change careers and up and quit only to be unemployed for 3 months. Her son is in my house every fucking weekend. I think she’s a horrible mother and a lazy, irresponsible, co-dependent whiner, but I want what’s best for L~, which is his parents getting along. I don’t want Mr. Right to hate her, I just want him to be appropriately uninvolved and invested in moving forward with me. I want our future to be more important to him than his past. That’s not too much to ask, is it??

He said some awful things to me, and I ended up almost kicking him out of the house. That sounds horribly dramatic, doesn’t it? I replay it in my head now, and I’m amazed that I didn’t tell him to leave. Had he not instantly apologized for what he said, I would probably be blogging from singledom again right now. I’m not one to take much crap from people, whether I love them or not, but I do know that a good majority of the population says things in the heat of the moment that they don’t mean. I grew up with two sisters who, during any fights, would simply point their verbal cannons and fire at random, intent on racking up as much emotional destruction as possible. But we’d always come out the other side still loving each other, still sisters.

The wound is still there, and my trust in him has been damaged. When the smoke cleared, Mr. Right promised that he would have ex-nonwife removed from his cell phone account and that he would take care of the joint bank account by the end of the year as well. I’ll admit that I have a hard time believing him, even though he’s already opened up a new bank account and is working on having everything transferred over. As of yesterday, he still hasn’t told her that she needs to get her own cell phone account and the vehicle issue will remain for another few months while Mr. Right gets the funds in place to pay off his truck loan and she gets rid of the car. I’m giving him a lot of leeway… more than I’ve ever given to any man, and I find myself wondering if my gut is telling me something that I’m not listening to. I love this man, like I’ve never loved anyone before, and I worry that it’s making me blind. I know that he loves me equally, there is no question in that. But I think… if I’d known a year ago what I know now, I likely would not have gotten involved with Mr. Right. And then I would’ve missed out on a year of wonderful, of loving, of laughing and enjoying each other in every possible way.

But a relationship is built on trust, isn’t it? I worry now what else Mr. Right is keeping from me…and unfortunately had to confront him yesterday about one such thing. You see, this past weekend he came home with a Walmart envelope containing L~’s school pictures. I commented that I didn’t realize that Walmart took school photos, and Mr. Right told me that ex-nonwife had just put them in a Walmart envelope because she had other pictures to give him, as well. My radar flagged at that one, and sirens went off when he didn’t dig back into the envelope to show me the rest of the pictures. So later, while he was outside shoveling the walk, I opened up the envelope to have a peek at the other pictures. There were none. What there was, was a Christmas card made out to Mr. Right and signed “love L~/ex-nonwife”. Love. Fuck. At the time I stuffed it back in the lockbox in the deep recesses of my mind, telling myself it wasn’t a big deal. And then I went online and did some googling with just one thing: ex-nonwife’s name. I’m sure that you now must think that I’m a psycho, obsessive girlfriend; I might even agree with you and want to slap myself for it. But what I found online simply backed up my suspicions; ex-nonwife still isn’t over Mr. Right. It’s probable that her continuing dependence on him is a manipulation tactic. Mr. Right is a big, intimidating marshmallow who has a weakness for helpless females… which I’m not. I am, however, a female who knows how women get over men and I think all women can pretty well spot the tactics that other women use to hang on to guys after a break up. She implies intimacy with him on public forums like facebook by posting vague, teasing comments about Mr. Right’s life that are not yet common knowledge. She has an excuse, every night, to keep him on the phone talking about non-L~ related things. Her social media pages contain multiple quotes or updates that speak about how she’ll always love him and that sort of pathetic, clingy, can’t-get-over-you shit that I absolutely detest. Six months after he left her, ex-nonwife asked him to try again (he refused).

But I wasn’t upset so much about how she signed that Christmas card; instead it was Mr. Right’s need to hide it from me that was the problem. When I called him on it, he told me that he thought I would’ve been mad because she signed it ‘love’. I pointed out to him that, though I wasn’t particularly happy with that, what’s more important is that HE recognized that it was inappropriate and proceeded to hide it from me. Once again, he betrayed my trust in him and kept something from me. What else is he hiding? My sister pointed out that he probably feels stuck between a rock and ex-nonwife, and that he likely doesn’t want to rock the boat because of L~. And, unfortunately, one of the biggest differences between Mr. Right and I is that he’s extremely laid back, while I’m an aggressive go-getter. So how I react to things tends to be very different from how Mr. Right reacts. What I consider a big deal isn’t necessarily that for him.

Where we stand now, I’m not entirely sure. I know that I love him, but I don’t trust him anymore. I’m willing to let him win back my trust but my cynical side says that the chances of that happening are low. I don’t trust him to keep his promises anymore. I worry about what else he’s hiding from me and what he’ll keep from me in the future. I also worry that his lack of action with ex-nonwife and separating the things that they share is indicative of a larger issue, that it might very well be his way of hanging on to the past and that he hasn’t moved on from her yet. He still sleeps with me every night, still tells me how much he loves me multiple times a day and holds my hand and rubs my bum. I’ve decided to just let things happen for now (which is difficult for me since I’m not comfortable with inaction), and take action after the holidays. I’ve been thinking that we need some time apart, some space; we’ve moved quickly and sometimes I worry that everything has just happened a little bit too easily for him.

Maybe I’m a fool, it’s quite possible that I’m not seeing what’s right in front of my face. I guess love makes fools of us all in the end, doesn’t it?

November 27, 2012

Nothing Except YES

Everything was a little hazy, like peering through a window that had been fogged over.

‘It’s not a big deal… yet,’ I told myself.

I was 4 days late. Since my periods have never even resembled anything besides utter chaos, this wasn’t much cause for concern. Except for that night several weeks before, when he’d been drinking spiced rum and pepsi and I’d had two peach coolers, and he’d cornered me in the bathroom. Up against the wall, clothing torn off or shoved aside, both of us greedy for the taste of the other, his hands roaming and my nails digging and OHGODOHGODOHGOD OHYESYESYES!!! Amidst the panting, while my body absorbed his, came the realization that we’d been skin to skin and in his inebriated state he’d failed to pull out and oh god it had felt so good. Oh god. OH GOD. Oh shit.

‘Oh SHIT!’ At my exclamation he looked down quizzically, still weak from pleasure and all good-sex-fried-brain-ish. I moved, shifted slightly, and the light came on. Silence.

‘I won’t be easy to knock up,’ I told him frantically. Those words resounded in my head weeks later, standing in the bathroom with a pink box in my hand that claimed the ability to detect pregnancy sooner. I’d decided to do this in secret, since it was still early and this pee would be for my piece of mind. My hands shook – Ick. I washed up with my head turned to the side as the clock counted down: I wouldn’t look, I wouldn’t look, I wouldn’t look. Except I had to look, didn’t I?


Holy fuck. Ohmygod. OHMYGOD. Yes. YESYESYES!!! Oh… oh jeezus I can’t breathe and I’mknockedup and I’m going to faint holycrapI’mpregnant FINALLY oh fuck I need to sit down!!! I’m going to have a baby. I’m going to have a baby. Why am I crying? I’m going to have a baby!!!


He was on his way home, and I knew this would be one of the hardest things I’d ever done. How exactly do you tell the man who loves you that you’re accidentally pregnant? Serve him up the pee-stick for dinner? Surprise!! Guess what babe: your swimmers are Olympic champs! Big pat on the back for you!! Time to boast to all your buddies. You got me on the first shot, proved my OB/GYN wrong and… endo, what endo??

I met him at the door trembling, excitement dampened by dread. Words tumbled around in my head, and I couldn’t look him in the eyes.

‘I have something to tell you.’
‘What’s wrong baby?’

Pause. Deep breaths. I struggled to find the right words, wished that I could soften the blow, hoped desperately that he’d not be upset or angry or disappointed. I had nothing. Nothing but the white plastic stick still clenched in my fist, nothing but the word YES. I reached out blindly and offered the burden to him, silently begging him to share it with me. He looked at my hand quizzically, met my eyes, looked back down at my hand.

‘What… ?’

‘It said YES. I’m so sorry honey. It said YES.’ I didn’t know why I was apologizing, I wasn’t sorry, was I? Hell I hadn’t slammed myself up against that bathroom wall and gone after my body like I was a starving man at a buffet. Sure, I’d willingly participated. Sure, I hadn’t told him to put a raincoat on. I hadn’t said no. But he’d been right there with me, urging things on and we’re both old enough to know better. Both. Of. Us. I felt anger boil up deep inside of me. Why was he just staring at my hand? What happened to the man who, almost a month ago, told me that everything would be OK, that we’d do it together, that we’re together and everything will be fine?? Mr. Right my ass. In ten seconds, he’s going to get this thing shoved up his- 

‘Is that what I think it is?’

Yep. One pee-stick enema coming right up!

‘You’re pregnant.’ Deadpan. No inflection in his voice; no excitement or even dread. Screw that, it’s going to be insert pee-stick A into idiot-stick B instead!

‘Ah, baby,’ he said, and he reached out and pulled me into his arms. I tucked myself into his body, fit myself along his torso in the spot that’s always felt as though it was made for me. Me and this new little being that was silent and invisible in my womb, that had been announced by nothing besides the word YES.

And then my eyes fluttered open, and in the darkness I could make out Mr. Right’s form laying, relaxed, beside me. My body, which only mere moments before had been filled with my future, was empty. Oh god. No. It was a dream, nothing but an awful, wonderful, horribly breathtaking dream. All of it. How am I supposed to handle this?? I was pregnant, and in the blink of an eye it was all gone. I closed my eyes to escape reality and instead I fell back into the fantastic nightmare; I saw the wonders of pregnancy, Mr. Right held me as I gave birth, we raised a beautiful baby boy and welcomed another, a girl, two years later. I lived through my very existence that night. That dream.

And then I woke up. And, again, it was all gone. There are no words. It felt like a loss, even if it’s something I didn’t actually have. One simple word and I saw my life as it might very well be.


November 22, 2012

Perfect Moments

I’m not a religious person; I wasn’t raised with the expectation of church every Sunday, and I’ve never read the entire bible. When considering my own beliefs, I’d qualify myself as agnostic. I like the idea of a benevolent deity and hope that there’s existence beyond this life in whatever form that may be, but I tend to land on the side of science as the ultimate creator. I am as nature intended, not as God created, and nature is beautiful in its infinite ability to create uniqueness and acceptance. Nature does not care for sexual orientation and it celebrates differences in colours and plumage. I suppose nature is my god.

But there have been a few times in my life when I’ve wanted something so badly that I’ve pleaded and begged the God who is named in Bibles and on TV and in the Churches:

‘Please God, make him stop hurting me’

‘Please, God, let it not be cancerous’

‘Please God, I don’t want her to die’

Yesterday a co-worker who is on maternity leave came into the office with her 6-week old baby boy, and he was presented around the building with the typical pride of a new Mother. He’s beautiful. I stroked his soft, black hair and tickled his chubby-baby legs… and I didn’t hold him. Because it’s hard, so very hard, to have a baby in my arms and not want to fall to the floor in a puddle of tears while inaudibly babbling: “whynotmewhywhywhy’s”. I hold myself back from the children of strangers and acquaintances, and I do my best to shove 15 years worth of BABYBABYBABYNOW! feelings back into the recesses of my mind where they wait for the opportunity to escape. Which they do. Every day.

“I hate this. I almost wonder if it was easier before… before my future children became a real possibility that I Just Have to Wait For. Half a year. A year maybe. Please God, just… please. This thing I have wanted all of my life, my biggest dream, my largest desire, please, just please. Please.”

I keep a personal journal, which I write in every day, regardless of where I am. It’s my coping mechanism; my way to express feelings while I’m at work or feeling stressed out or sad or happy or… whatever. After my co-worker left with her beautiful son, I opened up my journal, and what you see above is what I wrote. Just those 7 disjointed sentences. If I was given to excessive drama, what I felt yesterday may very well have had me on my knees entreating God to just give me this one thing. Today, tomorrow, a week from now. Soon.

It was hard to put those feelings away – possibly the most difficult it’s ever been – and I carried the sadness around with me all afternoon like Atlas with the world on his shoulders. Sometimes it gets easier when I just force a smile on my face and pretend that I’m OK, and by the end of the workday I was putting on a pretty good show. The pretense lasted until I got home, and that’s when the mask came off and I just felt it all again. Mr. Right greeted me at the door and the hug and kiss that he bestowed upon me went a long way towards soothing my hurts, which he’ll never know.

‘Close your eyes,’ he told me, as he put his hand up against my glasses. I protested, jumping to the immediate conclusion that I was being punk’d. Or that he wanted to spare me for as long as possible from something having been broken in the kitchen (please not my beloved Keurig machine!). Or maybe L~ was once again seated at the kitchen table for another unscheduled visit. I eventually gave in – it was either that or have his bear-sized palms pressing my glasses against my face.

Eyes closed, I let him take my hand and lead me forward, through the kitchen and into the dining room. Trust is something that I’ve always struggled with, but even in the midst of my trepidation I followed him blindly.

‘OK, open ‘em’

A dozen gorgeous red roses. Baby’s Breath galore. Even a pinkish ribbon, adding a feminine touch to something already so girly. I gasped, possibly for the third time in my life. I am not a gasper. These roses are gasp-worthy.

‘They’re so beautiful!’

‘You’re beautiful,’ he breathed between kisses. That moment… it’s a picture in my photographer’s brain now, a snapshot of pure, unadulterated happiness. Tears welled up in my eyes – I blinked them back. I think if I’d let them fall, they would have tasted of joy. The smile that I’d had to force earlier came as naturally as breathing and remained on my face for the rest of the night.

Thank god for that man.

November 5, 2012

Screw You, Life

Lately I’ve noticed that this blog has become all about my own little rants and raves; I log in, post a blog about my own misgivings or something awful that happened or to whine about losing my space. No humour, no suzy-sunshine-on-the-bright-side bits of boohoo.

Wouldn’t it be nice if that changed? I agree. Not gonna happen today though!!!

Today, I am cranky. I am overwhelmed. I just want everybody and everything to fuck off and leave me alone. And while I’m at it, I’d like to win the lottery and become independently wealthy. That’s not too much to ask, is it?? But no…instead, I have this whole list of issues bounding around inside my skull like a toddler on a candy high in a bouncy castle:

  1. Money. Big, ugly, awful worry right now. If anyone ever tells you that you have exceptional credit and YAY you qualify for a “borrowed down-payment on a house type of mortgage!” tell them to go fuck themselves. Cash in your freaking RRSP’s if you have to and use your damned savings and just say NO. Because when your closing costs turn out to be 3 times the expected amount and you end up 3 months behind as a result (and I’m an Accountant so I can budget the fuck out of my money!) it’s really, really hard to come out the other side. Yes, I’m thankful that I was able to buy a house on a single income without having to use my savings and/or retirement money. But jeezus the amount of debt I have now got hanging over my head is significant, not to mention the WTF money I had to pay out of my daily account for my ridiculously unexpected closing costs. I’ve been super tempted to dig into my savings but my Accountant side knows that if I just hold to my tight budget I will be out of this shortly after Christmas. Meanwhile I really miss my disposable income and Chapman’s Frozen Yogurt.
  2. Babies. I think about them every day, every night before I fall asleep, every time I’m in sight of a child. It’s consuming.
  3. My job. I hate coming to work now. I hate the fact that I hate coming to work! So, I’m on the hunt for a new job and having a hell of a time finding one.
  4. Girly parts. I have issues with them right now, constant issues that are enough to drive a woman mental and make normal every-day activities difficult. I don’t want to talk about it, it’s personal. Yes I’ve been to my Dr. Yes we know what it is, it just Won’t Go Away. !!!!
  5. The roller-coaster of my life for the past 4 months has pretty much sent me into this spiral of constantly being in fight or flight mode. A month or so ago, I decided that I had to just let some things go, because frankly it’s too much to deal with all at once. (See 1 – 4 above, and 6 – 11 below) To date it’s been qualifying for the mortgage, dealing with my pisshat bank, switching banks, finding a mortgage broker, deciding to try for a borrowed down-payment (moron), then the house search, then the moving, then the issues with my hot water tank, then the furnace (see below), then all of the fucking electrical issues and DIY jobs I discovered the previous owners did, and;
  6. Water on my floor in the furnace room yesterday. A nice big puddle, increasing in size every time water drip-dropped off of the vents and pipes that lead up to the roof. My brain almost fried until I discovered where the water was coming from {it’s the hot water tank again OMG! Oh wait no, it’s dripping from the furnace’s air intake vent and the pipes to the hot water tank. Even worse, there’s a hole in my roof?!?}. I called the property manager today and was told that this is a design flaw of the townhouses that the condo board is looking to fix within the next year or so. We get big snow, next day the weather turns and the snow melts and it causes major condensation on the vents/pipes. He’s checking the roof for me just to be safe, but basically I have to live with the dripping water on these mother-nature-is-to-blame occasions. At least my cat has an indoor pool.
  7. The adjustment of basically having someone live with me. In My house. The constant having to pick up after him because if I don’t, there will be laundry on the bedroom floor and 3 empty pop cans on the kitchen counter and TV remotes in the couch cushions. Having to re-wash the dishes because he’s rubbish at it. Having a 5 year old boy around every weekend who is obsessed with TV and wants to eat fast food every day. Yeah, it’s not that bad but man, is it a big change!
  8. And then there’s Mr. Right himself, and ex-nonwife. The recent telephone conversations that have nothing to do with L~ but are instead her asking his opinion on trucks she should buy. In the middle of dinner. How I can’t send L~’s birthday balloons home with him because Mr. Right says she doesn’t want anything to come home with L~…but then I wonder if he just doesn’t want her to know that my Mom bought L~ birthday balloons. How Mr. Right is going to L~’s soccer game again tonight and I am not included (I’m going for dinner with BFF, I think I forgot for a while there that I’m not the girl to sit at home waiting while I feel sorry for myself!).
  9. Last night I also discovered that the sealant in my bathtub needs to be replaced; it’s cracked and water has been going behind the tub tiling. Fortunately it’s only a little tiny bit so the chances of water damage are extremely minimal…but really, it was like the icing on my cake of Arg yesterday.
  10. My car, which I bought brand spanking new, was painted. I discovered this about a month and a half ago when the paint came off of the front bumper. I take it to the dealership and am told that the area that was painted is actually not supposed to have finish on it at all – so that must mean that I took it somewhere and painted it!!! Um, I don’t think so. I took my anger right up to the service manager, who told me that they have no record of the car being painted in their shop. So I must’ve done it, right?? Fuck you. I bought a new car, if I took it somewhere to be painted why the hell wouldn’t I take it back there?? Why did you give me a fucking car that’s been painted?? I’ve called the service manager three times since, and I’ve gotten the run-around every time. And you know what? With everything else that’s going on, I can’t seem to find my give-a-fuck. There’s a little fleck of paint about the size of a dollar bill missing on the front (plastic) portion of my bumper. The car runs great. I’ll fight them, I just can’t do it right now. I can only handle several things at a time here, and that cosmetic bit of paint just doesn’t seem to be a priority. Yet.
  11. Smoking. AKA, trying to quit. It’s not working so well. I’m irritated at myself and yet, at the same time, it’s one of the few stress relievers I have right now.

And that’s that. Another whiney blog, that will likely only ever be read by myself and one other person.
Yeah. I’m OK with that.