you can tell a lot about a person by how they fuck

i'm going to begin by warning you right now that this post is going to be dirty and vulgar.  if your delicate sensibilities cannot handle it, i welcome you to move along to some other waste of your time...

if you have been following my story from the beginning, you know that i have not kept it a secret that the abhorrent sex life i shared with my ex husband, the good Dr. Kxxxxxx, was one of the primary reasons for our demise as a couple, married or otherwise.  when i was in the thick of my miserable marriage, trying desperately to reconnect with my sexually frustrating husband, i had a good friend advise me that if things were not good in the bedroom, they were never going to be good outside it either.  i remember balking at that idea, that a marriage would sink or swim merely because of the quality of a couple's sex life; but now, looking back, i see the wisdom in such a tenet.  if there is no intimacy, no bond or connection beyond playing house and paying bills, there isn't really a marriage, is there?  its roommates.

sex between my ex husband and i prior to our marriage was decent, somewhat plentiful, and vaguely satisfying.  after more than a few years together, a little boredom was to be expected.  i was always the more adventurous half, and so i was always seeking ways to keep things fresh, like lingerie and toys and role playing.  my ex husband had different ways of tackling the issue, i suppose, by seeking the attentions of various other women behind my back.  however, that was prior to him developing his speedy 'little problem' in the bedroom.  i always wondered how he handled that with the other women he bedded down while with me, because surely, he didn't suddenly gain control and endurance simply with a new pussy.

after we married, the sex we did have, those few and far between occasions, became increasingly strained and strange.  my ex husband began to develop certain obsessions and fetishes that became  increasingly more difficult for him to hide or suppress.  for instance, he had always loved and enjoyed my breasts, but in the last few years we were intimate, his fixation on them turned somewhat uncomfortable for me.  he seemed to enjoy suckling, like a child...and he would even call me 'mommy'.  it was strange to hear, but in the midst of our passion, it was accepted.  it was weird and unsettling, but i understood it on some level -- his mother is a very cold woman, very impassive.  i have never seen her display anything but uncomfortable intimacies when she must.  she is restrained, with a smile always forced across her face.  Freud would have chalked my ex husband's sudden 'mommy' fetish up to his mother's lack of affection during his childhood.  i learned to rationalize away a lot of aspects of my husband and his behavior this way.

it's why i was not the least bit surprised that my ex husband went out and got himself a 'best girl friend', in the form of a large, motherly nurse who worked with us at Children's Hospital.  she was one of those nurses that kissed his ass right away, and she tried desperately for a while to befriend me (she even made some sexual advances toward me on more than one occasion while we were out socially).  when my husband wasn't getting the emotional mothering he required from me, he went straight to her.  no surprise, she had huge breasts.  she tended to his every boo boo, physical and emotional.  if he got a sniffle, she swooped in with IV fluids and would confer with his mother by the hour.  they spent a great deal of time together, no doubt recounting all his dissatisfactions with me and plotting his escape.  you could always tell when he had been talking to her, because he would grow bold and more insolent.  she was his main confidante (makes me wonder how she's coping with his new wife).  they would travel together, and then he would try to tell me that 'there was nothing sexual' between them.  right...and i'm sure her husband believed that too.

sometime during residency, my husband came to me asking for anal play -- not for me, but for him.  he admitted that he enjoyed doing it to himself, and because he knew i was sexually open minded, that i would be open to joining him in the experience.  my ex husband was right, i am open minded, and i accepted these desires of his and even happily indulged him;  it was the neurotic, shameful, and self loathing parts of him that these things elicited that i despised.  he expected me to accept these parts of him, but he could not accept them about himself...so he would come to me begging for me to fuck him in the ass, but he would be riddled with shame about it.

after a while, sex was only acceptable upon my husband's terms -- when he wanted it, where, what position.  it always began with some overt and cheesy pick up line, accompanied by an aggressive groping of my breasts.  he became sexually bold, but in a sort of condescending manner.  when that stopped working on me, he resorted to demeaning me or making me feel shitty about myself in regards to our sex life, as if this would somehow convince me to fuck him.  sex became another power play between us, another factor to be manipulated and controlled.

there was a time, very early in our relationship, before all of his philandering, before all of his neurotic, narcisstic abuse, when fucking my ex husband was an enjoyable experience.  he may not have been the kind of guy i was into, but he was cute and he was equipped, and back then, he enthusiastically engaged in our escapades with this sort of 'sweet' vigor and passion.  of course, according to him, i was his first, so it explains his genuine eagerness.  the longer i shared a life with my husband, the more i got to know him, the less i wanted to fuck him.  he began to feel like my brother and an authority figure, not a lover.

i stopped fucking my ex husband for a couple of reasons...

1. he continued to show more affection and consideration towards other women, even right in front of me, and i just decided it was time to take my dignity back.
2. he admitted to fucking a girl in my architecture program, a girl i asked him specifically NOT to go near or get involved with because it would make going to school every day extremely difficult for me.  he fucked her in my house, on my couch, in our bed, all weekend long when i was out of town.
3. he persisted in refusing to address his premature ejaculation problem that left me frustrated, demeaned, and unsatisfied.  he would orgasm in two minutes or less, and then descend into a self deprecating, tearful rant about how he wasn't satisfying me.  this, instead of just relaxing and tending to my needs too...
4. he became increasingly mean and nasty toward me, and his passive aggressive behaviors made me literally cringe and avoid him on a daily basis.  there was no way i was going to lay on my back for him and spread so he could get off and then go back to treating me like shit.

as our relationship inside and outside the bedroom continued to degrade, he seemed farther and farther away from me, and any hopes i had for rekindling and strengthening my marriage began to fade. 

the list...

1.  Morrissey
2.  Hugh Jackman
3.  Liev Schrieber
4.  Clive Owen
5.  Elvis Costello
6.  Richard Tompson
7.  Bob Mould
8.  Joe Strummer
9.  any member of The Hold Steady
10.  various Boston Red Sox

this is my ex husband's, the Good Doctor Kxxxxxx's that is, self proclaimed and self affirmed list of "men he would go gay for in an instant' -- his words, NOT mine.

he never openly admitted he was homosexual, or even bisexual, though there were plenty of indicators that i chose to ignore while others around us did not (like a penchant for inserting things into a below the belt orifice...yup, you read that correctly).  i routinely had acquaintances or friends inquire as to whether he might 'go that way', but i always poo poo'ed the idea, if only because his ego could never handle the shock of that kind of life.  and, he would never, ever be able to face his father, who's opinion and estimation were worth more than gold. he lived his life each day trying to impress his father, who only seemed moved by Jxxxxx's more successful friends.  i used to feel so sorry for him, because i knew what it was like to be desperate to make a mark with one's own parents.

but this list?  this is something he would talk about openly, whenever it came up and in front of all kinds of friends.  he thought it was a lark...he celebrated it.  now, don't get me wrong here, there is nothing wrong with the motivation behind such a list, i would have accepted this part of him openly and warmly, i assure you -- this is not just me hurling nastiness out there out of hurt and anger.  and it was the duplicity of his nature that bothered me day after day.  he assumed roles and endorsed sentiments only if they made him look good for others, or if they helped make him feel superior.  

if my ex husband thought for a second that kissing another man, or more, would garner him more adoration, he would have dropped to his knees in a heartbeat...of that, i am certain.

today...

i do not miss you.

i do not miss your boorish face and that stupid, tired and crusty old goatee that has been hanging off it for literally decades now...

or your wannabe dark framed glasses that you think make you look like Elvis Costello.  they don't, they just make you look like an old man trying way too hard to appear young and hip.  the same goes for all your ridiculous hats you like to wear...you've been a poser from the day i met you, and you'll be one til the day you go into the ground.

i do not miss that giant bald head of yours.  it left greasy marks on everything it touched...the pillow cases, the back of the couch cushions, your hats...disgusting.

i do not miss that smug smile you like to flash, full of arrogance and self importance.  you're fooling no one.  everyone sees how you crack at the first sign of pressure and stress, and your meltdowns are never pretty...oh, and get yourself to a dentist!  the plaque is literally dripping off of your yellow teeth.  kissing you was never a pleasure...

i do not miss watching you preen and prance around in the mirror, taking more time to compose yourself than a self obsessed teenage girl before a date.  the obsessing over which tie to wear, when you end up wearing the same three week after week.  the way you couldn't pass a mirror without stepping back to admire yourself in the reflection was nauseating, because you care so much about how others estimate your appearance, yet...

you don't care that you burp and fart unapologetically in front of anyone, and take a shit with the bathroom door wide open (by the way, i'm sure the new wife must love this).  you're disgusting, and the smells and sounds that emanate from your carefully composed body are like a metaphor for who you are...a sack of shit trying to hide itself in J.Crew and Brooks Brothers.

i do not miss your prima donna antics, especially when it came to your salary compared to someone else's.  the way you carry on because 'you save lives everyday' (really doc?  wiping noses and cleaning up puke and shit is saving lives, huh?), and should therefore be celebrated with fanfare and obscene amounts of money is absolutely ludicrous, and you need to get over yourself.  besides, if that is what you expected out of your career in medicine, you chose the wrong the field, buddy...and the wrong town.  yes, my brother the car salesman, can and does make twice as much as you in a year easily, and if you don't like that fact, well, as they say, 'tough titties, my friend'.  stop your fucking whining, go do the job YOU chose, and be thankful that you still have it.  because, sooner or later, that big mouth of yours is going to break HIPAA laws YET AGAIN, and this time, someone is going to report you.

i do not miss spending time with you.  you became boring so quickly, i don't know when it happened, but it made you as dull as a rock.  it wasn't just that we had so little in common anymore, you really had no passion or interest in much of anything.  except buying records...like another aging hipster wannabe.  living vicariously through the talented expressions of others rather than your own.  you became sad and pathetic...flat.  i encouraged you so often to find things to make you happy, don't just be your job, but you ignored me.  it wasn't that we grew in different directions, it was that you chose to stop growing or evolving at all... 

i do not miss the way you would take the stress of your day out on me.  it was a never ending roller coaster that rode the waves of your emotional lability from day to day.  one moment you were giving me the cold shoulder and refusing to open up to me, and the next you would be lashing out at whomever was closest...me, your mother, your friends.  your passive aggressiveness knew no bounds.  i would give you a grocery list, and you would purposely bring home the wrong things time after time.  you would hold money over my head, like i was a child begging for an allowance.  there was a time when i wanted to be your solace, but you were as inconsolable as a child always.  i wanted a child, but i was damned if it was going to be a spoiled, grown ass man...

i do not miss your neurotic, histrionic personality, or your need to be coddled at every turn.  i am not your mother, and no matter how badly you wanted me to be, i wasn't going to treat you as if i were.  i was not going to greet you at the door each day you came home from work wearing an apron and handing you a beer.  i was not going to feed your flaws, the way everyone else around you did.  you can't conduct yourself and behave like a child, and then expect me to respect you like a man.  its just not how it works.  your constant worrying about everything, your inability to cope with the slightest obstacle or challenge, your inadequacy to make decisions for yourself, were all what led me to lose all respect for you...as my husband, as someone trying to be a man, as a doctor, as my friend.  

i do not miss your judgements or your criticisms of me or anything that i held important.  any effort i made, any challenge i took on for myself, any dream i wanted to pursue, was always accompanied by your very vocal doubts and denigration.  when i began my business from scratch, you told me not to bother going out and trying to sell anything, no one would buy.  you always had a 'yeah, but...' to give to me whenever i tried to take control of my own life.  both of us never perceived you to be a Dominant in our relationship, but you most definitely wielded your psychological and emotional power over me.  you aimed to make me feel so worthless and tiny, less than you, lucky to have you.  what was it, Jxxxxx?  were you just so damn afraid that i would be better than you at anything?  so good that i would eclipse who you are, and leave you?  was it your way of keeping me under your thumb?  because it worked...for years.

i do not miss feeling like i would be the one to have to protect us if we were in any kind of peril.  i do not miss being the only one who could properly swing a hammer.  i do not miss your widemouthed snoring that echoed through the house, driving me into another bed just to get some rest.  i do not miss the way you showed more affection to every other woman except for me.  i do not miss how you gave gifts only to receive recognition, or how you only helped others when it meant something good for you.  i do not miss having to beg you to pick up your messes or spend time with our dog.  there is so much, Jxxxxx, so much...

but most of all, i do not miss watching you put yourself up on that pedestal, Doc.  you, and everyone else around you who doesn't know any better yet.  i know there will be a day that one by one, they will.  they will see what a superficial fraud you are; what a self centered, narcissistic child you really are...and they're going to wonder, just like i did, how they went so long suffering your bullshit.

Honeymooning with the Boston Red Sox

my ex husband and i had a storybook wedding...

we chose to marry in the fall of our intern year of residency, because the season and halloween was our favorite time of year (and it is to this day for me, at least he didn't ruin that on the way out).  we knew what kind of affair we wanted to have to celebrate the occasion:  something classic, elegant, and very 'us'. 

my ex husband was quite actually an eager participant in the planning from the very beginning, choosing song lyrics for programs and putting together our wedding favors (a cd compilation of 'our' songs).  we even re-wrote the entire civil ceremony, including our vows, so it was a true reflection of us and what we wanted for our marriage together.  there were tons of little details that were uniquely expressive of our very long relationship up to that point, and he was there participating every step of the way...

we took a full year to plan our wedding day, handcrafting each and every detail.  we created our own Trivial Pursuit cards for each table, with questions that highlighted our story for all our guests (it was a game we played a lot, especially with his family.  in fact, every one of his family gatherings was not complete without a long and heated game of Trivial Pursuit amongst family members, and Jxxxxx loved brandishing his smarts whenever he could.  and if he lost, it was always accompanied by a little temper tantrum and some snarky excuse for why someone else on his team brought him down.  he is the worst of sore losers.).  we carved tons and tons of pumpkins, for the tables and the bars and the mantles of The Buffalo Club where we were married.  we had a special first dance to Dean Martin's 'You're Nobody til Somebody Loves You'.  the entire day and evening were filled with magic and excitement, and neither of us demonstrated any doubt that we were embarking on a very long, and happy life together.  i remember those moments standing in front of everyone we knew, looking deep into his eyes, and feeling like if we could just capture this moment of earnestness and affection between us, we would be successful.  

the day was a huge success, our families and guests were so impressed with what we did, and i still hear about how beautiful the day was from people whenever i bump into them.  i should have known it was too good to be true, because the tone seemed to change immediately once it was over.  when the night ended, we walked next door to our suite at The Mansion, where he proposed to me, and i recall that he didn't even reach for my hand when i went to hold his.  it was odd and i know i recognized it, but i let it go to the back of my head, thinking that it had been a long day, we were both tired, and maybe i was just looking too hard at what was really nothing.  by the time we arrived up to our room, that barely noticeable quirk was hard to ignore, because all he wanted to do when we got back to the room was count the envelopes and go to sleep.  NOT go to bed so that we could consummate our marriage, but go to bed so that he could sleep.  i stood there in my wedding gown, my veil still attached to my head, and i wasn't sure what to think.  i had read somewhere that no wedding night sex is not uncommon amongst newlyweds, simply because of the stress of the day, but we weren't your average newlyweds...we had been conducting our life as a common law married couple for many years prior to our nuptials, the ceremony and party were just formalities, at least for me.  

as we prepared to leave the next morning for our honeymoon, my heart could not help but sink deeper and deeper, from my chest into my gut.  my 'new' husband was all sweetness, basking in the glow of being a newlywed to be sure, but the occasional touch of hands and a peck on the cheek was as far as our intimacy went.  there was no signal from him that he was at all interested in getting me into bed.  there was great interest, however, in the World Series that year, since his precious Boston Red Sox had finally beaten their century long curse by making it to the finals.  the days and nights of my honeymoon revolved around the viewing of Sports Center and catching innings of games.  we would be out walking, and he would be fixated on finding the latest score or standings.  i tried to be as understanding as i could, not wanting to ruin the week with whining or frowning on my part.  i was a new wife, so i softened my attitude and realized what a big deal it was for him.  i smiled and even feigned happiness for him as the Sox got closer and closer to their trophy.

on our first night of honeymooning, i was determined to make it impossible for him to ignore me.  as he settled into a chair near the tv, i slipped into the bathroom and into the silkiest and most suggestive of lingerie, made sure to spray his favorite perfume behind each ear and between my breasts, and back out to introduce him to his new Wife...when i slinked up next to him, he barely turned his head.  i was met with a quick glance and a smile, and a plea to let him finish watching the scores.  i kept my cool, and tried to maintain my mood, and settled back onto the bed to wait for him to take me.  

when my eyes opened three hours later, the room was dark, the television off, and my husband was sound asleep across the bed from me.  he never woke me.  he hadn't even pulled the covers up over me for the night. 

i hid my disappointment, shoved it waaay down deep, as we boarded the plane to return home to our 'new' life as Man & Wife without consummating my marriage to the Doc.  i unpacked the hundreds of dollars of lingerie i selected for him, and placed it gently back into the tissue paper, and shoved it to the back of a drawer.  i smiled for my family and for his as we went through picture after picture of us doing everything but actually making love.  i tried to nurse my self esteem, and tell myself that we were 'not your average couple', and that we would find our groove again.  i tried not to wonder why our nuptials prompted such a change in his motivations toward me sexually, for we had a very healthy sex life prior.

i woke up each morning, and i tried to squash the little voice in the back of my head that kept whispering to me that i had just made the biggest mistake of my life by trusting my heart to this boychild that stood next to me.  it was more than two months later that we finally consummated our marriage.  soon thereafter, my previously healthy husband, sexually vigorous and fun in bed, began to have problems prolonging his climax, and he stopped even trying to satisfy me at all...

post script.  when i embarked upon my divorce, upon hearing this story, my lawyers wanted to know if my husband could be gay...as metrosexual and obsessed with his appearance as he was, i had never once really considered it possible, mainly because we had never had a problem connecting sexually, and in fact knew how to satisfy each other rather well.  it can be quite disorienting when a stranger holds a mirror up to your life, and you suddenly see something in a totally different light.  the more i considered it, the more it seemed a credible theory, though it is one that warrants its very own post, and therefore, you'll have to wait to hear all about the emotionally closeted Doc...

socially accepted prostitution...

i gave You my heart, very purely and truly from the moment i committed to You way back in 1995. i never cheated on You, i loved You, adored You, lusted after You, made sure You knew it all the time...Your first blow was choosing to bring a girl home that summer night when i had to work, march her right past Your parents and up to Your room, so that You could 'listen to music'. You and i 'listened to music' all the time up in Your room, didn't we? 

i know that i should have walked then, but i didn't. and how was my love and adoration returned to me? You joined volleyball, and then began fucking around with a skank on Your team, so much so that i had to come out to see it for myself, and after four long island iced teas, You watched me drive myself home to lancaster from angola. what a gooood and caring boyfriend You were, Jxxxxx Kxxxxxx...

Jxxxxx, even if You didn't ever touch a single one of the handfuls of girls that You have associated with outside of our marriage, it was the ILLUSION OF IMPROPRIETY on Your part that crushed me. You failed. You failed to make me see or feel Your love. Your only demonstrations of love from the very beginning were monetary and material. do You recall that first christmas? You went way overboard, and You set the tone for the rest of our lives together. it taught me that well, if i couldn't have a real act of Your love, at least You would buy me something...You created a brat in me, the way Your parents and family made a brat out of You.

see? what i have never, ever heard from You is a truly genuine apology, one that reflects that You took me and my heart and You crushed them both from the very beginning, unprovoked. no one around You knows that...how You are an attention whore so badly that You will break commitments and vows and crush people who love You deeply, just so that You can get the fix You need from someone in the moment You need it. it happened again and again, and each time, You had a choice: You could have said no, i have made a commitment to someone; or, if You did not want to be with me, and You were unhappy and just wanted out, You again had a choice to buck up like a MAN and just tell me so that we could part and go be happy. instead, You let it drag out for fifteen years. 

do you know why i really asked for the open marriage? it was not just because Your limp dick became useless after only two minutes in the bedroom...it was because i wanted to know that You would fight for me, that i was worth THAT much to You. You don't believe this, i know, but if You had simply looked at me from across that dining room table that evening when we discussed it, and said, 'i love you, you're my wife, and there is no way i'm going to let you go be someone else's...i will do my part to make you happy.' it really would have been that simple -- all of our lives together -- all i needed to see was that i was cherished and loved above all else in Your life, like i was supposed to be. i would have never moved away when i did. and as for my final infidelities to You, they were absolutely retaliatory for Your treatment of me. i'm no whore...but i am human, and i deserved to be loved and touched and satisfied just like You. You reduced our marriage to prostitution -- every single time we tried to make love, You came in less than two minutes. DOZENS of times. it was as though You were pissed and resentful that You were 'footing the bill', and You felt like i owed You something. whether it was Your sentiment or not, it is exactly how it was perceived. i didn't emasculate You...You did it to Yourself. You have to be a man with a spine and a set of balls before someone can take it from You...You never grew up and got out of that sick bed, Kxxxxxx, and i was tired of waiting for You to come join me so we could enjoy our life as Man and Wife.

i guess i am starting to realize that You -- pathetic and childlike and spineless as You are -- were my first Dominant.  my self imposed inertia in our relationship was my tacit allowance of Your horrendous treatment of me for so many years, especially in the beginning, and long before i went seeking something like that out for myself...

allow me to catch y'all up...

        for those of you readers who find yourselves still here, and who might be interested, allow me to sketch the big picture...perhaps it might make you decide to return to hear more of the story.  perhaps not, that's okay too.  my only objective here is to work out my shit...if He should happen to suffer some humiliation because of it, then so be it.

        i'm a pretty average gal...i'm smart, i'm ambitious, i'm bold (and sometimes stupidly so).  i like to believe that i am a good person who does good in this world, someone who is honest and who has integrity.  i'm the eldest of three, having grown up in western new york, in what we like to call the Polish Ghetto.  my parents are blue collar, hard working folk, who taught me likewise to work hard for what i want in this world.  i was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth by any means, but i am also wise enough to know that despite my parent's occasional financial struggle, i was a fortunate kid.  i went to catholic grammar schools, and then graduated top of my class from a private, catholic girls academy.  i was a popular kid and teenager, who worked hard at studying, was active in a ton of extra curriculars,  and taught dancing.  i was a leader, a bright and talented girl.

        my parents began telling me from a very early age that they chose my name because they thought it would look good emblazoned upon a door one day, with an M.D. after it.  studying medicine to become a doctor was not something that came inherently from within me, it was instead an aspiration that had been implanted in my brain from birth.  and, because good grades were a non negotiable expectation, it was natural for me to be pushed to excel in math and science.  everyone around me wanted it, and expected it, and so it was.  i didn't know that i had another choice, because in reality, i did not.  what i wanted, was to become an architect.  i spent countless hours holed up alone in my room sketching buildings and drawing out floor plans.  i rearranged furniture and 'redecorated' constantly.  my talents and my own personal joy have always come from design.  no one around me wanted to acknowledge or hear that.  i got a full scholarship to the college my parents expected me to attend, and because that institution didn't teach any drafting or design, medicine was to be my future.  it was settled.  no financial aid would be signed for me for any other institution, and since i still lived under my parents' thumb in their home, there was no discussing it further.

        my ex husband is a pretty average boy too...smart, ambitious, gifted at athletics, gentle, and well liked by almost everyone who knows him.  the eldest son of two children, he was born into a pretty comfortable and fortunate existence.  for instance, i met his housekeeper before i ever met his mother.  his father is a lawyer, his mother, a teacher by training who was able to stay home and raise her children from their birth until they were adults.  he was a popular product of suburban public schooling until we met on our first day of classes at the private catholic college we both attended.  when i met him, he was one month post kidney transplant.  he had found out that both his kidneys were dead while still in high school, and he was lucky enough to be very well matched to his mother, so she became his donor.  when i met him, he was barely out of the woods.  he was bloated from steroids and anti-rejection meds, and he was still having to be admitted from time to time for infections.  we were introduced by a mutual friend, a girl with whom i went to high school.  we happened to be on the same track, with the same class schedule and syllabus.  he was unlike anyone i had met at that point in my life.  i remember observing him, and thinking that he was not at all my type.  i like bad boys -- not douche bags -- but bad boys with good hearts.  there was nothing about my ex husband that thrilled me, there were no nerves around him, no girly heart fluttering...at first.  our friendship was inevitable, as i often collected school work for him from professors when he was too ill to be in class.

        when i met my ex husband, i was in the process of losing my first love, a profoundly good and healthy relationship for a couple of kids who inevitably were not meant to be.  falling for my husband was not expected, was not planned, and was more a surprise than anything.  he was a good guy, to be sure, and on some level, his 'normalness' intrigued me. he had the kind of life that i would watch on family sitcoms as a kid and long for, because my home life was a constant pressure cooker of anger and misdirected emotion.  his parents loved him and they let him know at every turn...people seemed to talk to him and about him with this hushed tone, as if just saying his name would make him pop like a bubble  into thin air.  now again, let me remind you:  the only thing extraordinary about this kid was the fact that he was struggling to recover from an organ transplant.  if i had walked past this guy on campus, or at the mall, or seen him in a bar, he would not have even registered on my radar.  he was just there, in front of me, every day.  and every day, i watched the people around him raise him up on this pedestal..."oh, how brave he is!"..."oh, how smart he is, and he isn't even able to make it to class."  and that was really nothing compared to how his family treated him...golden child of the family, much to the pouty chagrin of his little sister.

    fast forward eight years, we are engaged and graduating from the same medical school class.  psychiatry and child psychiatry for me, pediatrics for him. that fast forward is brimming with moments that were red flags to me, screaming at me to stop the roller coaster and exit the ride, but i heartily ignored them.  why wouldn't i?  i had just become a doctor, i was about to marry a doctor, and we were going to live happily ever after.  it wasn't only our own delusion, it was shared and fed by everyone around us.  no one ever noticed the times he had emotionally beat me into a self loathing lump of fat, questioning what must have been going on in my personal life to warrant such an unhealthy disposition.  no one ever spoke up when they watched him behaving overly affectionate and inappropriate with other women.  his own mother watched him waltz a girl up to his room one summer night when i had to work late (something i unfortunately had to do so i could pay for books and lab fees for school) and couldn't come hang out with him.  it was the first of his infidelities that i know about because he told me it happened.  let me repeat that: he told me it happened.

        at this point, if you're still reading, you might be chastising me by now, thinking me such a foolish girl for persisting in such an obviously disrespectful and ill fated relationship for another fifteen years, and you are totally fucking right to do so.  i'll take that judgement, because it is one i've passed upon myself a hundred times already.  i suppose that this is exactly why i'm conducting this exercise, spewing all of this crazy out onto the page.  i need to understand, even at a cellular level, why i allowed this.  this blog is not entirely dedicated to besmirching and condemning my ex husband, no.  i mean, he absolutely deserves it, because he fucked me out of my second, and chosen, career of architecture (literally - he fucked one of my classmates repeatedly, knowing that it would cause me to want to leave the program, and he was right), and he fucked his way into another doctor's home, just around the corner from the beautiful home we shared and were restoring, picking his life back up as if nothing happened.  humiliating?  you bet it is.  but it is okay...i think of all the misery he put me through, all the hurt he caused, all the nastiness and childish bullshit that i had to suffer unprovoked on a daily basis at his hand, and i KNOW that she too will get to enjoy the real Him, if she hasn't already.

        and what do i get?  well, i lost over 60 pounds...i became a devout yogi with a body i can make do things i never thought i would.  i get to run my own business in peace, and finally pursue the career goals that are important to me without his jealous bullshit.  i get to cuddle my adorable dog each night, the one we raised from a 6 week old puppy -- he gets to cuddle his homely new wife, who literally had to waddle through the hallways of the college we all attended together, and who still does.  i get to smile every two weeks, knowing how much it killed him to have to transfer that alimony payment to my account.  i get to be free of his narrow minded, oppressive parents and family.  i get to go to sleep at night knowing that my life is finally my own now, and i can do with it what i wish, while he stagnates in his job, wiping noses and cleaning up puke and shit.  i'm not going to be able to rest my head or heart until i feel like i got my side out, because for so damn long i was without a voice, and i'm tired of being the only villain.  

        keep reading folks, because it's going to get juicier, promise.

you know i'm just a little souvenir

click to hear

One of these days you know
You'll cry for me for sure
For those little eyes you have seen so many times I swear you will cry
And one of these days you'll see
the long head that belongs to me
Oh young boy don't shed no tears
You know i'm just a little souvenir

And so, All that fascination, all that fascinattion baby
All that fascination, all that, all ..

Cold eyes green and blue
Baby I remember you
As sweet as your kiss can be
You know my heart belongs to me
And yes I know that you're longing for
A dream, un petit trésor
But one of these days you'll learn
That no one can be your own

All that fascination, all that fascinattion baby
All that fascination, all that, all ..

Oh I will run a million miles

I will run away from you and I
I will run away from all this pain
You know all this hate

All that fascination, all that fascinattion baby
All that fascination, all that,
You got to, you got to give it up now
You got to, you got to...

All this passion will fade away this time
All this passion will fade away one time
All this passion will fade away this time...