The Nanny Chronicles

Another one bites the dust...

It wasn't bad enough that our boy Ben lost his freakin mind and started banging the Nanny, but now reports have surfaced that Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale's marriage may have been doomed over the suspision that Rossdale cheated with....THE NANNY. 

WTF? 

What gives? Do all these successful men have mommy issues? Or do all men have issues? Mom's hire nannies-especially working moms-so that they can contribute to the family financially, and socially so that they can have a life that is not centered around the kids. Moms need to feel good about themselves, and a good mom takes care of family first but then takes care of herself. When mama's happy, everybody is happy and a working mom needs both family and career to work cohesively to achieve domestic harmony. 

The nanny is key to the cohesiveness of those two worlds. But in today's crazy, sexed up, messed up world, do moms now need to worry about what goes on at home-with the nanny and her spouse-while she is working? So it would seem that any woman in her right mind would hire only Mrs. Doubtfire doppelgangers. Knowing what we now know, what are the options? 

Look, my kids are out of the nest and their "nanny" is still at my home 2 days a week taking care of household business. She has been with my family for 10 years and she's 28. AND did I mention that she looks like a Brazillian J LO? Am I worried? I wouldn't be human if I didn't let sinister thoughts creep into my head. Top that off with the fact that I was once married to a serial cheater and got my world rocked by the shit that he did. But I decided a long time ago that in order for me to live happily and not be completely devastated by a man and his extracirrucular activities, I have to love me more. Simple, I love me more and in the best case scenario he loves me more too. 

I don't know if simply loving yourself more is the answer, but it's a start. 

That and finding the agency that only employs women nanny's over the age of 75. 

On Love And Loss

It's come my attention lately that I have issues....

I know what you're thinking. Candy? Issues? Yes, (lol) Candy has issues. Shocker, right? Some of these I didn't realize I had until I was put into a situation that triggered a response I didn't feel comfortable with. The issues I talk about have to do with love and loss and I admit to having had my fair share of both. I truly believe you can't have one without the other, so the smart ones calculate risk vs reward when entering into love.

Was I smart? Was I stupid? Looking back I think I was both. But I now know that I got "snookered" by deception. Where was the integrity? I now know there was none. Where was the trust? That went out the door with the lies and the rest remain blurry and fuzzy...like the memories of that love I repress. Truth? Are you kidding me? Truth is for the strong who have the integrity to trust in themselves. As I said before the deception in my life had none of those.

I was lucky though...
I found love again. It restored my faith in truth, integrity and trust and it feels great! But I now know that deception lays in wait for me, lurking in the dark alleys of my soul, ready to pounce when I am most vulnerable. I'm mot afraid though because the love I found is bountiful! This love has restored my faith in myself and this love will never leave me. How do I know? Because this is my love.

I love me more.

And that's the best love of all.

You Can Insert "X-Husband" Too, Ya Know.

My ex-wife started taking flying lessons about the time our divorce started and she got her license shortly before our divorce was final, later that same year. Yesterday afternoon, she narrowly escaped injury in the aircraft she was piloting when she was forced to make an emergency landing in Southern Tennessee because of bad weather. Thank God our kids were with me this weekend. The NTSB issued a preliminary report, citing pilot error: Judy was flying a single engine aircraft in IFR (instrument flight rating) conditions while only having obtained a VFR (visual flight rating) rating.  The absence of a post-crash fire was likely due to insufficient fuel on board. No one on the ground was injured. The photograph below was taken at the scene and shows the extent of damage to her aircraft. She was very lucky.

 Happy Belated Halloween!!!

The Epilogue

Now that I've had some time to reflect on this tale and go back in time, I thought I'd wrap things up with the "where are they now" part of the story. Upon closer reflection, I realized that out of the 7 other people in this story, I no longer have a relationship with 5 of them.

K and J, my dear college friends, are still my dear friends. K and I went to undergrad together and we always had each other's backs. That night just solidified it. He caught the garter at my first wedding, and we spent a lot of time hanging out in college. We've seen the years come and go and through those years, done some crazy, fun things. His wife J, has always been my friend, but more recently she has become part of my inner circle. K and J are my peeps and I hope I never have to go through life without their friendship.

L and A, my dear local friends, are a little more complicated. Both Russian Americans, we became acquainted when our children went to the same Montessori school when they were little. Land A were never at a loss for money, ever. They were the kind of people that didn't hear the word "no" a lot and if they did, they didn't like it. We somehow became pretty close; probably because I established my boundaries early on and I think they respected that. We experienced a lot together. L and A's marriage disintegrated at precisely the same time that mine did, and talk about crazy? L and I experienced some crazy shit at the hands of our Ex Asses during the first few years. Let's just say that BOTH our boys were never really on the up and up. For all the madness, I always had a soft spot for A (and not in a sexual way) Around me, he was kind of a gentle giant. I got to know his soft side; the father who adored his children, the intelligent side (he was a successful man and had a inventor deep within his soul) and he even showed me his extensive gun collection. It was the first time I had ever seen a real gun up close, much less an AK-47, and they scared the hell out of me.

A was found dead by his girlfriend in 2007 at his summer home on Cape Cod. Police said it was a suicide, but we have our doubts, and that's all I'm going to say about that. L decided in July 2010, just before my wedding, that she no longer wanted to be my friend. We were at the Foxwoods Casino in CT celebrating my bachelorette party with several of my friends and family members. I spent the last hours of our time there with L and another friend in their hotel room, ordering room service and giggling till 3am. The next day she decided to text me to tell me that she wouldn't be coming to my wedding "after the way I had treated her that night". I was floored.. Something tells me that the date of my wedding was too inconvenient for her scheduled trip to Moscow, so she must have decided to pick a fight with me, get out of the wedding, then work it out when she came back. Her plan had one fatal flaw; she picked the wrong girl to do that to. Forgiveness is not my strong suit. What I realize now is that she did me a big favor.

Which brings me to C and T, ah yes, my neighbors who we had become very close to who were at the crux of that fateful night. C and T were always pompous. I live in a very monied community, so pompous people are a dime a dozen, and one is only interested in the next if they think you have more money than them. I suspect that is what C and T saw in us. They wanted to impress us with their summer home, their country club, their charity events, their fancy parties and gain access to my inner circle. Thing was, I liked them. They were fun and hip and they had kids the same ages as my kids. We live right down the street from one another, and we spent some time together, good times, but I never rally saw their true colors until that night.

The day after the debacle of the Ex Asses birthday, C came to my house in tears. She apologized profusely and blamed the alcohol (I hate that) and begged me to forgive her telling me she "loved me and hoped that this wouldn't effect our friendship". I don't remember exactly what I said to her, but I forgave her even though I would never forget. I never saw C nor T again, socially. Occasionally, I will see her or him drive by. I always wave and they do too. I heard they are now on to these other, ludicrously rich people in the neighborhood. Good luck to those people cuz they are going to need it. I even heard that my down on his luck, criminal, bad karma Ex Ass has been seen hanging out with them recently, which does not surprise me at all.

Which brings me to my Ex Ass. Oh My, where do I begin?That's a story for a best selling memoir and while it was happening to me, I kept repeating it like a mantra. I will tell you that the story will be written someday soon. It is one heck of a story, too. I like to think of myself as intelligent and smart; someone who has heart and compassion, but all that was called into question in 2005 when he decided he could no longer keep up the charade. It's a lesson in what happens when you believe in love only to find out that what you thought was love was really just lies. And what happens when your carefully constructed house of cards comes tumbling down.

This Phoenix rose, rest assured, and I lived to tell the story.

Part III:The Eye Of The Tiger

This is the third and final installment of the Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never discuss politics in mixed company." As has been previously stated, all of the events described in Part I HERE, Part II HERE, and Part III today, are factual events, and I have the police reports to prove it. If you missed any of the trilogy, scroll down to the beginning and get caught up, or click on the links above. You'll need the background for what lies ahead.

"Oh no she didn't," was my first thought. "Ok, maybe I just hallucinated," was my second. Did she really just? Truth is, she did, and the instant my brain recognized her words, my foot spiked the perfect pivot and spun me around to her direction in a flash. Why is it that when evil strikes, its always preceded by a smile? Because when I walked over to Little Miss Jean Jacket, the exorcist I had hours earlier expunged, was now present and flashing a big, wide-ass toothy grin.

"Oh, you said that cuz you think we're old," I quipped sarcastically . "You're hilarious," my blood now coming to a steady, rapid boil. I then got myself good and close to her and I went there. Yup, I went where no man should ever go, and I'm not proud of it. But the Italian/Irish Catholic girl, born and raised in Beantown, not very different from the ones I've shown you in those "Boston girl" videos, reared her racist head and she spoke these fatal words:

"Listen doll, why don't you go back to Thailand or wherever it is you belong and back under the rock from where you came."

She jumped down from the stone wall and stood in front of me and said, "Really?"
My face now so close to hers, I could smell the brand of vodka she had been drinking. (Stoli) Stone faced and calm I replied, "Really..."
For the record, I think what I said was more to sting her quickly, and I admit, it was below the belt, but I don't want/like to think of myself as a racist. Anyway you look at it, what I said was wrong and it set into motion the next set of crazy events.

Little Miss Jean Jacket, clearly insulted, stepped back and sent her tightly clenched fist flying right at my vulnerable left cheek, fast. I got lucky and managed to pull back just far enough to dodge her punch, but as I was pulling back, my left hand grabbed a firm hold on the t-shirt she was wearing under the jean jacket. All is fair in love and war, because as I was dodging her punch, I pulled back further and further, taking her t-shirt with me; ripping it right off her body. I don't remember much else, because at that moment I sort of felt like I held the coveted brass ring in my hand.

I think my Ex-Ass grabbed me and pulled me away and I then saw the guys getting into the melee; both hers and ours. I saw A take a swing at what he thought was Little Miss Jean Jacket's guy, but he ended up hitting Little Miss square in the face, and A is a 6'3, big Russian dude. At this point, the rest of the group had broken the whole thing up and we each went in our separate directions. The six of us quickly continued down Boylston Street, even more incredulous than before at what had just taken place. We could not believe our luck because all night it was consistently bad. Was there a full moon tonite, we wondered? I now couldn't wait for the evening to end and to get the hell out of there and go home. No one was laughing any longer, in fact, I believe we all were in different degrees of shock.

We turned the corner onto Dalton Street and got about half way down, just in front of the multi level parking garage where our cars were parked. All of a sudden from out of nowhere, about 6 screaming Asian youths came running and screaming around the corner. It was like a bad production of West Side Story, and the Jets were clearly gunning straight for us. One of the guys yelled, "Get inside, NOW!!" which was meant for us girls because we were standing just in front of the glass doors to the entrance of the parking garage. J, L and I ran inside the glass doors and watched helplessly as the guys literally fought off the youths in the street. Needless to say there was a hell of a lot of screaming going on.

Now we were in the middle of a raucous street brawl! It turned out, that there were about 5 of them, but those three "f*cking forty year olds" were kicking some serious ass! They were each in the middle of the street, brawling and punching and I saw my Ex Ass punching one in the face and kicking another that was down on the ground.(which I later found out is a felony because in MA the foot is considered a dangerous weapon) J ran out to the middle of the street where her husband K was now on top of an Asian youth, pounding the shit out of him. She was trying to pull him off of the kid, and we then tried to pull her off of him. Quickly, the Jets started to retreat and soon, they all hobbled away, except for the one Ex Ass had kicked in the head. He was still down on the ground.

We ran for the door and took the stairs to the floor where the cars were. So we thought. There was blood and screaming and craziness still going on between us, and for the next few minutes we walked around lost. There was no logic or sanity amongst us at this point. We then heard the sirens. And the thing with the sirens was that they were suddenly getting louder and louder. I can only speak for myself, but I know that my pulse was near triple time it's flutter capacity, so panic was not far off. By some miracle, we arrived at our cars parked side by side and I watched A take a gun (none of us knew he had) out of his holster and stash it in his trunk. (incredibly, he never once pulled that weapon during the events of the evening) We stood together and debated our next move.

We were cognizant enough to realize that the police would be waiting for us down below and because there was no escape, we decided to walk down the stairs and confront our reality. Sure enough, when we got downstairs the flashing red lights were blinding. There were 3 cop cars and one ambulance, blocking the front of the garage and I saw Little Miss, standing in front of the ambulance, in her jean jacket and bra (completely visible) with an ice pack on her face. A few members of the Jets were sitting on the back of the open ambulance, ice packs in hand and bloody bandages, but the one that had been kicked by Ex-Ass was lying on a stretcher.

The police were waiting for us and two cops came directly for us, intent on keeping us a safe distance from our enemy. "You wanna tell us your version what happened here?" the cop said. All of us, now stone cold sober because adrenaline and fighting will do that to you, looked at each other and the Ex-Ass began to talk.( he was always the best liar) I then heard the cop say that this was a racially motivated incident and that the Jets were going to press assault charges on the guys and that Little Miss wanted to press charges on me.. We went forth with the, "she struck first" thing and for the next hour there was a lot of back and forth between the cops that were talking with the Jets and the cops that were talking with us. Finally, they let the Jets go, they then took the kid on the stretcher away in the ambulance and they let us go. They told us they would be contacting us tomorrow about the charges.

Who the hell knows what time it was when I reached my home, but I was never more happy to see my house than that night.

That fateful night.

What we all decided later was that all of that craziness would have NEVER transpired, had the scene with C&T in the restaurant not happened.

We never heard a word about the charges, nor heard from the cops again.

And that, my friends, is why I will NEVER discuss politics in mixed company.

Part II: Me Love You Long Time

This is Part II of a three part Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never
discuss politics in mixed company." As I stated before, the following events are
both true and unbelievable. The further you get into the story, the harder it
will be to believe but trust me, it all happened. You don't want to miss this
one, so to read Part I, scroll town to yesterday or go HERE.

I stood alone at the picnic table, red faced and fuming, as everyone watched T&C slink out of the silent restaurant in shame. Once they were gone, all eyes turned to us, or me rather, as I had just pushed the exorcist that had momentarily invaded my body back down into submission. The volume quickly returned to the restaurant, and I sat down to ponder what the hell had just happened. I think some one of us even said, "What the hell just happened? "but I can't be sure because the adrenaline that was pumping furiously through my veins was drowning out any sounds from inside my head. All I could hear was the steady pace of my quickened pulse.

I was still shaking and so was everyone else. God love him, A grabbed the check immediately and paid it without asking questions and we got the hell outta there as soon as possible. It was spring time in Boston, which meant it was a gorgeous night, but after the events that just took place, no one was ready to go home. We decided to walk up Dalton Street to Boylston Street where there were lots of bars to choose from to try and salvage the evening. While walking, we passed by lots of watering holes until we decided on Abe and Louies, an old gentleman's kind of steak house, complete with dark oak tables and floors and red velvet upholstery seating. The bar at Abe and Louis was, and still is notorious.

We got a table and immediately the hard liquor stated flowing. Now six of us, we could talk of nothing else but the events that had taken place with T&C. Had that really just happened? We did a shot. Did they both just act that way? We did another shot. Did I just act that way in public? We did still more shots. What the heck was that? Shot after shot, the conversation kept trying to make sense out of what had happened. Several hours and several shots later, it didn't matter because we had successfully numbed any of those bad feelings from our bodies. When it was time to rise to go home, we as a group, were now comfortably blurry and grateful to have survived the night.

Little did we know we hadn't seen the half of it.

We leisurely strolled out into the mild evening, the burden clearly lifted and with a new spring in our step. As we walked back to Dalton street, where our cars were parked in the multi level garage next to The Summer Shack, we might have even been laughing; dare I say it, we were clearly enjoying ourselves. We were walking in twos on the sidewalk, and we soon passed the Rattlesnake Bar, another famous Boston watering hole with a much younger crowd. Outside the Rattlesnake sitting up on a stone wall, was a young Asian girl and her guy. They were dressed casually; she in a jean skirt, t-shirt and jean jacket and he in flip flops and ripped jeans.

They were talking really close, almost kissing and to tell you the truth, I hardly noticed them, but J did and she playfully said, as we walked by, "oh go ahead, kiss him." Little Miss Jean jacket didn't find this to be playful or funny at all because she yelled out as we passed by, "Fu*k you! Mind your own business." She then added. "What are you, like fu*kin' forty?"

It was as if the record of the sound track of my life had just audibly screeched to a halt. Her words hit me like some long painted nails down a chalkboard and I stopped dead in my tracks. Any other night, I might have quipped a snarky remark and kept going, but not this night. She picked the wrong night to mess with this group and more specifically me, because I was ready for her.

I'm not proud of what happened next. I'm not even going to try to reason that tensions were already high, so I'll just take responsibility for my actions and tell you that what happened next had to be seen to be believed.

Part 3 Tomorrow: When You're A Jet, You're A Jet All The Way.

Why I Will Never Discuss Politics In Mixed Company: Part 1

Today I'm going to tell you a story.

This story is so legendary that I'm thinking it's going to take three blog posts to complete. The subject matter so unbelievable, that I know you'll be coming back for more over the next few days. What I'm about to tell you is 100 percent true. I may color an outfit or an expletive or not remember the exact words that were used, but the facts are the facts, both true and unbelievable. I couldn't make this shit up.

This story begins 8 years ago in May 2004, back when I was married to an asshole. It was said asshole's birthday, and being the Queen of the birthday celebration that I am, I decided to mark the occasion with a proper celebration. EX-ASS's birthday falls in May and I planned a dinner out with some of our closest friends. I decided to go to a new place in Boston called Kings, which is a bowling alley with a nightclub type atmosphere. You can get drinks while you bowl and listen to music under disco balls and black lights. At the time it was waaaay cool and very busy, so the plan was to have dinner first, directly above at Jasper White's Summer Shack-a great seafood restaurant, then go down to bowl.

I had invited 3 other couples: We will call them:
K&J, very dear college friends:
L&A, very dear local friends and
C&T some new friends with whom we had become VERY close with, who lived in our neighborhood.

I invited all three couples to my home before heading into Boston for margarita's and chips and dip. It was a spectacular warm spring evening and needless to say there were a lot more margarita's going on than chips and dip. I might have even had a heavy hand with the tequila because by the time we got to the Summer Shack, we were all having a grand old time and feeling GREAT. Let me just set the scene: The Summer Shack is one of those celebrity chef restaurants with great food, but the Summer Shack has a casual, beach like atmosphere. The tables are picnic tables with table cloths and benches. Mini tin buckets are on the table tops so you can discard lobster shells and crab legs and bibs are a pre-requisite. The dress code is flip flops, t-shirts and shorts.

We, on the other hand, are all dressed to the nines. My friend L, of L&A, is a Russian and NEVER is dressed down. Casual is a dirty word in her vocabulary. Her winter boots are Christian Louboutin 7inch heels, and that night she was wearing skin tight leather from head to toe. We sat down to eat; girls on one side of the picnic benches and boys across from their spouses on the other side and immediately ordered more margarita's.

The good times were flowing. We were laughing and talking and just when you thought things couldn't get any better, someone brought up the P word. POLITICS. This was right around the time of the Iraq prisoner abuse scandal, and what transpired next is true. Whether you agree with me or not is irrelevant to the story and not something I choose to debate at this time.

These are just the facts:
I was sitting in between J and C, with L on the other side of C. J says something about the Iraq prisoner scandal like:

"You know, we don't really know what motivated the Americans to abuse those Iraqi soldiers," she said. "They could have said things about killing and torturing other American soldiers that possibly provoked the abuse."
To which C responds,"Are you kidding me? What are you a FUC*ING moron?"

The table goes silent.

Now remember, I'm sitting in between the two ladies, on one side of a picnic bench. These ladies don't know each other, having just met for the first time this evening. I could hardly believe what I just heard. As hostess, I calmly say to C, seated on my left.

"Whoa, whoa..no need to name call here, C. Calm down. We are just having a discussion and I believe J is entitled to her opinion."

To which C responds, "What? Are you a FUC*ING moron too."

I think the blood drained form my face as I then looked over at C's husband who launches into a whole, "don't tell me you are a Bush supporter, because if you are than you are a FUC*ING MORON too." J is speechless, and I let this sit for a brief moment, because I think I was in shock, when I see L, looking like a Russian Lolita, get up and walk over to T to ask him to not make a scene and ruin the night. I am now sitting between K and J and K is spewing forth all this bullshit about what a moron J is for saying what she said with her finger pointing in J's direction.

To say I was SHOCKED would be an understatement. With my face contorted into an angry expression I did not recognize, I launch into a tirade on C about how this is a free country and J is entitled to her opinion and who the hell does she think she is. Out of the corner of my eye I see T and L fighting and I hear him say, "you're a FUCKING MORON too. You're all MORONS." And with a wave of his hand he says, "Now get the fu*k outta my face."

Not a good move. At. All.

I snapped. And, like my big brother, I never snap unless provoked but get me there and it ain't going to be pretty.

Just as the table is about to erupt into some kind of ugly, fist-a-cuffs bar brawl, I stand up, completely red faced with steam coming from my ears, and I slam both of my hands down onto the table as hard as I could. The entire restaurant is now silent and all eyes are on me.

I look over at T an C and with my entire body shaking with anger and my mouth scrunched into an evil scowl I say:

"I WANT YOU TO LEAVE." I then added so that there was to be no confusion, at all. "AND I WANT YOU TO LEAVE NOOOOW!"

Not another word was spoken. No one moved, except for T&C who quietly got up from the table and left the restaurant in complete silenced shame with everyone watching.

My heart was racing and everyone was in shock. Including everyone in the restaurant.

Part II tomorrow: Just the tip of the iceberg.

Too Bad The Tux Was Rented

So have you seen this?

Kevin Cotter, a man whose high school sweetheart and wife of 12 years left him in July of 2009, turned his devastation and despair into success. A box salesman from Tuscon Arizona, Cotter, had been with his wife for more than half of his life and had two children with her when she walked out leaving her life and her wedding dress behind in a keepsake box in the closet. She told him to do "whatever he wanted" with the wedding dress and that's exactly what he did.

Cotter and his brother Colin started brainstorming about ways to use the wedding dress. They decided it would make a great grill cover, yoga mat, scarecrow, complete with a Darth Vader helmet and punching bag. Cotter then stared taking pictures and posting them and the wedding dress chronicles on myexwifesweddingdress.com. Instantly a Internet star was born.

People could relate to his pain and by using comedy, this type of therapeutic fun struck a chord with his fans. His ex wife wasn't exactly pleased, but for Cotter his brother reports that while they were taking pictures for the blog he began to see "his first real laugh" since the divorce.

Cotter turned his blog into a book deal and says that the book, "101 Uses for My Ex-Wife's Wedding Dress", is about so much more than using a wedding dress to strain cooked pasta. Along with the hilarious commentary on his ex's dress, he poignantly writes about dealing with devastation of life alone and reflects on divorce, children, life and moving on.

Cotter has moved on. He married a woman he met on match.com in his backyard. “She said earlier in our relationship that if it worked out and one day we were to be married, it would have to be a beach wedding and she would wear a thong bikini,” Cotter said. “She said she would not risk leaving me with any amount of material for a sequel." She didn't though, in the end she wore a dress, and one that I'm sure is under lock and key away from Cotter.

Too bad my ex wore a rented tux. I think it could have made a New York Times best seller.

The Lies That Bind

"Any story sounds true until someone tells the other side and sets the record straight" Proverbs 18:17

Lies.

They mess with your head and your life and when you live with lies, the lines between truth and falsehood become blurred. Somewhere along the way the lie becomes a truth to the one who tells it. It's a commitment both powerful and pathetic and like a drug you need to tell more to keep it going. The truth so terrifying, the lie must be given new life. It is in that commitment that the liar finds solace, comfort and conviction in the lie that is now their reality.

Now it looks like a truth.
Now it sounds like a truth.
So if it looks and sounds like a truth, then it must be the truth. Right?

Wrong.

It's still a lie and a bigger, fatter lie at that, more destructive than a plague as it eats away at your soul.

Don't be fooled by the fool. The fool makes bad choices and continues to tell you lies to save face. Like the sage gypsy once said, "In a previous life the fool gave you up to the enemy to save himself."

Lucky for me, I survived. I am stronger than the enemy, the fool and a lie.

If you digest the deception and believe, you are doomed. It's that simple. Karma is a pit bull and it will come back to bite you. So if you take the bait, knowing all that you know, you are deserving of the destruction. As pathetic as he and living in the wake of the lying destruction. Don't say I didn't warn you. It is here in print.

Good luck.

You will most certainly need it.

You're Fired

I'm feeling a little empowered today, because much like The Donald, I fired everybody.

I fired my lawyer, I fired my ex-ASS-husband and I fired this whole Divorce/custody/support cluster-fu*k (I didn't say it) my life has become lately. I have been free of that cancer/man for over 5 years, yet I still find myself in court paying money to get HIM to pay money. At this point I'm completely upside down and still fighting for principle. Guess what?

I'm done and you're fired.

Hey, deadbeats are people too, right? There was a time, long ago, that he was trying to get me to pay him money. You heard me right, me pay him, but the judge kinda laughed at that one. Ridiculous litigation sometimes brings about those kind of responses in judges. And looking back, that's exactly what I have been doing all this time. Participating in ridiculous litigation.

You're either an active, interested, participating co-parent or you're not. I realize that no matter how much money I spend on trying to make sure he holds up his end of the bargian, a deadbeat's still a deadbeat and history shows that is a fact that is not going to change. So for my children's sake, I fired him and I fired everyone else who was bloodsucking off me in the name of so-called justice.

Yesterday I went in pro se (sans attorney) and it was like taking candy from a baby. I have sat in a probate courtroom duing the last five years and seen hundreds of women go before the judge pro se. I've seen them come in dressed down, dressed up and win and loose for whatever reason and I decided I no longer wanted to participate in this game any longer because it only hurts the children. As long as I am on this earth, my children will be my priority and that's all that really matters. I can't legally bully their father into making them a priority...anymore. I don't need a laywer because the laws are what they are, and I'm not asking for anything more than nothing.

Yesterday was proof of that. I need no law degree to stand before a judge and let him hang himself.

Done.

Fired.

I'll be fine and so will they and that's all that really matters. Because I will make sure.

Judgement Day

Today is judgement day for Ex-Ass bloggers, and to tell you the truth, I feel like hurling.

No time for a post today, sorry. I hope you all have a great weekend and may all of you go into the weekend with a clear conscience and a pure heart.

Peace.

The Crying Game

Men do cry.

They do.

I should know because my EX-ASS cried long and hard to me on the phone yesterday. Truth be told, it was pathetic and uncomfortable. Like the thief who's not at all sorry he stole but so sorry he got caught, the question remains whether or not the crocodile tears are for real or is this just a game? What does it take to make a REAL man cry?
Death? Despair? Loss? A painful break-up? Or in the EX's case, the prospect of jail?

And what does it say about me, if I feel no sympathy for someone who has continuously wronged and hurt both myself and the people I love? I feel mostly pity, and I do feel sorry.
Sorry for my children.

How bad do things have to be in order to reduce yourself to a blabbering fool, in a last ditch effort to manipulate a situation to your advantage? And what if he has cried wolf one too many times and he really is scared? God forbid he does something drastic, would I be the villain for not reading the signs?

No f-ing way.

This is not on my head.

You're man enough to do the crime? Be man enough to do the time.

I feel nothing.
Sorry, I just can't fall for this cancerous charade. Again. Go sell it to someone who's buying. There will be no surprise at the end of this Crying Game.

And for God's sake, quit the blubbering and man up.

Sort Of Wordless Wednesday

Spending three hours in a lawyer's office with the EX today.....makes me want to HURL!

The difference is, after you hurl, you usually feel better.

"If marriage means you fell in love, does divorce mean you climbed out?"

Dear wife:

I'm writing you this letter to tell you that I'm leaving you forever. I've been a good man to you for 7 years & I have nothing to show for it. These last 2 weeks have been hell.

Your boss called to tell me that you quit your job today & that was the last straw. Last week, you came home & didn't even notice I had a new haircut, had cooked your favorite meal & even wore a brand new pair of silk boxers. You ate in 2 minutes, & went straight to sleep after watching all of your soaps.

You don't tell me you love me anymore; you don't want sex or anything that connects us as husband & wife. Either you are cheating on me or you don't love me anymore; whatever the case, I'm gone.

Your EX-Husband

P.S. don't try to find me. Your SISTER & I are moving away to West Virginia together! Have a great life!

Dear Ex-Husband,

Nothing has made my day more than receiving your letter.

=0 A

It's true you & I have been married for 7 years, although a good man is a far cry from what you've been. I watch my soaps so much because they drown out your constant whining & griping. Too bad that doesn't work.

I DID notice when you got a hair cut last week, but the 1st thing that came to mind was 'You look just like a girl!' Since my mother raised me not to say anything if you can't say something nice, I didn't comment. And when you cooked my favorite meal, you must have gotten me confused with MY SISTER, because I stopped eating pork 7 years ago.

About those new silk boxers: I turned away from you because the $49.99 price tag was still on them, & I prayed it was a coincidence that my sister had just borrowed $50 from me that morning. After all of this, I still loved you & felt we could work it out. So when I hit the lotto for 10 million dollars, I quit my job & bought us 2 tickets to Jamaica, but when I got home you were gone. Everything happens for a reason, I guess.

I hope you have the fulfilling life you always wanted. My lawyer said that the letter you wrote ensures you won't get a dime from me. So take care.

Signed,

Your Ex-Wife, Rich As Hell & Free!

P.S. I don't know if I ever told you this, but my sister Carla was born Carl. I hope that's not a problem.

The Ugly Truth

I was raised to never use the word "ugly" when referring to someones looks. I always believed that if I called someone ugly, even in casual conversation, it come back to haunt me like a contagious disease. I'm not saying I've never used the word, because I have, but usually as an adjective to describe someones actions or a situation gone out of control. As a description of someones physical appearance, I would describe them as simply "unattractive" as a matter of reference. Truth is, I really don't see people as "ugly", as the word itself denotes negativity in actions more than physical appearance. The most beautiful people in the world can still be "ugly", as one's actions speak much louder than the perfect shade of lipstick and a genetically gifted hair-do.

I'm ashamed to admit it (but if I can't confess to you people, who can I confess to) but I used "ugly" this weekend as an adjective to describe how someone looks, which immediately renders me the UGLY one. I can't even explain this one away, citing provocation or a nasty encounter, and now I am doomed. There was no scene. Nothing happened to embarrass or hurt anyone, I just stepped up on the "petty stoop" and stood up there for a while to see how it felt.

My daughter had a show on Friday night and the EX-Ass showed up with his new wife and mother-in-law in tow. I was selling refreshments and tickets, (the mothers of the performers all volunteer), and was one of the first people in the line of sight when walking in. My son was with me, selling refreshments, myself and another mother had ticket sales. At the time, I was helping Frack make change for a $20 when I heard the EX complaining about how I was supposed to reserve tickets for him and how "it figures" that I had not done so. The other mother asked me if I had reserved his tickets somewhere else because there was no envelope bearing his name, when I calmly explained that there was no need to reserve tickets for anyone as there were plenty of tickets availiable for purchase. It was then that I smugly smiled and looked up and saw her.

I had only seen his new wife once or twice, at a golf tournament when she was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses and in the car a few times when they have picked up my son. This was the first time I got a good look at her. God help me, you know what I was thinking. Now if we are going to talk about physical appearance, I need to be fair here and set the stage proplerly.
She's a cute package, from a distance (and as I said that's about the closest I ever got to her) She has a pretty blonde, Jenny McCarthy hair style, is in great physical shape and is seven years younger than I. But like most smoke an mirror shows, the smoke had cleared and I was able to get a good look for the first time, face to face.

Let's just say that the tanning booth she has been abusing, is doing the unsightly long blonde facial hair that covered her entire face not a bit of justice. Nor is the leathery appearance of her sun-burned skin that served to highlight her botched veneers (Mave, they looked sort of "black-ish" at the gum-line. why is that?) The look of intimidation on her face told me that my picture has been successfully painted as the Wicked Witch of the West by my EX-Ass, which was confirmed by her mother not ever making eye contact with me. They went into the theatre and I was left with that nasty adjective that I speak of today, running through my head. I am doomed to hell for even thinking it, let alone saying it, but I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of victory.

For a short time the "petty stoop" felt good, but today I feel like I am the only one who can be described as ugly.

Eagles Don't Fly With Crows

My mom always told us that Eagles don't fly with crows.

The logic is simple; kind of like when you lay down with dirty dogs you get fleas. The power of this statement rings true today more than ever. Eagles who fly with crows for longer than they should, will pay for it for a long time to come.

Because Eagles don't fly with crows.

A crow is, after all, a crow. Slick, black, loud and menacing. Always squawking for attention, and can be a cunning companion. The trickster at the carnival, the candy man in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (remember him?) Intriguing and alluring, but dangerous. The strong believe in their fortitude, never forgetting who they are but they are curious.

Eagles don't fly with crows.

The crow is the master of deviance, preying on the Eagle's principles and hiding inside the Eagle's shield of respect. Waiting in the darkness, creating havoc behind the hope of daylight. The Eagle is the moral compass by which flying creatures gage, the crow can only pretend until the jig is up.

Because Eagles don't fly with crows.

The crow is angry because he has been revealed for who he really is. Not an Eagle, but a crow and he is desperate to make things different, fool a new bunch of Eagles, but they know he will never be anything but a crow. And he is tangled in his webs of deception, the dirt of deceit, caked on his black coat.


Yes, Eagles don't fly with crows.


The Eagle is now free to soar and roam the world with opportunities endless, it's contributions valued by other Eagles, it's young safe and strong. The Eagle is content in the mountians and plains of it's habitat. It flies where it belongs, with the other Eagles.

The crow can only watch from a distance.



Eagles don't fly with crows.

The Ex Files

I have a question that I need your valued opinion on.

Emily Post, I'm not, so I figured I'd ask all of you. You guys always give me the best advice anyway, so here goes:

Is it proper etiquette to send your upcoming wedding invitation to your ex-wife's home?

Granted, your two children live in your ex-wife's home and both children make up the entire wedding party. It's pretty much a sure bet-a lock- that both of them will be there. The children are kids-ages 14 and 12, so they are not invited "with guests". The kids will be with him on that entire weekend, so they have no need for time, place, and all the other things a wedding invitation entails.

Now before you go thinking I have "bitter ex-wife syndrome", let me explain. Four years later, we have both effectively moved on and the wedding has been a known fact for quite some time. No surprises. I habor no ill will towards anyone other than Jackass for other reasons far too numerous to mention here. For the sake of the children we manage to be civil-most of the time. Makes us no different than the thousands of other divorced poeple in the world.

When I got the mail and saw the invitation, I found it a bit strange, but at first glance I thought to myself, "OK, they need to respond", but the more I let it marinate in my mind, the more I think this was meant to be a direct slap in my face.

Of course, by giving it life and putting it to words here on The Dandy, I have effectively lit the match and ignited the bonfire that was intended. And Jackass would like nothing better, but sorry to disappoint, I am now curious and I am looking to clarify the grey area here.

What's your opinion/expertise on this matter?