I said to myself, what can I do today to make life better, and what can I do to make sure tomorrow is better than today? That was about as far as my telescope reached, and even then, sometimes it was blurry. So, my decisions may seem rash and my logic may seem crazy, but nobody really explained to me when I was growing up how to survive your new husband suddenly being thrown in prison for over a decade. I didn’t know how the process worked. I just knew I could only help myself right now, and that is what I was trying to do. Oh, and I needed to help my pug. Cause he needed help getting up onto my bed and stuff. Well, while it was my bed anyway. I rented out my master and the furniture to my best friend Ari, so I guess we all had to be flexible. Thank God for her.
When I went to work today, Paula kept looking at me as if she was searching my face for uncontrollable emotions or wounds, as if this nastiness would leave a scar like a Glasgow smile. After showing properties, we went to return phone calls from her home office. I was on the phone with a new client, and H called me 20 times. Obviously, I couldn’t answer it, since it would take me about 10 minutes to navigate all the prison phone system menus and accept the charges. I knew it was the last time he could call me until tomorrow morning, and I had an attorney meeting tomorrow to file for divorce and protect myself from ramifications of Lord knows what else he had done behind my back.
Unfortunately, when I had informed him of my meeting with the divorce attorney earlier in the day, his response was not exuberant, and I could understand why. He told me how he had been nothing but faithful to me while he had been in there, and he hoped I could do the same. Umm, when you were out of jail you screwed around behind my back, but now you are behind bars with nothing but dudes, and so somehow that is considered being faithful? Everyone do a handclap for this. Impressive.
However, as I mentioned, there was no right way to do this. He even started asking me not to sell some of his stuff that he had already told me to sell, as he was hoping to get an appeal or some sort of shock probation thingy. Selling stuff seemed so permanent, and I didn’t like it. But the longer I postponed coming to terms with the circumstances, the harder all of this would be on me, on him, on both of us. So, what was the right thing to do? Where was my fairy jail-mother?
I found out later on, though, that he actually plead guilty, so I kind of think if he goes before the court and says, “Just kidding! Wait… what do you mean no take takebacks? Can we do a tradesy?” that they will probably not respond very well.
At the end of the day, I think he was settling in and looking for a way out, and it’s not that I didn’t want him to find one. I wanted nothing more than for this to go away for him. I don’t wish jail on anyone. But it was not my problem. He got himself there. But, hey, on the bright side, his rent was paid for, his meals were prepared for him, and he even had cable for goodness sakes. Prison is by no means a cake walk, but I did have to survive on the outside without him. My meals weren’t served and my rent wasn’t paid for. Hell, the cable company even expected a check, and that is some bullshit. I’m supposed to pay to watch other people pretend to live inside of a box? I cancelled that shit. Netflix all the way, my people.
Really though, I tried to explain to him that appeals this and motions that may not work, or, if they do work, they’ll take time. I still had to survive in the meantime. Nothing was promised. So, I knew he would prefer me to wait, but he wasn’t the one who was having to live life on the outside without their spouse anymore. With everything he had done, even if he did get out, he would not be welcome here anymore.
Chapter 10:
The Best Way to Get over Someone
Is to Date Pretty Much Anyone Else
I had dreaded the day when I would have to start dating again, but a few weeks after my appointment with the divorce attorney, I found myself doing shots in a Vietnamese restaurant, courtesy of a dark and handsome stranger at the end of the bar. My friend, Paula, was having an excruciatingly hard day, so we went out for some pho and wine. Enter said stranger. He ordered a shot of Fireball that was basically the size of a bottle, and then he ordered shots for us, too. I refused to do Fireball, so we settled on wild cherry Stoli, because we are classy like that. I remember looking at Paula and saying point blank, “I’m going to be wasted after drinking this.” And wasted I was.
He said his name was Jamie, and he was staying at his cousin’s house around the corner. Next thing I know, the guy’s cousin is in front of the restaurant, yelling at Jamie for drinking so much. #awkward. Then, the cousin sat down and started talking to us. To make a long story short, he basically asked if I would like to be his wife and kept staring at me intently. I was wearing my wedding ring at the time, and I’m not sure if he noticed, but he asked if I was single. I said I wasn’t sure, but why not. We got into a discussion about it, and I said I was having my marriage annulled or otherwise ended, which is probably the best choice right now. Obviously, I was completely blindsided by this encounter and felt a little guilty. But why? I guess I was raised with some sort of integrity.
After moving on to the next bar, I asked what kind of music he liked, and he said, “gangster rap.” With stars in my eyes, I could not believe that fate had led me here; gangster rap is also my favorite music, and I use that exact term. I decided at that point that he was okay in my book. I think it was around this time that I removed my wedding ring and put it in my back pocket.
Paula, who does not miss much, said, “You need to slow it down with this guy.”
Me: “I’m not trying to date him, it’s fine.”
Paula: “Then why did you take your ring off?”
Me: Crickets. Shit balls.
He then says, “Do you even know my name?
“Yes,” I slurred, “It’s Jamie!”
He laughed and replied, “That is my cousin’s name. I will text you mine.” This shows how in the game I am. Well, we’ll call him Tom. His name was definitely not Jamie. The next day, he called me and asked if I would like to hang out. I told him to come get me, and he came into my house for a few minutes. Let’s just say that my house was completely trashed from my whirlwind of a week. I was operating at level zero of “trying to impress people.” I’m talking tampon boxes all over the counter, clothes on the floor, my wedding photos on the wall, my ex’s clothes on the floor.
Being the direct person Tom was, he asked whose clothes they were. I said my husband’s. Then, he asked how long he was in jail for, and I said 14 years. Don’t sell drugs. (Just kidding. But really, I said that). At this point, I realized after we got outside that if he was any sort of normal, he would have realized how fucked up my life was and deleted my phone number immediately. But he didn’t. We stayed in touch, had long and exciting text conversations, and went out a few times here and there. So, if you were wondering how it is to date after being in a relationship and marriage for almost a decade, well, it’s pretty awkward. Yet it’s a whole lot easier when you really just don’t care.
Somehow, it was helping me get my head on straight to move forward with my life and do the things I needed to do. I was smiling, laughing, and feeling special for the first time in forever. The past few years with my spouse had been extremely difficult for me, and I guess I had been tortured enough. So, I had decided to let myself have a little fun. I had gotten into too many serious relationships without ever really dating, you know, playing the field. Men do it all the time. I decided I was going to date. I was going to go on dates with pretty much anyone and everyone to see what exactly was out there in the world. And I made no apologies for that. And before you get all “Mom” status on me, don’t worry; I took Ubers, went home alone, and used good judgment.
Chapter 11:
Just When You Think You Have Hit
Rock Bottom, Grab a Shovel
Lately, I had been avoiding calls from my ex. I was sorry for everything that he was going through, but every time I talked to him, it forced me to face the jarring realization that I was in purgatory, not moving forward or backward, stuck in
this middle limbo of life. He wanted me to stay stuck in the past. He would bring up all the good and happy times as if nothing had ever happened. Him being in jail was always “a mistake.” Someone else’s fault. Oh, and he never “actually” cheated on me, he was just talking to a bunch of girls about inappropriate things. Even if that were true (it wasn’t), that was cheating to me. I didn’t like the feeling, and it quite frankly pissed me off. But this time, I decided to answer, and he was in tears. He explained to me that he was now the guru of Jesus as he had fasted for the whole day (which, come on, was me pretty much every day), and that a lot of answers had been placed on his spirit. He told me that he needed to confess EVERYTHING to me. Then, he stated two things:
#1. “I haven’t been the best man over the past 20 years, and I have hurt a lot of people. You don’t deserve this. You are the most amazing woman I have ever known.”
#2. “I did try to cheat on you and that was wrong of me. I am just now realizing it.”
I mean, those were great and all, but he gave me no real tangible information that wasn’t already blatantly clear to me at this point.
“Try to cheat on you.”
“Not the best man.”
Even in his “confession” he couldn’t be 100 percent truthful.
I needed to get out of the house, so it was perfect when my neighbor D invited me out to LA for the night. The city was a 45-minute jaunt for me, and D was nice enough to give me a ride. In the elevator on our way out, for some reason he asked me not to tell our mutual friend Paula that he was driving me up there. So, when she asked what I was up to, I told her that I was driving myself and meeting up with him. I didn’t see why this was such a big deal, but I just wanted to wear my new dress out, so with the stress of everything else going on, I didn’t really care.
We went to Mr. Chow’s, a high-end Chinese restaurant with Warhol artwork hanging on the walls, and met a couple of our other friends there, D’s friend “Sam” and two of his girlfriends. We all started chatting and having some drinks, and one of the girls, who we’ll call Blondie, was sitting in the corner. She kept giving me cunt face from across the table for some reason and didn’t say much to me. Her friend, whom we’ll call “Cassandra,” was quite effervescent and spiritually cool. I really dug her vibe.
The food came, and as D offered me some fried rice that cost somewhere around $55 for a pot, I saw a bug the size of a cockroach crawling across the top. Apparently, it was a June bug, but as I am not an expert in these things, I just knew that it probably wasn’t good. The bright side was that they sent us over a bottle of Veuve on the house, and the waiter poured us all a glass.
D said, “I just want to make a toast, to Danielle being newly single. Honestly, she has really been through some shit. So, here’s to her.” I thought that was very kind, and we all sipped on some liquid sunshine. Suddenly, Blondie in the corner over there leaned forward with her shoulders and pointed one long finger toward us. “I thought you two were a couple?”
“No,” I explained, “He’s my friend and neighbor. But we’re not a couple.”
“Oh, I thought you were together,” Blondie said, yet again.
“No. Not a couple,” I repeated.
“Oh.” She sat back in her chair. Then she proceeded to chat with him across the table, “So D, what is it that you do?”
I laughed to myself, only because I totally saw that one coming, and I was surprised it took her until course number two to dial in on the poor guy. The gentleman next to me, Sam, made good conversation and we chatted a bit. We went to Chateau Marmont after that, and the whole rest of the night Blondie was giving me subliminal digs, probably not even on purpose, just trying to assert her dominance so that D would zero in on her or something. I had been in this situation dozens of times and I really didn’t care, so I just brushed it off.
At one point, D sat next to me at our table and pulled his chew can out. So, I thought, “What the hell. I’m from Wyoming.” He passed it to me, and I put a little bit in. This stuff, if you have never tried it, hits your system pretty much instantly. You go from normal to uncoordinated fast, even though you can still think clearly. Obviously, I was not a chewer or it wouldn’t have had such a strong effect on me, but when in Chateau Marmont, right? Being the amateur I was, I had to excrete my chew spit, and what better place to do it than in my empty vodka soda. I bent the straw in half so it would be easy to recognize, and when I was satisfied with my chew buzz, I discarded it and put a cloth napkin over my chew glass so there would be no mistakes.
D decided to walk around the bar and check things out, so I obliged and went with him. We played a game where we pointed out people and said, “Your team,” which I didn’t really understand because it was his game with his other friend, but it was amusing nonetheless. We returned to the table and Blondie was holding a drink She took a large swig of it, and started gagging. “OH MY GOD! I THINK I JUST DRANK CHEW SPIT! WHO THE FUCK IS CHEWING!” She gagged. “Are you chewing?” Pointing at the man next to her. “Are you chewing?” Pointing to another guy. “D, are you chewing?” Everyone was shaking their heads no. She went through all the men at the table and repeated, “Who the fuck would do that? Who is chewing?!”
I responded, “Wow, yeah, how disgusting, who would do that?” D gave me side eye. Oh, sweet, sweet irony. How karmic. I felt bad, but who drinks from random glasses on a table? I brushed it off that at least it wasn’t a roofie. So, I felt like she won tonight, you know, in a way. D drove us back to our building and deposited me at my door like a perfect gentleman. I had survived thus far. I went to bed with my little pug and dreamed of better days.
The next day, my good friend Josh, who I was doing some work with and really looked up to, invited me over. It was Father’s Day, so Josh’s in-laws came over, they fed me, and we had some laughs. His wife gave me some great advice on how to reset, wipe the slate clean, and said that I should look at the situation as what I have gained instead of what I have lost. It was wonderful. In another way, it was bitterly ironic, as I had been discussing and thinking if I wanted my own family only months before, and now I was single watching someone else’s family celebrate. But it was nice to be around some positivity and laughter.
I drove home that night, and by the time I got home, Paula wasn’t answering my texts anymore. I got a call from D, “What did you tell Paula about last night?” The only thing I could remember telling her was that we didn’t drive together, as he requested. He replied, “Well, I kinda told her that we did drive together, and now she thinks you lied to her. I told her I told you to tell her that, but she’s upset about it I guess.” Great. Now, I have to deal with this drama, too? I put it to bed for the night, but I reached out to Paula the next day. She said she felt like my loyalty was with D and not her, and that she was upset and her feelings were hurt.
I felt like an asshole, but honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about Paula or D. Paula was a grown woman, and where I went and with who was not her business. I had so much going on every day that I really didn’t think it mattered how I got to LA or why anyone would really care, since I was a few years away from 30, single, had just lost my husband, and was completely alone in the world. Apparently, it was the wrong move. I get that. Honestly though, did I not have enough shit going on? Did we really need to do the drama thing? Oh well, not everything was about me in this world. I apologized and assured her that it would not happen again. I can admit when I screw up. Other people still have feelings. It’s just a part of life.
I checked the mail, because I was hoping my divorce paperwork had been returned, and inside was a letter addressed to me from an attorney. My heart literally skipped a beat. “Here it comes,” I thought. I didn’t know what “it” was, but I did know it was most likely not positive, as mail from law firms never tends to be good. I got upstairs as quickly as possible, navigated the small talk that I didn’t want to do on the elevator, and tore it open. Inside:
Dear Danielle, owner of The MDR LLC,
&
nbsp; Your business loan is in default. The new total due is $11,270.00 including your past due amount of $1,270.00. We will attempt to collect, blah blah blah.
Loan information:
Lender: Kabbage something
Borrower: Danielle
Blah Blah.
Signed,
Mr. Attorney
There were a few problems with this. I did not, nor had I ever, owned The MDR LLC. I’d never applied for a loan from Kabbage (or anyone else for that matter), and I sure as shit did not owe anyone $11,270.00. I realized, with zero Sherlock Holmes skills needed, that my husband basically took my social security number, birthdate, and who knows what other information, to get a business loan after he had been denied. I called the attorney immediately and explained the situation. He told me that the money went into an account that was not in my name, and that they did see correspondence with my husband, so it shouldn’t be hard to prove it wasn’t me. Unfortunately, I had to fill out a police report for identity theft and do all this other stuff to clear up this situation. As if I didn’t have enough shit on my plate.
I felt completely out of control in my life, and I didn’t know what the future held anymore. I had literally been working nonstop. I felt like I was skydiving 99 percent of the time without a parachute, and I sometimes had panic attacks. I had lost a substantial amount of weight, my hair was falling out in handfuls (literally), and I had lost my husband and partner in life. I handle stress pretty well, but, apparently, my body does not.
However, nothing, nothing on this earth could have prepared me for the betrayal that I felt when I opened that envelope. After every lie he had told me, basically forgetting to tell me he would be going to prison, denying, covering up, not telling the whole truth, cheating on me, I stood by him the whole time. And this is how he repays me? Using my information to get just another 10 grand to blow on Lord knows what. And he had apparently done it right before he went to prison. ‘Cause who cares at that point, right? Facing 14 years behind bars? May as well go out with a bang and screw over your spouse even more, while you’re at it. Twist the knife.
Divorce, Drinking and Dating Page 7
