The Landscaper Guy, Part 2, and the Female Chandler Bing
Well, the Random-Alley -Walking- Wanna-Be Landscaper Guy called again. See, Not Digging The Landscaper Guy — Part I. I let it ring. Number WITHHELD, no voicemail. The next time he called, approximately three minutes later, I picked up. Immediately he tried to set up a date. I suggested that we talk for a bit. I asked him to tell me about himself. His reply, “What do you want to know? My age? What I do? ” Well, I asked what he did for a living. He replied that he is an iron worker for concrete installations, plus, he volunteered his age. I hadn’t asked.
Then, he did what I really hate. He asked me my age, if “you don’t mind, telling.”
I replied, I thought in a light-hearted manner, “Well, I kinda do mind telling.”
His response, sounding a bit annoyed,
“Why don’t women want to tell that? I told my age. I just want to know if you are older or younger.”
(Lately, I’m always older. sigh). Still, forcing a conversation about age is another pet peeve of mine. Men: if I don’t volunteer my age and especially if I refuse to answer the question, don’t ask again.
Anyway, this is what I learned from the Landscaper Iron Worker Guy:
By “I’m in school” he meant, he’s doing some sort of required periodic training program for his craft, which is putting in rebar (pieces of steel) for concrete installations for large structures like bridges.
He’s in the union. Which pays well, according to him. (I told him I knew the difference between a union and non-union skilled laborer, as I have experience dealing with unions.)
He has two grown kids, living out of the area.
He lives with his elderly grandmother, but that won’t be for long.
Starting next week he’ll be out-of-town all weekends until August 4th.
When I asked what he did for fun, he said he likes to play basketball and baseball, but, because of work, he doesn’t do much other than play Play Station, well really X-Box lately. He said he hasn’t been bowling in a while and he always wanted to go horseback riding. He likes to walk, and is trying to lose a couple of pounds.
Things that bothered me:
*Asking for my age more than once.
*Admitting the video games thing.
*Asking why I’m single — again.
*Telling me (again) that I look good for five kids.
*Saying that someone offered him a phone but he didn’t take it. Not telling me that he is actually going to get a new phone.
*When I asked about the number WITHHELD thing, he said he’d change it but that it is his grandmother’s phone number.
*Pushing me for a face-to-face date after I said I’d like to talk for a bit first.
* Asking for music lessons.
*Saying he has lived in the area for a few years but not seeming to know about anything outside the neighborhood.
* When I talked about working on my house, he asked, “Couldn’t you use having me around to help you with all that?” I joked and asked him, “Where were you last year when I was putting down that heavy flagstone?” He said he was “around.” But it occurred to me that I should have met him before. I don’t remember him speaking to me before or even seeing him around — he must have been in the house playing video games.
* Asking me why I don’t have anyone, whether I’ve had anyone since my husband and I split, and whether I’m just waiting for the perfect man. “What you gotta have a particular kind of man?” His attitude revealed a sense of insecurity, maybe he knew he wasn’t doing well with me.
*Anyone who says that they are busy weekends — all weekends — for a defined length of time — well, it makes me wonder if it’s not a weekend jail situation. I’m suspicious that way.
All in all, sounds like a no-brainer, right? Well, did anyone ever see that Friends episode where Chandler was seeing Rachel’s boss, didn’t like her but at the end of each date still said,
“Well, that was fun, we should do it again sometime. I’ll call you.”?
Chandler had no intention of ever calling Joanna, yet he didn’t know how to end the interaction without saying he would. Well, I’m the female version of that. (Season Three, “The One With The Dollhouse”)
So, even though I don’t want it, I have a phone date with Landscaper Guy next week. I’d call him to tell him that I’m not interested but I don’t have his number, remember? — number WITHHELD. During our conversation I tried to tell him that I wasn’t looking to meet anyone, I was just working in my yard. Sounding a bit defensive, he insisted that neither was he and he wasn’t asking for anything physical. He also asked, “What, you have too many friends?”
Now, if I wanted a new non-physical friendship, it would have to be with someone I found interesting– maybe someone who shared my interests. If I was looking for a physical relationship with or without friendship, I would have to find him attractive — which I don’t (He’s not cute, not ugly — just not offensive — there’s a big difference).
Plus, he’s starting to just piss me off.
Yet still, I, like Chandler Bing, told him he could call me next week.
What the hell????
Just Me With . . . another phone call coming my way. It’ll be the last, I hope.
Clearly Chandler cannot say no to Joanna, as somehow he ends up handcuffed to her chair.
There are no handcuffs in my future with The Landscaping Guy.
See The Landscaper Guy, Part III and a Phone Smarter Than Me
Related, sadly, He Lives With His Mother?
The Landscaper Guy: Not Digging Him — Part 1
The front of my house is on a busy street. The back of my house is on an alley. Not too much privacy. But since purchasing this little fixer home, I’ve been dutifully working on the yard. . Last year with the help of a friend I put down a flagstone patio. I built a fire pit by myself. I put up a split rail fence. This year the plan is to plant something that would give us a sense of privacy. But on this day, I was simply moving buckets of rock mulch from one part of the yard to another.
It was a beautiful day. I was dressed in jeans, T-shirt, baseball cap, work boots, no make-up, glasses on but the lenses had transitioned to dark (so maybe I looked like I had on sunglasses). I wasn’t a beauty queen, wasn’t trying to be.
A man walked by, probably on his way to a nearby bus stop or train. Asked me if I needed help with my landscaping, said he really only does it as a side job, he’s in school right now. No, I say, I usually do it myself. (I was doing it myself, thank you very much.) He said he wouldn’t charge much, that he could plant and mulch for me. Again I say — I do it myself. Of course, I told him if I need him I’ll let him know. (I gotta stop doing that). He asked me if I lived alone, asked me if I was married, if I had a boyfriend, if I was looking. He offered, and I allowed him to, carry my bags of top soil from my car into my yard. Again, a woman doing exterior work, SCREAMS single to men. See The Snowman
Now, if you’ve read my previous posts you know that I am trying to open myself up to meeting new men. But does that mean ANY new man? Must I be indiscriminate?
He spoke fairly well and had all his teeth. (Could my bar BE any lower? Chandler Bing style) He wanted us to hang out, nothing big, maybe dinner or a movie. I said, “Can I think about it?” He wanted a way to contact me. Instead of offering my number, I asked for his number to put into my phone. He said he doesn’t have a cell phone right now, he dropped it in concrete. (This man was exhibiting the classic I don’t have a job giveaways — “I’m in school” “I don’t have a phone right now” and he appeared not to have a car in this suburban area.) Plus, though he spoke well and had a nice smile, he was sweaty, had a scarf on his head, had on a white tee and sweatpants. Since I don’t need a suit guy, his casual appearance is not a deal breaker . . . but his overall mojo was not working for me. Still, I gave him my number.
When he called the next day, he did not identify himself. (Poor phone manners, bad)
“Hey, are you busy?“
“Kinda, who is this?“
“Darren.” He said he wanted to talk, wanted to set up a time when we could get together and get to know each other.
I explained, truthfully, that I was in a store, and had a meeting that afternoon. Also, since I knew I’d be busy with the kids’ concert that night I asked if he could call tomorrow. Plus, I’d just found out that my Ex-husband is getting married again, in a horrible way and I didn’t feel like small talk right then and there with random alley walking landscaper guy. He said he’d call me tomorrow, but wanted to know whether he should call or just come by. (Dude, a call is sufficient.)
“Okay,” I said, “Nice talking to you, good . . . ” — click. He didn’t say goodbye or allow me to finish. (Poor phone manners, again.)
Bottom line: I don’t feel like talking to this guy. Is it because I’m justifiably not feeling him or it is because I’m still avoiding getting out there? Or is it because I was having a weird day, finding out about my Ex’s remarriage and all.
So, here are the red flags for me from Random-Landscaper-Guy-Wanna-Be. Everybody’s flags are different.
1. He lives in my neighborhood.
Frankly it’s not the best neighborhood, not the worst either, depends on the block and the house. He didn’t tell me which house he lives in. Still, he may know people I know or who know my ex’s family, some of whom live nearby, and I’m kinda turned off by going out with random dude. [Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger! — as my kids would say] Plus, what if I do go out with him and it’s not good — I may not want to see him walking behind my house routinely (I had a stalking incident at one time, so I’m a little gun-shy).
2. He had no phone.
Okay, so like most people I’ve lost/broken my cell phone before and had to go without for a couple of days, it happens — but it doesn’t happen for a long period of time. He offered no house phone number. I know, not everyone has one. But he offered no date or time frame in which he’d be getting his phone replaced. The last time I was “phone-less” I told everyone I’m getting my phone on [insert date].
3. When he called, it came up number WITHHELD.
‘Nuf said.
4. When he called, he left no message, just called repeatedly.
Again, ‘Nuf said.
5. “Should I call or just come by.”
And again, ‘Nuf said.
I am seriously regretting giving this guy my number.
But since I don’t really want to go out with anyone anyway, is there anything this guy could have done?
YES!!!!!! If he actually lives “down the street” from me, there was no need for him to close the deal on the phone number right then and there. He could accidentally on purpose run into me later. Like later, when he has a phone. Like later, when he is not so sweaty, like later, when he hasn’t just asked me for work. The point is, it was not a classic Craigslist missed connections kind of thing. He knows where I live and reportedly, lives nearby. Moreover, he could have engaged me in conversation to see if we had anything in common, other than “I look good for five kids” (a pet peeve of mine, though I know it’s meant as a compliment) and “I look too good not to have a boyfriend.” As if not having a man to mulch for me was some sort of enigma he couldn’t comprehend. Again, I know it was meant as a compliment, but it’s all in the delivery. If he’d offered these “compliments,” wished me a nice day and walked away, only to see me another day, marveling how we keep running into each other, well, that would have been better. Still, even with the red flags, I was trying to have a conversation with this guy. I was trying to be open. And trust me, this is not the cabana boy – – romance novel- -six pack having- -strong muscular arms — looking man I could simply enjoy watching mulch in my yard. No sir, no ma’am.
Ugh . . . . . . I’m SO not feeling it now.
So, what to do if he calls? (To be continued, because . . . he did call again).
Just Me With . . . number WITHHELD and possibly on my way to Home Depot to buy some privacy plantings.
See The Landscaping Guy, Part 2 and the Female Chandler Bing
How I Found Out That My Ex-Husband Was Getting Married
We started dating in the tenth grade. See My High School Self, My Vampire Boyfriend. We married after I finished college (he didn’t finish). We eventually had five children, two at a time. We separated years ago, suddenly; it was not mutual, nor my choice. A nasty and prolonged divorce became final in February. So, after more years than I care to mention, my high school sweetheart and I were finally, legally, broken up.
So, it’s Just Me With . . . my five kids in our little fixer (Ex-Hoarders) home. See Piss, Puke, and Porn. I keep a land line there because I have children, not all of whom have cell phones, and it is important to me to have another number, not affected by minutes or power outages or charging status, that I know will work. Like many people, though, my cell phone is the best way to contact me. Just in the last week or so I had told my ex-husband to please call my cell, rather than the house phone, because I don’t always get the messages right away or get up to answer it.
Two nights ago, I got a voicemail on my house phone from my ex-husband asking me to give him a call about dresses for the girls for his “marriage” in June.
Huh, what?
Let’s review, shall we?
My ex-husband had had the kids for an overnight over Mother’s Day weekend. We arranged for him to bring them back early Sunday so that I could spend Mother’s Day with my children. By my standards, Mother’s Day Sunday was a successful day. The kids did not fight much. They even played together outside and took videos of each other spinning on a swing. No tears, no drama.
Monday evening my ex-husband took the kids for his scheduled dinner time visit. Afterward, he dropped them off as usual. We settled in for watching a little Dancing With the Stars.
The landline rang. We let it ring. My cell phone did not ring.
I remembered hours later that I had gotten a call and checked messages. I’d received a message from the diving coach. Oops need to return that call, I thought. Next, I heard the message from my Ex-husband, which bears repeating:
“Could you give me a call when you get a chance so we can talk about dresses for the girls for my marriage [in June ]?”
huh (Weird that he didn’t say “wedding” . . . but I digress . . . )
This was Monday night after their Saturday night visit and the redundant Monday dinner. Since the kids had said nothing, I assumed that they did not know, and this was his way of telling me.
I was wrong.
When I returned his call the next day, he told me that he and his girlfriend told the kids on Saturday, the day before Mother’s Day. He added that he was surprised that THEY didn’t tell me when they got home. Let the record reflect that the kids got home — on Mother’s Day.
hmm
So, to recap, summarize and conclude:
My ex-husband dropped the kids home on Mother’s Day assuming that they would inform me that he was getting married. He thought that they would tell me this — ON MOTHER’S DAY! This was his plan. And when that plan failed, he left me a voicemail on a landline I don’t answer and that he had been requested not to use.
Happy Mother’s Day to me!
My wedding? (I don’t even remember how much that cost);
My divorce (oh around $35,000 and counting);
Announcement of the Ex’s Engagement? (PRICELESS!)
There’s really no good way to hear this news, but there are really bad ways to announce it, and this was one of them, well actually two: one failed attempt at getting the kids to tell me on Mother’s Day, and another stealth voice mail message about dresses on a phone I don’t answer.
But kudos to my kids who had enough sense not to rush in with this information on Mother’s Day. None of them said anything (and they don’t usually work well together) yet they must have sensed that Mother’s Day was not the day to tell me — or perhaps they sensed correctly it was not their place to tell me.
Or maybe they thought I already knew?
Regardless, and putting my feelings about the marriage aside, I gotta give props to my kids. And hugs.
Just Me With . . . the best kids ever and a voice mail from my Ex — everything.
Oh, and by the way, he’ll be getting the dresses for the girls.
Postscript: Months later it was one of the kids who told me that the happy couple was expecting.
You know what they say about payback — see “Father’s Day Announcements To My Ex ”
For an earlier insensitive Mother’s Day celebration, see “Worst Mother’s Day Card Ever”
For a more uplifting Mother’s Day tribute, see “To My Best Friend On Mother’s Day”
For a discussion on how I felt about the news, see “How Do I Feel About My Ex-Husband Getting Married”
To My Best Friend on Mother’s Day
Best Friends from “Something Borrowed”
My best friend, my saviour, in many ways. She’s my girl. I really only see her a few times a year though we live close by. But she has my back. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We went to proms together, we were in each other’s weddings. She’s still married, happily. Her husband is a good guy, a physician, so is she. As an OB/GYN, she assists women bringing babies into the world every day. Sadly, she could never get pregnant. Over the years she’s regretted putting her career first and wondered whether if she’d started trying sooner maybe something could have been done. She has felt intense guilt about causing her husband to miss out of being a dad (tests showed it was her, and not him, who caused the infertility). She’s watched her brother marry and have four kids (two by birth, two by adoption), she’s watched her husband’s sisters marry and have children with the assistance of infertility treatments. She’s watched me pop out kids two at a time. But despite medical intervention and years of trying, she never got pregnant, not even once. They decided not to adopt. After years of suffering horribly from fibroids, she finally had a hysterectomy. But damn if this woman isn’t a mother. I’m not talking about how she’s the cool aunt to her nieces and nephews. That’s true, but I’m talking about her being a mother — to me.
When my marriage fell apart,
this woman came to my house at 4am to pick me up off the floor,
this woman had me and my five kids over her house so we would not have to watch my husband move out and served us cookies and pizza while we cried,
this woman recruited her brother so they could both drive to pick me up and bring me and my car back home when I found myself on a hotel room floor, dangerously alone,
this woman never forgets to give me a gift — like a gift card to Victoria’s Secret or Home Depot — so that I can pamper myself when no one else will,
And, to this day, this woman has picked up the tab for the co-pays for my many therapy sessions, which have kept me out of the morgue.
And this woman, knew exactly what to say when my divorce became final.
This woman, who delivers babies all day long, but has no children of her own — is mothering me, someone who is few months older than her (yeah — I’ll give her that, it’s the least I can do — ha ha!).
So Happy Mother’s Day to my Best Friend, who, by the way, is gorgeous!
Just Me With . . . The Best Friend Ever!
See also:
How I Found Out that My Ex-Husband Was Getting Married, a Mother’s Day Thing.
The Snowman
Waiting for Spring, still. It was a rough Winter, as far as precipitation, emotionally, vehicularly (I love making up words sometimes), it was overall kind of blue.
In my part of the world we got a lot of snow this year. Snow means different things to me now that I’m in a much smaller house with no driveway. Not so bad. There’s so much less snow removal, but it is all my responsibility. I can’t always count on my beautiful ( lousy, good-for-nothing children) to help me when it actually needs to be done.
One fine, sunny, cold and clear day after a snow storm, I was out shoveling my front walk. By myself. A truck drove by and with some equipment in the back and slowed down. Then it kept going. I thought, well, this is gonna be some guy asking to do my snow removal for pay. So I wasn’t really surprised when he circled the block, came back and pulled up in front of my house. But I’m not going to pay someone to do my little front walk, though this snow was really heavy. I just got ready to tell him, no, thanks, I got this. But you know? He was pretty cute. Nice eyes. Nice smile. Had a hat on, which can mask a lot, plus, he was sitting in a truck with a big jacket on so height and weight were not clearly apparent, but still . . . As it turned out he didn’t ask me to hire him to shovel my snow. He had pulled over . . . (on a busy street, mind you) . . . just to talk.
huh
I’ve found that nothing screams SINGLE for a woman more than doing exterior work on your house (not gardening). Exterior painting? Clearly this woman has no man. And now . . . shoveling snow? This chick must be single. Still, I was not prepared to be hit on outside my house on a snowy day with a shovel in my hand. Actually I was not prepared to be outside in the snow — NO TISSUES. My nose was running like Kobe Bryant at a Gay Pride Parade (tee hee). But lone pioneer woman that I am, my sleeve and gloves were good enough for the task at hand. That is, until this good-looking guy was trying to talk to me. And I was a — sans makeup, nose running, ugly knit hat and hand-me-down snow pants wearing — hot mess.
Okay, so maybe I didn’t look quite this bad.
He managed to find out from me that I am indeed single, own the home, not a drug user, not a church go-er and my true age (not something I generally share, not even with myself some days). The man has interrogation skills. Or, standing there in the cold, trying to control my snot as traffic was whizzing by, I just didn’t feel like being coy. I found out his age (men always tell you that and of course he’s younger than me), where he works and where he goes to church. I got a little sermon about having faith and that will see me through. Then he tried to get my number. This man kinda liked me. As he already knew where I lived, I didn’t feel like giving out any additional information (aren’t you supposed to get the guy’s number anyway?). So I got his number and name (it was a sexy, French name). He made me promise that I would think about calling. “We could have coffee or something,” he suggested. And he invited me to church.
I did think about calling him. I still do. I figure, I can only get better in his eyes — I wonder how much more smitten he’d be if he saw me without snot, breathing through my nose instead of mouth, and maybe with a little lipstick on and dressed up in maybe — say — shoes — instead of snowboots. But I didn’t call, still freaked out about being single. (Translation: chicken-sh*t) But I have the number, right here in my phone.
Just Me With . . . the digits of a snowman.
Maybe if he had shoveled that heavy snow for me . . . More importantly, maybe this Spring . . . as I resume my exterior painting . . . I’ll be ready . . . for . . . anything.
The Perfect Man — or so I thought.
My Electrical Challenges — or My Heart
I was in the midst of a nasty divorce and remodeling a nasty house. (See Piss, Puke, and Porn). I was learning how to do so many construction type things by myself. I went almost daily to the Home Improvement Store.
Sometimes I bought what I needed.
Sometimes I’d just stare at items and plan my next project.
Sometimes . . . I would just stare.
I had decided I would learn about electrical work (dangerous, I know). My thinking was that carpentry is all good but it requires a fair amount of strength – man strength that I just don’t have, and I’d often need help for those projects anyway, same with plumbing. I was looking to learn how to do things I can do my own damn self. So electrical work– nothing big– more like just being able to trouble shoot and maybe one day being able to replace a receptacle or put in a light fixture — could be a skill I could use by myself. It doesn’t take a whole lot of strength, and it seemed like something about which I could at least try to develop a working knowledge. So I bought a book and was standing in the electrical aisle — you know, just looking.
(As an aside, if you like the work boots kinda guy, it’s fun to look at the home improvement store customers early in the morning during the week if you can get there. Weekends, not so much, unless you want to ogle married guys with their wives and kids in tow.)
Anyway, a nice gentleman working there asked if he could help me. He was okay cute, well-spoken, friendly — impressed when I told him about my projects but not condescending. The conversation turned personal and I found out he was divorced with grown kids (he must have married young), and he owned his home. I told him I was getting divorced too, hence my move to the fixer home (my Hoarders dump).
Ahmed Hassan, Former Host of DIY and HGTV’s “Yard Crashers” I miss him, what were they thinking in replacing him?
I started to think: Well, this is The Perfect Man. Based on his store discount alone I could justify falling for him. Plus — bonus, he actually had skills, electrical skills, construction skills — and a nice smile. This man could teach me things. (I was still mid-divorce nastiness, not dating but trying to be open to it.) I started to fantasize about power tools and having someone to hold the other end of the tape measure. Ahhh “Maybe I should go out with this guy,” I thought. “What can it hurt?” So when he finally got around to asking if he could give me his number (very gentlemanly I thought), I just said, “Sure.” At the time, this was a huge step for me. Though my husband and I had been separated for a while, I did not feel very single yet and was not ready to be “out there.” (Sadly, some of that has not changed.) Anyway, he got some paper, scribbled his name and number and handed it to me.
His name? —- SAME FREAKIN’ NAME AS MY ESTRANGED HUSBAND!!!!
What the . . . ?
I kept his number for a while, but I couldn’t bring myself to call. I knew I’d never be able to say his name. Never. Ever.
My Home Improvement Store Guy Fantasy was over.
Just Me With . . . the digits of a guy with the same name as my husband.
The Snowman — another chance meeting
Online Dating — What am I looking for?
I’m single. I’m free. I should be out there, right? Wrong. I have some real logistical problems in getting out what with all those people I made (the kids). But this post isn’t about that. Even if I could get out of the house, I just tiptoe around dating. Except for my Transitional Man, the only men I’ve dated since my marriage ended have been guys I’ve known since college. I think about branching out. I create online profiles but don’t pay. I don’t have a lot of extra money right now, but it isn’t really about that either. I check out guys’ profiles and get messages but I never respond. Why? Am I afraid of meeting a stranger — is it a safety issue? Nah. I don’t mind talking to strangers. Truth is, I can’t even get through the “What are you looking for?” questions online — let alone in person. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I’m not looking for anything. I know I’m not looking for a husband. I can’t take care of another living thing. I can’t imagine being anybody’s girlfriend. I could go on a date, though, if I had time. But in the meantime . . . I guess I need to be single, free for a bit. Doesn’t hurt to look, though . . heh heh heh.
Wedding Leftovers — What To Do With The Dress?
A married woman tends to keep three major things from her wedding: The Rings, The Dress, The Photo Album. Well, I’m not married anymore. Since there are kids I suppose I have to keep the wedding album. The Rings? Well, I recently sold them. Didn’t get much. Told myself I would buy something for myself — not for the house, not for the family or kids –with whatever I could get for them. It felt empowering. Bought myself an iPod. Now the dress. When I moved to a much smaller home, I didn’t feel like making room for the box that holds my dress. Right now it is at my parents’ house. I couldn’t get a local consignment shop to take the veil so it went to Goodwill. The shoes finally got thrown out. They were stained satin, unwearable. I was only keeping them for sentimental reasons. I’m devoid of sentiment these days, so they are gone. But that danged dress! It’s a little harder to get rid of. I looked good in that dress. I was wed long enough ago that the dress is completely out of style, but it’s not old enough that it could be worn as vintage. Even if it was wearable, I guess I’m just superstitious enough that I wouldn’t want someone I know wearing my wedding dress since the marriage ended in divorce. So what to do with it? Halloween? Perhaps. I keep thinking I’ll have one of those parties for women when you wear a wedding or bridesmaid dress just for fun. Yeah, that’ll happen — not! My daughters want to play with it. Maybe I’ll let them — before I get rid of it. But I think I kinda don’t want to see it, ever again. Donating it to a theatre company? Possible. Burn it in the fire pit I built with my own bare hands in the yard of the house I now own by myself (well, with the bank)? hmmmm. I just don’t know. Seems so wasteful, maybe like the wedding, maybe like the marriage. (yeah yeah I know, I got the kids out of the marriage — but for the kids, though, what a freakin waste) . I looked damn good in that dress— a lifetime ago . . .
Divorced Ladies: What have you done with your wedding gown?
Just Me With . . . a big old white dress.
See Also: Wedding Album, Time to Reduce it, Perhaps by Fire
Facebook Mutual Friend with the Ex’s Girlfriend — Part Two
So if you read my earlier post, “Facebook Mutual Friend With The Ex’s Girlfriend — Part One” you know that sitting at Starbucks I found out for sure that my Transitional Man –the first man I had dated since my separation — who I’d met by a chance encounter on the street, had also dated my Ex-Husband’s Girlfriend.
When I told him he was freaked out. I do believe he stuttered a bit, “Wha Wha What?” This dude is an ambitious, self-assured lawyer. The fact that he was at a loss for words is no less than extraordinary.
“Yes,” I said, “My husband is living with her.”
“Living with her?” He was astonished.
“Yup.” I was still getting used to it.
Now here’s where I tread lightly. I don’t want to bad mouth the Girlfriend . After all, she is not the woman my Ex left me for (that relationship didn’t work out, surprise, surprise) and though she has done some things that have overstepped for sure, I don’t want to use this post as any kind of venting situation. So I will condense and dilute his comments.
Actually, I didn’t ask him anything about her. He just started talking. It felt like he wanted to be my source of information. First he assured me that they had not slept together. (I find that quite hard to believe, he buys his condoms in bulk).
Then he said something very interesting. He said he didn’t think she’d be very “kid friendly.” Next, he made a most caring comment– he said, “It must be so hard to have another person around your kids who you don’t know and you have no control over.” He added, “I guess you end up just having to trust your Ex and that’s gotta be hard.”
God Bless my Transitional Man — he hit the nail right on the head. Then he repeated that the Girlfriend wasn’t the kid type and volunteered some additional information I won’t repeat. It was somewhat worrisome since he described her as not kid friendly and expressed sympathy at my situation.
Hmmm.
In any event, my Transitional Man turned out to be very sensitive and thoughtful. By the way, he has no kids, never married — so this was particularly insightful. I really appreciated that.
Though he may have been exaggerating his stance for my benefit, it was clear that he was not impressed by my Ex’s choice. Again, I’m not going to repeat all the things he said, but after describing The Girlfriend as “harsh” he said,
“I don’t get it. Going from you to her is [a huge step down].” He compared us to two celebrities but in retrospect the comparison was unfair so I won’t repeat that part. But suffice it to say it was comparing someone currently popular to someone who was, at the time, considered villainous. I’ll still take it as a compliment since he had “experience” with both of us.
Just Me With . . . a Smile on My Face.
Postscript. Not only did my Ex marry the Girlfriend, but they have procreated. So much for her not being the kid type . . .
And the Transitional Man has also married and I believe has children. I mean I could check Facebook and find out, but I’m not going there.
Grocery Store Support
I forgot to feed the dogs. Actually, I forgot I didn’t have food for them. My kids are now old enough where I can make a food run if one of the older kids is home and at least one of the younger ones is asleep and/or they aren’t fighting. As I sat in my car at the grocery store parking lot I spotted a recently reacquainted friend of mine. Her husband died a few years ago. She has a son. She struggles with severe depression and like me, she weaned herself off anti-depressants and is trying to manage it all without medication. She looked so alone. She left before I could say hello. Truth is, I didn’t think I felt up to talking; hell, maybe she didn’t either. It was strangely comforting to see her from a distance, though. Once in the store I did talk to a new acquaintance who has recently separated from her unfaithful husband. She has three children. We shared that we weren’t quite getting everything done and felt overwhelmed. More importantly, we both admitted that we are so afraid our children, especially our girls, will make the same mistakes we did — that they won’t know how they should be treated — after all, we didn’t. There it was, our worst fear laid out right by the frozen foods. I think we both teared up a bit (not uncommon for me). It’s good when women can support each other, whenever, however. Still, I can’t remember her name — just one of the many things that slip my mind. I did remember to buy the dog food, though.
Just Me With . . . dog food.
Just Me With . . . 