I thought that you'd want what I want -- Sorry, my dear." ~ Stephen Sondheim's "Send in the Clowns"
My first dance as Mrs. Dipshit was to Tony Bennett's version of "The Way You Look Tonight" and ironically, the first dance I had with someone after I became the ex-Mrs. Dipshit was to the Frank Sinatra version of the same song. But I've always attributed Sinatra's "Send in the Clowns" with being the theme song for my divorce.
Yes, I listen to a lot of Sinatra.
Today is August 3, which for many years has been a source of great happiness for me. This year, not so much. You see, August 3rd is the anniversary of my divorce and today it has been seven years since I legally went from Mrs. Dipshit back to Ms. Mandley.
Seven years is a long time.
I was driving into work this morning listening to Classic Sinatra and pondering this... aspect for lack of a better word of my life. I'm not sure if it's because I've been so down lately or if the fact that my life is soooo stagnant has suddenly blinded me, but my usual joy of "Ding dong, Dipshit's gone!" is missing this year (and yes, that song is to the tune of "Ding, Dong, The Witch Is Dead" and I do usually go around singing it every year since 2006). To the point where I was afraid of opening my mouth when I got to work in fear that I would begin sobbing uncontrollably as it occurred to me that I have never experienced true romantic love, been the object of someone's desire, whatever.
My relationship with Dipshit began over the Internet in 1999 while I was living in Royal Oak and he was stationed in Hawaii. We got to know one another through Instant Messenger, emails, letters and phone calls. He came home twice between the time we met and when he was discharged in August of 2000. His first visit was hot and steamy despite the fact that we were alternating between my mom's and his parents' house. The second visit was an emergency week-long visit when his grandmother died; not very romantic to say the least.
Yet by the time he was discharged from the Marines and returned stateside in August, 2000, his ardor had cooled considerably. Between August and November that year, we had both interviewed for new jobs, landed said jobs, moved to Chicago and moved in with each other.
And by January of 2001, Dipshit was telling me he wanted to see other people.
I was devastated. Thinking back, I realize I wasn't as nearly devastated by his wanting to see other people as much as I was by the fact that I couldn't afford the apartment on my own. While it's both a blessing and a sin, I have this amazing capacity to be completely calm and logical in the face of disaster. And so when I began pointing out what he could have and what I'd keep when he moved out, Dipshit quickly clarified a point for me: he wanted to see other people, but I was not going to be seeing other people.
Yes, you read that correctly.
And yes, I still married him almost two years later. A common thread in my blog is the fact that I have low self-esteem.
Anyways... calm and logic went out the window after that little pronouncement and by the end of the argument, we weren't speaking but Dipshit sure as hell knew if he was going to be seeing other people, I sure as shit was too.
Fate oftentimes comes knocking when we're too busy to notice, and no sooner had we had this argument when a few days later, I came down with a migraine at work that rendered me immobile. To the point where I was actually sent home from work and highly encouraged to get a cab rather than wait it out on public transportation.
Never before and never since have I been in a cab with an attractive young man driving for his uncle's cab company while he went to dental school. And "never have I ever" (before or since) been asked out by a cab driver.
In between waves of nausea, I explained the situation I was in with Dipshit. As he handed me my change, he slipped me his phone number. "I'd like to take you to dinner on Friday. Call me to confirm by Thursday, but if I don't hear from you, I wish you all the best."
I wanted to shout with joy but all things being equal, I was just trying to keep my lunch down before I got to my apartment. I nodded and ran into my building, making it a point to cover my mouth so the cabbie wouldn't think I was repulsed by him. On my run into the bathroom, I dumped my keys, my change and the cabbie's number on the hall table and afterwards, went and crashed in the bedroom.
When I awoke later that evening, Dipshit was home from work. I went into the living room and sat on the couch where I saw the cabbie's phone number on the coffee table. "Whose number is this?" Dipshit asked quietly.
"His name is Nick. I met him today. We're going to dinner on Friday."
Apparently, it had never occurred to Dipshit that I was serious about the fact that if he was dating others, so was I. He decided right then and there he didn't want to see other people any more.
Which, if this were a fairy tale, would be the moment where I conclude with, "... and we lived happily ever after."
But it ain't.
I've never quite pinpointed the exact time he started cheating on me anyways, but I do know it was well before we married in 2002, and it was only about six weeks after the wedding when he picked it back up. He had an affair with one of his clients, and several people he met online. I found pictures of both men and women on his profile on our home computer while he was deployed. I don't even want to tell you what I found when I broke into his email account while he was overseas, but let your imagination wander and runaway for a bit and you'll come pretty close, I'm sure.
So suffice it to say, it was very obvious that while he may have loved me at one point, it certainly was never a passionate, explosive, all-encompassing type of love that becomes a story for the ages.
Which I'm still waiting for.
Maybe it won't be explosive, and I'd be really happy if it weren't obsessive, but I'd like to find love again. My biggest fear in life is never finding someone to love, and who will love me back. And if I do find such a love, will I morph again into the person I think he wants me to be instead of being myself?
Will I turn into a clown?