Mo Livin' Large

"If what you are doing is not moving you towards your goals...

... then it's moving you away from your goals." -- Brian Tracy

I know I’ve been rather quiet lately on my blog, but it’s simply because so much has been happening these past several weeks that I’m lucky I wake up in the morning with my head still attached. You see, I’ve spent the past six years living with my mom. It’s been both a blessing and a curse; I’m incredibly blessed to have a mother who instead of having me pay her rent, encouraged me to pay down my debt which I accomplished last month. I am completely free from debt with the exception of my cell phone bill. On the other hand, as with all children who find themselves living with their parents after major setbacks such as divorce or unemployment, it was a pain in the arse to have someone try to force her laundry habits, her cleaning habits, and all sorts of other stuff I have my own way of doing on me.

Not that living with me has been a treat for my mom either. I have hoarded an entire shelf to myself in the shower. The majority of my wardrobe is in our basement; though in my defense, it’s rather understandable when you take into consideration that our house was built in 1924 and as a result, my closet is a whopping 3’ x 3’. Yes, you read that correctly. And having two cats, one with a complete set of claws, doesn’t help either, I know.

All of this being said, I’m happy, no, giddy to announce that I’M MOVING OUT!

It’s happened so fast, my head is still spinning. I signed my lease on Monday, September 26, and was able to move in on Saturday, October 1. I made my final payment on my 10’ x 15’ storage unit in Chicago and managed to hire a moving company to transport all of my belongings on Sunday, October 2^nd.

It was bittersweet. I miss living in Chicago, and driving along the lakeshore that beautiful Sunday morning made me unbearably disappointed that I wasn’t moving back. It was also a hugely expensive undertaking keeping my storage unit for that length of time, and to have it transported back to Michigan. There were many times over the past six years when I was tempted to call the storage company and just say, “I give up. I give it all up. Have a Storage Wars episode based on my unit, whatever, I’m not paying this anymore.”

But that Sunday morning, when the movers found a white box from St. Julian’s winery filled with photos, every single payment I made these past two years was worth it. As my dad and I started going through the box, the laughter, the tears and the choked laughter made it obvious even to the two non-English speaking movers that something so priceless had been found as to be considered a small miracle.

You have no idea how many temper tantrums and crying jags I had over what condition I’d find my belongings in. Between the weather, whether it was single-digit or triple-digit temperatures, rain  and/or snow blowing in, mice, what have you, for SIX YEARS, I had no idea what we were going to find when we opened that door. To find 95% of my belongings unharmed and in the same condition as I packed it was a blessing. To find a box of pictures of my brother, with nothing but a single Target bag of more pictures on top of it to protect it from the elements, well, that my friends is a reason to Believe.

Six years of being in a storage unit also makes for REALLY dirty stuff, so the moving and unpacking process has been slowed down considerably. But it’s coming together relatively well.

So far, I’ve come across a framed poster that didn’t make it (we packed it with the glass facing the outside of the box), as well as a single wine glass. In the meantime, I managed to break an angel (completely repairable) and a second wine glass (unfixable but quite easily replaced with a six pack from Ikea – and don’t pretend you’ve never bought the Ikea 6-pack of glasses; we all know you have!). My dad has been kind enough to put together two bathroom shelving units, replace my toilet seat, and put on all new door and drawer pulls on my closets, kitchen cabinets, kitchen drawers, and single bathroom cabinet. My mom has lined my kitchen cabinets, spent countless hours shopping with me, and run messenger service between myself and my landlord due to my work hours.

My parents keep smiling along with me as I open up boxes containing my worldly treasures. My stoneware baking pieces from Pampered Chef, my framed Grace Kelly Taittinger poster, and the glassware my bridesmaids gave me at my shower. Pictures of my friends from college, my fluffy cloud-like bed, and toasting flutes from my wedding. I’m debating about the champagne flutes, as my friend Jen can testify. Our text messages transcribed:

Mo: Champagne flutes I used with Dipshit… keep or get rid of?

Jen: Depends…. If you like them and it doesn’t bother you then keep. If it would make you feel better to smash them into little pieces then do that. ;)

Mo: I like the way you think! Smashing sounds good.

I think when I have my “I Moved Outta Sue’s” party, a featured event will be smashing.  Just sayin'.

"Beauty has a lot to do with character." - Kevyn Aucoin

I was poking around on Yahoo's Shine today and came across this article: Do You Change Your Beauty Routine For Men? In it, the Allure Daily Beauty Reporter recalls how she stopped in the midst of getting ready for a date to completely change her make-up look from the one she'd been planning on to one she felt might be more appreciated by the man she was going to see that night. Which of course begs the quesiton: do you change your beauty routine for men?

I have long been the friend many turn to when they have a beauty question. "Have you tried this moisturizer?" or "I need a product that performs this miracle, what do you suggest?" are oftentimes
put in front of me in casual conversation. I have at any given point four or five lip glosses/sticks in my purse, as well as blotting powders, a pencil or two, and even a sharpener. As you can tell from the picture, I'm a huge fan of Bare Naturals and Too Faced cosmetics. Anyway....

When I first met Dipshit (yes, it's another Dipshit-related story), I was going through a phase. I had cut off all my hair, dyed it red (not a good look for me as it turns out), and I decided to embrace my au naturale self. I went through this phase of doing the bare minimum to make myself presentable and for some reason, I was a really frumpy dresser during this time. I moved to Chicago, one of the more chic cities in our wonderful nation, and continued this boneheaded idea until one morning when I was getting ready for work and I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize myself.

Literally, I had no idea who this stranger was. I went to work, asked my boss if I could take a half day, and made an appointment at Marshall Fields to get my hair cut and colored. Before I went into the salon, I stopped at the MAC counter and dropped an easy $300 on myself. And thus my au naturale phase came to a screeching halt and never again have I traveled down that frightening road.

I was loyal to MAC for awhile, and then it was Body Shop. I tried Lancome, Clinique, Revlon, and many others along the way but it wasn't until my girlfriend Brande' told me about BareEscentuals 
that I became loyal to one brand and never strayed again (six years and STILL going strong!). Yet I also find myself drawn to Too Faced cosmetics, though mostly because I love their palettes. Especially the Naked Eye and Natural Eye collections (yes, I own both).

WARNING: I digress for a moment (completely surprising that I'd digress isn't it?).

So I had a date last weekend with a guy by the name of Preston (hilarious blog post to follow). And I wore something that I deemed casual. Now when I say I deemed it casual, what you need to understand here is that I have a tendency to be a notch or two overdressed for an occassion. I mean, hey, I'm the girl who owned two pairs of jeans in college and about four pairs of khakis, two pairs of navy pants, and three pairs of black pants. In short, I rarely wore jeans in college. And I didn't own sweatpants until my late twenties. Yes, I do own sweatshirts, but I'm not going to lie. They're both Ralph Lauren (and one bright orange Mackinac sweatshirt that I can't fit into but still holds sentimental value for me and perhaps Brande' too).

Anyways.... For this date I wore a pair of white flip flops, white capris, and an aqua Talbot's 3/4 length sleeve ballet neckline t-shirt with a white hummingbird on it. My hair was perfectly coiffed, my make up wasn't what I'd wear to the bar but rather what I'd wear to work, and I had on some cute aqua earrings.

He wore flip flops, khaki cargo shorts, and a gray Popeye t-shirt.

So in light of the fact that while I've heard from Preston sporadically since our date (yes, I'm guessing he met someone else whose grass is greener than mine), I've found myself wondering if perhaps I came off as being too high maintenance for him. On the otherhand, this is a guy who is comfortable with eggplant colored furniture in his living room so perhaps not. Either way, I think I may try a look that's a bit more subdued if we should perchance meet up again.

 

"Always be a first-rate version of yourself...

... instead of a second-rate version of somebody else."  ~ Judy Garland

When I was in college, I dreamed of being Carrie Bradshaw before I had ever heard of Candace Bushnell, let alone Carrie Bradshaw herself. I wanted to be a successful writer with a series of love affairs living in the big city. In fact, the only differences between Carrie and I is that I had every intention of using my oven for more than just sweater storage and my big city would be Chicago rather than New York.

By the time I was 25, the only part of that dream to come true was I lived in Chicago. Instead of writing, I was working in an administrative assistant capacity for a Fortune 500 company. Instead of a series of love affairs, I had found the guy I believed to be my Big (yes, it was Dipshit. I did actually love the big cow at one point). Oh... as intended, I was using my oven for more than just sweater storage.

What I hadn't counted on was my personality completely morphing into the woman I thought Dipshit wanted me to be.

That isn't exactly fair to Dipshit, actually. He hadn't asked me to change, nor do I think he really expected me to. Yet I will hold him indirectly responsible for some of these changes which again, may not be entirely fair but hear me out.

He was the first serious relationship I had ever had, and as I mentioned last week, I would've followed him to the most mosquito-invested corner of Asia to own a pig farm I was so into him. This would have been a huge declaration of love for me as I'm widely considered to be an all-you-can-eat mosquito buffet.

Instead, I let him walk all over me. We moved to Chicago in September of 2000 after 16 months of having a long distance relationship (I was in Michigan, he was in Hawaii - it doesn't get to be much bigger than that and still be within the same country). My original intentions had been to live in separate apartments  and finally, finally date like normal couples. But because we'd already discussed marriage, Dipshit and most of our family members all thought it best to live together. And so I caved.

Score one, Dipshit. Mo, zero.

By the time we got married two and a half years later, my self esteem was zip. I think  I was convinced that if he stayed with me, he must love me despite the fact his actions were screaming "I don't love you." I was also of the mind that I couldn't do any better, and Dipshit was a better alternative to being alone. In short, misery loves company.

Some prime examples of Dipshit's actions that I chose to ignore.

• While he was going through four months of National Guard training in Virginia, my sister had a traumatic head injury, to the point where she was in neurological intensive care. It took me three days to hear from him despite the fact he had his cell phone on him, was staying in a hotel, and not only had I left numerous messages but so had his family.
• Before our wedding, I had a horrendous problem with athlete's foot (which is the only communicable disease he gave me, thank God). One night, I wanted to be romantic (read between the lines) and all Dipshit could talk about was my damn feet (and no, he didn't have a foot fetish). After repeatedly telling him he was killing the mood and to please stop, I ended up storming out of the room in tears and sleeping on the couch. He never came and got me.
• Our last Christmas together as he was preparing to go to Iraq, we were at his parents' house Christmas morning. His parents inquired what Dipshit got me for Christmas and before I even said anything, Dipshit responded, "I didn't get her anything. It just wasn't a priority."

Is it any wonder I struggle with self esteem?

The most horrible thing about it though wasn't that I was putting up with this crap. Nor was it the fact that I kept trying to change myself to make him happy. The most horrific part of all was that I didn't even realize what I was doing. I completely lost my sense of self.

I won't lie. Like most women, I have issues with self esteem. Take into consideration that I'm plus size and now multiply those self esteem issues by ten. And so I think in many ways, the fact I went through such a major personality change was in fact a reaction to the environment I was living in. I desperately wanted to be loved and because this man said he loved me, I believed him (but don't ever try to sell me ocean front property in Iowa).

In fact, Dipshit himself knew I had changed. A few months after our wedding it was Valentine's Day. Again, I wanted to be romantic and Dipshit rolled away and said, "I just don't find you attractive anymore." A huge fight ensued (imagine that) but part of the reason Dipshit was no longer attracted to me was because I had zero self confidence. I think one of the most brilliant yet horrendous things I ever said while with Dipshit was, "How on earth do you expect me to have self-confidence when I'm married to a man who never compliments me, never has sex with me, and never puts my needs on the priority list?"

It was the truth. Simply put.

It wasn't until Dipshit and I were well into our separation/divorce that I learned from conversations with both friends and family (and even a romantic interest I had stayed in touch with for many years) of how much I had changed. I wasn't as outgoing, I wasn't as funny, each time they had seen me with Dipshit I had been  nervous or anxious. But most of all, I was bitter. And angry. Sadly, while I was better than I had been, I still hadn't been the me I like to be until recently.

Case in point.... One of my closest friends in the whole wide world sent me a message recently on Facebook (we're in the midst of a communication vacation - nothing permanent). Amongst other things she wrote, "I have been keeping up with your blogs and post and wanted to say that you seem to be more like yourself these days...more like the amazing woman I first became friends with. I hope all is going great for you, or at least on the road to great."

I'm not there yet, B, but I'm definitely traveling down the right road. Much love.

 

"It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves...

 ... and it is not possible to find it elsewhere."  ~ Agnes Repplier

Just a heads up, this is one of those I'm putting myself out there blog posts.

In Friday's post, I wrote "I met a new guy I'm sort of interested in. As suave as I'd love to pretend to be, I'm not and my insecurities regarding my looks came into question. His text message back to me was, 'Well, get over it. :) Every guy likes a girl who likes herself. Cuz if you don't like you how do you expect others to like you.'

First, I'm not going to be able to get through this post without mentioning the new guy a time or two, so I'm going to nickname him Marshall because he's into martial arts.

Now that that's settled....

I've been turning over Marshall's comment in my mind a lot since I received it. I was super impressed that this guy, who's actually closer in age to my sister than he is to me, not only had the balls to call me out whenever my insecurity reared it's ugly head but that he also told me not what I wanted to hear (I won't deny I occasionally go fishing for compliments) but what I needed to hear. And so even if nothing ever materializes between Marshall and me, I will always like and respect him for those two reasons. The second reason I've been turning over Marshall's comment in my mind so much is because I know myself well enough to admit: I'm not my own biggest fan.

Don't get me wrong. There are things I truly like about myself. I think I'm a good writer, I know I'm a great cook (hey, my size should go a long way in proving I can cook), and I love my sense of humor. I'm of above average intelligence (most of the time), quick to grasp new concepts, friendly, and there's no denying I'm outgoing. I could go on about more things I like about myself, but I'll preserve what modesty I have left.

Yet I am sooooo quick to jump to the, "It's not him/her, it's me!" point the minute someone says something I personally deem to be a criticism. Case in point: I had said something to Marshall about maybe getting together one of these days and his response was somewhere along the lines of that he was too busy at this time between work and his martial arts training. I immediately took that to mean he was rejecting me. A very nice interchange followed and that's when Marshall made the remark about how I needed to like myself before anyone else could like me.

But it's sooooo hard. And yes, you can picture me using a whiny junior high voice because hey, I deserve it.

I don't have the greatest self-confidence. In a society where looks are deemed the deciding, determining, all encompassing factor, it's extremely hard for a plus-size woman to have self confidence. When you're raised by two parents who were both very body beautiful focused, having a chubby kid garners a lot of criticism (remember when I mentioned my mom used to tell me I could be so pretty if....?). I felt like a constant disappointment to them despite the fact I got good grades, was well liked by both my teachers and my peers, and played piano well.

And while it's embarrassing to admit, I will admit to a certain level of promiscuity in college and beyond. If a guy I found even remotely attractive showed an interest in me (yes, even Sasquatch was deemed attractive with the help of alcohol), chances were high that I'd embrace my inner wanton and go a lot farther than was healthy in the hopes the boy would want to date me. YES, I completely understand this is self-destructive unhealthy behavior but again, I was in college and therefore, slightly delusional.

When I met Dipshit, I was ripe for the picking. He was my first boyfriend, my first love. He could've promised me a pig farm in the hottest, humid-est, mosquito-infested part of the world and I would've followed him anywhere I was so desperate for someone to love me.

What a crock.

I will one day write a blog, or perhaps a series of them, regarding my relationship with Dipshit. It's too much to cover in this one post but our relationship goes a very long way down the road to my self-worth issues. Suffice it to say, he was someone who consistently chipped away at my self esteem (probably in an effort to get me to break up with him but who knows), cheated on me, and chipped away at my self worth some more.

While we were going through the divorce, I once asked why he didn't want to at least try working on our marriage. He looked me up and down and scornfully declared, "You're just not worth it to me."

And I believed him. Sad to say, but in many ways, I still believe him.

It took me two years after the divorce was final to start dating again. I just wasn't in the right place. And again, I won't deny that once I did start dating again, I may have unleashed my inner wanton a time or two (or acted like a horny slut, whichever you prefer to say). I dated a married guy, and by dating I mean we went to dinner, did the movies a few times, went to bars, slept together, etc.. For two years. He's since divorced his wife and has a new girlfriend after telling me, "You're a good friend, you are, and I enjoy talking with you. I'm just not romantically interested in you."

I've been hit, I've been hit! And no, I won't deny the hit could have come from Karma.

I've made a few other bad mistakes since my divorce (anyone care to take out a hit on Mike for me?). And I've made some  really good mistakes, too (there's a certain guy out there who shares my birth date whom I will always think of when I hear Sheryl Crow's "Favorite Mistake").

But the biggest mistake I'm making is not liking myself. So instead of finding a man who is going to wave his magic wand and try and make me feel better about myself, I'm going to get to know myself better. And while I may not like every aspect of myself (because really? I'm not perfect and I already know that and I'm not going to pretend to be), I really should at the very least like myself.

And Jen, while I realize you've been trying to tell me this all along, it's very different coming from someone whose known you all of two weeks and not thirty-two years. Love you!

And Marshall, thanks.

 

 

 

 

an·noy/əˈnoi/Verb 1. Irritate (someone); make (someone) a little angry: "your cheerfulness annoyed me"; "rock music loud enough to annoy".

I've been a bit crabby this week. Mostly because I'm sunburned and can't sleep because I can't get comfy because I'm sunburned. It's a vicious cycle, I know. So rather than trying to come up with the mental clarity to write stuff, it's going to be a randomized post.

• My family has a cabin on a beautiful inland lake outside of Kalkaska. It's relaxing, it's comfy, but watch out for the coffee mugs. Apparently my grandfather and dad find washing the mugs a bit strenuous and have been simply rinsing them for God only knows how long (Mandi, you wonder why I'm not in a hurry to have you come up. Now you know.)

• Sunburns hurt. And they blister. And if you pop a blister accidentally, you can unwillingly cause your coworker to gag when you have to peel your shirt away from the blister.

• I will always be an all you can eat mosquito buffet.

• One nice thing about sunburns. Any other complexion issues you have on your face are negated and your skin appears "glowing and dewy" when you go to work with no make-up on.

• I find bald guys sexy. No, seriously. I think Rick Harrison on History Channel's Pawn Stars is sexy as hell (bald, smart and funny? Give me some of that!). We were discussing my fetish at lunch yesterday when our creepy IT guy Chester, out of nowhere, asks me, "Naturally bald or manufactured?" Really? I swear if he comes in with his head shaved I'm going to quit my job.

 

• I've been divorced for six years now. A few months ago, my sister ran into Dipshit. She says
  he looks like a catfish now.

• My aunt, my cousin's wife and I all agree that the men in my family all have bird legs.

• I met a new guy I'm sort of interested in. As suave as I'd love to pretend to be, I'm not and my insecurities regarding my looks came into question. His text message back to me was "Well, get over it. :) Every guy likes a girl who likes herself. Cuz if you don't like you how do you expect others to like you." We all know he's right, but even he admits it's so much easier said than done.  
   
  
  
• Finally got around to reading Katherine Stockett's book The Help. LOVED IT! The cadence of  some of the characters took a page or two of getting used to, but the story was well written, held my interest, and didn't wrap up everything nice and neat. Plus, it gives one reason to pause every now and again. Can't wait for the movie! 

• My weight loss project has fallen to the wayside. So much so that I enjoyed not only a Potbelly's Dream Bar with my lunch today, but also a slice of the Chocolate Raspberry Torte I brought to work to celebrate my divorce yesterday. This was on top of the sushi and Baked Potato Soup I had. 

• I inspired so many of my girlfriends with my post about the merit badge book I found for "grown up girls" that we started an adult girl scout troop. Our first meeting is Tuesday!

And that's all the news that's fit to print today.

People pay for what they do, and still more...

... for what they have allowed themselves to become.  And they pay for it simply: by the lives they lead.  ~ Edith Wharton

This is one of my favorite stories of all time.

I had known for quite awhile that my marriage wasn't going to survive, and so I made arrangements to visit a divorce lawyer. Three days before my scheduled appointment, Dipshit walked in the door with orders from the United States Government to go visit Iraq. For 18 months.

Because I was young and dumb and actually cared what other people thought, I decided to wait until after his deployment to file for divorce as I really didn't want to be known as "That Bitch Who Left Her Husband Because He Was Being Deployed" (yes, military wives gossip just as bad as everyone else). I'll also admit I was holding on to a sliver of hope that maybe his deployment would strengthen our relationship.

Yeah, right. He was cheating on me within a week of going to Ft. Knox for briefing.

So after some back and forth, hemming and hawing over the course of six weeks, we finally decided to call it quits. And I was left in our apartment with all of his stuff.

We've all read the email that gets passed around from time to time about the woman who has a huge seafood dinner the night her divorce is final and puts all the shells and fish bones in the curtain rods of the home her now ex-husband will be sharing with his new wife. The old open can of olive-oil-packed tuna in the winter coat pocket trick. Lining the cat litter pan with his shirts and then packing them away (okay, so maybe you haven't heard of that last one but it did cross my mind a time or two). But I didn't do any of that. I decided to take the high road and pack everything nice and neat into boxes that I left, unopened, in an unused hallway of our apartment. All of his clothes, CDs, DVDs, books, and even holiday decorations sat unused, untouched in the hallway until Dipshit's return 18 months later. I also paid off our computer, my engagement ring, two joint credit accounts, AND paid down three of HIS credit cards from having balances of over $3,000 a piece to under $1,000 each as well as keeping the car and loan payments current.

I'll admit I spent most of the money that would have been left over. After all, Mr. Marshall Field, miLord Taylor, and Ms. Lane Bryant were my therapists of choice.

When Dipshit got back from Iraq, I had held out hope that because I hadn't been a complete and utter bitch during his deployment and wasn't contesting the divorce, we'd at least be able to part on amicable terms.

I'm a strong enough woman to admit: I WAS WRONG.

I kid you not, I still swear to this day that Dipshit had some kind of dry erase board where he was detailing new and demeaning ways to humiliate me. Like when he closed out our bank account without telling me. Now I realize the account needed to be closed eventually. But I hadn't been expecting Dipshit to come home from work one day, toss $300 at me and say, "This is your half of what was left in the bank account. I closed it out today." I had multiple problems with this as:

1. The $600 in there had been from my unemployment check I had deposited the day before.
2. He hadn't used the account in over a year so I didn't feel he was entitled to anything in it.
3. I had already cut and mailed checks to the utility companies using that money.
4. I'd had no advance warning he'd been planning on closing out the account because if I had, I wouldn't have done any of the above.

I may have gone a little ballistic. Perhaps I threatened (and tried to make good on my threat) to break his nose. A lot of yelling and screaming and throwing of things took place, not going to lie. And he laughed. 

There were many other incidents that took place between Dipshit's return from Iraq and my moving out, but that one far and away took the cake (except for the weekend when I was gone and his girlfriend came to visit and stole my boots. Who does that? Really?).

A few weeks later, I came home to find Dipshit packing some of his boxes into his work van.

"Where are you going with that stuff? Did you rent a storage unit?" I asked.

"No."

"Are you moving out?" I began to panic. I'd just had an interview and was hoping to stay in Chicago while I waited to hear if I'd gotten the job or not, but that of course meant I was dependent on Dipshit's sense of honor to stay in my apartment.

"Not yet."

"So what are you doing?"

"Well, let's face it. You're a psycho bitch and I know you're going to ruin my stuff so I'm taking it to Ditzy's." Ditzy is obviously not her real name but really? You're dating a married guy. You deserve to be called Ditzy. 

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"So let me get this straight. You honestly think that I'm going to lash out and destroy your stuff now when I had the entire time you were in Iraq to do it?"

The question caught him off guard and I think even he realized his logic was made up of swiss cheese.

"Whatever."

"Fine. I'll help you with this."

I marched through our courtyard under the watchful eyes of our neighbors who'd been outside enjoying the balmy summer afternoon. Most of them knew what was going on by that point and had been encouraging me to be a bit more vengeful. I went into my apartment, Dipshit not far behind me, and grabbed his toolbox. I turned, went back through the kitchen, and out onto the back porch where I held the door open so Dipshit could carry his drum out. I let the door shut behind him, and then...

... I swung my arm back...

... and let the toolbox sail off the back porch and into the courtyard a half story below. "You honestly think I'm going to help you, you fuckin' bastard?" I yelled.

My neighbors stood up and started applauding. Loud cheers of "You go, girl!" and "Give the asshole what he deserves!" followed. Adrenaline pumping, I spun back into the house, grabbed a guitar that to this day, I have no idea where it came from or what it was doing in our apartment, and was about to let it meet the same fate as the toolbox when Dipshit caught up with me.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that another fight ensued.

Several days later, I was passing through the dining room and saw Dipshit on Amazon buying a Coldplay CD. The same Coldplay CD I'd given him as part of his Christmas present from our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs.. Curious, I had to ask.

"Why are you buying that CD? You already own it."

Incoherent mumbling.

"What?"

Louder but still incoherent mumbling.

"Dipshit, why don't you just open your mouth and use your words!"

"It was stolen."

"When you were in Iraq?"

"No."

"Then when?"

"Monday."

I thought about it. Dipshit's work van had been broken into a few times, but I knew it hadn't been broken into since his return. We hadn't had a break in at our apartment, as I'd obviously have noticed that. I gave up and asked, "Where?"

Huge sigh. Fairly long pause. "Out of Ditzy's car."

"What?"

"I put all my stuff in Ditzy's car and someone broke into it and stole everything while she was in school on Monday."

"So all of your books, CDs, and DVDs, along with your drums and stuff was stolen?"

"Yes."

I cried. I was laughing so hard I cried.

Karma: you gotta love that bitch's sense of humor sometimes. 

 

"Immature love says, 'I love you because I need you'...

... Mature love says, 'I need you because I love you.'" - Erich Fromm.

This topic I began pursuing on Wednesday left me with all kinds of unpublished thoughts rattling around in my head, and my post on Facebook regarding this topic seemed to strike a chord with many of you. So I'll continue.

A friend of mine, Anthony, and I were talking this past weekend about our exes. Anthony had met his second wife within months of his divorce being final, and they married several years later. She became an integral part of his business, which he had started two years prior to their meeting, but she and Anthony grew the business into a profitable and successful venture. Unfortunately, as with many small businesses, they took a substantial hit when the economy began to tank in 2005. Many hard decisions were made, both in their personal and professional lives, but just as the light at the end of the tunnel began burning brightly again, Anthony's wife left. It was later pointed out to Anthony that she had waited until she knew he was at a point where he'd be okay, but still, she left.

At the time Anthony was sharing this with me, a little bell started going off in the back of my head. It seemed to me that what happened with Anthony and his wife was almost like what happened with me. Once she realized Anthony didn't need her anymore, she left. Now I'm sure there are differences between the two situations, but I do have a theory I'd like to put in front of you.

I believe that people who opt to be "needed" in a relationship do so because they themselves could maybe benefit from a few hours (months, years, whatever) of therapy.  I'm not going to pretend I understand what happened with Anthony and his wife. I wasn't there, and there are always two sides to every story. However, I can speak to the situation with my ex and I.

Let me preface this by saying I was twenty-six when I got married and at the time wouldn't believe that my worst day of being single could far outweigh the best day of being with my ex. It was a hard learned lesson.

My ex, whom I'll refer to as Dipshit because that's just easier, had confessed early on in our relationship that a previous girlfriend had accused him of being a compulsive liar.  Reading through many articles about compulsive lying as well as sociopath behavior after our relationship unraveled, yeah.... she was spot on. I also found it ironic that even though I'd begged him for the last two years of our relationship, Dipshit began counseling within days of our divorce being final but suddenly stopped going because "his therapist was a crackpot." My guess is she started holding up a mirror to Dipshit so he could reflect on himself and he didn't like what he saw and took off.

OH WAIT! That's what happened with US! Dipshit realized trying to cast the blame on me for our less than stellar relationship wasn't working anymore because I kept holding the mirror up to him and he ran away. To someone who had trust issues that he could fix. And let me tell you, when your mother-in-law tells you her son would rather be the white knight on the horse fixing my problems rather than face his own dark side, that's saying something.

I think I digressed, so let me summarize what I'm attempting to say: Those people who "need" a relationship have a tendency to take off when they realize they are no longer "needed" (being "wanted" never enters the equation for them) because by staying, it means they would have to turn the mirror on themselves and deal with their own problems. For most people, it is far easier to run and hide (avoid if you will) than face themselves.

In writing my last blog, I've put the wanted vs. needed question to many people, young and old, men and women. The results were a staggering "wanted" and not a single person wanted to be "needed."  :)  I had originally hypothesized a theory that perhaps men who were used to "fixing" things would be more likely to say "needed" but running the question by my two cousins who are engineers and my friend Steve, a social worker, suggests that maybe fixing things on a professional level makes you even less likely to want to be needed.

My new friend Kim had an eloquent response to my Facebook posting (and I hope she forgives me for adding it here):

I say want for sure. In a "need" situation, people end up staying together out of necessity. In a "want" situation, people stay together because they choose to. Any stable, healthy person should prefer the latter over the former, in my opinion. You cannot be complete in a relationship with someone else unless you are first complete within yourself. Otherwise, co-dependency develops...which is a very unhealthy position to be in.

I'll take Kim's response just a tad further and suggest that in "need" situations, the equality and/or balance is always going to be off. One person will always be more likely to go above and beyond for the other to keep the other happy. In my opinion, this is the worst thing that could happen in a relationship in this day and age. We have so many other outside factors weighing us down between the economy and the politics, never mind what's going on outside of our country, that an unbalanced relationship only causes more strain to our already stressful lives.

Again though, I digress and instead will leave you with my cousin Shawn's great response. "I think you want something you can't have and then if you have them and happen to want them, you need them."

Couldn't have said it better myself, cos.  :)