10086 Sunset Boulevard

I’m not proud of this part of my life, and before I venture back down memory lane to share some of my shameful behavior with you, I should just say that I love Dan.  To love Dan is to accept Dan. Every aspect of him. His brilliance, his charm, his masculinity, his sexuality. The fact that when he focuses on you and you alone, it is an amazingly intense experience. Dan is also an asshole, a hypochondriac, a narcissist and a hell of a lot of work. No one would ever call him “low maintenance.” Everything has to be just right with him. You have to accept that you will be watching what Dan wants to watch, listening to what Dan wants to listen to and doing what Dan wants to do.

Dan is also very ill. He needs someone to understand his illness, understand how it is connected to that brilliant mind, and someone willing to make sacrifices. I think I was that person once, but it became too much for me, and I buckled. Instead of saying “I can’t do this, I need help” I became resentful, trapped, bitter - no longer being of help to either one of us. I started playing dead.

When the interloper appeared, my first thought was maybe she was a Florence Nightingale, maybe she was the person I could no longer be. Dan would get well, flourish, and receive the tender loving care it would take to put him back on his feet. I should be glad of that, shouldn’t I? Even with my broken heart, this thought allowed me some freedom. I had wanted to be free - just not permanently. I just needed a break, but I had to accept if she was indeed that kind of a “Super Woman” then I had been dismissed. No longer wanted nor needed.

Dan would not even give me closure through e-mail, because the new woman wanted all of his attention. Did she? Did she have a clue what that meant? Well, if she wanted it, then she should have it, all of it. Here you go, here’s my life. Choke on it, bitch.

Meanwhile, without a clue of what was really happening, I cyber-stalked them. I went into the Writer’s Forum he frequented, having a pretty good hunch that was where they connected. I knew what his “handle” was in the forum, and by process of elimination, I quickly figured out that she was “irmaladouce”. First I started reading his postings. What I read was devastating to me. After reading one of his “fictional” stories posted in the writer’s forum that detailed their love making I was distraught.

I e-mailed Maeve, informing her of what I had found and telling her how completely destroyed I was. Her response was “Well, you went looking for a good ass kicking and you found one didn’t you?” Yes, I did. Did it stop me? Hell, no. I caused myself a lot more grief, but eventually I began to see another side of things, and started to wonder “what the hell has Dan gotten himself into”?

In trying to piece together the events that lead to their meeting and hooking up, I found a “fictional” piece posted by “irmaladouce”. In the story she writes about his character and then notes that after she had an e-mail session with him she discovered “her panties were wet”. That must have been what pushed him over the edge. Yes, the date corresponded with them getting together. I don’t know any woman who really refers to her underwear as “panties”. I had told Dan this once. It was an obvious lure on her part and he had fallen for it hook, line and stinker.

While processing this new information, I had a pang of guilt. Dan and I had not been active in that area for a very long time. Dan probably had a case of blue balls, if not severe testosterone poisoning. Here was someone letting him know her panties were wet just by e-mail contact. How could he resist? He couldn’t. Dan is a very sexual being and he at least deserved that comfort in life. But for Christ’s sake, what insanity drove him to move a stranger into our home, a stranger so “readily available”?

I had to hope it was worth it, because in her next “fictional” posting she killed off his character and was starting a petition to name a library in his honor. This was no Florence Nightingale. Over the following months I would be able to watch the two of them reap their bad Karma. I didn’t enjoy it that much, but you might. Stay tuned.

Next: Dear Jo

I used to think there was something romantic about the term “Scorned Woman”. It conjured up, in my mind, the image of a beautiful, but tragic heroine who has been unduly wronged. The reality is something entirely different. A dangerous time bomb full of raging hormones, bitter disappointment and shattered dreams. A woman who feels like she has nothing left to lose.When I was scorned by Dan a monster emerged in me. He didn’t just end the relationship by bringing in a new woman, he had to pour salt into the wound while he was at it, flippantly joking about expediting a paycheck by telling his employer that he was “going through a divorce” two days after I had been given the news of the end of our relationship. It was old news to him, he’d already been shacking up with the interloper for a couple of weeks.

He took a certain glee in telling me that in only three days he had changed his brand of cigarettes to a milder one, because it irritated his new girlfriend’s lungs. She smoked a lite brand. As a non smoker, it always irritated me, but I didn’t get that respect from him. Oh, and of course when he described her he put extra emphasis on the word slender. Son of a bitch!

I thought maybe, just maybe, I would get some compassion from the new woman; maybe she would set him straight and tell him that he had to let me come home long enough to collect my belongings and move out, to allow me closure. No such compassion ever came my way. In fact, I was delayed from doing that for three months, because the “girlfriend” wasn’t ready to meet me yet. Not ready to meet me yet? You are living in my home, with my man, sleeping in my bed, but you’re not ready to meet me yet? Bitch! What was wrong with her? Hadn’t he told her I was a large woman with a serious anger problem? Wasn’t she afraid?

I had a glimpse of insanity, a brief period of understanding for those who commit crimes of passion and an unhealthy focus on how much I wanted to see the people involved in this crime suffer. What little sleep I was able to get yielded no relief from my pain, my anger, my hatred. I had terrible dreams, dreams where the new woman paraded around in my extra large pants, easily fitting into one leg while they both collapsed in laughter. Dreams where I stood outside of the house, on the street at night, looking into the candlelit room where they were romancing each other. Occasionally my dreams would give me something nice, like sneaking into “their” bedroom and smearing her side of the sheets with cayenne pepper. I don’t know why I didn’t extend it to his side of the bed, after all, it was my dream. I guess it’s easier to place the anger on someone who is a complete stranger, instead of placing the blame on the deserving party.

Thoughts of revenge ran rampant. From 3000 miles away Maeve, a dear friend, coached me through this period of insanity by way of e-mails. The anger, the betrayal, the jealousy was gnawing the thin thread that was keeping me connected with the real world. Maeve held my hand in cyberspace and stopped me from sliding into the abyss. She “listened” to my many rants and raves, she saw the good, the bad and the very ugly side of her cyber pal. Before sending Dan any of my e-mails, I ran them by Maeve first. She knew when to comfort, when to agree, when to disagree and when to laugh at me. “Are you twelve? You can’t send this, not now. If you still want to ream him a new asshole after you have collected your belongings, then so be it, but not while you still need his co-operation.”

One day Maeve and I were discussing the movie The Interpreter in our usual barrage of daily e-mails. I had read about a “drowning man ritual” that takes place in the movie. The people of the fictitious African town of Matobo have a ritual, whereby if a murder has happened, the victim’s family has the right to witness the murderer being thrown into the water, with his hands tied. It is their choice to either watch the murderer drown and get revenge, or jump in and save him, ending their time of grief and bringing closure to the matter. My friend asked me, referring to Dan and the new woman in his life, “Would you jump in the water”?. “Yes” I said “to hold their heads under”.

I think the three people in this story owe Maeve a debt of gratitude. Without her help through this time, I might be writing you a different version of this story. From a jail cell.

Next: Cyber Stalkings and Wet Panties

(Old knickers, new knickers)

I was missing my anger last night, while trying to get to sleep. I was missing the part of it that got me out of my big knickers. I’m close to my weight loss goal, but I’ve hit a wall and I realize that I don’t have the same energy that helped me shed 34 pounds earlier this year. The energy that anger brings.

When Dan informed me he was having an affair and then moved the woman into our home, before giving me the chance to move out, I was devastated and then angry. He’d been the recipient of my anger for too many years and it’s as if he decided to give me something to really be angry about.

“You’re good and bent out of shape, pissed off like I’ve never seen a woman!”
Denny Davies
The Upside of Anger

I was angry at him now, in ways I never imagined. My anger turned into a fury that kept me awake all hours of the night. I had to do something with that energy and I exercised like crazy, storming down the streets for miles, every time I thought the rage was going to take over. A neighbor, a couple of weeks into my storming episodes, called out to me to tell me how much he admired my dedication to my daily walks. After I informed him that they were based in anger at a cheating spouse and the desire to lose pounds for a possible revenge down the line, I noticed him scurry into his house whenever he saw me approaching after that. I didn’t care - get out of my way, I am so f*cking pissed off! That’s not me, it’s really not me. What in the hell had happened?

Anger and resentment can stop you in your tracks. That’s what I know now. It needs nothing to burn but the air and the life that it swallows and smothers. It’s real, though - the fury, even when it isn’t. It can change you… turn you… mold you and shape you into something you’re not. The only upside to anger, then… is the person you become.
Lavender Wolfmeyer
The Upside of Anger

Working at letting go of my anger was one of the best things I have ever done for myself and consequently, for those around me. I wouldn’t want that kind of energy back in my life. I’m going to have to work on a different kind of motivation to move the last remaining pounds. Hmmm. I just pulled out the only large pair of knickers that remain from 34 pounds ago. Going for a walk now…

Next:  The Scorned Woman

Why 10086 Sunset Boulevard? Because that’s where I am right now, a woman of a certain age, starting over again. Making a return, not a comeback, into the world of the living after a painful end to a long relationship. The movie Sunset Boulevard is a perfect metaphor for so many things in life and Norma Desmond is a cautionary figure for any woman who believes herself a “Goddess” at this age. Better come to terms with being a mere menopausal mortal, or it won’t be pretty.“There’s nothing tragic about being 50 - not unless you try to be 25″ - Joe Gillis, Sunset Boulevard

You never dream that one day your big knickers will be your worst nightmare. Not until you go on a trip and your mate invites another woman into your home, where your big knickers still reside. Trust me, it’s much worse than you might think.

Home was a rented house in the Hollywood Hills in California. Dan, my live in love of over seven years, and I were both in our 40’s and we had recently returned to the area to make a last ditch effort to make a splash in the entertainment world. Dan, is a writer and after a long illness he decided he wanted to return to the Hollywood and make his mark in the entertainment world. I was back and forth between our new home and my parents home during this time, as my father was terminally ill and I needed to be there.

A year after my Dad passed away, I returned to my parents home to be with the family and scatter his ashes. After that deed, I was feeling a bit of peace in my life. I kicked my booze habit several months earlier and I was starting to feel clear about things and happy at long last. That’s when it happened, that’s when I got the “Dear Jo” e-mail. Yup, he dumped via e-mail. Told me he had met someone else and wanted to continue seeing her. Oh the horror of it all! But that was only the beginning, there was so much more yet to come.

Hell knows no fury like that of an OCD woman scorned. - Desperate Housewives

I picked up the phone and called him, hoping it was some kind of a cruel joke, but it wasn’t and worse than that she was in the room while he was doing the dumping. Yes, she was in the room with my big knickers. While he told me what had led to his infidelity “Hit the Road Jack” came on the radio and made them both laugh. Yes, that’s right, in the room with my big knickers they were both laughing while Ray Charles sang “Woah, Woman, oh woman, don’t you treat me so mean, you’re the meanest ol’ woman that I’ve ever seen”. And yes, I had been all that.

I was a large, mean woman, with an anger problem. There it was. I’d let him know with many a snide little remark that I wasn’t happy with him, with his limited earning ability, with our lifestyle, with so many things. I loved him, but I couldn’t stand to be around him and apparently the feeling was mutual.

Now baby, listen baby, don’t-a treat me this-a way
For I’ll be back on my feet some day.
Don’t care if you do ’cause it’s understood
you ain’t got no money you just ain’t no good.

Oh, how I regretted it now. I regretted getting involved with him, I regretted staying in the relationship, but most of all I regretted my behavior. I didn’t think he was paying attention as I went out of my way to be unattractive to him, but he’d noticed all of it, every nasty detail. I had stopped caring about myself and even bought flannel pajamas. I had quit drinking, but I replaced it with sugar. The last six months of our relationship, I had been making love to the goods from the corner bakery. Chocolate cupcakes, large chocolate chip cookies. The bakery kept putting out and I couldn’t get enough. I weighed in at 192 pounds. I, giant angry woman with a heart full of resentment.

What did I do? I did what Diane Keaton did in “Something’s Got to Give”. No, I didn’t write an award winning Broadway play, I mean the crying part. I cried and cried and cried out loud. Then I got pissed off, really and truly pissed off and I started anger walking. I walked and walked and walked. I walked off anger and I walked off pounds and then I started to remember what I wanted to do with my life and so here I am, sitting at 10086 Sunset Boulevard contemplating my return.

I’m ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille.

Next: The Upside of Anger