how it all started (a brief summary)

In the mid 90’s I got my first boyfriend.  We met in college, moved in together, and I got a job at a local mom and pop video store (the best kind if you’re a movie buff like I am).   Immediately after starting work there, I became great friends with one of my new coworkers.  After a little while longer, he and I became best friends.  My boyfriend that I was living with, well, lets just say we didn’t have alot in common.  Okay, honestly he was my first.  Yes, the sex “my first”.   And the sex was amazing, and it was what kept us together for 3 years.  And not to make it sound like that’s all he was good for, I don’t regret dating him, I don’t regret the 3 years I spent with him, and I learned alot from him (and NOT just about sex!).  Why am I being so kind about my ex?  Well, I fell in love with the best friend at work while we were still together, but I never cheated.  And I still loved the ex as well.  And what seemed sad at the time, later seemed like great luck!  The ex, well he had fallen back in love with his first love, via the internet and broke up with me.  We’re still friends today, via the internet.

So, after all of that, my coworker best friend and I spent ALL of our time together.  It was so much fun.  We had EVERYTHING in common.  He went on a date one time, I was at my place depressed and miserable, knowing he was probably kissing her, who knows what, and then my doorbell rang, and it was him.  He said he wasn’t having a good time and would rather hang out with me.  I swear I saw little winged naked babies with bows and arrows flying around his head.  So then after a while we were just together, just naturally happened spending all of our time together.  And it was some of the most exciting and fun times of my life.  (And that was just the generic version of the story of how my husband and I met and got together).

On a slightly different topic, one of the disadvantages of living with my amazing and wonderful mom is that she insists I watch “her shows” with her.  And her shows are NOT my kind of shows.  So I must go for now because it’s almost time for Dancing with the Stars… The Results!  But it makes mom happy for me to watch, so I do.

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The calm before the storm

“To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love; but then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love; to be happy then is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy; therefore to be unhappy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you’re getting this down.”

I know it might be bad form to start a blog with a movie quote, but that silly quote from Woody Allen’s “Love and Death” so fittingly goes with everything that’s happened to me over the last two years.  And it’s been painful and humiliating and lots of other icky things, and so why not start my blog the way I’ve gotten through all of the miseries of life, with a little bit of humor.

To try to put it all into as short a story as possible (just for some background), well, I’ll try.  I’m 36 and living with my mom.  Two years ago this Easter, my wonderful and perfect husband, best friend, soul mate, love of my life (you get the idea) told me he didn’t want to be with me.  That he needed to be away from me.

We dated for five years, then were married for 6 when this happened, and he had never shown any signs of anything but perfect happiness with me.  Well, it was all fake.  But I didn’t know it.  So, after the biggest shock of my life, after begging him to go to marriage counseling first before doing this and getting a stubborn “no” he had me move out of our beautiful house and into my mom’s little one bedroom tiny rental house where i now live in her den, sleep on the futon couch, and am still in shock exactly two years later.  (I’m supposed to be going back home in the next 6 months, so there might yet be a happy ending).

So, that’s what happened.  Or rather, that’s the tip of the iceberg.  The jagged, pointy, dirty tip.  So why am I bothering to write about this?  Other than possible self therapy?  After two years of living through things I truly thought I couldn’t, I still love the guy.  I still believe that people love each other like they do in movies.  I still believe that this guy who told me he didn’t even want to marry me in the first place and pretended to be happy with me for almost a third of my life will love me again, and more than ever.  And I still believe that I can forgive and forget and yes, even trust him again.  It’s hard, I have to make myself believe all of this most of the time, but like I put in my profile, I live in a fantasy inside my head.  I believe that Richard Gere would climb the fire escape of a whore’s apartment building to take her away and rescue her.  I believe that Belle honestly did love the beast.  I believe that Jim and Pam really are that sickeningly sweet and perfect for each other.  I believe that true love really does happen, and that because I’m so willing to give it, eventually I’m going to get it back.

Now I’m going to go and play World of Warcraft for a little while before I go to bed, because that’s what happens when you’re a geeky computer nerd girl who was kicked out of her house, life, and marriage, and sent to live in her mom’s den.

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