Not For You, Pearl Jam, Vitalogy (1)

This was going to be a book, but I found that I wasn't really determined enough to write one. I like reading books, not writing them. However, some of this was/is so entertaining that I couldn't not share. If you are reading this, then there is a really good chance you are one of the people I selectively socialize with (as per a recent eCard - I'm not anti-social; I'm selectively social. There's a difference); either that or you got here by mistake. So here is the beginning, and we will see how it goes. The early backstory is a little dated, as my sister is now married to the new boyfriend, but it's still worth telling.

No, I don’t really think that anyone is interested in what I have to say.  But lately I’ve been reading a lot of memoirs, and I know my life is more interesting than what those people are writing about.  And that’s not because I think I am so excellent that I am better than them (which is a trait that runs strongly in my family, as you will see) – just more interesting and clearly having more fun.  Who wants to read about someone who was abused?  Whose father was an alcoholic?  Who grew up poor?  That’s no fun, and not for nothing, I don’t need to read about all of that – I’m depressed enough as it is.

So what prompted me to write this story was the fact that my sister just got a new boyfriend.  That’s an odd reason, I know.  I’ve been single, though, for most of the last four years – she had been single all of maybe one week.  In order to fill the time, I told her I was going to start collecting cats to get a jumpstart on my spinsterhood; I just needed to figure out how to do it without my neighbors knowing since my apartment complex doesn’t allow pets.  In fact, I thought, I’m going to write a book, and I already had the perfect name: How to Collect Cats Without Your Neighbors Knowing, or Jumpstart Your Spinsterhood Now!  I got so much positive feedback on just the title, I knew I had to come through for my few sort-of adoring fans.

The next question was how to format the story?  Chronologically?  By topic?  I’m still working that out, and we’ll see how it works itself out since I’m just going to run my fingers off like I do my mouth at times.  I’m also changing as few names as I legally can get away with since I know that no one in my stories is truly innocent and therefore they don’t need protecting. 

I think music is VERY important, and I really don’t get people who don’t like to listen to it on a regular basis.  You don’t have a favorite song?  You’ve never been to a concert?  Sorry – we are not on the same wavelength.  As Pearl Jam is my favorite band, I’m going to choose a song for each chapter to help set the mood.  I can’t actually check that you are listening to what I suggest, but if you’re bored enough to be reading this, it can’t hurt to download a few songs to get the full effect of what I’m after.  And by the way, if you don’t like Pearl Jam, don’t tell me – I don’t care.

As I said, I expect most of this to be hilarious, even if you don’t know me, but there is some serious stuff to get out of the way first.  I think where I want to begin is back in August 2004.  That was when my husband, Chris, told me that he couldn’t say with certainty that, if he were presented with a proposal from another woman, he would turn it down, and so therefore didn’t think he wanted to be married anymore.  This, of course, implies that he hadn’t already done anything, and since I could barely handle that, I believed him that there wasn’t anyone else (I have since started using my brain again and know that this could not possibly have been the case.)

Let me give you some background.  When I met Chris, he was living with his welfare mother and his mistake sister (16 years younger) in what can only be described as a house that had no business still standing in Bergen County.  He had a crap job, a crap car, and was about 100+ pounds overweight, wore silk vests from Valley Fair and could only be described as a loser (and that’s being really, really nice).  Fortunately for him, he was a loser who paid a lot of attention to me when my boyfriend/fiancé didn’t, and so I called off my wedding with 6 weeks to go, went into therapy, and then still ended up with him.  (Don’t worry about my ex-fiancé – he married one of my bridesmaids, who, it so happens, was also his best friend’s girlfriend.  OK, give him a little sympathy since she died within one year of them having a kid, but just a little bit.)

Chris and I were married for over seven years, during which time I got him to go to college, supported him as he got a real job, paid for him to get braces, taught him how to dress and act like a normal person, figured out how to afford a brand new townhouse in addition to his brand new Volvo, supported him as he lost that 100+ pounds on Weight Watchers…do I need to keep going?  I didn’t think so.  Suffice it to say, that like that character in that Neil LaBute play/movie, Chris was my art project.  I loved him when no one else would, and then, when I made him into someone normal, someone who was successful, looked good, and could actually somehow be attractive to someone else besides me, he left.

I’m not as bitter as it sounds, much to my parents’ chagrin.  My mom and I fought during that ugly divorce period more than me and my ex because she couldn’t believe I wasn’t more angry (I’m sure it wasn’t hold over bitterness from her divorce that prompted her feelings about mine…).

Next up - Albanians and Cyborgs...