Sometimes the endless parade of people in this life don't provide enough diversion from the angst in the living room.
Last night I was trying to entertain myself by thinking about the dumbest thing I ever heard - my mother's neighbor Claudine who sent a copperhead to school with her second grader from show & tell. This event provides an opportunity to ponder questions such as: What's the difference between someone who has been quantitatively proven to be cognitively challenged and a Retard?
The truth is, however, all last night I continued to lament the state of the economy over here at Menopausal Stoners World Headquarters which I felt deeply yesterday since I'm facing life with no maid for the first time since Velvet was born. In a land where people are struggling to make ends meet, you can't get much sympathy for having to do without a maid, but it sure is nice to have someone come in early one morning and sand blast the place.
I have also been economizing by taking the subway when I used to drop $15 - 20 at a pop to take taxis everywhere. When you're unemployed and looking at your last couple of hundred bucks in the bank, you can't have a maid and take taxis everywhere. It's a sad fact of life. The worst part is that the mortgage is due today and I'm relying on Buzz Kill for the first time since we got divorced to make the mortgage payment. Normally, he follows court ordered procedures and makes a deposit into my account. He doesn't strictly comply, but in the land of ex-husbands, child support & alimony, Buzz Kill stays on the right side of the law.
Today, he just might have to go to jail.
I would hate to have to alert family court, but the possibility looms on the horizon. Fortunately, I had Buzz Kill sign documents before a notary last week acknowledging arrears and commiting to payments in excess of the original stipulation for the next three years in order to address said arrears. If I do have to take him to court, he can't attempt to reduce child support payments by saying he doens't make as much money today as he did when we got divorced three years ago. Mr. Buttroy & Associates already thought of that and wrote my divorce settlement so that support for Velvet was never tied to the formula generally used to calculate dollar amounts; ergo: Child support for Velvet is roughly double what many parents pay for two kids, and extras such as summer programs and psychotherapy are factored separately and paid 100% by Buzz Kill. I am responsible for 25% of a few things. The amount of my alimony is tied to nothing at all except the budget I provided the court. Buzz Kill has always resented that amount which is why he's never paid it.
All I can say is that he should have provided the court with the financial documentation they asked for in the first place instead of trying to pull as fast one. When he finally provided the financial statement, it was obviously a work of fiction. In response, the judge appointed an independent accountant to analyse the books to the business which revealed that Buzz Kill made more than triple the income he declared. That man refuses to answer simple questions about money, and it always gets him in trouble.
I freely admit that Buzz Kill is supposed to fork over a large sum of cash every month and that sometimes it's hard for him to come up it. That's why I haven't gotten the court involved despite the well meaning advice of friends and family. My mother is chomping at the bit to turn him over to the IRS, but I convinced her that it is in my best interest to have Buzz Kill free to make a living.
Buzz Kill swears he will take the mortgage payment directly to the bank as soon as the wire transfer he is expecting this morning is complete. I have lived through similar scenarios many times during our married life and know that while it makes you grind your teeth, the money generally arrives at the very last possible moment. I have stayed on top of the situation much more actively this time around than I did during the marriage, so I'm not nearly as bent out of shape as I was back then. While I was married, I was an obedient wife and didn't press Buzz Kill for information that distressed him. I waited until something fucked up, then I mercilessly reamed him a new asshole and proceeded to make his life a living hell. That's what wives do.
Some people might think I continue to make Buzz Kill's life a living hell. G*d knows I try to avoid the subject of my settlement when I'm talking to a divorced man. I could be a shining example of The Enemy who pulls a man's balls out through his wallet. Oh well.
I'm confident that the payment will be made today. He's even promised to get a certified check for the mortgage payment so I won't request evidence that his check cleared. I am confident that all will go as planned because Buzz Kill is terrified of me and everyone knows it.
So while I was reminiscing about my mother's dumb ass neighbor Claudine, and wondering if she was an example of the type of Contemporary American Non-Thinker who shouts recycled Bull Shit from conservative media personalities at town meetings and health care reform rallies, I was really contemplating the subservient nature of my ex-husband and wondering if I ever would have married him if I couldn't boss him around albeit in the indirect way that females have been bossing men around for generations under the patriarchy.
I have to say, here, that I really wish it hadn't become necessary to divorce Buzz Kill to protect the property, but the fact is that as well intentioned as the man may be, he's financially unorganized. He is one of those people who is motivated and governed by Shame which makes him highly secretive when it comes to money. My favorite theory is that he uses the money as a diversionary tactic because when someone is so busy running in circles trying to figure out what he's doing with the money, she won't look at his sexuality -which is where the real secrets are buried.
As it happens, back in 2006 I had been focused on Buzz Kill's sexuality for some months when he found the story in the trash can that triggered a fit of rage so complete that he finally stomped down Central Park West back to his mother. As it happened, I had put it in the trash because the maid was coming that day. She didn't show up - which was not uncommon and is one of the main reasons I didn't mind letting her go although now somebody has to mop this joint before we start sticking to the floor.
Anyway, the maid didn't show up to empty the trash. Buzz Kill came home and read a story I had written called, "The Jig is Up" which involved me and a black man with a dick the size of a Mag Light. That story is entirely too good to share for free on the blog, but maybe one day soon, it will be available in an online literary publication. The salient point here is that it was because of Buzz Kill's reaction to this story that the Gemini Party had to be immediately cancelled.
It so happened that while Buzz Kill was indulging in a well deserved fit of theatrics - busting up mementos and draping the apartment as if sitting Shiva for the marriage, sixty or so guests were supposed to arrive in a few hours. He threatened to read "The Jig is Up" to the party guests. Poor man was so distraught he didn't realize that he would only suffer further humiliation if he took that course of action because I had invited a bunch of gay porn stars to the party to unravel the mystery of Buzz Kill's sexuality once and for all: Is he Gay or Does he need a woman with a strap on?
Who better than a room full of gay porn stars to make this determination? I happened to find myself at a housewarming party a week or so earlier hosted by a former gay porn star who had commissioned my friends at Hottlead to design a logo for Porno Bingo. I was the only woman at this soiree. Copious amounts of vodka was drank, and countless catty remarks were made at Buzz Kill's expense. A few of the fellows and I developed the plan to solve the mystery and I wound up inviting everyone at that party to The Gemini Party.
They were scheduled to arrive in a few hours when I had to cancel the party due to marital distress. Pottery was flying, after all. You can't have people over when they might be injured even when you've made deliciously lethal punch.
Perhaps I am maniacal, but I was only playing. And the salient point here is that if Buzz Kill weren't so worried about the secret of his sexuality, maybe he'd stop fucking up the money. The worst part is that now that Buzz Kill has gone home to his mother, Vagina Dentata, it's very hard to deny that there are distinctly similar aspects between my character and hers - except she's a snazzy dresser:
I refuse to examine the similarities right now, but Buzz Kill used to enjoy pitting his mother and I against each other then trashing about like a nervous wreck. I can imagine her wearing a strap on studded with Swarovski Crystals. Buzz Kill and Vagina Dentata have always made a lovely couple so I gave her back her man. It makes him look like such a bitch - and I hate it when I think things like, "Why don't you mail the Netflix while you're at it, bitch." But I do.
If you're financially dependent on somebody, maybe it's best to think of that person as your bitch. But it's not the way I like to think of a man and explains why Buzz Kill doesn't count among the men who have penetrated my soul even though we shared a bed for twenty years.
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