Ok, lady, I love you. Bye bye.

About a week ago, I decided it was time to do a Facebook cleanse.

Don't squeeze the Charmin!

Don’t squeeze the Charmin!


This is much like a juice cleanse, but without the need for all of the toilet paper.

Seriously, though, I had over 350 people on my Facebook page. Who needs that many people all up in their life? I decided it was time to remove some people and to slim down my Facebook interactions.

I took a close look at who I had on there. Some were holdovers from when I was actively gaming on

Does anyone Farmville anymore?

Does anyone Farmville anymore?

Facebook. They were the first to go. I mean, I truly lost my taste for Farmville a couple of years ago.

The next ones to go were those adult friends that I had just outgrown or didn’t really care about anymore. You know the ones. The people that you meet and feel an immediate connection with and you just HAVE to be Facebook friends so that you can talk to each other whenever you want! And I don’t want to miss a single picture that you post! And you’re so witty, I love reading your status updates!!

You know who I mean.

You know who I mean.

Then they move away, or your kids don’t play sports together anymore, or you’ve decided not to do the PTA this year and you drift apart. And suddenly their pictures aren’t so mesmerizing and their posts are not that witty.

Yup, it was time for some of them to go, too.

Then come the high school friends that you have wondered about all these years since graduation. Whathigh school graduation are they doing? Are they married? Do they have kids? Are their kids ugly? (Oh, come on! You know you’ve wondered!!) It was especially meaningful for me, as I joined FB having moved away from where I had gone to high school and hadn’t really had a chance to connect with anyone from high school since graduation. So, when I joined FB, I went on a friending spree looking for everyone I could find that I went to high school with.

But something happened in the last few years. There were a lot of folks from high school that I had absolutely zero in common with. Except that we graduated from the same little high school. Our likes, politics, religion, humor – none of it meshed. But I hung onto them because they were from my past.

Well, it was time for them to go back there.

By the time I was done, I had purged over 150 people from my page. Each and every person on my page, with the exception of less than 10, I have met in person. I have spent time with them. Some of them are from high school, yes. But these are people that I reconnected with and have enjoyed having in my life. Many of them had words of encouragement for me when I was going through my divorce. All of them have are beautiful people, inside and out. These are all people that I wanted to keep in my life, even if only on Facebook.

I took the time to clean out my Facebook page because it, like clutter in your house, can weigh you down. You can be putting information out there that you maybe don’t want everyone to see. Maybe you are getting bombarded with some political stuff that you don’t agree with that is getting you down. Maybe it’s religious. Maybe you are just sick of seeing them post all the fabulous meals that they have or the sick new swag that they bring home constantly and just have to post on FB. Or maybe their humble brags get you down.

Why did I actually initiate the purge? For the simple reason that Facebook was depressing the hell out of me. I would look at the pictures of these people and realize that I had none of that in my life. I had no one that I could call my own, I had no money to buy any swag, and what the hell was I going to humble brag about?

Bottom line: I was jealous.

I was jealous of their lives, jealous of the things that they had. Just plain jealous. No, it’s not a pretty emotion, but it’s real, (to be fair to myself, it had been a pretty crappy couple of weeks for me, which made it a lot harder to look at those folks and not feel jealous).

But then I realized something more. They were not a whole lot more than fluff, the ones that had inspired my jealousy. Not all, to be fair. But a lot of them. It was always about their new things or the new places they were going. There was no substance. No true value. Not to me, anyway.

So I purged them. I cleaned up my news feed and, in doing so, also swept some less than desirable things from my soul, as well. I took control of my happiness and didn’t wait for anyone to do it for me. I spent so much of my adult life tying my happiness to someone else’s happiness that I forget that I can just make me happy now. It’s another step, a small one true, towards making sure that I never go back to that place I was with the ex again.

Without remorse or regret I was able to pull the trigger and say:

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Voyeur and Exhibitionist

 

Voyeur:  1) A person who dervies sexual gratification from observing naked bodies or sexual acts of others, especially from a secret vantage point. 2) An obsessive observer of sordid or sensual objects.

Exhibitionism:  1) The act or practice of deliberately behaving so as to attract attention. 2) psychiatric:  the deliberate act of exposing ones genitals to the public

I had an epiphany the other day.  I was cruising through my emails and was looking at all of the blogs that I have delivered there daily.  All of the blogs are well written, sometimes funny, sometimes touching.  I love to read them and get a sneak peek into someone else’s life.  To hear about their thoughts an their ideas and what has happened to them since the last post.

I am a voyeur.

It doesn’t necessarily mean that I want to see them have sex, or read about that (although there are a couple of blogs that deal with that that I enjoy), but I enjoy reading what they have to say.  I want to hear about how their relationships are going, how they are handling the ups and downs of their lives.  I like to see if I can relate to what they are going through.

Facebook offered us a little of that, but the status updates aren’t enough to assuage my voyeuristic tendencies.  And, because Facebook is so public, and the anonymity is pretty much nil, people don’t post their innermost thoughts, dreams and wishes to FB.

But with a blog, where anonymity is sometimes the point, we feel like we can treat it like an on-line diary.

I love that.

Realistic or not, reading these blogs makes me feel like I’m having a glass of wine with a group of friends and covering a wide range of topics with very smart people who always have something interesting to say.

Which brings me to my next epiphany.

I am an exhibitionist, as we are all.

I love having people comment on my blogs.  Even when I was going through some really crappy times, times that a generation ago would have been kept secret at all costs, I loved knowing that I connected with someone on an emotional level.  I loved knowing that there were other people out there that could totally relate to where I was a few months ago and that they care enough to continue reading what I write.

I love throwing my life out there for general consumption.  And that totally makes me an exhibitionist.

The genital baring, that’s not really me.  But if words were genitals, I guess I’m covered 🙂

I never did understand the appeal of keeping a diary.  I never did as a little girl.  I had lots and lots of thoughts, but I would just hang onto them becausee writing them all out, when my hand couldn’t keep up with my mind, just seemed like a chore to me.  I tried to keep a journal when I was older, but the same thing happened.

Then I discovered blogging.

Yes, I treat this as my on-line diary.  It may not be filled with profound thoughts and I’m pretty sure that no one will read this in one hundred years and think that I was some kind of amazing person, which is fine.

Why do I write?  I keep writing because I enjoy it.  I love chronicling my life here.  I hope that people read it and realize that whatever life throws at you, you can overcome.  I write because I like to think that folks enjoy what I do put here on the internet.

I write because I want to.

Yes, I am a voyeur and an exhibitionist.

And,  like so many other things in my life, I’m okay with that.

However, if you do see me in a public square baring my vajayjay to the world, please do an intervention.

I thank you in advance. 🙂

Thank you

WordPress is informing me that this is my 100th post.  I never had much stick-tuitiveness, so it surprises me that I’ve posted this many.

Yay for maturity! LOL

When I started this blog, my life (I thought) was falling apart.  The asshole had asked for a divorce, informed me that he had a girlfriend and that he wanted me out of the house as soon as possible.

I stayed in that damn house for another 8 months and didn’t move out until he did, taking the kids, the dog, most of the furnishings and a good chunk of his paycheck with me.

Yeah, I guess I do have stick-tuitiveness when it suits me.

I’m not the same person that started this blog.  And that’s a good thing.

But that’s not why I kept posting here.  That’s not why I’m currently writing my 100th post.

I’m writing this post, and I kept posting here, because of you Dear Reader.

Because of you, your encouragement and support, I kept posting here.  I kept telling you about my life and what was going on it because you asked.

And I can’t thank you enough.

I think that most of my blogger friends will agree with me when I say that we throw out words out into the ether in the hopes that someone, somewhere, will read what we wrote and be touched by it.  Or relate to it.  Or agree with it. Or be moved by it.

You, Dear Reader, have kept me going all these months.  With supporting words, encouraging words, words of disdain for the asshole.  Those kept me going.  Not just here, but in my day-to-day life.

For all of you that have read this blog, either from the beginning or are just coming here, thank you.

The internet is full of information, full of blogs, full of people throwing their words out into the ether.  The fact that you took 5 minutes of your life, 5 minutes that you could have spent doing something, anything, else reading  my blog, warms me to the depths of my heart.  Truly.

Thank you.  Two words that are so easy to say, and are never said enough, but that cannot convey the depth of my thanks to you.

Here’s to 100 more 🙂

No, is too much…I sum up….

Yes, I love The Princess Bride. Hence, the title.

Most of you know that my husband asked for a divorce back in July.  He asked for the divorce 10 days after we celebrated our 16th wedding anniversary and 6 days after he got back in touch with an ex-girlfriend of his through Facebook.

Yeah, I don’t believe in coincidences, either.

July he went to Dover on a TDY and she drove up to visit him.  By his own admission they had sex.  He then spent 9 days in NC with her.  By his own lies he says he didn’t have sex with her.

Yeah, I’ve also got a bridge for sale, if you’re interested.

I hate when blogs do this, but I have to.  If you want to read some of the juvenile messages that they sent back and forth, posts that went onto FB, and whatnot, you can go check out this post, this post, this post, and, well, you get the picture.

Warning – if you read any of my older posts, included the ones linked above, please make sure to have a trash can handy as they may induce vomitting, dizziness, and all around grossness

This all leads up to me having a ton of evidence against him that the JAG and his Commander showed considerable interest in.  Yes, I went to the JAG and the Commander.  I was tired of sitting on all of this information when I was getting nowhere and his orders are coming up on being fulfilled.  I mean, we have less than 2 weeks to the housing preinspection and TMO will be here Jan 20.  I still have nowhere to live.  I went to his commander to get his orders delayed until the financials are finalized.

Still waiting on word of that delay.

However, I did get some good news today.  And this is what my FB status was about:

My husband comes home, an hour late, tonight and tells me that he got his latest EPR.  His Chief sat him down and told him that the LOR he has on his file (from getting fired from his job earlier this year), the fact that I had to go to the JAG to get financial support from him (about 2 months ago), the fact that the Commander had seen all of the messages on Facebook between him and his girlfriend, and that he had notified the entire softball team that he was getting a divorce and had a girlfriend all added up to a 4 on his EPR and effectively ended his career.  He will never make the next rank because of this.  The Chief also told him to be happy with the 4 instead of the 3 that the Chief wanted to give him.

This happens two days after my husband was bragging to his brother about how, when he made the next rank, he would be staying in the military for another 8 years.

Yeah, that’s no longer in the picture, you idiot.

My husband then says, “I don’t know who you have on your Facebook that would have said anything to my Commander.”  I say, “You are the one that was posting all that stuff on your Facebook page.  Maybe you should check to see who you have on your FB page that would be talking about you.  Oh, and maybe you should take into account that YOU, yourself, told the entire softball team about your girlfriend.  This isn’t on me.  It’s all on you.  These are the logical consequences of the decisions that you have made for the past 5 months.”

He walked into the house without another word.

I walked around the corner so I could laugh with abandon.

Now, he just needs to get those financials.  That would make my Christmas.

 

Doofus and other pet names

Hello all!  I’m so happy today because I finally have a laptop again!

Watch out WordPress!  I’m baaaacccckkkk!!!!

Do you have any pet names for your family that you use?  You know, the ones that seem like they should offend but are said with love and caring?  For example, my father used to call me “Grace.”  Not because I was an especially blessed child. It was because I couldn’t walk across a perfectly flat floor without tripping.  I call my dog “Doofy.”  Why?  Cause she’s dumb as a box of rocks.

These are nicknames that are not especially rude or meant to harm.  They are names of endearment for those around us.

Well, of course, this wasn’t the case when I called my husband a “doofus” on Facebook.  No, I meant it in the meanest way possible.  But it was only mildly mean.  I could have called him so many other words: bastard, asswipe, asshat, son of a bitch, jerkoff, dick, etc., etc.  You get the picture.

I chose a mildly rude word.  Doofus.  It puts you in mind of a young man with big ears, buck teeth, a crappy hairdo and a way about him that shows that he does not understand social niceties, right?  Nothing very rude about this.

Well, one of my “friends” on Facebook felt that this was something very rude to call him (without knowing the situation in which it was used) and called my husband to tell him that I had called him a doofus for all of Facebook to see.  My idiot husband got in my face about it.

I asked him why he was getting his panties in such a twist.  “If you could live a day in my head,” I said, “you would completely understand that ‘doofus’ is one of the nicer things I have called you.”

I went on, “I haven’t posted on FB anything about your mistress, your visit to her in  September, you plans with her on New Year’s, how you talk to her for 2 hours a day, at least, or that you dumped me for her.  I haven’t said a word about any of that.  So, back up outta my face before I decide that that is what I need to do.”

I haven’t heard another word about it from him.

Just because he wants me to go quietly into the night doesn’t mean that I will.  And what he needs to be wondering about is not what names I’m calling him on Facebook.  He needs to be wondering about what names I’m calling him to his Commander and my lawyer.

Those are points that he really, really needs to ponder and should keep him awake at night.

I changed my mind. What? I’m a girl – I can do that!

So, I know that I said I wasn’t going to remove the pictures of my husband from my Facebook page, but I’ve had a change of heart.

So call me schizophrenic.

I got to thinking that he had tagged himself in all of these pics that I had posted and he had only tagged himself in the ones that included him or him and  the kids.  He left up two pictures of the two of us dressed to the nines because it made him look good.

It got me to thinking.  Did I really want my pictures to be used to make him look good to his girlfriend?

The answer?

An emphatic, “NO!”

So, I deleted all of the pictures that I had posted of him on Facebook.  All of the pictures where you could even make out it was him.  The only one I kept up was one of the entire family dressed up for Halloween.

Let him use that one.

I’ve already gone back to my maiden name on my Facebook page.  I’ve already changed my status on my relationship to “It’s complicated.” And I found that I didn’t want my Facebook page used to make him look good to some bitch that he’s banging when he’s supposed to be working or that he sends hundreds of text messages to every day.

I also untagged him in a ton of photos that he had tagged himself in.

*As an aside, if anyone can help me with keeping him from retagging himself, I’d appreciate the lesson.

I deleted entire albums (a big “sorry” to my friends that used to be tagged there).  I deleted entire events from our Facebook history.

Next week, I’m replacing photos in frames, cause I don’t want to see the pictures any more.

Pictures are hurtful. They remind you of good times that you had.  But, when all of that has gone sour and you think that all of the good times were a lie, why do  you want to look at the pictures?

Maybe someday I’ll look at them.  Maybe someday I’ll be ready to look at them again.

For right now, I’m scheduling some pictures to be taken of me and the boys so that I can take down those pictures in hallway.  The ones that he so callously pointed out to his mother saying that I could take them with me when I moved out.

Who’s waiting?

Tomorrow, I’m rearranging my bedroom and he’ll be moving into another room.  Tonight he moved himself out of the bathroom in the Master Suite.  Finally, I have a suite of rooms all to myself!  I feel like the Kardashians.  Not.

I know that his relationship is over and I want it to be over.  I’m ready for it to be over.  I can’t wait to move out.  But it’s still hard when I feel like I’m slapped in the face with these reminders all the time.

Like I said, I’m a really good ostrich and I’m very capable of lying to myself, thank you very much.

But this is one thing I can’t lie to myself about.  He doesn’t let me and I shouldn’t, won’t, let myself.

No matter how much it hurts.  No matter how hard it is to be forgotten.

I owe myself that much.  I’m stronger than that.  I just have to remind myself.

Pictures hurt

So, this afternoon he was messing around on Facebook. If you’ll recall, his bitch mentioned that seeing pictures of me on his page “ruined the moment’ for her (Like I’m crying over that) and that she didn’t want him to delete the pics until he was ready.

You may also recall that he couldn’t figure out how to delete or untag.

When I came back downstairs (after a very satisfying nap) I went to his page and all of the pics of us from the Shore had been taken out of his banner.

I know I shouldn’t feel betrayed by this, because I’ve already picked out the pictures I’m replacing him with in the myriad of frames that I have around the house. But I do. It’s like another little death, another slap in the face.

Another reminder that the 16 years I gave him weren’t enough.

I still haven’t untagged him from the pictures on my facebook page. I won’t do that till the divorce is final.

Not because I want his face all over my page but because I want to ruin her moment.

Sometimes it’s not the big stuff that hurts the most. Sometimes it’s the little things.