It all started with the Christmas letter (technically, it all started with my husband leaving me, but this whole writing thing started with the Christmas letter):
To my family and friends this holiday season,
I hope this Christmas letter fills your heart with warmth and laughter. But mostly with laughter.
I started out the year happily married. We were going into our 7th year after all. In Hollywood that’s almost the same as 30 years. We were like Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick. But really we were like Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston; I just didn’t know it yet. (I have omitted our own Hollywood name blend to protect the "innocent")
I guess maybe I should’ve clued in that something was wrong when he took me to Vegas for my birthday for one night. We came, we saw Spamalot, we slept, we left. I mean, seriously. One night? Loosen up the purse strings Jew boy. (The rules according to Seinfeld say I'm allowed to make Jew jokes) But like the wonderful wife that I am I was grateful to be flown via private plane to see a musical, in the style of the box office hit Pretty Woman. I was grateful and appreciative. But if I’d know he was gonna take off in a few months I might’ve demanded a little cirque du soleil, ya know what I’m saying? I’m talking about the purse strings again, you perverts.
Well, April showers bring May flowers and all so let’s go for a walk. Bad idea. Walk, walk, walk, talk, talk, talk, yada, yada, yada, I’m living at my parent’s house for the month of June. But hey, one of my dreams as a kid was to be 30 and staying at my parent’s house because I’m getting divorced. So, lucky me, I got to check that off my bucket list. Don’t be jealous. Dreams can come true. I’m proof. Also lucky for me, I got to go back to Vegas on my 7th anniversary…with my family. Happy anniversary to me. But it all worked out in the end because I got to have my first one night stand. Check.
July and August mostly consisted of flying back and forth between the parent’s house and my house while (he) flew back and forth between my house and his new apartment. Haha, he has to live in an apartment. So I called this period of time my first trimester and I had a party. I called it a Burn Party. It was quite therapeutic, I highly recommend it. In case you don’t know what a Burn Party is (it’s not smoking the pot, you hippies), it’s where I put all (him) memorabilia into a box and proceeded to dump the pieces one by one into the fire pit. And maybe the Sangria told us that we should burn (his) magazines too. Sangria can be very convincing and it makes a good argument.
In October, during what I called my second trimester, my plumbing busted (that’s what she said). Luckily my plumbing busted a couple years ago so I knew just what to do. One of the recliners on my sofa broke and there was no (him) to fix it and Wickes has gone out of business so I had to call the manufacturer who proceeded to ask me what part needed to be replaced. I told her that I couldn’t tell her what part needed to be replaced because I’m not a couch maker and could she please send someone out to fix it. Also in October, (he) took the rest of his crap and two of my cats (which I’m really the most sad about, is that wrong?). So in early November I had another party. I called it a Cleansing Party. If you don’t know what a cleansing party is, look it up on the internet like I did. November was a big month for me. Besides the party, I inherited a roommate, performed in a show for the first time in years, had my garage door fixed, and put air in my tires for the first time since I was 16 (air has been put in my tires, just not by me). My roommate is great. Not just because she cleans, but because she cleans. The show is a dinner theater show (or as they in the biz call it, “interactive theater”) called My Totally 80’s reunion. I play the…wait for it…head cheerleader! I know, I really have to dig into my big bag of acting skills to get this part down right. But it’s super fun and couldn’t have come along at a better time. It’s good to have friends who write shows and then ask you to be in them. The garage door was actually a simple fix that cost no money but did cause me to confess my love to the garage door repair guy over the phone. His name was Kevin. He was very helpful.
So now I’m in my third trimester. All of my Christmas lights are burnt out halfway through the strand and it has been decided that those are (his) half. Both of my reverse lights went out and I had to take my car to a shop instead of (him) fixing it. I had to have my Christmas tree delivered and from the delivery guy there was no “nice house I’ll bet the bedrooms are huge” leading to sex on the stairs because you just can’t make it all the way upstairs. I guess that kind of stuff really does only happen in porn.
I’m starting school in January and my divorce will be final in February. I’ll be having my third trimester party which I’ll be calling The Papers are Signed Party. I plan on wearing a pin that says “kiss me I’m divorced!” Check.
Needless to say, I have learned a few things over the last six months. Like sex can last a lot longer than I thought. Having a one night stand does kind of make you feel like a slut. Burning stuff is just as therapeutic as seeing a psychiatrist and it’s free. Family is the best medicine. Friends are important people to have when going through a crisis. Things break – constantly. But I can fix them. And there’s no shame in asking for help. Whenever possible, play the “that’s what she said” card. It always gets a laugh. When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a bottle of wine.
Happy holidays, loved ones! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it.
(Now imagine a picture of me hugging my cat. And imagine me signing my name next to my cat’s paw print)
I sent this via email to my family and friends. It garnered responses such as, "I can't believe you told your whole family you had a one night stand!" and, "You should write a book!" To the first comment I was like, whatevs, I'm 30! To the second comment I was like, pff, I hate writing, I can't write a book! Well, it may or may not get published but I did write a book.