Monday, July 23, 2012

Chapter 23, or Name change process, part 2


 It's been a while since I threw a chapter from the book in here, so let's go back in time again...

            When my social security card arrived with my new slash old name, I handled it surprisingly well.  It helped that my roommate was there and fixed me up with a big glass of wine.  I took out a pad of paper and practiced writing my new slash old name about one hundred times before attempting to sign my new social security card.  When I started to get teary, she’d yell at me and gave me more wine.  We are nothing without our girlfriends.
            A couple days later I took my new social security card, my old driver’s license and my divorce decree with me to the DMV (See, you can do something old, something new, and something blue for divorces, too).  I decided to try the same trick I used with the Social Security office and get there a half hour before it closed.  My plan worked, I only had to wait about twenty minutes.  The lady told me I’d receive my new license in about a week. 
            When I got home I made a list of all the companies with whom I needed to change my name.  There were my utilities, Bank of America, Chase, and my passport.
I also needed to change my name with my car insurance, health insurance (and I needed to get my own health insurance), and because I got the house in the divorce, I needed to change my name on the homeowner’s insurance, the deed and the loan.  The only name changing I could do without my new license was with the utilities, credit card and bank accounts.  I ended up getting a new credit card and closing out the old one.  I always wanted a credit card that earned me Disney dollars and The Ex never let me get one, so that was the first thing I did.
            When I got my new license I was able to change my name and policy on my car insurance and I ended up getting health insurance later through my roommate.  The biggest pain in my ass was the house stuff.  I had to change my name on the deed before I could change it on the insurance or the loan.  To change the deed I had to go to the courthouse in San Bernardino on a certain day between certain hours.  The whole idea of the process gave me a headache.  And then one day I was explaining it all to my Attorney’s paralegal and she said, “Oh, do you want us to take care of that for you?”  Uh, yes please.
            After that was completed (two weeks later) I could submit a copy of the new deed, the divorce decree, the settlement agreement (saying the house is mine) and my social security card to my homeowners insurance so they could change my name and remove The Ex’s name.  After that was completed I could submit all the same paperwork plus the new homeowner’s insurance (and some money) to Bank of America to have them change my name on the loan. 
            The whole house stuff process took several months, actually, and there were times I wished I had made The Ex keep the house.  He sent me a few angry emails when he was impatient with the process.  As if I wasn’t impatient with the process?  I had been working on making the necessary changes for months.  Every week I was dealing with social security offices or DMVs or lawyers or insurance agents or loan agents or any other kinds of agents you can imagine.  Every week I was reminded that I was divorced.  Every week my life turned upside down.  Every week at some point, I cried.  And what was he doing?  He was fucking his girlfriend.  It must have been a really rough time for HIM.  I can’t imagine the pain HE must have gone through.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Nonline dating: where subtlety goes to die

The following is a text conversation I had this morning with a guy I met on Match.com:

Him:  How goes the ballroom dancing?

Me:  It goes well.  How goes the telling me whose number this is? :)

Him:  Drew (Yes, that's his real name.  Because fuck him.)

Me:  Ah, I suspected.  8am on a Sunday?  We need to work on your timing :)

Him:  Sorry.  Hungover?

Me:  Haha, nope.  It's just my last day to sleep in for five more days because of that dumb "real job".

Him:  What's that?  So no drinks and bad decisions soon?  Lol

Me:  It's super dumb is what it is!  It's totally ruining my life - except for the being able to pay rent and buy stuff part.  And haha, not so much!

Him:  Boo. :(

Me to myself:  Did he say boo because I said not so much in response to no drinks and bad decisions soon?  Surely he isn't propositioning sex in our first text messaging session - on a Sunday morning.

Me to him:  I think you're on the wrong site if that's what you're looking for.  Or maybe you're on the right site, you just picked the wrong girl.  Sorry.

No response.

Apparently, he was propositioning sex in our first text messaging session on a Sunday morning.  Impressive.  More impressive than his looks and height, that's for sure.  He's the kind of average that doesn't go with that kind of audacity.  And, come on, if you want me to surrender my vagina this early in the game, have some class and get me drunk first.  Jeez.

Ladies out there on Match.com, watch out for BacktoCA12.  He just wants to get laid.  Unless, of course, you also just want to get laid.  In which case, look up BacktoCA12.  Be sure to tell him I sent you and I'm expecting a finder's fee.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Practically poorfect in every way

Today I deposited my very last alimony check.

                                                   
My 3 ½ years of alimony are over.  Am I where I thought I’d be in 3 ½ years?  No.  But to be fair - did I have a plan of where I was going to be in 3 ½ years?  No.  I’ve had a lot of ideas.  I’ve had a lot of big dreams.  But, a plan?  Not so much.  (I’m pretty sure I need to get one of those.  Can you shop for those online?)
 
On this day, which I shall forever dub as The Day I Became Poor, I don’t have hateful and hurtful things to say to The Ex.  Surprisingly, I don’t have feelings of anger or sadness (well, maybe a little sadness about being poor) or victimization.  Instead, I feel thankful.  So, unlike the many other letters I have wanted to write to The Ex, here is a letter of gratitude:
 
Dear The Ex,

When you left, a part of me died.  But a new part came to life.  In a way, I owe a lot of who I am to you.  If you hadn't left, I might not have learned what I'm made of.  I am one tough ass broad.  And I'm resilient.  And capable.  And crazy and wonderful.  I'm like a human burrito - full of good things and bad.  And when you take a bite it's damn delicious.  Thank you for leaving me so I could discover that I'm delicious!

Peace out*,

Jen


*Yeah.  I said peace out.  That's the gangsta part of my burrito.  Or, the Napoleon Dynamite's brother part of my burrito.  Whatever.  Either way - take it.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Cliches in the membrane, cliches in the brain

I know I've ranted about my Real Job already, but I have a few new bones to pick with this system.  What is the deal with the 9-5er jargon?  On Fridays everybody says stuff like, "Happy Friday!" and, "We made it!"  On Mondays the response to, "How are you?" is always, "Not bad for a Monday."  Followed by a nod of agreement from the questioneer.  (What?  That's a word.)  And if anyone makes a mistake any day of the week it is necessary to say some variation of, "Is it Monday?"  And then laugh like a ding dong.

I'm surrounded by working drones and cheesy cliches and I'm becoming one of them!  I even call Thursday "Friday Eve"!  Just once, when someone says, "Happy Friday!"  I'd like to say, "Not for hookers.  They have a pretty serious work week ahead of them."  And I'd love to respond to, "How are you?" on Monday with, "Well, I'm hung over as shit and I'm pretty tender from being slammed like a screen door last night."

But, alas, I'm a lady (ish), and I just stick with the usual cliches.  One of these days, though.  One. of. these. days.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Someday is for bitches

I have this friend who is in a shit-or-get-off-the-pot situation with her boyfriend.  (No, this friend is not me.  If I had a boyfriend the whole damn world would have known about it long before there was a problem.  And if I had a boyfriend, you'd be reading a post called "Hell just froze over.") 

Anyway, he just can't seem to pull the trigger.  He says he wants to marry her and he wants to have kids...someday.  Someday?  I'm insulted and he's not even my damn boyfriend.  He's been saying "someday" for two years.  What about now?  When will someday be now?  It won't be.  You know why?  Because "someday" is just a polite way of saying "never".

Bleh, someday.  It's the twin brother of sometime.  As a single girl, I hear a lot of sometimes.  "I'll call you sometime."  "Let's do it again sometime."  Jeez, if you don't want to see me again just say, "It was nice to meet you," and be on  your way.  If you do want to see me again suggest now, tomorrow, next week.  Don't bother me with "sometime".

Guys, let me say this in words you'll understand.  You want to hang out again "sometime"?  Well, I want to give you a blowjob..."sometime".  On board with "now" yet?

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

What to expect when the ex is expecting

You can expect to feel like someone just wiped their ass with you.  At least, that's how I feel.

The man who threw in my face upon leaving me that he never wanted to get married - didn't believe in it - got remarried.  The man who said he didn't want to have kids - because he didn't want to contribute to the human race that is destroying itself - is expecting twins.

It feels less like he didn't believe in marriage and more like he didn't believe in marriage to me.  It feels less like he didn't want to procreate and more like he didn't want to procreate with me.  It feels less like "he did that to me, he'll do it to her" and more like he only did that to me.  It feels less like he made the biggest mistake of his life leaving me and more like I was the biggest mistake of his life.

I feel like everything I told myself to explain why he left isn't true anymore.

I feel like the practice wife, the starter wife, the wife that was thrown away.

I feel like he's not a guy who leaves, he's a guy who just leaves me.


So, now, my fake eyelashes have fallen off (waterproof glue, my ass) and my eyeshadow and mascara have blended together to form what looks Hollywood style black eyes while I cry this bitch out and try to come up with new reasons why he's a giant douche bag fucktard, they're destined to be unhappy with ugly kids, and I'm a perfect and beautiful victim of disaster.

What else did you expect?

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Annoying encounters

(Well, this post is just about one encounter...but there will be more.  Sadly.)

For my friend's birthday, I took her to a local bar I frequent.  It is the weirdest place with a mixture of singles from 25 to 65 (great for people watching).  As soon as we walked in a very nice, very skinny little nerd started talking to my friend.  So, naturally, his old ghetto friend started talking to me.  Why?  Why always the ghetto dudes?  I know what my close friends and family would say: because of my ghetto booty.  But still!  It irritates me to know end.  Know your league, men.  And stay in it.  Here is a reenactment of the encounter:

Him: Hey.
Me: (Half smile mixed with slight annoyance) Hey.
Him: So, what do you do for a living?
Me: Do you really want to know what I do for a living?
Him: No.
Me: Then why did you ask?
Him: It's a conversation starter.
Me:  I realize that, I just feel like you can come up with something more interesting to ask.
Him: Well, what do you do to make money?
Me: What are you, a girl? You want to know how much money I make or something?
Him: Wow, you're really tense. It's Friday night.  (Gesturing towards some bar stools) Why don't you sit down and relax.
Me: No that's okay, I don't want...
Him: (Interrupting) Just because you sit down with me it doesn't mean you're with me.
Me:  Oh, I know that.  (With a wave of my hand across the bar) But I don't want everyone else to think I'm with you.
Him: Wow, you're wound up really tight.
Me: Yeah, I kinda am.
Him: You don't get out much do you?
Me: I really don't.  It's my friend's birthday and she made me come out.  I very rarely leave the house.
Him: Well you should try to relax and have fun.
Me: Yeah, okay, I'll do that.

He finally left, but after some time passed he popped back up.

Him: Do you like baseball?
Me: Sure.
Him: Do you like going to baseball games?
Me: More so than I like watching them on TV.
Him: It's just that I work with people that have a lot of money and they get good tickets.
Me: Wow, I'm really impressed that you know people with money.  Good for you.
Him: Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to go to a game with me, but...(his words drift off)
Me: Oh, too bad. (Shrug and smirk)

It became clear to me that the reason he kept asking what I do was because he wanted me to ask him what he does so he could talk about whatever job he has that surrounds him with people who make a lot of money.  I can't speak for other women, but in my opinion, you have to be a bit more impressive all around for me to give a damn about your money...or your coworkers' money.