Still Bitter

I wonder if my post-divorce growth is stunted.

I've had two experiences over the past few weeks that have left me feeling petty and embarrassed at my level of acrimony toward SnarkEx. Not everyone laughs or even sympathizes when I say that I just want her to make decisions that give her the best opportunity to be miserable.

My oldest brother is one of those people. When I told him about my hope that she's miserable, he said, "Do you think that's helping you to move on?" With just one question he shamed me into thinking I need to get over being bitter.

A faculty member at my college who I drink beer with once a month is also getting divorced. Over beers the other day we discussed the issue of blame. He said that his ex-wife's friends want nothing to do with him. "Every story needs an asshole," he said, "I understand that, but I don't like it."

I said that in my divorce, SnarkEx was the asshole. She was the one who left the marriage.

He said that these things are complicated. What if you're the one who's been working on the relationship for five years but the other person is not responsive, and then you decide you've had enough? Until this conversation, I hadn't realized that he was the SnarkEx in his divorce.

When she left me, SnarkEx kept trying to insist that this was no one's fault. It just didn't work out. It's funny to me that the people who take that approach are usually the ones who are to blame.

Hey, I know that it's not always cut and dry. I know complicated. I know nuance. But I also know anger, and I'm trying to wallow in it, okay?

My therapist says that anger feels good. That's why we often use it to mask more complicated emotions. I'd never thought about before, but I think he's right. I like being angry at SnarkEx. It's comfortable.

I don't want her to be miserable simply for the sake of increasing the misery in the world. What I want is her to regret her decision to abandon our marriage. I want her to realize what a great thing she had in me and how she really blew it. People who make bad decisions should suffer bad consequences. I want justice, not schadenfreude. And I don't believe that will happen if she's happy.

And, really, it's not like I spend every minute of every day wishing bad things to happen to her. I don't spend my time stabbing her picture with a bowie knife. Most of the time she's not even on my mind. (With all due respect to Bob Dylan.) She is really not much of a factor in my day-to-day mental energy. As evidence of that, it's been six weeks since I've blogged about being angry at her.

But when I do think about her, I can't, I won't, I don't want to, wish her well.

Every story needs an asshole.

SINK Nest Egg

I used to be part of a DINK (double income, no kids.)

Now I guess I'm my own SINK.

As I've mentioned several times on this blog, I really haven't had to deal with any financial hardship during my divorce. I was going to say that I've been lucky in that respect, but it probably has more to do with my spending habits and attitude of living well below my means. The divorce itself only cost me $300, which I know is almost negligible compared to the average cost of divorce. I also lost half my nest egg, but a case could be made that it wasn't really "mine," but "ours," even though I was the nest egg agent and we probably wouldn't have saved so much if it weren't for my 1.) income, and 2.) predilection for saving money.

This month was the first time since She Left Me that I haven't been able to put money into savings. In fact, I've spent more than I made, which is rare. I had to use my credit card for the first time in years. On top of my usual bills, I had to pay for the divorce ($300), my six-month car insurance ($330), my yearly car registration ($85) and vet bills ($330). (I may not be done with the vet bills since I still don't know what's wrong with SnarKitty. I'm expecting a call from the vet today about her ex-rays.) I still have plenty of money in savings, but I only like to touch that for special occasions, like going on vacation, buying large appliances, or paying ransom.

Speaking of vacations, I've been dreading the winter holiday break this year. I'll have three weeks off in December/January, and on top of being alone with too much time on my hands, it will be cold and dark. Those are prime conditions for a serious depression. I thought of taking proactive steps to avoid the depression by planning some sort of fun vacation. But what? And where? I've always wanted to go on a cruise, and I hear there are singles cruises, but I suspect they will be absurdly expensive. Can I justify dropping a few grand on a week's worth of potential fun? And what if everyone's having fun around me and I just feel lonely and isolated? Will that just make me feel even more loserish?

I've also been feeling a lot of pressure to buy a house lately. My oldest brother, the financial guru, keeps telling me it's the best time ever to buy a house. I understand that. Why should I keep throwing my money away on rent when I could be putting it toward equity in a house?

But there are other considerations for buying a house beside financial ones. Am I ready for the commitment of owning a home? All the time, money, and effort involved in maintenance and upkeep? I have every intention of one day buying a house. I need to grow up someday. I'm just not sure that I'm ready for it yet. Let me wallow in my divorce for a while and rebuild my nest egg.

Building up my nest egg, however, would preclude any fun expensive vacations for this year.

I Had a Date

When we were discussing whether to play a full third set or just a supertiebreak at tennis today, I told my opponent that I had to be done promptly at 1:00, because I had to be in Other City by 3:00. We agreed to play the tiebreak (which I won, increasing my indoor season winning streak to 12-0.)

Afterward he asked me what I was doing in Other City, and I said, "I have a date."

There have not been very many times in my life when I've been able to utter that sentence. I haven't "dated" much in my life-- I'm much more likely to start an instant relationship. I had to admit that saying "I have a date" gave me a certain thrill. Yeah, I'm a regular guy. I date & stuff. My tennis partner was impressed and gave me a shit-eating grin as if to say, "Yeah, Snarky's getting him some booty."

This afternoon I met First-Meeting(tm) Lady for our second meeting, which apparently is not trademarked. It's been four weeks since we first met, and this time we graduated from an afternoon cafe to dinner. We walked around a park and local university in Other City, then went to an Italian restaurant. We spent 3.5 hours together. The conversation was pleasant and she's intelligent and attractive. She laughed a lot.

But.

There just didn't seem to be any great spark. I can't really explain it. All the criteria seem to fit, but I'm not feeling it.

Maybe I'm just not ready to date yet. Or I'm not desperate enough to pursue a long-distance relationship with someone I feel lukewarm about.

At the end of the date we shared a perfunctory hug that didn't thrill me like at our first meeting. We wished each other well, but neither of us mentioned a third meeting. I don't know how to proceed now. What's the protocol? Do I just not email her anymore? Is that rude? Is she still interested or is she feeling the same lack of spark that I felt?

Even though it's a Saturday night and I'm alone, I'm happy to be home.

I had a date.

SnarKitty

Famous Lines from my Divorce, Vol 2:

Me: SnarKitty's kidneys are failing.
SnarkEx: [Gasp] Oh, No!

I was trying to shock her, and it worked. We were at the restaurant where she had just told me that she wasn't coming back and that she didn't love me. After we argued about who was to blame, she asked me how things were going. So I told her, matter-of-factly, that our my elderly cat's kidneys were failing.

SnarkEx reacted to this news with the appropriate level of horror. It was nice to see her look concerned about something in my household, since her reaction to the separation had been so stoic. But I immediately backpedaled and explained, "It's not necessarily fatal. It's relatively common in older cats and they can live a long time with failing kidneys."

--------------------
She goes by many names: little boo, squeakerbot, sweetness, snurfler, boocat, furbot, lil' squeaker, baby cat, kittyboo, sweetheart baby kitty, and potato bug kitty. SnarKitty has been in my life since November, 2000. At the already mature kitty age of six, she had survived a lifetime of experiences before we met. I don't know what those were, since she never talks about her previous life.

She's been the most stable companion in my life over those eight years. She's seen me through library school, two relationships, a new job, four moves, a new kitten, a marriage and divorce, and countless other adventures. She's strictly an indoor cat, but about five years ago she inadvertently found herself outside (thanks to a stupid, careless, moronic housemate) and was lost for 10 days. That was a terrible episode that eventually had a happy ending when my neighbors caught her under their porch.

I never thought I could feel this way about a cat before. She's the awesomest cat ever. She loves lap time and demands affection several times a day. At night she sleeps on the pillow next to me. In the mornings she stands on the bed and squeaks at me while I get dressed. (She has a high-pitched meow that sounds more like a squeak.) She has an eye problem that gives her frequent eyesnot, which I have to wipe away a few times a day. We have a game we play in the mornings where she tries to rub up against me in my nice work clothes and deposit her eyesnot onto them. She sits on my lap when I eat breakfast and headbutts my chin. (This gets cat hair in my cereal, which is one of the prices I have to pay for her kittylove.) In the evenings she cuddles on my lap or on my chest (if I'm lying down) while I watch TV.

--------------
Last March I took her to the vet for her yearly checkup and shots. They noticed a significant decrease in her weight since the last checkup. She'd dropped a pound, which is pretty significant when you only weigh eight to begin with. They did some blood work and noticed a heightened level of something that indicates failing kidneys.

The past six months she's appeared as healthy as ever. She's much more affectionate since SnarkEx moved out, probably because she only has one primary source of cuddling left. With so much fur, it's hard for me to notice that she's thinner than before. But when I took her to the vet this week for a six-month checkup, she'd lost another pound. That's a quarter of her body weight over the past year.

The vet is concerned. Her sudden weight loss is too dramatic to be explained by the normal aging process. He redid her blood work, but her kidneys don't appear to be any worse than they were before. So he doesn't think that accounts for the weight loss. The next step is to give her a kitty ex-ray, to see if he can spot any intestinal problems or cancerous growths. (He was very delicate about bringing up the "c" word.) If that doesn't turn up something, we'll have to consider exploratory surgery.

I might have to make some tough decisions in the next few weeks. The exploratory surgery would cost a buttload. I've already spent several hundred dollars on the bloodwork and will spend another hundred on the ex-rays. Plus, there's no guarantee that the surgery would turn up something, or if it did, that we could do anything about it. She's an older cat (14 years) and the surgery itself could be risky, according to the vet. Of course her life is worth a buttload to me, but not if it just causes her pain and doesn't make her better.

I'm in denial. SnarKitty is happy and healthy. She doesn't show me any evidence of sickness.

Tuesday was a rough day for her. She'd had to go to the vet and get her blood drawn. That evening I came home from tennis and after my shower I plopped down on the couch to unwind before I went to bed. SnarKitty jumped onto my chest and settled in. She purred and rubbed her head against my chin.

She's just fine.

The Last of Her Stuff

Eradicating someone from your life is like trying to get sand out of your bathing suit. Every time you think it's all gone, some more shows up.

The last great purge I did of SnarkEx's things was during my August vacation when I cleaned out our bathroom cabinets and found tons (not literally) of her crap still there. Oils, ointments, lotions, makeup, bubble-bath kits, an entire bagfull of little hotel shampoo bottles, even her travel makeup bag was still there. I threw it all out. Now my cabinet is spartan, economical, and masculine.

A few weeks ago I was rearranging the furniture in my bedroom (for the fourth time in a month) when I opened a small drawer in a cabinet-like object and found some of SnarkEx's things. They looked like the kind of things one would leave behind on purpose: Jewelry cases, buttons, a cloth bag, a fancy little box. A single earring still attached to the cardboard backing it came in. (Does it expect its partner to return?) An ancient-looking cellphone with a charger that you plug into your car, the latter still unopened in its original packaging.

I didn't want any of this shit. I could have thrown it all away, but this stuff seemed less like trash than the bathroom items. Plus it seems environmentally irresponsible to throw away a cell phone, even an ancient one. So I put all the items in a bag and decided to get it to SnarkEx somehow.

Then I remembered the tapes.

It was about a year after we got married that I consolidated all of our music. At the time, I made the joke that, even though we had already gotten married and joined our bank accounts, combining our CD and tape collections indicated true commitment to our relationship. (It's funny how all these jokes I made when I was married, with the assumption that our union was permanent, have come to bite me in the ass in the past year.) I had to alphabetically interfile all of her music with my collection, which took quite a bit of rearranging. We even bought a new CD stand for the new consolidated collection.

When she moved out, she took all of her CDs, but she left all of the cassettes. She only had a few of these, interspersed among my huge tape collection. (Since I grew up in the 80's, most of my music collection is still on cassette. I've been trying to replace my favorite albums with CDs, which I hear will be obsolete soon as well. I'm so behind the times.) I'd been trying to decide what to do with her cassettes, which I have no interest in keeping. So I threw them into the bag of bedroom things and put it in my car.

So now I have a little bag with what I hope is the Last of Her Stuff. I need to get it to her, but I'm not sure how to do that without actually having to contact her. Since she moved to Hicktown, I can't exactly drop it off on her front porch, ring the doorbell and run off like a neighborhood kid. She has a mailbox at her church and I could leave it there, but I don't think the box is big enough to hold the bag.

So I gave it to my brother, who also goes to her church and can get it to her, somehow. I hope he doesn't have to interact with her. I'd hate to think he's taking a SnarkEx encounter for me.

Meetup Math

The first time I organized a meetup on the interwebs, about half of the people who belong to the group RSVPed either "yes", "no" or "maybe." Of the "yeses" and "maybes," about half of those showed. So in both the RSVPs and in the attendance, one-half was the response rate.

On Friday when I organized our second meetup, only about a third of the members RSVPed. And only one third of the "yeses" and "maybes" showed. So while the response rate was lower than the last time, there was a consistent ratio each time between total members, RSVPs, and attendance.

The downside to my fascinating statistical study of attendance rates is that our last meeting worked out to exactly two people. Including me. So I spent 2.5 hours in a bar with one other member of a group, sucking down beer and looking hopefully to the door every time it opened to see if maybe someone else from our group would show. They didn't. The sign that I had placed on the table, so that newcomers could find us, sat there forlorn and ignored. It announced to everyone who walked by, "pathetic little anonymous internet meeting."

It wouldn't have been so bad, except for the one lady who showed up for the meeting was the one (of the three who showed up last time) who I had the least interest in getting to know. We didn't really have much in common and the conversation was awkward. I loosened up after a few beers and told her about my divorce, mostly to inject something scandalous into our tepid conversation.

Now I'm mad at all the people who didn't come (2/3 of the RSVPs) and all the people who didn't RSVP (2/3 of the total membership.) I don't think they're worth organizing something for again. But I'll probably give it one more chance in a few weeks.

I'll forgive them once I get desperate enough to hang out with strangers again.

Champion!

I came home from work Tuesday night in a pissy mood. I even thought about bad things for the first time in months. But I had the "championship" match in my tennis league to think about, so I took a nap and readied myself for that.

The match was actually anti-climactic. In a season where I keep winning nailbiters at the last minute, this was supposed to be my toughest test of the season. But my opponent had a really bad night and I was steady, if not spectacular. I beat him 6-0, 6-2, my most lopsided victory of the season. The first few games were close, but I managed to pull them out with positive thinking. I kept telling myself, "You win the deuce [close] games, you win the deuce games." And I did. I also clawed myself out of a hole when he had three chances to break my serve and take a 3-1 lead in the second set. I told myself, "You're going to come back and win this game and it's going to break his spirit." And I did. I won five straight points and tied it at 2-2. That did him in and he gave up the last four games. I was embarrassed at how easy the victory was. I hardly broke a sweat. It was almost a letdown.

It wasn't a dramatic victory, but it clinched the championship for me. With a week to go, I am undefeated and assured of first place. I just won my way into this league last year, and now I get to move on to the next higher league. Considering I was middle of the pack last year, and I had a pretty awful outdoor summer season, this championship has come as a huge, wonderful shock to me.

I am a champion!!

I was so excited about winning that I called my oldest brother on the way home. (And I never use my cell in the car.) He didn't answer so I left a voice mail. Then I called my other brother, whose daughter said he wasn't "available." I said I'd call back later. I wanted to talk to someone, to share my good news, but all my other family members live a time zone that made it too late to call.

In my head I composed an email to all my family and friends announcing my tennis success. It's not exactly like finding a new job, the birth of a child, or winning the Nobel prize, but after the year I'd had, I was bursting to share this scrap of good news.

I listened to Bruce Springsteen's Born to Run on the way home, at top volume.

...It's a town for losers
and I'm pulling out of here to wiiiiiiiiiiin.

It made me cry. I don't know if they were tears of joy and triumph, or cathartic sadness, or just an overwhelming emotion that's too deep to figure out.

By the time I got home and showered, I'd come down a little. I decided not to call my brother back. And by the next morning, when I got to my email, I decided that an email announcement to my family would be kinda pathetic. I can see the little brother in me crying "Look at me! Look at me!" and I don't like that aspect of my personality.

I wish I could take all the optimisim, fun, and confidence I have on the tennis court and transfer it to the rest of my life.

But in at least one area of my life, at this time, I'm a winner.

Proposal

I saw this video this weekend:



Yeah, it's romantic and clever and a great surprise proposal.

So was mine, or so I thought.

Four years later she left me.

I do wish Mr. and Mrs. Weather Guy luck, but the cynic in me can't help thinking, "And how long before they get divorced?" Can we get the footage five years from now of her telling him at a restaurant, "I don't love you anymore..."?

Lonely Saturday Night

You would think in a town with hundreds of thousands of people I could find one person to go to a movie with on a Saturday night.

I'm feeling pretty loserish tonight. I've been feeling this way a lot lately, much more than I have in recent weeks. I don't know where it's coming from other than my new Be Single attitude. It's supposed to be empowering, but somehow it has the opposite effect. I've managed to keep myself occupied on Friday and Saturday nights for several weeks in a row, but tonight it caught up with me.

I was supposed to be meeting my New Friends tonight, but the only two people who RSVPed 'yes' canceled earlier today, so I just canceled the entire event. (It was a bad night to plan something, since the local college had their homecoming this weekend and so all the local meeting places would be swamped with alumni clad in "chartreuse and charcoal," or whatever the hell they call the colors of the local team. ) Now I have to go through all the work and second-guessing of planning another New Friends event for next weekend, in the slim hopes that more than three people will show up.

So I decided to go to a movie. The local art theater is showing Religulous, a Bill Maher documentary on religion. I've been wanting to see it for a while and thought this would be a good opportunity. I made two attempts to find someone to go with me, but neither worked out. Oh well, I didn't expect to find anyone at the last minute anyway.

I think my best survival technique is that I'm not the kind of person to just sit there and be miserable. I don't suffer in silence. I take steps. I problem solve. I may get frustrated or downtrodden when the solution is a bust, but at least I'm Doing Something.

The movie started about fifteen minutes late. I sat in an aisle seat, adjacent to no one, and shoveled popcorn into my gaping maw waiting for the movie to start. When I saw it was ten minutes past the start time I got pissed off. When are they going to start the goddam movie? This wasn't my usual anal punctuality coming out. After all, I had nothing to do and nowhere to be. This was my one event for the evening, so why was I so impatient for the movie to start? Because couples and groups were all around me, socializing and enjoying conversation before the movie. I was alone with my popcorn. I felt loserish and uncomfortable and I wanted the movie to take me away from those feelings. I needed a diverson.

Once the movie started my mood improved dramatically. It was a pretty good film if you view it more like a Borat-type comedy than as a social statement. It got a little heavy-handed, preachy (ironically for a movie knocking religion), and Michael Moorish at the end. But overall a fun experience.

Then it ended and I was alone among the couples and groups once again. I came home and ran to my blog, which sometimes feels like my only friend. Oh Blog, you're the only one who understands me.

------------------------
Since this post is so maudlin, I'll end it with a happy memory. As I was driving away from the art theater tonight I saw a couple cuddling on a downtown bench. It reminded me of the August night six years ago when I sat on that very same bench with girlfriend #3. She was the best first kiss I've ever had.

After having hung out in a downtown bar, we had walked to a nearby park and faced the fountain. We stood next to each other, leaned against the railing and stared at the water. Not sure if she was into me or not, I made my move and put my hand over hers. She turned to me and gave me a look that was the clearest signal I've ever gotten in my life. She wanted to be kissed. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no awkwardness, no nerves. It was as natural as taking air into my lungs. We kissed in front of the fountain. And then on the park bench facing the fountain. And later, on the downtown bench that I drove past tonight.

The relationship itself was a disaster, but damn, that was a good first kiss.

Calls & Curves

Some days I stare at my email inbox, with no new messages all day, and think, "Hello? Is this thing on?" With all the groups & activities I'm active in and all the planning I do with friends, you'd think I'd get more messages.

Other times I will check the missed calls on my cell phone. It always beeps at me, "No missed calls." I will push the button five times in a row. Has anybody called now? How about now? Huh? Now? I hear the beep tell me again and again, "Nope, no one has called." I don't know why I torment myself like this. I guess it's become a nervous tick.

It's not like I'm even expecting specific calls or emails from people. I'm just a needy single person seeking validation that someone is thinking about me. (One trick I've learned, however, is to take a nap. The phone always rings right after I fall asleep on the couch.)

I wasn't always this needy. When I was married I rarely answered the phone because it was usually a telemarketer or someone calling for SnarkEx. The sound of the phone ringing was almost a nuisance at times. And the only time we ever used the cell phone was for emergencies or when we traveled. It often went weeks without getting turned on.


A few months ago I updated my cell plan and got a pretty new red camera phone. I started taking it with me whenever I left the house. I still don't actually use it very much, but I like to pretend that I'm more accessible now. Lately I've been forgetting to turn it on, though. (Incidentally, the only person who ever consistently called me on my cell was TennisGrrrl. I tried to get her to use my land line number, since it was more dependable, but she only called my cell.)

So it came as quite a surprise when I discovered a missed call on my cell a few weeks ago. It was from a number I didn't recognize that was not in my address book. Who could have called me?

I had two theories. One was that it was SnarkEx, whose new number was not in my phone. Maybe she was trying to get a hold of me for some reason? (In hindsight this theory really didn't make sense because she would have just called the land line, and she of all people would have known that I hardly ever check my cell.) The other theory was that one of the guys from my tennis league was calling to cancel our match.

Neither theory panned out. Then I remember that you can Google phone numbers. So I did.

It was the local Curves.

------------------------
Curves, for those of you who don't know, is a chain of women-only regimented workout centers. SnarkEx was a devoted member of Curves for several years. It was from working out there (30 minutes three times a week) that she lost about 30 pounds before our wedding. I was really impressed at how disciplined she was about going there.

Then she finished her degree, got a full-time job, and stopped going to Curves. She gained the 30 pounds back. Trying to be the supportive husband, I never said anything about her weight. But I did encourage her to go to the rec center or go walking when I went out to play tennis. I've never been attracted to waif-like supermodels and I hate it when women who look great think they're fat. So it wasn't so much the weight that bothered me but the fact that she wasn't staying active. And any sudden weight gain like that is cause for alarm. (Incidentally, this sudden weight gain also coincided with her becoming obsessed with the church and deciding to leave her husband.) Still, I couldn't bring myself to talk directly to SnarkEx about it.

When we were visiting her family for the holidays last year, her dad made some disparaging comment about her weight. I didn't know how to respond so I remained silent. What could I say, anyway? "Yeah, your daughter's really getting fat. Let's make her feel bad about it!" If I didn't want to talk to my wife about it, there was no way I was going to have that conversation with my father-in-law.

After she left me, I lost some weight. Not much, about 5-8 pounds. I remember the first time I saw her in the counselor's office after we hadn't seen each other for two weeks. I thought maybe she would have been on the same weight-loss regimen that I was on: depression, lack of sleep, and poor nutrition. Instead, I was taken aback at how heavy she looked. Either she had gained even more weight since she moved out or I really hadn't noticed the weight before she left.

One of my informants has recently told me that she looks like she's gained even more weight in the past couple of months. That would be expected now that she's living in the middle of nowhere and commuting 30 miles a day.

Since I started playing tennis I've lost about 10-15 pounds and have kept it off. (Before I got in shape I used to grab my spare tire and complain about my "fatty fat fat fat.") I think I'm really lucky that I grew up in a subculture of competitive sports. I don't have to be disciplined to play tennis. It's my hobby and obsession so I never have to force myself to go exercise. I know how hard it can be to keep up something that's unpleasant but good for you, so I have a lot of empathy for people who want to stay in shape but don't have a fun way to do it. I admired SnarkEx when she went to Curves so religiously, because I knew it wasn't very much fun for her.

---------------
Anyway, I assume that the missed call from Curves was for SnarkEx. (My cell number is the same one that we shared before the split.) They never called back and I didn't follow up on it.

Her weight is none of my concern anymore.

Be Single...Or Not

It's been almost two weeks since I made the decision to Be Single. I'm still trying to work out the details, but it basically means that I'm not actively looking to be in a relationship right now. I'm taking my time and enjoying not being tied down to anyone.

That's the theory, anyway.

In practical terms, my life is not any different than it was two weeks ago. I still have the same level of social activity that I had then. I still check the dating sites as often as I did (with no success) and I still scope out potential mates all around me. (Hey, I'm single, not dead!) I guess the only thing that's changed is my attitude. I'm trying to take mental advantage of whatever benefits there are to being single.

It's not easy. I fluctuate between the euphoria of possibilities, the despair of an uncertain future, and a general everyday sense of unease. Some people may really enjoy all the freedom and independence that comes from being single, but for me it's an uncomfortable sensation of free falling.

There's a myth about being single that you can do anything you want, come and go as you please, and you don't have to fit your schedule to anyone. That's certainly true-- if every activity you want to do is solitary. But if you want to involve other people in your activities, then you still have to coordinate schedules. And it's much harder to do that with people you don't live with.

There are things I can take advantage of as a single person that I couldn't when I was married. I can date around, stay out drinking til 5:00 am, go to a strip club, choose any vacation in the world. (I won't tell which of those activities I did last weekend.) I've only been to a strip club once in my life, the summer before I got married. From a purely physical point of view, it was an amazing experience-- one that I still look back on with fondness. (And by "fondness" I mean "erections.") But because I was in a relationship, I was a little iffy on the rules and didn't let myself go completely. I remember thinking, "If I were single, I would be all over this." Well, now I am single and can do whatever skeezy thing I want to. I don't have to answer to anyone.

But part of me wants to answer to someone. This Be Single initiative is only temporary. I don't plan to live the rest of my life like this. Ultimately, I want to find a significant relationship again. And when I do find that next relationship, will I be embarrassed or ashamed of my actions as a skeevy divorced man? Even though I'm single and theoretically free, I continue to hold back for fear of having to answer to a potential partner one day. (Notice I'm not looking for a "wife" but a "partner." I plan to steer clear of marriage for a long while. You know those guys who have a girlfriend for like 12 years but can't bring themselves to commit? I totally want to be one of those guys.)

It's a moot point, anyway. All of these things I tell myself I can do as a single person, all of these strategies I employ to Be Single-- they are all just diversions. Things to distract me from what I really want, which is to be primary in someone's life again. And I don't know why it's so wrong for me to acknowledge that. When I was single and in my twenties, one thing that always got my blood boiling was when people in relationships would tell me that I had to be happily single. People who have not spent a total of three months single in their entire adult life told me to be happy as a single person. That's like Sally Struthers lecturing starving Africans on how to enjoy fasting.

I've realized that if I'm going to make this Be Single thing work I'm going to need a larger support system. Now that there's no one who's primary in my life, I need a larger network of secondary people. But developing and maintaining such a network can be exhausting. I've always been more comfortable with a small network of intimate friends rather than a large passel of shallow acquaintances.

I suppose it was my dependence on a small network that made it worse when SnarkEx left me. It's ironic (or is it fitting?) that the person I depended on the most was the only one who let me down. In the end it was all those secondary relationships that I found I could count on, and the primary one who abandoned me.

This blog is all over the place. I'm trying to squeeze too many contrasting ideas into one post. Maybe instead of Be Single I should title it Be All Over the Place or even Be Single All Over the Place. But that doesn't look as good on an inspirational poster.

A Quarter of a Divorce

I thought I was all done with the legal and financial aspects of my divorce. I wasn't.

Last week SnarkEx sent me an email asking me to pay half of her lawyer's fees. She'd just received a bill for the divorce and it was twice as much as what her lawyer originally quoted her. So she's asking me to pick up the slack.

There are two equally valid ways to look at this. On the one hand, I had agreed to pay half of the legal fees when she first consulted a lawyer last April. This included the legal fees and the court costs, which would total about $560, according to SnarkEx, according to her lawyer.

But when we met to execute the Marital Settlement Agreement last May, she had a change of heart and told me that she would cover all the lawyer fees by herself. She made the offer in the parking lot after we were all done splitting up our assets. It was the last time I've seen her in person.

I have three theories as to why she made this offer. First, when I received our economic stimulus payment ($1200) in May, I transferred half of it into her account. So she had a sudden windfall of money and probably was thankful that I shared it with her, since I could have kept it all for myself and not said anything. Secondly, I think she thought I was being overly generous in dividing up our savings in half, because much of that money was mine before we got married and most of our savings had come from my income. Thirdly, I wonder if she just felt guilty about leaving me.

So we have the first agreement, where I said I would pay half of the fees, and then we have the second agreement, where she said she would cover all of them. Now, because the fees were more than she expected, she wants to go back to the first agreement.

I'm not about to fork over $600 without asking some questions, so I emailed her back and said, "Isn't that twice as much as what the lawyer first quoted you? I thought this was a straightforward case with no complications, so why is there such a discrepancy between the quote and the final bill?" (I didn't write this, "You said you would cover the legal bills and now you want me to help. Is this another case of you breaking your word?" But I really wanted to.)

She's not a very assertive person, so I'm sure this is not something that she took up with her lawyer. Either he misled her on how much the divorce was going to cost, or, like so many other conversations she had leading up to our separation and divorce, she actively misunderstood him. Or she misled me about the costs. Either way, it seems like the problem is between her and her lawyer, not between her and me.

Legally I don't owe her a dime. The divorce is completely settled, we've divvied up our assets, and we have no legal connection whatsoever. But I don't want to be a complete asshat and not honor any oral agreements I've made. I want to show her that I can keep my word, even if she can't. But what exactly was my word? What did I agree to? I've talked to several people about this dilemma, and they all seem to offer the same solution, but for different reasons. I should split the difference and pay half of the original estimate, which is also about half of the unexpected costs.

Here is my reasoning. The last agreement we had was that she would pay the whole bill. She was in for $560 and I was in for $0. The final bill came and it was twice as much. Of the unexpected costs, she wants me to absorb 100% of it and she will pay 0%. I'm not an insurance company. She can't turn to me when she gets into financial trouble or gets taken advantage of by her lawyer. If she wanted support for these kinds of things, she should have thought of that before she abandoned our marriage. She should shoulder some of the burden of the unexpected costs.

This is how I responded:

"Since you said you would pay all the lawyer's fees when we executed the Marital Settlement Agreement, I will pay half of the unexpected costs. (Which is also approximately the same amount that I originally agreed to pay.) I'll send you a check for $300.

If you want to argue with your lawyer over the discrepancy between his estimate and the final bill, that's your business."

That works out to one quarter of the total legal bills, which seems about right to me. I feel like I was about 25% responsible for our divorce.