Tuesday, February 1, 2011
To summarize the last few months:
Mrs. Bunker and her chainsaw emporium have receded into the past. This not-so-sad demise was due to her ability to locate her long lost spine; this led to the abrupt dismissal of Mr. Archie Bunker, from whom the sad beat-down known Mrs. Edith Bunker drew her identity.
So then. After a 14 year relationship (married 11, 2 children) I finally yanked the stick out of my ass, packed up my clothes, and fled the family home with the kids as Mr. Bunker chased me down the street with a fistful of insanity. He soon came to his senses, and to my immense relief, it turned out he was going to be just fine with a divorce (I had been holding him back in so many ways) and he wanted to have an amicable spit; maybe we could even save on legal fees and use the same attorney...
The problem turns out to be that his idea of an amicable split involves him keeping everything and me getting out with my clothes (the other problem, of course is that he is an obsessive-compulsive, eating-the-paint-off-the-walls, sniffing-his-own-ass crazy person). This in some ways doesn't seem like that bad of a deal, being that it includes the vital provision of me no longer having to be married to his stupid ass, AND I got to take my shoes; shoes are important to me. Still, I was prepared to walk away holding my nose and my dignity until I discovered that you can't just walk away from a $2M house if you're on the deed and your spouse has taken $1.9M out in equity on said house. DRAT!
That was the first bit of bad news, followed-up quickly by his demonstration that he did not even pause for one nanosecond to decide whether or not throwing the kids into the middle of our dispute would be an appropriate strategy. Turns out, he does not find that sort of thing at all distasteful. The kids are old enough to understand that I am not actually out peddlin ' poon to the gals, but still. Their recent expansion in vocabulary is not going to be of any use to them in any academic sense; maybe if they have to to go to prison it'll be helpful but really not for a while; "carpet mucher" is just confusing to them, and personally I think it's a little out dated as far as slang is concerned; how about "dykenator" or "vagatarian"? much more interesting.
No longer having Mrs. Bunker to shoulder the brunt of my bitching has left a bit of a void in my life, but I have been advised to abandon her as she could cause me some divorce-type problems. So here I am, snowed into my cozy little apartment by the big blizzard of 2011, casting about for a new identity. All this while I have to spend time fending off charges of being the drug addicted, drunken, lesbian, child abusing, suicidal wreck being leveled by that baby daddy of mine.