The World's Shortest Marriage

I was married for about five minutes to a guy disguised as the Man of my Dreams. However, Dear Husband had a Secret Life. Watch in horror as I deal with the fallout of the World's Shortest Marriage.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Happy Anniversary to Me

I don't know what I thought my first wedding anniversary would be like, but I definitely never expected it to be like this.

Isn't the first anniversary the 'paper' anniversary? Mine is a divorce paper anniversary. I'm married to a stranger. A year after our wedding, I'm divorcing someone I no longer know, and in many ways never knew at all.

Interestingly, Dear Husband chose today to break his silence about the strange thought processes that crowd his head. He didn't do it without prompting though. This morning, during an email exchange about some outstanding financial matters, I violated my promise to myself to stop asking him questions.

To my surprise, he answered my question. He replied that he had been crushed by something I said to him about two weeks before we separated. It was news to me. DH's uniformly sunny exterior and inability to talk about his feelings precluded me from knowing that he was even capable of that kind of emotion.

He also said he was sorry for the first time since we separated, but his apology was less than forthcoming. He said he was sorry for 'looking at that shit.' The limited culpability he's willing to admit makes him seem more like a passive observer of the demise of our marriage, rather than an active instigator. I guess if that's what he needs to do to get through the night, that's his choice.

But it's not going to serve him well when he embarks on another relationship. And he will. DH has always needed someone to take care of him - first it was his parents, then the Navy, then First Wife, then Interim Girlfriend, then the parents again, and finally me. Except for IG, he was separated from these caregivers only by duress.

But I have to stop worrying about how DH thinks, feels, and manages to look at himself in the mirror. I attended a lovely autumn equinox ritual last night that got me thinking about decline and renewal. I've been mourning my crop failures, but I see now that I need to look at things in another way. By harvesting the sorrow that the past summer has brought, I might be preparing my soil for a fresh crop of hope in the spring. At least I hope so.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Loser Magnetism

One of my more candid (and less tactful) friends asked me the other day if I have a liar magnet on my forehead.

Ok, it was a fair question. I do seem to attract my fair share of men who have only a passing acquaintance with the truth.

Why is this? My mother, who has also attracted plenty of liars (hmmm, maybe I can blame it on genetics) calls it the xy chromosome factor - she maintains (lately) that all men are liars. This explanation is sooo tempting, because I can use it to absolve myself of all responsibility and go about my merry way surrounded by a flock of jive turkeys trying to sell me their stories.

A more honest explanation is that everyone, myself included, lies at times. Maybe I just need to learn to sort the good liars from the bad ones. I'm not talking skill level here - I need to separate the harmless liars (your hair looks good like that!) from the harmful ones (I don't know why that woman is emailing me!)

Part of my problem is that I'm cursed and blessed with the ability to find things. Once my suspicions are aroused (and sometimes before) I begin to search for information with the same intensity that my rat terrier displays during a good gopher hunt. And my suspicions, at least, rarely lie.

Sometimes I wish I could embrace a philosophy of blissful ignorance. But there are too many people doing that already. I know I'm not the only person who married a spouse with a secret life - one needs only to surf the personal ads on craigslist to figure that out. Is it better to be alone with the truth or together with an illusion? Clearly I made that decision fairly decisively in Dear Husband's case.

But the original question remains unanswered. Am I a magnet for liars? Or am I just cursed and blessed to discover their lies? Maybe I need to invest in a portable polygraph machine. Or maybe I need to listen more closely to the truth in my head. Perhaps if I let my own truth develop a loud enough voice, it will start to drown out other people's lies.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Flip a Coin

Interesting how two similar experiences can sometimes be like opposite sides of a coin.

On Thursday, amidst the drama of getting Dear Husband to sign the divorce papers, I had to drive my dog Bob to the half-day's-drive vet. Bob is a foster dog who has slowly sidled his way into my heart, and I agreed to adopt him if the rescue group for which I volunteer footed the bill to address Bob's medical problems. The rescue group uses a lovely vet who donates his services, but unfortunately his office is in the farthest northern reaches of bum-fucked Malibu.

We set out Thursday morning, me and three dogs, on a day as dark and gray as my mood. The dogs were cranky and fighting like three kids trapped in the back of a station wagon on a long road trip. Heading up PCH, the air was so heavy and wet that I had to run the wipers the whole way. The radio reception was spotty, so I popped in my only cassette tape. Note to self: No more Patsy Cline on days of darkest despair. I cried all the way to the charity vet's office.

Later that day, I met DH to sign the papers, and my black mood only increased. By Thursday night, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and die.

Fast forward to this morning: It was time to travel to Malibu again to pick up Bob. Before I left, I took care of some unfinished business that I should have addressed days earlier. So my mood was already shades lighter than it had been the day before when I embarked on the same trip.

Driving up the coast highway, it was like a different world. The sun was out and the ocean was a lovely shade of bottle green near the shore. The radio reception was good, and I sung along. Even the atrocious pastel Malibu mcmansions seemed more charming than obnoxious.

I was more excited than I realized to see Bob. Even though he mostly sleeps in the corner, as my friend A pointed out, he holds a place in my heart, and something was missing when he wasn't there, even for 24 hours.

When I got home, my temporary euphoria returned to something more familiar these days - manageable gloom. But I smiled when I thought about gazing out across the emerald Pacific, or seeing Bob's anxious face melt when we saw each other. I had to revisit a lesson I've learned many times before - happiness sometimes comes in sips and gulps, and we have to take it where we can find it.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Genesis

After five days of hemming and hawing, Dear Husband finally signed the divorce papers today.

We had agreed to meet on the steps of the downtown library at 3 p.m. I had no idea whether he would show. I got there five minutes early and sat down next to a paper shopping bag full of springform cheesecake pans - the ransom, so to speak.

(He had backed down on his earlier claim on all of my household electronic equipment after I sent him an email that must have burst into flames when he opened it. I think the subject line was 'I can't fucking believe you have the nerve to make demands.')

When he suddenly appeared in front of me, it was like seeing a vaguely familiar stranger. The goatee he's had since I met him had shrunk to a soul patch. But the difference was far greater than that.

The last time I saw him was about six weeks ago, when he came to the apartment to retrieve his things. When I saw him then, I wanted to press my face against his chest and feel his arms around me. In fact, that's what I did. Despite everything that had happened, he was still the person I sought when I was hurting and needed solace.

But today he seemed so alien. I couldn't ever imagine loving him or being in love with him. I couldn't remember spotting him across a crowded newsroom and feeling my heart flutter. I couldn't imagine waiting impatiently to tell him something exciting. I couldn't recall lying in bed with my head on his chest and feeling at peace. I couldn't imagine standing up with him in front of our friends professing our love.

He signed the papers and peeked into the bag that contained his beloved pans. My legs sprang up and started walking into the library almost of their own volition. The whole meeting took less than three minutes.

I thought I might as well get some books while I was there. I selected a stack more on the basis of color than title or author and headed to my car. I didn't feel the relief I had anticipated. I felt hollow and empty and alone.

Driving home on random streets, I happened to pass by the office building where my last job began with such promise and ended in flames, much like my marriage. It occurred to me that I hold in my hand the opportunity to renew myself. Sometimes we must be broken down in order to rebuild. This is my chance to make a fresh start.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Terms and Conditions Apply


The divorce papers have finally arrived, and Dear Husband has agreed to sign them, as promised - as long as I meet his demands.

I knew his pledge to make our divorce as uneventful as possible was too good to be true. Two days after I contacted him to tell him the papers had arrived, he was kind enough to respond. He said he would be happy to sign the papers, provided I gave him the television, the stereo, the kitchen aide mixer, and a bunch of other stuff.

Apparently my response to his previous request for these items flew right through the hole in his head or the space where his heart should be. I said, okay, you broke my heart, destroyed our marriage, humiliated me beyond belief, and now you want the tube and the music? He replied that he would settle for the stereo.

But he's changed his mind. He also wants his springform pans back - sounds like he's in the mood to make cheesecake again. I'm glad his life is getting back to normal. It must be - he's still not making the minimum payment on his credit card. That may be because he got fired from another job. It's good to know that he's at least consistent.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Solitude

I was cleaning the kitchen the other day - my efforts to avoid work sometimes inspire me to extraordinary lengths - and noticed something unusual before I even got started. The stovetop was clean.

Ok, not exactly clean. It was a little dusty. But it was a far cry from what it used to be when Dear Husband lived here - it always seemed to be spattered with splotches and sauce no matter how often I cleaned it.

I can't really complain - no one benefitted more than I did from those stovetop spatters. DH was adept at whipping up gourmet meals on the spur of the moment that smelled and tasted delicious. His food smelled so savory that neighbors would sometimes linger outside our apartment, arrested by the tantalizing aromas.

But with that good food came big messes. I got used to finding cheesecake batter on the kitchen cupboards and crust on the cutting board. I got into the habit of following him around on his kitchen adventures with a sponge in my hand.

Since I discovered DH's Secret Life, my food intake has become a lot more boring. My staples have shifted lately from coffee and candy to diet coke and string cheese. I order a lot more takeout. But at the same time, cleaning the kitchen has become a hell of a lot easier.

Other things have changed too. The television isn't on every waking minute, constantly flipping between channels in search of that one elusive program worth watching for more than a nanosecond. There's a lot more music in my life, and a lot more silence. A lot more reading. A lot more contemplation.

It's helped me to remember why I've lived alone nearly all of my adult life. Other than shacking up with a man for a couple of years in my mid-20s, I've never even really had a roommate. Sure, it can get lonely at times, especially when you work at home with no one to talk to other than the dogs. But I think the benefits outweigh the liabilities. I've lost five pounds. I can hear myself think. I haven't had to watch even one minute of the Food Network in the past two months. But the best thing is that I'm not living a lie anymore. And if I'm careful, I'll never have to again.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Unexpected Benefits

My boss called me the other night as I was blundering around Long Beach in the dark looking for an address.

'I can't talk right now,' I said. 'I'm late for a dinner party.'

'Okay,' he said. 'But I'm calling to tell you I'm giving you a raise.'

'I guess I have a few minutes,' I replied.

It turns out he was rewarding me with a generous unasked-for raise because I had recently agreed to take on additional responsibilities and hours. One of my new jobs is to watch 'Nancy Grace' on CNN every night, and there's not enough money in the world to compensate me for that, but still it was a nice gesture.

'And I'm looking forward to seeing you and Mr. A at the firm retreat at the end of September,' Boss Man added.

So I was forced to explain yet again that 'Mr. A' no longer exists. I gave him a brief synopsis - Secret Life, freak out, suicide threat, weapon removal, disappearance. He expressed his regrets, and I went to the dinner party.

Imagine my surprise when I opened my paycheck - Boss Man had increased the raise by 50 percent. The only possible explanation is that he was sympathetic about my Dear Husband turning out to be a cheater whore.

So hurray for me - along with a broken heart, a divorce, and boundless humiliation, I got a sympathy bonus. It doesn't have to all be bad. But I still have to watch Nancy Grace.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Truth or Dare

Recently I've had to face an unusual number of social situations that require me to come clean about the end of my marriage or lie like a rug.

My recent trip to Idaho presented many opportunities to lie. My father had planned a couple of get-togethers with various cousins that I hadn't been in touch with for several years. Unfortunately, the most recent news they had about me was about my wedding.

So naturally that was a big topic of conversation. My father and I agreed in advance that lying by omission would be the best course of action. I wanted to avoid the frozen rictus of horror I've seen so often lately on the faces of those who have heard my news.

But it proved to be more challenging than I had anticipated. At one long dinner, the conversation returned again and again to my wedding and Dear Husband. If they were suspicious about a newly minted bride who changed the subject every time her wedding was mentioned, my cousins didn't let on. Very polite people in Idaho.

Last Saturday, I went to a former professor's house in Beverly Hills for a reunion luncheon with several former students. I decided to take a more direct approach here. M, one of my favorite professors, opened the door with a flourish and said, 'Here comes the bride!'

'I'm already divorced,' I said as we hugged. 'Process it.'

With her typical poise, M took it in stride. A theological scholar and the wife of a minister, M was familiar with the ways in which the absurdly religous use Secret Lives to separate their bright and dark sides.

I also talked at length with P, a former student who had earned a PhD in psychology in the seven years since we last spoke. (Yes, I felt a twinge of inadequacy, since I've spent the past seven years trashing my professional reputation and well, watching cartoons) P has had several patients who compartmentalize their secret sexual compulsions as methodically as DH did. Doing so allows them to justify their behavior and operate in both realms , she said.

It felt terrible to lie to my relatives, but it was embarrassing to come clean with the women at the luncheon, despite their uncompromising support. I feel like I have to choose my discomfort on a case-by-case basis. I suppose I'll eventually reach a point when I'll have to tell everyone the truth. Until then, I'll play it by ear.