I was married to my ex-husband for 12 years and dated him for 5 years. We got married on September 11 in the early nineties, and our divorce was final, court appearance and all, on February 14, which as you know, is Valentines Day.
Valentines Day has always been my favorite holiday. I am not a holiday fanatic, I have no use for Sweetest Day, because it's not about love, it's about commerce. But, for the love of God, if you are romantically involved with me, your ass better not ever forget Valentines Day.
This year is the fourth anniversary of my big epic divorce. The first year, my mother had to scrape me up from the floor. The second year, I was obsessed with what he was doing with his new girlfriend on my special day. The third year, I thought about how he always bought me Whitman Samplers, and then I realized that's some really shitty chocolate.
This year will probably be the last year that I give it any thought at all, because I'm ready to move on. So, I would like to do something I haven't done much of in the last couple of years, and that's say something nice about Ken, because we had some really great years together.
1) I snore like a 300 lb. man with a deviated septum, I mean, friends get up in the middle of the night to sleep on the couch so often, I keep blankets in the living room. Ken slept by me every nite for 17 years and never said a word about my snoring, to the point where I never even realized that I did.
2) No matter what went wrong, Ken was always there to rescue me. Be it car trouble, keys locked in the car, bad weather, bad health, whatever.
3) He always kept my car really clean.
4) He let my mother stay with us for months at a time. Sometimes he would bring her Hershey Bars and newspapers, which are my mother's two favorite things in life.
5) He used to wash my hair for me after I had surgery, which was pretty gorey, considering the 60 or so stitches I had in the back of my head.
6) He was always so proud to be married to me, and bragged about me to anyone who would listen.
Here's to love both past and future. I don't think that someone has to die for a marriage to be considered successful, so I'm leaving this era behind feeling good about the time we spent together. So there you have it.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Valentines Day, 2009
I was married to my ex-husband for 12 years and dated him for 5 years. We got married on September 11 in the early nineties, and our divorce was final
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Tim aka Chicago Boy
In my very early twenties, my cronies and I hung out at two very specific bars. One was in Cincinnati, and the other was in Newport, KY. The one in Newport was The Jockey Club, which was, let's say, an alternative venue for the mostly punk bands in the region. It was on York Street, and will come up in many of my stories, it was such an interesting time.
One night, we showed up at the JC around 2a.m. The lights in the music hall were coming up, the employee's were cleaning up, and, as was so often the case, we were just showing up.
We're sitting at the bar, chatting with Shorty, who owned the place, having one last drink, when I notice that this guy was staring at me. Not just staring at me, staring me down. So, after ignoring him for awhile, it suddenly occurred to me that it was the end of the night, and I couldn't procrastinate the way I usually liked to. For the first time ever, and since, I walked over to his table, sat down, started chatting and that's how I met Tim from Chicago.
Turns out, Tim is a guitar player and his band played that night. He had dark soulful eyes, and curly dark hair. Man, this guy was all kinds of smart and sexy. He used to tell me that his parents would love me, and that just endeared me to him.
Unfortunately, it was their only night in town, and they had to leave for another show. So, after chatting for just fifteen minutes, I gave him my phone number, area code included, and said goodbye. As I left, I cursed the universe for it's lack of timing, and then forgot about it.
Three days later, my phone rang. It was Tim and he was in some town somewhere, and he wanted to call and tell me he was still thinking of me. From that day, for the next several months, we talked constantly. Our relationship taught me that intellect was important to me, and that there is nothing sexier than beautiful bodies and beautiful minds.
Through the years we managed to see quite a bit of eachother. We would either meet in Chicago, or he would come to Cincinnati.
My best memories of Tim are when we were in Chicago. A lot of the times, when he came to Cincinnati, it was for shows with his band. That meant I had to share him, spend time in bars, and cope with groupies, which always made me feel like I needed to be hosed down afterwards. It wasn't that I worried about him finding someone else, it was just so much work playing the whole scene, I hate that kind of shit.
When we were in Chicago, it was all about us. We would spend tons of time downtown, on Rush Street, listening to music, visiting the art museum, and eating at great restaurants.
The sex was really great too. But what I remember most about it is something that still cracks me up today. We were in his bed, in the throws of passion, and he asks me to sit on his face (I'm laughing while I write this.). Now, I am by no means a prude when it comes to the sexual arts, but for some reason, this just shocked me.
All I could think about was this old joke:
Q: How do you know when a woman is overwieght?
A: When she sits on your face, you can't hear the stereo.
And, then I started laughing hysterically. To this day, I will not do face sitting.
Tim and I enjoyed our time together and never had an actual falling out that ended the relationship. It just fizzled through the years, mostly because of my unwillingness to move away from Cincinnati. That's an ongoing theme with me and my romantic adventures. Although, I would not be surprised if Tim turned up again on day.
One night, we showed up at the JC around 2a.m. The lights in the music hall were coming up, the employee's were cleaning up, and, as was so often the case, we were just showing up.
We're sitting at the bar, chatting with Shorty, who owned the place, having one last drink, when I notice that this guy was staring at me. Not just staring at me, staring me down. So, after ignoring him for awhile, it suddenly occurred to me that it was the end of the night, and I couldn't procrastinate the way I usually liked to. For the first time ever, and since, I walked over to his table, sat down, started chatting and that's how I met Tim from Chicago.
Turns out, Tim is a guitar player and his band played that night. He had dark soulful eyes, and curly dark hair. Man, this guy was all kinds of smart and sexy. He used to tell me that his parents would love me, and that just endeared me to him.
Unfortunately, it was their only night in town, and they had to leave for another show. So, after chatting for just fifteen minutes, I gave him my phone number, area code included, and said goodbye. As I left, I cursed the universe for it's lack of timing, and then forgot about it.
Three days later, my phone rang. It was Tim and he was in some town somewhere, and he wanted to call and tell me he was still thinking of me. From that day, for the next several months, we talked constantly. Our relationship taught me that intellect was important to me, and that there is nothing sexier than beautiful bodies and beautiful minds.
Through the years we managed to see quite a bit of eachother. We would either meet in Chicago, or he would come to Cincinnati.
My best memories of Tim are when we were in Chicago. A lot of the times, when he came to Cincinnati, it was for shows with his band. That meant I had to share him, spend time in bars, and cope with groupies, which always made me feel like I needed to be hosed down afterwards. It wasn't that I worried about him finding someone else, it was just so much work playing the whole scene, I hate that kind of shit.
When we were in Chicago, it was all about us. We would spend tons of time downtown, on Rush Street, listening to music, visiting the art museum, and eating at great restaurants.
The sex was really great too. But what I remember most about it is something that still cracks me up today. We were in his bed, in the throws of passion, and he asks me to sit on his face (I'm laughing while I write this.). Now, I am by no means a prude when it comes to the sexual arts, but for some reason, this just shocked me.
All I could think about was this old joke:
Q: How do you know when a woman is overwieght?
A: When she sits on your face, you can't hear the stereo.
And, then I started laughing hysterically. To this day, I will not do face sitting.
Tim and I enjoyed our time together and never had an actual falling out that ended the relationship. It just fizzled through the years, mostly because of my unwillingness to move away from Cincinnati. That's an ongoing theme with me and my romantic adventures. Although, I would not be surprised if Tim turned up again on day.
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