12.10.2004
I Have No Response to That
Soooo, another day in Alisaland where everything is tidy and sparkling clean. And then, as usual, the shitbomb. They're getting more comic, which is a bonus, but they're still a-comin, which is not a bonus.
Don't recall if I mentioned this before, but the EH owned a condo before we met, which he still owns, and we've had a renter in there for about 6 months - before that his brother lived there. So the EH knows divorce is imminent, and as long as 3 weeks ago - or was it 4? - we discussed yes, divorce, we're doing it. So since I'm refinancing the house in my own name - and he has that lovely condominium - and my lease at the continental is up end of december - we decide that he's out and I'm in. Simple enough, right? Not for the EH! He concocts this elaborate plan for moving into his friend's guest house that hinges on the whims of her 25-year-old daughter and her fickle relationship with her boyfriend. So, instead of telling the renter, "I"m sorry, I'm getting a divorce and I need MY PLACE TO LIVE BACK," he extends the renter's lease another 6 months (ups her rent 100 bucks, though, so good show there) and sticks to the assumption that everything in 25-year-old girl-land is good to go.
Guess what. Turns out that it's not. Big shock, I know. So he calls me yesterday and says, "This may affect some things...I blah blah blah, no place to live" and I said, "Oh no, I'm sorry, it doesn't. You and your stuff will be out by Dec. 23 (I have movers coming) and I will be in."
And this is where the plot sickens: That lesbian-piloted motorhome is still out in front of our house, Ozarks-style, and - I swear, I could not make this up - the EH says, "I was thinking of living in the motorhome." ON MY PROPERTY. HOOKED UP TO MY ELECTRICITY. TWENTY FEET FROM MY FRONT DOOR. I was like, "oh no you don't! Not only will you be gone, but that motorhome will be gone, too!"
And that's when he lost it. "I can't talk to you anymore, Alisa." Oh goody, EH, because I can't talk to you anymore either! He has places to go - though limited, because of his giant old-lady-biting dog. He could move in with his friend P or his brother. Or rent an apartment. After all, I'm cutting him a check for (minimum) $7,000 from the refi. But instead he has to think of the most bizarre, most convoluted, most unnatural scenario. "I was thinking of moving into the motorhome."
Sweet Jeezus. It's one thing to have a motorhome parked in front of your house. It's another thing to have someone living in that motorhome. And it's yet another thing when the person living in said motorhome is your EX-HUSBAND.
What part of this is so baffling to him? I truly don't get it.
In other news, my workplace issued an email two days ago asking each department to decorate for the holidays. It goes without saying that I am so not into this. But there I was at my desk yesterday, cutting snowflakes out of copy paper with the rest of the marketing department...for three hours.
And today I was given the task of shopping for dreckorations. I had a partner, though - this truly sweet girl who just got married, she's 28, peach-pie skin, just fucking adorable, and she was all excited to go shopping with me because I'm "so funny." Poor thing. I chain-smoked cigarettes all the way to the craft store, said every foul word in my vocabulary, and basically behaved in my normal, adorable way. I thought she'd shit herself. NOOP! She loved it! We had a blast! We extended our shopping trip to include a nice lunch and a run through Macy's. It was so not what I expected.
Who woulda thunk?
So I'm expecting - rather, hoping - that my weekend will be low-key. Tonight I'm planning on becoming one with my sofa, though the Puppy has other plans for me. We'll see. I was over there last night - I picked up comfort food and brandy at the store and we watched the OC (which I was not allowed to mock! The kid loves the OC, what can I say) and saw this bizarre thing on IFC where Henry Rollins reviews movies. Huh?
Tomorrow I'm going to hit the vintage stores down the street to finish up my holiday shopping (everyone gets vintage this year - I am in no shape to handle anything mall-related), and then tomorrow night I might go to a birthday party with my friend Krazy K. She needs a wingman. Apparently she knows like 2 people and the rest are - gag - PiPhis from UofA. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.
xoxo!
Don't recall if I mentioned this before, but the EH owned a condo before we met, which he still owns, and we've had a renter in there for about 6 months - before that his brother lived there. So the EH knows divorce is imminent, and as long as 3 weeks ago - or was it 4? - we discussed yes, divorce, we're doing it. So since I'm refinancing the house in my own name - and he has that lovely condominium - and my lease at the continental is up end of december - we decide that he's out and I'm in. Simple enough, right? Not for the EH! He concocts this elaborate plan for moving into his friend's guest house that hinges on the whims of her 25-year-old daughter and her fickle relationship with her boyfriend. So, instead of telling the renter, "I"m sorry, I'm getting a divorce and I need MY PLACE TO LIVE BACK," he extends the renter's lease another 6 months (ups her rent 100 bucks, though, so good show there) and sticks to the assumption that everything in 25-year-old girl-land is good to go.
Guess what. Turns out that it's not. Big shock, I know. So he calls me yesterday and says, "This may affect some things...I blah blah blah, no place to live" and I said, "Oh no, I'm sorry, it doesn't. You and your stuff will be out by Dec. 23 (I have movers coming) and I will be in."
And this is where the plot sickens: That lesbian-piloted motorhome is still out in front of our house, Ozarks-style, and - I swear, I could not make this up - the EH says, "I was thinking of living in the motorhome." ON MY PROPERTY. HOOKED UP TO MY ELECTRICITY. TWENTY FEET FROM MY FRONT DOOR. I was like, "oh no you don't! Not only will you be gone, but that motorhome will be gone, too!"
And that's when he lost it. "I can't talk to you anymore, Alisa." Oh goody, EH, because I can't talk to you anymore either! He has places to go - though limited, because of his giant old-lady-biting dog. He could move in with his friend P or his brother. Or rent an apartment. After all, I'm cutting him a check for (minimum) $7,000 from the refi. But instead he has to think of the most bizarre, most convoluted, most unnatural scenario. "I was thinking of moving into the motorhome."
Sweet Jeezus. It's one thing to have a motorhome parked in front of your house. It's another thing to have someone living in that motorhome. And it's yet another thing when the person living in said motorhome is your EX-HUSBAND.
What part of this is so baffling to him? I truly don't get it.
In other news, my workplace issued an email two days ago asking each department to decorate for the holidays. It goes without saying that I am so not into this. But there I was at my desk yesterday, cutting snowflakes out of copy paper with the rest of the marketing department...for three hours.
And today I was given the task of shopping for dreckorations. I had a partner, though - this truly sweet girl who just got married, she's 28, peach-pie skin, just fucking adorable, and she was all excited to go shopping with me because I'm "so funny." Poor thing. I chain-smoked cigarettes all the way to the craft store, said every foul word in my vocabulary, and basically behaved in my normal, adorable way. I thought she'd shit herself. NOOP! She loved it! We had a blast! We extended our shopping trip to include a nice lunch and a run through Macy's. It was so not what I expected.
Who woulda thunk?
So I'm expecting - rather, hoping - that my weekend will be low-key. Tonight I'm planning on becoming one with my sofa, though the Puppy has other plans for me. We'll see. I was over there last night - I picked up comfort food and brandy at the store and we watched the OC (which I was not allowed to mock! The kid loves the OC, what can I say) and saw this bizarre thing on IFC where Henry Rollins reviews movies. Huh?
Tomorrow I'm going to hit the vintage stores down the street to finish up my holiday shopping (everyone gets vintage this year - I am in no shape to handle anything mall-related), and then tomorrow night I might go to a birthday party with my friend Krazy K. She needs a wingman. Apparently she knows like 2 people and the rest are - gag - PiPhis from UofA. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.
xoxo!
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No one wants to live THAT close to their ex for any amount of time. I think he may just need to boot out that renter or I suppose he could just move the lezmobile to a trailer park and live there lol. Ya think he'd go for that? Silly man has known this was coming and he didn't do a damn thing and now he's expecting you to be inconvienced for him or to possibly sort it all out for him. Don'tcha just love men.
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