Friday, July 10, 2009
Holy sh*t, I'm divorced!
Although we signed an agreement in early May, it still takes time for it to be reviewed by a judge and finalized as a divorce. My attorney filed a request to expedite based on a. my serious health condition and b. my hope to get remarried at the end of this month, and it worked! I just received a copy of the judgment via fax a couple of minutes ago, and I can hardly believe it. Of course, it's all bittersweet: I am free of that unplesasant and uncaring woman (althoug have been for almost 5 years), able to move on with my life (including getting remarried to a wonderful, loving woman in two weeks time), but I'm also on a fasttrack to financial ruin, given the terms of the agreement. And already the bullshit around observing the agreement has begun: from the monthly support I pay her, Julie is supposed to provide clothing for the boys, but recently refused to buy them swim suits and athletic socks for their summer vacation (split, incidentally, equally between us and at the same place, one after the other), because those are "specialty sports equipment" and not "basic clothing." I'm sure the boys won't mind swimming in their underwear because their mother is too cheap to buy them swimsuits. So, as you she knows full well, I'll buy them suits and socks (and shorts, and the other things they need), and enable her to wriggle out of yet another obligation. Old habits die hard: both for her, and for me. But most of all, I have a piece of paper that officially frees me from this nightmare. And as the Who sang, "freedom tastes of reality." Yoohoo! And as my lawyer said, mazel tov on the wedding. Amen.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Divorce Pending?
Progress of sorts. Yesterday I signed, 5 copies x 85 pages, each one initialed, a finalized "separation agreement" that, pending approval by a judge, should become a divorce in the next 4-8 weeks. Normally this would be cause for celebration, but in this case, I was really signing my own financial suicide note. In their zeal to make this agreement as punitive as possible, Julie and her mall-rat lawyer never once stopped to ask whether I have even a snowball's chance of actually living up to the terms they wrang out of me in what amounted to a war of attrition. The short version is: Julie takes all of my money and half of my net income for the next decade, and refuses to give any of it back to the kids in the form of, say, money for college. It's basically all for her, plain and selfishly simple. Which is why her "of course the kids come first" line is such tired bullshit by now. I can't even stand to hear it anymore, which is why I signed such a disadvantageous document. Every divorced friend had the same basic advice: just sign something, doesn't matter what, get it over with, and move on with your life. Fine print: even if your new life is a penniless one. I don't see how I won't end up in personal bankruptcy court inside 5 years, but one of us had to break the impasse and move on, and I guess that's me. You'll excuse me if I don't pop any champagne corks at this time.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
With friends like these...
In a mid-January post, I complained how the Effing Ex was lining up friends like votes in Congress, determined to pass her "I am the victim here" decree (just look at the tally!), but as I read some of the emails her friends (and mutual friends) send me, Julie is wrong to count many of these people as friends, or maybe they're as much friends to her as she is to them. You judge:
One of her oldest friends, who's known us both from the time we first met, said she's resisting the temptation to say “I told you so,” even though she cautioned me then about Julie’s lack of compassion.
A mutual friend wrote after an angry outburst on my part:
George Bush?!
A former co-worker of Julie’s minced no words:
And a subject of one of her (typically kiss-ass) journalistic profiles urged me:
“Get it over with. Life is too precious to waste on (particularly nasty expletive deleted) women like Julie.”
Finally, from one of our first friends we made as a couple:
“You'd think that Julie had a shred of compassion or dignity or something and just let you both move on.”
You'd think. But I'm not the one who needs to get it over with and move on; I wish one of these friends would give her this advice instead of sending it to me about her. In fairness I'm sure her family and friends have said similar things about me: indeed, one of her sisters accidentally bcc'd me on one diatribe in which she lamented how "unsupportive" I'd been, even though I was the one with brain cancer, Julie was unemployed and fully supported by me (both financially and as career cheerleader), but still unable to spare an ounce of compassion. Guess I could've done more. Like the shopping and the cooking? Nah, did all that. Take care of the boys and walk the dog every night? Nah, did that, too. Pay all the bills and pick up the tabs for vacations, meals out, mortgages, maintenance, and incidentals? Check, got that, too. Yeah, I see now what an unsupportive jerk I was.
One of her oldest friends, who's known us both from the time we first met, said she's resisting the temptation to say “I told you so,” even though she cautioned me then about Julie’s lack of compassion.
Yes, I warned you about Julie, but I don't think I can take credit for anticipating she
would turn into such a bitch. I, too, believe that physical health is very
closely linked to mental and spiritual well-being and I am horrified that
Julie is not backing off and letting you focus on healing and living your
life.
would turn into such a bitch. I, too, believe that physical health is very
closely linked to mental and spiritual well-being and I am horrified that
Julie is not backing off and letting you focus on healing and living your
life.
A mutual friend wrote after an angry outburst on my part:
Julie is a broken, angry person who suppresses her rage and channels it elsewhere in passive, less overt ways. She is just as angry as you are but she doesn't have a 'health condition' that people can blame it on. Somehow she keeps it all pent up inside. You, on the other hand, wear your emotions on your sleeve, which in our society is always more difficult for all to handle, it makes you more vulnerable but it also makes you more open to love and joy. Therefore you are more alive than she will ever be. She is George Bush, you are much closer to Obama (though Obama would not send his kids to (private school name censored here)!).
George Bush?!
Bush because he is the epitome of a person who is soulless and has
used his soullessness- the way he treats people, negates their own
sense of self by naming them with idiotic nicknames without care, does not
integrate the other's experiences and ideas into his own belief system and
decision-making processes; in short, his lack of conscious and conscience:
Julie.
used his soullessness- the way he treats people, negates their own
sense of self by naming them with idiotic nicknames without care, does not
integrate the other's experiences and ideas into his own belief system and
decision-making processes; in short, his lack of conscious and conscience:
Julie.
A former co-worker of Julie’s minced no words:
I'm appalled and shocked by Julie's cruelty and greed. Shocked. (I wonder if the angst of this relationship has been a tipping point for your health's resilience.) And I thought X’s divorce from that awful woman set a record. You wonder that Julie doesn't want to move on with her life. She needs to let go of your assets, take what she has and do something with it. This is criminal, and I abhor that she (and her lawyer) are thinking they can get away with what they’re doing.
And a subject of one of her (typically kiss-ass) journalistic profiles urged me:
“Get it over with. Life is too precious to waste on (particularly nasty expletive deleted) women like Julie.”
Finally, from one of our first friends we made as a couple:
“You'd think that Julie had a shred of compassion or dignity or something and just let you both move on.”
You'd think. But I'm not the one who needs to get it over with and move on; I wish one of these friends would give her this advice instead of sending it to me about her. In fairness I'm sure her family and friends have said similar things about me: indeed, one of her sisters accidentally bcc'd me on one diatribe in which she lamented how "unsupportive" I'd been, even though I was the one with brain cancer, Julie was unemployed and fully supported by me (both financially and as career cheerleader), but still unable to spare an ounce of compassion. Guess I could've done more. Like the shopping and the cooking? Nah, did all that. Take care of the boys and walk the dog every night? Nah, did that, too. Pay all the bills and pick up the tabs for vacations, meals out, mortgages, maintenance, and incidentals? Check, got that, too. Yeah, I see now what an unsupportive jerk I was.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Mediation? Never again...
Mediation is supposed to be the civilized way to end a marriage: cheaper, faster, and less fraught than a traditional lawyer vs. lawyer battle in front of a judge. Being, we assumed, civilized people, this is what we decided to do. That was in 2005, four years ago.
Mediation might work if you have two reasonable people who want a quick and equitable division of assets and to move on with their lives. But if you have one party who really wants a punitive divorce in the old Hollywood style---she gets the house, the cash, the car, and the husband pays to keep her in her “accustomed lifestyle” for the rest of his days, then mediation is a waste of time, and becomes a pointless exercise in one person trying to talk the other into agreeing to something that is either unfair or detrimental to their financial or physical health, probably through a process of simply wearing them down to the point of complete indifference. Ironically, we thought mediation would be less expensive than a court battle, which we were told would cost about $50,000 per person, and since one of the big sticking points between us is Julie’s refusal to share the cost of college education for our sons, spending $100,000 between us to argue about $75,000 in tuition did seem ridiculous. But now---four years later---that the cost of mediators, therapists, and lawyers vetting the mediated agreement has passed the $50,000 line (at least for me), suddenly the court battle looks more appealing, and would’ve been faster and possibly even cheaper. There will be no more divorces for me, but I wouldn’t do mediation again, and wouldn’t recommend it to anybody, at least anybody where at least one of the parties involved is vindictive and untrustworthy and unable to stick to an agreed-upon point for more than 48 hours (and often less).
Mediation might work if you have two reasonable people who want a quick and equitable division of assets and to move on with their lives. But if you have one party who really wants a punitive divorce in the old Hollywood style---she gets the house, the cash, the car, and the husband pays to keep her in her “accustomed lifestyle” for the rest of his days, then mediation is a waste of time, and becomes a pointless exercise in one person trying to talk the other into agreeing to something that is either unfair or detrimental to their financial or physical health, probably through a process of simply wearing them down to the point of complete indifference. Ironically, we thought mediation would be less expensive than a court battle, which we were told would cost about $50,000 per person, and since one of the big sticking points between us is Julie’s refusal to share the cost of college education for our sons, spending $100,000 between us to argue about $75,000 in tuition did seem ridiculous. But now---four years later---that the cost of mediators, therapists, and lawyers vetting the mediated agreement has passed the $50,000 line (at least for me), suddenly the court battle looks more appealing, and would’ve been faster and possibly even cheaper. There will be no more divorces for me, but I wouldn’t do mediation again, and wouldn’t recommend it to anybody, at least anybody where at least one of the parties involved is vindictive and untrustworthy and unable to stick to an agreed-upon point for more than 48 hours (and often less).
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Your friends or mine?
“Friends don’t take sides in a divorce,” the marriage counsellor assured us, “you just imagine they do.” My experience suggests this is generally, but not universally, true. Some of our friends clearly took sides, at least in the sense that they stopped seeing or being friends with one or the other of us. But Julie has made a concerted effort to lobby friends to her side, to round them up like Nancy Pelosi might legislators on the eve of an important vote. Typically, Julie’s hypocrisy is in full view in this effort, even if not immediately evident to the friends she’s lobbied, including people she didn’t even really like before, but, if you’re primarily interested in votes, you don’t really need to like the people, I doubt Nancy Pelosi is really pals with half those old fogies sitting near her.
One women who took Julie’s side in an act of sisterly “solidarity” is someone Julie could never really stand: she and her husband used to visit us at our weekend house, and this then-friend felt that she was “off” on weekends since she stayed at home with the kids during the week, so never contributed to the cooking, cleaning, shopping, or housework that was going on busily around her while she read her book. This drove Julie up a wall, and she never stopped fuming about it during their entire visit (she also mocked the wife's underwear as it came out of the dryer, which she found oddly sexy for a devout Mennonite), but this seems to have been forgotten now, particularly since the husband is one of the handiest people you’ll ever meet and is always good for a minor home repair.
Other weekend guest friends, even closer, tried to stay at our summertime vacation spot in Maine, and Julie actively blacklisted them, asking the owners to tell these good friends that the camp had no vacancies should they call. These same friends often suggested renting a house together in Italy for a group vacation, and Julie said she would “kill me” if I ever agreed to that, finding the woman, an entrepreneur, too wrapped up in her business and too interested in talking about mine, and the husband, a banker, uninteresting. This hasn’t stopped Julie from making this couple, post-separation, into some of her most-often-seen friends, taking advantage of their full-time nanny for childcare and playdates, doing some freelance writing for the woman’s business (now suddenly very interesting!), and mooching untold meals (this generous couple is unwaveringly quick to pick up tabs when checks are dropped at a restaurant).
There are other examples, but mostly variations on these themes, people Julie didn’t like before but who are now convenient to have as friends, and the more she can count on her side of the aisle means the fewer on mine. Some of these “defections” sting a bit and many of these people I miss (and although I see most of them, there is always the unspoken third piece of the triangle lurking in the background), particularly since I know how Julie really felt about many of them before we separated, but even I won’t blow her cover: I assume everybody is old enough to decide who they want to spend time with, and, yes, whose side they want to take, even if it’s not said so directly.
One women who took Julie’s side in an act of sisterly “solidarity” is someone Julie could never really stand: she and her husband used to visit us at our weekend house, and this then-friend felt that she was “off” on weekends since she stayed at home with the kids during the week, so never contributed to the cooking, cleaning, shopping, or housework that was going on busily around her while she read her book. This drove Julie up a wall, and she never stopped fuming about it during their entire visit (she also mocked the wife's underwear as it came out of the dryer, which she found oddly sexy for a devout Mennonite), but this seems to have been forgotten now, particularly since the husband is one of the handiest people you’ll ever meet and is always good for a minor home repair.
Other weekend guest friends, even closer, tried to stay at our summertime vacation spot in Maine, and Julie actively blacklisted them, asking the owners to tell these good friends that the camp had no vacancies should they call. These same friends often suggested renting a house together in Italy for a group vacation, and Julie said she would “kill me” if I ever agreed to that, finding the woman, an entrepreneur, too wrapped up in her business and too interested in talking about mine, and the husband, a banker, uninteresting. This hasn’t stopped Julie from making this couple, post-separation, into some of her most-often-seen friends, taking advantage of their full-time nanny for childcare and playdates, doing some freelance writing for the woman’s business (now suddenly very interesting!), and mooching untold meals (this generous couple is unwaveringly quick to pick up tabs when checks are dropped at a restaurant).
There are other examples, but mostly variations on these themes, people Julie didn’t like before but who are now convenient to have as friends, and the more she can count on her side of the aisle means the fewer on mine. Some of these “defections” sting a bit and many of these people I miss (and although I see most of them, there is always the unspoken third piece of the triangle lurking in the background), particularly since I know how Julie really felt about many of them before we separated, but even I won’t blow her cover: I assume everybody is old enough to decide who they want to spend time with, and, yes, whose side they want to take, even if it’s not said so directly.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Supermarket Sweep
Super Market Sweep
Saturday was the day Julie came to the upstate house, which will be mine once I buy out her share, to verify that she did not leave anything of hers behind and that I was not engaged in any malfeisance (like hiding important belongings from her). Happily, the boys were there, as was one of her nicer friends, so it was difficult for this to spin out of control. Still, the general tone was less Hans Blix than Supermarket Sweep 60 seconds only to fill her shopping cart with all the goodies she can wheel out of the store (well, not actually take today, is it OK if I leave them here a while longer?). It’s very easy to say, “Oh, that’s mine, that’s mine, too, I wanna, I want that, I wanna” when you didn’t pay for it the first time and have no intention of paying for it now. But since Julie generally has such horrid taste, the few things she wanted, with one or two exceptions which I think best to just let go for the sake of my sanity, will not be missed. She obsessed particularly on a book on the history of the Hudson River, brought it up three times Saturday, and in a follow-up email cc’d to her attorney today; I looked on abe.com and a new copy can be had for $1.97. I’m sure cc’ing her lawyer will cost at least 10 and probably 100 times that amount. But it’s not as much fun buying an old book on abe as insinuating that your effing ex carefully buried her most prized possessions in the crawl space under the house.
Take a good look around, baby, if everything goes well, it’s the last time you’ll ever visit this house.
Saturday was the day Julie came to the upstate house, which will be mine once I buy out her share, to verify that she did not leave anything of hers behind and that I was not engaged in any malfeisance (like hiding important belongings from her). Happily, the boys were there, as was one of her nicer friends, so it was difficult for this to spin out of control. Still, the general tone was less Hans Blix than Supermarket Sweep 60 seconds only to fill her shopping cart with all the goodies she can wheel out of the store (well, not actually take today, is it OK if I leave them here a while longer?). It’s very easy to say, “Oh, that’s mine, that’s mine, too, I wanna, I want that, I wanna” when you didn’t pay for it the first time and have no intention of paying for it now. But since Julie generally has such horrid taste, the few things she wanted, with one or two exceptions which I think best to just let go for the sake of my sanity, will not be missed. She obsessed particularly on a book on the history of the Hudson River, brought it up three times Saturday, and in a follow-up email cc’d to her attorney today; I looked on abe.com and a new copy can be had for $1.97. I’m sure cc’ing her lawyer will cost at least 10 and probably 100 times that amount. But it’s not as much fun buying an old book on abe as insinuating that your effing ex carefully buried her most prized possessions in the crawl space under the house.
Take a good look around, baby, if everything goes well, it’s the last time you’ll ever visit this house.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Plot twist
Following the death of her sister and keeper, an elderly recluse, frail from a years-long battle with cancer, lives alone in her ancestral townhouse in the Bronx, an almost shut-in existence. A scheming niece convinces her to take out a half-million dollar reverse mortgage on the townhouse, ostensibly to help cover medical and living expenses, and offers to harbor the money in her checking account to pay the bills, being careful to conceal the money from sisters who feel entitled to a share in the family’s real-estate legacy and other belongings, and, most of all, her estranged husband, lest he find out about it and make a claim on it while she is simultaneously busy trying to shake him down for even more money. The stuff of a cheap film-noir or bad dime-store detective novel? No, the stuff of real life, my life, take it please. The only plot twist missing: using some of the money to hire a hit-man to do away with the husband, whose bullying nastiness makes the thought seem almost justifiable. But no need, his health is not good, maybe the problem will be solved neatly for you.
Don’t get well soon
The turn in my condition from a benign brain tumor to a malignant brain cancer was the best piece of news I could deliver Julie and her attorney: in the one and only meeting where we sat down with our respective attornies, they could hardly refrain from high-fiving each other over this unanticipated gift, and quickly tried to turn it to their advantage. “Surely you’ll agree,” they said to me, “that it would be too much to ask Julie and the boys to move out of the apartment on top of your death, the trauma of both would be too much for them?” So ownership of the apartment, solved. “And how much is that life insurance policy again? Nah, that’s not really enough, didn’t you use to have more? Can’t get more now with a cancer spreading through your brain? Really, we find that hard to believe. So what more can you give up to make up for this?” And so on, and so on. Here’s hoping for a speedy recovery, or not, whichever comes first.
How embarrassing
I see that the only follower of this blog is one devoted to making good marriages, Marriage: the Easy Way. I imagine my angry rants here are the counter example, marriage the effed up way, what can happen when everything just goes wrong, especially between the wrong people. Next time I'll do better, I promise.
Don’t get well soon
The turn in my condition from a benign brain tumor to a malignant brain cancer was the best piece of news I could deliver Julie and her attorney: in the one and only meeting where we sat down with our respective attornies, they could hardly refrain from high-fiving each other over this unanticipated gift, and quickly tried to turn it to their advantage. “Surely you’ll agree,” they said to me, “that it would be too much to ask Julie and the boys to move out of the apartment on top of your death, the trauma of both would be too much for them?” So ownership of the apartment, solved. “And how much is that life insurance policy again? Nah, that’s not really enough, didn’t you use to have more? Can’t get more now with a cancer spreading through your brain? Really, we find that hard to believe. So what more can you give up to make up for this?” And so on, and so on. Here’s hoping for a speedy recovery, or not, whichever comes first.
How embarrassing
I see that the only follower of this blog is one devoted to making good marriages, Marriage: the Easy Way. I imagine my angry rants here are the counter example, marriage the effed up way, what can happen when everything just goes wrong, especially between the wrong people. Next time I'll do better, I promise.
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