Obviously, There Is Something You Don't Understand

There is a distinct possibility that I won't have to go to another session of Divorce Court on Monday.

Since I let my lawyer know that there is already a provision in the Order For Protection for STBX to get his personal affects, the fact that he is using that as the last "straw" in the divorce is nonsense.

Just set up a time and bring a uniformed police officer with you and you can look for your stuff.

As a matter of fact, you can look REALLY HARD for your stuff.

And then you can realize that it doesn't exist anymore.

I find it mind blowing that, had he actually read the Order For Protection, he could have gotten his stuff five months ago. In the two or three days before I got the OFP, he called and said "I need to come over and get my stuff. You probably don't want to be there when I do."

Oh yeah, just let me step out of the house while you rummage around for any incriminating evidence or kiddie porn or whatever else you don't want me to find.

Not happening.

But when I got the OFP, I had the choice to say that he could never come back so long as the OFP was in play, or else he could come back at a prearranged time with a uniformed police officer. I actually vacillated on this point for awhile, standing there at the courthouse administrators window. I didn't want him to come back but I also didn't want to deal with his shit. Hmmmm. OK, let him come back and get it.

But he didn't. At first, I cleared him out of my bedroom and our living room. Any family photo with him in it went into our fire pit. It gave a lovely glow.

We then pulled apart our computer desk and got rid of anything that had to do with him. We threw it all in a box downstairs.

Then we cleaned downstairs.

The last to go? The initial box with his shit in it. The one that was waiting around all this time but was never claimed.

All I can say is that instead of coming here for his shit, perhaps he should visit Goodwill or CHUM.

It sincerely amazes me that after all he has done to us, he would actually think we have some sort of pile of his shit laying around. "Please, visit our home. That large stack in the corner? That is our shrine to a pedophile. What? You don't have one at your house?"

There are no clothes here. There are no photos. There are no gadgets or bobbles or wobbles or woodgets.

There are no pedos in Whoville.

You obviously still don't understand that once you stick your willy where it doesn't belong, you are escorted to the city limits and your shit is stacked in a pile and set on fire. All the little whos hold hands and we sing a little who song.

Get over it.

Happy 400th Blog Post! Charge on!

As Blogger has just informed me, this is blog post 400.

Well, I guess I'd better not waste it, eh?

I was able to get all my paperwork handed in today for food stamps. Apparently when you have an Order For Protection, you don't have to wait 90 days on income. Now I just need to wait and see what happens.

I also got a phone call from the St. Louis County Attorney's Office. My S-T-B-Ex Husband has been charged by the county prosecutor for second degree criminal sexual conduct. He will be arraigned on Tuesday, February 17th in the first floor arraignment court at the county courthouse sometime between 8 am and noon. Don't know if I need to be there but I will be... I want to witness his first brush with consequences. Perhaps I'll bring popcorn!

Last but not least, I leave in an hour to get taxes done. I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to shake out this year but it will be interesting.

Oh, wait a minute! One more thing!

I hit my goal weight today! I have officially lost 85 pounds. I can now start learning how to maintain instead of lose. To celebrate, I totally lost my head and bought a bathing suit at Target today. It actually has a bright bold print on it and what's more, I LIKED BUYING A BATHING SUIT! I have NEVER had a pretty bathing suit and I have never bought a suit without wanting to cry.

So, all in all, I believe I will call this a good day.

Behold! I am your Savior!

Ever had one of those days?

You know, the ones that find you on the phone with the police at 7:00 am and by 3:30 pm you have an order of protection for your family and by 7:00 pm you find yourself pawning your wedding bands to get their horrible bad juju out of your life?

You know, a quiet, uneventful day...

Yeah, that was yesterday.

Today consists of us at home, making carmel kicks, monkey bread, and watching March of the Penguins. Morgan Freeman could make a root canal sound appealing.

Many years ago, I basically cut off contact with my biological family because they were a bunch of alcoholics, wife beaters, child abusers, and drug addicts. I grew up in the custody of my aunt and so was a little removed from the Jerry Springer antics but I certainly knew OF them. My aunt was really well known for trying to "save" people, myself included. There was always someone living at her home who had washed up on the beach somewhere, a near fatality of the insanity that was life in our family.

I always vowed to rise above it. I hated telling people my last name when I was a kid or young adult because if that person had any connection to the police or social services, they would arch up an eyebrow as if to say "OOOOHHHH! I've heard of YOUR family!" I would never hang around the losers that pervaded my childhood. I would do better.

Well, hopefully in a very short time, my soon to be ex will be in jail. When I spoke to his sister regarding what a horrible person he was, she told me something that has turned my guts inside out ever since.

I knew he was a troubled kid but I didn't know he had been turned over to foster care as a teen because he was out of control. I also didn't know that his biological family was glad when he married me because they thought I could "save" him.

Wow.

It makes me think back to when my brother married a woman and at a family function, I approached her and said "I have one word for you in regards to this family...run."

Looking back at their marriage, it was probably the best advice she never heeded.

No one ever told me I was signing up to be someone's savior seventeen years ago. As they say, hindsight is 20/20.