Today it's been a year. A year since I made a decision that would change my life. A year from what I now joke was the best career move I ever could have made. A year since I moved back in with my parents and once again heard, "This is the first day of the rest of your life". Today marks a year since I found myself crying in my divorce attorney's office, check in hand and signing a petition for divorce.
If you don't know the story behind the demise of my marriage, ask someone who knows me in real life because I'm not one to air my dirty, discarded, aging laundry. It doesn't matter though. I can say that I married the wrong person, the man I married wasn't the man I dated or that things just didn't work out. I'm sure if you ask my ex, he will tell you a different story. But really, it just doesn't matter.
Today I find myself a much stronger woman than I ever imagined possible. Emotionally, physically and spiritually. Ask my friends and family who were too afraid to tell me about the shell of a person I had become when I was married and see if they can find that woman today. I've changed from an unemployed, meek and indecisive person who walked on eggshells and never left the house to a successful, go-getting and independent woman. Not to mention a whisky-drinking, cowboy-chasing hell of a time! (It's a song, Mom, I'm not an alcoholic!)
I started this blog as a cathartic release when I realized through my divorce, that there are two options in life: you can laugh or you can cry. Personally, I think laughing is much better. Aside from toning your abs and keeping your mascara in check, laughing is way more fun than crying. I wrote a story to this effect in my "About Me" section. It's about the day I filed for divorce and I will include it here because it's my blog and I can do whatever I want (ha!) but also because it's the story of what happened a year ago today and is the impetus behind this blog.
My GTFO (Get the Eff Out) Story
Last year on June 6, I left the divorce attorney's office with my mother and went back to my marital home to collect some belongings of mine. Time was of the essence so I chose only the most important things and quickly packed up the essentials--a few suitcases of clothes, my passports and birth certificate, the boudoir pics I took for my ex (there was no way I was leaving nudie pics in the custody of a pissed off soon-to-be-ex-husband with access to the internet), the diaper cake I had made for my best friend's baby shower that next weekend (I had spent way too much time to leave that behind) and our two boxers.
We took off with suitcases in the trunk, the dogs in the backseat and my mother in the front. My mother and I were in shock. I had just filed for divorce, left my husband without him knowing and escaped to my parents house. We were both scared and crying. The stress in the car was palpable and the dogs sensed it.
As I was driving down the highway, the 60 pound boxer could take it no longer. Shaking, he climbed into my mother's lap for comfort. For those of you who don't know my mother, suffice it to say that she's not a dog person and a 60 lb boxer sitting in her lap while she was crying about the demise of my marriage and uncertainly about my future, was not exactly ideal. She tried to get him off and to return to the back seat but he was having none of it. She pushed and coaxed him, but just he sat there shaking and rooted to her lap.
Never one to be left out on the fun, the 30 pound boxer puppy (that the ex and I had gotten a couple months before) jumped up front as well. She joined her doggy brother on my mother's lap and my mother, in between sobs, tried to now get both dogs off of her lap and into the back seat. The bigger of the two dogs decided to reposition himself so his front paws were on the passenger floor, giving the puppy some more room on my mother's lap....and my mother a front row seat to his asshole.
In between hysterical sobs, I looked over to see my mother, buried under 90 pounds of dog, with the "brown starfish" of one pooch sticking up at her face and another pup alternating between licking the ass and her face. I pulled over to the side of the road in an attempt to move the dogs but it was no use. We looked at each other and lost it. Our tears turned to laughter. It was the hysterical honking type of laughter where you sound like a seal and look like there's something wrong with you. There was nothing else we could do but laugh.
I decided then that when things get tough, you can either dwell on the terrible or find something funny about it. Rather than crying over my divorce with a face covered in snot and mascara I could laugh at my mother sitting with a dog butt in her face--sorry, Mom. From that day on, I've always chosen the metaphorical dog butt. I try to laugh, instead of cry, because to me, Hindsight is Pretty Funny.