Saturday, February 9, 2008

Divvying for the dumped

One of the inconvenient things about breaking up with a live-in mate is divvying up the stuff. I had no idea I had so many photos... of him. Argh. And a squillion cards and letters from him professing undying love and so forth. BLARRRGGGGGHHH!!!

But, while each of these little finds causes immediate and momentarily paralyzing apoplexia, I am also finding lots of endearing letters from the second-to-last love of my life. Huh... Funny how time will do that. As a result of this little revelation, I haven't pitched all of the most recent ex's letters (and remaining posessions) into a firey heap in the backyard and danced around it, half-naked and covered in war paint. Well, that and the home owners' association. I think they would frown on the whole primal-screaming/bonfire thing.

The little lagniappe, no, the big hot chocolate fudge sundae of this process is that I have miraculously unearthed a trove of letters to and from some of my dearest - and funniest - friends from circa 1992. This is back when some of us had crappy desk jobs and lots of time to entertain each other.

Here's a sample passage from a letter to J, Febuary 18, 1992:

OK, so it's not like I never pig out, but one thing I do exclusively when my hormones are not in conjunction with my rising venus is buy fashion magazines and take them very seriously. I knew it was going to happen. I was standing in line with a few simple items: cat litter, toothpaste and sandwich bags - very safe - when, and I swear this was
beyond my control, I saw an article in the March Mademoiselle about the six steps to fitness. The hairs on the back of my neck started to rise as, with dawning horror, I saw my hand lash out and snatch it right off the rack! In front of everyone! I begged it to put the magazine away and pick up something respectable, like the Reader's Digest or the Enquirer, but then I heard the pages whispering sweet nothings to me, promising that I too could be twelve feet tall and have yards of legs and go to important parties in bustiers and not look udderly ridiculous. I was helpless.

Fashion has always tossed back its impressively quaffed head and laughed its lusty laugh at the seersucker voice of Reason. Then it gives Reason a makeover.

Interestingly, two things that have not changed - ok, make that three - fashion magazines are saying exactly the same crap, I still get that pinwheel-eyed drugged out response when I actually pick one up, and I'm STILL buying cat litter for and scooping the copius poop of the same obnoxious (and shockingly old) cat.

Tomorrow: The Cat From Hell.


liv said...

i know what you mean, billybob the obnoxiously rotund cat and i are still together even after that guy i was with for 11 years went. and fashion mags? yes. i also take the ab fixing infomercials rather seriously. everything seems more plausible at 3 AM. you know?

i haven't been able to go through the letters. i threw away the empty bottle of Dom from when we were engaged and gave my wedding dress to good will. i burned wedding photos in my bathroom sink while drinking, and have thus banished photos of him from my home.

it's a process.

Oh, The Joys said...

Was that letter to me?!

I can dig some up too.

BTW - Liv? Friend of mine. We just ate Sushi together last Saturday.


flutter said...

welcome to the fray, oh friend of my friends. I look forward to sharing your journey

fooped said...

Yesindeedee my dear J, that was to you. I have a number of highly entertaining ones from you in my pile as well. Just this morning I read an incriminating bit about shooting out streetlights with a bb gun. Oh, the old time joys!

The fact that I came upon these brilliant and inspired pieces (if I do say so myself) just as I finally leapt into blogdom is at least a happy coincidence, if not the actual Voice of the Universe speaking directly to me. I'm, like, Joan of Ark or something man.

Ponygirl said...

The news of your blogging is the highlight of my day.