standing with a stranger

this all has happened at lightning fast speed ... the condoms, the 54 hour disappearance, the break-up e-mail, the shanghai talk, and then i'm in a hong kong court house signing papers to destroy the one thing that is most precious to me.

the bolshevik and i stand side by side on lines and hand in our papers and then a person behind a window hands them back with corrections that need to be made. over and over again for three hours.

why does the bolshevik have a full middle name on his passport but only a middle initial on our marriage certificate? this is unacceptable to the bureaucracy of the court workers.

they question if he's really the same person. i question that myself.  

he fills out an affidavit explaining how middle initials work in the united states. he finds every place where his name is mentioned in the pages upon pages of documents.  then he has to write "also known as" with his super confusing alias which is just his exact same name but with a middle initial.

we wait on more lines and fill out more papers. we're sent to different windows and more lines and more papers.

the whole time he stands there like i am nothing to him. i am no one. i am not the former love of his life. i am not his former partner in crime. i am of no consequence to him anymore. i am nothing but a burden he is finally ridding himself of.  as though i had somehow attached myself to him unfairly, like a tick he's finally able to burn off.

i use the time to ask questions for any hope of closure or some sort of explanation that makes sense. i get one word answers and useless platitudes.

waiting at a window, an elderly chinese man tries to interrupt and cut ahead of us as the woman behind the counter is explaining to us that a judge will contact us in 30 days. the elderly man hovers way too close to me, shoves his arm in front of my face and waves a form at the woman to get her attention. i turn to him and tell him he needs to "back the fuck up." he pretends not to understand what i am saying, but i think my tone is quite clear regardless of linguistic differences.

when it's all over i deliver the final lines i've rehearsed in my head:

i don't understand why you're doing this

i'm the only person in this world who loves you, who you confide in, who you even talk to

and you're pushing me away

so now you'll go back to your apartment surrounded by your air jordans

and you'll hang out with work acquaintances you don't really like that much

and you'll go out to clubs you don't actually enjoy

and that'll be your life now

that's what you want

well i hope that works out for you

i ask him if he has anything to say, and he tells me he's already said it all.  but he's said nothing.

and then we walk away.

i'm just waiting ... an-ti-ci-pating

a brief history of waiting for the bolshevik

6 hours - i was looking for a scissors so i could trim our passport photos to the right size when i found the condoms in his drawer.  the same drawer he had stashed his wedding ring in.  he was at work, so i texted him and asked him for an explanation even though i knew there was nothing he could say to explain this.  he wrote back, "let's talk tonight."  and then i drank half a bottle of whisky. and i waited.

54 hours - we had said we were going to work it out, try harder, see each other more, go to couples counseling.  "you're worth fighting for," he had said.  back in hong kong for a week before school started, no one else was back yet so i was getting sad and lonely thinking about the state of things.  i texted him on a Friday morning that i was feeling really blue and needed some TLC.  i asked him to call me after work. he said he would. friday passes.  i wonder if he's on a bender.  saturday morning comes and goes and i wonder if he's at the apartment of another woman.   saturday afternoon passes and any bender should be over but he still isn't answering my calls or responding to my texts.  by saturday evening i'm convinced something has actually happened to him.  sunday morning i send someone over to his apartment to confirm the bolshevik is alive, and it turns out he is choosing not to talk to me.  i text and call and try to find out what the hell is happening but nothing.  then around 5pm i receive an email from Apple telling me i am no longer a part of the bolshevik's Apple Family Sharing Plan.  so to be fair, the bolshevik first broached the "divorce talk" through Apple.  fucking Apple.  then five minutes later the bolshevik emails me himself and says he doesn't want to be married to me anymore.  doesn't want to be a team.  it's too hard.  he can't do it anymore.  doesn't want to.

during this 54 hour period i drink half a bottle of champagne, six whiskeys on the rocks, and four glasses of malbec.

then i send an expletive filled text telling the bolshevik to be a man and tell me this to my face, because he still won't answer my calls.

25 hours is how long i have to wait to talk to the bolshevik about his batshit crazy email because talking to me that evening was too much for him.  i drink several more glasses of wine. and i wait. the following day is my first day back at work after the holidays and i have to answer questions like "how was your xmas break?  you and the bolshevik go somewhere special?"  i try to make it through the day but i am empty inside.  and i wait.

4.5 days - i convince the bolshevik to see me the next weekend to talk things out.  we can work this out, i say.  he is just really stressed and confused and couldn't possibly mean what he is saying.  we're so great together.  he can't possibly let that go.  i wait 4 days to fly to shanghai to see him.  i stay at a friend's place.  i want to come over straight away in the morning but he's hungover and asks me if i can wait until 2pm.  i tell him i will wait no longer than noon.

26 hours is how long i have to stay in shanghai after finding out that my marriage is over.  he doesn't want to try.  and i cry and i wait to go home, hoping never to return to the mainland again because it's all tainted with memories of him.

5 days - is how long i have to wait for the results of my extensive STD screening.

8 hours after i text him i am graced with a phone call ... actions have consequences but not any consequences that the bolshevik is willing to own up to.

11 days ... so he truly doesn't love me anymore?  well if that's the case then put me out of my misery. 11 days ago the bolshevik agreed to meet me in a hong kong court house so we can amicably dissolve our marriage.  11 days later he confirms that he really is going through with this.

4 days until "D-Day" ... it's weird to be waiting around for someone to divorce you.  especially when you're still deeply in love with that person and desperately wish you could stay married to him. but he's shown so little compassion for me.  such little concern for my feelings or my well-being. then he says he cares so deeply about me, but none of his actions through this process have been caring at all.  is he purposefully trying to torture me?  is it his plan to be as horrible to me as possible so i won't want him back?  or is he just so oblivious to the emotions of others that he doesn't see the purgatory he continually puts me in?

maybe i'll never know.  all i can do it wait.

girl you better try to have fun no matter what you do

but he's a fool.

everyone tells me how i'm doing so great. "you're doing so great!" they say. "i can't believe how composed you are!" they tell me "i can't believe how calm you seem!" or "i'm so impressed you're at work!"

and then i roll my eyes and think about how the hours would stretch out before me endlessly if i chose to stay home.  how it would be the worst form of torture to be in my apartment alone with nothing but the thoughts and questions of "how the fuck did this happen?" swirling in my head, and all the memories of 9+ years with The Bolshevik Who Shall Not Be Named haunting me.  so yeah, i'll be at work.  it's the only stable thing i have.  what else would i do?

my beloved mother once told me about a time when she hurt her knee and her doctor told her she had to walk with a cane.  not because she actually needed a cane, but to signal to everyone else that she was having a physical issue and that they needed to respond accordingly, treat her with extra special care.

i live my life without canes.

you will never see me cry.  you will never see me break down hysterically wailing with sorrow. you will never see me huddled in a corner clasping onto a bottle of booze while listening to portishead. you will never see the girl behind the curtain. i will hide this from you at all costs.

i am out in the fresh air enjoying a hike?

why? i have no fucking idea why.

the other day i went on a hike with two friends. it was beautiful and picturesque and i cried to myself when they weren't looking. and afterward we had a luxurious multi-course lunch at a seaside restaurant with wine and i even ate dessert.  and they took photos and said it was the best day ever. "BDE!" they said. and as i finished a glass of port and looked out at the rocky islands out in the ocean i thought to myself that by any normal standard this really was the best day ever. but for me it was actually just an exercise in distraction. it was just something for me to do until it was time to do the next thing and then the next thing until i finally get to take a sleeping pill and go to bed.

so outwardly i am doing great. just fucking great. i do all the "right" things, just like i'm supposed to. i am eating healthy (now that i can keep food down) and i am exercising every day and i go to work and i obsessively schedule activities for every waking moment outside of work so i never have to be alone with my own thoughts. and then eventually i tucker myself out until it's a reasonable hour and i finally get to go to bed and it can all be over for a while. rinse. repeat.

until one of these day when i can actually enjoy things again.

bye bye bolshevik

let's just pretend i've been here the entire time ...

it is with great sadness and true despair that i admit to you, dear blog readers, that my beloved bolshevik is leaving me.  says he's not "in love" with me anymore.  says if he met me now he'd only want me as a "best friend."

well what the fuck does that mean?

i have resigned myself to never contact him again so i cannot ask all these burning follow-up questions that have popped into my mind since that fateful saturday when he told me he doesn't want me anymore.

what does it mean to be "in love" with someone you've been with nearly a decade?  certainly we're not in those beginning stages of mad passionate love that feels almost like being on drugs.  no.  that only lasts a few months.  are we teammates and best friends and lovers and partners in crime?  i thought so.  isn't that what long term love is?  but i guess he wants the fireworks show.

if he met me now i'd only be a "best friend" contender?  what more could he possibly be looking for? or maybe it's that he is looking for less ... someone who expects less from him, someone who is less to live up to, someone who is less successful, someone who will settle for less emotional support.  someone who is lesser than me.  someone who will be less work.

i'm fucking work now??

how do you cope when the person you love grows into someone else?  we used to make fun of the expat guys in the foreign countries ... the ones who went out to the club and picked up an "exotic local girl" who didn't speak english and god forbid they had learned her language.  no need to impress, no need for being clever, no need to put the effort in ... no need for any work.

and in china no less, where porcelain doll types will "accidentally" drop something at his feet and then bend over to retrieve it and all he needs to do is stand there.  (actual real-life example)

pathetic.

is that who he has become?  how is that possible?  how could my beloved bolshevik have turned into that type of vapid asshole?

what happened to the freaky freezy principle?

just one thing before you go ...

i was talking to my ex-step-father (don't ask questions, just go with it) ... and he was saying that he doesn't ever prepare for vacations because he always goes to the same place and he doesn't do any activities beyond eating and sitting on the beach.  must be relaxing.  anyway, as you could imagine, our adventures take some planning.  and of course when you're leaving for an extended period of time, there are all these little things you have to get done before you go.  as stressful as this can be, the past 3 weeks seem to have included an inordinate number of ridiculous problems.  observe:

- went to the dentist and found out i have 4 cavities, one of which needs a root canal.  after many phone calls with my insurance company i found out that said root canal is not covered because i have 8 other teeth that touch.  yup, that's right ... because i am neither a hobo nor a crackhead, my teeth are too good for a root canal to be considered a "necessity."  moving on!

- spent an extended period of time desperately trying to prove to a community college that i am in fact a resident of new york ... please note that i have never lived in any other state other than new york in my entire life.  thankfully i finally convinced them (it involved my brother venturing into our mother's attic in search of old tax returns) and they have allowed me to enroll in online classes.  nothing better than lugging a bunch of textbooks around an entire continent for 2.5 months!  yay!

miss fifi took this lovely shot of me
amongst the flash flooding caused by the
"hurricane" ... do not confuse this flooding
with a small puddle created by a hose left on.
news casters have assured me that this is
hurricane related devastation.
p.s.  does this guy have enough sandbags?
p.p.s.  does this guy even understand what
sandbags are used for?

- went out to long island because my mother was having a medical procedure done, only to experience a minor earthquake while she was in the operating room.  it was a very minor earthquake, but seriously?  an earthquake?

- after planning a nice little going away party for ourselves, our lives are interrupted by a "hurricane" and the city's entire mass transit system is preemptively shut down for no reason, making our party impossible to get to.  thank you to those two devoted guests who attended!

- however, during the extreme boredom of the non-hurricane, i was able to finish the online portion of my scuba certification.  i am now ready for the practical portion of my open-water training!

- yesterday i proudly strode into the dentist office for the 4th time in 3 weeks, ready to receive my crown, only to find out that the crown didn't fit.  really?!  but it was so expensive!  and of course there is not enough time to re-adjust the crown before we leave today, so i am being shipped off to Oceania with only a temporary tooth that is cemented in place.   no salt water taffy for me.  le sigh.

- and today, before we leave for the airport at 3pm we need to rent a zip car, load it with our crap, and move our remaining stuff into storage.  why didn't we do that yesterday?  because after the crown fitting i spent several hours tracking down textbooks.  one of which i found in nyc and was able to purchase for the bargain price of $145 (what the hell?  these books aren't even interesting!  why are they so expensive?)  the other the bolshevik was cleverly able to find on a new zealand website and it is being shipped to our hostel in auckland.  ridiculous.

so .... off we go!!

and away we go

it's 3:49 ... woke up in the middle of the night.  can't sleep.  is this what it feels like on christmas?

the bolshevik is reading about baggage limitations, and we are now wondering if we'll be able to take all of our stuff.

airport pick-up at 7.

a week of celebrating ourselves

only days after the bolshevik's return, we have embarked into what we now refer to as "the week of celebrating ourselves."  pretty much, every night we meet up with different groups of people in honor of us leaving and celebrate ....well ... us.  saturday night we had a big blow out party with our friends.  sunday we rested because it's god's day.  monday we packed.  tuesday i had my farewell with my writer's group.  wednesday was punk ropers and the bolshevik's drunken irish family friends.   this afternoon we meet with my bubbie, and then tonight we dine with the bolshevik's father.  then tomorrow night we have dinner with my immediate fam (mom, siblings, aunt-like cousin, ex-step-siblings, ex-step father, ex-step-father's wife ... what do you call your ex-step-father's new wife?  is she kind of like a ex-step-step mother?)  anyway, then we leave and everything can go back to normal.  phew!

so last night when we had a gentrifiers+old skool brooklyn mash up, i actually booked my first freelance writing gig!  don't get too excited.  mister fleshwound (husband of miss fifi fleshwound), commissioned me to write a piece on machu picchu.  he gave me $34 to write 20 pages in whatever style i like.  miss fifi has warned me that he is a slave driver and i should be wary of entering into an oral contract with him.  but hey, 34 american dollars is 34 american dollars.

on to more important things like buying a sunhat and convincing the bolshevik to make me pancakes ...

5 more days in this country

does it seem like i have been preparing for my trip for a really long time?  in someways i feel like it was forever ago when we made this plan, and in other ways it's rather unbelievable that in less than a week i'll be off on a life-changing adventure.

and for your reading pleasure, here are some random musings in no particular order:

1.  the williamsburg post office has decided to continue its lasting legacy of uselessness, and has been unable to forward any of my mail.  two months of phone calls and follow-ups and no one knows where my mail is.  thanks guys!  i'll miss you too!

2.  i would like to know exactly how kenley (of project runway fame) wound up as a karaoke hostess at Trash Bar ... and after an incident in which the bolshevik was denied singing a duet of meatloaf's "i would do anything for love but i won't do that" on the basis of that he 'didn't know the song' i must say that i think she is too strict for latenight karaoke.  she does not embody the rock n' roll spirit necessary for these things.  but i would totally buy some of her clothing, you know, if the pieces didn't all cost $300.

3.  i have done everything on my to-do list, including making an appointment for allergy shots in lima.  this was one of those tasks i'd been avoiding, but it turned out to be surprisingly easy.  i made up a list of useful sentences in spanish, things like i need a doctor to administer my injections for allergies and i have serum, but i do not have syringes.  and then lo and behond the secretary spoke fluent english.

4.  not having any more tasks to complete is very satisfying, but also very odd.

5.  i may be bringing 7 pairs of shoes with me.  is that wrong?

a hoarder's diary part 2: pharmaceutical powerhouse

5 months of nasonex
3 months of astepro
3 months of singulair
3 months of allegra
5 months of loestrin
4 epi-pens
and a year's worth of contacts

a hoarder's diary part 1: luna bars

it is my belief that after the revolution comes and we must rebuild society, luna bars will be our new form of currency.  just kidding.

in my many preparations for our trip it occurred to me that even though our meals and daily snacks will be provided for us on the inca trail, it would probably be good to have my own provisions.  i have a severe nut allergy (of course i do, would you expect anything less?) and i was suddenly picturing everyone partaking in a lovely homemade trail mix, chock full of nuts, and little old me wasting away with no daily snack.  so sad, i know.

and that is when i came up with my clever luna bar stash idea.  but after buying 8 bars (two per day), i panicked.  what if the bolshevik tries to eat some of my luna bars? so then i bought four more.  but i am putting my foot down with four!  the bolshevik is only allowed to steal one of my luna bars per day.

retired kicks

i do love new york city life.  looking back, there are two things i've always wanted to do.
1.  as a child, i always wanted to play in an opened fire hydrant.  i think i first saw this on sesame street, a bunch of kids running around through water being sprayed on the street.  i have since become adamantly opposed to this practice once i learned how much water is wasted when this is done (thousands of gallons of water!)  also, they used to do this on the street outside The Paradise, and they would flood the whole street since no one seemed to know how to shut the fire hydrant off, so it would be left on for HOURS.  i eventually got into the habit of calling 311 on them, and one time i even wrote in to Time Out NY after they irresponsibly published directions on how to illegally open a fire hydrant.  i now realize that the suburban alternative of playing in a sprinkler is much more eco-friendly, but sadly not as cool.

2.  i've always wanted to "retire" my sneakers on a phone line.  i find this practice fascinating.   and so, when i moved out of The Paradise to seek adventure in south america (but first a 6 week nomadic adventure between long island and brooklyn), i decided to retire my kangaroos out by the corner in front of the projects.  it seemed appropriate.  but let me tell you something dear blog readers, it is NOT easy to get your kicks up there!  i had to throw them several times, and then of course all the guys hanging outside the bodega had a nice laugh, giving me all sorts of advice on how best to throw my sneakers up in the air.   here's a helpful tip: you need to situate yourself directly under the wire.  then, holding one sneaker in each hand (sneaker laces must be tied together), throw the sneakers underhand with great force so that the laces will hit into the wire and then wrap themselves around it.  it's harder than it looks folks, i could barely throw them high enough, and when i got to the right height they typically were no where near the wire.  ultimately, it was the bolshevik who retired my kicks for me, but not for lack of trying on my part.