A Pinterest Review

I’ve long considered doing a daily review of Pinterest recipes. I’m not going to, but I’ve thought about it. However, I recently made the homemade burrito bowls and I figured, “Why not? I’ll review this recipe.”

I wasn’t impressed. Neither was Rock Star. Picasso said he liked it but we’ll see if he touches any of the leftover.

It wasn’t terrible. It was just very bland. Now, I will be the first to admit that maybe I didn’t use enough salt or other seasoning, or maybe I used too much chicken stock. The recipe called for one cup and said to make sure the chicken breasts were covered. I ended up using closer to 3 cups to ensure the breasts were covered. I don’t know if that made a difference or not.

I also cooked the rice separately and used white rice instead of the suggested brown rice. I don’t like brown rice. She did say that you could cook the rice separately if you wouldn’t be home to put the rice in halfway so I’m not sure how much cooking the rice separately caused a difference.

That was another problem I had with this recipe. When I want to cook something in the crockpot I want to fix and forget it. While she did give directions for cooking it all together the original recipe is done in two different parts, with the chicken, tomatoes, and spices cooking together for the first 4 hours and then the rice, black beans and corn added and cooking for the next 4.

I do have a lot of leftovers so maybe I’ll try to spice it up a bit. It truly is a very bland dish and I’m not one who loves spicy and/or hot. For now, though, this is not a recipe I would recommend. Make the shrimp and mushroom fettucine instead!

Update: Picasso never touched the leftovers.

A Bit Of This & A Bit Of That

October 2014

I spent the day in Whore Town, home of the whore. Not *the* Whore Town but close enough. I didn’t catch on fire and nothing horrible happened. Nice mall. I’ll probably go back.

October 2014

Spying is much more difficult now that everyone is aware you can change your settings so you’re no longer public. So, it’s difficult to know how much interaction the whore has with Cousinfucker’s family. She doesn’t seem to be as all over them as she has been. But, under this identity I’m not friends with any of them (to be fair, I’m not friends with many of them under my real identity) and I’m not friends with their friends. And the whore blocked my daughter so I can’t use her page either. Why can’t you just run an ad asking for a skilled computer hacker? Maybe I could hire a P.I. just to see what the little cunt is up to these days. Truth be told I’d much rather spend the money on furniture, a pool, and vacations. I still think it would be fun.

October 2014

Yoo hoo! All you people who were so worried about me frivolously spending my husband’s money. I just spent nearly a grand today on a desk and a coffee table. Choke on that, bitches! Oh, by the way, he loves it!

The Donut Discussions

With Rock Star driving she is more than willing to go and pick up food- using my money of course. She’s saving up for a car so her philosophy is she can’t spend any money. That doesn’t stop her from wanting stuff; she just wants me to purchase it for her.

A week or so ago she offers to go to Dunkin’ Donuts and get some donuts. Okay. Fine. I like donuts. I bet Janelle doesn’t eat them, but much like the Marshmallow Fruit Loops, I love them and indulge. I tell her I want a chocolate glazed donut. What does that look like in your mind?

See, in my mind there are two different types of donuts. There is the cake donut and then there is the yeast donut, which is what I think of when I think of a regular glazed donut.  So when I asked for a chocolate glazed donut I was envisioning a regular glazed yeast donut that had a chocolate frosting on top. Instead I get a chocolate cake donut that is glazed, much like my beloved blueberry donuts. Or pumpkin donuts. Those are delicious, too.

Today she goes out again. I let her know I want a chocolate glazed donut, NOT a chocolate cake glazed donut. We then begin debating the correct terminology.

She swears a chocolate glazed donut is the half-eaten one on the right and that what I deem a chocolate glazed donut is in fact correctly called a cake donut. She even got the donut guy in on our argument and he sided with her.


Personally, I think they are both wrong. I will continue to call it by its proper name: a chocolate glazed donut.


After 15 months Rock Star finally has her license! As I mentioned before, getting her there on the same day I could be there took some serious planning. I don’t get my schedule for the following week until Wednesday, sometimes Thursday, so I have no idea where I will be each day until that schedule comes out. I have an hour for lunch but when the test takes 30 minutes that doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room and I really need to be someplace where I can get to and from the BMV in 5-10 minutes, and that’s pushing it! We do have a branch that is very close to the BMV and I was scheduled to be there one day after she was eligible to take her driving test, but there were no slots available on that day. We were also working with a very short time frame- she could take it at 11:30 or 12:00, pretty much. AND I needed someone to go pick her up from school to take her to the BMV because even an hour wouldn’t allow me enough time to go pick her up, take her to the BMV, take the test, sign the papers, take her back to school and get back to work. The following week I’m at the branch that will allow me the most time to spend on this task so we schedule the test only to find out my sister-in-law is working that day and my brother, who has just recently gone back to work, is working days instead of nights. Ultimately, I said, “Fuck it! Take an Uber and I’ll meet you there.”

Yes, I once again put my 16 year old child in an Uber, hoping that I didn’t pick one that would rape her or shoot people between drop offs.

Spoiler alert! She made it! And she passed! So we have another driver in the family. FINALLY!

I ended up letting her take the car back to school instead of paying for another Uber and just had my brother pick me up and take me back to his house so Rock Star could grab me and take me home.

The following day she asked to take the car to school and drop me off, which I let her do. Unfortunately, it bit me in the ass because I was relocated to a different branch that day and had to have my sister-in-law come pick me up and take me there! Then I had my brother come take me home. So, that won’t happen again.

It is kind of weird having her drive on her own now. Just the other day she had track practice and I was thinking I needed to take her. Nope. She took off on her own. Then I was going to lay down and take a nap and thought, “I have to get up around 12 so I can leave to pick her up by 12:30.” Then I realized she had the car and didn’t need me to come get her. I ended up sleeping a good five hours! She came home and went to work all without me being woken up!

My mom is back as well, so she usually takes Rock Star to school in the morning which gives me about 30 more minutes to get ready and eat breakfast in the morning. She also does laundry and makes dinner most nights so that’s very nice as well.

Plus, Picasso had a few friends over last week and she was willing to go out and buy some snacks for them, something I simply did not have any time to do.

It’s nice having a wife. 😉

Amazed and Betrayed

October 2014

I was driving back after dropping my daughter off at gymnastics practice, listening to my iPod. Lone Star’s “Amazed” was playing and it made me think back to my sister-in-law’s second wedding. Zack and I danced to that song, the last one of the night, with our daughter held between us. Of course I thought about us and how I’m glad he still feels that way about me. But it also made me sad thinking about how I was there; I was present for this moment in her life. Harley was nowhere around. I was there just like I was always there. I have pictures of us smiling together. Family pictures. Pictures of me and her. Pictures of me and my husband. Pictures of me, my daughter and her. Hell, there’s even video of us wishing them the best and dancing and laughing and having fun. And yet, my husband cheats on me and I’m nothing. The person they decide they can’t live without? It’s not me. I’m disposable. It was her. They just couldn’t imagine their lives without Harley in it. Doesn’t matter she was never around these last, oh, let’s say 18 years. Nope. When the choice is me, who’s been around for everything, loved them like my own family, or Harley, whom they haven’t seen in 18+ years but is actually family, they all chose Harley. So, I spent a moment thinking about how sad that was, and then I got on with my life. It is what it is and nothing will change that. The joke’s on them; they made a really bad trade.

Present Day Sam Says: Nothing new really. I’ve been completely replaced. Nothing I ever did matters. Only Cousinfucker and the whore matter now. I don’t think it really phases me anymore but it’s kind of sad to think that for 20 years I was supposedly “family” and the minute he tosses me aside for someone else I’m nothing.

He Makes Me Sick

I was all set to write about interrogatories and taxes on Monday. That day has come and gone. Interrogatories suck! It has been a test of patience to not just let loose with every nasty thought that plagues my mind.

Fast forward to today. I’m sending some more documentation to my lawyer’s assistant. I had found the message from The Saint where he stated that Cousinfucker was paying for their divorce. I decide I may as well send along the lovely pictures they’ve been plastering on Facebook. You know, pictures of the two of them posing together happily, despite his grueling battle with PTSD which rendered him unable to work. Pictures of him and her youngest child posing for Show and Tell, an activity in which he never indulged his actual children. What do I come across?

Oh yes! It’s the profile picture of the two of them which I had seen before. This time though I read the comments. Harley tells people to keep in mind that they had just been at her daughter’s cheer competition. People make comments about the t-shirt he’s wearing because it appears he is wearing a t-shirt in support of his favorite team’s arch rival. No, no, no! It’s her daughter’s school mascot. It was sooooo painful to put that shirt on but he wanted to support his “step-daughter”. The whore chimes in, “You know he must really love her to put that shirt on!”

You two are so adorable! Do I even need to point out that that cousin fucking piece of shit never once attended a single cheer competition for his own daughter?

Hey! Maybe that’s the reason his kids have nothing to do with him. He was a piss poor excuse of a father and now he’s strutting around like Daddy of the Year for four kids that have a father. An involved father at that. Nah, I’m sure it’s because I have poisoned their minds. As he’s whining to Rock Star that he hopes she will talk to him once again he forgets that actions speak louder than words. His words say his children are very important to him. His actions say, “You kids don’t mean shit to me. I couldn’t be bothered to go to your competitions or participate in your lives. Now excuse me while I show up at my ‘step-daughter’s’ competitions and take my fake son to show and tell. I love them and need to support them.”  Wouldn’t surprise me to find out he’s coaching one of their teams as well.

Even better are all the comments about how happy they look! Oh, and Jezebel loves them both! Someone told her she deserved to finally be happy.

Really? She’s just entitled to take whatever the hell she wants? Because it makes her happy? Fuck the two families they destroyed! Fuck the betrayed husband who has to watch as his whore of an ex and her mentally unstable lover/cousin play house with his kids! Fuck the betrayed wife who has lost her home, who moved her kids once again, who has lost everything, who works two jobs just trying to feed her kids. They are happy and that trumps everything! You don’t even want to know what would make me happy and I’m 100% sure none of her friends and relatives would tell me I was entitled to make myself happy at her expense.

Then again that seems to be the common refrain. As long as the two cheating lovebirds are happy then all is well. No one wants to look around and see the damage caused by the cheating and the lies. Being unhappy is a perfect justification for being a cheating asshole. Who can say it’s wrong when they’re so happy? Life is short! Too short to do the right thing apparently. I hope they all burn in hell.

Chump Lady is so correct when she says no contact is the only way to go. Having to dredge all this crap up in order to prove what an absolute asshole he is only makes my blood boil. I already know he’s an asshole! Why do I have to prove it to everybody else?

Holy Crap!

Gather round, readers! I’ve got a juicy one for you today.

What to tell first? Should we talk about expert witnesses and whether or not I should retain one?  My attorney has one hell of an expert witness that she would like to retain. He actually costs more than she does, but he’s able to get up on the stand and say that alcoholism and PTSD don’t necessarily prevent a person from working.

That, along with the fact that finally someone is listening when I point out that he didn’t have PTSD for twenty years until he had to pay more support than he wanted to, brightened my spirits somewhat when I discovered that tidbit.

There is also the possibility of a continuance seeing as how Asshat has retained an expert witness, hence why I need to retain one. His attorney will be on maternity leave shortly so if we don’t finalize this sucker in May as planned it will probably not be resolved until August. Hooray! I had to laugh though when his lawyer told mine that she didn’t think CF would object to the continuance as long as we didn’t file another show-cause hearing because of his non-payment. That’s right, folks. I have received $0.00 since our court date back in February.

That’s not nearly juicy enough, is it? Okay, how about if I share with you that somehow CF is getting an order to allow him to withdraw enough to pay his arrears? That’s pretty fucking fantastic, isn’t it? We’ll see how soon he pays it. I don’t believe anything from him. He’ll probably take the amount out and blow it on Spring Break on his “step-children” and his whore. Kudos to my attorney though for making sure it’s written that he’s taking that money from his share and that we won’t be divvying up the money after he’s done paying me.

How about this? When his attorney contacted him to discuss settlement he let her know he had just accepted a job. Wow-za! Was he making the paltry $30,000 he estimated he would make from here on out? Oh no! He accepted a job offer for $100,000. Less than half of what he was making but  definitely better than $30,000. Bonus points (not really): He made sure to text Rock Star to let her know that he got a job and that he was going to pay what he owed. Yeah, not really, Cousinfucker. You’re paying your modified support.

Now that is definitely something. I’m not sure I would classify it as great news because he’s a disordered nitwit and having a court order doesn’t mean shit to him. He might pay. He might not. He might pay on time. He might pay whenever it suits him. On the plus side, though: If he doesn’t pay me a dime until our next court appearance he is going to look very bad. Or at least he should.

No, I think my favorite part of everything I’ve been treated to these past few days is finding out that he has replaced me as his beneficiary on his 401k. He has Harley listed. And not just as Harley Assface-Buttwipe, whoring mistress, but as Harley Cousinfucker’s Last Name, spouse. Can you believe that shit? The man is delusional. You are not married to your cousin, you shit eating chimp! She is not your wife. I am. Unfortunately. I wrote my attorney back and asked her how in the hell he could be listing her as his spouse when he’s still married to me? I’m pretty sure that shit is illegal. All of it- replacing me as beneficiary when we’re still married, and lying about the whore’s relationship to him. And that’s not even touching the fact that if he died tomorrow my kids and I would be left with absolutely nothing while that gold digging whore was awarded everything. At the very least I’d have to fight her through the courts. It’s always fun with Cousinfucker!

I Am Amazing (Plus Inappropriate Conversations With My Daughter)

I had another long day, waking at 3:20, working from 4-7, dropping Rock Star off at school, coming home and getting ready for the full-time job and then working from 8:45-5:15. After that I headed to the school to pick up Rock Star after track practice. Finally, we arrived back home where I cooked the rice to finish up our dinner. About 30 minutes later Rock Star comes to me and asks when she’s going to learn to parallel park. Yes, in this amazing state parallel parking is apparently still part of the driving test. Awesome, huh?

Look, it doesn’t phase me. I can parallel park with the best of them. Rock Star still talks about the time I whipped into a parking spot on a hill after looking around for parking and almost missing our dinner reservations. “And that’s how you parallel park!” I said triumphantly before hopping out of the car. They were both amazed. Like I said, still talking about it today, almost two years later.

So there I was, 7:00 at night, teaching my daughter to parallel park. I had already changed out of my work clothes into some comfy sweats (hey, I’m not married so I can dress comfortably!) and a t-shirt. The bra had been whipped off and left behind and it didn’t dawn on me until after we stopped for gas that I was out in public braless. Oh well, that’s what coats are for, right?

Anyway, that was my badass moment of the night. I taught my kid to parallel park. Many days I feel like I’m completely failing both of them. But that night? I felt amazing, free boobies and all. Work all day, get dinner on the table, throw in a load of laundry, and then teach a child to parallel park.

Onto those inappropriate conversations… Inappropriate conversation #1: As we were driving back home Rock Star almost t-boned a cop car. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. She was at a stop sign and I thought she was going to go even though the car that was about 20 feet away had the right of way. Nobody was hurt. Nobody was even almost hurt. Everything was fine. But we started cracking jokes about what would happen if we hit a cop car. Choices ranged from offering up our cheeseburgers to flirting. Then Rock Star comments, “The flirting isn’t enough? Maybe I could offer a little bit more.” Instead of reprimanding my daughter for her dirty mind I chime in, “Hell, I’ve got 5 minutes to kill.” She looks at me and says, “Mom, that’s an insult, not a compliment.” Oh boy! How does she know this?

Inappropriate conversation #2: Has anyone seen or heard of the movie(s) called, “The Purge”? I’ve never seen it but from the few previews I’ve seen the basic premise is that for 24 hours all crime is legal. It’s every man and woman for himself/herself. I have no idea how the movie ends; I only know there was a sequel. She asks me what I would do if a 24 hour purge was really legal. Without hesitating I tell her what I would do, which I’m not going to say here.  Her response: “Wow. I was going to say I would go shopping and not pay for anything. Maybe go to McDonald’s and get a free sweet tea,” was her reply.

“Yeah, I went dark real quick.”

To lighten the mood, I’ll give you a funny conversation with her that same night. She’s telling me if she ever has a daughter she wants to name her Margaret because she likes the nickname Mags. Or she would name her Louella Ann. I’m just shaking my head. Then she offers up another name and asks me if I like it. “I’m not crazy about it but your father liked it. And it rhymes with Harley (well, her real name anyway).”

“So we’re back to Louella?” she deadpans.

I think this is my mother getting her revenge. For years I told her if I had a baby girl I was going to name her Bambi Fawn. “I’ll call her Dear, for short.” Now I’m stuck with Louella. I guess it’s better than Cinnamon.

The Wacky Things Cheating Women Say

I was perusing WordPress, trying to catch up on sites I follow when a title caught my eye. I only saw, “I Gave Myself to My Children Completely” and clicked on the link, thinking, “Wow- we might have something in common.” I thought perhaps I might learn something. I, however, didn’t catch the remaining part of the title which was, “… But I Never Thought They Would Hate Me.”

Anyway… I click on the link, head on over to the site and begin reading. I’m feeling all sympathetic because the story she’s telling is one of divorce and her son turning against her. I’m thinking I know where this is heading: Husband cheats, leaves wife, and turns son against her. Poor woman! I’m pretty sure it was the line: I was a good wife right until the very end that made me think this was a story of her being her husband’s victim.

But no! In fact, she was having an affair. She wanted a divorce. The day came for her to sign the papers and she changes her mind. Oh no! I can’t leave my family. I’m not ready to do that! Only guess what? By this time, her husband who had been willing to reconcile with his lying, cheating wife had had enough and he said, “No thank you,” to her reconciliation plan.

This is where it gets so so fun! “Sylvie” gives us such gems as:

My ex wanted to work on our marriage. At the time, I didn’t. I’d been seeing Brad for a couple of months and things were going well. When everything blew up, I felt- weirdly- special. I was getting a lot of attention. I felt wanted, worth fighting for. But I didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. I wanted out of the marriage. I was excited by how new and good things were with Brad.

Oh, you were “seeing” Brad for a couple of months? Hmmm…. I’m not sure about where you live, dear Sylvie, but where I live “seeing” someone else when you are, you know, married, is called having an affair. You can stick a bouquet of flowers up your ass but it’s still not a vase.

And yes, Sylvie, things with a new lover generally are exciting and new. You don’t know about any of his bad habits. You haven’t yet begun to be irritated by all those little traits of his that once were endearing. Oh, and because you don’t actually live with him or do anything for him aside from fuck him, you get all the fun times and none of the responsibilities. Affairs are the epitome of thrilling, titillating and scandalous.

But let’s concentrate on lines 4, 5, and 6: When everything blew up, I felt- weirdly- special. I was getting a lot of attention. I felt wanted, worth fighting for.

Oh, you delightful little sociopath, you! You felt special having an affair? You’re not special because you’re fucking some strange guy named Brad in the backseat of your minivan. You’re not special because you’re lying to your husband, ripping your kids lives apart, and rutting around like a pig in mud.

You were getting a lot of attention and you felt wanted and worth fighting for? How very nice for you. You sure do like making your husband jump through hoops for you, don’t you? All that dancing. All that begging and pleading and praying you’ll pick him. That must have been so wonderful. So intoxicating, Sylvie.  All so that you can say, “No, I don’t want you anymore. I want Brad. He’s shiny and new. You’re old and boring and I have to do your laundry.”

I know I made a mistake, a really big one. I shouldn’t have had an affair. I should have ended our marriage decently, with a civil conversation or a nice handshake. But that wasn’t my reality. I’m not perfect. And while I may not have always been a great wife, I was always a great mom.

Po-ta-to, po-tah-to. It was just a mistake. She’ll cop to the fact that it was a really big one, but hey, let’s not get carried away! It’s not like she’s pretending to be perfect.

Oh Sylvie, once again you try to lure us into this false dichotomy. You are either perfect or you’re a lying, cheating whore. No, no, Sylvie, there are other options. You can be imperfect and still not cheat! For example, I have a lot of road rage and I have a potty mouth. I still don’t cheat. I forgot to write a note for my son’s absences for, like, three weeks. I wasn’t able to go my daughter’s first track meet. That is not perfect. Yet, it’s still not riding some other guy’s dick.

We can even go back to the original line that threw me in the beginning:

I was a good wife right until the very end.

Sylvie, do you understand what being a good wife even is? I’m not sure I can quantify it but I sure as hell know you can’t cheat on your husband and then claim to be a good wife right until the very end.

That’s like someone saying, “Yes, I killed those girls, but I was a good person right up until the very end.” Um…. no. Just no.

Or a drunk driver who has slammed into another car saying, “Hey, I was in control of my vehicle right until the very end.” Again, I’m going to have to go with no.

Good wives and husbands do not cheat. Period.

This one is my favorite:

I thought that Alex would get better- that maybe, with time, he would come to see that people in happy marriages don’t cheat on each other. He would understand that my actions stemmed from a very deep unhappiness- and that I could not keep punishing myself for wanting to be happy again.

I’m sure you were hoping that good ol’ Alex would just get over his mom being a lying, scheming, cheating, selfish bitch. Just get over it, son! Can’t you see Mommy is happy? Don’t you know that Mommy being happy is the most important thing in the world? Aren’t you happy now that I’m happily screwing some guy who isn’t your dad? I realize I’ve torn your life apart but I’m happy now! Geez, Alex, can’t you just get over it and think of someone besides yourself for once in your life? I can’t imagine why Alex isn’t getting over it and isn’t thrilled that his mom has found love and happiness with her affair partner. After all, it is all about the cheaters and their happiness.

I’m going to have to call bullshit on this though, Sylvie: … maybe, with time, he would come to see that people in happy marriages don’t cheat on each other.

Yes they do, Sylvie. All the time. People cheat for the thrill of it. They cheat because they can. They cheat because they have no empathy and no idea how to interact socially with others. They cheat because they believe they are entitled to cheat. They cheat because they have crappy character. They cheat because they are selfish.

As for your unhappiness argument, grow the fuck up, Sylvie! If you were unhappy you had many choices. It wasn’t a matter of being unhappy or having an affair. Stop with your damn false dichotomies.

And am I the only person who doesn’t think Sylvie would ever be willing to punish herself? That sad little drivel about not continuing to punish herself for wanting to be happy is absolute rubbish. Sylvie comes across as a total narcissistic sociopath who only thinks of herself and her happiness.

She reminds me of Jezebel whining to her mom: Will I ever be happy? She’s asking this as she’s fucking her pastor, a man married twenty plus years and twenty years her senior. She asks this as she and her pastor are pulling the wool over the congregation’s eyes, leading them to believe that nothing is going on between them and that it’s all nasty rumors even while they share a joint checking account and make plans to run off to another state. Hmmm… that sounds familiar. Like brother, like sister.

These people are disordered fuckwits. They take and take and take, and then when they’re caught they whine about their unhappiness and bravely declare that they will no longer punish themselves for wishing to be happy. No matter who pays the price for their happiness!

This was brilliant:

I didn’t take a thing from that house. I left behind my career to take care of Anna and Alex. I gave myself to them completely. And even after things ended between their father and me, I thought only about them. I let my ex keep the house, and the kids stayed with him so that the disruption to their routine was minimal. They were surrounded by their things, their dog, and their friends. Maybe it was a mistake, losing myself in them. But I just never thought that my own child would hate me.

First of all, as a very astute reader over on Chump Lady observed once upon a time: Good parents don’t napalm their children’s lives. Second of all, if you decide to leave behind your career to take care of your kids you might not want to fuck around on your husband seeing as how he supports you. Now that those two points are out of the way we can move on.

She makes it sound like she was being so selfless and so brave. She just walked away with nothing. She surrendered her children so as to not disrupt them. What a brave, loving mom.

No, if you read a little further I think it’s safe to come to the conclusion that Sylvie simply walked away from her old life. She shed it all like a snake sheds its skin and started over completely with no remnants from her old life. Oh, also familiar! Hey, Cousinfucker, is that you, telling your story under an assumed name and as the opposite sex? Clever!

Kids and pets take time out of your day, time that could be spent fucking Brad. They represent real life and responsibilities and Sylvie doesn’t seem to do much of that. She needed a change. She didn’t have time to be a mom. She had a new life with Brad! Kids were a buzzkill. And if she couldn’t be bothered with her kids then she sure as hell wasn’t going to be bothered by a damn dog! Her kids and pets and all the responsibilities that come along with them being with you full-time were holding her back and taking valuable time away from her fantasy life with Brad. How can you pretend they don’t exist if they’re right there in front of you, reminding you of what you’ve done and all that you’ve taken away from them? Hey- she will not punish herself for wanting to be happy anymore, people! Stop trying to make her unhappy.

It’s been five years since the divorce and so much has changed in my life. I’ve gone back to school. I’ve started my own successful business. And I just got married- to Brad. My ex recently got engaged, too.

Oh, I see. You getting married to the douche that you tossed aside your family for is equal to your cheated on husband finally finding someone worthy of him. Yes, you marrying your fuck buddy is absolutely the same thing as your husband getting engaged five years after your betrayal. And hey, that just makes it all better, right? It was for the best. Now your ex-husband has finally found happiness, too. Gee, that sure is a pretty package all wrapped up with a shiny bow. Happy endings for everyone!

My son is in college now, and my daughter is in high school. Parts of us have moved on, but parts of us still live with the sadness accumulated during those years.

I have a feeling Sylvie doesn’t live with any sadness. She got exactly what she wanted.

I try to see Anna as much as possible. She’s become a beautiful young lady.

Yes, she sees her daughter as much as possible, which isn’t much because she’s so busy running her new successful business and fucking her new husband, Brad. Don’t try to guilt her, Anna! Your mom will no longer apologize for wanting to be happy. If she needs to step on your neck to reach that elusive happiness then you stick it out there for her with no complaints. Maybe one day you can grow up to be as selfish as her.

I sent Alex a text a little while ago. It said: I love you, I will continue to love you, no matter what you say or how you feel.

His response: I’m sure you will; I’m familiar with that sentiment. Now for the final time you need to Leave. Me. Alone. That is the best thing you can do for me.

Unfortunately for you, Sylvie, I think your son has got your number and knows exactly who you are. He’s a smart boy. I’m pretty sure he knows to steer clear of any women who remind him of his mom.