There Goes The Neighborhood

September 5, 2006 at 3:46 PM | Posted in Journal | 3 Comments
  Over the weekend, the g.f. and I (my friend’s teenage daughter picked up my cellphone, and the wall paper was a pic of Kim.  She says to me, "Is that the G.F?"  She explained that, in the parlance of our times, that means "girlfriend."  Which is good, it helps, because I might have mistakenly thought it stood for "great fuck."  Silly me.) moved into our new flat.
  She is actually the first person there, and I show after work.  Let’s see, that was Friday?  We go get some stuff out of storage, then go to my dad’s house to get some of my stuff, end up getting nothing, but we talk with my dad and sister.  We head back to the flat that night and sleep on the floor:  no bed.
  Nothing makes you appreciate the modern conveniences like not having them.  Unless you are 4 years old, there is really no reason to sleep on the floor.  Let me tell you it sucked, and standing up the next day off it sucked even more.
  Saturday, we bought an air mattress as a temporary reprieve, and its not that bad.  In fact, compared to the floor, it’s fan-fucking-tastic.  But we went to the store to shop for beds, and found the one we want when we have the money.  Highly unusual thing, though:  behind the store, right out the back door, was a pet cemetary.  Almost an acre, right behind this store in a dense suburban area, one that I have delivered extensively in, and this is the first I had ever seen of it.  The g.f. and walked the length of it, since it turns out we both have a thing for the macabre and the sentimental, and this was oddly both.
  That evening, she hung out with me at work, and got to meet some of my co-workers and friends, like the Dude.  Earlier that day, actually, was the first meeting between Detroit and Bunny.  All I can say is, odd.  My friend Bunny, she is unsure of what to think about Detroit and I.  Time will tell, perhaps… She isn’t working today (Tuesday), otherwise, I feel certain, I would have heard from her.  I don’t want to call her and ask her, "What didja think?" because we only talked for a minute, and anything she said at that point would have been superficial nicey-nice.
  Had fun at work, though, and that night a good night’s sleep on the air mattress.  We had decided earlier to go to the breakfast buffet, so of we go.  We eat, then we leave.  As I walk from the passenger door to the driver door (one thing we have agreed on is thus:  A gentleman ALWAYS hold the door open for a lady.  Car doors, everything.  Despite my manners, I am a gentleman, and despite her.. . . . being with me, she is a lady.  Therefore I open every door for her.) to get in, I hear a voice say, "Grampa!"
  I look around, trying to get my bearings, which are suddenly spinning wildly out of control.  I see one, then two grandchildren, then my daughter.  I am looking for adults.  I see Mike, the oldest son, and no one else.  No wife.  They start to come over, then stop, not sure of what to do.  I yell to them, "Come here!" and they run over.  It was great to see them.  My daughter hugged me and  kissed me, and the youngest of the grandkids.  Little Michael said, "Mitchell and Gramma didn’t want to come.  Probably a good thing." 
  I agreed.  While I knew it would have to happen sooner or later, later would be better.  I just want to keep my distance from the s.t.b.e (soon-to-be-ex), because she is a complete freak.  My daughter says to me, "Daddy, who’s in the car?"  It was the gf’s car.
  I said, "It’s. . . my girlfriend."
  "Can I go meet her?"
  The other two girls echoed her request.  I said, "Uh, sure."  If you look up "awkard" in an online dictionary, there is a video clip of this moment.
  But, I must say, my daughter is a class act.  Completely honest, just wanting to get to know people and like them.  She goes up to the door where Kim is sitting, taking her by surprise.  Miranda says, "Hi!  I’m his daughter!"
  They chatted briefly, while I talked with the two older grandkids, and my son.  Then they had to go, before it got more awkward for the big people, and before the breakfast buffet closed. 
  But it was good to see them.  It was good to hug my daughter.
  My whole purpose, my whole reason, for moving back to Troy, was for her.  My son, too, but mostly for her.  My son is 18, and he can come and go and do as he pleases.  But I wanted to be close to them both, so they know, that despite what the stb ex says (and you know what, let’s go back to the nickname I originally came up with.  This is the internet after all, the place for screennames and nicknames, and it suits her, it just fucking suits her:  "The Storm.")–despite what the Storm says, I didn’t abandon the children, just her.  And I didn’t even abandon her, I have to take care of certain things with her.  But I did leave her.  Dropped her like a bad transmission, I did.
  So part of that was the need to move here in town to be near them, so that I am just a few minutes away, and they can visit, or I can pick them up, or whatever.  Just to be near them, we moved inconveniently far from the center of town to the Kuntry.
  Running into them randomly in a public place shows me how well I thought this plan through.  I don’t want to meet the Storm in public, and I especially don’t want to meet the Storm in public with the GF on my arm.  I will go to jail.  Let me explain:
  The Storm will make a loud, embarrassing public scene because she has no self-control and no desire to act rationally.  She will yell, scream, shout, call me names, try to take a swing at me, and try to wrestle Detroit to the ground.  Under different circumstances, a highly erotic prospect, nevertheless, in this situation, very undesireable.  Police will come, and even though I haven’t laid a finger on her and never will, because she is the woman making loud noise and crying, and I am the man, I will get arrested and spend a few hours or maybe the night in jail for third degree assault, making friends and trading cigarettes to retain my anal virtue.
  Don’t ask me how I know this, it is just one of those things that if you have been through it, you know it.
  My older daughter calls me later, hassling me.  "You know, you needed to warn us when she came to town.  We have to live with your wife, you don’t."
  I apologized, but she continued to give me shit, saying she owes me an ass-kicking.  It occurred to me, however, that this must be hard on the Storm.
  First of all, all she has done, most likely, is think about me for the last several weeks, while I have given her nary a thought.
  Then, her children, even the ones that aren’t mine, are treating me decently, even getting along with me, and being understanding.  They haven’t shunned me the way that she wanted them to, or even, quite frankly, the way I expected them to. 
  She needs to come to grips with whom exactly the asshole is in this relationship.
  The grandkids want to come over to my apart–my flat, and I said yeah, as soon as I get furniture, you can all come over. 
  I was originally worried about Kim–in the irrational, paranoid sense, about something happening to her, car accident, or whatever, before we got together, or shortly afterwards, just to give me a taste of paradise and rip it away from me, like God can do, because of his twisted sense of humor and incredible comic timing and understanding of the unique nature of irony.  Thanks God, for all the comedy!
  Of course it could still happen, but I grok a sense of God’s plan for me now.  He will let me have happiness, he will let me have Kim.  But he will also fuck with me constantly, I see that now.
  I am God’s chew toy.


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  1. I dont think you have seen my site lately. But I guess i can relate to your stb-ex. Not that I am agreeing with her at all, but I can understand it. Now in particular. My ex told me he has a girlfriend, right after he fucked me. And then normally would it matter? I don\’t know but since I am pregnant it does matter, because I think the timing could have been different. But then there never was closure with us. Good luck to you both.

  2. That\’s hilarious…. we call the ex "The Hurricane" that is when we\’re not calling her more appropriate and fitting swear words…..

  3. I think Air beds are real comfy. I slept on one for a year when my brother moved in with me.
    I bet that was a real awkward moment in the parking lot.
    I sure hope you don\’t run into the storm….
    Give my love to Detroit.
    I am so glad you are together

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