I'm Okay, You're O---Obviously Nuts

How does one remain calm, cheerful and at peace while co-parenting with an ex-spouse? In the first place, I wouldn't recommend HAVING an ex-spouse to begin with. In the second place, if you must have an ex-spouse ideally they should live on one side of the planet and you on the other. You retaining placement of the children of course. Please, before some of you go all preachy and superior on me, think about it. You have an ex because you're divorced. You're divorced because one or both of you decided you shouldn't stay married. Since you're not married you probably aren't living together, nor should you want to. You are co-parenting because the two of you had children together and since you are now, most likely, not living with the other parent, you want the kids to be with you. The other parent wants the kids to be with them. It comes down to where, when and how to "share" the children. In all likelihood since you're not married anymore you're thinking "I don't have to try and please this person anymore and I don't even feel like being that nice since I don't really care about this person anymore". I'm not saying anything you're not already thinking. I'm just not being fair or politically correct. It's my right. The truth is, in the end you DO have to sometimes do what the other parent wants and you DO have to TRY to be nice for the sake of the kids. And it sucks.

On one hand I think I have it pretty good. I don't live in the same town as my ex and his new wife. In other words, we're not running into each other at the grocery store or the post-office when I'm wearing the same sweats for the third day in a row AND my son gets to live the majority of the time with me. On the other hand take my fake-husband's ex. We live in the same town, we share the kids equally (two days here, two days there, alternating weekends) and we try to be pretty flexible and accommodating with regard to the other parent. Sadly when the other parent doesn't have the same sense of right/wrong, fair/unfair, reasonable/unreasonable, appropriateness/insanity, boundaries/in your face, business, life...you get the picture. Anyway, tempers can flare, words can be exchanged and grown-ups don't always play nice. Again, I'm not telling you anything you don't know. What I do want to leave you with is this. A wise friend who also knows the afore mentioned other-parent, once told me about a person in her life that was cuckoo/nuts/crazy AND evil. Whenever she would try to have dialog with this person, communication would quickly deteriorate because this person was completely illogical and unable to see anyone else's point of view. Whatever this person did was completely acceptable but if my friend did anything similar it was tantamount to the most obscene indiscretion imaginable. This friend of mine said, "the sooner you realize that she is mental, the sooner you'll deal with her in that context. Don't try to reason with her, she's irrational, you won't get anywhere and you'll only succeed in feeling frustrated, disappointed and depressed."

Wow, a formula for how to deal. It was inspired AND she was right, it works. If you approach every conversation or encounter with the mindset that you're dealing with someone who is mentally ill (the trick is not to let them know that's what you're doing) you'll feel more charitable, confident and in control. Try it.

The Cursed House On Clark

So I'm contemplating the household financial situation when I look down at my calendar and notice that the property taxes on my house in Stevens Point are due on Friday. I was hoping I could drive over on Friday morning, hang out with some of my favorite people for the day, pay my taxes and then casually drop in on the work-in-progress going on at the house. And by "casually drop in" what I really mean is "show up unannounced in order to catch the construction guys unaware".

Recently I've received reports from five, count 'em FIVE friends that working seems not to be the primary objective when they drive by and observe the guys lounging in lawn chairs, enjoying snacks. At least two friends have admitted that they drove by around lunch time and that could be the reason they were sitting in the shade, eating. But one of the five gals lives adjacent to the house and therefore has a clear view of the goings-on, all day, every day. To say this news disappoints me is putting it mildly. In the words of my dear friend Mary "I didn't want to tell you, lest you blow a gasket". She knows me too well.

The devastation known as The Great Flood of 2009 happened at the start of February. It is now nearing the end of July and the house still isn't ready to go back on the market. Financially, I have to sell this place before December when my alimony runs out. Emotionally, I have to get out from under it because every time I see it in it's current state, it's like a kick in the gut. Mentally, I'm going cuckoo. So, I'll write a check for the taxes, drive it over to City Hall and pray that by the next time the tax bills are sent I will no longer be the owner of 1609 Clark St.

But who ARE you??

What was going to be a bummer of a weekend (because of foiled camping plans) turned out to be what @yogarobin and I will henceforth refer to as our "Rock Star Mini-Break".

It all started when Robin phoned Friday evening and proposed a field-trip to a fashion-show in Green Bay. "We get to eat, drink, see fashion and the room is comp'd!" she said. In all fairness, I didn't immediately say "sign me up", but did in fact consult the fake-husband, lest he had already formulated plan B for saturday night.

The next morning at Farmer's Market, her husband Scott filled me in on the particulars. He had attended the last show and had opted out of this one on the grounds that he was "out of his element" (Robin's words, not his). He said we'd get there, wander around, drink a lot, eat a little and go to bed late. When Robin overheard me tell Scott that I didn't really have anything to wear she said, "we'll just wear high shoes and make-up to compensate". Groovy, I can do that.

We decided to leave at 7 to give us time to get there and check out the pre-party and see people before it started. When we arrived I was a little surprised to see that the gig was exactly what she described. NOTHING like anything you'd see in Wisconsin, much less Green Bay. An edgy, modern hotel FULL of cool, stylin' people who looked like they belonged in NYC or LA. Tall, skinny girls serving drinks and holding trays of hors dourves. Tall, metro guys lounging in corners, heads together with more stylish, skinny girls. Techno music thumping, the bar crowded, me looking star struck.

(Side note: you can't go ANYWHERE without Robin bumping into no fewer than 10 people she knows, either intimately or as an acquaintance. Sometimes this is a hindrance, such as when trying to get from one end of the mall, or Farmer's Market to the other. Other times it is a wondrous gift that she shares with those around her. This was one of those times.)

It was immediately apparent that we would have no lack of company as we wandered through the crowd toward the elevator. My girl recognised and was recognised by several of her spa/yoga friends right away and inquired as to the where-abouts of other spa/yoga friends who would be there. Someone said "Josif's upstairs". Josif was THE guy doing the show and he had our room key. We found him and he "modeled" his cool jeans he'd recently bought in Las Vegas and his 7-Diamond shirt. Fabulous. A few doors down I was introduced to the show's emcee. He was still writing his notes about the models and the fashions he would introduce and the show was scheduled to start at 8:30 so we quickly said good-bye and ran across the hall to check out our room.

And what a sweet room it was! A huge flat-screen TV, "Bliss" hair and skin-care products, a collection of magazines (Spin: Jeff Tweedy on the cover so I borrowed it for John, Wired, and Dwell, all groovy) and a big comfy King-size bed. I set up the "bar" (Scott had sent some travelers along with us in an ice-chest), we brushed our teeth, grabbed a drink and headed back down to the party.

We met up with a couple spa friends who introduced us to other people we needed to know and basically just people watched. At this point we became mesmerized by the DJ. We watched him work his magic for a good 15-20 minutes before Robin decided she HAD to know how he did his "mixing". Honestly, it appeared to the innocent bystander that all he was really doing was randomly adjusting levers and turning knobs. In the words of Bart Simpson au contraire mon frere. After he patiently explained how it was done we decided we had a huge crush on him.

The music got loud again and we ventured outside to see the actual "show". We strategically placed ourselves in a position to see the models up close as they walked by. As they did I'd snap a pic of each one. At one point near the end of the show I excused myself and a woman sitting next to Robin asked her why I was taking pictures of all the outfits. Were we in "the industry" she asked? Robin had to confess that we were just documenting for the kids at home. Borrrrring... As the show came to a close (a whopping 30 minutes after it started) Joseph took the mic and gave all the important players a shout out, including Robin. "Many thanks to my yoga-teacher, sitting right over there. My ass wouldn't look nearly this good in these jeans if it weren't for her!"

So, we let Josif buy us more drinks until he said "Ladies! Let's go to dinner, we're walking to Fratellos". So we did. We had yummy appetizers and people sent us snippets of their meals from the other end of the table and it was all very cosmopolitan, considering we were eating dinner at 11:00 at night. At the end of the meal, @yogarobin got another public thank-you, this time from Josif's wife Joy who stood and toasted and hugged her and said that since they'd met a year ago, their life had become so much brighter because of her. Aww, shucks.

Mass exodus back to the hotel where we: observed who was hooking up with whom, chatted up the DJ again (who now had what appeared to be body-guards defending him from people like us but who also could be charmed enough to be allowed an audience with the mix master himself) and stopped to pet random dogs who were checking into the hotel with their owners. We played games at the bar, including, "What country do you think they're from?" A game of Robin's invention, where one observes certain parties at the bar who appear foreign and guesses are made about where they're from, at which point the country of orgin is verified either by their date (beware, they can be snippy) or the bar-tender (beware, they make stuff up). Trust me the fun is in the guessing rather than the knowing. After a few rounds we discovered it was well past midnight and considering most of the key players had removed themselves to parts unknown we decided to call it a night.

We flopped out in our giant bed with the flat-screen remote and giggled and complained about the scratchy sheets (literally the ONLY negative of the whole holiday) til we couldn't keep our eyes open. Since I'd had enough to drink to ensure I'd sleep through even the rowdiest of after-hours debauchery I snoozed til well after 8am. Unfortunately, my room-mate said upon waking that she would never get a room across the hall from (blank) again. Apparently loud knocking was heard at different times during the night and early morning and girl-friend is not as sound a sleeper as I am.

When we did decide to end our fabulous field-trip, we drove around in search of coffee and stumbled upon the sweetest little cafe by the name of the Elegant Moose. It's on Oneida in Green Bay and the sign describes it as a "Crepery". We drove by the first time because it looked closed, but the "Crepery" sign. We wanted some of that. After looking at the yummy descriptions in the menu we decided to stay. "I can tell you, you will NOT be disappointed", the hostess said . Hmmmm such confidence. Come to find out, she had good reason. We shared two dishes. The Western Crepe (filled with scrambled eggs, roasted sweet corn and bacon hash). Oh My. The second is now the standard for french toast against which all others will be measured. Creme Brulee French Toast. One word, DIVINE. Dipped in creme brulee custard and sugar and torched just like the dessert name-sake. It was perfect.

Before we started stuffing our faces, Robin said we really needed to take a picture of our beautiful breakfast. At this point our waitress, who we later learned was the owner's daughter, the owner being our sweet hostess (this is a family affair) asked, what was the purpose of the photograph. We said "it's just so lovely, we want to document it" again she said "but, for what reason?" we said, "because we want to share it with our friends". She seemed a little nervous and said "Are you some kind of food critic?" OMG, that was rich, "no, we just like to remember things we do and this is something worth remembering". Well then, out came the owner, "What are you going to DO with the pictures?" she asked. Robin said something like "we'll put them on FaceBook" and she said "Because you liked it?" Well, duh, I'm thinking to myself. Robin said, "Yes, because we're wondering why there aren't more cars in the parking lot". Then finally the lovely, little lady says "But, who ARE you?" and us, in unison "we're NOBODY". She seemed so puzzled right up til the end.

That, is how I define my Rock Star Mini-Break. Me, being mistaken for SOMEONE. A fashion industry photog, a food critic, a yoga-teacher's side-kick. All honest mistakes...