The 5 Stages of Hate

I have 2 girlfriends that are going through divorce. Both of them have children. Both of them are divorcing members of the AssClown Clan™. Both of them will frequently use the phrase, "I hate him." Hate is a big word and a big feeling. I was texting with one of my friends and I told her I thought she would go through stages where the hate would subside. I realized as we were talking about it (via texts since her kids were home) that I now feel a kind of generalized numbness and "Ew!" when I think of John. I have similar feelings for others that range from detached malaise (Alex the bald headed bastard) to laughing freedom (Spencer) to vaguely nauseated pity (Special Ops Boy). All nursing students have to remember the 5 stages of Grief. They are engraved in my brain. I don't have to look them up--Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. If I remember correctly the woman that this work is linked to Elizabeth Kübler-Ross (I just learned an umlaut on a Mac is option U) said that one doesn't always go through the stages in the same order and may not reach every stage. For example, I sadly have a few friends that haven't reached acceptance or they skipped the anger stage in griefing the loss of a loved one. I'm going to take a stab (pun intended) at labeling the 5 stages of grief after figuring out you were with a liar or cheater or a combo of the two which could be a 'Chiar'. 

Cheater + Liar =Chiar

5 Stages of Grief Post Recognition of Chiar

1. LaLa--This is a mistake. There has to be an explanation. He loves me. I just co-sgned a mortgage with him. He got me flowers last week. We just had sex 3 hours ago and he told me he loved me...what's a ManGroomer?
2. Ghetto--I am gonna kill that bitch. Where is that mutha fucka? I'm going to kill him. I'm going to put water in the boat and jet ski gas tanks. I'm going to carve my name in the leather of all his precious Johnson and Murphy shoes. I'm faxing copies of their texts to the director of nursing where she works. Whoa.  I thought all those things back then and I decided to chill...until I logged on to Amazon one cold December morning and ordered a case of Vienna Sausages.
3. Waffler--Why did this happen? Is this karma? I'm nice. He isn't so bad. I know he doesn't love her. Is it because I was involved with Dillhole for so long? Is this pay back?  Wanna go with me to Border's to look at self help books? Maybe we can work this out. I hate him. I hate her. Maybe we could go to a marriage counselor. No way. He's a liar. Why didn't I see it? Maybe I can fix it...
4. Medicator--Where's my Xanax? Is it bad to drink wine every day? I'm so tired. I'm going to take a nap. What can I eat? Do you have any candy around here? I love bread. Do you have any pot? And cookies. Where's my drink? 
5. Present--Wait, listen to this story! Can you believe? I wake up without thinking about him. Days go by and he doesn't enter my mind. Heart no longer races when I think about the lies. A detached numbness is all I feel. I am thinking about now or the things I am working towards instead of the past.

I have ridden the roller coaster of all those emotions. I recall the "Ghetto" stage rearing her ugly ass several times. I didn't know I was capable of such anger. I wonder if she kept the parenting magazines I ordered with the "bill me later" option? I no longer believe that I somehow made this happen. I have learned a valuable lesson about listening to my gut. I don't drink wine every day and I hoard Xanax rather than taking it. I wish I could wave a magic wand and help my friends skip all the stages and fast forward to the Present stage. But alas, no magic wand exists...when I Googled "Magic Wand", this kept coming up:

Six Degrees of AssClown Separation

Today I get an email from Sulie that says:

He has a connection between a connection of jch

Let me translate--Sulie was on linkedin. JCH is one of her contacts. The subject of this particular email was Paul B. He was a guy I dated for a short time in the early 90s. Here we are in 2010 and JCH (being the mover and shaker of the Tampa Bay business community) is connected on linkedin to a guy that is connected to Paul B. Funny. Ironic. Disturbing. 

Let's go back in time and reflect on Penelope circa late 1993. I had been living with Alex (aka the bald headed bastard--there may be some blog material on him later). We decided to be apart and evaluate things (i.e. I move out and we break up). I moved into a cute little apartment complex. One day I am walking into my place carrying tons of bags from Target with my new apartment purchases. I see a guy walk out of his apartment and he's kinda cute. I smile and say hi. About an hour later my doorbell rings. I look out the peephole and it's cute neighbor. I open the door and he has a plate of chocolate chip cookies. He introduces himself as Paul. We chit chat for a few minutes, I take the cookies and I thank him. The cookies looked homemade. I ate a couple as I unpacked. As the days went on, I saw Paul in the workout room. He had recently graduated from UF. He was an attorney. He was cute. He asked me to go out. I said yes. We made plans for Friday night. We went to a restaurant that was close by. We had a great time. We went back to my place and listened to music and talked for a few hours. We made out a little bit and I sent him on his way. We had several other dates. As I got to know Paul, I heard about his life. He was in and out of foster care his whole life. His mother was bi-polar and had drug issues. She named him Paul after Paul McCartney. He had awful stories of foster care. It was heartbreaking. When he was 16 he was placed in foster care with a very religious family. It ended up that the couple became his "parents". They could not legally adopt him since his birth mother was in and out of his life. Paul told me he would keep his suitcase packed for the first 6 months he lived in their house. The woman (she later became who he calls Mom) would unpack his things while he was at school. Each night he would pack his things again. He was so sure this home was not permanent. Heartbreaking. Super long story short, he grew to trust the family. He also began to go to church with them. 

Okay, fast forward to Paul (25) and me (28). He was gung ho to "do it". So we did. Over and over. It was his favorite thing to do. At that time, I was working the weekend program. I would work 2 twelve hour shifts on Saturday and Sunday  and get paid for 36 hours. It was the same 7 nurses both days from 7 am to 7pm. We were a really close group. There is something about coding patients the minute you walk in the door and dealing with death that brings you together. I was the youngest in a group of all married women. They lived vicariously through me and my dating stories. One Saturday night Paul and I did it 7 times. It was crazy. I told him I needed a break and I had to work the next day! I told my co-workers during lunch. They were dying. The next week I went on a trip (I think it was to the Outer Banks). When I returned to work the following Saturday there was a homemade banner in the locker room that read "Welcome Back 7 Times Penelope!!!" I died laughing as I changed into my scrubs. I worked at a teaching hospital. One of the fellows from Pakistan said to me in a thick accent, "So Penelope, what is this 7 Times?" Marsha (the banner ringleader) was standing behind him cracking up. I took a deep breath and told him it has to do with a training program I was in for a marathon (I used to run, but there was no marathon in my future). He walked away and I pinched Marsha as she cackled. Marsha referred to Paul as The Christian. They made Mary Magdalene jokes about me.

Let me get to my point--Paul had that very religious upbringing. He would love to "do it", but he would always have guilt after. He was so conflicted. It got to be very challenging and I told him I couldn't do it anymore. There was one night that he literally started his guilt talk before he was (how do I say it diplomatically...) separated from me. I quickly got up and put on my clothes and told him it was not  going to work. The next day I told my married co-workers. They roared with laughter as I told them, "I pushed him off me, I got up, put on my thongs and left". My stories were a source of great humor.

I would work during the week to get extra hours and to go into overtime for extra cash. I have always been a Capitalist. There was a new nurse, Michelle, that one of my friends (Betty) was training. One day Michelle tells Betty that she is dating a guy named Paul. She gets tears in her eyes as she tells Betty that Paul saw her schedule with my name on the calendar. He told her we dated and apparently shared the fact that we had slept together. Michelle cried to Betty that she couldn't understand that he had slept with someone before marriage (she was very religious and had definite opinions about sex before marriage). She told Betty how they prayed about the fact that he was not a virgin (Dear Readers, he wasn't a virgin when I got to him either). Michelle failed to do her background work and missed that Betty was my best friend. She also started flapping her jaw to other nurses that were my friends. I'd had it. I looked at the schedule and saw we would be on the same shift. We had morning report in a conference room. I stared at her across the table. After things calmed down in the morning, I found Michelle and asked her to come with me to the lounge. We sat down at the table. I told her I understood that she was dating Paul and I confirmed that I, too, had "dated" Paul. I told her that I had many friends and I was really disappointed to hear that she had been discussing my sex life with them. I told her she made a big mistake in opening her mouth and that she needed to focus on patient care instead of my personal life. She sat there speechless. When I finished she told me she was sorry. I just got up and walked away. Luckily, I didn't have to work with her much. It wasn't that long before she put in her notice and quit. 

I have not thought of that guy in YEARS. He was a mere blip on the Penelope screen of AssClowns. So today I find out that JCH is somehow connected to him via linkedin. Hilarious. I looked Paul up the web. He is a partner in a local law firm. He is still handsome in a clean, cut lawyer kind of way. (One time I called him a lawyer and he said, "Penelope, I'm an attorney).  Sidebar: I told Phil K (Bulldog divorce attorney) that quote. He laughed and said, "I don't give a shit what you call me and as long as you pay me." LOVE PHIL! The website for Paul's firm also had a personal section in his bio. It said he had 5 children with his wife Michelle. I laughed out loud. 

I looked at his picture and realized I had forgotten what he looked like. If he was sitting at a table in the same restaurant as me, I wouldn't recognize him. I doubt he goes to restaurants if he has 5 kids. I look at the title of the post and wonder if Paul meets the criteria to be a member of the AssClown Clan™. Probably not. He was a guy with a horrible childhood doing the best he could. I still like the title of this post and I try to find ways to use AssClown any way I can.

I may have to retract that last statement. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet I found that Paul is on Twitter. I read his tweets. It was all about working out, the Gators, his kids, and religion. He never mentions his wife. Yuck. He may be an AssClown....

The AssClown Clan™

I went to dinner with Polly last night. She was analyzing things of late and had me run through my relationships since college. She astutely pointed out that I seemed to have similar results with each guy and they all seemed to come from the same clan--The AssClown Clan™. It made me think about what I really would like in a Man and why have I been settling?

I'm really good at envisioning things. I moved back to Tampa and I knew I wanted a 1920's bungalow with a porch swing on a brick street. Less than a year after moving back, I closed on my house. It was built in 1926, it has a porch swing and it's on a brick road!:

When I was little, my Dad would take me hunting and fishing with him. There was never any doubt when we would go out that we would catch tons of fish. If I was aiming at a target, my Dad would whisper in my ear about lining up my sights and missing was not an option. Here is a fine polaroid of 10 year old me with poor Mr. Cottontail. and yes, that is my own .22 leaning against the table:

Sulie and I went fishing one day and caught 22 bream (that would be a type of fish for my girlie girl readers) in a couple of hours. We just did it. Sulie would catch one and I would take them off the hook and throw them in the bucket. We were so proud when we ate them for dinner.

When does that "I Can Do Anything" attitude go away? I love when you see a little kid get excited to push the button in the elevator or holler when a dump truck goes by. How does it go from that excitement to, "shit, I have to wait for the elevator" or "that dump truck is spewing dirt all over my clean car." Thinking about this made me look through baby pictures.

Look at Sulie. So cute. I think she is 4 and I'm 6 in this one (I used to have a mole on my face that was removed at 5). I could look at this picture so many different ways--I think it is hopeful...Sulie grows up to be an accountant that is working on her CPA and I'm a R.N. She loved baby dolls and I loved to climb trees. We shared a room with twin beds and Cinderella wallpaper on one of the walls. We would play Name that Tune in the dark and I once split my chin leaning over to hit her! I had to get stitches where I hit my chin so hard on the bedside table. The sucky thing was my Dad was the doctor that put in the stitches. He yelled at me the whole time for trying to hurt Sulie while the nurse held my sweaty hand. 

I think I remember when the "I Can Do Anything" feeling went away. My Father died in his sleep when I was 11. He was only 54. It was pretty devastating. Sulie was 9. She kept walking around the house saying, "where's Daddy?" as my Mom cried. Things seemed pretty sad after that. My Mom shut down. I don't remember much. Sometimes Sulie and I will piece together memories from that time. That was my first memory that Men you love will eventually leave.

I've seen this picture plenty of times and I never noticed I had his tie around my neck. My hairdresser sucked! I wish I still had the mole...I would be so mysterious.

It is weird how you learn certain beliefs and they stick with you. Polly's questions last night made me realize how I keep picking out Men that seem different (i.e. different hair, eyes, body types, professions) but they all seem to have similar core values and links to the AssClown Clan™.

Gotta love being raised in Florida. What the hell am I drinking? It looks like iced tea, but I can't stand tea. 

My friend (known as Betty on here) told me how her son brought her coffee in bed today. I commented he was on the road to being a good husband. He is so sweet. One day I met Betty and her kids at one of those paint your own pottery places. He saw me drive up and came outside to wave me in and walk me into the store. Is that nature or nurture or both? I think Betty has taught him right. Unfortunately, his father (lowercase "f" intended) is a member of the AssClown Clan™. That is another post for another day. Because I lost my Dad so young, did that mean I didn't get to see the right "model" of a Man to look for? (Sidebar--Betty lost her Father at a young age too). 

I've got my education, I have a great job, my own house, car, friends and a fabulous relationship with my sister...why is the Man relationship thing so challenging for me? I know I have made some poor choices. Why do I keep doing that? At work I am savvy--I don't trust anyone (as far as lying customers), I assess things and I am almost always on target. The same in any other facet of my life. Why am I so willing to accept shit when it comes to guys?

Lynn has told me over and over to envision the Man I want to have as my companion. I keep going back to the shallow shit--hair, blue eyes, tall with muscles, smart, funny, reader, big schlong...I don't ever put in the really important things like honesty, integrity, family, etc.

One of my future blogs will be Building the Perfect Man for Penelope. I see that I have an opportunity to adjust how I am thinking. I envisioned my house and I got it (and the 2 before it and my first condo). The same with my degrees, jobs and salary. 

I go back to my appointment with Lynn when she had me talk about what I really wanted and to describe the feeling. It still makes me nervous in the comfort of my own home. The last time I remember lying in bed with a man and not being afraid was with John. Look where that got me. By afraid, I don't mean like he is going to strangle me--I mean emotionally afraid. I would wake up and his smile was the first thing I saw. He would say, "Good morning baby, I love you." I believed. Just like my Dad had a heart attack and died in his sleep; the illusion of John went away that fast.

I always like to tie these posts of with a pretty bow. I don't have one tonight.