Archive for May, 2005
I got a message from Sav-On pharmacy yesterday afternoon. The pharmacy assistant said I have a prescription waiting to be picked up. That sounded strange because I donâ€™t recall ordering any medications. Unless you count that disastrous attempt at refilling my vicodin (see â€œThe Chronic” post from May 28th, 2005)â€¦
No Way! Did Nurse Wretched finally come through with my vicodin request? Did she get my prescription approved by another doctor?
I didnâ€™t know, but I got to Sav-On as soon as I could. I felt a little anxious as I was handed the prescription bottle. When I read the word vicodin, I practically jumped in place. I could barely contain my joy!
In that bottle was the promise of living the next twenty days (mostly) pain free. If youâ€™ve ever lived with chronic pain, youâ€™d know that hope was an awesome gift. Priceless.
Now that Iâ€™ve calmed down a little, I canâ€™t help but wonder, did I overreact during my dealings with Nurse Wretched? Was she really as obnoxious and unfeeling as I thought?
After much reflection, I have to say no, yes and no. No, I didnâ€™t overact. Yes, she was obnoxious to cancel my prescription without consulting my physician. No, she is probably not unfeeling. She did pass on my request, even if it was with much attitude.
Now that I have my vicodin, I can ease off of the pot, at least for the next twenty days.
May 30th, 2005
These days Iâ€™m not feeling very well. Over the years, my health has gone up and down. Right now, Iâ€™m in a downward phase.
For the last two years, I have had intense pain in my neck and shoulders. I have trouble turning my neck from the headaches, and constant muscle spasms. I cannot sleep more than six hours at a time. I can totally forget about lying on my side anymore. It feels like the outside of my upper arms burn whenever I move. Once my back went out, I finally broke down and saw a chiropractor. And thank goodness, too, because Dr. Stacy is a miracle worker!
Over the course of a year, she has reversed the curve in my neck. It moved from between phase two and three (phase 2.5?) to phase one. Thatâ€™s awesome progress!
I like the way she explained it. She pointed to my before x-rays, and said, â€œPeople with this kind of alignment are crazy! Theyâ€™re just crazy from the pain. They hurt so much, they canâ€™t think straight.â€ She exchanged the â€˜beforeâ€™ films for the â€˜afterâ€™ x-ray. â€œNow this alignment is just bad! But from this point, over time, we can get back to a normal curvature in your neck. Thatâ€™s great news!â€
As much I continue to hurt, I know I would be sooooo much worse off if I didnâ€™t take care of myself. When I say take care of myself, I mean have regular adjustments, and take a lot of drugs. And when I say a lot of drugs, I mean 2400mgs of Motrin, 500mgs-1500mgs of Vicodin, and 500mgs of Soma daily.
No, Iâ€™m not kidding.
I know Dr. Stacy would prefer a more natural approach to pain relief, but that magnesium powder only helps so much. For now, I HAVE to take these prescription meds just to get through the day. Without them, I couldnâ€™t get out of bed.
So imagine how happy I was when a nurse at my doctorâ€™s office decided to cancel my pain prescription. She wasnâ€™t advised by a doctor to cut me off. She made that decision by herself!
Iâ€™m guessing Nurse Ratched didnâ€™t call Dr. Miller because she is recuperating at home from back surgery. I know for a fact that Dr. Miller is still available for consultations regarding prescription refills. She approved medications for Endicott a couple of weeks ago.
This â€œnurseâ€ then argued with me about medication dosages (I took the recommended dosage or less) and refill frequencies, before admitting she couldnâ€™t approval the prescription refill (Then why freaking defend it, Nurse Wretched?!). She begrudgingly agreed to ask another doctor to approve my medications, and then she hung up on me!
That â€œnurseâ€ was so rude and out of line!!! I cannot wait to call Dr. Millerâ€™s office on Tuesday morning and explain what suck-ass customer service skills that â€œnurseâ€ has! Not to mention lack of compassion. Obviously, that butt-munch never had a chronic pain condition. I have. It sucks your energy, and all of your strength (and sometimes even the will to live) from your body. It just plain sucks!
Until my pain medication is refilled, I have to cope any way I can. Currently, my daily routing includes about 3200mgs of ibuprofen a day, one 500mgs of Soma (when I can find a pill in my partially unpacked moving boxes), and a couple of puffs off of a joint, shortly before bedtime. Yes, I have turned to â€˜medicalâ€™ marijuana for pain management.
The amazing thing to me is that it REALLY works! I donâ€™t notice a buzz or coughing. I just know the pain dissipates enough for me to get to sleep. For now, that will have to be enough.
Let me ride,
May 28th, 2005
Endicott is leaving the country today, taking off for Europe for six weeks. How awesome is that? According to him, its not so awesome.
If you ask him about his trip, he actually complains, “Well, the timing is not the best. I’d rather wait to go another time, but my father (mid-70s), and Uncle Carl (late 70s) aren’t getting any younger. My dad really wants to go now, so I’m going. You know, its not a good time to leave because of Blanche (his mother) being sick. It’ll be okay. I’d just rather go another time.”
Great attitude, Endicott.
I, being the super-sensitive gal I am, responded with, “Oh, boo-freaking-hoo, Endicott! Oh, poor little me HAS to go to Europe. You don’t have to go to anywhere, you choose to go. You know good and well, no time is ever a good time for you. It will always feel like you’re letting someone down, because you ALWAYS put other people first. Its like you don’t know how to care for yourself. Besides, its not like you can help your Mom. She’s 90 years old and has Alzheimer’s Disease. She’s in a great home, receiving great care. Now is an ideal time to go — and enjoy yourself, for once.”
I hope he can relax enough to enjoy this trip, but I won’t hold my breath. I imagine him walking the streets of Vienna, saying, “I had to take these vacation days or lose them. I have a lot of cleaning up to do at the house. I have boxes of clothes to take to Goodwill, some old bathroom fixtures I’ve been meaning to sell to a salvage yard. But its great to see you again after thirty years, Uncle Carl.”
Bon voyage, dumbass,
May 27th, 2005
I’ve been getting a lot more romantic offers as of late. When I say offers, I really mean propositions. Let’s be honest: these days, I have to beat these men off with a stick (Ewwww, that sounds really bad!). When I say men, I really mean a married airline pilot, parking lot attendants, fast food employees, homeless men, a tatoo artist on Melrose Avenue, and a 4′ tall Mexican man who followed me around the 99 Cent Only store. Yep, they want me.
I’m no J. Lo, so I couldn’t figure out why I’m suddenly attractive to these freaks. It finally occurred to me that this is not a new phenomenon. Someone is always hitting on me because of the simple fact that I’m a girl. I have a vagina, a heartbeat and and no obvious wedding ring. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to get a man’s attention.
As flattering as that is (NOT!), I’m going to have to decline the offers. First, I’m not easy. Second, I’m not a prostitute. Third, if you follow me out to the parking lot again, I will scream, then kick you in the balls. I may be vulnerable these days, but I will not be a victim. Got it?
I am somebody — you best not mess with!
May 25th, 2005
I met a friend for dinner at Marmalade Cafe in Sherman Oaks, CA. It was a fun, animated discussion of total BS topics, the usual “catching up” dinner chitchat.
At some point during the evening, that changed when he revealed that his marriage is in trouble. He said he’s at the stage I probably was six months ago, trying to decide if he should stay or he should go. All I could say was, “Oh gosh, I’m sorry to hear that. That’s awful.”
It took more than six months for me to finally make up my mind to leave. I went through several years of marriage counseling, a year of soul searching, and more than one “final straw” before I began down this path. In fact, I did the “marriage math” at least a dozen times. For the uninitiated, it goes a little something like this:
It is mid-September 2004. I can’t stand another day with Endicott, so I look into my calendar. Two weeks from now, Endicott and I will stand up in Ruth’s wedding party. If I leave now, I could ruin her wedding. I’ll have to wait a little longer. She returns from her honeymoon three weeks later, so I can housesit and get a reprieve from Endicott, but by then it’s a two weeks before Thanksgiving. I can’t leave him around the Holidays — that’s just cruel. Early December is my Dad’s birthday; mid-December is my Mom’s birthday, late-December means Christmas, then my birthday, and finally New Year’s Eve. Leaving New Year’s Day isn’t a great way to start the New Year. Ruth’s birthday is in mid-January, followed by our fifth wedding anniversary in late January, then the freaking mother lode of couple-dom, Valentine’s Day, hits mid-February. I have all of these obligations, and holidays surrounding me like freaking land mines! I’m afraid to move! I don’t want to hurt anyone more than I have to, especially by screwing up their holidays, and special events. I’m stuck in this miserable marriage with Endicott at least until March of next year.
Things became so bad between us, I couldn’t take another day at our home. I left for a week around Thanksgiving, only to give in to Endicott’s pleading phone calls and returned to the house for two tense, painful weeks. That was enough to push me out the door for good in early December 2004.
I seriously intended to stay with Endicott until March 2005, out of respect for my friends and family members. My family was very supportive of my decision to leave, even with the crappy timing of my separation. Some of my friends, on the other hand, treated me like I lost my damn mind. Some were cold, indifferent, and just plain rude. How sick is it that I tried to protect these people from my misery only to have them add to it? The only bright side is knowing I don’t have to be a martyr for my real friends to love me.
So there you go, friend. If you decide to go down this road, this is a taste of what you can expect to happen. Whatever you decide, just be damn sure its what is best for you and no one else.
Repeat after me: I am somebody!
May 23rd, 2005
Endicott and I plan to meet at the County Courthouse this week. We expect to sign and file the court documents, then go our separate ways. As much as I want to get through this step and move on with my life, I am dreading this meeting.
I’m sure this one will go the same way as all our previous exchanges; which goes a little something like this:
Endicott: You’ve screwed me to the wall. You left me with nothing. Nothing!
Flo: You have a job and you own a house. You have something. I have nothing.
Endicott: (Long pause) I worked my ass off to make money to support us. And what did you do? All you ever did was spend money. Sure, you helped me with my Mom a little. But you really did nothing. Nothing.
Flo: Nothing? I cared for your mother for years while I went to school full-time. I cooked and cleaned up after your crazy, elderly sisters when they came to “help take care of your mom” even though I did all of the work. I was physically sick and in a lot of pain, but I still pulled her out of the tub, changed her diapers, and didn’t get angry when she hit and hurt me. Do you really think anyone else would do those things for you? No! I did a lot for you. Just because I didn’t make money doing it, doesn’t mean I did NOTHING. And you don’t care. (For the record, I disagree with the money remark, but one point at a time, Endicott!)
Endicott: (Points his finger a few inches from my face, raising his voice) You helped, but I did everything. No, you did nothing! Nothing! Nothing!
[Note: Endicott worked eight hour days, then spent two hours every night with his mother. I spent twelve to fourteen hour days with his mother, rarely leaving her side. I think we both had it hard. Endicott doesn't see it from my perspective.]
(At this point, people usually look at us, mumble to one another, then fix their eyes on us.)
Flo: Endicott, stop it!
Endicott: No, I’m not going to stop it! You are going to listen to me!
Flo: Endicott, cut it out! (Whispering as if no one would notice) This is humiliating!
One minute of silence.
Endicott: (Long pause) Are you hungry?
Endicott: I haven’t had anything to eat. If you’re hungry when we’re about to leave, maybe we can have some lunch together?
Flo: I feel nausea. This situation makes me feel sick. I don’t think lunch together is a good idea.
Endicott: If you change your mind, let me know. We can have a bite together before I go to work.
Everything remains calm for another minute, until Endicott remembers he’s angry with me, and we return to fighting.
I’ll admit that I hold up my half of these disagreements. Endicott jabs me, and I jab him right back. We go round and round in circles, repeating the same accusations in the same way every time we’re together. It doesn’t solve anything. If anything, it makes matters worse. Fighting sucks!
The only thing worse than fighting is what it does to you; the way it twists your personality, and turns you into a screaming harpie that is so far removed from who you really are. Or were.
When did I become this woman who curses every time I hear Endicott’s voice on my voicemail? Or cringes every time I see him? God help him if he even TRIES to touch my hand or arm! Most of the time, I just want to hit him. I want to pick up whatever is in front of me (a book, my laptop computer) and smack him upside his giant, bald, egg-shaped head. But this mean, frustrated person isn’t really me. She’s definitely not the kind of person I want to be, anyway.
I look forward to ditching this anger and bitterness. I’m not sure I can do it, but I will try my hardest to let it go.
Wish me luck,
May 18th, 2005
Apparently, when you become single again, everyone wants to play matchmaker. Strangers at parties — nice, thoughtful strangers — have offered their single friends to me! (I guess it’s a good thing, because it lets me know I’m not a total freak. I am still date-worthy — yea!). While it has been five months since I left Endicott, I am not EVEN ready to date again.
Not. At. All.
I jumped into previous relationships way too fast and lived to regret it. In fact, that is exactly how Endicott and I came together.
We were both less than six months single when we began dating. At the time, I knew it was too soon for both of us. I remember telling Endicott we should take more time for ourselves, then maybe date sometime in the future. But no, we jumped right in, anyway.
I have met some nice, attractive men (especially in the last three weeks), I’d like to get to know better. But that’s hanging out, and becoming friends. Anything more than that would just be WAY too much for me.
This time around, I want to be alone, just for a little while longer. So keep your Rolodex/Blackberry/Treo handy, people! I’m not ready now, but I may be soon.
I vant to be alone,
May 17th, 2005
You’ve probably noticed by now I stopped writing about Endicott. Sure, the website is called idiotexhusband.com, but every now and again I need a break from the subject. Our relationship (so called marriage) has become so bitter, we don’t talk to each other anymore. That was my doing. Endicott is more than happy to let me know exactly how he feels. The last time we spoke, he actually yelled at me for ten minutes straight. I am not exaggerating. I timed it. You try dealing with ten minutes of ‘you’re a terrible person that hurt poor pitiful me!’
So should it really be a surprise that I refuse to speak to him? I don’t think so. Especially if I repeatedly say, “I’m so upset, I cannot speak to you. Only contact me via email.” But apparently, he was shocked, shocked I tell you! My dumbass husband actually invited my mother to lunch so he could ask her the following question:
Is Flo mentally well? She gets so angry out of nowhere; I’m concerned about her mental health.
Nowhere?! I swear the man has no clue.
So, Endicott, let me state as clearly as possible how I feel about that question:
MY mental health is fine. Once I walked away from your toxic bullshit, I was great. When I do feel crappy, it’s RIGHT AFTER TALKING YOU, idiot! Coincidence? Hell no!
The last time I spoke to him I became so upset, I had chest pains for four days. That’s right, ladies, chest pains! It’s not due to poor eating habits, or a lack of exercise. It is all stress. And his name is Endicott.
We’re supposed to file the court papers this week. He wants to meet me at the courthouse; in fact, he insists that I be there. So this week will be one big, fun experience.
May 16th, 2005
I’m subletting an apartment in Sherman Oaks, CA. It’s a two-bedroom/two bath unit in a groovy 60’s building just off Ventura Blvd. Its furnished, mostly cute, and mine for a pretty decent price. I found this place through an ad on craigslist.com. I’m renting from an Englishman named Nicolas. He has had this apartment for over seven years, but lives and works in South America most of the year. He is intelligent, and very direct, perfect for working in his field of commercial and music video production.
At first glance, this place sounds like a good deal, but, of course, there’s a catch: every four to six months, Nicolas returns to the apartment for one or two weeks. Danielle, the woman managing the apartment, said I might not even see him while I stay here. All in all, I got along well with Danielle and Nicolas. Imagine my surprise when it unraveled five days after I moved in.
My friends have children they hope to enroll in a local elementary school. They asked if I’d sign a permit stating I’m their after school babysitter in order to qualify their daughters’ enrollments in their chosen school. All I’d have to do is sign the paperwork, then pick up the girls from school just once during the school year. I would also have to submit a rental agreement or utility bill, as proof of residency. It seemed easy enough, so I agreed to do it. I provided both families with a copy of my rental agreement, then gave them permission to sign my name on the appropriate paperwork. I thought that would be the end of it.
Somewhere along the way, the rental agreement was separated from the rest of the files, ending up on the desk of the secretary to the principal. When she found it, she wasn’t sure where it belonged, so she called the numbers listed on the rental agreement. She contacted Nicolas first, while he was in the middle of a shoot in Brazil. All he had to hear was, “I’m calling from Super Cool Elementary School. Could you please tell me the name of the child applying to our kindergarten program?” before he flipped out. Since I told him I did not have a child and didn’t mention anything about my sponsorship promise at Super Cool Elementary School, his confusion was understandable [Actually, confusion is an understatement. He freaked out so bad that he had to be talked out of flying back to LA and kicking me out of the apartment! Or so I was told.]. After upsetting Nicolas, the secretary phoned Danielle. She knew just as much about my sponsorship as Nicolas did, so, of course, she freaked out just as bad. I can’t really blame them, because for all they know, I could be running a daycare business out of the apartment! (For the record, I am not!)
When Danielle phoned me that evening and asked for an explanation about what happened, I felt sooooo bad. She expressed how thoroughly uncool it was to not give them a heads up. I didn’t mention my arrangement because I didn’t expected them to be contacted by the school. I thought I’d be phoned directly. I swear!
To make it up to them, I offered to move out of the apartment. Sure, it’s an extreme reaction. But they were so freaked out, I was sure this experience lowered their level of trust in me. In that case, I’d rather move out than have a strained relationship with them.
Danielle waited a day before phoning me back. Her voice strained, and straight to the point, she said Nicolas was okay with my sponsorship arrangement, but asked that I not add any more children to it. I agreed. She let me know Nicolas would be in town the following day, planned to stay overnight in the apartment, then return to South America the next morning. Sounds good, I said, before hanging up the phone.
I think I’ll wait a while longer before unpacking my bags!
May 15th, 2005
I first saw this book at the LA Times Festival of Books, in late April. I loved the title, Exes and Ohs, and told the author, Beth Kendrick, so.
F: I love this title, especially since I have a blog called idiotexhusband.com.
B: Well, then this book is for you! It is about a woman recovering from a break up, moving into a new relationship.
F: Sounds great. I’ll take it!
Yes, I am that easy!
I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed this book. It was fun, funny, and thoroughly engaging. It reminded me how exciting a new romance can be. Thank you, Beth, for your hysterically funny look at relationships, and red track pants.
May 13th, 2005
You wouldn’t know it by looking at me now, but until four months ago, I had long hair. It hung about three to four inches over my shoulders. If I let it grow out, I’m sure would have a full mane of hair, a la Catherine Zeta-Jones (I wish!), by the time summer rolls around.
One day, while in full freak-out mode due to my separation from Endicott, I got the idea to cut off all of my hair. Okay, not ALL of my hair, but enough to make a change. It was meant to be a big FU to Endicott, and our former life together. And it was also a chance to start over with a whole new look, for a whole new me.
I went to Manhattans Salon in downtown Riverside, CA. My stylist, Michelle, put her hands through my hair, and asked what I wanted in a haircut.
“Well, I’ll be frank with you: I just left my husband of five years, and I’m looking for a fresh new look.”
Her eyes got big as she said, “I’m sorry to hear that.” (I expected her to run for the exit!)
“‘m thinking fun, and sexy.”
“We can do that!”
She was so warm and enthusiastic, then her fingers became caught in my tangled hair. “Well, do what you can.”
There was a good hour of washing, massaging, clipping, combing, and finally a blow out, before I could see the final result.
When I finally took in the “new” me, all I could say was ,”Wow, I like it!”
Pleased with her work, Michelle put a mirror in my hand, then turned my chair so I could see the back of my ‘do in the big mirror. ‘Wow, is right,’ I thought, ‘I have soccer mom hair!’
While it isn’t really what I wanted, I didn’t speak up and say as much. I didn’t want to disappoint Michelle. She could have lost a finger working so hard to change my wild and woolly hair into this polished ‘do. As I shook my hair, it screamed, “Climb in the car, kids, before we’re be late for practice! Share with you sister! Don’t make me stop this car!” It would be an awesome look if I actually WAS someone’s momma. But since I’m not, I’ll just have to wait for it to grow back.
But despite my mommy hair, I have not given up on retail therapy. In fact, I believe in the restorative powers of shopping more than ever. Expect it to be a regular feature here very soon!
Gee, my hair smells terrific,
May 12th, 2005
My friends Jean-Luc, and his wife, the ever fabulous Maria, went to Lucques in West Hollywood on Monday. It was a special dinner celebration/book signing in honor of Michael Schlow’s first cookbook, It’s About Time.
Jean Luc says MS is an amazing chef. His 6′ 4″ frame went mushy when he described the scrumptious five-course meal, perfectly paired with wine. It was an explosion of flavors, specifically something-something about pepper exploding in his mouth. Sounds messy, but I was with him until he mentioned the duck.
F: Excuse me? Did you say duck?
JL: Yes. It was great. It was duck poached in olive oil with –
F: Um, sorry, you eat duck?
JL: spinach fondue — Yes.
F: I’ve never had duck.
JL: You haven’t? You should try it, its great.
F: I don’t know. I’m not sure that I can do that. How can you eat duck?
F: How can you eat Daffy?
F: How can you eat Daffy Duck?
JL: Daffy Duck?
F: Yeah, you know, THE Daffy Duck, as in Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck.
JL: It’s duck season! Its rabbit season! Its duck season! Its duck season! Bang! (Chuckles).
F: Exactly! I love Daffy!
JL: Well, I never thought about Daffy Duck.
F: Gawd, how can you not think about Daffy Duck when you are eating duck? He is a duck! I know Bugs is cool and funny, but Daffy is my personal hero. I can sooooo related to Daffy.
JL: He’s not real, Flo.
F: I know, but he’s funny, flawed, sometimes vulnerable, and usually the butt of the joke. I love him!
JL: (Long pause) He’s. Not. Real. Flo.
F: I know he’s not real, Jean Luc, but he’s still this amazing character. He and I are a lot alike.
JL: (Chuckles) Yeah, I can see that.
I’ll admit it: My personal hero is a cartoon duck known for playing second fiddle to a wise-cracking rabbit, and — here’s where I see myself — making a total ass of himself. Who couldn’t relate to that? Am I the only one?
May 11th, 2005
I was checking my email Monday night, when I received this message from my friend, Jean Luc:
Or did you know about it already???
Know about what? Oh no, I hope this isn’t bad. I cringed, held my breath, and then clicked on the link. You know, it wasn’t bad at all. It was awesome!
I can’t believe Biz Stone, the author of Who Let the Blogs Out? noticed my little blog and put a link to it on his website. I’m not exaggerating when I say he’s the reason I met my new friend, Dennis (see my April 22nd post, Take Me Out, for the full story).
I was so excited; I immediately emailed Dennis with the news. He responded with several questions about blogging.
I feel so encouraged that my little website/cheap form of therapy is really paying off for me. I have a new hobby that I love; a new pen pal (and future date the next time he’s in LA); and a slight ego boost from a Genius. Things are finally looking up!
May 4th, 2005
After I finally picked my jaw up off the floor, I couldnâ€™t help but think, “Wow, I thought I was angry with my husband! Hijole!
Continue Reading May 2nd, 2005
As you can probably tell by now, I’m not the most consistent blogger on the web. There were five days between my last two posts. At this rate, if I write twice a week, I’m on fire!
So this is where you come in, gentle reader. Do you have a story you’d like to share with all sixty-five (65) people in my audience? (We even have one super awesome person in Romania lurking here. Much respect, Romania!) Was there a funny/sad/pathetic moment that should have been a giant, red flag in your relationship? Do you think you’re the only person that feels this way? I know I have a few dozen stories! How about you?
The new IXH forums are up (see the Forums for us from April 15th, 2005 post). Feel free to drop in and share your experiences, or just plain rant! Also, I’ll post my email address very soon, so you can always share your story directly with me.
You got it? I want it!
May 1st, 2005