Well, it was last night. When I wrote this….
Just me, my laptop…and my wine.
Seems to be that way a lot lately.
Me, my laptop, and my wine.
I guess that’s what happens when you’re in love with a guy that is geographically undesirable.
Not that I’m complaining. I just think it’s kinda sad. Not sad like, “tear”. More like…”what a loser” sad. More like, I used to be the “Party-Girl of South Charlotte”. And now, I’m like the “Town Dud”. Yawn. On the couch in my sweats and Uggs before you can say, “Pass the remote!” I am getting to be so lame. I come home, put on my comfy clothes, and rip my bra off. What? You don’t love taking your bra off the minute you get into the house? Set the girls free? Liar. You totally do. I can pull a “Flashdance” like nobody’s bidness. You know…a Jennifer Beals number, like in the movie Flashdance? Come on. Where she ever-so-magically takes off her bra without removing her top? Jesus. Do all y’all live under a rock? Hold on. I’ll take a video of myself doing it, and post it. Gimme a sec. HA! How fucking funny would that be!!?? Just kidding, Art. Don’t have a cow. This is not a porno. It’s a blog. But I can do it with such speed, and agility. One arm, then the other… and whaaallllaaaa! Off comes the bra. Remember, now?
I remember Mark used to say my boobs looked like the women’s on the front of a National Geographic. The chicks with the bones through their noses, and the saggy tits. Only I’m white. White, sans bone…and no face paint. So clearly, I didn’t look like those women at all, Mark. I may have had flat, African-looking boobs….but I didn’t look like the woman on the front of the fucking National Geographic. I also recall wanting him to choke on his food at the time. I can also faintly remember getting a solid “OKAY” when I asked him if I could get my boobs done. It’s funny how we remember things, isn’t it? And I also recall going into surgery to get my breast augmentation (that’s the real way to say, boob job) and my plastic surgeon asking me how big I wanted to be. I said, “Omg… please, no bigger than a FULL B.”And Mark, once again had to pipe in with his two cents and say,”Dr. Sherbert, when in doubt…err on the side of BIGGER!” Ya. Well, great. Have you seen my boobs. Thanks, Mark. Now I look like a stripper. Good thing, he remembered what MARK said. Men.
And I remember packing 5 years ago…and moving to Charlotte, with my family. And six months ago… packing to move to my new house, alone. Well, I was at my old house the other day, which is now Mark’s house. And I was picking up all the old picture albums and stuff I had left behind. I found the baby books. And old scrap books from when the boys were little. Our WEINTRAUB sign that hung in our kitchen, and a super-cool picture of us that my friend Lori drew. It was a cartoon. I looked so cute, wearing Louboutins. The boy’s hand prints in plaster. A book Mark and I made from our trip to Israel where we met. All sorts of memories. Lots of them, tucked away inside a cabinet…waiting to be put somewhere. But where? Give half to Mark? I sat there, and got this lump in my throat. I lost it when I found a picture of me, and my Mom blowing bubbles on my wedding night. Fucking bubbles. Pop. I looked like a Barbie Doll. Fake hair, fake tan…real boobs. Looking at all of these memories, that we had created…the four of us. And I sobbed. My heart hurt not because I missed us. Or Mark. But because I was sad that I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen. Lost. Where do you store the last 12 years of your life? I mean, do you throw it away? My wedding album, my Ketubah….pictures of my boys bris’ in their father’s arms. Jesus, someone tell me what to do. Get a fucking Sharpie and black out his face? Cut him out? Scratch him out. Yell and scream, and rip him out? Crap.
At that moment, sitting there…looking at all of those things, those memories, I realized that was all they were anyway. Even if I was married, they were still just memories. Do you know what I mean? And there is nothing wrong with having pictures of the boys with their dad. And pictures of a trip we took as a family back in 2005. Those memories are just that, amazing…and fabulous, and maybe not so fabulous. lol. But they are my past. And will always be, no matter what. But now, it is up to me to move forward…and create new stories to put on the walls. And new experiences to put into frames. I have a new life, and a fresh start. I get a second chance at this. This thing I’m calling Jennifer’s Life Part II. Or is it Duex. Or Dos. Whatever its Part 2. Ya. It’s my turn to get this shit right.
And know what, I am going to get my Happily Ever After. Even if it means sitting braless, in my sweats, with my laptop…drinking wine, alone! Oh, and just remember, girls. Get your boobs done before the divorce. Just don’t remember it was me that told ya to do it! hehe. ;)