emma b. says

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

My Stole, my stole, Madame, it's not a mink, it's a sloth

O sweet sloth o' mine, so warm, so soft, so enamored of teenage chick flics. You drape yourself around my neck, and drugged by your warmth, bills go unpaid and voicemail remains unchecked. O sloth, O sloth, my favoritist sin, O sloth happy saint of naps, O great purveyor of such wisdoms as "why do today what you can put off til the morrow" , O sloth, I grow weary of your diet of leaves and you eat a lot. O sloth, lay off the leaves and the french fries, you are becoming a heavy burden, O sloth my neck balks at your weight. O sloth, I am totally going to bill you for my next massage.

O sloth, you who reach your great arms to hit the snooze button fourteen times until I have exactly fifteen minutes to get from bed to bus stop. O sweet, sweet sloth, have you seen the unanswered emails in your in box. And you, sage, and great sin that you are, coo in our ear, these my sleepy friend are not mortal sins, have a chocolate, have a nap. O sloth, O sloth, wrap me in your great hoary arms, guide me to Morpheus (not that one, you fucking matrix-heads) silvery dark down pillows and me and my sloth, falling through the mattress towards our dreamland nirvana, and so we shall dream of alligators and their snapping jaws. O sloth, my sloth, watch as we plunge, breathing underwater, shirking our duties in our waking hours, you looking towards your first leaf, me looking forward to my first drink. We are made for one another, you and I, no matter what the old ladies think, when they mistake you for a mink.

Or, my heavily furred friend, are you simply an albatross?


and now we meander.

- had a surprise in my savings account today, thought it was manna from heaven. As it turns out, D., my ex-husband still share the savings account that I thought was mine. That account has lain largely dormant, as in it has never had more then, like, $50 bucks in it four six years. In September I moved my France cash into it, and then promptly spent it. Today as I was watching the descending balance of my checking account (kind of like the DowJones, but more extreme) I noticed that there had been a deposit to my savings that I most certainly did not make. Figuring that the karmic wrath I would incur if I transferred that gift to my checking and ran immediately to Kate Spade for a matching bag and shoes, would far outweigh any props I got for being properly stylie, I called my bank to report the error. They asked me do you know David _ _____ and I said yes... And then I realized, of all the bureaucratic steps I took to become legally disentangled from him, years later, when D is making his first and concerted effort to save some of his movie bling, he drops into our mutual account... (and D. I am totally proud of you) So I call him and explain, and we have kind of a great giggle because as I remind him that I had moved my vacation money to that account (so as not to spend it on liquor in SF) and he's all YEAH, I saw that money and I was totally going to spend it, if the bank didn't credit it in a month.... And we had a good laugh at how we could have spent each other's money.

I adore my ex-husband, and I am grateful that I married him and I am equally grateful that we got divorced, and above all else, when I think I truly can't deal anymore, he is my first response, and I am his.

I have tried explaining this, french people in particular don't get us. They say, gallantly, gallically, well why aren't you still married, bordel. And I say shove your bordel, right up your cul, we thought we following the right path, getting married, a family to follow, just like our parents. We were not ready, also I was really ravaged by depression. Not only did I want a divorce from myself, I wanted to strangle me and leave me on a river bank, after I had angrily disemboweled myself with a dull piece of driftwood.

That's not a get out of jail card for D. who exhibited some incredibly odious behavior, including, but not limited to to, taking nekkid pictures of his (whore master, big-eared nit wit poseur) lover on OUR COUCH. Sorry D, but you are never gonna live that one down.... and she did have huge ears, also she is a no talent hack, did I mention that...?

(also D, if you could see me writing right now, you might recognize the smile on my face, and appreciate it, for you know as well as I do that I was no better, I was just more discreet)

Anyway, three years and then some after you kicked my chest in on my 30th birthday, when you announced over margaritas that you weren't coming back, not ever. I want you to know, and you do, that our path to friendship was long and arduous (by my unchecked fury and my unbridled bitterness, and the occasional spewing of invective, and your fucking indecsion, and your uncanny ability to meet fresh prey when I go years without a proper date), but I am so thankful that we adhered to our bottom line, which is, no matter what, I love you and you love me, and your are still my first response and I know that I am yours, and you remain my oldest, dearest friend.

and from here we meander.


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