When I was much younger, a friend of mine — a customer — was married to this guy who used to beat the crap out of her pretty much on a daily basis.  I hated that guy … just because I felt he was a total pansy to beat on a woman like that.

     One day, I went over there working on their computers, and he delivered a fist to her face while she was sitting at the kitchen table, just a few feet away from me.  She fell on me.
     I beat his sorry ass.
     And guess what I got for the privilege?

     Yep …

     Her ass beating on me.

     A couple years later, I went over there, and he hit again.  Right in front of me.  But he didn’t stop there… He picked up an iron skillet and began beating her in the head over and over…

     While their kids watched…

     So I carried one of the kids to their bedroom and put him in his crib, and talked the other two into going to bed early.

     Then I proceeded to destroy his sorry ass.

     It was fun…

     Beat him within an inch of death, in fact.

     But then, I turned back to her, still struggling to get up off the kitchen floor.  I screamed at her for being so stupid.  And in retrospect, I shouldn’t have.
     But the questions I was screaming … How could she put her kids through that?  How could let them watch all of that?  What kind of mother was she?

     I called another friend of mine, who lived close, and together, we packed her stuff and drove her out of state to live with her mother.

     She hates me, still.

     And this is precisely why Cops don’t like taking Domestic Violence calls… Those women most always seem to defend the bastards who put them through the most Hell…

     But at some point, with a lot of caring and understanding, they do get over it.

     Or, at least, you hope they do.

We generally have friends over on Saturday nights. Not because we don’t dig going out, because we do. But going out all the time does tend to get old, plus you have to worry about the PO-PO pullin your ass over in the middle of the night.

Of course, I’m a spoiled, lucky girl. I have a designated driver at all times and I dig it. Regardless of that, it’s nice just to stay in, cook a smorgassboard of tasty good stuff and drink hot toddies or beer or wine or Jack….

Well, on tap for the past weekend’s buffet was pork tenderloin, rosemary potatoes, steamed snow peas and a variety of other crap.

I must say, I’ve never cooked a tenderloin before and I rocked the balls out of it. Baked it sloooooow in the oven, double wrapped in foil filled with every herb you can think of. After being on slow bake for 3 hours, I jerked that badboy out of the foil and slung it on the grill… G-R-U-B!!

Everybody ate way too damn much.

I, of course, was no exception. Quite the contrary. I started drinkin whilst cooking. The flavor of the day was Meridian Chardonnay, mighty good.

I asked Big T to open me the first bottle and it was on. Between me and Taucha, we polished off close to three bottles. A little much.

I paced myself, like a professional New Orleans drinker. Sipping all night long. It’s hard to tell how much wine one has consumed when one’s glass never quite gets empty before somebody happens by to freshen it.

So, it’s 1:00am, and everybody is leaving. I had been giving Big T the eye and making obscene gestures toward him all night. REOW… come here big daddy.

He was sitting on the couch in the love den, when I crawled up in his lap and made close up obscene gestures at him before departing with my clothes and heading toward the bed. I knew it was a matter of 1.8 seconds before he’d be following me that way.

Woooo! I was feeling my oats. I was gonna tear his ass up. I was gonna make him scream my name and write bad checks. I was gonna make him beg for mercy.
Let the makin out and major league cannoooodlin begin!

I kiss my way down into a desireable spot. Somehow, don’t ask me how… I passed out. His goodies right in front of me and I pass out. Of course at first, he thought I was thinking or taking a breather….

He taps me on the head. “Baby, are you ok? If you’re gonna go to sleep, release that and get on a pillow.”

“I’m not asleep. Swear I’m not.” As I sit up and leave a drool puddle on his belly. “Ok, so I might have been asleep.”

“That’s ok, baby. Go to sleep.”

So I did.

Well, I woke up to him staring at me. “Gotta hang over?”

My head was spinnin, “Hell ya. I’m dehydrated and my head’s spinnin.”

“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” He picked. “You do remember falling asleep last night, right?”

All day long, kids, I had to hear him slip in little comments about my inability to handle my alcohol and still be sexually fucntional. I mean, granted, it was all in fun, but how embarrassing is that?

“Sorry, baby. I swear I’ll never drink again.” Rolling my eyes. “Gimme some aspirin.”

“Yah. Yah.” He gets me aspirin, “You know you got yours and you were done, ready to go to sleep. Sometimes I think our roles in this marriage are jacked the hell up.”

“I know, huh? I spit, burp, and fart better than you.” Smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary.

Pick on me again some more.

I think I need a 12-step program. I have a major problem that, no matter how much effort I put into it, I can’t seem to fix.

Big T comes to my office now and then to visit. One afternoon, he popped by and asked us, “Do you have any string or twine or anything around here. I need about 2 feet of it.”

I, forever and always being the helpful & loving wife that I am, say, “Well baby, I have this left over blue ribbon from the bridesmaid bouquets if that’ll work.”

I toss him the ribbon and think nothing else of it. He says he loves me, gives me kisses and goes on his merry little way.

Fast-forward to 5:15pm, when I get home from work. I come in as usual and Big T gives me my hugs and kisses as I head upstairs to start dinner… when it caught my eye…

That ass-munch had duct-taped the ribbon to his lighter that sits on the end table. The other end of the ribbon was inserted into the slate slabs that make the top of the table. It looked like one of those pens that the bank tries to keep safe by chaining them to the teller spots.

Why would he do such a sarcastic thing?

Because I am Diva. I have a problem. I steal lighters.

Yes, my friends, I’m a kleptomaniac.

I found that I am attracted to steal lighters like a monkey will steal your wallet at the circus. It is bad.

How bad is it, you ask. When Big T asked me to empty my jacket pocket and purse, the lighter count was seven (7). Ooops.

Moral of the story is.. Until I get the proper help, if we’re out drinkin’ together, please (please, please) keep your lighter in your pocket or at least come get it back from me.

Consider this fair warning. I can not be held responsible.

I’m officially cookin with gas now… No, I don’t mean the fumes that burst periodically out of T’s butt from the fart war. No, I’m actually steppin in high cotton now, kids. T acquired me a new, gas grill yesterday. Ain’t it cool? I pity those ladies who get flowers and jewelery. Sheer chicken perfection came off that bad boy last night. Beautifully sliced for fajitas which I shall scarf down for lunch today.

In other flatulent news, Me and Big T have been in a fart war for a little over a week. Yah, I know, that’s not lady like and totally sick. Just so you know, he started that shit…(hahaha). It has been scientically proven that, in fact, my shit does NOT stink and his could peel the paint off the walls. Please don’t look down on me for being childish and obscene. Thanks!

Running score: Tony 5, Me 4

How do you keep a marriage fresh? Make time to go on a date together. Get rid of the kiddies and get ‘r dun. After Big T and Me saw his mom Saturday night and dropped the boy off. We were feelin a little froggy. We went to Shoney’s for their sinfully rich-half frozen tasty treat… Hot Fudge Cake. Actaully it wasn’t a bona-fide date, but I told him I was goin for something sweet and yummy and that I wasn’t driving not even 1/10 of a mile farther until I got loaded up with some coffee.

Still yet, we had some alone time to make fun of all the people making mountain sized salads.

The Holiday Spirit kicked me right square in the ass over the weekend. I got all holly and jolly and started up with the Christmas decorations. No, I’m not redneck enough that I’m going to light them up just yet. I’m just pre-decorating in an effort to be the tackiest, most well lit house in the neighborhood. Go me! I’ve got more than 3,500 little twinkle lights and I fully intend to utilize every single one of them. (Once I get in the running for Tackiest Decorations of 2007, I’ll post some pix).

I’m getting mushy. Yah, I know ya’ll are so used to my general disdain for life and this is coming as a complete shock. But, I’m gonna let ‘r rip while I’m feelin’ it. “In the moment” is how I suppose you’d classify me at this second.

So, I’m at home at 10:40 on a Saturday night. I’m friggin thrilled to be sitting here. This time last week I was doing a toast with a bar full of drunken Germans in Munich (God bless Oktoberfest, ya’ll. Those old boys could drink our old boys up under the table on any given weeknight)….

Anyway. How do I know that Anthony Kidwell loves, ME (Mrs. Diva Kidwell) more than any fat ass kid love a slab of pudding filled cake???

Well, we spent the evening discussing the US census and football and food and all the good things in life.

Then, he asked me about a certain CD — Blue Moon Rising, to name it. So, I popped it in. There is one song on that CD that will bring tears to my eyes every time I hear it. And I pushed play.

My man, in the privacy of our DEN OF LOVE, took my hand and danced with me by candle-light. No one but me and him and a little candle light. He held me so close to him and sang into my ear. My heart did a pitterpat and I couldn’t have felt closer to him than that one single moment. Together, alone, cherishing each other.

That, my friends, is how I know.

Monday Melee

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.

I hate the fact that there are so many awful people out there that would wait until their wife/girlfriend/lover is about to burst at the seams with impending child birth and kill them.  I mean, come on.  If a man is cheating, or doesn’t want a baby, or whatever… WALK OUT ASSHOLE!  Don’t kill her because you are a bottom-feeding freak of nature. 

Don’t prey on someone who is in too vunerable a condition to be able to appropriately fight back.  She (and her baby) has a right to live.

Pure evil.

And, as usual, drama queens and attention whores will forever be something I just loathe.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.

I have only one in mind, and I’m not so sure it would be a good thing.  So, since I can’t say something nice today, I’ll keep my yap shut.  ZZZZZip.

I will expose myself though.  I am a complete fake.  I am not the sweet, kind, loving, caring, angelic individual that you all know and love.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.

I’m unhappy that I am simply not a morning person.  I would go so far as to say I’m anti-morning.  I manage to drag myself out of bed just in time to have a shower, pour some coffee down my throat and drive to work with my head hanging out the window in order to get that wicked windblown look. So, I am unhappy that I can’t appreciate a new day any earlier than 5:00pm.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.

Today I give my fiancee complete and total credit for putting up with my constant string of shit.  I generally give him a run for his money.  But, lately I’ve been extremely emotional (imagine that) and have been taking him on the rollercoaster ride of the century.  Lately I’ve been worse than a spoiled 5 year old.  He over looks my sarcasm most of the time and doesn’t take it totally personal.  Go Tony.  You’re one hell of a man, man.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.

I think it’s good that I can admit being a total ass-munch.  See #4.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.

This week to hurry and be over.  We go on vacation next week.  So, all the good stuff I wished for on last week’s Melee may just come true. 

At least the cold beer and sex part.

Go Diva, Go Diva, Go Diva

Now it’s your turn.

You can take part in The Monday Melee, even make it a regular feature at your site by visiting The Monday Melee page and following the steps. Kick-start your brain on Mondays and meet other bloggers.

My friend Jane has been having serious relationship issues lately. Almost to the point that her head is turning all the way around like that possessed chick in The Exorcist.

After much thought (and actual research) on why relationships fail, I’ve come to the conclusion that the sister just needs to settle down, grow up and learn to deal with real life problems as they come at her.

Jane spent several days in a highly agitated state. Being around her as much as I am, I started to be concerned that something might be wrong in her relationship with the fella she’s supposed to marry soon. So, being a good friend, I asked.

She started explaining that for the most part, her relationship with Pete was awesome. They have alot in common (love of music, riding around with no real destination, talking about silly stuff, family values… you get the picture). She then went on to tell me that even though she knows he loves her and he does so much to show it by spoiling her rotten and giving her everything she could want, that there is something really important missing. Intimacy.

At first it appeared that she was troubled by the decrease in or lack of sex in their relationship. But after listening to her and thinking about what she had been saying, it was clear to me that it was more than her being horny and him ignoring it. There was something more to it.

In a relationship, there has to be a balance in every aspect of the relationship otherwise the whole world may seem like its coming to an end. Everything just has to be n’sync.

The emotional needs of both partners must be met by showing compassion and allowing the other to see into the heart of the partner.

The social needs of both partners must be met by doing things together. Whether taking a road trip, going out with friends or sitting on the front porch having social hour.

The intellectual needs must be met by discussions that run deep. As long as the two can discuss THEIR personal views together it doesn’t matter what the discussion is about. Communication is key in keeping each other interested.

Now, all of the above needs were being met for Jane. But the one need that threw the balance in Jane’s world out of sync was closing in for a kill in the relationship. So, she was naturally falling apart at the seams trying to figure out what to do. She couldn’t figure out why Pete was pushing her away when it came to her physical (sexual) needs.

I asked her if it was just lack of sex. As it turns out she just needs that intimate closeness. The hand on her leg when they are in the car. Getting naked and snuggling close with his arms wrapped around her, without the expectation of sex.

My suggestion to Jane was… talk about it. Make sure you both know what the problem(s) is/are. Many times there is a reason for said problem. Sometimes it takes some tears. Sometimes we have to say what we feel, even if it hurts.

Fact is, it takes work to maintain a relationship. It takes attention to detail in every aspect of that relationship to keep it going strong. If you can’t talk about what might be bothering you and you can’t talk it out, there might just be a bigger problem.

As for my friend Jane, she went to Pete and made sure that the lines of communication were wide open.  Hopefully, they can talk about whatever they have going on and get things on track.

That was the question.

I was blown completely in a direction that I had never even fathomed in fall of last year.
Like many kids my age, I have found myself all grown up, family raised, divorced and running completely wild. Kind of like turning 21 again, kinda.
I was pretty content with how life was going. My kids are grown up and I can come and go as I please.

Running around with the girls… you bet.
Acting extremely silly and pirate like… wouldn’t have had it any other way.

But, then it happened. My bestest friends introduced me to the man that would forever change my being. As fate would have it, things moved along rather rapido. And BAM - the question came…

Wanna get married? Of course, it was much sweeter than that. It was a very touching a precious moment. YEP! Let’s get married. GAME ON!
This happened last October.

The holidays went by smoothly and we were still getting to know each other pretty well.
I met his family. They seemed to like me. I passed the test.

Then it was set!! June 2nd. Invitations ordered. Cake ordered. Dress ordered. Church on hold. Preacher with a Bible. You name it, it was ordered. You get the picture.

But as days went by, I started to get scared. In typical Diva fashion, I flipped out, and decided that maybe we needed time to get our ducks in a row and everything ironed out both in our personal lives (kids and whatnot) and with our life together (roof over head, combining of households… ya know).

I put my entire wedding party in a holding pattern like a jumbo jet circling La Guardia during rush hour on Monday morning in Manhattan. I have never felt such pressure or such fear and I’ve had some pretty self-induced dramatic experiences in my life.

Everybody had some sort of input. A slight few of my closest friends were very understanding and supportive and just went happily into the holding pattern.
Others decided that it didn’t need to happen and actively gave opinions over and over.

You see, planning of the wedding ceremony was all set up and in place. But the cold feet I ended up being the proud owner of got the best of me. The wedding ceremony was the easy part. After it was all planned out and ready to go, I had time to stop and think. Which in this case, turned out to be a good thing.

I started to think about how different we are. How our views on alot of things are completely in the opposite. The way we treat and raise our kids is totally ass backward from one another.

One of the biggest fears I’ve got: becoming a wicked step-mother.
His son had always been nice to me, until the plans started to come together and it was apparent to him that this was really going to happen. Silently but surely, I knew he was sabotaging it. At least in my non-rational mind I’m sure he was.

But, I found out, when I started to keep my fella at arms length due to fear and wasn’t seeing half as much of him, just how important he is to me.

In the last week of my self-promoted hiding phase, I started to really ponder on all of the little things he does just to make me smile.
**The 100 mile-round-trips he makes in the middle of the week just to say hi and give me a kiss**
**Being serenaded in front of everyone by him and his bluegrass buddies as they sing “You are My Flower” because he wants me to know how much he loves me**
**Jumping in his big ol’ truck to ride around and do nothing but look and talk**

That man loves me. He’s not trying to tame me or make me into something I’m not. He takes my bitchy and ever-so-slightly sarcastic tone with a teaspoon of sugar and loves me anyway.

I finally got enough courage to talk to him.. To tell him I’m a freak and that I was scared of what was happening. You know, face-to-face verbal communication is way under-rated.
We both had answers to all the questions that were looming. We came to agreement on alot of subject matter.

So, I guess the answer to the above question is….

TO WED. Yes.

We have decided that a fall wedding is in order and that we are going to have a
most wonderful, beautiful ever after together.

Details to follow soon. I need to pull my wedding party in from the holding pattern and in for a landing before I go and shout from the roof-tops.

Mother-in-Law. Those three words hyphenated together have somehow become the monster in the closet. Simple meaning from the dictionary: mother of one’s spouse.

If it were only that simple, huh?

Granted, I am a Mother-in-Law now that my beautiful, eldest daughter has taken that plunge into marital bliss. *eyes rolled waaay back into the head*

Presently, my view is that I am the most wonderful, giving, caring, patient, non-homicidal mother-in-law out there. I do it for my baby girl. Otherwise I’m sure I’d be a horn sprouting, pitchfork shaking monsters hiding and waiting for that boy to come around screw something up.
But, not me. I assure you.

My ex-husband’s mother was the devil reincarnated in female form. I kid you not. She was scary right down to the evil glint in her eye and forked tongue. She would aspire to purposely make me feel like I was treading on thin ice. That was generally verbal. But did she stop there? No, she is Korean. Everything she would cook was flavored up with just about enough fresh chopped red-pepper to kill a two ton rhino. “Takey Diva some that”.

Sure, thanks. Let me get right on eating that. I love my gastrointestinal tract to be lit up enough that when I fart, I shoot flames across the room.

Looking back, I should have taken it as a sign. He has never, nor will he ever be anything but a mama’s boy. She buys his pants, his shirts, he boxers and socks. She does his laundry. No wonder the man moved back in with her when before the ink on our divorce papers was even dry.

What kind of man was she raising? I’m not all to sure about it, but I know she was in definite competition with me for his affection.

Good for her though. I got out of having to wash his vine ripened socks.

The above thoughts bring me to the following point, which was inspired by my favorite rag-mag.

Could one actually live with one’s mother-in-law on a more or less permanent basis??

I for one, would never even consider living with my significant other’s mother. Even if she was an angel just like me, I couldn’t do it. Two alpha-females in one house is a design for disaster.

I’m just glad to know that Tom and Katie are going through it too. Tom’s mom and other family members all live in the house with the happy couple.

Is Katie going to be able hang on?? She has to deal with Mr. Cruise, and his mother.

My thought is: No way!! I give them another year at the most if THE MOTHER IN LAW doesn’t get the boot.