My friend who is going through a divorce met with her ex, their lawyers, and a mediator this week. One thing she asked for was half of the medical expenses she has incurred since their separation. The total bills were a little over $300, his part of course $150. His reply was, "No, I'm not paying that. She's got 'em now. They're HER kids, and it's HER problem."
The other night her neighbor came over and said she had seen him come by on his motorcycle, hide it behind her house, and walk around the house a couple of times. Of course, no one was home. She has no idea what he thinks he's looking for. When she told me about it, we both remembered once when I was going through my divorce with the kids' dad, and she and I were at Dairy Queen getting ice cream. We were in the line at the drive thru, when a car pulls up beside us and suddenly snaps a picture of us with a bright flash. Guess he had someone following us to get pictures of me out having some wild affair, but his problem is he didn't know me well enough to know my wild affair is with hot fudge and ice cream. With whipped cream and nuts. And those were the only kind of nuts I was interested in at that time. But we got a good laugh out of it. I told her she'll get through this, and some day it will all actually be over with, but it can't be soon enough for her.
Her biggest concern is that he said to one of her children if she came up dead, he'd get SS benefits and not have to pay her a dime. Now she's afraid he might actually do something. I told her to write it all down in a letter and let me and my hubby put it up in a safety deposit box, in case the idiot does try something.
I watched The View today, and they were going on and on about Britney Spears and her paunch and poor lip syncing at the awards show last night. I'd like to look that good with a paunch, but I do think she could have washed her hair. I feel sorry for her in a way. I can't imagine being her age, having to deal with the press, the money, and the notoriety. I can't imagine having it in the papers every time I went to the bathroom. She needs some serious counseling.
I could actually do it for her. We'd begin with "How to Overcome White Trashy Ways" by an Alabamian who has to live down being from the South daily. I'd also tell her she had made one good move by dumping that lousy excuse of a thing she called a husband, and now she needs to hire a first class nanny and never leave the house without her, while the nanny is showing loving, care to the children, including making sure they are strapped in the car seats. She needs to buy some new underwear and clothing that covers her butt, and wear both. She needs to let her hair grow to some normal color and consistency. And then she needs to dump whatever manager is letting her get by with the press she has been getting.
Whoopie Goldberg also got fitted for a bra today on the View. Seems there was a reason she wore the peasant tops and long, loose vests--she hates those torture devices we call bras. They fit her in one, so now she can tug and squirm and get squished and squashed like the rest of it. I think she should burn it in BaBa Walters coffee cup myself. I used to think wearing one would prevent them sagging down to my waist, but alas, it didn't prevent a thing. I should burn mine in BaBa's coffee cup, too.
So then I flipped over to the Today show, to hear them say that it's now the "IN" thing to wear your hair naturally gray. Hey, I'm "IN" now. Wait until my kids find out.
I found some frozen Italian meatballs in our freezer. I have some spaghetti, but no jars of sauce. I did have some diced tomatoes, which I seasoned with some basil and oregano and am trying to simmer down to something that looks like sauce. If it works, my husband will have it for dinner. If not, we'll have to get take out. Either way, I couldn't care less. ha. At this point, it's the same number of dishes either way.
I hate dirty dishes. Like cooking, but hate doing the dishes
No comments:
Post a Comment