Death By Chocolate

My sincerest apologies for being away so suddenly and unexplainedly. I find myself engaged in the politics of living full force as the one year anniversary of the break-up of my relationship shows up on my doorstep. It has been a whirlwind these last few weeks, with work, no work, travel, dating , no dating, sex, no sex, you get the idea. Music seems to be, yet again, my only refuge from the doldrums, the pensive, exhausting, roundabout I've been on lately. Sia continues to be my muse and her song styling lulls me into a false sense of security or sumthin'. Let her sing to you. [Production Note: Beck on guitar and Giovanni Ribisi does back-up vocals...who knew??]



And by the way, I'm extremely disappointed with the choice of Ken Salazar for Interior.

Moving On and In

I want all who read here to know, I do realize my blog was founded on the basis of political discourse from a relative neophyte, but frankly in light of the dramatic life-changing developments in every area of my life, politics takes a backseat to survival.

Since I do claim the mantle of 'neophyte', I might be excused from the expression of emotional dyspepsia in which I find myself currently embroiled. I appreciate the indulgence and reiterate, where to start? What is appropriate to divulge to a worldwide audience while still maintaining one's relative anonymity? Imagine giving your entire life history on a first date. So not cool. But I shall press onward, into a hopefully appropriate chronicle of the incredible adventure of two people in love and where it went wrong.

To begin, I did not see this coming at all. I swear. No red flags, no yellow flags even. I was completely blindsided by the devastating course of events that began with the innocuous act of finding and giving away a stray kitten. Who knew?

Brief synopsis of the events that occurred in late-December, just before Christmas:The previously mentioned found kitten was hopefully going to be adopted by a nurse at the Air Force base (the one I just left). It was a Saturday, and I had errands while the aforementioned nurse was to visit our home and see the kitten for possible adoption. I was gone 3 hours and called home to see if she had taken the cat. My beloved told me, "Yeah it's done wanna meet for a beer?" "Sure," I say and am looking out for the nurse who is to arrive before Doc Turtle to our little local tavern.

The nurse arrives. I approach her and introduce myself. We order a beer. Doc T shows up moments later, and we embark on a festive Saturday evening. Normal getting-to-know- you conversation ensues between the three of us. It is of course clear that Doc T and I are married, our matching rings are commented on, etc. About 30 minutes later, Two of Doc's interns from the hospital show up and we all begin to socialize.

Being Saturday night, the place fills up fast and music, wine and song ensue. The evening goes on and my betrothed and the nurse get quite drunk and I'm informed that she can't drive and will all crash at our place. Okay, no problem, I am the hostess with the mostess. We arrive back at our house (me driving) and I set up the guest room for our "guest." I announce I'm going to shower the bar off me and go off and get a nice, hot shower. My considerate lover virtually always lays out clothes for me after I shower, yet when I'm finished with my ablutions--nothing. Minutes later after I've dressed, Doc shows up and announces that the nurse needs socks. Okay, take these. Ten minutes go by and I'm curious as to how long it takes to deliver foot coverings. I creep up the stairs to the guest room and encounter a stillness that immediately makes me uncomfortable. I see the closed door to the guest bedroom, approach it furtively, and hear the distinct sounds of--you guessed it--sex. Shut the fuck up. No really. I open the door and find Doc Turtle and Nurse Ratched in full bloom. In my own house? In front of me? Are you fucking kidding me?

So as you can imagine the shit hits the fan. After some yelling, I leave. It's 2AM so the only place to go is a casino, where I procede to blow a wad and fume. I leave said casino about 5AM and go home to find a cab in my driveway and Nurse Predator in my bathroom getting ready for work. Did I mention she's wearing Dr. T's scrubs? I tell her she needs to leave my house--now. She does. Doc T and I then begin the terrific battle-for-the-truth session that I would assume follows this kind of behavior. We stay up for several more hours talking about what happened. After much wrangling, it is divulged that after I left, they 'did it' twice (with a short nap in between)and the, "we were really drunk" line is trotted out. Whatever.

Over the next four days, we talk more, have lunch together and have 'make-up sex' every night. It will be the last times there will be any semblance of the last five years of our relationship.

Tune in next time for the "Break-Up." I thought this shit only went on in soap operas. Okay, fair enough, call me naive.