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The last real Christmas I had was in 2009. A month prior, I had told Amy that I was unhappy in our marriage and had been going to therapy in secret to figure out what I wanted and needed in life. She had given me space to figure that out, and the only path I was following led directly to divorce. It was a tough time.

Christmas Day, though, was a different story. We had a house full of people. Both of our families were there, along with friends like James, Britt and Faiqa and their entire families. For that one day, our home was filled with the warmth and love and holiday spirit of over 30 people, and it was truly one of the best Christmases that I can remember.

Granted, six days later, I told Amy that I couldn’t continue, and twenty-six days after that, I moved out for good, but that Christmas was damn near perfect. Last year, I flew to Utah to meet my parents and siblings for a weekend that happened to include December 25th. It wasn’t Christmas, not really, and I was okay with that.

This year has flown by, and there have been ups and downs, but generally speaking, I’ve had a good year. As Christmas has gotten closer, though, I’ve found myself losing interest in participating in tradition and holiday festivities. My Christmas lights are still hanging from the eaves of my roof since last year, but I haven’t even turned them on once. I don’t have a tree, and my shopping list had one gift on it, which I already purchased.

My family is doing a Christmas brunch next Sunday morning, which I will attend, but all I can think about is what time I’ll be able to leave. I don’t want to be there, and I just don’t want to take part in Christmas.

This isn’t depression. This is me figuring out what Christmas is for me. From 1998 until 2009, Christmas was about Amy and my friends. I take great pride in being an excellent gift giver, and there is little that I enjoy more than giving gifts to the people I love. I don’t generally like receiving gifts, though, as I’m impossible to shop for. I buy what I want when I want it, and I have very particular tastes. Since the divorce, my ability to give gifts has been diminished by my need to be more financially cautious (past Christmases ended up being $4,000-$5,000 affairs), and receiving gifts generally makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable. There are always exceptions, of course, but it’s rare. Even people I called my best friends, who knew me almost better than I knew myself, found it difficult to buy me a gift.

In the end, though, I don’t know how to feel or what to do with this Christmas season. This morning, I plan on calling my mother to ask her to please refrain from wrapping any gifts for me and to please return anything she’s already purchased. I’ll enjoy the day much more if I don’t have to worry about that, I think. I don’t know, but that feels right.

I think I’m just ready for 2012.

When I was 13, I had a dog named Smoky. I was conscientious about feeding her, but I rarely brushed her and only walked her early in the morning because it gave me an excuse to look in the window of one of my neighbors who used to walk around naked in her bedroom with the blinds open at 5:30 AM.

My mother brought Smoky to the Humane Society a year or so later. The way she tells it, we didn’t even notice that the dog was gone for 3-4 days and, to be honest, I can’t say that she’s wrong.

That was the last time I had a pet until I met Amy. She had two ferrets, and we soon added a third ferret to our little menagerie. They moved with us from Saint Louis to Los Angeles (where ferrets are illegal), and over the course of two years, died one by one from old age and normal ferret maladies.

When we moved to Orlando, Amy really wanted a dog. We went to a shelter and looked at puppies, but I wasn’t convinced that we needed one. While Amy was entranced with one puppy in particular, I encouraged her to give it more thought, and she left in tears, dogless. Her sister visited a week later and they went back and picked up the puppy that she had fallen in love with. Enter Jigsaw.

Jigsaw was a fantastic dog. She was the smartest dog I’ve ever met. She was sweet, curious, intelligent, and basically a four-legged human. After the divorce, Amy and I agreed to share her. Since I worked from home, I would get her in the morning and drop her off in the afternoon. It was a good arrangement and Jigsaw got plenty of attention.

After a particularly heated discussion, Amy decided to keep Jigsaw full-time, a decision that was frustrating and mildly depressing at first. As time progressed, though, I realized that I relished the fact that I had absolutely no responsibility, other than to myself and to my business. Shortly after this point, a former friend moved away and decided to abandon her cat. As I considered offering to adopt the cat, I experienced an immediate panic attack, one of the worst that I ever had. It was clear that the thought of increasing my responsibility in this stressful period was anxiety-inducing.  A year and a half passed.

On Thursday, a friend posted a desperate plea on her Facebook page. Her 8-month old kitten needed a home or he would have to go to a shelter. After some consideration, deep thinking, and no feelings of anxiety or panic, I offered to take him. She said that she’d bring him over within the hour, and I started thinking about having a kitten. I started getting used to the idea of a companion, especially one that was low-maintenance compared to a dog.

Her phone call a few minutes later telling me that she had a family who also wanted the kitten, and she thought that maybe they’d be better, gave me pause. I realized that I was a little eager about getting that kitten and the anticipation had gotten me excited. Though I didn’t tell her, I was disappointed.

My friend Lanie suggested that maybe it was a good time to get a pet.  She offered to go with me to the local shelter and help pick out a new feline friend. Off we went . . .

Three things stood out to me when I went to the shelter. First, the odor. No matter what cleaning supplies you use, you can’t mask that odor of animal musk and excrement. It’s unpleasant and slightly sickening. Secondly, there was a figurative odor of desperation and sadness that lingered. With the exception of the few cats who were clearly old and jaded, felines pushed up against the bars of their cages, mewling and reaching out for some type of human contact. Finally, as we looked at every single cat and dog in the shelter, I recognized the same feeling of indifference that I had experienced in 2005, going with Amy to look for a dog.

I left the shelter on Friday with one thing, and that wasn’t a cat. It was the realization that no matter how much I try, I’m not an animal person. I like animals, and I think they’re cute and adorable, but if I never have a pet for the rest of my life, I’m not going to miss a thing.

Today’s a day that I’ve written about twice before. Today is a day that’s very personal for someone who’s very important to anyone who has the pleasure of knowing her.

Tanis, even after knowing you for the last three years, after our ups and downs as friends, there is one thing that always stands out to me. It’s not your stubbornness or your intelligence. It’s not your vicious sarcasm or the times that you have a crack in your armor and your humanity, insecurities, and fears show through. It’s your heart. Only one in a million people on Earth would go through the tragedy of losing a son, a disabled one as well, and take all the love that you had and find another disabled child who needed the love, attention, care, and the safety of a loving home. It’s not the first time that someone has lost a child, and it won’t be the last, but it’s the way that you and your family dealt with it that makes it such an example of what love truly is.

If everyone could heal and focus their grief, rage, frustration, confusion, and sense of loss into the channels you did, I think it is obvious that we’d live in a better place. There will never be a reason that Shale left you, but the fact that Knox was born on the day that he left means, to me, that there is some greater order to the universe that none of us are meant to understand.

Happy birthday, Knox.

Today would have been that day. The tin anniversary. The one that surely would have been punctuated by a weekend trip to Savannah or Atlanta or the Keys. Where I would have spent too much on a pair of diamond earrings just for the look on her face.

Ten years is a long time. I thought we had it in the bag. It was a done deal. 10, 20, 30, 50, 75. Piece of cake.

I had to look through my blog archives to figure out what we did for our five-year anniversary, and due to her work and travel schedule keeping her away for almost three weeks in a row, we did absolutely nothing. That was part of the issue. At first, I hated those long work trips, leaving me alone with the dog, lonely and bored. But over time, very gradually, I began to anticipate her trips. I would count on them – that was my time to relax and do what I wanted to do. I would encourage her to travel more and more, just so I could have time to be me.

A little honesty and communication would have gone a long way towards that issue. It’s my fault that I wasn’t willing to open that dialogue and that I continued to push for us to lead our separate lives, and I accept responsibility for that. Taking responsibility is something that I’ve come to learn in the last few years, and I’ve realized that I needed to take a lot more, both in my marriage and outside of it. It used to scare me, that idea of being responsible for the negative things that happen, for the bad choices that are made, but now I realize it’s just part of being human.  You don’t need to hide all of the bad things in order to truly enjoy the good.

Had I acted honestly and told her how I felt, would I be celebrating with her today? I don’t know – probably not. But I’ll never know.  And while I am at peace with that, with the potential that any tin anniversary I may ever have (or any anniversary, for that matter) will be with someone else, there will always be that small part of me that feels like a failure.

Sometimes, it’s about the things we can’t say. Whether it’s because we’re not brave enough, or just because the opportunity has passed, these unspoken phrases, positive or negative, supportive or detracting, reminiscent or in hindsight, deserve to be heard.

1. I’m not now and have never been your villain.
2. The real you is so much better than the devoutly religious facade.
3. You’re making a mistake and deserve better.
4. I don’t think you’re really my friend.
5. Not everything is about you, or a conspiracy. Learn how to relax and go with the flow.
6. It was never meant to be, and that will always be my fault.
7. Take no for an answer for once. It’s for the best in the long run.
8. I take your actions very personally and will never forgive you.
9. I can’t stop thinking about you.
10. Stop hating yourself and see what everyone else sees.
11. You’re so independent and smart, and I don’t understand your reliance on illogical rules and constraints.
12. You would have been forgiven a long time ago if you weren’t the perpetual victim.
13. It’s your loss.
14. I keep your secrets because that’s the type of person that I am, not because I feel like I owe you anything.
15. There’s something there. I know it.

Those are mine. What are yours?

Paul, 22, heroin addict

For reasons far too complicated to explain, I spent part of my afternoon yesterday standing on a sun-beaten, splintered ocean walkway with Paul, a 22-year old heroin addict. The crook of his elbow was an angry pulsing red, still reacting from where he had shot up only moments before. He would nod off in mid-conversation, pitching forward until an instinctual state of self-preservation woke him up before he lost his balance completely.

Paul tried to maintain a conversation during his stupor, and I kept up with him to the best of my ability. We talked about stand-up comedy and his dream to be a tattoo artist. He talked about music and his best friend, who was stabbed the night before. Half of his sentences trailed off into the ether as his head dropped, eyes closed, mouth agape.

We shook hands upon parting company, and it took every ounce of willpower to avoid wiping my hand on my clothes. I knew I could wait until I was out of sight before using hand sanitizer and finding somewhere to wash away that dirty, sick feeling. Even after scrubbing my hands with soap and scalding water, I couldn’t shake that need for a shower, even though my rational side knew that there wasn’t anything to wash away.

On the drive home, I made light of the situation. “You know, if you play connect the dots with the track marks, it makes a unicorn.” “Boy, some people take heroin chic way too seriously.” My friend said that she never wanted to go back there and that she would make excuses and deal with the fact the he would think she was an asshole for the rest of her life. I looked at her and said, “No, just for the rest of his.”

Paul is on his way out of this world. He hasn’t hit rock bottom yet, but it’s coming up fast. And while I looked at him and thought “This is his fault. He deserves whatever happens because he’s the one who injects that shit into his body,” I felt shame. Not at my thoughts, because the responsibility is indeed his, but shame at the fact that for every paragon of virtue and human achievement, there is someone like Paul. Our society advances in leaps and bounds, but we still leave so many people behind. Every time someone like Paul loses his fight with addiction, we all fail as human beings.

Yesterday, for the first time, I saw The Mom Pledge, which you can read in its entirety below:

I am a proud to be a mom. I will conduct myself with integrity in all my online activities. I can lead by example.

I pledge to treat my fellow moms with respect. I will acknowledge that there is no one, “right” way to be a good Mom. Each woman makes the choices best for her family.

I believe a healthy dialogue on important issues is a good thing. I will welcome differing opinions when offered in a respectful, non-judgmental manner. And will treat those who do so in kind.

I stand up against cyber bullying. My online space reflects who I am and what I believe in. I will not tolerate comments that are rude, condescending or disrespectful.

I refuse to give those who attack a platform. I will remove their remarks with no mention or response. I can take control.

I want to see moms work together to build one another up, not tear each other down. Words can be used as weapons. I will not engage in that behavior.

I affirm that we are a community. As a member, I will strive to foster goodwill among moms. Together, we can make a difference.

I was intrigued by the idea of this pledge because, while I agree with the sentiment behind it, I think it’s shortsighted to make it exclusive to moms. What about women bloggers who don’t have children, or dad bloggers? What about asking for civility from everyone, not just the ones with Graco ads in their sidebars?

So I decided to take it a step further. I’d like each and every one of you to leave a comment signing this, the Avitable Pledge. By doing so, you become an honorary Avitable, whether you’re male, female, or something in between, with child or without, or any type of blogger or writer or person who interacts socially with other human beings.

The Avitable Pledge

I am proud to have higher brain functions.  I will apply critical thinking and react with clear thought when I am faced with unknown, stressful or difficult situations.

I pledge to view ignorance and anonymity as weaknesses.  Those who wield those traits as weapons are to be pitied but they have earned whatever punishment occurs. They do not deserve our sympathy or respect.

I believe that there is no situation that cannot be approached with a sense of humor. That said, each person has at least one thing that they will never find funny or appreciate, and that’s okay.

I stand up against bullying and harassment in all its forms.  I will not shy away from calling out bullies and harassers in public forums, and I will not tacitly support their actions by remaining silent.

I refuse to apply any standards to others that I will not apply to myself.  Only by striving to be the best can I expect that from any other person.

I want to see your point of view.  Putting myself in your shoes can be difficult, but I will try my hardest to realize that my perspective is rarely objective.

I affirm that I will be honest with you and trust you at your word.  If at all possible I will avoid lying and omitting truths.  There is never a good reason to lie and there are hundreds of reasons not to.  If you lie to me and betray that trust, that’s not my fault.

I’m an elitist condescending intellectual perverted asshole, but I manage to follow this pledge to the best of my ability.  What about you?  Will you take the Avitable pledge?

P.S.  This post originally started as a parody of the Mom Pledge, but then as I started writing it, I realized I wanted to write a sincere post.  For those of you who are getting sick of my serious posts, here is a joke for you:

You’ve got to hand it to midgets.  No, literally.  They usually can’t reach.

Some of you may have seen this tweet from me on August 30th:

OkCupid, the self-proclaimed “best dating site on Earth”, is a mostly free dating site that, while completely legitimate for people who are seriously interested in dating, is also filled with people looking for threesomes, married browsers looking for sex on the side, or, occasionally, Nigerian princes who want to give you money.  I had a profile on there at one point and ended up going out with a few people as a result of it.  As far as free dating sites go, OkCupid made me pretty happy, until August 30th.

On the morning of August 30th, I awoke to several emails from OkCupid, all sent to the email address I have associated with this site (my first name at my last name dot com). The first email, sent at 12:55 AM, welcomed me to OkCupid and thanked me for creating an OkCupid dating profile.  Needless to say, I was a bit alarmed, since unless I was sleep dating, there was no way for me to have created any type of profile at 12:55 AM that night.  And I most likely wouldn’t have chosen this username, either:

I clicked the “Sign in Now” button, which allowed me to sign in to OkCupid without entering any password whatsoever.  Apparently, the link in this email could be forwarded to anyone, and they would be able to sign in.  I viewed my OkCupid profile that I had apparently created at 12:55 AM, and this is what I saw (click the thumbnail to view the full version):

My first inclination was annoyance, followed by disappointment.  I get emails constantly from people who just have an overreaching need to tell me that I am absolutely not funny and then they present a treatise supporting their viewpoint.  While I’m usually flattered that someone would be so obsessed with my unfunniness that they would do nothing but think about me all the time, I usually just feel pity.  Is this the best that they could do?  I expect more from my stalkers.

The malicious intent behind this fake OkCupid profile, however, was palpable, as evidenced from the following lines:

“I’m not looking for love, just someone to live out my rape fantasies.”

“I really am a freak. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Those two on their own are a little disturbing, but pale compare to what was provided for the answer to “You should message me if . . .”

“You’re just looking for something physical and happen to be close by. I’m looking for someone to fulfill my rape fantasy. I want an aggressive man to just break into my house and go at it. . . Address is: 407 Silver Oak Ln; Altamonte Springs, FL 32701″

That’s my real address.  Unlike my previous address, which I posted publicly as part of my Halloween party invitation, this one was not public.  If you were a friend on Facebook, it was available to you, but that’s it.  It’s public now, though, thanks to OkCupid.

Someone put my real address, with my photo, in a dating profile on OkCupid, using my real email address, and invited people to come rape me.  Oh, and they actually sent out messages to 24 different men as well:

Realistically, I’m not worried in any way about someone breaking into my home to rape me.  But what if this was done to someone other than me?  What if someone had done this exact same thing to a female friend?  To your sister?  To your wife or mother?

I contacted OkCupid twice through their contact form, asking for the IP address of the person who created this fake profile, and requesting someone from OkCupid to contact me immediately.  That was a week ago.

I sent out the tweet mentioned above, asking OkCupid how it’s possible that they have it set up so that anyone can make a profile for an email address WITHOUT VERIFICATION! (Go ahead, try it.  I made a test OkCupid profile using a throwaway email account I had, and other than confirming my email address on the form, there was no verification required.)  That tweet was re-tweeted 40-50 times at least.

I have gotten no reply from OkCupid.  Not an apology, not even an acknowledgment.  Not a word.

OkCupid, I expect a response.  I want the IP address of the person who did this.  I would also like to know why you can create profiles without email verification, why you allow profiles to be published sharing private information such as someone’s address without any oversight, and what part of your business plan supports rape.  I’m pretty sure that I have an extremely actionable case right here, and unless I get a response that I consider, at my own discretion, to be acceptable, this could get extremely ugly. Ball’s in your court.

If you’re NOT from OkCupid and you’re reading this post, please share it.  Stumble it, post it on Twitter, mentioning @okcupid (or RT this tweet), share it on FB, Digg it.  I want this post to catch the eye of the company that has decided that it has no problem with what transpired on August 30th.

Edited (9/5/11 9:14 AM EST):

A few points of clarification, based on emails and comments I’ve received:

1. Email verification would not have prevented this from happening.  I’m fully aware of this, but this is another issue that should be addressed.  Would you want someone creating a profile using your email address, even if it gave you control over it?  It’s just another invasion of privacy and poor management on the part of OkCupid.
2. Every dating site I’ve used over the last two years does a profile check before they allow publishing of information to ensure that private information is not posted.  Even if OkCupid set up a good search string through their profiles, they could flag profiles for a human to review.
3. Anything that sheds light on issues like this, that could be a serious and legitimate threat to the well-being of someone else, is a good thing.  I’m fine, and I’m not worried about getting raped in the middle of the night, but I’m not everyone.

UPDATED: 9/5/11 2:41 PM EST

When I returned from lunch, I had this reply from OkCupid:

Hi Adam,

My name is Alice, and I’m the customer service rep for OkCupid. I’m so sorry that you have not gotten a reply about your issue before now, and I hope I can help.

First- the account in question, gayasssfuck, was completely removed today, and the IP it was created from has been blocked from OkCupid. We can’t give you the specific IP address, but if you do decide to file a police report, we would be happy to cooperate with law enforcement.

Second- we absolutely do not condone sharing any private information on a profile, including addresses or email addresses. We do remove any profiles that share this information, as well as profiles that are obviously fakes as this one was, especially when they contain references to rape. That is absolutely unacceptable for OkCupid. However, our company is a lot smaller than you may realize, and we do not have the resources to hand-check every profile before it goes live. We rely on a flagging system, where users flag an inappropriate photo or profile, and then it gets reviewed by us for removal. It appears that this profile was not flagged by anyone, and we missed your emails, so it unfortunately flew under our radar. I sincerely apologize for this.

Again, I’m sorry we didn’t catch this sooner, and please let me know if you have any other questions or concerns.

Alice

I think it would be a safe assumption that the sole reason for this reply, a week after the fact, was the overwhelming response on Twitter and other locations.  I’m not sure what my reply will be to this email, yet, because it’s still a poor response that doesn’t really address anything, but I think that filing a police report may be the next step, if only to get the IP address of the person who did it.

In 1998, I met Amy.
In 2001, we got married.
In 2009, I had an affair.
In 2010, we got divorced.

I never thought I would be the type of person who would have an affair. I’ve since learned that there is no *type* of person who has an affair. It can happen easier than you think. There will always be temptation, there will always be opportunity, there will always be moments of unhappiness, and sometimes those ingredients mix together to make a big old bowl of Failing At Marriage Soup. And that’s what it is – there is no way to sugarcoat it: If you have an affair, you just failed at marriage. Even if you pick up the pieces and Humpty Dumpty the shit out of them, you still got a big fat “F”, and you will be taking make-up classes and doing extra credit for most, if not all, of the rest of your marriage. More power to you, though, because I just took the easy route and quit. I ran away. I took my “F” and dropped out.

For the first time since I was 21 years old, I was single. My life was in shambles, my heart crushed into pieces. I spent my nights curled up under my desk, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. I had my first panic attack, then a series of them. I finally grasped what it meant to feel empty inside, and I had no idea what to do to fill that void. I felt unwanted and unloved and rudderless.

No book or self-help guide can help you in this situation. Some people take their guilt and wear it around their necks like a yoke, allowing it to color their interactions with every person they meet. Others might withdraw from society and some will cling to their next relationship like a life preserver. I turned to casual sex with as many people as I could, limiting myself with a few basic rules.

Rule 1: Don’t lie or obfuscate the truth in any way. Be completely honest about your desires, motivations, and needs.

My divorce taught me that I never wanted to engage another person in any situation without honest and open communication. I would never again be someone who cheated or lied or sneaked around. I know that I’m naturally charismatic, and because I know how to listen to and talk to people, it’s very easy for me to convince someone to do what I want them to do.  A policy of complete transparency and honesty allows me to be responsible for my actions and words, and only my actions and words.

Rule 2: Don’t get attached. Nobody sleeps over, and as soon as someone gets attached, it’s time to end it.

My first sexual encounter after I moved out was with someone who was also in the process of a divorce. She had shown interest before, and I had no doubt that our first night out would end well. We agreed that our time together was purely casual and so we met several times, but the night that she laid her head on my shoulder and said “So you’re sure that you wouldn’t want to date?”, it was over.

Rule 3: The farther away they live or otherwise occupied they are, the better.

I focused my effort on women who lived far away or had children or busy work schedules. If our time together could be limited to an evening out once or twice a week, I was interested. If they lived in another state, even better. If they were married, so what? I was single, and it wasn’t my right to enforce a moral code on them. If a woman wanted to violate her wedding vows and fuck me, why would I say no to that? I was done assuming that I knew better than someone else and insulting them by doing so.  My interactions were with adults who can make their own decisions, and did.

That version of me isn’t someone I’m proud of. He was not an exemplary person. He was human and flawed and broken and vulnerable and needy. This Adam engaged in behaviors that made it difficult for some of his friends to be his friends. This was a person who was selfish because he had to be selfish for the first time in his life, and yet I embrace and accept him fully, because I had to be him to get to the place where I am today.

For almost two years, I was physically unable to handle the mere concept of a relationship that required any degree of commitment.  If I even considered relying on one person to be there for me, fulfill my needs, and support me, an elephant would sit on my chest and my vision would go dark. I noticed and mentally recorded every flaw of every person I was with, reminding myself of those flaws over and over again. I felt no guilt about having sex with four different women over the course of two weeks and continuing to see two of them intermittently. I made explicit, detailed plans for every trip I took to have sex with different women who lived in or were traveling to my destination. As far as I could see, it was the only path.

Over the last few weeks, I started dating someone casually. She made it clear that she wasn’t interested in non-exclusive dating, which would normally be a sign for me to end things and move on. But this time, I didn’t. I pictured dating her exclusively, seeing her regularly, if not daily, relying on her to be there for me, and there was no anxiety attack. There was no feeling of panic. No urge to go out and pick someone up at a bar to fuck. I traveled to San Diego for a week, surrounded by three thousand beautiful women, and had no desire to have sex with any of them.  It was like a switch had turned off.

The last two years have been terrible. I betrayed my morals. I lost my wife, my best friend, my dog, my house, my life, my security, my comfort, and I lost my identity. I hurt others in my pursuit to heal myself. I’ve been told by friends that I’m an asshole, a horrible person, that I’m manipulative, selfish, bad, immoral, unlikeable, unsafe, dangerous, pathetic, sad, and too hard to be friends with. I’ve also had friends who stayed by me, who bit their tongues and hoped that this wouldn’t last. They knew that the Adam they loved was there trying to figure things out. That he was emotionally crippled and damaged, but he would heal.

And with a simple decision to enter into a relationship with someone, I’ve felt my priorities shift and I know, from the deepest part of me, that finally, thankfully, I’m back.