Posts Tagged ‘divorce’

100 Things for 2010: Part One

Tuesday, March 16th, 2010

Have you ever read my "100 Things About Avitable"? No? Okay, go read it. I'll wait.

Jesus, you're a slow reader. C'mon!

Okay, well, that list is now defunct. Aren't you glad you just wasted all that time? That list of 100 things about me was written by a married man who weighed 420 pounds, hated leaving the house, and generally feared doing a lot of things. And while I still have a way to go before I'm the polar opposite of who I was then, I think that I have a different perspective on life and new goals for myself. As a result, I think it's time for a new list of things about Adam Heath Avitable.

And what better way to start than listing 5 new habits I have?

100. Swiffering. Monday nights is reserved for naked Swiffering. The nudity isn't related to the Swiffering – it just happens to coincide. My new house is a four-bedroom home with tile everywhere except the three guest rooms, which I don't really enter anyway. I have one of those Swiffers that has a vacuum attachment, so I do a dry run through the house and then switch out for the wet Swiffer pads and usually go through 3-4 of those mopping the whole house. There's something freeing about Swiffering, although I don't know if it's the part about getting the house clean or doing it bare-ass naked. Well, with socks on.

99. Making my bed. The last time I made a bed regularly, it was 1988. Now that it's just my bed, though, I've found that I enjoy making it look nice, so every morning I make the bed, arrange all six pillows on it, even if I'm the only one who's going to see it all day. I used to feel like making a bed was a stupid endeavor because you were only going to mess it up again 12 hours later, but something's changed, and now it feels wrong if it's unmade. Even if I take a nap in the middle of the day, I'll remake it as soon as I get up.

98. Doing laundry. I rarely did laundry while I was married. It wasn't because I expected Amy to do it – she just did it as a matter of habit, and I didn't stop her. Over the last few years, when she traveled, I'd do my own laundry, but usually that meant waiting until I had no clothes left, and then throwing everything into one load and not folding anything. Now, though, I do my laundry once a week, which includes all my sheets and towels, too. And I fold everything. I hang up all of my shirts, fold my underwear, pair my socks, and put everything away quickly. The last time I was single was during law school, and I owned enough socks and underwear to wait almost 60 days before doing laundry. That's how I expected I would be now, so this desire to laundry and the resulting enjoyment I get from it, is really alien to me.

97. Walking. Amy and I share custody of Jigsaw, our dog. Every weekday, I go over to the old house in the morning and whistle for her, and she runs out through the back door and over to the side gate. I drive her over here and she stays with me all day until I drive her home in the evening. It's nice for Jigsaw to have company, and it's nice for me to get to see my dog. I've also started taking her on a walk every afternoon and have kept this up almost the last three to four weeks consecutively. It's good for her, good for me, and gives me a chance to show my neighbors that I'm not some crazy Unabomber type living alone who never leaves his house.

96. Setting an alarm. In my old life, I would usually wake up somewhere between 6:30-7:30 every morning, depending how late I stayed up the night before. Amy isn't the quietest person in the morning, and between her and the dog, I didn't need an alarm. Now, however, I've worried about a quiet house meaning I'll sleep until noon if unchecked. So, until I buy an alarm clock, I just set up my iPhone alarm, which plays a ring tone I select as the alarm. This means that on no less than four different occasions, I have woken up thinking that the person to whom the ring tone belongs was calling me. I subsequently spent several futile minutes trying to answer it until the fog of sleep lifted and I realized exactly how stupid I was. And only once did I try to call that person back at 6 in the morning.

Stay tuned next week for Part 2: 5 Different Pubic Hairstyles*


*no, not really

A Pessimist's Guide to Living Alone

Tuesday, February 16th, 2010

While there are many positives to living alone – cleaning is easier, I'm the only one making a to-do list, no sharing the bed – there are plenty of disadvantages as well. And since this is the first time I've lived alone in 11 years, I'm now aware of the differences. For example:

  • It's always your turn to do the dishes.
  • You only have yourself to blame when there's something shitty playing on TV.
  • When you hear a noise on the other side of the house, it may be a raccoon or a ghost.
  • Do you know how hard it is to scratch yourself in that one spot on your back?
  • Ninjas
  • When you're sitting naked in your living room, watching TV and the doorbell rings, you're the only one getting the door.
  • You can only play "Marco" in the pool, and it's not nearly as much fun.
  • For the love of GOD, make sure you have toilet paper in the bathroom you're in.
  • You have to tell yourself that you don't look fat in those jeans.
  • It's either gremlins or you're just too fucking stupid to remember to put your keys in the same place every time.
  • There's nobody to talk you out of buying that awesome thing you just saw on late night TV.
  • That package of Oreos? You're going to end up eating all of them, by yourself, watching Lifetime.
  • The only thing you're going to be snuggling with in bed is a Japanese love pillow.
  • Laughing to yourself at the television has gone from cute to kind of creepy in a Unabomber way
  • Your fashion disaster will go unnoticed until you actually go into public.
  • It's a lot harder to be a secret crossdresser if you have to go out and buy your own lingerie!

Divorce 101

Friday, February 5th, 2010

Welcome to Divorce 101 here at Avitable's School of Higher Learning. Hopefully, each of you did your reading over winter break. If not, your assignments are to read "You Can't Have 'Divorce' Without an 'Orc'" and "Top Ten Ways Not To Get Ripped Off By The Pawnbroker Buying Your Wedding Ring" and write a paper discussing the thematic elements in each book and how they compare to and contrast with the philosophy present in Plato's Republic.

I don't have a syllabus ready because I was too busy trying to buy all of those little things you need for your home that you don't think about, like coasters or salt and pepper or a toilet brush. So instead, I've decided just to quickly outline the next 12 weeks so that you can be properly prepared for each lesson. Remember, I grade on a curve, but you will lose or gain points based on the caliber, attractiveness, and IQ of your rebound final exam.

DIVORCE 101, BY DOCTOR ADAM HEATH AVITABLE

LESSON #1: DISHES

Problem: Doing dishes sucks. I hate that chore more than anything else in the world.
Old Married Solution: Wait until they pile so high that spouse does them.
New Divorced Solution: Use paper plates.

LESSON #2: TELEVISION

Problem: Part of the fun of watching comedies is laughing with other people.
Old Married Solution: Save comedies to watch with spouse.
New Divorced Solution: Record yourself laughing on your computer and make your own laughtrack.

LESSON #3: LAUNDRY

Problem: It's inordinately difficult to put dirty laundry anywhere other than the exact spot where you took it off.
Old Married Solution: Laundry fairy flits around, picking up dirty socks and underwear and placing them in clothes hampers.
New Divorced Solution: Buy 60 pairs of socks, 60 pairs of underwear, and re-use shirts and pants. Once every two months, rent a small backhoe and push laundry pile into laundry room.

LESSON #4: MEALS

Problem: I don't like to cook and I don't like going out to eat alone.
Old Married Solution: Go out for dinner 5 nights a week and order in the other two.
New Divorced Solution: Microwave two hot dogs covered in cheese and smother in mayo. Total prep time: 1:45.

LESSON #5: SLEEPING

Problem: I have nightmares of creepy little girls and huge spiders.
Old Married Solution: Scream until spouse wakes up and calms you down.
New Divorced Solution: Only sleep in 20-minute increments every two hours so that you achieve sleep without ever going into a dream state.

LESSON #6: SHARING

Problem: It's a stress relief to share the details of your mundane day.
Old Married Solution: Tell spouse about your day in detail.
New Divorced Solution: Blog.

LESSON #7: COMFORT

Problem: There's a distinct difference in the feel of an empty house vs a house with someone else living there.
Old Married Solution: Spouse is present.
New Divorced Solution: Rent your new home out as a glory hole for 50-year old queens.

LESSON #8: ZOMBIE ATTACK

Problem: Zombies are attacking.
Old Married Solution: Pick a defensible room and cover each other's backs until spouse gets bitten, then kill spouse and then self.
New Divorced Solution: Get bitten, join the zombies and become King of Zombies.

LESSON #9: NINJAS

Problem: Ninjas are attacking.
Old Married Solution: Show you are a man of honor by defending spouse, gain respect of ninja clan.
New Divorced Solution: Demand ninja respect by dropping pants and praying that Asian small penis stereotype is true.

LESSON #10: GEEKINESS

Problem: You are a giant geek who reads comic books and has action figures.
Old Married Solution: Embrace your geekiness completely because spouse has already committed.
New Divorced Solution: Rent two homes. One for dates that demonstrates a home of a well-adjusted, normal 33-year old man, and one that nobody sees with 43 Batman statues, a full-size Yoda replica, and lightsabers.

LESSON #11: DRESSING

Problem: You have no idea how to dress.
Old Married Solution: Don't bother learning how to. Spouse is stuck with you.
New Divorced Solution: Don't bother learning how to. Someone out there will see you as a project!

LESSON #12: CHOKING

Problem: There is always a risk of choking when eating any type of food.
Old Married Solution: Make sure spouse knows CPR.
New Divorced Solution: Limit diet to soup and ice cream to avoid any possibility of choking and asphyxiating alone on your kitchen floor.

And that's it for today's class. I'd teach more, but I somehow have more chores I need to do even though there's only one of me! See you next week when we'll also explore why it's not proper for a man to refer to himself as a "divorcee".

An autopsy of my top drawer

Monday, February 1st, 2010

I've had my bureau since I was a baby and too young to know what one was. It's moved with me from Daytona Beach to Virginia to Saint Louis to Los Angeles and back to Florida. As I progressed to wearing shirts that required hanging and as I kept my shorts in a pile by the front door where I shucked them as I entered the house, I stopped using all but one drawer of my bureau. All of my socks, manties, and undershirts were crammed into one drawer and the other drawers were sadly neglected.

After moving to my new house, I decided that there was no reason not to use my bureau the way it was meant to be used. That meant cleaning out the drawers first, though. After cleaning out the pound and a half of gum wrappers and crumpled pieces of paper, this is what I found in my top drawer:

Click me for a larger version

Click me for a larger version

  1. A Sharpie, for writing my name in my underwear in case of an accident.
  2. The manual for a Universal Remote that we haven't owned since 2004.
  3. MAD Magazine for quick comedy relief.
  4. Pair of infant Superman pajamas that my parents gave us as a Christmas present and as a hint on our first Christmas back in Florida. Ha – I showed them!
  5. Books – because of course they belong in a drawer, not in a bookcase with the rest of their kind. They're too good for their home.
  6. Pieces of a cut-up credit card stored here for security purposes for all of those thieves who go through our garbage. Not because I'm crazy paranoid.
  7. Avitable.com condoms. Unused.
  8. Cable splitters, in case of a cable emergency.
  9. Handi-wipes that expired in 2004. Is that even possible?
  10. A Zippo lighter that says "Fuck Communism" on the side. /comic reference
  11. Hot pink cock ring. Obviously for gay sex only.
  12. Old lunch receipt from 2004. Parking receipt from 2003. Saved for tax purposes. The retarded packrat tax, apparently.
  13. Belt that never fit me, but I can now wear as tight as it goes. And beat my imaginary children with.
  14. K-bar knife from the US Marine Corps, because you never know when you might need to stab people in your bedroom.
  15. Light-up clown nose for fun and games and scaring children.
  16. Piggy bank that I received when I was born. Has my name and birthdate engraved on it. Contains nothing.
  17. Apparently at its old age, piggy is incontinent and keeps pooping out coins.

I think I'll keep the knife, hang up the belt, put the books and magazine away, wear the Superman pajamas, put on the cock ring, split my cable, wipe my hands, spend my change, wear the clown nose, and write my name on my forehead, and then I'll have my sock drawer back!


In other Avitanews, today is the birthday of a friend in the UK, Dan from All That Comes With It. Go wish him a happy birthday and check out the awesome armchair reviews over at his new site, Lee and Dan's Midnight Movie Club!

Uncomfortable silence

Monday, January 25th, 2010

There's something palpable in the silence between two people who have nothing left to say. The "sweety"s and "honey"s are replaced with downcast stares and sad eyes. The guilt and the hurt and the confusion and the pain form together to create this invisible monster that swirls around the room and constricts my chest. Our words are low and tight, and an awkwardness exists that had never been present.

As we talk in cold, clinical terms about who gets which DVD or the extra set of chairs, it all seems so stupid. But it's necessary, and there are no words that can take away the inevitable. Even knowing that I am the architect of the demolition, it's the fact that we built it together, brick by brick, that makes it So. Goddamn. Hard. If only I could offer solace or comfort. Something other than quietly saying "I'm sorry". But I can't. It's no longer my place. I gave up that right.

We lapse into familiar routines for an instant. We share a chuckle at an inside joke, and in the space between heartbeats, everything feels normal. But even quicker, reality raps at the door. We finish our conversation and return to that thick, heavy silence. A silence that has now been replaced with the quiet hush of my new empty home.