Stop me if you've heard this one

Or possibly a better title would be "A Diva's Cautionary Tale," aka a rant about Husband 1.0 or as we like to refer to him, Mr. Fuckball.

Mr. F has contacted me recently to request that his child support obligation be lowered by oh, about 70%. He claims that his income is such that he "cannot afford the egregious amount" he is currently paying. He wants to go to court to make this permanent, as he did four years ago when he had again another request for modification that would benefit him and his preferred lifestyle. His argument then? "I really just don't enjoy my time with them, so they should spend more time with you. Plus I want to be able to travel more."

Internets, I give you the Top 10 facts and allow you to judge for yourself whether Mr. Fuckball has a case.

1. Mr. Fuckball is, as of last accounting, a certified millionaire who is self-employed.
2. Mr. Fuckball owns not one, but two homes, one in my state and one in Florida.
3. Mr. Fuckball flies back and forth between said homes, with his girlfriend, twice a month to the tune of about $1000/month in airfare.
4. The amount of the child support he pays to me is less than $1000/month.
5. Mr. Fuckball's latest purchase was a nice new boat for his home in Florida, so he can fish.
6. Mr. Fuckball and his girlfriend (aka "Frangipani") have planned a nice long two-week scuba-diving vacation in Indonesia this fall which will cost probably more than a year's worth of child support.
7. Mr. Fuckball generally refuses to buy shoes, clothes, and school supplies for our children because, in his inimitable words, "your mother has enough money for that from all the goddamn support I pay her."
8. The last time he was forced by his children to buy them clothes, he took them to Goodwill.
9. Mr. Fuckball just inherited about $250K from his departed father.
10. Mr. Fuckball is planning to use some of that money for a down payment on a nice little airplane.

So. Any opinions out there, legal or otherwise? Is this a semantics problem? Should I give him a new nickname? Because for the LIFE OF ME I'm having trouble processing all this because of the blood pounding behind my eyeballs.

Back from Paradise

Got back from paradise on Saturday at midnight. I did not want to leave -- the place was PER.FECT. All adults, all-inclusive, all everything, 24/7. It was decadent, and I came home utterly spoiled and relaxed. Oh, and with a pretty good tan for a blonde.

I want to hold on to certain things -- like never turning on the TV, going barefoot every day, not caring what time it is, not rushing to get things done every second of the day, and simply sitting in the midst of nature and just being. One night we laid on a rattan bed out on the beach in the moonlight and simply looked up at the stars and listened to the ocean, and it was sublimely peaceful. I need to hold on to that in my daily life, so I am going to find a way to do it.

And I am DEFINITELY going back next year.

The horse is not quite dead

I told Stacey that my new motto is: "If the Horse is Dead, Get Off." She immediately chortled and offered to make me a T-shirt, and I'm sure she will, because she is just that kind of fabulous.

What kind of fabulous, do you say? Well, you Numbers out there have known her way longer so I know you have your own stories of her helping to put out personal fires and save lives. This is why her official Superhero name is Estacey de las Flamencos, complete with flaming pink cape and outsized twinkly tiara, whapping the bad guys with her diamond scepter of justice.

Seriously. When you are as insane as I am, it helps to have girlfriends like her. After the radioactive sludge fight that I had with Mr. Diva, I was ready to get off the horse, dead or not, because I was so fucking tired of the bucking and jumping fits. I was ready to shoot the horse, then douse it in napalm, then stuff it in a FedEx box and send it off to the White House as Exhibit A in the show "Ten reasons why libertarians and liberals can never peacefully coexist," begging the pardon of MLK Jr. and all you Unitarian Universalists out there.

Anyway, my dahling Stacey listened to me bloviate and whimper, and did nothing but listen and tell me she loved me and supported me and would be there for me and promised to pour me drinks and help me move out if that's what I wanted, and this is the kicker; she offered to put her cell phone by her bed so I could call her day or night.

Miraculous.

Then, there is the other Teri. She has a blog, or used to have a blog, but I don't know if she does anymore. It's a shame if she doesn't because she is an insanely talented writer -- she even gets PAID to write for a living. Teri lives on a sandbar far, far, from home, but she previously lived in the same city as me and was my co-worker, frequent lunch companion and creative doppleganger. She was the one who introduced me to Nordstrom's shoe department where I have had many a love affair with sky-high heels and metallic leather. She also got me through massive postpartum depression with my firstborn and held my hand through my divorce from Husband 1.0 (AKA Mr. Fuckball). Teri is the Queen of Cruises and has been on every cruise line on the planet, and although she still hasn't been able to convince me to get on one of those colossal floating cities, if I ever do it will be when I can go with her. She is the safe port in a storm -- and she ALSO offered her phone services 24/7 in case I was about to jump off the bridge.

Astounding.

This is Unthinkable for me. I have never called a person in the middle of the night. But boy is it a comfort to know that I can. The universe, miraculously, gave this to me, and I am forever grateful.

Thank you to my dear friends.

P.S. As for Mr. Diva, I smacked him hard with a cluestick. Profuse apologies are not enough, we need some action. The plan is in place, so good luck to us.