Archive for January, 2008

Beating the mean nasty bullies

Posted in minx with tags on January 27, 2008 by evilminx

I hate bullies.

But to me, a bully is someone who will dish it out to me.

I’ve always been a ‘fraidy cat. Never terribly good at confrontation, or at standing up for myself. Not that it ever stopped me trying, mind you, but I always felt very self-conscious at how flustered I got, at how emotional and distraught — and the mean nasty bully was cool as a cucumber and packed a verbal punch that would lay me out for a week.

And then there were the after-effects.

The sick, sunken feeling in the pit of my stomach that I could have said this, should have said that, could have done it better, should have done it better. That I sounded shrill, weak and ineffectual. Pathetic and stupid.

Today, I stood up for myself to a mean nasty bully. Actually, I stood up for myself twice, but one of the people wasn’t a mean nasty bully. She’s a friend, who was thoughtless is all. She didn’t show up at my evening in-birthday-coffee-with-friends (because I’m so damn sedate)… and she didn’t even call. The reason why she didn’t show up was completely valid (she’s self-employed and she was on a fucker of a deadline) and she sent a message by way of her husband. (Husband is one of my closest friends, and no, I have never fucked him. And I never would, despite him being a sex god of Adonis-like proportions. Much like Al.)

But I was seriously pissed that she didn’t’ even bother to make direct contact to wish me a happy fucking birthday, for pity’s sake.

So I was planning on emailing her. I am, after all, self-admittedly scared — nay, TERRIFIED — of verbal confrontation. I had the email written in a variety of ways and nuances in my head, with a choice of colors to boot. But I hadn’t quite gotten around to committing the thoughts to paper.

And then she called. Voluntarily.

And I told her, quietly, calmly and in perfect control, how upset I’d been. How hurt that she obviously thought so little of me that she wouldn’t bother to even pick up a godforsaken phone to a friend to apologize. How I understood that work had to be her priority — but that not arriving and not communicating were two very different sins of disproportional weight.

Being the good friend she is, she was absolutely aghast at how she’d acted, and took full responsibility. She apologized profusely and reassured me that I had done nothing wrong, that it was all her and that she was tremendously sorry.

“I’m so sorry I was such a crappy friend!” she cried.

“It’s OK. You weren’t a crappy friend, you were a good friend who did a thoughtless and crappy thing. For which you apologized and took responsibility — and that, in my opinion, ends the matter.”

Yay me.

The other event, as I described to my pal Madeline, was less smoothly executed, but effective, more or less.

A woman — the mother of a friend of the young Manx at school, took it upon herself to phone me, and berate me for something that my son did. Not to her, or her kid (or any other kid, for that matter). Incidentally, this woman is someone for whom I have done not a few favors, entirely altruistically, and out of the goodness of my heart, including running her fucking ill-mannered offspring back home when she decides that her fucking period pain is too, too much for her. Oh, and hey kids? Learn how to say thank you when someone does you a favor, you little shits. There’s a life lesson for free, from me. You certainly aren’t going to learn it from your primitive cunt of a mother.

So she just decided that she had the right to call me and say “Hey, Minxie. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you do that? How could you? You deserve a smack upside the head.”

(Seriously. Words to that effect.)

At first, I was gobsmacked so badly that beyond a few stuttered defensive retorts which sounded hollow even to my own ears, I was bereft of the power of speech.


Here is where the story gets interesting. I was absolutely furious at the sheer unadulterated chutzpah of this camel-driver’s second whore, and I marched around the grounds of the school, fuming and breathing fire.

Then, instead of shrinking from the confrontation, as is my wont, and allowing the rage and pain inside me to subside into self-loathing and shame, I called her back.

I had decided what I wanted to say to her, and I planned to do it in a cool, calm and collected manner. However, this asshole of a Neanderthal woman was not prepared to listen to me, so I shouted my message, making sure she could hear me, and then I hung up.

“hey, bitch, deal with your own fucking kid and leave mine to me. oh and next time you want a favor? bite me.”

I still got terribly upset after the whole thing, and I cried. But that ineffectual feeling was absent from the cramp in my solar plexus, and in an odd way, despite having hated having to go through the experience, oddly I felt triumphant.

As a wise woman said to me: “I’m so glad you’re sticking up for yourself. Nobody else will, and even if they did, you’d still not feel as strong as you do right now.”

Amen to that, sister.


Birthday blues

Posted in minx with tags on January 26, 2008 by evilminx

Today is my birthday.

It’s a been whole year since I had one of them.

I’ve found myself in more reflective state than the usual euphoria of “it’s my birthday, nothing can touch me, no one can harm me”. It could be to do with the effect that being back in therapy is having on me. I’ve managed to begin breaking down the walls of frustration and inertia that I’ve slowly been building up, cemented together by that all-purpose binder, denial.

I found that I’d managed to alienate a great many of my friends. Well, when you begin living a secret life, you automatically become more secretive. Even if in a less than demonstrative manner, you do. If you cannot share with all your close friends that you are having an affair — which I’m currently not, but I was — then you de facto withdraw from them somewhat.

And if you can share it, or think you can, you also need to think twice about whether you should. You will be placing a large amount of pressure upon them by requiring them to keep your secret. And if they know and are friends with your other official half — this could be no small strain. On them, and on your relationship.

Suffice it to say — I’ve lost a lot of friends over the last few years. I blame no one but myself, and I take full responsibility for this. And I’ve also gained a lot of friends in whom I can confide… but when they’re online, it’s not always the same.

I am lucky enough, however, to have retained some wonderful people in my life who know me and understand me, and have no issue with pressure or strain. And they’re all coming over for coffee tonight. And since CH found out about the Muse and I, and our troubles no longer include him — so to speak — it’s ceased to be an issue.

Said friends also know of our troubles, and are an immense comfort to me. That’s why I love them — they are there for me in every sense of the word.

I’m not having an affair currently, mostly because after the Muse and I broke up, I was so heartbroken that I couldn’t envisage giving my heart to anyone else. I still feel that way. I’ve learned that I can care about others, but not in the same way. I won’t lie — I am not inactive in that area. But it’s a physical thing, not emotional. A need I have that I simply cannot get from CH, despite him wanting to give…

But back to the dismantling of the Wall O’Inertia. I reached out to make some new friends. And people responded positively.

That amazed me.

I’ve spent so long being down on myself and worrying and retreating within myself that I began believing that I wasn’t worthy of anyone else’s love. Love of any nature. I was wrong, go figure. I mean I still have fences i need to attempt to mend — the therapist agreed with me that if I try to mend a fence from one side, but the opposing side is not cooperative, then its probably a fence that should stay broken.

It’s plucking up the courage to even try that is the problem.

But I can do it. I’m re-finding my strength.

And you all are the shizzle for helping me. My love to you all from the 39-year-old,


A moan, an achievement and great chicken soup

Posted in minx with tags on January 18, 2008 by evilminx

So Blogger is finally available in Persian, Arabic and Hebrew? Cool. One of those languages is the native tongue around here, but I want English in the bar across the top of any Blogger blog screen.

Moan, moan, moan.

So, it’s been a while. Yes, sorry about that. You must forgive me. Here is my special place where I come when I wish to moan and get emo, and spill all the angst about how my life sucketh the big one.

I have other places for *other* reports. Yes… I do mean that. The choices I make about how to cope with the hell that I laughingly call my marriage are often not quite what you might call conventional or even wise… but godammit, they’re fun. But when I write about them, I go under a different name entirely. Here, the Minxdom is less about the Evil side of me (although I’ll be damned if I lose my handle, so it stays) and more about the cowering, frail and vulnerable Minx on the inside.

I don’t show her to many people. In fact, you guys are pretty much it. Feel honoured.

This place will always hold a very special place in my minxy li’l heart. And I’ve picked up a new linker. Duke Orsino over at Illyrical Despatches has been Minxified and linked me after one comment. Bless him, he doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for.

Currently, I’m not moving anywhere. I hate packing and frankly, one break-through of my inertia a month is just about all I can handle. Yes! I have finally managed to do something. Not 100% sure what the outcome will be, but with the first few posts of Minx, way back when in 2005 (nearly 3 years ago… fuck how time flies!) I remember mentioning how I was learning to cope with that uncertainty, and to embrace it — rather than t eschew it as had been my wont for… oooh… my whole life.

What am I babbling about? Well I shall tell you. Contain your collective souls in patience.

I started therapy again. I did, honest. And I’m so pleased I did. I think, in the last six months, ever since I laid aside my plans to separate from CH (ostensibly due to compassion although deep down I suspect that my penchant for deep and frothy denial had much to do with it), I have been suppressing the feelings inside me like so many flowers in a press. Therapy is helping me loosen the bolts a little and I find myself able to think things through a little more comprehensively, without the constant problem-rushing-around-and-around-my-head feeling that I have been plagued with, and was probably a primary reason for the repression in the first place.

I’m getting stronger. Slowly. And soon, I hope to start effecting some changes. Practical changes. Telling CH about me being back in therapy is the first thing I plan to do.

Well don’t fall over in amazement. You’ve met me before and marveled at my astonishing gift for procrastination. It shouldn’t surprise you.

The reason I haven’t told him is because the last time I went into therapy, it was just prior to my telling him that I believed our marriage to be in irreparable trouble. And his reaction was, and I shit you not, “it’s that therapist. She’s told you that you need to get out of the marriage.”

The implication, of course, being that I cannot think for myself. Because, you know, I’m STOOOOPID.


So, anyway… the new therapist is turning out to be pretty damn great. I’ll keep y’all posted.

And the chicken soup in the title? I’ve been making it as I write. Write a paragraph, skim some scum off the surface. (Certain people will remember my very special name for the scum.) Write another paragraph, chop carrots and add to the pot. Write a couple more blocks, lift lid, stir and re-cover pot. It smells absolutely fabulous, and has made blogging in a very cold flat more of a pleasure than usual.

Personally, I think good chicken soup requires a side order of blogging to make it as good as it can be, and you know I am a Minx of my word. But does that make blogging the chicken soup for the soul?

You might think that. I couldn’t possibly comment.