Horrible Bosses and Good Friends

I saw Horrible Bosses this weekend, and despite the mixed reviews out there, I loved it! Not one, not two, but THREE of my creepy old lady crushes as stars. Plus one of my unrequited gay crushes, and an on-again, off-again girl crush. I was floating on air before the movie even started.

Jason Bateman (swoon), Jason Sudekeis (swoon again), Charlie Day (ok, not swooning so much since in this movie you can tell that he's maybe 5'6" but still funny as hell), Jennifer Aniston, Colin Farrell, Kevin Spacey (awww what's in the box?? I think of that line every single time I see Spacey), the fabulous and hilarious Jamie Foxx and a cameo by the always kick ass Donald Sutherland. What's not to love?

The story isn't super original but the presentation more than makes up for that slight shortcoming. As far as movies go these days, like just about everything else in my life, the bar is set pretty low. All I ask is that it just doesn't suck. If it can keep my attention, if it makes me laugh or cry, if it has people in it I can think about later while clutching my body pillow and feeling shameful, it's been money well spent. And considering my friend treated me to this movie, it was like an extra helping of gravy. Really good, homemade gravy.

Which brings me to the good friends portion of this post: I love my friends. I know I babble on about this, but I really, really love them and cannot believe how blessed I am in the friend department. Every once in a while, I'll go into one of my Depression Lite funks, and want to just hide, go all hermit for a while. And that's when a friend will call and want to just hang out, or go do something, or wants to check in and make sure I'm still functioning. Even with my Greta Garbo/I vant to be alone history, they still do it. And I love them for that.

I've been gearing up for another legal go-round with Big Daddy, and like always, it give me twitches and causes a great deal of stress. But one thing I've come to count on is the support of my girlfriends (and hey, I can't forget my ever increasing circle of guy friends, too. My testosterone-infused homies are the best!). If I need to bounce ideas off of them, they're there. If I need to rant like Louis Black, they're there. If I need to cry, I can count on a posse of comfortable shoulders to be at the ready.

This past week, when real life slowly slipped back for me and the kids, my friends were there. When Worry and Fret came back onto the scene, I was able to call a couple of them and kvetch about it, about how I hate that old fear and what it does to cloud my vision. They talk me down, smooth my ruffled feathers, rock me like a fussy baby until I'm able to breathe again and can see clearly.

I met a woman this weekend, at a little hen gathering. She's divorced, like me, but unlike me she has been able to move on and is now engaged. We talked, at length, about how hard it is to get to the "next level" after the whole divorce debacle. She shared her frustrations, her fears, and how she managed to just get on with life. After I talked to her, I realized just how guarded I've been, how I've used everything in my arsenal as excuses to not get out there, back into the world, and let myself live again. Oh, don't get me wrong; I live a pretty decent life, a life filled with awesome people and plenty of good times. But I have built such walls around my heart that I'm beginning to think they have become impenetrable.

Big Daddy did a number on me, and believe me when I say that there are scars on my heart that will never go away. Even if he does grow a set one of these days and does the right thing by me, and by the kids, there will be residue from his slimy grasp that will not come off no matter how hard I scrub.

I have every excuse you can imagine; the biggest by far is my not wanting to cause any turmoil in the lives of my kids. I have seen how hard it's been for them watching their father create a whole new identity, and how much they don't like Secretary, and I am loathe to bring anyone new into their lives. But last Friday, when they left for Big Daddy's house, I was alone. The house was quiet and it dawned on me for the first time that it won't be too long before it's quiet all the time. And that's when I'm going to regret all of this shielding I've been doing.

Talking to this woman was comforting but also kind of jolting. I'm going to have to learn how to not see my needs and wants as threatening to the kids or to myself. It's hard for someone like me to put things into the proper perspective; people like me, we tend to keep ourselves as the person in the back of the photograph. Blurry, out of focus. When in reality, we should allow ourselves to be front and center, at least some of the time.

This learning to evolve thing is hard.

And one final thought before I go...I have to share how EXCITED I am about my book. I have the first chapter outlined (there are actual paragraphs written) and the characters are becoming three-dimensional and the ideas, the images, the bits and pieces are all coming together. I haven't been this pumped up about something in a long, long time. Some of my kick-ass friends have agreed to be consultants for me (thank God for my friends who went to medical, law and journalism schools). I am getting ready to sit down for what's sure to be painful but hopefully, cathartic: the interviews with women who have gone through the shitty roller-coaster ride of being left by their husbands.

A huge thank you to ALL of you who responded, by the way. You are all rock stars and I'm so thankful that so many of you are willing to share your stories with me. There are days I think the internet will be the downfall of society, but when I heard from so many women, from all over this country (and the world!) I realized that it can be a good thing, too.

And now, since the Hades-like humidity has dropped (for now), I am going to take Walter out for a nice long walk. I was worried that we'd have to find some doggy-anti-depressants for him during the heat wave, when his sluggish owner fell way behind in the walks department. I don't like to be sweaty. Unless there's really good reason.

Have a fabulous Sunday, people.