Are you there, God? It's me, Rachel.

I always love using that title.

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but, I'm a very practical person. Shocking, I know, given my affinity for ridiculously priced shoes and grandiose ideas of being famous for SOMETHING. But really, I am. That's why I don't own said shoes and I'm still living in Small Town, USA........for the time being. I have found that I am this way in pretty much every facet of my life. Even religion.

Now, I do consider myself a religious person. I am a confirmed Catholic and go to church on a fairly normal basis. I have many friends who are very devout, while also having friends that consider themselves more "spiritual" rather than religious.I also have friends that don't believe in a higher power, which is fine. I totally get it's different strokes for different folks. I was brought up in a household where we were taught to ask questions. Catholicism is ALL ABOUT the free will so we were taught to exercise it to its fullest extent when it came to gaining knowledge. Believe in something, but make sure you fully understand it to the best of your abilities. So, in true family fashion, I was the poster CCD child (CCD, for you non-Catholic heathens, is Sunday School with a fancy name. Also in true Catholic fashion, I don't remember what it stands for). I did my homework, I knew all my prayers and I participated in heated debate. I also told my 6th grade teacher that she was a bad person when I asked if my pets would be in Heaven and she promptly informed me that dogs don't go to Heaven. She clearly hadn't seen the movie and didn't know my dog. I also was thrown out of class in 7th grade because I got into a debate with my teacher as to whether or not I was being a "good" Catholic by not reading this thing at Mass where the congregation was the mob choosing for Jesus to die. I believe my words were, "...but I, as Rachel, was not there and did not make that choice. So I shouldn't have to be made to feel bad about it". I didn't get the memo about the Catholic guilt, so, I was asked to leave. Which was fine because I didn't want any stupid pizza anyway, Mr. H. But, still, I had/have my faith and truly believe that I always will. Even when it is tested, though it may not be up to optimum strength.

I don't know about you, but, I can honestly say that I don't think I've had a true religious experience. You know, the type where you hear/feel the voice of God or a deceased loved one giving you a message or encouraging you one way or another. I've had dreams before, but none of the prophetic kind. And to be honest, they were still kind of confusing and left me with more questions than closure. Which is hard, particularly in my situation. All I've wanted is a message from the beyond or a soothing feeling from God when I needed it most. I don't know if I haven't been listening loud enough or openly enough, but, I don't feel that I've gotten one. I can't tell you how many times I've been sobbing in the bathroom, repeating my Our Fathers or Hail Marys until I can't speak anymore and I haven't felt anything. No warm hand on my shoulder, no burning bath towel in lieu of a bush, nothing.

At first, I wasn't able to talk to God. I remember laying in my bed after I forced myself to take a shower those first few days, and I asked my friend J (she was staying with me) if she thought God would be mad at me if I didn't talk to him for a few days. She assured me that he wouldn't so I didn't. I felt that I couldn't ask him for anything at that moment. I just didn't have it in me. But I came around. And I remember that in conversations that I had with people in the beginning, I would tell them that I wasn't mad at God. That I more-so clung to him and my religion more than ever. I wouldn't say that is true anymore.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not denouncing the existence of God nor my religion itself, so don't freak out! I'm just much more comfortable saying now that I'm frustrated. I wouldn't say angry, because, for me, I know what it means when I'm angry at someone. I'm very absolute with my anger, there is no middle. And I don't necessarily feel that way at God. Frustrated though? Oh hell yes. Because like, God- WTF, BRO?!

I guess I need to explain what prompted this religious confession and confusion. I recently started reading "Eat Pray Love". And when I say recently, I mean today. In the beginning where she is kind of laying out her situation, she talks about her sobbing in her bathroom (By the way, the bathroom seems to be THE place for crying.) and she has her first real conversation with God. She is sobbing and praying for him to tell her what to do. She then describes hearing/feeling "her" voice, in a way that she's never heard/felt it before, telling her to go back to bed. She then explains that she felt that that was God telling her what she needed to hear at that moment. Reading that reduced me to tears.

I've also recently had a conversation with a friend of mine who told me about her brother's passing in the last month. She explained to me the situation and then she told me that she heard/felt her brother's voice telling her that he was okay and that she didn't need to be upset or worried. When I drove home that night, I cried.

A few months ago, my mom told me that she felt Chris around. That she felt specific feelings. I told her that I didn't want to know and I cried.

Noticing a trend?

All of these instances, which should bring me hope and comfort, reduce me to a crumpling, teary mess and are like a serrated knife to the chest. None of it makes me feel good. Why? Because I haven't felt any of it. I have been so desperate for a comforting word or a feeling and I haven't gotten anything. Not that I really deserve it, but, dammit! I deserve it! I've done my best to be faithful and to not be angry at God. I don't want to be angry at God. He didn't do all this crap (granted, I'm sure his hand was in it in some way) but like, c'mon! And then on top of that, a month or so back, I was feeling particularly crappy this one Sunday. So, I felt that my soul needed to be nourished and that I would get my message. Because when I started to REALLY go to church again, every Sunday it was like the sermon was meant for me. It was everything I needed to hear and sometimes, everything I didn't know I needed to hear. So of course, I figured that would make everything better. Well, the Gospels start to be read and it's the freaking story of how woman was created from man and all those other sappy Gospels that they read at weddings. I felt like I had been slapped in the face. And Father D's sermon was no better! I literally cried the entire time I was at church. I didn't need to hear that, at all. And to be honest, I hadn't been back to church since, until Christmas Eve. Which really was no better because that message made me cry, too. AND there was a couple that was in our Pre-Cana class. ALL KINDS OF AWESOME.

Maybe this is partly my fault. Maybe I don't have my heart open enough. But the idea of completely opening my heart, even to God, is terrifying. I'll try just a little and I can literally feel one of side of my heart tearing into the other to keep from being separated. I guess I'm being stubborn and waiting for The Sign to show that God is listening and hasn't forsaken one of his children (I don't really think he has but that was nice for dramatic effect, no?). I now, more than ever, need the reassurance that I'm not alone. I am loved and cared for and that there is a reason.

Maybe that's part of this lesson. To learn what it really means to have faith. That you still have it when it's tested. Ugh....do you know what that must mean? I have to be patient to get the pay off.

Gross. I suck at being patient.

Christmas Card

Hello my lovelies!

I know I'm always saying this, but, I am sorry for the delays in posting. But! That's a sign of a somewhat busy social life so GO ME!

Things have been going well. The holidays have made things a teensy bit crazy but I'm doing okay. I think there have only been maybe two days that I've actually felt sad about where my life is now. I know that sounds kind of bad, especially since I should be sad about who is missing from my life. But I'm still angry. I'll probably be angry for a long time. And as unhealthy as long-term anger is, it's been making this process easier. I'm not clutching my "What Should Have Been's" and what we had any more. Trust me, my self-deprecating humor and penchant for making those around me uncomfortable with my jokes is still here. I mean c'mon, how could you NOT joke about my situation? I'm one locked-up-in-the-basement situation away from a complete Lifetime movie. And yes; I fully expect Neve Campbell or Jennifer Love Hewitt to play me. Dopplegangers say whaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!

Those of you who are friends with me on FB and follow me on Instagram have already been informed, but, for those of you who don't know, I got cast in a show! I play Nora in "Brighton Beach Memoirs" at Port Tobacco Players! This is my first speaking role since I did "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in 2006 and I couldn't be happier. This show is amazing, the cast is amazing and the management staff is amazing. The show opens January 25th and runs until February 10th. Expect lots of shameless promotion and demands for YOU to come see it. Did I mention I have to speak in a Brooklyn Jewish accent? Priceless.

Now, I'm sure you saw the title of this post and are perhaps curious as to what Christmas card I am referring to. Given how things have gone for me this year, you might be expecting that Grandma Crazy Pants sent me a Christmas Card. While that would be appropriate and expected, that isn't what it is. This is my Christmas Card to you.

So many of you have been so supportive and loving through this entire process. And while it isn't over, I can't express to you how much I appreciate each and every one of you. I would have never imagined this for myself but I'm glad it happened. It has given me a glimpse into so many hearts and minds that I would never have gotten the chance to experience had it not happened. You all have such beautiful hearts and I am so blessed to have such a stupendous support system. I wish that I could have written each of you a beautiful note but I probably would get instant arthritis and it would take me about 5 hours, every day, for three weeks. But just know that I appreciate you. I thank you. And I love you.

I hope you have the Merriest of Christmases, Happiest of Hanukkahs, Kewlest of Kwanzas, Rocking-est of Solstices and whatever else you cah-razay kids celebrate. You guys are the tits and I love the shit out of you.

Lying Is the Most Fun a Guy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off

I'm actually kind of nervous to write this post, which is hilarious given the murderous rage its subject matter has incited time and time again since I've found out. I've disabled the comments because frankly, I'm tired of everyone dropping bombs on me. I'm tired of people telling me things that they think will help me when all it has done is tear me apart. Especially whoever LoveABlackCat is (even though I'm pretty sure I know who you are), leave me alone. I don't want any part of what you are, who you are or what you have to say. I am beyond done. Finished.

And I have every right to be. This is my life and I have a right to say what I have to say.

Well, now that that ominous disclaimer has been thrown out there, I'm not sure if you all saw my post The Fool, but the profile named above left a comment on that post that read:

 He was married a second time and it was a contract marriage. None of the family knew until the day before the funeral. She was at the funeral, but stayed in the background to spare you any more pain. She didn't even know he was dead until days before the funeral, that's how much they were a 'couple'. He filed for a divorce a week before he died. He loved YOU.

Haha.....that.....I can't even tell you how much that comment did NOT make me feel better. I'll have you know that after I read that, I cried so hard that I had to leave work and go talk to my cousin for the better part of two hours. So hard that my father debated driving to come get me to take me home. Ripped in half. Disgusted. Confused. Ruined. That's what that comment did. I clearly can't have any part of this to be mine. At all. And I thought about it and I knew EXACTLY what this girl looked like. I remember clear as day turning around to watch the processional (of his remains in a fucking gift box, which I was not told that was happening until AFTER the funeral), and I saw a girl there who I did not recognize. At that moment, I remember feeling my warning bells go off. Who is that girl? I've never seen her before. Why is she here by herself? And I made note that day that I hadn't seen her at the reception. And I've never seen her again. I mean, why would I have those feelings that day? Now everything makes perfect sense. 

The balls of that girl. I mean....I can't get over it. The complete and utter gall to even THINK that she should have been there. To watch my skin scream to try to keep me together. To try to keep me from falling to pieces on the floor. To know that she was LEGALLY Chris' wife when I had his ring on my finger. And what; am I supposed to THANK her for keeping away from me to "spare pain"? Thank you, dear mystery wife of Chris. Thank you for doing your part in this yarn of lies. Thank you for staring me in the eye as you plunged yet another knife into my still-beating heart. What's left of it. Thank you for ruining another part of Chris that I so desperately clung to. I can't thank you enough.

Now, when did he marry this girl you ask? According to my very reliable source, he married her about two weeks before he met me. Here's the kicker. When he told me that he had been married before, I asked him very thorough questions. I asked when the divorced was finalized and if there were any children. I also asked if there was anything else he needed to tell me and he said that he was SUPPOSED to marry this girl for a contract marriage, but he met me and went back to Arizona and told her that he couldn't go through with it. Apparently when he went back to Arizona, he told her he didn't want to do it and filed for divorce and the bitch was being difficult and wouldn't sign papers. He thought that everything had been taken care of when he was shipped off to Iraq. But it wasn't since he found out three weeks before he died that he was still married. So, he deliberately lied. 

Now, if THAT isn't enough, another layer of the onion has been torn off.

Chris cheated. 

I'm not disclosing how many times but it was a handful. But, does it really matter how many? The fact is, he cheated. I've never been cheated on....that I know of. Now, I question everything. Every gift, every endearing word, every touch. I mean, who else wouldn't cheat on me if the one person I loved with my very being, who I was planning on spending my life with would?

How do I know for sure, you ask? Hindsight is always 20/20 my friends.

• A few months prior to all this nonsense, I had felt like I was losing Chris. I didn't know why, but I did. I thought that maybe it was because I had lost a bunch of weight. I know it sounds silly, but, I thought that because I looked different, even though it was for the better, that it created some sort of wedge. Things were just different and I'm very much the type that if there is something different then maybe I'm the one not doing enough. So dumb, I know, but I just wanted to make everything better.
• He started drinking more. A lot more. Granted, that could have been attributed to all the stress he was under, keeping up with all the lying he was doing. 
• It started to become more difficult for him to come up for wedding stuff. He would give me reasons why he couldn't come up, even though he knew they were important.
• I was going to surprise him and drive to GA to visit him and when I told him, he talked me out of it. I had a bit of a medical issue around that time and he used that to his advantage.
• I'm not ashamed to say that I have had HPV before. I mean, seriously, who hasn't? I got it from my first serious boyfriend yeeeeears ago and haven't tested positive for it in 3 years. When I went for my yearly check up in May, I had such a flare that my doctor called to tell me that it came back positive. Again, I turned it all on myself and thought "How could this happen?! I've never tested positive for it while with Chris! How can my body be doing this?". I cried because I was so concerned. 

That last reason makes me feel ashamed of myself. Why didn't I trust my gut and why on earth would I make that positive test my fault? Infidelity never crossed my mind. I mean, I didn't think he had the time. He really had me fooled.

And then recently when I was trying to fall asleep, you know, that time when your brain likes to drop little memory nuggets on you to keep you up at all hours. I remembered something that I had completely brushed off.

I found the evidence in front of his family.

After Chris' belongings were shipped to his family, they had me over to go through his stuff. He had a blanket of mine that my deceased grandmother made for me when I was born as well as countless gifts and movies. Well, as we're all sitting together in the living room, I find a pair of these tacky ass hoop earrings with dangling feathers on them. I picked them up and my face went crimson and hot. I asked everyone, "Whose earrings are these?" and everyone just assumed they were mine. Which, c'mon. Do I look like the type who would wear feathery hoop earrings? I wish I still had them to show you because they were AWFUL! But in that moment, my stomach was in that throat and the world went from beneath my feet. But I talked myself out of it. I thought, "There's no way in hell. When would he have had the time? I would've known. He couldn't have done that to me". And I didn't think of that again. Until now.

Now, the rage that happened was a three level rage. 

• Level 1: Rage that it happened.
• Level 2: Rage that it happened in front of his family.
• Level 3: That this bitch was probably tacky as all hell. I mean, I taught him to have MUCH better taste than that! Taste in fashion translates to taste in women. I TAUGHT HIM TO LIKE BOWTIES FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

I can't even begin to explain to you how Italian I handled this situation. The night I found all this out, I laughed hysterically. I didn't stop laughing for 2 days. I laughed so much that everyone around me was nervous to talk to me. God bless my father because he knew exactly what I needed. That night he went to go to bed and I said "Before you go to bed, do we have access to a hammer?" "Why?", he asked. "Because I think I need to break something before I go to bed so I don't cry". So, up he got and headed outside. I went up to my room to grab the thing I wanted to break: an engagement gift from Chris' grandparents. It was a picture that I had taken that they had matted and framed. Smashing this would be releasing anger for Chris and his grandmother. Because, as you've seen, she's a nutjob (and that's the nicest thing I can call her). So, I went outside and my dad meets me and says, "Okay. So, we have the hammer (lifts hammer) but with this you have to get closer to what you want to hit and you'll get glass in your face. But with this baseball bat (lifts bat), you'll use more of your body and you'll be farther away". 

I grabbed the shit out of that bat.

He put down a big poster board and laid the picture face down. He says something about whenever I was ready but before he could even get the sentence out, I had already swung and slammed the tip of that louisville slugger into the back of that photo. Glass smashed, the frame crunched, and I felt glorious. By the time I was done it was hard to tell it used to be a picture. I believe my dad told me he was impressed, haha.

That's what was left when I was done.

After that I became incensed. I went up to my room and just started tearing things apart and throwing things in piles. I took out every picture I had framed in my room, fished out every memento I had hidden and pulled out three shirts I had saved that smelled like him. I tore everything apart with my bare hands. The last thing I did was grab a shirt of his that I had saved in a plastic bag. It had the most of his essence left and I have to be honest, I had to pause to think about whether or not I wanted to destroy it. What if I needed it for a day that I got really sad? What if I regret it? But then I thought, if I don't do it now I won't ever do it. And aren't I sad already? Why would I want to take comfort in something/someone who regarded me as nothing. As the 'ol "ball and chain" back in Maryland. The ghost of a fiance. So I grabbed the front of his collar and I relished the sound of the fibers tearing. I finally had an organic sound to what the sound of my heart had made. It felt good.

I haven't really cried since I found out. Up until recently I hadn't cried at all. I was too angry. Too disgusted. I'm still both of those things but I'm starting to feel more. I still don't understand and I will never understand. I have been the most hurt in this situation and all I did was love him unconditionally. All I did was be the best woman, the best partner, the best friend, the best person I could be and everything that can be taken from me has been taken from me. And not only that, I have been accosted and harassed publicly for nothing. For loving him.

I'm partially thankful for this happening. It gave me the final push to help me move on. I'm in the process of selling my engagement ring so that I'm able to leave this place. Many people have asked me if that was something I really wanted to do. If I really wanted to get rid of something so beautiful. I assure them that it is. It is beautiful. It is a beautiful reminder of a broken promise. A promise that has been broken time and time again.

I know this post is going to worry you, but really, I'm okay. I needed time to write this. I wanted to write as soon as I found out but it would have been a lot different. And please, if you have the means to do so, contact me only if it is something positive. As I stated before, if you only want to make comments or "say your piece", save it. Save your time, save your data, save your breath. Because I will not hear it. 

I am done. 

Inside The Actors Studio

Hello lovelies!

Again, I apologize for my absence. I am currently writing my explanation post as to why I've been quiet, so that should be up in the next few days. In the meantime, I visited a friend of mine's blog, Jasmine over at YelloMiniJazz and she did something I have ALWAYS wanted to do. If any of you are familiar with Inside The Actors Studio you'll know what I'm talking about. I know a fair amount of my theatre pals read this so I know you've got this covered and more than likely have already answered these questions. For those of you who don't, Inside The Actors Studio is hosted by James Lipton at New School University. He invites various actors and actresses and really gets inside their minds to find out what makes them tick. The best part is that the audience is made up of other aspiring artists so this show is extremely beneficial. From one artist to another, you can really learn so much from another person. At the end of the program James asks every single guest these questions and I have always dreamed about what I'd say if I were on that program. And trust me, I've been working on this for as long as I can remember since I've wanted to be an actress for as long as I can remember. So, here are my answers.....for now, haha:

1. What is your favorite word? Arugula...I just love the way it rolls off the tongue 
2. What is your least favorite word? Pussy....makes me cringe every.single.time.
3. What turns you on? A sense of humor and not being afraid to be silly
4. What turns you off? A showoff
5. What sound or noise do you love? Applause. And the violin
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Silverware scraping against a plate. It makes my teeth hurt
7. What is your favorite curse word? Fuck. It's a multipurpose word and a fricative so it feels so FUCKING good when you say it!
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? A stylist or a writer
9. What profession would you not like to do? The guys who collect all the dead animals on the side of the roads. A teacher or anything to do with politics.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? I'm sorry for all of this but I knew you could do it. They can't wait to see you...

Whew! That last question almost made me tear up! What do you think your answers would be?

I Promise I'm Still Here

I know, I know. I'm horrible.

Most of you who follow me on Instagram and Facebook saw the amount of rage I had going on a couple weeks ago and I PROMISE I'll fill you in on what happened. I just have to wait for one more loose end to be tied up before I can do that. We just want to make sure our asses are covered before I blow the top off.

Thank you so much for the interest and the support, though! It really means a lot that so many of you read my story and have such great things to share. To say that your comments build my confidence level would be a huge understatement. So thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!!

Hang in there. The news I've got is super juicy!!

The Fool

Well, my feeling of power and positivity was rather fleeting. I'm kind of back where I was; confused, angry, sad.....numb. I have found that I'm starting to become numb. And I don't really know how I feel about that. On one hand I feel like it's good because in a way it's like stuff isn't bothering me anymore. But on the other hand it worries me. Numb equals the inability to feel. This may make me sound like a masochist, but, even if I'm feeling hurt, I still want to feel.

What brings all this on, you ask? Here, I'll show you.

This is the latest hate speech I've received from the Grandmother:

·  Anne posted toChris

Sunday

Rachel, you are so sincerely insecure and immature. The message I sent was in reference to something someone else sent, someone you know. The message was sent with the love he had for his mom, whom you never knew nor knew of the relationship the two of them had. You were never even in mind when this was written. Where do you come off thinking it was about you? Again, it's all about Rachel. Mo

st of us have lives and views without thinking that it's all about us. Do you ever go through a day without so much hate and anger??? What you should do is embrace the fact that he had such a great relationship with his mother. This certainly would have been advantagious to you had the two of you had been married and she would have been alive. I do hope one day you will see how your attitude towards me specifically, and possibly the rest of our family, only hurt you in the long run. It could have been so different. His first and second wives knew all about him and his life and understood him completly. As it stands now, I still have a wonderful friendship with the two of them and we do keep in contact all the time. I wish it could have been differerent with you.

So, when I originally read this, I just kind of shook my head. It really didn't incite the rage in me that previous posts had. More or less, I know this woman is a COMPLETE AND TOTAL nut-job and she has no idea what she's talking about. But being the glutton for punishment that I am, I texted a close friend of Chris' and asked what all this crap about him having a second wife was about. I got "What about her? She was a contract wife. I've had one". 

................................................

Now, I know what a contract wife is. If you don't, basically the guy and the girl agree to get married for the benefits and the money. There is nothing romantic going on nor do the couple typically live together. It's essentially a business merger, the most basic form of marriage. This does not bother me. I find it sad but it's whatever. The part that bothers me is that Chris told me that he was SUPPOSED to enter into a contract marriage with a girl but then he met me so he told the girl that they weren't going to do it anymore. So why is it that everyone is saying that he actually DID marry this girl?

I feel duped. I feel lied to. I feel like such a fool. I feel angry at Chris for lying to me. I feel angry that I'm questioning him. I feel so lost and confused.

I don't know who or what to believe. And everyone keeps saying, "Just believe in the love that you and Chris shared and the fact that he loved you". And yes, while that is all well and good, how do I believe in that if our love was sort of based on a lie? 

In my heart of hearts I don't think he lied. I'm sure something messed up some place, somewhere, or something. And I know the person he was and he wouldn't do that to me. But it's just so hard because he's not here to answer my questions or to assuage my fear. I will never know the truth and that's what kills me about this whole situation. There are too many god damned questions that I won't ever get answers to.

It just makes me not want to believe in people or in relationships. I was lied to about an ex's alcoholism, I was lied to about this, I was lied to about another ex's feelings of me. I just want someone to love me enough to tell me the truth. To be so honest that there isn't a shadow of a doubt about how they feel, what they've done, or anything. When I am in a relationship, I am in it. I want to believe in that person so much and do anything I can to make them happy. I think what hurts the most that in this relationship with Chris, he was hands down the love of my life. I sacrificed so much and relied on a promise. A promise that in the end he would take care of me and that would be together. And I waited. For two years and one month. On a promise. On his word. And it terrifies me that I may have believed in a liar. And I hate myself for feeling that way.

I just want it all to end.

Sometimes It Pays To Be A Drama Queen

Here's the post you've all been waiting for....

I believe that I have alluded to the troubles my family and I have been having with the caterer that we had chosen for my wedding. Basically they effed up by not putting anything in their contract about what happens when a client cancels their date, so we're due back our money. Well, we've only gotten half back and the woman who owns the business has been a complete ASSHOLE, stating that she hasn't gotten proof that "the guy is dead". You can read all the details on my yelp review.

Thursday after I had gotten home from work, my dad told me that he spoke with Caroline and she threw that lovely nugget of a comment at him. Now, my dad has a very colorful way with words and so I'm sure she got a pretty good idea of how my dad feels about her and the situation. He also dug out one of the programs from Chris' battalion ceremony in GA and said, "I got this out so if you'd like to go by there tomorrow and give this bitch her proof, you can go right ahead". "Oh, she's gonna get god damn proof alright..."

And then the drama queen planning began.

Now, I don't like confrontation. I'm really bad at it, especially if it's with women and if I'm sober. I panic about what the other person is going to say and I'm just not used to fighting with women. I grew up with all boys so that shit is cake. You literally just challenge their man-hood and out-wit them and you're good. It has been proven that I have earned my big man-balls when it comes to fighting with dudes.....but I digress. So, you can imagine that while I was FIRED.UP. Thursday night, my confidence began to wane as Friday went on. I played out the scenario over and over in my head and may have made a few notes about what I would say. Kind of a script, if you will. And I was gonna lay the guilt on so goooooooooooodddddddd.

I drove over to their house/place of business after I got off work. The last time I went over there, Caroline was home and her husband wasn't so I was fully prepared/nervous to talk to her. I pulled up in the driveway and prepared my proof: The battalion ceremony program, the obituary in the newspaper, Chris' dog tags and one of the bags of his clothes.

That's right. A bag of his clothes. Gotta go big or go home right?

High on nerves and rage, I marched around the house and to their front door. I plopped the bag down and had it open so a couple of his shirts were exposed. I knocked on the door and the husband, Hassan, answered. He REEKED of alcohol and had only the top two buttons of his shirt buttoned, so that I could see ALL KINDS of belly. I was thoroughly grossed out but I wasn't going to let this break my concentration.

Me: Is Caroline here?
Hassan: No she isn't.
Me: Well, Hassan, I guess you got the short of the stick in this situation. I am here because your wife has twice demanded that she needed proof that "the guy is dead". So, here I am. I have his program from the ceremony in GA, his obituary, his dog tags and a bag of his clothes since he won't be needing them anymore. Is this thorough enough for you?
Hassan: *makes hand gestures trying to get me to stop* No really, this isn't necessa-
Me: No. You don't get to talk. You've been talking for months now. It's my turn to talk. You're wife is disgusting. Do you have ANY idea how that makes me feel that she's demanding proof?!?! What kind of person does that?!?! My family is being treated appallingly and the fact that she has said this TWICE is beyond offensive. And then to act like she's sorry when it's to my face??!? I don't think so! I don't particularly have an issue with you, Hassan, but I have an issue how you run your business and I have a huge fucking problem with your disgusting wife.
Hassan: I'm so sorry. I haven't even talked to my wife, I don't-
Me: This has been going on since June 16th! You were notified the day after it happen. It's OCTOBER! That's embarrassing. I'm embarrassed that you run your business this way and I'm embarrassed that I chose you. Do you realize that on top of my grief and mourning that I now have to deal with this stress on top of everything else? Because you all can't run your business, I am unable to put to rest this fucking circus of a wedding. THE DATE IS PASSED!
Hassan: I will call your father immediately. 301-***-****. 301-***-****
Me: The fact that you have that number memorized just shows that this has gone on way too long. And I hope you do call him and figure this out. I also expect a personal apology from your disgusting wife.
Hassan: Look, I'm-
Me: Do you all also realize I'm 26. And I'm alone. (At this point I am shaking from all the rage and I can feel tears prickiling in my cheeks. "PLEASE LET ME CRY!" I kept thinking.) I have to COMPLETELY start over. Do you know how that feels? No. You don't. You got to get married and have children. I wasn't afforded that luxury. So thanks for making this situation a total and complete loss, not to mention a total and complete hell.
Hassan: I'm so sorry *gestures for hug*
Me: Don't touch me. I am leaving.

And I grabbed my bag and made my dramatic departure.

No sooner than when I got in my car and called my dad, he was already on the phone. He called me back a few minutes later and told me that he had just gotten off the phone with Hassan. He said that Hassan apologized profusely and that he would talk to Caroline and call my dad in the morning with a plan. Which, kind of happened but the phone call didn't happen until the afternoon. Hassan said that he would pay us something when he gets paid Thursday or Friday.

I gotta tell ya, THAT FELT AWESOME! I felt like I had freed some of the rage that I've had inside me the past four months. I was a little bummed that I couldn't do that to Caroline but oh well. That was probably a gift since I might have choked up a bit with her, but, who knows. I felt glorious and composed during my rage purge. Not to mention, clever as SHIT with my "props" (feel a little guilty calling them props but the thespian in me can't help it. i set one dramatic scene).

I'll be sure to keep you updated on it we actually get our money this week and if I get my apology. I've already cooked up my response :-)