Relationship Friday: My Condolences To The Bride

"No, no, no.  Why are you so uptight?  Jesus, she's just a friend."

“No, no, no. Why are you so uptight? Jesus, she’s just a friend.”

Oh, ho, ho!  The other day, I got a text — a text, not a phone call — from My Assclown, stating that he was getting married to Current Gal Pal.  My reaction surprised me.

I wasn’t angry.  Or sad.  Or happy for him.  I wasn’t jealous.

I felt bad.

I felt guilty.

I know, right?  How strange.  But I know something she doesn’t know, and I think that if she did know, she would not have said yes.

He’s been cheating on her.  Repeatedly.  With at least four different women over the last three years — and those are just the ones I know of (and I’m the ex-wife!).  There have been more, guaranteed.  I’m inclined to believe the old adage of “once a cheater, always a cheater”, and he’s a prolific one.

When he wants to, My Assclown can be incredibly charming.  Most sociopaths are like that.   It’s a superficial charm, mind you.  He has a sense of entitlement, no empathy (when I told him my mother was upset with him for cheating on me, he got angry, and snapped, “I don’t see why she’s mad.  It’s not like I cheated on her“), a ridiculous ego (he thinks he’s indispensible to the people around him, and smarter than everybody in the room), and is verbally abusive and manipulative.  He is also a very practiced liar.

But I know the real him.  We were together for twelve years, and he has not changed.  If anything, he’s gotten worse.  I’ve caught him in several lies, called him out, and listened while he smoothly turned the blame for the situation back on me and actively avoided discussing his failing.  I don’t fall for it anymore, mind you — contrary to his imagining, My Assclown in not the smartest one in the room.  He is a serial cheater.  He cheated on me with dozens of women over the years (despite his protestations that making out, blowjobs, and going down on his partner “isn’t really cheating”).  And he hasn’t stopped.  As long as he doesn’t get caught, he’ll take a hand job from any woman who’ll give him one.  And if sex follows, well, it was just that one time and don’t be mad and you forced him to do it so it’s really actually all your fault anyway, bitch.

Soooo, armed with this knowledge, I texted back my congratulations.  My sympathies for the poor woman now wearing the ring (which she probably paid for, considering My Assclown is broke) went unspoken.

I don’t think she knows what she’s getting in to.  And it’s not my business.  So I’ve been looking the other way.  But I think about how I felt every time he lied, cheated, verbally attacked me, and I want to call her up and tell her everything.  She wouldn’t believe me, mind you — My Assclown has told her I’m a crazy bitch, and I’ve overheard them saying unkind things about me to other people.  We tolerate one another; we are not friends.  But as much as I would rub my hands together with glee if she were to dump his ass and leave him homeless and penniless (she recently came into some money, and has been paying for trips, toys, and other niceties that My Assclown revels in), I would feel badly for opening my mouth and ruining their relationship, as fucked up as it is.

Feel bad for talking?  Feel bad for not warning her?  I really can’t win here, can I?

I’m so sorry, Current Gal Pal.  You have my pity.

Relationship Friday: The Jubilant Shame of Schadenfreude

"I find this outcome to be... satisfactory." "...I thought you might."

Spock:  “I find this outcome to be… satisfactory.”
Kirk:   “…I thought you might.”

If you are divorced, you know schadenfreude, even if you’re not familiar with the actual word.

Ahem-hem… schadenfreude: (SHAH-din-FROY-duh) noun; a feeling of enjoyment that comes from seeing or hearing about the troubles of other people; a feeling often experienced by people when their former spouses make asses of themselves and karma finally starts to slowly roll in.

I won’t get into any tawdry details (that’s more of a midnight-margaritas-and-cheesecake discussion), but over the last week, I have heard from several different people that my Assclown threw a very public temper tantrum, said some things that his friends found hurtful and offensive, and now those friends have since ditched him and aren’t looking back.  My Assclown, in his usual righteous indignation, is refusing to apologize and believes that everyone is at fault but him.

When I heard that several of his oldest and closest friends — who are friends with me, as well — had finally, finally seen the side of him he had tried so hard to hide from them, I just about leapt on the closest table and did a freakin’ happy dance.

It was about damn time.

Take that, Assclown!  I hope you like being friendless, because — damn.

Well, that feeling of elation lasted about three to four hours before I just started to become embarrassed by it.  I’m discreet enough that I didn’t say anything to anybody about what I had been told, but after my Assclown told me the story himself (complete with seething venom in his tone when discussing “those fucking sonsabitches”), I figured it was okay to relay it on to Em.  What I noticed when I was talking to her?

That I was still thrilled to death that someone else had noticed that my Assclown can be a real jerk.  And that the more I told Em, the worse I felt about being thrilled to death.

“You know, I kinda feel sorry for him,” I said.

“Don’t bother,” said Em.  “He’s had it coming.”

Oh, and he has.  He truly, really has.

But when I watch him take a fall — deserved or not — and giggle with glee when I hear of how the fifteen men who witnessed his blowout will probably never speak to him again, does that make me a bad person?  Should I be concerning myself with how he copes with this?  Why do I feel bad about feeling so elated?  Why am I feeling guilty about feeling vindicated?  At last, people are finally seeing the cheating, deceitful, delusional, paranoid, pathological liar I put up with for twelve years (pour those margaritas, honey) — why do I feel bad about enjoying that?  Don’t I deserve a little fist pump here?

Maybe.  Actually, yes.  Yes, I do.  But I also deserve to sleep well at night, and know that I lived my best life that day.  So I made a little rule for myself.  When I hear of the Assclown doing something dumb, or getting some kind of comeuppance, I get to enjoy it for one day, and, naturally, call Em and gloat about it.  Then I have to be done.  No more.  Moving on.  I won’t allow myself to hang on to it like some kind of trophy that I pull out of the closet every once in a while to relive an old triumph.  Here’s to being a somewhat decent human being.

…I can’t wait til he fucks up again so I can test this out.