I saw the movie last night, and although I need a lot of time to convey my thoughts, I don't want to forget the following quotes I read last night that really touched me:
"Flesh of my flesh, heart of my heart, let me die with you"
"When the world hates you, remember it hated me first"
These are not verbatim, but it is how I remember them...
As part of his efforts to keep the marriage together we attended a 4-day marriage intensive seminar in Georgia at the Smalley Center. I was very content witht he fact that my husband had arranged everything for this to happen (I agreed to go under those terms). The four days we were there were grueling. I am a talker and I have NEVER talked or listened as much as during that time. By the time we got out I never wanted to speak to anybody ever again. Of the five couples there (us included) there were 3 that were on shaky ground. I know one won't make it, I don't think the other one will and as for us, well... I only agreed to not file for divorce for the time being.
A couple of months later we attended a Retrouvaille weekend (another fix your marriage thing) and I got so much out of it, plus it was cheaper than the other one and it only took 2 days. For me it wasn't so much the method or formula they were using, but more than that I reached a spiritual connection I had been missing for a long tim. What's more, I had to forgive my husband (to find out why I had to forgive, go to Http://gabrielaj.blogspot.com read the oldest post) and realized what I had committed to 9 years before. It's not all pretty and it definitely isn't easy...
I did start wondering if we would ever get out of the "help us" mode and be able to move on on our own or if we would just become addicted to all the seminar-style help, but this week I finally felt like we will be able to work on things on our own.
Now whether we'll stay together or not for good is another question...!!!
:-)
I believe that everyone has certain talents and qualities that define the person at their chore
I believe that those who find a way to live and work by using their talents and qualities to the fullest are truly blessed
I believe those truly blessed have found their purpose in life
I believe those who are content with what they have can inspire jealousy, which in turn inspires society to be completely hypocritical
I believe in "loving thy neighbor" but still being true to who we are by expressing so based on that love
I believe God has a sense of humor
I believe art is expressing emotion - in any way
I believe people don't set out to hurt others, but set out to first and foremost fill a need, be it evil or good
I believe we are all on the same boat, and only separate ourselves by which area of that boat we feel we fit in
I believe there is always at least two sides to every story (that's why I hate politics)
I believe grace is the greatest gift we have that we seldom use
I believe love has been cheapened as much as gold
I believe time is what we appreciate the least
I believe the world is turning faster everyday
I believe we are always on the defensive
I believe we need to relax
I believe Satan exists
I believe in Jesus Christ
My mom called me immediately when Hussein had been found. She told me later on that she noticed how as soon as she told me the news I immediately called out for my husband and told him all about it... She said she had to laugh because I don't even see what's right in front of me, I guess... I hear things like that and I think that it's probably right, I need him more than I think. But on the most part I just want out. I fantasize about taking off a la "Sleep While I Drive" (by Melissa Etheridge), if I could just find the right person...
I started with those fantasies way before the affair. I really wanted more, but much less in many ways. It's so hard to explain, but I wanted so much more by doing less... The same way that something sensual is so much better that sexual, a book is much better that the movie, an acoustic session in a small venue so much better than a concert in a huge arena...
My husband is very ambivalent as to who he is. When I ask him about it, sure, he'd love to just take off and live off coconuts on some island or go on a hiatus for a year and paint. But when it comes down to it, he never stops. I think he's addicted to the stress as much as he is to coffee. As a matter of fact, he's so wound up that coffee doesn't affect him most times, although, like an alcoholic, I can tell when he's had his fix.
My song of the moment is "The Best Is Yet To Come" by Luba (off the 9 1/2 weeks soundtrack). It has to be one of the best songs for women starting over.
And whether I stay married or not... I am planning on starting over.
Back to the husband saga... I had never felt so strongly sure that I wanted to end the marriage. Of course there was the fear that once it was over I would miss him, which I'm sure I would, so I guess I should say there was a fear that I'd think I had made a mistake and would become obsessively in love with him.
One of the most difficult things to let go of in a relationship is all the time spent with that person, you know, how how all those little things you've become so accustomed to are no longer there. Or that your ex-partner knew all your little quirks, favorite foods, etc. I suppose "re-training" someone is a huge drawback of going back out on the dating scene...
So the kids are another and most important factor in all this, but I always believed they are better off with the parents living apart if there is no love, respect or there is constant arguing. The reason I believe this is because I remember praying to God when I was little that He take one of my parents away... preferably my dad (the depressed alcoholic). Mind you when he did die I had horrible guilt... Anyway, being that our kids are just 4 and 5 I figured they wouldn't really suffer as much, as they were already so used to daddy going away so often...
It took the move to really see how much the little monkeys love the times all four of us are together. My daughter started to get really stuck to her dad and kept requesting that we all spend the night together. And that's how we came to spend every night (that he was in town) together since we moved out. At first I would sleep on the couch if we were at the big house, but he would sleep in my bed when in the apartment. No matter how much I tried to say I'd rather be alone, somehow I always ended up waking in the morning with him next to me.
Go figure!
Today I took an art class. It was on painting miniatures, and the coolest art class I've ever taken (also the *only* art class I've ever taken). It was taught by this wonderfully sweet British lady named Joan Willies (you can see her work at www.joanwillies.com). It was so good, that when I got back and showed my husband what I'd painted he blurted out "did you do that??" Unbelievable. If that's not a wonderful thing to hear I don't know what is. A great backhanded compliment -- and no, I'm not being sarcastic. Just like when you look so good on a photo, people don't believe it's you...
I really felt like I could paint like a pro (almost) and someday produce amazing work that I could give to everyone I love as gifts and they would be forever thankful. Then I remembered how many name bracelets during my stint as a jewelry designer" I made and gave away and I've yet to see any of the "everyones" I love wear them...
Back to the painting. Miniature painting is so wonderfully cool. If you (not me) make a mistake, it can easily (and with patience) be fixed. I was turned onto it by a friend of mine, Jan, who is a natural born artist. From the very first time she painted a miniature her painting looked like professional work. One of the best things to witness in life is to see someone truly find what it is they are good at and love to do. To me, that really is the definition of success. Hopefully I will be able to help my kids find their way to lifelong commitments that will fulfill all their needs (or most). Be it careers, relationships...
Besides all that, during the class we ordered pizza, which concludes this portion of my writing and explains the second part of the title.
Goodnight!
(originally written on 2/22, really really late at night)
I finally got the guts to open the door with one hand while hoping the other would pull the sweater down enough to cover the edge of the chaps, and... "bling!" there were the keys, back on the floor -- yes, it was that bad... I peeked inside the cracked entrance doors to make sure no one was near, thus piquing the curiousity of men further away. Like a flash (no pun) I dipped down and got the keys before anyone could ask if I needed help. I finally made it past the humongous salesroom, reaching the target counter and thought the nightmare was close to an end. I was greeted by the Honda Key Master who promptly asked me for cash (which I didn't have) or a credit card (which I really didn't have) or a check (well...) to pay for the blessed metal instrument to my safety and freedom. I swear that for a split second I thought maybe if I flashed him he would just give me the damn key and let me be on my way, as quite obviously something in my day had gone very, very awry...
Calling on my husband (who had stopped grinning *long* ago) helped as he promised the Key Master he would pay for the key (the car is in his name) soon after his meeting. The Key Master told me that it would take him a good twenty minutes to cut said Key to my freedom. I was a prisoner of my own freedom - or at least of my free privates...
Sweat, tears and twenty minutes later I picked up the key, obviously thankful but painfully reminded that there is a reason I was never *that* woman, the Samantha, the Temptress that makes good sex seem so easy, the one that make us forget the reality of how silly sex can be and how much time we invest/waste on it.
And that's not even talking about the money we spend on it...
I left him in his office with a big grin on his face, and pranced back downstairs. As I reached my car, I heard this loud "PUFF!" when my bubble suddenly burst: The keys were locked in it. Not only was there no spare, but I had to go back to the grinning Cheshire Cat to solicit help, thus becoming a modern day Lady Godiva who got sidetracked somewhere along the way. There wasn't even a car that I could borrow - and what's worse: he had a meeting in just a few minutes, leaving me all alone and feeling naked in every which way...
In a moment of such great desperation, and while feeling the breeze blowing gently through my privates all images of sexy had gone away, nowhere to be found. Fortunately I have friends that can think on their feet when I'm on my ass (and who know *nothing* of my saga until now) who suggested I call the dealership to get a copy of the key, (thanks, Christina!). I did and they did. But not before I found a vehicle (which of course had to be a fairly difficult SUV to get into) drove to the dealership, had to park said SUV in a way that no one would see me getting in and out of, promptly dropped the keys, stood there intently staring at them hoping that by some strange power they would hop back up into my hands, realized I didn't have that power, and c a r e f u l l y went down to pick them up when no one was nearby. All the while really hoping that behind the mirrored windows there was not a congregation of car salesmen enjoying the show.
Cont'd...
Soon after I found out about "the affair" the competitive side of me took over. I was going to show my husband that I could one-up any stripper anytime. Being 38, responsible and the mother of two wasn't going to dictate how free I could be.
Under the premise that I was going to go to the barn that day, I showed up at my husband's office wearing my leather chaps (to ride in, yeah!) and a big, almost perfectly long-to-my-upper-thighs sweater. Nothing underneath. I figured that could be something Samantha would probably do on Sex and the City -- show up, shock, and leave him smitten... my very own triple "S" "shock and awe".
Up until all that happened and with the exeption that I had to wait for someone else to leave his office when I first got there (it was you, Scott!), it was flawless. My husband was giggling nervously at first, and laughed again afterwards at how ballsy I had been (I will not write how he felt in between, it would be too easy of a guess and gratuitous). YES indeed, I had done it!! Complete success!!! Or not...
Phase one: Show up - completed successfully
Phase two: Shock - completed successfully
Phase three: Leave him Smitten - partly completed..?
...cont'd...
Do you ever have one of those thoughts that you know is completely irrational, borderline insane yet still fully believe it? Or the possibility thereof??
For example: I used to wonder if life was just about us living one person at a time. That everyone else around me was some kind of divine entity and were not human... They were like accessories being used by a supreme being to entice, tempt, aggravate, etc. but most of all to test us so we could be judged on our final day. I suppose that's extremely paranoid of me, but haven't you ever wondered how coincidental it is that you could talk badly about someone else and they in turn would act as if they knew what you said all along?
NO??
Oh, well me neither...
So I have lived with depression (I know how many people out there don't believe in it) for the last 18 years. I know it's real because if severe, it affects you physically as well as mentally. Going into anymore details seems pointless because I do not want to give it anymore time that it is worth. I am happy to report that I'm on a happy pill (for the millionth time) and it seems to be working. I am so energized, that I almost maniacally take on 20 projects a day, and I feel I could build a house completely on my own. But I'll take whatever I can...
I was hell bent on not going back on medicine, then I found a therapist that trusted me when I said "I know what's wrong with me, I don't want to talk about my childhood or my problems, I have been on many different drugs, but this time I want to try Effexor, it was highly recommended by a friend". I did have to make an appointment, and we only discussed my current situation. She understood and respected that boredom which stemmed from endlessly talking about all the crap in my life and how tired of it I was... so it worked out just fine. She gave me the little paper and off to Wallgreens I went.
So far the Effexor is working, albeit with a bunch of side effects, but as I said, I'll take what I can...
There was also the night I kissed another man. It was after "the affair" my husband had and sometime during one of his trips. I'm sure anyone could guess, I don't know why I did it. I really think it had something to do with the way I felt as described in "Emotion Salad". Yes, actually it was during that time.
I was so excited about my new status, that of which I can kiss anyone I want to, that I just had to tell my husband about it. Also, (and of course) I wanted to show him what it felt like, but most of all I wanted him to want me more...
This is all making me sound so shallow, even to myself, but I actually liked the guy. He had beautiful eyes, a latino like me and he had no qualms about letting me know he wanted to have sex with me. I still remember a time when that would have sounded insulting. Now that I am 38 and walking alone it's a compliment. How things change! Or maybe they haven't changed but my views have been corrupted by life experiences...
Here is where I want this to go: We live in the coolest country in the world. Why? Because if I'm in France I better speak, act and/or eat French. If I'm in England I must meet their expectations of what and what-nots to do, if I'm in Thailand I better not point at anything with my foot, it's considered very rude, and so on and so on. In the States? Well... you are free to just about do anything...
When I first moved here, people thought it was great that I spoke Spanish and not much English. They got a kick of trying to teach me words (especially bad ones). What's more, I could date a construction worker if I so desired, or a janitor or anyone making minimum wage. A regular Joe could just as well mingle among the better off in any nightclub and no one would notice the difference. Jews and Catholics could be friends (and their parents wouldn't forbid the friendship). Fashionably speaking, I could one day dress up in a business suit and the next day go out in sweatpants and no one would say a thing. I could wear cowboy boots one week and not the next. I could pretend I'm Holly Golightly and wear a black dress, sunglasses and a big black hat to a party. The possibilities are endless...!
The point is: Where else can you be whoever you WANT to be? Where else can you dress however you WANT to dress?
So all my fellow Argentine-born countrymen/women and the rest of the world can make fun of how WE Americans (I'm an "American by choice") dress, or act, or speak, yet they will never be fortunate enough to feel the liberation of living out from under the ever-watching eyes of criticism - or rather to be able to hear it, grin and yell "yeeeee-hawww!".
Now pass me the ketchup.
Buenos Aires, Argentina was the first place where I cried and screamed... way back in '65 when a doctor spanked my nekkid bottom. I was born part: Spanish, Italian, German, British and that's all I know, so for all intents and purposes I was raised with a European influence.
Growing up in Buenos Aires was brutal in the sense that there was a lot of pressure to do/say/wear the right things to be accepted. Without going into much detail, I was always aware of my imperfections and my sense of style (or lack thereof) . The only and last time I voiced my fashion taste while living there, was when I wanted my mom to buy me patent leather shoes, to which not only did she say no, but someone somewhere laughed at my tacky sense of style. From then on, and more and more, I had a "closet" personality -- most of my sense of style was unheard of. It got to where I didn't know what I liked and disliked. I only knew which colors went together and that being elegant was the best thing in the world.
Fast forward over 20 years. I am now live in the States and have figured out that being cool is way better than elegant. I can say that because I once read that being cool "is really just being yourself". I immediately agreed with that statement wholeheartedly.
This is a short one and just for future reference: my bed at Cedar Sinai's had bed bugs. Seriously.
And the iv expert tore up my vein...
But I made friends with the nurses (all of them Phillipino), especially the one guy that was the nicest. I have to lookup his name and write it on here, for all eternity...
Why am I still up?
After I moved out we all traveled as a family to L.A. By train, because I don't like airplanes. I have an extreme fear of planes, actually. One time I got so possessed by fear that I looked like Linda Blair in the Exorcist, and I behaved like her too. My hair was soaked from sweat, tears and water, my voice was someone's I didn't know, I have no recollection of a big chunk of time and when a nice flight attendant gave me water, she only got to watch me spit it back at her when we hit a bump... all I was missing was telling her that her mother sucked eggs in hell...
Anyway, on the way to Los Angeles I developed my very first ear infection. It somehow traveled through my ear faster than we were on the train and by the time I got to L.A. I was ready to cut off half of my head. I ended up in some nasty hospital sharing the waiting room on a stretcher with a couple of convicts (shackles and all) and their "escorts".
The pain was so severe, that the first thing they did was give me morphine, which did NOTHING for me. Then the good stuff came through a needle to my butt cheek. No sonner did they stick me that my knees buckled... The painkiller caused me to promptly start making friends with those unfortunate souls surrounding me, the ones who clearly didn't get stuck with the Wonder Needle. I wanted to take care of everyone, even though I couldn't take a step to save my life.
To make a long story short, I ended up in Cedars Sinai because the infectious fluid was now in the bone and there was fear it would spread to my brain (which could, I suppose, be fatal if you had a working brain to begin with). I didn't take any time at all to point out to my husband how badly he would have felt had I died at this moment in our lives.
This whole saga helped me see that things can change at anytime and without notice, by forces much greater than us mere humans can attempt to control...
She graciously sent me some emails he had written her, plus a letter that truly broke my heart. I know many people think that's insane, but I guess if you are really going to try to fix your life, you need to know what it is you are fixing... So it helped to know that he was capable of using me as an excuse to get the attention of another woman. It helped to know how much he "sold me" for (cheap), how he "threw me under the bus" (in heavy traffic), and all the dirty tricks people use to get pity or love or a combination of both. I just never thought I would have to defend myself, mistakes and all, in the eyes of my husband. Now I was not only comparing myself to her, but to his shattered image of me. He had never thought I was perfect.
It is bad enough to have insecurities, but to have the person you know and love most intimately use those insecurities as a reason to NOT be with you can be devastating.
Continued... (I think I'm going to switch my journal elsewhere, this 2500 character limit is killing me!)
So she and I are still friends. As a matter of fact, we spoke at great length tonight online and on the phone. Although I don't know what possesses me to become so friendly at really bad times in my life, becoming her friend is one of the smartest things I've ever done. And here is why:
By not giving into all the anger and taking it out on her I gave her no reason to hate me. Did I care? Well... yes. She got to know me. She got to know about my life, my children and how much this man she'd slept with meant to me. She learned the value I had put on my life as a wife and a mother, and most importantly she saw the results of what she had done.
All this was NOT part of a plan. Originally, I had set out to make sure she never did this again to another family. I was going down, but I was taking someone with me. At one point I was so angry that I told my husband I no longer cared if I went to hell, but somebody was going to pay. The pain was too great, and I blamed my husband for turning me into such a hateful monster. Oh, and I tried to beat the shit out of him. No, really, I did. Something about seeing red that makes you feel like the Hulk, and you feel no pain. It's crazy...
I never meant to turn this journal into such a dramatic thing, but at some point, things aren't funny and they just are what they are.. But mostly...
HEY... I'm only human.
No, wait... I'm huwoman. :-)
Continuing with my story, when I found out about his affair, I just had to call her. I had tried doing that the day I saw his phone bill, but she pretended she couldn't hear me and hung up the phone. Later on he and I together called her (yes I did make him do that, as shameful as it feels to admit it) and I got a word or two in as did she.
But because I felt I hadn't suffered enough, I suppose, I called her yet again. This time to find out more about the reasons why all this happened in the first place. She and I spoke for hours, and many times since. We fought, tried to one-up each other, even threatened each other with lawsuits... but in the end we became friends.
It's not that I am crazy, stupid, a sucker or masochistic, it's just that I see things differently. I know she did not set out to hurt me personally. Both of them knew it was wrong to have an affair but they were selfish. Extremely selfish.
Continued...
Men are dogs.
So women must be cats.
Dogs are goofy, so are men. When dogs hunt or eat, they are messy and leave crap everywhere, so do men. Dogs will hump anything that moves, so do men. When a dog senses a bitch is in heat, he will go to great lengths, abandon his home and howl all night for some, so do men. You can get mad at your dog and in minutes it will act like nothing ever happened, so do men. Dogs will pee wherever, so do men. The dogs that bark a lot don't bite, same with men. Dogs will drop everything to go chase a ball, so do men.
Cats are graceful, so are women. When a cat hunts, it just f**ks with its prey for a while, so do women. Cats never make a mess when they eat, same with women. You never see cats having sex, they keep it hidden from the world, so do women. Cats are clean and neat, so are women. Cats will never be clumsy unless they meant to be, same with women. A cat could be purring contentedly and suddenly scratch your eyeball out for no apparent reason, so do women. Cats are quiet and demure, so are women. When a cat is playful it's a rare and treasured moment, same with women. Cats will play when it's a convenient time for them, not for you, so will women.
Any more?
"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea." ****Robert A. Heinlein
Yesterday I tried to post the same thing twice and both times I screwed up and erased everything...
I now believe Someone was watching over me. The post had to do with something I did that is more for R-rated readers, and after the fact that I didn't get to post it I realized maybe I wasn't allowed to by AOL...
I read the guidelines and I guess as long as I don't use "bad" language I'm ok to post whatever... right? I should really research this, because it is a funny story... (which will not be posted here... yet!)
Today I heard about a friend of mine who was told by her sort of boyfriend that "he needed some space". I didn't think this was a big deal to her, considering she never really liked him to begin with. Now she's in mourning, really sad about getting the "need space" excuse. I am sure she is now in love with the guy because he is rejecting her. WHAT IS WRONG WITH US???
What is sooo damn appealing about someone who does NOT want us that makes us want them all the more??? This only happens after you've had a relationship with them, of course. I don't think I ever wanted someone for long after finding out they didn't like me unless we had dated.
Thinking back to when I met my husband, who had never been married (I have been married before -- more on that when I have nothing better to write about) and seemingly never wanted to, he was crazy about me. Probably because I didn't want him, really, and I had an attitude problem...
I hate the fact that all the cliches are true "you always want what you can't have", "nice guys finish last" etc. etc.
I would like to change all that.
G
I finally figured out why I love my TiVo so much. It works just like my brain: I can re-call any event in my mind at anytime (unless it's been erased). I can fast-forward, slow-motion even freeze-frame certain moments, like the moments my kids say "I love you, mommy". But the ones my brain seems to prefer are those that make your heart drop to the ground as you watch someone slowly bleed love out of it. For example: "Oh, it's just a girl I've been talking to" is a phrase that still repeats in my brain. I don't know why it hurts so much more than other crap I've heard. I guess it was like hearing a sentence being read aloud by a judge: It was confirmation that my marriage had died. It was the lack of reasonable doubt.
So I *had* to have TiVo in my new home. TiVo is great because I can disconnect the TiVo in my brain and connect the one on the television. Also, I can develop crushes on new people every week. Almost like dating, Jeff Corwin is the new love in my life, because George Clooney hasn't been around much. But I did go on a date with Matthew Perry last night, albeit in a dream I had...
I tried to get Satellite, but I was told I couldn't. I ordered cable, and was told that with Tivo and a splitter I could watch and record two channels simultaneously. COOL! Of course it didn't work. Everytime I scheduled for something to be taped, a different channel would come up and record whatever TiVo was possessed to record. I was reminded for the umpteenth time in my life that no matter how hard I try, at times thoughts take over my brain that I don't really want to think about or re-live, even if in fast-forward mode.
But as humans we keep going back to moments that are painful, probably more than the good moments. Or we even imagine situations that we were neither there for nor told about. Like what it was like when he was with her. What they said to each other. If her Calgary Mountain Peaks' job really looked good or just like baggies full of hard liquid. Could you see ripples? Didn't they look grotesque?? Or were they soft, almost natural... ...better than mine... Shit where is the little back arrow that takes me to the delete button...!
Later.
I had started a whole new entry today, but I had to go offline and of course I lost it. It was good, too.
So the last time I wrote I was or had moved out. Yes, indeed, I now had an apartment and had become a "single mom". I felt: empowered, ambivalent, sad, excited, volatile, focused, angry, giving, rejected and beautiful (I'm sure I'm leaving out a few other emotions) all at the same time. For the record, more than beautiful I felt sexy. It was almost as if the title of my journal (which I had picked before my life turned upside down) was so befitting it had become an irony. And I wanted to become friends with the four on HBO, the four I used to think were redundant, silly, whatever. I now wanted to step through the screen and walk the streets of Manhattan carefree, confident and with my new friends, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, Miranda and Freedom. I would even consider buying a pair of Manolos... but most likely on eBay, so that I could only be a slave to things like fashion: shallow, unimportant, replaceable, but most of all repairable.
I moved most of my things out, but it did take me a few days. Fortunately, my husband had to go to Mexico and that gave me time to empty out my closet. I was really going for the shock of him coming home and seeing all my stuff gone -- even left a picture of us on his side of the walk-in closet. I could almost hear his voice on the phone saying how strange and sad it was to come home and realize I was really gone. Maybe for good this time.
In case I didn't mention that he is Scandinavian, it should help explain why I'm still waiting to hear how sad and shocked he was upon his return from Mexico. Sigh...
(By the way, feel free to leave comments. I would find it very therapeutic)
To continue the story, I had told my husband for a long time that I had wanted to move out, mostly so we could figure out how much we really wanted to be together... by *not* being together... Or rather, I wanted him to miss me...
We had debated my moving out for about a year now, and he was always was against it. Just recently (you don't say!) he had finally agreed to the move. There was still much thought and uncertainty as to whether we should or shouldn't...
Now that he was on his way back from Las Vegas, where he hiked up the Calgary Mountain Peaks (she's Canadian, so "Blame Canada" from South Park became my fighting song), he had virtually given me a good shove right out the door. Don't get the wrong idea, I did NOT want to stay in the house -- that house had become this huge 7,000 sq. foot monster waiting to swallow me whole every night I came home without a husband. So I opted for a little two bedroom in a really cool development with the coolest of staff (for those familiar w/Indy or looking for an apt. it's called "The Lakes").
Unfortunately for those of you looking for excitement, romance and emotion, this will not quench your thirst. He did not beg, cry and plead, even though he claimed "the affair" was over after the sex (it wasn't good - what else did he expect, it wasn't me!!) and he really felt nothing for her. He simply said "I just don't see us not together - I know we'll work it out".
HA!
