I Will Suffer in the Future for Being Glad About This Because Karma Is a Bitch

I believe I have mentioned before that I like to drive fast.  Usually about 10 mph over the speed limit. 

So a few days ago, when I was driving the midlife crisis mobile from Phoenix to Flagstaff to pick up LegalMist's daughter for the holiday break, I was very sad when, about 20 miles north of Phoenix, I came up behind a Highway Patrol officer and had to slow down and drive behind him, going “only” 75 mph (which was the speed limit).

About 70 slow and frustrating miles later, I was still driving right at the speed limit behind the Highway Patrol car, when a gray car came zooming up behind me and passed me on the right and was about to pass the car in front of me, too, when he suddenly realized that it was a Highway Patrol car, so he slowed down and got in line behind the cop but in front of me.

About 30 slow and frustrating miles after that, Gray Car Guy just couldn’t take the “slow” pace any longer.  He passed the cop, slowly, on the right.  Then sped up a little.  No lights.  Sped up a little more.  Still no lights.  But the cop was maintaining the same pace as Gray Car Guy.  And I was going slightly slower, but not a lot, staying behind the Highway Patrol car and watching to see how this played out.  Gray Car Guy sped up a bit more (probably doing about 85-90 by now), and the cop turned on his lights and pulled him over.

I felt a little bad for Gray Car Guy--but if I’m honest, I was really glad, because I got to be a speed demon the rest of the way to Flagstaff, secure in the knowledge that the Highway Patrol car was busy giving Gray Car Guy a speeding ticket.

Trump's Election Caused My Divorce

I told my husband that I wanted a divorce back in October.  I asked if he would like to go to a mediator to try to settle all the issues and then file a consent decree, instead of litigating everything in court. He refused to talk about it and refused to even talk about when he might be willing to talk about it, saying, "this is a bad time" and  "maybe after the holidays."

Truth be told, I might've deferred to my soon-to-be-ex-husband's desire to wait until January to discuss divorce, but for Trump's election.... See, I knew that I wasn't going to change my mind, so waiting seemed a little pointless. But I typically like to try to make others happy, so I waited a couple of weeks....

...until, on November 8, the unthinkable happened:  Trump got elected.

I am a hardcore hippie liberal who supported Sanders in the primary.  My soon-to-be-ex-husband is a Republican.

I can't stand Trump.  Policies aside, he seemed to me to be a racist, misogynistic, power-hungry, bullying narcissist with a tendency to overreact to perceived slights and with no experience, little knowledge, and no interest in learning anything about foreign policy.  In short, completely unqualified to be President, and a jerk besides.  I am terrified that he will start a global nuclear war in reaction to some perceived insult from a foreign leader.

My soon-to-be-ex-husband liked him. During the primary season, as we were arguing about Trump, I told him that if Trump got elected, I'd divorce him. I was kind of serious even then.  I have a hard time understanding how we have drifted so far apart in our core values.  He seemed to admire Trump's blustering, bullying, assaholic ways.  I noticed more and more that the things I dislike most about my soon-to-be-ex-husband are traits that he shares with Trump...

I never thought it would happen.  But it did. They announced that Trump had won the election.

And suddenly, I felt that I had to be divorced, ASAP.

See, I can deal with a certain amount of sadness in my life.  I can take a sorry excuse for a marriage if the world outside my home is tolerable.  I can take an intolerable president (Bush, for example), if my home life and mariage are tolerable.  But when both are intolerable, I can't take it.

When my marriage first really became intolerable, part way through Bush's second term, I got very depressed.  I was barely functional and many days would not have gotten out of bed except that I had kids to care for.  I never want to feel that way again.

Then Obama got elected, life was cheerier in general, and I became much more functional and less depressed, though still unhappy in my marriage.

But when we elected the narcissstic orange man as POTUS, despair set in.  I cannot take four to eight years of both my home life and the world at large sucking.  I would likely kill myself from despair if forced to endure both.

I can't control who is president, but I can damn sure control whether I'm married or not.

So, two days after the election, I filed for divorce.

It's not really fair to say Trump "caused" my divorce.  I would have ended up divorced eventually.  But his election was the precipitating event.

I want to be happily divorced for at least some amount of time before the nuclear holocaust begins.

Starting the process

I filed for divorce on November 10.

I'm glad to have started the process of ending this unhappy marriage.  I'd prefer "congratulations" over "condolences."

I feel lighter and happier than I have felt in a long long time.  ☺

Dental implants--or, my oral surgeon was awesome!

Dental implants:  Best idea ever!

The oral surgeon was so kind and competent, not like that sadistic endodontist.

They took X-rays and concluded I was a great candidate for the implant surgery.  Plenty of bone in which to successfully place the posts.

Not a fun process, though.

I went in last October for the posts to be implanted.  Posts are the metal pieces to which the fake teeth will be attached.

The process wasn't fun, involving drilling and putting metal nail-like things into my jaw.  Two of them. One near the front, on the right side; another near the back, on the left side.  I was quite sore for a couple of weeks, and the stitches were... disconcerting.

At least my oral surgeon prescribed appropriate pain meds.  A few days' worth of Vicodin.

Then I had to let my jaw heal for six months.  It was hard to chew at first, with sensitive gums on both sides, but it quickly got better.

My wonderful, compassionate dentist made me a little fake removable tooth to fill the gap near the front of my mouth, sort of like a denture, to use when I needed to make a good impression (like in court or at a meeting at work).  I couldn't eat with it, but I could talk and smile without showing a big gap in my teeth.

In April, I went back to the oral surgeon to have the implants "uncovered"--i.e., he cut through my gums so the posts could be used to attach the new fake teeth.

Then I went to my wonderful, compassionate dentist, who modified the fake tooth denture thingy to fit with the newly uncovered posts and took casts so he could make the two fake teeth.

A few weeks later, I went back to the dentist and had the fake teeth installed.

They are amazing!  Just like real teeth!  I can chew normally again!  I can smile without being self-conscious!

All in all, life is good.

The Second Root Canal

I told you all before about my first root canal, the one that took me totally by surprise, given my prior perfect-teeth condition.

The second time it happened, last year, I nipped it in the bud early.  I recognized that particular sensitivity to heat, cold, pressure...  I knew right away that I had cracked another tooth.  I regretted all the ice I had chewed for years and years before that first root canal.

This time, I engaged in no denial.  I went straight to the dentist and said, "I think I have another cracked tooth."  He took X-rays but said that there was no clear crack visible, maybe just a little shadow that could be a problem, and referred me to the endodontist for a second opinion.

I walked across the parking lot to the endodontist's office, referral slip in hand.  Could they get me in today?  Yes!?  Thank heavens!

The endodontist took more X-rays and poked around a bit and declared that, indeed, I had another cracked tooth.  Did I want a root canal today, or just remove the tooth?  She recommended trying the root canal

I said ok.

The root canal didn't work.  The tooth split.  It had to be removed.

After the removal, I asked for a prescription for a couple of days' worth of pain meds.  They said no(!)  They don't prescribe pain meds.  They recommend that you just take OTC Advil plus Tylenol.  I explained that the last time I'd had a root canal and tooth extraction, I had thought I'd get through it with aspirin, Tylenol, and/or Advil, but had ended up needing the Vicodin that had been prescribed. With just the Tylenol and Advil, I had not been able to sleep because the pain was so intense.  I further explained that I needed only two days' worth of pain meds.

They said, "There are too many addicts.  We don't prescribe anything, ever."

I said, "If you had told me that before the procedure, I would have never consented to it and would have gone elsewhere."

(LegalMist's life lesson:  always ask about pain med policy before consenting to a dental procedure.)

They said, "It will not hurt as much as it did before you came in."  I said, "It already hurts more than it did before I came in because I came in at the first sign of pain and cracked tooth, based on my prior experience.  And besides, I know from experience that the pain will keep me from sleeping for two nights.  I did not pay $800 to have a root canal/tooth extraction (and have a tooth extracted!!) just to get two days' worth of drugs that I could probably buy on the street for less than $40."

They said, "Sorry, we can't help you. "

I said, "You people are sadists!  This is like 'Little Shop of Horrors!' This is why people hate endodontists!"

I walked back across the parking lot to my dentist's office and explained the problem.  My compassionate dentist gave me a prescription for a few days' worth of Vicodin.  The man (now retired) is a saint.

Sure enough, I needed the pain meds.  I would not have slept for two days without them.

(I have since that time told two people not to go to that endodontist and have told my new dentist that he should never send anyone to her, ever.  I hope he takes that advice.)

I still hadn't gotten the implant to replace the first lost tooth.  It was in the back, not really visible.  And the procedure promised to be expensive, time consuming, and potentially painful, so--as any normal person would do--I had procrastinated.

But this second one was near the front and visible when I smiled, making me self-conscious and afraid to smile.

I knew I had to get two implants ASAP.  Ugh...

Next time...
Implant procedures:  not fun!
Implant results:  awesome!

The spider

I got a new car.  It's a 2017 Fiat 124 Spider.  Here is a photo:

Gorgeous, right?  It's a convertible.  It is an awesome car.  Fun to drive.  Stick shift.  Turbo.  Quick 0 to 60 ( or 80... ).  Best car ever!

As my friend Sandy said, "Way to rock the midlife crisis, LegalMist!"

Question:  does it count as a midlife crisis car if you have wanted it since you were 25 but couldn't make it work until now?  Actually, I wanted a Mazda Miata when they came out in 1989.  Here is a 1989 Miata:

Cute, right?

But I was just about to start law school (in 1990) and couldn't afford one.  So in 1992, I got a used 1987 Honda Prelude instead.  It was awesome too. Sporty. Stick shift. Moon Roof.  Quick acceleration.  Fun!

Then I graduated, got married, had kids, and a Miata just wasn't practical.  In fact, I had to sell the Prelude to get a car with 4 doors and room for a child safety seat.  I got a Toyota Corolla (the "Green Lady").

Well, LegalMist's Daughter (LMD) is off to college this fall, leaving only LegalMist's Son (LMS) as a potential passenger (I am planning a divorce, remember?), so a two-seater became  a possibility... I decided to get that Miata.

But then I read the Consumer Reports car guide and saw the Fiat 124 Spider, reinvented for 2017.  It was even prettier than the Miata.  Sporty.  Convertible.  Cute...  I held out for the test drive.  Finally, on July 12, the spider arrived at the dealer... I showed up right when they opened to test drive the car.  Drove the automatic.  The stick shift.  The upgraded, all-options version.  The stripped down, no frills version. Looked at all the colors.  Considered all the options.

Side note:  I loved the blue one.  But to get blue, one had to buy the "Prima Edizione" version with all options, including automatic transmission (what's the fun in that?!) and leather seats (in Arizona, I prefer cloth).  They only made 124 of them (get it? The "124" spider?), and they came with the free t-shirt and poster and a numbered plaque on the dashboard to tell you which one you got.  But it cost $11,000 more than the stick-shift, cloth-seated model that I preferred.  In the end, I decided that blue paint and automatic transmission was *not* worth $11,000, so I bought the gray one pictured above.  Here is a photo of the pretty blue one:

Nice, huh?  But I think the gray is pretty too.

I love my car.  It is so fun to drive to work now.  It makes me smile every time I see it.  I call it my "Midlife Crisis Mobile," and it is a bright spot of joy in my otherwise not-as-joyful-as-I-wish-it-were life.  At least on the way to and from work, I can pretend to be the happy, carefree young person that I used to be instead of the somewhat sad, about-to-be-divorced, almost-old person that I actually am.


The car turns heads, even if I don't any longer.

I'm going to file for divorce

So many reasons.  The main one, I think, is that he is a narcissist.  Everything else flows from that.  The constant need to blame me for everything that ever goes "wrong."  The accusation that I "don't do anything" towards cleaning the house. (For the record, yes, the house is a wreck.  Neither of us does much to fix that.  But his overblown idea that he does "everything" is right in line with the narcissistic personality disorder.)  His complete refusal to listen.  His rude, condescending, mocking attitude and words whenever I try to talk to him about our marital issues.  His repeating things over and over and over unless/until you concede that the thought was brilliant just so you don't have to listen to it again.  His constant bragging about how great he is at his job (teaching sixth grade) mixed in with occasional disturbing stories about how he said something mean to some kid, "but I told him they'd never believe him because I'm the teacher so they'll believe me."  Ugh.  What did I ever see in this guy?

God help me.  Divorce is hell.  Divorcing a narcissist is hell on steroids.