How my ex's wedding brought about the end of Sir Riddle.

I haven't written in a while, and for that my loyal readers I apologize. But I have news, big news, and because I found out just after my last post, I knew I couldn't write until I had made it public.

I AM LEAVING THE INFERNO.

I got a new job with a conglomerate insurance company. Out of hundreds of applicants, they picked me, little ol' Miss Mused, to be their new Associate Claims Specialist. They have a cafeteria. They have a gym. They are about three miles away from where I currently work. They are paying me $6,000 more a year. They have better insurance. And the best part? The job outlook. In my interview, they told me that after a year in the department that I'm going to be in, about 90% of the people move to other departments within the company, and they have a whole computer program dedicated to showing you how to get to the position you want. Whoever is up there, thank you for leading me to this job.

So, today I finally got the go-ahead from the conglomerate insurance company, let's call them Car Bang Smash from here on out because conglomerate insurance company is a type-full, to give my notice at work. And Lady Craft and myself as well, we were pretty excited for this moment. Because about a month and a half ago, I had this little meeting with my higher-ups where they told me that, although NO ONE ELSE at the Inferno has had to wait this long for a promotion, I would have to wait another year and a half (which would put me at the seven year mark) until I could look at maybe getting a promotion. And I decided, no, I'm not going to do that. I have waited long enough. Do I need more money now, or in a year and a half? Um, now thank you. And I went out there and got it. So there.

But the thing that REALLY pisses me off is that all my bosses and their bosses are like "Are you sure?" AM I SURE? Let's see, in case you need a little bit of a recap:
-More money.
-Better insurance coverage.
-Job outlook that kicks current job's ass.
-A gym right in the building.
-A cafeteria.
-More single guys than the 50-year-old awkward IT guy and the cute IT guy that's my age that I've never been able to ask out (in theory).
To those people, I make this face:

Or some variation of it.

Like seriously, that is like asking, "Hey, Dante, would you like to get out of hell and go to be with your beloved in heaven?"

UM, YES PLEASE.

The CFO cornered me at lunch and said how sorry she was to be hearing my news, asked if I was sure, and when I brought up the job outlook argument she just wrote it off as that the Inferno is a small community company, and can't give me the promotions I crave.

Really now? Because EVERYONE I can think of who does not just get hired at a super high position in the company has been promoted. And earlier than seven years. So there, biotch.

So, I'm excited is the short and skinny of that story.

Anyways, this weekend, I went to my ex's wedding.

WHAT A FUCKING FIASCO.

You know, I had this super delirious pipe dream where it all went well, and there had been nothing to worry about.

The next time I feel this way, I plan on sticking my head in an oven. Although my oven is electric, I need to find a way where this will get me to come to my senses.

First, the wedding was in the next town over from where I work, and I thought to myself, nothing to worry about. I do the courier run to other locations for the Inferno, one of which is in this town, and I know it fairly well, and I figured, how hard can it be?

I could cut my goddamn tongue out, the section of brain, that said or thought that.

The first problem was that the invitation did not give a specific address. It just said "Hope Plains Road ext." And I thought to myself, I didn't know there was an extension on that road...

That's because there isn't a fucking extension on that road.

So, I take off at 12:45 PM, which is a completely respectable time to get to a place that only takes 20 minutes to get to, for a 1:30 PM exchange of the nuptials.

IT TOOK ME AN HOUR AND A HALF.

I kid you not, I'm driving around this godforsaken town, trying to find this motherfucking Fish and Game Preserve where the ceremony is being held, and I am about to lose my fucking mind looking for it. I am trying, with my GPS, to come at this Hope Plains Road in every direction to possible. I'm beginning to think that it's like platform 12 3/4 in the Harry Potter books. Or that you have to enter the road a certain way, the sun being in a certain position in the sky, in order to be able to see this magic road extension to enter the preserve, except that it is POURING, of course it's pouring. Or maybe there's some guy that has one of those flaps that looks exactly like just trees, that when you give him the secret password, he lifts the flap and there is the extension, the Narnia-like extension to this goddamn road.

So, I call the police station. The non-emergency line, of course, and I start crying I'm so frustrated, and the woman is so nice, and she tells me it's 400 Hope Plains Road. And I type it into my GPS and my GPS alerts me that this is an unpaved road, ok to continue?

And that's when I realize. I PASSED THIS FUCKING ROAD FORTY-FIVE MINUTES AGO. I got to the "end" of Terry Plains Road, and there is this gravel road, with two mailboxes on the end of it, and I think, well that's gotta be a residential driveway.

Big ol' NOPE on that. It's the entrance to the game preserve! So, up I drive. And I almost hit a couple deer jumping across the road driving the mile and half this gravel road is. I KID YOU NOT. I mean, seriously, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

I park right by the front door. I see all these cars parked haphazardly all over the fucking place, and I think, no way. Not after all I've been through today. I may highjack the limo to get home. But wait, there is no limo, because this is one big ol' redneck wedding if I ever did see one. And I park that fucking car of mine and I get out, and I realize they are taking pictures. Like, the wedding pictures, and here I am running in the background of them. And I'm mouthing to my ex how sorry I am, and his friends, the people I was friends with seven years ago, are just gaping at me like a bunch of apes.

So I get inside and it's sticky hot in there. And I'm desperately looking for my seat placement card so I can just sit the fuck down, and this shit is all messed up, I put my measly card and $50 check in with their presents (which I now see was above and beyond what my seat must have cost) and ask the DJ where the placement cards are.

He tells me, oh, they're outside, with your wedding favor, but they're taking pictures out there and then we're introducing the wedding party, so you'll have to wait until after that.

KILL ME FUCKING NOW. Please, get me a gun, the same one that you used to kill all these taxidermied animals that litter your wall, and just shoot me.

So I wait around. And some people come up to me. Some of them know who I am and try to act like they didn't abandon me seven years ago, that we're the best of friends. Others have no idea who I am, which I find incredible since I haven't gained or lost an exorbitant amount of weight, the major differences being my hair (it was blonde when they last saw me, and now it's my natural dark brown/black, and I have bangs), and I have glasses now. They ask me how I know the couple. I say, well I used to date the groom, and we went to school for four years together. And then there is the head tilt, the flicker of recognition, and the gasp. Either way, their reactions are the same:

What are you doing here? (That's right, inflection on the you)

I mean, I still don't know how to respond to that. Here is what I went with:

I was invited? So I came? (Why else would I be here? I'm holding some candle for the groom and missed my opportunity?)

I'm standing by the bar, trying to get a goddamn drink A DRINK goddammit, I'm about to lap up the spilled ones on the bar, when the introductions are made. Which, I had no idea this was a thing as I have not too many weddings I attend or am invited to, leads into the first dance. And their first song is a country song, of course it is, with lyrics that could give you cancer if you paid attention to them, they're so sickening. I'm trying not to laugh, because I had no idea my ex liked country. In fact, I hated it, and I think he may have pretended to hate it too.

Oh, I haven't mentioned the best part. The bar is right in line with the dance floor. And they're taking pictures. Which means, that's right, I'm in the pictures. Because if it's not enough the people think I'm late because I just couldn't bear to see my ex get married, I gotta ruin all his pictures too.

FUCK MY LIFE.

Finally, I run outside and get my placement card which is attached to a mason jar with a hole in the top which is how you get your alcoholic beverages, which I immediately fill with the apple pie moonshine (redneck, I really was not joking) and go inside to find my table.

Oh, c'mon now, I should have known this by now. NONE OF THE GODDAMN, MOTHERFUCKING TABLES ARE NUMBERED.

I'm beginning to think, at this point, that the bride has a deep-seeded prejudiced against numbers. Their child, who is a toddler, will probably never have a birthday party where they disclose his age, since that's a number. People will be like: "How old is he?" and she'll be like "Numbers aren't important. We're not a number family. What the fuck did numbers ever do for us? Pft, numbers. Idiot." No phone numbers. They're rednecks so maybe they'll live so far out in the boonies that they won't have a house number so that people won't be able to find that place either. Age, time, weight, height, all these things will be rendered unimportant in this family.

So I'm reduced to asking complete strangers (because I will be DAMNED if I'm going to ask my former friends for direction, fuck them) what table they are sitting at. I finally find my table. Table five.

Table five is the misfit table. The singles table. Although it's not singles table because they didn't have the choice. I was not granted the special permission. These people were all given the option at least. I would have brought ANYONE. I would have brought Madam Sage and acted like a lesbian if it had gotten me a date.

Oh, and this table. All former friends.

I sit down, and this girl that used to date a guy, let's call him Jack, who I'm still cordial with, is sitting across from me. And she first pretends like she doesn't know me. And then I ask her how things with Jack are.

And her friend next to her snaps "Don't ask her about that, they aren't together anymore."

Ok, bitch, you listen here. It has taken me an hour and a half to find this fucking place, another twenty minutes to find this table, I haven't seen these people in seven years and I have nothing, literally NOTHING else to talk to them about except for this very aged information I knew from seven years ago. You should congratulate me for remembering this, it's so trivial and non-important in my life. So I give up on making conversation. I text Sir Riddle, who true to form, does not respond until I am home crying about my pathetic life, an approximate six hours later. More about him later.

I make a comment about how difficult it was to find the locale we currently have the pleasure of experiencing, and the same girl says "Oh, the bride posted the directions on Facebook."

I'm sorry, Facebook? Who would have thought to look there? I mean, what are we, going to a sixteenth birthday party? This is your fucking wedding, put the fucking directions in your fucking invitations. Oh, and maybe put the ADDRESS to the fucking place on your FUCKING invitations. Goddamn.

I mean, these people don't know what to do with me either. And I don't blame them. I would just rather not make conversation is all. It's just hard not to. This girl that I was friends with through my ex, who is also sitting at my table (for obvious reasons to me, because I don't know who the hell could put up with her) says to me that when she met the bride she just knew she was the one for my ex.

I'm not sure if this is a dig. I'm pretty sure it is. But I just smile, take a long drink of moonshine, and say that they make a beautiful couple, and I'm sure she's a wonderful person.

Anyways, the only one, legitimately the only one who makes a point to talk to me, is this guy Diego (true name withheld). Now, to give you some background, back in the day I was a bit of a matchmaker. And I was pretty good at it. Because both couples that I set up are now married. Too bad they were douches and dropped me like a brain-damaged baby when my ex and I broke up. Diego spends a good hour talking to me and it's a natural conversation, he makes me feel like I belong, and it's so nice to feel like you have a friend when you so clearly don't.

I'm looking around for Jack. He is in the wedding party, he's the only one that when I see him out I say hi and we talk. And he is nowhere to be found.

Well, technically speaking, this isn't true. He is under the deck drinking, because he is broken up about his ex (the girl I was sitting across from at the table) being at the wedding, they haven't seen each other in a year and he didn't know she was going to be here until this morning.

And, I can't help it, I laugh. I tell him if anyone should feel completely disjointed and out of place, it's me, and I don't care. I mean, it sucks not having someone to pair up with at the wedding and share private laughs and tag along with, but hey, it's a couple hours out of my life that I can give up to show my ex that I love (not in that way) him and support him.

Finally, time to go home. I get my mason jar, now filled and emptied about half a dozen times by this cutie of a bartender with tattoos and pin-up makeup on her, my s'mores and I say goodbye to the bride, tell her she looks beautiful, hug my ex, who has almost gone out of his way not to talk to me or acknowledge my presence since I arrived, because how could you NOT acknowledge some girl running in the back of your pictures and hour after you exchanged your vows. I tell him I love him, I tell him that I'm happy for him (and legitimately I am, and I NEVER say that if I don't mean it). He says I know, I know, I get in my car and blow this redneck-dead-animals-on-a-stick-stand. And I almost clobber another two deers, probably the same two that I almost hit coming in, they're just fucking with me now.

Anyways, I start crying on the way home. And it's not that I'm jealous in a way that I want to be with him, but I think of where I saw my life when I was sixteen, how I wanted to have this great job and be married to someone who loves me and have a son, and he's got (as far as I'm aware) two out of the three (they're dead broke, so I can't imagine the job he has is anything that great). I just want to be someone's someone. And that makes me cry. I sit there and I think about it. What am I doing wrong? Where did I go astray? Why can't I make it work, with anyone? And I think about how it felt seven years ago, when I woke up one morning and every single friend I had was no longer there for me. And that makes me cry even more. I just keep asking, what's wrong with me?

And I'm mad. I'm mad that I'm crying and that I have no one to comfort me. That I can't just call Sir Riddle whenever I want comforting, whenever I need him. And it's not fair, and I know that it's all my fault for getting into this situation again (again, again).

Last week, Sir Riddle made this comment. He's going on a cruise with Mrs. Riddle in November and he says: "Maybe by the time we get back she'll be ready to ask me for a divorce."

That's the comment I'm thinking about on the way home, with all this other shit swirling around my head. That's the comment I'm thinking about when I climb into bed and when I wake up the next morning. Because, if he's waiting for her to ask him for a divorce, he's going to be waiting for a while. And I'm not waiting for someone who's waiting because they don't have a spine to do it themselves.

And, I realize the next day, as I'm getting ready to drive to Lady Craft's house, that I've known this the whole time. I have known that he was not strong enough to ask her himself.

So I text him and tell him that I need to ask him a question. I ask him if he is waiting for Mrs. Riddle to ask for a divorce.

And he gives me this really smoke-in-mirrors answer (which I call talking in mirrors), that he knows he'll probably have to ask for one eventually, but "things" have to happen first.

I am unsure, and still am unsure after all of this, what these "things" are. Could be the end to all war. Could be the equality of homosexual marriage. Could be the second coming of Christ. Could be him getting a surgical steel spine. Not sure.

Anyways, I tell him that I'm not sure that this answer is good enough for me anymore. And it almost seems to me, then and now, that he has been waiting for this opportunity. Because he responds a bit too quickly that he's not sure how to respond and what else to tell me anymore. So I just decide, this is for the best, and I give him exactly what he seems to be asking for.

I say those fateful words: Well, I guess there is nothing left to say.

And he says: You'll always have a place in my heart, Miss Mused.

This, these words, they INFURIATE me. Yeah, sure thing, that's why you're so EAGER to get this whole shebang over with, you wasted my goddamn time because you knew full fucking well you weren't going to ask your fucking wife for a divorce, you spineless coward. After a couple texts of him not responding, which I cannot fucking stand and which he knows full well I can't stand, I tell him: We never spend time together. We never can talk. You say "things" but I don't know what these illustrious "things" are, and furthermore I don't know if they are bullshit, but since you won't talk to me you obviously don't care so I'm deleting you from my life. Have a good divorce and life after that.

Two good things that came from Sir Riddle: I got rid of my live-in boyfriend thinking we would be together, and I will never again be sleeping or giving the time of day to a married man.

The thing is, I have so much hope. That's gotta count for something, right? I have so much love, I just want to find someone that I can give it to and can trust, because I am HORRIBLE at setting myself up with someone, obviously.

Well, there it is. How my ex's wedding brought about the end of Sir Riddle.

And the thing is, I'm ok. I think because I always knew it would never be. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet...I'm just going to pretend I'm ok and hope my heart catches on...