The Ex Factor

I routinely, nearly habitually, embarrass myself. Whether it is from my astounding lack of knowledge of world geography ("Doesn't Britain connect at the top to the rest of Europe, though?"), physics ("I thought bendy buses had that accordion bend in them to stretch out and fit more people during rush hour?"), or just general failure of social etiquette ("Thanks for your condolences about my bird. Sorry about your grandpa passing away!) making an ass out of myself happens on a near-weekly basis.

A few months ago I was at an appointment, and trying to navigate the busy parking lot. The clinic I attend hires mentally disabled adults to help out with regular building management duties, and this day they had strapped on a neon vest to one of their workers and sent him outside to direct traffic in the parking lot. He kept trying to direct me into the last stall, a blue handicapped space. I shook my head, pointed at the sign, and he kept pointing at the stall and gesturing for me to park there. I got out, and said "I'm not handicapped, I cannot park there" - but it was a busy place, and he couldn't hear me. I shouted "I'm not handicapped!" over and over as he kept gesturing for me to move my vehicle in the stall. On the fourth or fifth shouting of "I'm not handicapped!" I looked around and realized people were watching. Yes, people were watching the blond bitch with the Pontiac shout at an adult man with Downs syndrome that she wasn't handicapped, over and over and over again. I left in shame. I figured that embarrassment would be enough for the next year or so.

I am divorced and remarried. I divorced in 2005, we get along not too badly - regular ex stuff, I suppose. There's no baby's mama issues or anything. Receiving a text from my ex isn't out of the norm entirely, we share Matthew and need to confirm schedules and pick-up times and such. The text I received yesterday simply said "I think you called me and didn't mean to" which was a bit strange. I saw he had also called, and left a message on the home phone for me give him a call back. I gave him a phone at work -

W: Hey, did you get a new phone?

Me: Yeah, I'm still figuring out how it works. How did you know I got a new phone?

W: My buddy Jim has a blackberry and he keeps ghostdialing me, and you ghostdialed me.

Me: Oh. Sorry for ghostdialing you?

W: Do you know what ghostdialing is?

Me: Nope.

W: It's when your phone gets bumped and calls someone, and they can hear everything you're doing.

Me: Oh.

W: Everything. You. Are. Doing.

Me: I wasn't doing anything, I was driving back into town listening to music.

W: Everything.

Me: I was just listening to music. Oh, and singing a bit I guess.

W: Yes, you were singing.

Me: Ugh, you heard me singing?

W: Carole, you left an entire message of you singing Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad at the top of your lungs on voicemail.



Oh holy hell. Oh holy, holy hell.



Me: That didn't mean anything, I swear to God. That wasn't for you. I was just in the mood for MeatLoaf. Really, I wasn't 70's rock-ballading you.

W: I know. I figured you got a new phone. You should learn how to lock it.

Me: I can lock it?!

W: Please lock it.

Me: I'll google it.

So, yeah. If you're having a bad day, please consider that at least you didn't rock out to a 70's MeatLoaf ballad on your ex-husband's voicemail.