Traveling Forward


It’s about 11:30 Sunday night and I’m not looking forward to Monday morning, this one more so than usual. It’s an After-Break-Monday. Not only did we have the weekend off but the kids have had a whole week off school and I had half a week. On top of that we went on a vacation, a real live, legitimate vacation. Well, as close as it gets. We left Tuesday evening around eight-thirty and drove 11 hours overnight to get to Georgia where two of my sisters, a brother-in-law, and a two-year-old nephew live. My parents started down Monday with two of my kids, my youngest sister and I followed with the other three. On Wednesday my youngest brother flew into Atlanta as well. It was basically the traditional family Thanksgiving displaced by five states. Maybe just a little smaller. I think we only had fifteen people at dinner. That’s small for my giant family.

So we went on vacation and celebrated Thanksgiving but come morning it’s back to reality. Reality has been stressing me out lately; I’m tired of reality. Life seems to be in one of those weird flux states where major changes are on the horizon, possible paradigm shift level changes. Except it’s not clear what those changes are going to be or what I should be doing to make them happen. Like most changes, this one (or maybe these ones) are driven by discomfort. Nothing really changes when everything feels okay does it?

For one, I’m almost done with school. The Bachelor’s degree part of it at least. Still no word on dental school (other than that they’ve received my application but that’s old news). I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t driving me a little crazy and stressing me out quite a bit. It’s at the prepare for the worst while hoping for the best phase now. More than half the interview sessions have taken place; realistically I need to be looking at what to do to improve my chances when I apply again in the next cycle, such as retaking the DAT. Jeez, why can’t I just get invited to interview already?!? I really don’t want to take that again. (said in an appropriately whiny voice) And I’m not sure I can afford to retake it. I mean, I can’t afford not to but i have no idea how I’m going to pay for it….which leads me to the next area of stress and uncertainty in my life: my job.

I’m still chugging away at the same third shift, part-time job that I’ve had for the past five years and it’s fine, but I’ve only got one class this coming semester. It’s the last two credits I need to graduate and I’ve decided to pay out of pocket for the class instead of taking another extra class to qualify for financial aid. On paper it’s a smart move but my pockets are a little empty right now. I’ll only have one day a week of classes starting in January, it’s time to either bump up my hours at work (if that’s even a possibility) or look for a new, full-time job. Maybe one in the field I’m graduating in. I have no idea how that process works though and if, on the very off chance, I do still get into dental school this year I’d only be working for a few months. However, if I don’t get into dental school I’ll have to start paying on my student loans in June(ish)…It might be time to pay the piper and that’s a scary thought.

Heck, the whole new job idea is scary!

I’m having trouble even fathoming what hours I’m available to work and what I’d like to do or maybe, more practically thinking, what I’m qualified to do. Not to mention how one even goes about finding a “real” job. Agh, so much unknown! Hopefully I’ll find something that will support my family a little more comfortably than we’ve been (it would be nice to actually pay medical bills when they come in instead of saving them all for tax time), something during day time hours that doesn’t require working the whole weekend every other weekend. That would be ideal…but even that’s intimidating. There’s a part of me that worries finding a normal, 9-5ish day job will make me so…so…I don’t know, ordinary?

My schedule has been pretty damn insane for the past five years. I went from working 74 nighttime hours in seven days and having seven days off to working 40 hours over the weekend every other weekend so I could go to school Monday through Friday as needed. When I went part time three years ago I was so relieved not to be working the seven days anymore, that’s a good sign that I shouldn’t just settle back into something like that again. I’m burned out on working nights and weekends but I don’t know if I know how to have a “normal” job and manage my life. It would certainly be very different for me. I’d have to run in the evenings or *gasp* early mornings  like all you other poor schmucks. I’ll have to grocery shop on the weekends or late at night. Weird! So weird!

It’s time to move forward, to transition and adapt. It’s a good thing. Having free weekends would be downright amazing. Not being overly stressed about paying my bills would be a giant relief. I just need to wade through this mess of fear and self-doubt that’s anchoring my feet to the ground, immobilizing me in my tracks. It’ll happen. I’ll get there one uncertain step at a time. In the meantime I’m avoidance cleaning today. I got a new vacuum cleaner and it’s amazing! So there’s that.

And to wrap this somewhat distracted but of drivel up, here are a some more pics from the trip to Georgia including Stone Mountain and a Thanksgiving day “Gobble Jog” fun run in Marietta.

Don’t Explain

Communication in relationships is hard. Even if you love (and maybe still like) the other person it’s challenging to communicate effectively on a day to day basis in a way that doesn’t build and foster resentment. Trying to communicate with someone you don’t live with anymore, don’t love anymore, and don’t even really like much is exponentially more difficult especially after you’ve gone round and about in the court system a couple of times. Unfortunately it’s also often necessary when kids are involved. And there’s no shortage of things you have to communicate about when you’re trying to co-parent.

Recently my ex-husband and I started attending “communications therapy”. It’s been almost three years since the finalization of our divorce and we basically communicate as little as possible. The pattern goes like this: Something happens or is coming up that (legally or logistically) requires us to coordinate or agree in some capacity, I email him, he ignores said email, whatever needs to be handled gets closer, I resend the email or email asking if he’s going to answer, he (finally) responds with as few actual answers as possible. Typically he’ll throw in an insult, snide comment, or ridiculous statement about me as a person or parent and half answer what ever needed to be addressed. If there’s something from his end that needs to be conveyed he usually tells the kids to tell me or talk to me about whatever. This pattern sucks and accomplishes nothing but frustration. On top of that it often puts the kids in the uncomfortable role of go-between.

Even though this communications therapy isn’t something either of us chose or was super excited about, it’s clearly something we can benefit from. I’m a little bit skeptical about how helpful it’ll be, mostly because my ex is very minimal in his participation, but it’s worth a try. And also it’s court ordered so there’s that.

We’ve had three sessions so far.

The emerging theme is that we somehow need to break the cycle of mutual distrust that feeds our dysfunctional communication. The problem is that neither of us is going to take the first step. We’re in a Mexican stand-off. But if nothing changes then…well, nothing changes. The therapist made the suggestion of stripping our communication down to the bare minimum for now. Exchange only the information necessary. Exasperated, I told her that that’s what I’ve been doing. I pulled up our most recent email exchange on my phone to illustrate my point.

“Look”, I said “this is what it is, when, how much, and why it needs to happen.”

At which point she stopped me saying that even the Why is too much right now. We’re not there yet. I was a little baffled. I think it showed on my face. It just makes sense to me to tell why whatever thing that’s going on actually needs attention. It’s part of the basic facts, at least in my mind it is. Why is important! It’s what makes it all make sense.

The therapist continued, saying when I start explaining why he might be thinking “Oh great, here she goes again. Nag nag nag, blah blah blah.” and then he stops hearing what I’m saying. The door of communication is closed. The why, my explanation, she said, might be a trigger for him. It’s part of the cycle that clearly needs to be broken.

This blew my mind a little. Something as basic as that was a trigger? That?!? That’s what gets his panties in a twist?

He didn’t respond but it made perfect sense. Years and years of communication dynamics with this guy who’s now basically a stranger but I still know so well came into focus. I could see it. Explaining. This was a thing that put him on the defense. This?!?

Back when we were dating and first married my ex-husband used to call me “Little Miss Know It All”. He meant it in an entirely endearing, condescending way. He always felt like I was trying to show off how smart I am and how much I know. Ironically I really don’t think I’m all that smart. I’m like Carry from The Incredibles…”Half the time I don’t even know what anyone is talking about.”

I do, however, have a tendency to try to explain myself. Until this therapist pointed it out to me I never even really noticed it. I mean, obviously I’m wordy. Even when I attempt to be succinct it’s a challenge. But I really did think I was just giving him the basics in these emails. Now I catch myself doing it frequently. When talking to my kids’ teachers or the school, in conversation with other parents, in the presentations for my lab class (it’s especially unhelpful in science writing where brevity is paramount), I hear myself giving reasons, almost excuses, telling why for everything. It’s like I feel like I have to justify and defend what I’m saying even when it’s something as basic as calling the school about a sick kid. Now that I notice it it’s driving me a little crazy.

The most ironic thing about this being a factor in our broken communication cycle is that this problem, my habit of explaining myself, was at very least perpetuated by the relationship dynamic of our marriage if not created by it. When dealing with my then husband I often felt the need to explain the why, to make excuses and justify myself to him. It was part of the tiptoeing process that dealing with him often required. The why served a purpose. But now it’s causing problems. Probably it always has, I’m just now able to identify that.

Self-awareness isn’t really my strong suit. I’m at least self aware enough to be aware of that. When I looked at the problem of communicating with my ex I could not say what I was doing wrong. Not because I think I’m so right all the time, but because I really could not tell what my part of the problem was.

Part of me is relieved to know what I can change to improve things and, hopefully, ease some of the discomfort of communicating with my ex-husband. A small par t of me is irritated though. Because I have to change to accommodate him. Again. I’m the one who needs to solve the problem. I need to adapt and change around him…even though he’s probably more of the problem than I am. Why is this on me? Why is it my responsibility to fix the problem? Why am the problem? All the bullshit he deals out and I’m the problem???

I’m not. Not really. But. I’m the one sitting here trying to solve the problem.  My choices are change or don’t. But if nothing changes then Nothing Changes. What’s worth more, digging my heels in on a matter of principal or adapting my communication style to more effectively communicate? To me it’s a slippery slope. A steep downhill with loose gravel. Yes, this one thing is not a big deal. But a lot of little deals equal a big deal. Where is the line? I’m pretty sure it’s written in invisible ink so you can’t see it until you’ve already crossed it.

Relationships are a series of compromises, of changing who you are to accommodate the other person so that you can co-exist and grow together. In a good, healthy relationship both people are actively and continuously changing and it makes things better. But there’s always the risk that this growth, this changing, won’t be balanced and that you will be the one doing the brunt of the leg work. The tough part about navigating a post-divorce relationship (well, one of the many tough parts) is that you already know this isn’t going to be a balanced, healthy relationship. That’s probably how you ended up divorced in the first place. But you are the only person you can change, you are the only one who you have control over, you can only determine your own actions, reactions, and behaviors… if you want something to change in your post-divorce interactions, you have to be the one to make the change happen.

So, here’s to putting on the adult pants (even though you’d prefer not to wear pants). Here’s to self awareness and changing. Here’s to baby steps towards a more functional co-parenting post-divorce relationship.



I think I can’t but I know I can

You know that scene in the movie Last of the Mohicans where one of the characters cuts into the chest of his opponent and pulls the guy’s still beating heart right out of his body then holds it high above his head while yelling…something?  That scene sums up how I felt as I walked the wrong way through the metal detector out of the boring official brick building into the sweltering heat. Except I hadn’t been cast as the triumphant warrior holding the heart in the air. No, I was the other guy. The one standing there staring at the gaping hole in the middle of his body wondering what the fuck just happened. He’s the one I can relate to right now. That guy. Some days the Universe should hand us an “I Survived” t-shirt at the end of the day. Life just plain sucks and there should be some recognition for getting through it once in a while. There’s not and you just keep chugging along. What other choices are there?

That’s what it feels like I’m doing these days, just chugging along at bare minimum trying to get through. At some point there’s got to be a light at the end of this tunnel but right about now I’m not so sure. I’m running out of steam. The car is on E and I’m not seeing a gas station anywhere. Feelings wise I don’t think I can make it but based on experience I know I can… Well, I’m 90% sure I can.

There’s an odd disconnect between the pain and the reality of life moving forward. I want the world to stop for a minute and let me wallow in it, give me a second to process it all, but decisions have to be made and quickly. Big ones, hard ones (Yeah I know Phrasing!) and I don’t think I can do this. I’m not equipped to deal with life on this level. Maybe I skipped class that day of Adulthood 101 but nobody taught me how to handle this kind of reality. I want to crawl under a rock, or maybe the blankets on my bed in my dark room, and hide for a month, come out when I’m ready to handle this disappointment and sadness, when I’m ready to cope with the struggles of my life and decide whether this is where we say Okay and deal or keep on fighting. Whether this goes to the next level or becomes the new norm. How do you really know when it’s a thing you can or should change or one you should accept? I never was very good at that, recent events have made me worse. I question my perception of reality now more than ever before. It’s hard not to when I see people buying the craziness that’s being sold dirt cheap. Sometimes the thing being said the loudest and most insistently really does become the truth. Guess I should have learned a long time ago to speak up, to yell more. Shout the injustice from the roof tops even if it is all in my head. My belligerence level has always been a little too low for that.

I think I can’t. Can’t handle this, can’t deal…just can’t. But I know I can. Because I have before. One foot in front of the other, keep moving forward. Ignore the desire to stop and just lay down and let time wash over you. Focus on the positives while you’re crying in the shower. Work towards the concrete goals, those ones with an end in sight. Because even though it feels Not Okay right now, better things really are on their way .Maybe not the ones you thought you needed but still better. Better than this. Life will never be ideal. No one gets out of this without a scar; we’re all a little fucked up in the end.

That’s just the way it goes. I think I can’t but I know I can.



The Bogart

Urban Dictionary defines the term Bogart as “to keep something all for oneself, thus depriving anyone else of having any.”

Usually it’s used in a drug related context like “Hey Man, quit Bogarting that joint and pass it over here.” Obviously that’s not what’s going on here, though considering my stress level of late….

Someone (he Who Shall Not be Named) tried to Bogart my Mother’s Day. Well, him and his “one true wife” (seriously, that’s what he calls her when he’s emailing me and telling me how super fantastic and really really great this woman is in comparison to me), his PIC (partner in crime), the other pea in his pod of evilness…you get the idea. They tried to steal my Mother’s Day joy.


Because, as you may or may not know, I’ve historically had some pretty fucking fantastic Mother’s Days (said very sarcastically).

This year was going to be different though. I talked to the kids ahead of time and impressed on them that they were going to do something for me then got breakfast foods that I knew they could prepare. I’ve also greatly adjusted my expectation for days like Mother’s Day…and my birthday…and Christmas. Not that it doesn’t make me a little sad when my older kids get me nothing (yup, nothing at all) for Christmas and buy their asshole dad (yeah, the one who shall not be named) a football jersey.

It’s a whole different dynamic when you’re the only parent/adult in the house. There’s no one to remind and enable the kids to get or do something for you. Their dad has his One True Wife to go on eBay and order something then collect the money from the kids so they can get him a gift. And great for him. But there’s no one like that around here. I understand and will take steps to remedy that next year (Note to self: hurry up and find a significant other so the kids will get me a freakin birthday present. Must work quickly as said birthday is next month.)

This year all I expected and really wanted was a relaxing day with my kids. Maybe I’d pick them up, take a nap (since I would be coming off a 12 hour night shift), have the brunch they prepared, and we’d watch a movie together (aka they’d watch a movie while I slept on the couch). My daughter, being a girl (and therefor inherently more considerate) and artsy in nature, would probably have made me a gift and I knew my youngest had made me something at Kindergarten. He had mentioned it the week before and was excited for my surprise.

The first fly in my honey of this day of recognition and appreciation came from the ex when I emailed to say I couldn’t pick the kids up right at nine (I get done working at 9a.m.) but I’d be there by 9:30 at the latest. This just was not acceptable to him because he and the little wife had to leave right at nine and, even though our kids are 15, 14, 12, 10, & 5, he would not leave them alone for less than half an hour. He stated that he does not trust me alone at his residence…Umm, yeah, because I really want to go in and have a look around or something. Riiight.

I assured him that I had no interest whatsoever in going in his house, I just wanted to pick up the kids, and it’s a little silly to have someone drive out to get the kids over a twenty minute time difference. No dice. Logic has no effect on that one. He and his wife had to leave precisely by 9:10 at the vary latest and if I couldn’t be there by then I was the one “not abiding by the court order” and (in his mind at least) therefore forfeiting my holiday parenting time. I don’t really think that’s how it worked but I wasn’t going to fight with him over something so stupid.

So I arranged for my parents to pick up the kids but they had to stop by my work and get my van first. Their car only seats 5. Good to go, problem solved. Though now I had no excuse for not getting my own mom a Mother’s Day gift.  I relayed this information to the father of my children and he assured me they would be up since “they already had alarms set to make (Step mom) breakfast.”

At 8:55 Sunday morning (while I was still at work trying to finish up) my daughter called asking when I would be there. Seriously? Ugh. I told her grandma & grandpa were on their way and would be there shortly. I had a chance to look out the window a minute or two later and happened to notice that my van was still in the parking lot. Crap! My parents’ car (which I had seen pull in like ten minutes earlier), however, was not. Turns out my van wouldn’t start so my dad left my mom waiting in my unstarting van for me to finish my shift while he went to pick up the kids from my angry ex.

How do I know he was angry? The two kids who have cell phones had called me a total of five times in ten minutes. I answered the last of these calls at 9:06 and could hear both He Who Shall Not be Named and his One True Wife yelling and screaming about me being late (how irresponsible & selfish I am and so on and so forth). Good times right there!

angry voldemort

My dad got to the ex’s house and picked up the kids less than a minute later. Seriously, he got there at 9:07. My kids had spent the past fifteen minutes at least with their outraged dad yelling and berating anyone and everyone over seven minutes…on Mother’s Day.

Once the kids were picked up things did start to improve. My van started and my mom and I got doughnuts and chocolate milk for everyone. My lovely daughter did indeed make me a painting but when I asked the little guy about the present he made me at school he looked downcast and said “Dad made me give it to (Step mom) because I was at his house this morning.”

What the fuck? Those bitches just Bogarted my Mother’s Day gift. The last kindergarten Mother’s Day gift I will ever get, one that was clearly made for ME…because, you know, I’m the kid’s actual mother. That’s taking asshole to a whole new level right there!

I can’t say I wasn’t more than a little upset about that one but what can you do? I’ll tell you what: take a nap, get pizza, and play Star Wars Trivial Pursuit.

Despite the best efforts of some people, I was determined to have some positive, relaxing time with my kids. I guess that’s about as good as it gets.

...annd just for fun.

…annd just for fun.

Misery & its Companions

Misery loves company. Boy does it!
We’ve all heard this; cliches become cliche for a reason. But sometimes misery needs some alone time to shut the fuck up & get over itself.

I’ve wallowed in my fair share, and maybe more, of misery this past year while coping with the less than desirable outcome of a stressful, drawn out divorce process. There were a lot of sad work weekends (and weeks) alone in my big empty house where I did basically nothing other than work and sleep. Maybe I would go for a run… maybe, but every other week the cold, dark days of this past winter were ,for the most part, spent holed up in bed trying to avoid…basically everything.
I was a bad friend and a terrible employee.
If people called I didn’t return their inevitably missed calls citing my crazy work schedule as my excuse when they’d finally catch up with me weeks later. I pushed the window of lateness at work regularly, rushing in (past the annoyed looks of afternoon staff waiting to leave) & heading straight to the time clock to get punched in before I was technically late.
Thursdays were the worst day and then the best day of the week; my kids switched back and forth between their dad’s house and mine each week as I rotated between living and coping, human and robot, while this thing that I never thought would happen became our routine.
I was sad, angry, lonely, and just generally miserable. The weekends without the kids were always the worst. Weekends are supposed to be fun but every other Thursday evening after my kids had left and the usual whirlwind of chaos that is life with kids died down I’d look into the bleakness of weekend with a sense of dread.
And I would wallow in it.
Mentally burrowing into the blankets of loneliness, of sadness and general disappointment in life.
It was during this time that I discovered Divorce Blogs.
Turns out other people were wallowing in misery too.
And they were writing about it.
All that uniquely similar pain was laid out in Blogland. There it was written up in stories that were different in the details but expressing an emotional turmoil that was oh so familiar. Somehow that was comforting. There was an odd solace in finding others who were wallowing in the same brand of misery that I was currently imbibing in. It was like I had stumbled on a sad, secret club full of anonymous members and just belonging, knowing the code word to get in the door, made my state of being more tolerable.
It was kind of great.
I could read and commiserate while maintaining my self-imposed isolation. Here and there I’d read someone else’s pathetic tale of divorce and think Yeah, I know exactly how you feel. Other times it was more along the lines of Psh, you think you’ve got it bad that’s nothing (I mean, seriously, you’re upset because the ex wants to joke and act friendly??? Try dealing with the constant barrage of insults via text and e-mail that I get on a bi-weekly basis….but whatever.).
And of course there is always someone who has it worse too.
At any rate, my misery had found companions and was truly enjoying itself…if such a thing is possible.

But then something happened.
A couple weekends ago, it was a work weekend/weekend without the kids, the old familiar sadness was creeping in. Plus I was struggling to stay asleep and needed a distraction. I tapped the WordPress icon on my phone screen and scrolled to the Divorce Blogs. As I shuffled through and read I realized my usual tactic wasn’t having its usual effect.
I could definitely empathize with these anonymous friends but other than that I felt…fine.
Mildly sad, irritated that I wasn’t sleeping and should be but in general I was okay. Or maybe better than okay.
I was good.
Life, overall, at that point was… good.
It suddenly occurred to me that sometime over the past couple months ,during the business of surviving the end of another school year with the kids, through the process of accomplishing my goal of enjoying summer I was just living again. Even though there were and still are down times and moments of sadness I really wasn’t wallowing anymore. I didn’t need to.
While I was busy living, my life started moving forward. In fact, when I stop to think about it I realize I am living the dream, accomplishing long term goals on a day to day basis.
I own (well, me and the bank) my own home and have finally stayed in one place for more than two years.
I’m in the process of training for a half marathon.
Starting this week I’m a full time student again with a concrete plan in place for a career and one I’m excited about. I’ve gone on vacation this summer (first time in almost six years) and I’m even dating and meeting new people.
Yeah, my life is pretty good.
But here’s the thing about good, it doesn’t exist without bad.
If you don’t have bad times you won’t recognize the good ones. There has to be contrast and perspective to be able to appreciate when life is not bad. It’s easy to get stuck in the Life-is-Bad mentality, to perpetually wallow.
Sometimes one must pause and evaluate the state of things and decide how bad they truly are…or are not.
Sometimes we need to break the habit of being unhappy and look for what it positive in life.
They say it takes more muscles to frown than smile but sometimes to smile does require more effort.
It’s well worth the effort though.

This song reiterates my point…plus it’s fun and I like it.

Thursdays and What’s in a Name Anyhow?

Every other Thursday around 7pm the house feels huge…and quiet…and empty.
My kids have just left for the week (though not the whole week, I’ll see them Monday and Wednesday evening).
Sometimes I’m grateful for the quiet and the alone time but sometimes the week goes by too quickly and Thursday sneaks up on me. These Thursdays leave me feeling a little sad, a little lonely. They make me wish I had more friends or at least more single, available friends. They make me wonder if I should start trying my hand at dating soon (Eee gads, I’m not even sure how I would go about doing that!).
This time it was one of those Thursdays. My kids and I were sitting around the dinner table last night and it occurred to me that I had no idea what would be for dinner the next evening. I tend to plan the week’s dinners out on Sunday or Monday and I knew I had planned enough for this week but couldn’t for the life of me remember what I planned to make the next day. Later I realized it was Wednesday; I don’t make dinner every other Thursday, The kids leave at six.
Dammit, Thursday, why you gotta creep up on me like that? I wasn’t ready for you.

So I’m sitting here eating cheese and drinking beer, listening to Billy Joel alone in the semi dark reflecting on the week that just passed (and reminding myself that I need to run tomorrow if I’m going to keep at the beer and cheese like this).
It was a busy week but normal busy. We watched What About Bob Friday night, the first of what I’m calling Friday Nights with Bill Murray. The kids loved it; it was fun. A couple of my kids and I did a run Sunday morning, also fun.
There was one thing about this week that stands out to me though, something my kids told me about.
I don’t remember how the conversations started but it was Sunday evening and we were returning the movie on the way home from the 4-H meeting. My daughter said something about the youngest referring to me by my first name instead of mom. I responded with some vague question about the context of this. She told me their dad was calling me Grace instead of mom.
“Well was he talking to another adult about me or something?” I asked.
She said no, that it had just been he and the kids in the car at the time. She then went on to inform me that he had been doing this lately, calling me by my first name when talking to them, our children, about me.
What the fuck?!? (in my head only of course)
Oh…that’s weird. (out loud)
She agreed and mentioned that maybe it had something to do with him wanting them to call their New Step Mom mom.
Um, yeah, probably. (Again, in my head)

I told my daughter that if she wasn’t comfortable calling New Step Mom mom she should say something to her dad. I also suggested she could talk to her counselor about how to handle this (at which she dramatically rolled her eyes).
Obviously he’s trying to change the way our children think of me. To me this is so wrong; I’m their mom and he’s their dad. No matter how we feel about each other or who else we each have in our own lives we are still both very important to our children.  Irreplaceable even. But this all doesn’t surprise me considering he has indicated to me that he thinks I’m obsolete when the kids are with him. They have New Step Mom why would they need me (Old Real Mom)?
But, seriously,
is it just me or is this a bit of a douche bag move?
Obviously I’m not happy about it but what’s in a name anyhow?