I went to OCB yesterday with a couple of buddies of mine for our annual chow down, when from across the parking lot I spotted my ex-wife walking up to Borders, with who I thought was the Fat Lady from the circus. She was even too fat for one of those “before” photos. I’m telling you those flip-flops she was sporting must have had at least ten lbs of flab drooping over each side.
Anyway, I’ve never talk about that marriage or subsequent divorce, and my friends who knew me back than know better than to bring it. Even when we’re drunk and busting chops. However, these guys I was with didn’t know me back then. So, against my best judgment, I decided to be the nice guy, go over, and wish Raluca “Happy Holidays”.
Now, when we were involved, which is now sixteen years ago, Raluca was on the thinner side of body-types. She never exercised a day in her life, not one. She thought she was above that. She would eat like a bird and her reasoning was that one could maintain a healthy shape by cutting way back on calories. Plus, we would also save a lot of money on groceries, membership/entry fees, etc.
But this also came from the same person who would have to eat at those chic restaurants and sip drinks at the same clubs where you’d see celebrities at each weekend to keep up her appearances. Her dream was to be in one of those socialite photos. Yeah, you’re married to Mr. Dart League, a guy who wears Bears, ‘Hawks and DePaul boxers and used to have a subscription to Cherry, and you’re suddenly going to be a Socialite. Gimme a fucking break. This is the same woman who gave it up on our first date in the mens room, and that was after only knowing each other for about thirty-six hours.
So, as I’m walking up, I notice that she’s about fifteen lbs lighter, which would put her at 105lbs on a 5’8” frame. Plus she had obviously caught the euro-trash bug as she was decked out in spandex pants and 6” pumps. It’s like fifteen degrees outside (and icy) and this stupid bitch is wearing fuck-me pumps. Plus her hair looked like she got jumped by five angry squirrels. Typical. Ok, ok, it would be fine if it was nighttime and she was going out clubbin’, but it’s the middle of a Saturday, in Lincolnwood, and she’s dressed to trick. In fact, if I didn’t know her, I would have assumed she was one. Hey, the corner of Pulaski and Roosevelt is calling and they want their skank back.
A nanosecond before Hi came out of my mouth, I made eye contact with the circus lady. It was her sister Elana! Ha-ha-ha-ha! Elana was the driving force behind our divorce. She would help Raluca find herself in compromising situations back in the day and I swear she was a witch. I’m not just saying that. This woman would give Marilyn Manson the heebee-geebee’s.
You have to keep in mind how spooked one feels when they go to the in-laws for dinner in a house full of candles, people speaking only Romanian, and teenagers dressed like Emo’s, before it was remotely chic. Plus, you have Mama laid out on a bed (in the front room), incapacitated for the last eleven years, whispering to an unseen force all the time, in Romanian. Sometimes she would shout to whoever/whatever she had been whispering to. No TV, no music, no pets. Old family photos filled the walls and silence filled the gaps in between Mama’s whispers and shout outs. Very fucking creepy. Elana would always be at Mama’s side, looking at me while Mama whispered in her ear. WTF? The situation grew creepier every week. A fair-skinned boy marries into the Adams Family. OK, I wasn’t using my best judgment and now I can appreciate all helpful advice everyone tried to give me.
But, dating Raluca was fun, the sex was great and she pretty much stayed out of my business. She had her thing and I had mine, plus we had ours. I thought that seemed like an ideal arrangement for a starter marriage, so we got married. I tried not to put too much thought or energy into how creepy her family was, I have a few nuts in my family tree too. But, little things started to happen, such as her fucking other people (men and women), quitting her job to help Elana with Mama, getting really pissed when I had friends over for MNF and the coup-de-grace was my suddenly dead cat. All this within ten months. Then, in March, she tells me that we need to move in with her family because Elana is going to Romania for a few months. Oh, hell no.
This meant war with Elana, and the Dark Side had her back. Man, I was not looking forward to this. But, I got a hold of an attorney and an alderman (ex-cop and brother of a judge) and they agreed that they could squeak through a quick divorce if I dropped my lawsuit against my landlord (brother-in-law of another judge). Oh, hell yes. So, to make this long story a little shorter, I got the divorce as gypsies don’t have much pull with the Irish and Elana would have to postpone her trip back to the motherland. I moved into an efficiency down in Hyde Park (then I could see them coming) for a few months and didn’t see any of them until one of the brothers appeared on the news. I won’t even go into that mess.