My best girlfriend finally broke it off with the married guy she'd been seeing for the past year. Of course she didn't know he was married when she started seeing him, despite suspicious signs.

That doesn't bode well for any of us.

While warnings seem redundant, and books like Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo's He's Just Not That Into You and Jamie Callan's Hooking Up or Holding Out spell out exactly what not to look for, it bears repeating: If a guy looks sweet, but acts sneaky, you should probably be wary. Has to run to catch a train after work? A tan line on his ring finger? Wants to meet for lunch, and go to hotels? Duh!

Even if it's just that little voice in the back of your head that keeps whispering, "This doesn't feel right," then it's probably not right.

The Internet is a constant source of distraction and deception. I've heard of more guys who either get hooked on cyberspace porn, or start to roam in places they shouldn't be. (Why do you think David Duchovny is being treated for sex addiction?)

It seems there's a web site now for almost everything. One of my "happily married" guy pals just met someone from a site that specializes in married couples seeking discreet affairs. A quick Google search, and philanderers.com is just a mouse click away.

My friend insists he's only looking for fun, not out to destroy his marriage, but I know differently. We FWW women can smell divorce coming a million miles away.

Because, divorce stinks; it smells like sex, lies, and the Internet.

I had a very eye-opening conversation with my neighbor. She and I like to take our kids for walks after dinner, and the other day we were walking along and I noticed something: she kept making little comments about her husband like I used to make before I gave up trying to reach out to anyone. She wasn't saying anything horrible about him, but it was obvious that something was bothering her.

As we walked I told her, "I'm going to ask you something, and please don't get offended, but I'm only going to ask you because I wish someone would have asked me this a year ago." I took a deep breath and asked her, "Do you and your husband have some issues?"

I braced myself in case I had just offended her, but she stopped walking and looked at me. "We're beyond issues," she blurted out. "We're at the kill-each-other stage." 

She then proceeded to spend the rest of the walk telling me all about how she hasn't slept in the same bed with her husband for two years and how she's miserable in her marriage.

What a huge eye opener for me! We had just been over to their house for dinner a few nights ago and they seemed fine. Here I was thinking that I was alone among my friends in having serious marital issues, and the fact of the matter is that I'm not.

After she walked home I stood on the sidewalk looking at the houses on my block.  How many other people are sad? How many other people dream of someday leaving a relationship, or maybe dream about the relationship someday getting better? How many of these houses have couples who can't stand each other?

How did we all get so good at pretending as if everything is peachy? 

A while back — a long while back — I wrote about how in those first few months after Levi left I couldn't stand to look at anything that reminded me of him. This obviously included pictures of us, his clothes, his stuff etc., but also included things that he had bought for me: jewelry, clothes, dishes, and so on.

Although this has changed somewhat — I am once again wearing my favorite pair of jeans, even though he gave them to me — it hasn't completely gone away.

Levi's splitting plan (which was equivalent to that of a criminal running away in the night) wasn't conducive to hauling furniture along with him.
 
Although, he was slightly crafty and snuck a few of his favorite things into a storage shed before he left, I was left with quite a bit of furniture.

(Now that I think of it, I never did say thank you — better get on that.)

Not initially having room for all of it, I put most of it into storage also. (Too bad Levi and I weren't on better terms, we coulda probably gotten a sweet two for one deal.)

Well, now I have the room, and a need, for the rest of the furniture. I have enlisted my friends to help me fetch it next Saturday.

"Why didn't you get it earlier?" my friend Rachel asked. I told her the truth: I didn't quite have the room for it, and, I couldn't stand to look at it. She told me that she had that same problem when she had broken up with a long term boyfriend. "Yeah, I think its a common symptom of breakups," I told her.

Then it hit me. I had an idea. "Wouldn't it be great if I could find another woman with a storage shed of furniture that shed of furniture that she couldn't stand to look at? "We could trade!!"

This guy, Mike — you probably haven't met him. But you've heard of him; I've been going on about him for a while now. I'm sorry that there aren't more of him, that there aren't dozens and dozens, so I could dole him out everywhere he might be needed. Because, it turns out, Mike is pretty much perfect for a divorced girl. At least, this one.

He has never tried to move any faster than I am comfortable with.

He has never said anything negative about Jake, no matter what I've told him, no matter how I've felt, no matter how he might feel. He knows how to be supportive and understanding without being derogatory.

I've had hysterical breakdowns, panic attacks, periods of unexplained misery. He's happily (well, maybe not happily, but certainly willingly and patiently) weathered these, as little sense as they made to either of us at the time.

Most notably, most importantly:

He accepts that this marriage was part of my life, that it is now and will always be part of who I am. He never pretends it didn't happen. At the same time, he knows he doesn't have to feel threatened or compared. He doesn't mind that there was someone else important before him.

I don't know if he has any idea how much of a worry it was that, if I ever got into a relationship again, I would somehow have to ignore or negate or erase those years that were with someone else. But with him, if I'm still sad over this marriage sometimes, if I have a story that involves me as I was before — it's a non-issue. He's enough of a friend that all those parts are just a part of me, and I don't have to pretend they're not there.

So, I'm thanking him.

I wish everyone were as lucky as I am.

I said yes to doing stand-up comedy in NYC Sunday night.

Here I go again terrorizing myself. Why?Why?Why? I won't sleep till it's over. I know my friends think I'm funny, but a packed room of strangers? Once again, I obviously need to prove it's never too late to risk anything — even my reputation.

My producer Mark Goldman made me do this 3 years ago when I was a stand-up virgin. I was freaking out until I got up to the mike and heard the first laugh from the crowd. Then they couldn't get me off the stage.

Some say if I hadn't gone on for 3 weeks I might have won the darn thing. I was disqualified for going past the five-minute window, They flash a red light to get off. I never saw it, just heard the laughs from the crowd and kept rolling.

They had to call the comedy police to get me off.

On Sunday, I will try again, representing FirstWivesWorld.com in the 3rd Annual New York's Funniest Reporter Show and I am one of nine brave souls in a stand-up comedy competition that raises money for Operation Uplink, a unique program that keeps military personnel and hospitalized veterans in touch with their families and loved ones by providing them with free phone cards.

Who am I not to risk my reputation for people who are risking their lives for me?

If you are in NYC, it's at the Gotham Comedy Club starting at 8:30pm.

The event PR is being run by the fabulous Ryan McCormick. The cost is $15.00 and a two-drink minimum. Personally, I may need a couple more before I get up there. Call 212 -367-9000 to see if there are any reservations left. My Ithaca College roommates who spit out their coffee when they heard, may already have bought them all.

Wish Me Luck!

I forgot to add this wrinkle to my post about my non-anniversary. A few weeks out, I told Rob I had a business trip to Chicago just after our big day, and suggested that since neither of us had ever spent time in the Windy City, maybe he should come along and we could tack on an extra night in the hotel.

We have no love life at home, so you know, I figured it wouldn't hurt to see what playing around in a new city and retiring to a lovely hotel room could do for us.

He said he'd check about getting a day or two off from work to make it happen, and then promptly forgot, day after day, to do so. Sounds like a guy who is not up for a romantic whirlwind trip away to a new city with his much-adored wife, right?

The truth is we both find excuses to avoid romantic situations. And week after week we work with a therapist on improving our communication and figuring out our shared goals, and never speak of the fact that there's nothing intimate about our relationship. We're all about denial.

A friend recently admitted he has to make a conscious effort to have relatively frequent sex with his girlfriend. He says it's too easy to forgo it in the name of exhaustion or lack of amorous mood, and that he find he has to work at it, as you would in creating a new, good habit. He's never disappointed once things get going, and always happy he made the effort.

But it has been so long for me a Rob — a year and a half — that I can't imagine getting over that initial hurtle...or enjoying the experience, much less make a habit of it.

Okay, I'm making a pledge now to bring up sex at couple's therapy soon. If you think you're getting tired of me posting about my lack of a sex life, imagine being in my shoes (or bed). 

I get to take a little break from my life today and go out on the road with a couple of my girlfriends. An actual road trip with no small people in the back seat asking how much further and chanting "I want out of this car right now!"

Yay!

It's only for two days and it's almost all of it driving, but the truth is I wouldn't care if we didn't stop at all. I love to watch the world through an open window, the way movement makes my mind turn faster and how my spirit feels freer and all my songs come louder to the rhythm of road.

It's a five-hour drive down into Southern Oregon where we are going, down through the northern most tip of the Redwoods and to the coast, and what I remember is how the trees grow more and more impossibly big around the bottom the closer you get to the water.

How I can tilt my head back, look straight up the trunk and everything in my periphery, both directions, is the bark. Up in the canopy is a world that goes on its way oblivious to us, and the smallness it brings in me is perfect. Forty percent of all the world's animals live up the treetops, a hundred feet above the ground.

We're always down here trying to negotiate with the little bits of information we can gather in our limited view. And everything we're in feels so enormous. The weight of tangled personal drama that we can't get high enough above to see where the edges blur out.

I want to climb to the tips of the trees, one branch higher and one branch higher, to where I can see how the pieces all fit together and everything makes sense. Breathe in and understand what it is to be small in the world and the universe and let go of the ways our crippled little vision keeps us trapped in the illusion that our confusion is desperate.

Good Lord, how long does this last? The deadline I gave my husband to move out was a year ago today. Last night, hours after receiving the latest update on the progress of our do-it-yourself divorce, he asked, once again, if I was still set on it.

Arrgggh.

What has happened, what has he done in the past year, that would incline me to want to reconcile, I wondered indignantly. My roommate pointed out that a year is a long time to stay married to someone you don't want to be married to any more. 

Oh. Well.

There are a number of reasons for that, most of them coming down to money. But since our electronic exchange last night, I've been so sad — for Ed, for myself, over our failed marriage.

And I've had to hash it out again — go once more through the reasons why I want this divorce. My husband, who thank God is sober now, has had sober spells before. Each was followed by a drinking bout that was worse than the one preceding it.

So 14 months ago, I decided I'd had enough. I had warned him months before. But he got drunk and stayed drunk and he had to go.

We had a couple of other issues, too...struggles over money and honesty and communication. So it's not like there's any need for doubt about whether to end this marriage.

Still...how long is this going to go on? When — if ever — will I finally accept my decision to divorce Ed?

That's like asking, How do you mend a broken heart?