firstwivesworld - Episode 17: Eliot Spitzer Stupid - Comments

Hot Flashes

Guest — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 14:11:17 -0400

Mimi....I stumbled upon your writings and have become an "addict"...OMG...it's the first time I have laughed about adultry since becoming a victim to it myself! Thanks for helping bring laughter and hope to a "fucked-up" situation!!

skank!

Guest — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 21:29:43 -0400

I could teach you a few more descriptive and effective words for all the bimbos out there that seem to be boob magnets for ex's that leave. BUT, I'm not going to go there. Keep thinking positive, keep thinking positive :) Jallygo

Love your blog

Guest — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 19:06:44 -0400

Your post made me laugh out loud...several times. I just found this site and am enjoying what I've read so far. I have to ask: Why do you refer to your husband's slut as the Concubine? That sounds so polite; I call my husband's bimbo "the Skank." :o)

this reads almost real

Guest — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 14:03:44 -0400

it echoes so many of my friends experiences. Not that any of their husbands or ex's spent 100k on blow jobs, but! there were many butts .. tee hee. Love your blog. Keep them coming. I get a nice fresh kick of laugter out of it.

spitzer complex??

Guest — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 21:51:39 -0400

sounds like something you might catch from a public toilet :)

Spitzer complex

Guest — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 21:43:49 -0400

I dropped my jaw. Really //// I read alot, but the surprise 100k blow job caught me off guard... as unexpected as Spitzer's long running slut romp with his cadre of bimbos. Someone should have scripted his life to keep his big little ego zipped up. Go Silda!

Episode 17: Eliot Spitzer Stupid

Tue, 25 Mar 2008 07:22:40 -0400

Guess what? I have a "contrecoup" concussion. This means my brain is all shook up. It happened, just like everything else in my life seems to, by accident last Sunday. I was standing on an embankment opening the car door with my super power arm strength (courtesy of that new thirty minute workout Annabelle's been pushing), when it happened. Needless to say, the kids were going at it, I was trying to call order, no one was listening (really, do they ever?) and before you know it, I smacked the door of the SUV into my hapless forehead. What a moron. I didn't see stars or rainbows but I did end up with a giant, yellow lump, a feeling of just general off-centeredness (nothing new for me) and a whopping headache at the base of my skull. That's where the "contrecoup" comes in. (It's French, but in English means a bruising of the brain caused by a blow, appearing on "the opposite side to that on which the blow was struck.") Which is a fancy way of saying you can get blindsided at any moment.

Case in point. I'm standing in my bedroom, post-trauma, in front of the full-length mirror (what a mistake that over-priced purchase was, and by the way, it was vain Jeffrey's idea) surveying my body and the bright yellow bump on my head. It's late in the afternoon, Roo is asleep (Daylight Savings — what a rip-off. It doesn't save me anything except the chance to catch up on some much needed zzzzz's, while at the same time sending my children into weird coma-like naps and even for them, unusual tantrums) and Mr. Handsome is at Chess Club after school. (I don't play chess, by the way. Jeffrey does — and not just on a game board — you'll see what I mean.)