My favorite thing about blogs right now is that nobody in the universe can be left out; the blogosphere is a fraternity that’s given a righteous voice to those nameless faces who chew gum or walk upright on pavement. If you are divorcing- there are essays, stories and clichés for the guilty, the griefstricken, and the intellectually amicable. If you are having a tough time with the summer humidity, there’s a place where you can go so you won’t feel alone anymore; your uncomfortable moisture problem should not go unnoticed- you are after all a human being with feelings and opinions.
My new boyfriend, a separated father of three helped me see the path to justice through blogging. After having my fill of quippy, web 2.0 minded people I decided to revive my own blog- hell, I can drop names and revel in my own cleverness in hopes that someone will respond too!
So I answered my own prayers and decided to write about my extraordinarily unique position of being the girlfriend of a newly separated guy who has three kids in hopes that there will be others wanting to share in my exclusivity.
The best part about being the girlfriend of a newly separated guy who has three kids a.k.a. GONSGw/3K, is that I have never had so much opportunity to self-scrutinize. During the first six months of the relationship the big temptation was to actually buy into the very part time mellow feeling about the fact that he was not divorced yet. This was powered by a fantastically dramatic dialogue with my inner Ghandi:

Anne: “What the fuck, I’m not vacationing in Martha’s fucking Vinyard with HIS GODDAMN EX-WIFE so that he can be with his kids.”
Ghandi: “If you say anything resistant he will not come to these ideas himself.”
Anne: “Why in God’s name would I go to a house that he shared for ten years to celebrate the birthday of HER child?”
Ghandi: “At the end of the day it’s only cake, ice cream, and Ethan Allen furniture.”

Ghandi took it pretty hard with a blow to the head after that, and unfortunately the episode ended with me recognizing that all the therapy and rationale in the world could not stop me from bingeing on thoughts about the only family life I had ever known- my childhood.