Category Archives: The Pilot

2010 Effigy

A few years ago my friend Jen introduced us to a new New Year’s Eve custom:  The making of an effigy, things you want to leave behind with the change of the year, and the burning of said effigy.

I am quite proud of my effigy this year.  I used my “Imaginary boyfriend” bumper sticker for the body, cards that The Pilot had given me for arms and legs, and, of course, a picture of him for his head.  Then I filled his body with other things I want to leave behind me (car troubles, sick kitty) and other bad things that happened this year (getting laid off).  There’s a penny I pressed in Tahoe for The Pilot in his hand.  I had a card I had bought him, that’s where the plane comes from. 

I can’t wait to burn this thing. 

See some other great effigies here.

(Edited to add:)

Learn something about…Les Edwards

Les Edwards is an illustrator, working in the horror, science fiction, and fantasy genres.  He’s done graphic novels, advertising campaigns, and book jacket illustrations. 

I admit, I didn’t know much about Les Edwards going into this post.  I stumbled across him while doing some other research and thought this post would be fun.  So I recognize very little of his body of work, with a few exceptions.  He did illustrations for the Conan book series, publicity posters for the movie The Thing, and one of his pieces was used for the cover art on an early Metallica single.  Some of his work, in his self-described “red period,” are quite gory, but other times he focused on portrait elements and landscapes. 

He’s been doing illustrations for over 35 years, and also does work under the name Edward Miller.  You can check out his work here (for Les Edwards) and here (for Edward Miller).  He has numerous pieces of his work available for viewing and downloadable for desktop background, and some notes that go along with them.

I looked for a piece that depicted a heart being cut out, but couldn’t find one.

New Reality Show – Casting Call

A new prime time reality series is casting. Project description: “Seeking real people who think their spouse/partner is leading a double life (has another family on the side, is living with someone else part time, etc).” Casting across the U.S. (Link)

Hits a little close to home…Can’t wait to watch it…

This is it.

It’s not as easy as everyone thinks it is, as everyone expects it to be.  Getting over a betrayal is more brutal than the betrayal itself, if that’s possible.  At least the betrayal is only done once.  Getting over it involves going over it again and again in your head.  It’s like beating your head against a wall, or placing it under a car tire and putting the car in reverse, then back in drive, then back in reverse, then back in drive.  The entire course of the betrayal is remapped, again and again, in an attempt to figure out when things went awry, to figure out if you should have known.

There’s hurt.  Hurt that the person you loved, the person you thought loved you, could treat you so cruelly, could have so little respect for your feelings.

There’s anger.  At him.  At yourself.  The anger at yourself is actually the hardest to take.  You should have known.  You should have known. YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. How stupid could you possibly be?  How did you not know?  The signs were everywhere!  And you know everyone else is thinking the same thing – how could she not have known, the signs were there!

You have your days.  Good days, when you’re relatively okay.  Great days, when you’re happy and you don’t even think about him or it until you realize you haven’t thought about it.

Then there are the bad days.  The days when it eats at you, and you feel like you have holes in your gums, your esophagus, your stomach.  You feel like you really might throw up.  Your salivary glands actually start producing the sourness that indicates impending upchucking.

The bad days come less and less often, because that’s the way life works.  It moves on.  They (the ubiquitous they) often say that life moves on “with or without you,” but that’s not really accurate.  It can’t actually move on without you.  Even if you don’t want to move on, Life will still pull you along, like a recalcitrant puppy on a leash.  It pulls you until you forget that you don’t want to be dragged along, until something shiny captures your attention and makes you forget, even momentarily.  It’s therapeutic, in that way.  Life doesn’t care about you or me or what we are going through. It just moves along, a tornado, ripping this house apart, then veering like a drunk college student at Oktoberfest, leaving the house next to it completely unscathed.

That’s what I imagine he is – unscathed.  Going about his life, unencumbered by the hurt and pain he has caused, unperturbed by the lies that he told.  Not a care in the world, certainly not a care about the woman he led on for a year and a half.  A charmed life, happy-go-lucky.  That is, after all, his personality, and part of what I liked so much about him, even as it drove me crazy.

There’s the self-doubt.  Was it something I did?  Was I not good enough?  Does she have something I don’t?  Why did he choose her over me?  What’s wrong with ME?

***   ***  ***

I wrote that back in April, as part of a fiction piece I was working on.  Autobiographical?  You think??

I still have bad days, days like the ones described above.  I hate to say it, but almost every day when I pull into my condo I half expect to see his car, expect him to be there, waiting for me to get home.  Waiting to explain, to apologize.  I sometimes expect the phone to ring, and it to be him.  The doorbell rings, and I think, for half a second, that it might be him.

Am I still angry?  Yes.

Am I still hurt?  Yes.

Do I still want an apology?  Yes.

Do I still want an explanation?  Yes.

Am I ready to forgive?  The answer might surprise you.

I’ve had people ask me, “What would you do if he showed up and asked you to take him back?”  I wish I knew the answer to that.  My head, my pride, says that I’d say Hell No.  But I can’t deny there’s a part of me that wants what we had back.  Or, I should say, wants what I thought we had back.  I don’t deny that it would be a hard road; forgiveness would be a long time coming, trust even longer.  I hate myself for even thinking about it, but I can’t help it.  It goes deeper than loving him – it’s more about loving me when I was with him.  Loving the happiness he brought me, the way I felt when I was with him.  I felt different.  I felt like a better, happier person.

And I’m not saying better, happier than I am today.  That’s pretty obvious.  I’m saying better, happier than I ever was in any other relationship I’ve ever been in.  Better, happier, than I was in the past.

You know how they say love is like a mirror?  I saw myself, and I liked myself.  Even more to the point, I wanted to be a better person, for him.

***   ***   ***

The good memories:

  • We’d be sitting on the couch, watching TV, and he would bend his head down and just inhale – my hair, my skin.  He said he loved the way I smelled.
  • The feeling I would get when he walked in after a trip – I felt like the sun was bursting out of me.  Even on days when I would be mad at him for being late, he would walk down the stairs and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
  • The intellectual discussions we would have.
  • The stupid conversations we would have.
  • The random texts that let me know he was thinking about me.
  • The way we fit together so well, curled up in bed.  I don’t mean this in any sexual way – I mean, snuggling, we fit.  And he mentioned it all the time, remarking on how rare that was.
  • The way he loved everything I cooked and truly appreciated the effort I made, even though one time I made pork and he thought it was chicken.

The bad memories:

  • His habitual tardiness.
  • His inconsistent communication.

Obviously I’m not including the lies I didn’t know about, the cheating I didn’t know about, the hurt that was to come that I couldn’t foresee.

***   ***   ***

It’s hard, coming to terms with the fact that the person you loved never loved you.  I’ve been trying so hard to move on, but it’s not really something you can rush.  It’s not something you can bend to your timetable.  I wish it was.

Yes, there’s a part of me that wants him to read this and feel bad and finally grow a set and apologize to me.  Will that ever happen?  I don’t know.  I feel like if he were sorry, he’d tell me so.  And the fact that he hasn’t tells me he’s not sorry.  And that hurts.

I’ve wondered if the reason he hasn’t contacted me is because of Her, The Other Woman.  Maybe he’s worried that if he contacts me in any way, I would blog about it, and it would mess things up with her.  I’ve considered sending him a letter, c/o his friend, but really, what good would it do?  I don’t want to involve his friend any more than he’s already been involved, and besides, can you imagine what it would do to me if he still didn’t respond?

***   ***   ***

I’m getting it all out on this one, because I’m sick of just letting bits and pieces out.  I hope that in just letting the floodgates open and purging all of this, I will be done with it.  With that in mind, a couple of random things:

I was looking back through some blog stats recently.  Through wordpress, I can see search terms used to get to my blog, how many times a specific post is viewed, and, if someone links to my page from somewhere else, I can see where they come from (for example, if someone has me listed on their webpage, and someone clicks on that listing to get to me, it will show an incoming link from that webpage).  I noticed that the most visits I’ve ever had in one day was 191, on December 29th.  I figured that was The Pilot’s girlfriend viewing each and every one of my blog posts, since it was right about the time everything went down, and the day before she emailed me.  But then I noticed an interesting incoming link.  The incoming link was from a Facebook account.  The Pilot’s mother’s Facebook account, to be specific.  So evidently she knew about all this.  Which I found interesting.

You know that Lady Antebellum song “I Need You”?  I HATED it when it first came out, couldn’t stand to even hear it.  I recently realized that I wasn’t ready to admit the truth to myself.  “I wonder if I ever cross your mind?  For me it happens all the time.”  I feel that way entirely too often.

He asked me, in December, if I would move to Dubai with him if he got a job out there.  Literally a week before the shit hit the fan, he asked me that.  I told him I would, if we were married.  He nodded, as if he were taking it into consideration.  I feel so dumb for actually thinking that was a possibility.

***   ***   ***

What it comes down to is this:  I can’t come to terms with the fact that he cared so little for me.  I feel like, if I knew he felt bad, if I knew he regretted what he did to me, it might be better.  But I can’t say that’s the case.  Everything points to the fact that he cared nothing for me, that he lied to me, told me he loved me when he didn’t, purposely led me on and then dumped me.  Dumped me like he was taking out the trash.  And all of that is so…

Demeaning.  Humiliating.  It stripped me of my self-worth, my self-esteem, and I haven’t gotten that back yet.  And it’s hard to admit that someone could do that to me, that someone could have that much of an influence on my life.  Damnit, I am a strong, independent woman, and yet this sorry excuse for a man has essentially broken me.

What does it say about ME, that someone could do that to me?

There’s nothing worse than hating yourself.  And I hate myself for still loving him.

***   ***   ***

The bottom line:  I want to be able to stop thinking about it.  I want to make it stop defining my life.

This is it.  I’m done.  I genuinely hope that I never blog about The Pilot again, that he is only mentioned in passing, in the same way Soccer Guy and my Denver boyfriend have been.  If I do feel the need to blog about him again, I will make it a private post.  I know everyone is sick to death of hearing about this, and I know I’m sick of hearing the phrases, “You’re better off without him,” and “It will all work out,” and “Everything happens for a reason,” and “”You’ll find someone better,” and every other well-meaning words of wisdom/encouragement/kindness.  I know you all mean well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m sure you’re all sick of saying them.  So please don’t feel like you have to.

A final note to The Pilot, should he happen to read this, or should someone he knows happen to read this and want to forward it on:  If you cared anything for me, give me the chance to forgive you so I can move on.  Give me closure – I deserve that much, at least.  I know you ran into my friend, and it was mentioned that too much time has passed.  It hasn’t.  It’s not too late.

I wish he HAD been imaginary

My friend had bought me something for Christmas, but then at the last minute put it away. Probably a good thing she did, as it would not have gone over well at the time. She found it recently and gave it to me last weekend, hoping I would get a good laugh out of it, now, now that things are behind me. And she was right – I laughed. It really is funny:

Of course, there’s an entire back story behind this bumper sticker. Some…stuff…went down last September, with someone I considered a friend. It involved The Pilot. I wrote up a whole blog post, and passed it by The Pilot. Since it heavily involved him, I wanted to get his thoughts, and his okay to post it. He asked me not to post it, he just wanted to forget about it and move on. I accepted that, and posted it privately, with this note: “The Pilot is not happy with my posting this post, so I won’t post it…publicly.”

Of course, things have changed. I know now that The Pilot didn’t want me to blog about it because it was true. Because then his lies would sit there, online, for the world to see.

I’m reposting the blog post, publicly, and I’m sure everyone will get a good laugh out of some of the things I said. This post is unedited, and shows just how f&$#ing stupid I was. Re-reading it for the first time since everything went down, I simply can’t believe how trusting I was. You can view the post here.

Anyway, the big joke at the time, with the very few people who knew about this story, was that I had made The Pilot up, that he was my “imaginary boyfriend.” Oh, how I wish that were true. Would have saved me a lot of heartache (and embarrassment) in the end.

Shooting Stars

I admit it – I still look up. It doesn’t hurt like it once did. It doesn’t eviscerate me anymore. It still hurts occasionally, but it’s not as bad. It just sucks that there is quite literally a constant reminder of The Pilot, every minute on the minute it seems, as planes use the flight path above my office or over my condo. I can rarely go outside without seeing an airplane. Oh, God, but those days I can? Heaven.

(Just out of curiosity, I decided to keep track of the number of planes I saw today. On my 15 minute drive to work, I saw 8 (5 within 3 minutes). I saw 9 in the twenty minutes I spent running around at lunch. On my 25 minute drive home, I saw 11. And looking out the office windows randomly throughout the day, I saw 5. This is just planes taking off and landing, by the way.)

You may remember, from this post, that I hear airplanes overhead almost every night. It’s really hard, because there’s nothing to block out the noise, nothing to block out the thoughts, when you’re lying in bed in the dark.

“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now…”

This song came out at the perfect time. I thought I would hate it, that it would make me think of him, but actually, I love it. Because now, when I hear an airplane at night, while lying in bed, I just pretend it’s a shooting star, and I make a wish.

And, surprisingly, my wishes rarely have anything to do with his d*ck falling off.

I’ve kind of surprised myself lately. I actually don’t wish any ill will toward The Pilot or his relationship anymore. I never really wished any ill will toward The Other Woman, as she’s not the one who did anything wrong. I think she’s a bit of an idiot for staying with him, letting him get away with it, but she didn’t have any part in causing me pain (other than not giving me the courtesy of answering my email). While I do hope that one day The Pilot gets what’s coming to him (karma is, as they say, a bitch), I don’t wish any of the hurt I’ve felt on her.

I think I’m growing, as a person.

Really, all I ever wanted in all this is closure, so I can move on easier. Just some explanation, some apology. That’s what I wish for. (If wishes were horses…)

What do you wish for when you see shooting stars?

May 6th

Another memorable day forgotten about.  Last Thursday was the two year anniversary of our first date.  I didn’t realize it until last night.  On Friday, I even had another first date at the same place I met The Pilot for our first date, and while I was thinking about that date, I didn’t realize that the anniversary was just the day before.

Today was a bad day.  I’m pretty sure I’m PMS’ing, so the hormones are a little ragged.  Tears welled up today for the first time in a long while.  I still have a hard time reconciling the man I knew, the man I loved, with the man who lied to me, the man who cheated on me, the man who didn’t have the guts to face me, the man who hurt me so badly.

Some days, I actually forget.  The planes taking off and landing at night still bother me.  I swear they change the flight pattern at the exact moment I turn out the light, so they fly right overhead.  There’s nothing to block the sound out, and I can’t help but think about him. 

But I’ve finally migrated away from “my side” of the bed.

The Perfect Man – an exercise

Taking a cue from Goose over at SWF, I decided to do as her mother recommended and, without thinking of The Pilot, list of all the qualities I wanted in a partner.  I made a point of making my list before reading the rest of her post.

  • Dependable.  I want to know he will be there when I need him, whether it’s to change a lightbulb, kiss away the hurt of a scratch, or hold me in times of despair.
  • Intelligent.  Able to discuss current events and think logically and creatively.
  • Generous, with his time, emotion, and feelings. 
  • Chivalrous.  Opens doors for women, buys lemonade from a kids roadside stand, gives up his seat on the train for someone who needs it more, among other things.
  • Funny, in a witty, irreverent way, not in a “class clown” kind of way.  Smart funny.
  • Casual.  Most comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, but also comfortable in a suit, although that’s not his outfit of choice.
  • Caring.  He cares about people, and wants the best for others.
  • A good friend to his friends.  There for them in a jam.  Backs them up in a fight.
  • Athletic, keeps in shape, without being a gym-rat.
  • Tall.  I don’t know if that counts for a quality, but I like tall men.  At least 5’10”, preferably over 6′.
  • Supportive.  Of me, my life, my stupid ideas that I sometimes come up with.  My choices. 
  • The ability to disagree agreeably.  Even if our opinions on something differ, he should understand and see my point of view, as I will understand and see his.  And he should know that a disagreement doesn’t mean the end.
  • Communicative.  Able to talk to me about life and intimate issues and inner feelings and desires.  I’m okay with him keeping to himself for a time, but there comes a time to talk, too, and he should know when that time comes that he can talk to me.
  • Adventurous, and willing to try new things.
  • Duality.  I want him to be opposite ends of several spectrums, depending on the moment.  Patient and impatient.  Cautious, but occasionally rash.
  • Honest, sincere, trustworthy, respectful.

Not thinking about The Pilot was hard.  I had to keep redirecting my mind and concentrate on what I ideally want, because as I came up with each I instantly thought of The Pilot and whether or not the quality was one he had.  Instead, I concentrated on Ben, the main character in the book I wrote.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was writing my perfect man when I created him. 

The second part of the exercise wasn’t that big of a surprise, since I was comparing the quality to The Pilot even as I was writing it.  The second part of the exercise is to think about The Pilot and see how many qualities he met.

  • He was intelligent, and we had some great conversations about current events and all the things you’re not supposed to discuss in “polite company.”
  • He was funny.  Most of the time in a non-class-clown way.
  • He was casual in dress, but comfortable in a suit.
  • He was a good friend, at least from what I saw.  Even at the time, I thought he was a better friend than boyfriend.
  • He was tall.
  • He was supportive.
  • He was adventurous.
  • He had duality.

Of course, he didn’t have a couple of the big ones.  Dependable.  Caring.  Communicative.  Honest, trustworthy, respectful.  Those are qualities that are far more important than the fact that he was intelligent and funny and tall.

I’m writing as I’m reading Goose’s post, so I’m not influenced by anything she writes.  But she also found that her ex met about half the things on the list.  But whereas she says of her ex, “not that he’s a bad guy or a terrible person…,” I can’t say the same about The Pilot.  He is a bad person.  I’m not going to get into it all again, but our “break up” went far beyond one of us just not being that into the other.

But here’s my favorite part of her post:  “I think of it as this: Break ups so often have nothing to do with the people being unlovable. Rather, it’s a matter of the right person, wrong time or maybe a fit that isn’t perfect. Perhaps a bit tight under the arms, a tendancy to cling in all the wrong places or a pattern that’s too loud.”  I think that’s incredibly true, most of the time.  Again, not in the case of The Pilot, but it’s a wonderful way to think of break ups, in general.  It’s certainly true about pretty much every other break up I’ve had.  They were not bad people.  We just weren’t right for each other.  Time helps you realize that.

So, now, thanks to Goose, I have my Perfect Man List.  Something I’ve always shied away from before, because there is no such thing as perfect. 

But I hope to find someone perfect for me.

Smug SOB

I had a dream about The Pilot last night. In my dream, it was a Sunday night, about 10pm, and I was cleaning. The doorbell rang, and I wondered who it could be, even had the fleeting thought that it was The Pilot before dismissing it from my mind. I went upstairs and opened the door, and sure enough, it was him. I started to slam the door in his face, but then I stopped. “You know what, I’d really like to hear what you have to say.” He came in and sat down, and he had this incredibly smug smile on his face. He said that it seemed like we were always having to start over from the beginning, and he had gotten tired of it. He mentioned a magazine quiz I had done, and when he read it he knew we were going to end up starting at the beginning again, and he decided he had had it. (Side note – I didn’t take any magazine quiz.)

I kept asking him, “But what about the other woman? The quiz had nothing to do with the fact that you were screwing around with two women!” He would never really answer that, he just kept that smug smile on his face, and at some point I actually reached up to smack him, but he caught my arm. I was yelling at him, demanding that he answer me, and he went into the bathroom and was mumbling something in there, and I said, “I can’t hear you in there. Would you just answer the question honestly?”

And that’s it. That’s all I remember. Hidden meaning anywhere in there? Who knows. All I know is that I can still see that damn smug-ass smile in my mind, and it’s still pissing me off.


The Pilot’s birthday was yesterday, and I didn’t even realize it.  Maybe I’m even better than I thought I was!

To think, he was so mad at me last year because I was out of town on his birthday (to visit my ailing grandfather).  And he was cheating on me!  He was probably with HER, and yet he had the nerve to act pissed off at ME for not being around! 

He was also HIGHLY pissed off after my post last April 9th – he thought I was referring to him in the “I cannot respect a cheat” definition.  It was actually a direct example from, and I was not calling him a cheater.  Obviously, he read much more into it.  If I had only known…

Hope you had a great birthday, honey.