Chapter 90: The Magic Schoolbus

“WHARR THUH SCHOOLBUS GOINN’ ??”

She’s yelling.

 Loud.

Beautiful perfume-saturated, hairsprayed, spike-heel bearing creatures pile into my bright yellow Renegade, earlier this evening having been tipsily dubbed the Magic Schoolbus, and I start the car, ready to spring these wild banshees on the next hot spot. We are tearing up Big Suburb as only divorcees out on a warm Midwestern night can. Everyone belts along to an old 80’s song, while I pull into the next parking lot and this collection of slightly used Barbie dolls tumble out of the bus. Clicks and clacks of heels hit the pavement as the little noisy entourage bumbles down the street and into the bar, subwoofer thumping out something unrecognizable.  

 I tailgate my friends inside.

Well, look who’s here? 

I immediately see Fundude working over his latest target, a chesty tall drink of water with heavily highlighted hair and a big cursive BELIEVE command shrieking from her forearm. Fundude, as always, is armed with free drinks and limo rides, ever on the prowl, though it would appear his hunt for the evening is just about complete. I go over and say hi, how are you doing? We stayed friends after dating, which was great. His proposal to me about our friendship, not so much. Hey! We can be friends with benefits! 

What benefits?

 If you have a great dental and vision plan, well then let’s talk, but I’m pretty sure he means sex, which will benefit exactly and only him. I consider sex with someone I’m not madly in love with and completely committed to a complete waste of time, and I am bemused, picturing me lying there with him on top of me thinking…Am I out of eggs? I really need to get my taxes done. Gawd, did he have onions for lunch? OUCH quit throwing my legs over my shoulders. He is gonna crush me. Good grief, isn’t he finished yet? Benefits?  BENEFITS?!! Are you freaking kidding me? His proposal is more one sided than a pair of broken headphones. Women reading this, DON’T DO IT unless you are VERY sure that this is exactly what you want, and it doesn’t interfere in any way with your life direction and eventual relationship goals. It doesn’t look great to your future partner that you were willing to sleep with your friend as a sexual pacifier. Although, with the number of guys who do exactly that, it may not matter. Ahh, forget it. 

Anyway, so here’s Fundude, and guess what? His pal Sportdude is out with him, too, ever seeking, ever searching. I can sense the prowl. 

Is this what I was like? Needing, searching? It’s a sobering thought, and the bit of fuzz in my head from the glass of wine at the last place blows out of my head as I starkly realize that this is exactly what I was like before. Playing the role of prey, decorated little target waiting for the wolves to descend. Maybe Fundude’s long ago casual comment about the wounded fawn wasn’t all that far off. But I’ve either left the Wild Kingdom, or maybe I’m just phoenix Monica flying overhead…watching the chase below with curiosity and amusement. 

You can have him.

 You can have all of them. 

 If you go out in Big Suburb, you can probably meet half these Dudes for real. I see them all the time. Most of them are still out in their Affliction T-shirts, the higher class ones in their 500$  Bruno Cucinelli dress shirts, desperately searching for the single man’s holy grail, Thin Fit Sexy Woman With Big Boobs, Long Blonde Hair and No Baggage Who Hasn’t Slept With Anyone Else (Though She Should Absolutely Put Out For You); Rocket Scientist Smart But Still Makes You Feel Even Smarter, Loves Football But Doesn’t Talk During The Game. 

Good luck finding THAT unicorn.

Meanwhile, I have been spending most of my time buried in life direction. I’m in a rock band now, and the screaming guitars and edgy stage clothes are about as far away from my church life as you can imagine. I went from Amy Grant to Lita Ford, and I’m not coming back. I’ve even gotten brave enough to play alone, accompanying myself on guitar and singing whatever the hell I want, the piano bar of guitar gigs. I’m outlining my first book, and making my business sing. I direct my life now, Not the church, not some Dude. I kicked his ass out of the director’s chair, I call the shots now, pal. 

I’m a modern-day Count of Monte Cristo, the guy who was a prisoner with nothing, only to come back later as, well, a Count. He is so transformed that no one recognizes him, including his rotten jailer, who gets nailed to the wall for being such an asshole.

I don’t seek vengeance, though. It is enough that repossessed my life, hauling ass down the street at 4 am hoping no one sees me take it back. 

Once I was a church girl, cowering under the threat of the hammer coming down if I made a mistake.

Once I was a dressed-up,bedazzled girl in the bar, desperately seeking a man to take the bait.

Once I handed a strange man my phone number, hoping he would call, oh PLEASE won’t you call?

Once I was scanning endlessly through profiles, looking for a soulmate…

Once I waited and waited and waited till I could pounce on some Dude’s text message, jumping at the chance to respond.

Once upon a time, I was another person. 

I have succeeded in completely reconstructing myself. 

It feels different. It feels good. 

I remember talking to a close male friend of mine, back when I had yet to leave Tiny Town, lamenting the men I had dated. He thought I was selling myself short. ”Monica, you’re doing pretty well. Why are you bothering with these idiots?” 

I did not have a good answer. I could also see this happening to my dear girlfriends who were  winding up in similar situations, giving themselves and their life energy to someone who really wasn’t adding any value to their lives, men arriving empty handed all ready for you to take the place of their mother. 

In fairness, men get stuck with this too, getting taken in by some beauty to get bait-and-switched into the black hole of her plastic-faced insecurity. It can happen either way. By some miracle, I was able to stop the damn merry-go-round and get off, and now that I’m off and no longer dizzy from its constant rotation, I can see clearly and don’t want any part of it. Tonight, I can hear the creaking of its rusting turnstile, as the hookups happen all over the bar, couples climbing aboard for the dizzying ride.

I look back on old Monica, and feel compassion. Oh, honey, if only you knew! If only you had the answers sooner! But process demands the journey, and I eventually did figure it out, and entered the passcode and it finally worked and the lock clicked open and I emerged from the final Lastdude Boss battle totally victorious. 

The Count of Monica Cristo is out tonight. 

So is Fundude’s married best friend, gazing at Fundude schmoozing the buxom blonde. More accurately, just gazing at the buxom blonde. I haven’t seen this guy in over a year.  

He seems surprised when he sees me. I ask about his family, his work…and after we chat a few minutes…

“What did you do? 

 “What do you mean?” 

“You have completely changed. Your whole vibe is different. You seem totally confident. Your entire personality seems transformed. You are literally like a completely different person.”

WOW. 

I knew I had changed, but I didn’t realize how much, and I never thought others would be able to tell.  

We have a very nice conversation. And now I’m thinking…if I can change to this degree, and make my life this cool, can’t I make it even better? Can I go even farther in my purpose, in my meaning, in how I treat those around me, in making my life amazing, spilling all the awesome onto those around me as well? 

It’s interesting also, the bottom feeders are no longer approaching me. I see them approach other women, but I must no longer be giving off that vibe that I am some sort of bait to be toyed with, and they leave me alone. 

It’s mind blowing. Everything changed when I finally made my life about being the best me I can be, and found my direction and laid hard into it, pedal to the metal in this race car hugging the grooves of the fast track to everything I want. Dude faces blur together until all I see is a mesh of colors on the roadside. I’m not looking there anyway. I’m looking straight ahead, laser focus on my goal.

But as I speed, suddenly the engine seizes and I screech and spin out into the hay bales, complete stop. 

No one saw this coming.