Drinking and Tweeting Read Online Free PDF Page B

stripper pole for our anniversary. (Looking back, I see that was probably a pretty big red flag.) I didn’t realize that the entire time we were in therapy and trying to save our marriage, he was still seeing LeAnn.
    Once photos surfaced of Eddie and LeAnn on motorcycles in Malibu, I just lost my shit. The same afternoonthose pictures were taken, the In Touch magazine photos of Eddie and Sheena the cocktail waitress (also known by me as his Tuesday-night slut) were circulating online and brought to my attention. In his defense, he did tell me that he was playing poker every Tuesday night. Silly me, I thought he was playing a card game. I didn’t realize that he was actually playing “poke her.” I guess it’s my fault for not asking him to spell it?
    When I saw the Sheena photos, I immediately packed a bag and announced to Eddie that I was moving into the Beverly Hills Hotel. He begged me not to go, but I was determined to make my point and have him watch me walk away. Apparently, as soon as I hit the door, he was off to see LeAnn. I thought I was going to teach him a lesson; instead I learned that I just sent him right into her arms. But I guess he was headed that way, anyway.
    N o one ever tells you about the nitty-gritty of divorce. For instance, I never imagined my husband and me walking through our shared home of three years with yellow legal pads, picking apart what each of us would be keeping. It was one of the most surreal experiences ofmy life: each of us flanked by our lawyers, we went from room to room, slowly and meticulously deconstructing the life we had spent years building together. While we agreed on many items, Eddie was going to fight me for some of the big-ticket items, including the twelve-person Tiffany dinnerware set we received as a wedding gift from my parents. Like, for real, dude? You want to split our china? He did. And he got half. So if anyone is interested, I can do a posh dinner party for six on Tiffany china. I lost the crystal glassware, though, so it’s BYOC (bring your own cup) at my next dinner party . . . for six.
    During further negotiations, I sat across the table from him in one of those big, cold conference rooms. It was so surreal to me, because I was able to see a side of him that I never recognized before. He was a coward. In retrospect, I’m surprised he even had the fucking balls to show up. He’s hidden behind lies and half-truths his entire life, so anytime he’s faced with brutal honesty, he runs. It’s just his nature. And part of me was all too happy to insult him in front of his fancy-pants lawyer.
    We fought over the motorcycles, the condo, the boat, and the electronics . . . everything. I even brought in a forensic accountant to dissect his credit-card bills to digup what he purchased for his mistress with our joint funds. It cost me $12,000 to find out that he bought his Tuesday-night girlfriend some diamond earrings and paid the rent for her Hollywood apartment. The irony? I didn’t even get any money for it, and I still had to pay the bill. But I was angry and hurt, so I was up for the fight. It became the ultimate pissing match. I spent double what I ended up getting as the settlement, just because I wanted to fight with him, and I didn’t want him to win.
    Eddie even fought me for the Bronco my father had given us to refurbish. That’s where I nearly lost it. I was planning to give it back to my father. When I told my dad that Eddie was fighting me for it, he called Eddie to tell him that it was a gift meant for me. Eddie might be a total loser, but he just loves to win.
    Determining ownership of the Bronco was one of the final sticking points in our divorce. During one of our last meetings, the lawyers suggested that we each write down on a piece of paper how much we were willing to spend to buy the Bronco off the other person. The person with the highest number would pay that to the other party out of the settlement. We both agreed.
    I knew Eddie