Can I Get a Divorce, Please?

On January 25, 2013, my husband of almost seven years went to court with an “emergency order to show cause” (law lingo, sorry..) effectively having me evicted from our residence and awarding him sole custody of our girl.

You can read about that here.

He never gave me a form reason for those actions, it has been a war with periods of intense battle and then (relief) ceasefire. I have a strong feeling it had to do with my emerging illness. (He never was quite the caretaker.) i have stronger feelings that it had to do with his addictions to sex with multiple partners, mental disorders and possibly the scandal. No matter what his reasons were for filing that emergency order, which was dismissed a couple of days later and actually led me to an old lover, the joys of pawning expensive jewelry and feeling like a wanderer for a few days, this guy still won’t commit to divorcing me.

Hello? Can you divorce me, please?

A few weeks ago during one of our ceasefires, I asked about his attorneys failure to respond to my settlement offer. He hemmed and hawed and then, something strange…

He started talking to me. Confiding.

He’s a serious and unmedicated ADD/Bi-Polar dude, so I never know which personality I am going to get on a regular basis. I’m not even sure which pole he was on this particular night when he told me that he feels, subconsciously, that his failure to proceed with our divorce in a timely fashion is because if he is still “married”, he doesn’t have to fully commit to another woman.

What? Come again? Mister, you can’t use our marriage as a little jail cell for your estranged wife!

He went on to tell me that he has been dating various women and they all want the same thing. (Get ready to feel like punching him in the face if you are a woman in your mid-late thirties.) He says “You know, I’ve been dating a lot and I’ve had a few short term relationships, but I’ve noticed that these women in their mid to late thirties all want the same thing. They want to get married, get knocked up and stroll around Ikea every Sunday. That’s not really what I’m looking for, so by remaining separated and not divorced, I can’t give them what they want.”


  • You are a pussy.
  • You have a crazy inflated sense of yourself.
  • You don’t want to let me go.
  • Do you still love me? Do you think you made a mistake?

I didn’t know how to respond. How does one respond to that? I can’t remember what I said, but it wasn’t angry and it wasn’t nice. Maybe I didn’t say anything at all? Was he lying? (He’s a liar.) Is it about money? (He’s going to have to pay me a shit ton of money once we settle this divorce.) Was he trying to make me feel comfortable with him so that I wouldn’t be on guard for one of his surprise attacks? That’s the problem with his diseases. I never know what is real and what is contrived and it’s exhausting.

I’m tired, man!

Since that bizarre conversation, I have asked him and my attorney ten or twenty times about finalizing the divorce. Nothing. I’m about to embark on my three year anniversary of being separated and things have changed! I have a boyfriend now, someone with whom I would like to share my life with and have another kid before a) my cancer comes back or b) my eggs dry up. My daughter is almost seven and if this had been done in a timely fashion, it wouldn’t confuse her so much. She thinks that Mommy and Daddy are still married but just live in different houses. I try to talk to her about marriage and divorce and Mommy and Daddy having boyfriends and girlfriends, but she refuses to commit to that idea because we’re still married. Poor girl.

Christmas is upon us and I remember the gorgeous gifts he used to shower me with. This Christmas I’m only wishing for one thing…

His signature.

Sign the papers.

Make me an ex.

I’ve been a good girl. Really, I have. 

Can I get a divorce, please?

Sorry Boys. Suzy Went and Got Herself a Man.


Sometimes, people come into your life, depart and you remember them fondly. Sometimes you think about past relationships and feel anger. In the case of my “new” boyfriend, it was a mixture of fondness, anger, and wonder.

Where did he go?

Why didn’t he ever try to contact me?

Why did he treat me so badly at the end?

Does he still think about me?

It was hot. I was pissed off and angry at being dumped by my lover of two years and eight months. Blindsided. Furious. Pained. I was walking in a very crowded Herald Square, 34th Street and 6th Avenue to be exact, when I heard his voice.

“Hey, I know you!”

I whipped around, recognizing the voice immediately and scanned the crowd. There he was. Twenty years later. We spoke for about two minutes. He was working, I had an appointment. We embraced and I said “I never thought I would see you again.” He looked me up and down, touched my colorful arms full of tattoos  and said “I like…” His partner was resting against a subway entrance and becoming impatient. We spoke a few jumbled words and made plans to try and find a way to get in touch with each other. I’m “friends” with his brother and sister on Facebook, so I told him I would contact one of them. I didn’t have to. He called his sister right away and said “You have to get her number for me.”

Several hours later, I logged onto Facebook and there was the message from his sister. She wrote that he had contacted her and wanted my phone number. I gave it to her and then the communication began to flow.

He wanted to get together that night. I didn’t really care. I was in the midst of a broken heart and had just started online dating. I did know that I wanted to see hims and that we would have fun, platonic or not.

We learned a lot about each other that night. He apologized for his asshole behavior twenty years prior. We spoke about the scandal, started catching up, never quite finishing a story. I was drinking a bottle of wine and smoking my cigs. He was doing his own thing and we were having a great time. I got up to use the bathroom and as I was about to turn around to shut the door, there he was. Our faces inches away. He asked if he could kiss me and I said yes.

And twenty years later we kissed again.

The night flew by, we ended up in bed and it was almost as if no time had passed at all.

The next morning we had coffee in his backyard and I left. I was confused. I really liked him. I couldn’t help it! He was my first great love! However, I was ready to start going boy crazy again. He seemed to be eager to start right where we left off and it was something I pushed to the back of my mind.

We started hanging out more frequently and it was only a couple of weeks before he told me he loved me. I was reluctant to reciprocate that sentiment. I didn’t know if I loved him in that way. I was hurt and I was holding back.

It’s been three months and yes, I have reciprocated those sentiments to him. I mean it too. It’s so strange. We had this intense love affair in 1993 and 1994 and we’re in the middle of another intense love affair in 2015, but it’s different. There’s a level of comfort from knowing him and where he’s from and his family and finally catching up on his past, but it’s more than that. He’s a wonderful man. A kind, generous, romantic lover and someone I can imagine spending the rest of my life with.

I’m still not divorced (so ridiculous, I mean, really…) and I know that bugs him never being engaged or married himself, but I introduced him to my girl this weekend and it was perfect.

I feel like it’s perfect.

There is much more to the story than I want to bore you with in this post, but I had to let everybody know that Suzy has a boyfriend! And she’s happy.

To read a bit more about our past together, check out

The Departed: Part I

The Departed: Part II

Great Loves #1


Suzy Queue



Goodbye My Lovers. Goodbye Best Friends.

For the past four years, through the help of a brilliant therapist and a philosophical Rabbi/Psychiatrist, I have been working on my emotional and spiritual self. I do think I have come close to finding a level of inner peace that helps me handle the toxic ugliness that pervades my everyday life and I am happy, but I still have emotional baggage. I’m dumping that shit. When I was diagnosed with cancer, I followed what the doctors told me, did my time attached to an IV for six months and took all of my prescriptions, but behind the scenes, I was a bad girl. I smoked, I sunned and I sinned. I decided to take control of these habits and crush them one by one. This is step one.


Goodbye My Lovers

I met cigarettes when I was fifteen years old and by seventeen, I was officially a smoker. Thirteen years later I quit. For five years.During the six years that i did not smoke, I had funny cigarettes to help me fulfill my oral fixation, but that came to an end rather organically and I had a good three years of nothing but fresh New York City air filling my lungs. I returned to my former lovers and best friends slowly and surely, they became a part of my life again. I loved them.

I loved them.

My smokey treats (term coined by Jimmy Love) helped me through the scandal, the divorce, ironically, the cancer and the stresses of being a single Mommy. How i loved waking up twenty minutes earlier than my girl to sit on my fire escape with a cup of coffee and a couple of butts. How I much fun I had drinking and smoking and laughing with my friends. I loved lounging on the beach with an icy coke and a cigarette. I loved sitting at my kitchen table when I had the place to myself with a bottle wine and a couple of packs of cigarettes. I’m sitting at that very kitchen table right now with a bottle of wine and a Nicoderm patch on my back. I have a couple of Vapes, but they need to be charged and… I’ll be right back…

Ok. Vapes are charging. (…relief…)

Over the past year, I have tried to quit a few times. Sadly, I even smoked with the patch on. I was so in love, I did stupid shit. It was this past weekend when I was down to four cigs and my last glass of wine that i said to myself “it’s time.” I know the damage it was doing to my body, I mean, Goddamn, they shove those horrible “Quit Smoking” ads down your throat (no pun intended) where ever you look in New York.


A smaller factor was the smell. That shit lingers. It makes my beautifully washed hair stink. It makes my couch stink. My clothes stink. When my girl would come home after a weekend with her Dad, I could still smell my weekend of puffing. And I felt bad.

Finally, there was the cost. In New York, a pack of smokes ranges anywhere from twelve to fourteen bucks. A pack a day for a month adds up to roughly four hundred dollars.



That’s close to five grand a year!!  That’s like good tattoos or a large contribution to my IRA!

So, I thought to myself, “A box of patches is fifty bucks and it could potentially save my life AND five thousand dollars a year…sign me up!!”

It’s only day four and I’ve been an incredible bitch, almost caved twice but I’m still committed to this goal. If I can leave this toxic lover behind, I can do anything and there are things I NEED to do. More toxic waste to get out of my body. Get out of my mind.

I loved you, my little smokers, but you hurt me so bad.


The Cancer Chronicles #1: Goddamned Fucking Fatigue

It’s been about two years since I’ve received my last chemo treatment, but the hits just keep on comin’! Two brutal winters, two gloriously hot, hot, hot summers, fevers, anemia, iron infusions, pneumonia, remission, stage 1, bone marrow tests, PET Scans, remission, fevers, stage 1, B Cells, post chemo hair loss, fatigue, fatigue, fatigue.

When I say that i’m tired, I don’t mean that I didn’t sleep well last night. It means that I’m tired. Goddamned fucking town to the marrow in my bones tired. Exhaustion. Sleep does not elude me. I can sleep for days.



Having an almost seven year old darling girl is hard. I want to have energy for her. I want to want to play dolls. I play dolls and all I think about is my big comfy bed in the next room. I look at the clock over and over and over again. I hired a “Mommy’s Helper”. A cute nineteen year old girl who probably spends her cash earned on bags of pot and pregnancy tests, but she’s good. She’s reliable and my girl loves her. A lot. So much, in fact, that I’ve been getting jealous.

Which brings me to today. The school’s annual “Boo-Bash.” A big ol’ Halloween party to generate tons of cash for all of the luxuries that other New York City public schools just don’t have. Chess lessons, a fully updated and beautiful computer lab, yoga,  tennis, classroom libraries. Good shit. My friends’ kids don’t go to schools with all of these extra goodies. So, this school is constantly throwing parties, auctions, bake sales, flower sales, and of course asking for good ol’ fashioned cash in an envelope.

Back to the Boo Bash. My Mommy’s Helper offered to take my girl, but I declined her offer. I need to do Mommy stuff with her before she’s screaming “Fuck You!” at me before slamming her door. I don’t want to go. I’m fucking dreading it. I want to curl up in my bed and doze off until bedtime. My daughter is running around in her Cheerleading costume. The bash doesn’t start until 5 PM and I already feel like it’s midnight. I’ve called my oncologist three times in the past couple of weeks because of this paralyzing fatigue and he tells me I need a PET scan.


At least I can catch a nap on the subway ride there.

What’s Wrong with my WordPress?

I know, I know. Suzy had another lapse, but I wanted to write a couple of new posts and see what my WordPress buddies were up to and suddenly everything has gone awry! My reader only has one blog, my little picture is gone and I lost my domain (though you can still access it at

I have so much to share. I have had so many magical experiences since my last post and I want to share them all with you.

I’m going to do some technical work, but please, if you know of any changes (like how I can get my reader back) share them with me!

I’m off,



Mikey. From Brooklyn.

Do you remember my last post? The one in which I apologized profusely to some stranger guy for “hurting” him? Well, scratch that. I didn’t hurt anybody. He’s Mikey from Brooklyn and he doesn’t give a fuck. I have to start from the beginning.

In an attempt to start healing my broken heart, (which I’m still not ready to write about), I created an profile on OK Cupid. It was great! I received so many messages, tons of compliments and so much attention. Mike’s message stood out to me because he’s a native Brooklynite (very rare these days), has lots of tattoos and seemed like a laid back, fun person. I liked him right away. We started texting back and forth and he wanted to hang out right away, but I was a little taken aback by his aggressive approach. I also listened to too many people. My shrink said stay away. My friends were “iffy.’ He seemed like his interest was mostly sexual and I don’t know why, but at that short moment in time, I didn’t feel comfortable with that.

Silly me, that is just what I needed!! A no-strings, no commitment, sexual relationship. A fuck buddy!

Anyway, I acted all crazy and told him that I didn’t think we were a good fit and to please stop contacting me. He was definitely confused–he didn’t understand what he had done wrong. Honestly, he didn’t do anything wrong.

Friday rolls around and I spend an agonizing day with my girl. I just quit smoking, I had serious PMS. I was in physical pain and my heart was still freshly wounded. Big Daddy was having a barbecue that night, and I had been excited to go for weeks! I even switched a day with the ex to go, but by the time he picked up my girl, I was exhausted and in tremendous period and lower back pain (I’ve gotta get that lower back checked out). I told Big Daddy I couldn’t make it after all and I collapsed into bed, praying for the pain to go away. I checked the weekend forecast. Hot and sunny. I knew one thing. I did not want to spend the weekend alone.

I scrolled through my phone and I found Mikey’s number. I sent him a text message.

Hey! I’m sorry for the way I acted relier this week. I’m never like that.

I understand if you don’t respond to me, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

He responded immediately. He told me not to worry about it and that he was sorry if he had sent off some vibe that turned me off. We decided to meet up the next day either at the pool or the beach. I told him I would give him a “make up” kiss. Relief. I wouldn’t be spending the weekend alone.

The next morning we spoke on the phone. The fancy pool was having a party for Veuve Clicquot and it would be a scene. He suggested the beach, I agreed and he told me he would pick me up around 11 AM. He was right on time and pulled up in his 1978 Mercedes Benz. Classic. Mint Condition. He was standing beside the car and when we were thisclose we shared a quick hug. He’s barely 5’6. I say 5’5″ because I’m 5’4″ and I was at eye level with him. It didn’t seem to matter, though. I was instantly attracted to him. What Mikey lacks in height, he makes up for in swagger. In fact, he might have the most swag of any guy I’ve ever known. I hopped into the passenger seat, we decided to hit the Rockaways and away we went.

I spoke for most of the ride to the beach. It made sense since he was driving and had to pay attention to the road and navigator. He was super easy to talk to. I told him just about everything he needed to know about me as a potential love interest right away so that there wouldn’t be any secrets. He was cool with everything. When we arrived at the beach, he told me to wait on the boardwalk while he parked his car at his parents house not too far away. I called my friend T-Money, who is a Rockaway girl, to let someone know where I was and who I was with. He sent me a text to find a spot to settle in and I found a great big open spot among the masses of beach goers right by the water. It was lovely.

He met me, settled in and wanted to jump right into the water. So in we went. It was fun. The water was warm and the waves were big. He grabbed my legs here and there to check out the tattoos I have on my feet. We talked while bobbing up and down in the water. I was wearing a strapless bikini, so I was a little scared of it falling off amongst the waves, but it was all good. Since it was “my time”, by breasts were enormous for my otherwise tiny figure. Mikey liked that. He said so.

Back on the sand, we basked in the late summer sun and he reminded me of the promised “make-up kiss.” I liked Mikey, so I didn’t mind. He’s a good kisser. It was fun. He sort of poked around my body checking out this and that–the tattoo I have above my lady parts was slightly sticking out, and he touched it before he asked to see it. When I showed it to him, Mikey liked it. We made out some more and he told me to stop because he couldn’t hide his excitement in his swim shorts. I couldn’t help but grab a feel. It was good.

Our next trip into the water was different. This time we went in to cool off from our make out session and to make out some more in the water. I wrapped my legs around him and we kissed and kissed and kissed. I ran my tongue along his salty neck and heard him grunt slightly. I whispered “Do you like that?” in his ear and he whispered back “Yes.” He felt up my entire body beneath the ocean and his hands felt so good. We stayed in the water for what seemed like most of the afternoon and finally made our way back to our little spot. We hung out and dried off in the sun, talked about getting something to eat and relaxed, happy that we were us at that moment in time.

We decided to leave. We grabbed some food and a beer and then took the mile and a half walk home to his parent’s house where he had left his car. I didn’t even put on my clothes until we hit a commercial strip. The conversation turned to sex and that’s when I really started to get to know him. He asked me questions about rough sex, threesomes, favorite positions. It turns out that he had the best threesome of his life TWO WEEKS AGO. I tried to quench the pangs of jealousy I felt. I told myself “It’s too soon for that shit, Suzy!” and went on to ask him about his oral abilities, foreplay, and other sexual generalities.

On the car ride home he kept one hand on the wheel and one hand up my shorts. He knew it was “my time” so he kept his distance from the good stuff, but still, that shit turned me on. He was rock hard and I took him into my hand and started caressing it lightly. Suzy and Mikey liked it.

We went back to his pace and jumped into the shower. We started kissing. Hard. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and turned me around against the shower wall. He rubbed himself against my ass and thighs. He used his fingers to tease me and asked me how I liked it. He told me talk to him and I did. We were filthy in that shower.

Showered and slightly refreshed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I wanted to cry. My nose and chin were slightly sunburned. The dark circles that my sunglasses his so well were prominent in the bathroom light. My sweaty, salty, unwashed wet hair was a mess of tangles around my face. I stared into that mirror and slowly, all of the day’s pleasures were wiped away. I was still me. I was still broken ol’ me.

He was getting group text messages from his friends because one of his buddies was in from San Francisco and wanted to go out. He was tired and said he would rather stay in. He asked me if I thought it was fucked up if he blew of this visitor. I told him yes and so he said “Ok, I’ll call you an Uber and take another shower then go meet them for a quick dinner.” When my reaction was “Huh?” He reminded me that I was the one who told him to go out. He was right. I did tell him to go out. He paid for the cab  in advance and I was back home in twenty minutes. I was so tired, I didn’t even shower. I figured the rinse I had at his house was good enough. I threw on some pajamas and went straight to bed.

The next morning I felt weird. I knew he had to travel for business early in the week and I figured he was busy. The day was hot and filled with heavy thunderstorms. The perfect excuse to stay inside. At around 9 O’clock, I sent him a text message “Safe travels this week! Kisses!” He responded with a thank you and I wrote back “See you around. Have a good night!” He wished me a good night too and that was that.

I couldn’t find a place to write about all of the little things I learned about Mikey that day–like his love of luxurious things, his throng of female “friends”, his ardent desire to remain uncommitted (I stressed that too.) and his immaculate nature in both his home and appearance, but they all added up to something very scary.

I like Mikey.

And I’m never calling him again.

I Didn’t Mean to Hurt You Just Because I’m Hurting

I’m sorry. We never got a chance to meet and we probably never will because I led you on and your (crazy) excitement to meet in person scared me away and made me realize…

…I’m just not ready for this…

It’s really not an issue of sex. I’ll have sex.

It’s the little things. (Which aren’t so little.)

My apartment is a mess. Will you think I’m a slob? I can’t have you visit my apartment!

I’m a Mom. My schedule is crazy. I have somebody very important to take care of. You will always come in second place. (If you place at all.)

I’m sick. When I tell you I have “meetings” in The City, it’s my Oncologist or my shrink or my GI or my GYN. Can you handle my illness?

The Scandal. I stayed up all night thinking of fake last names to give you so that when you google me (and you seem like the type who would do that) you wouldn’t see what I don’t want you to see.

And the big things. (The Red Flags)

You were so damn aggressive. Why couldn’t you take a step back? Instead of suggesting we spend our first date at a swanky pool and then go back to your place, why not just a drink or a cup of coffee.

Were you really passing through my neighborhood today? You didn’t tell me that you would be passing through yesterday, so why the sudden errands in my neighborhood? That’s creepy.

I could tell how controlling you are after our first phone call. No, I don’t want to FaceTime with you whilst wearing my threadbare Yankees T-Shirt, my old glasses, no makeup and greasy hair. In fact, I’ve never even used FaceTime.

 I don’t want you to call a cab for me to take up to your neighborhood leaving me with no way to “escape.” I’ve been on my own for a long time. If I want to meet you, I’ll drive.

And the superficial thing.

I’m 5’4″. You’re 5’6″. I will never be able to wear my nice shoes if we went out or met up.

And the selfish things.

I needed to feel someone found me attractive. I needed some attention. I wanted someone to call me hot. I wanted to know that there are men out there who want to take me out. Men who can be seen with me.

I know I confused you and made you feel like shit. I am so sorry for that. I’m just not ready. I am just not ready.

And I’m sorry if I hurt you just because I’m hurting.

Suzy’s Lapses


I’m such a lazy blogger. I have a bunch of drafts and a river of ideas running through my mind, but there are periods of time when I just can’t bring myself to write.

It could be depression. I can write several posts on my battle with depression.

It could be fatigue. My cancer doesn’t want to go away and I have “traces” of leukemia in my blood. Not enough to treat but enough to make me crazy, super tired. I have to “watch and wait.” That’s all I can do. Watch and wait. Oh, and have a colonoscopy. Yay Cancer!!!

It could be my single mom status. I’m with my girl all of the time. When she’s with her Dad, I just want to collapse in bed or on the beach. I used to use that time to have sex, but that came to an end last week. (Yes, I’m pissed. Yes, I will write the post when I can focus.”)

It could be my slowly dying MacBook. I really need a new one. I should just bite the bullet and slap it on a credit card.

Whatever the reason is, I am going to try really hard to post at least once or twice a week–even if it’s just a photo with a few words or…oh who the hell am I kidding?? I’m not going to post a damn photo with a few words! I’ve never done that before.

I am going to finish up some of my drafts. I am going to continue my “Great Loves” series. I am going to be present.

I’m scrolling through my reader and I realize that I miss y’all!!

You will see me again soon.


Good Friends and Beach Therapy

Seagate Beach. Brooklyn, NY.

Seagate Beach. Brooklyn, NY.

I was heartbroken and sad this week  (post to come, but I just can’t write about it yet)  and I didn’t want to do much except lay around on my couch or in my bed and feel sad and empty.That lasted for a day and a night until my friend “Big Daddy” stepped in and commanded me to get the fuck out of bed and meet him and my buddies “Mama Lu” and “Chick Pea” at the beach.

I always keep a beach bag packed in my car, so getting ready to head to the beach solo is a fairly easy operation. I just throw on a suit, pack my essentials in a little ziplock bag and bring a bottle of water. I know my friends come fully prepared with food and drink.

I got into my hot car, feeling empty and blue, hit some traffic, thought about my bed and finally got to the beach.  My friends were missing from their easily recognizable “station.” They were in the water and I set up my little spot and lotioned up until Chick Pea came strolling back from her dip.

Chick Pea doesn’t now about the relationship I was involved in as it was clandestine and she and I are not as close as we used to be. It was nice to be around someone who didn’t know about what I had gone through 24 hours earlier and just shoot the breeze. Chick Pea is adorably hot. She’s 5 feet tall, an Italian-Puerto Rican beauty who resembles Jessica Alba, though I find her to be prettier. We chatted for a while and caught up on shit until Big Daddy and Mama Lu came strolling back from their swim. Immediately, Mama Lu gave me a big kiss and Big Daddy offered me food and drink. I couldn’t eat much due to some stomach problems I have, but I love an Icy Coke and he gave me one.

It was a beautiful day! I was only about ten miles from my house, maybe even less, but what a difference I felt laying around on my oversized beach towel than in my oversized bed. The sun felt so good on my face and body and when i finally couldn’t stand the heat any longer, I hopped into the ocean with Big Daddy, floated on my back, talked with only our heads above water and that’s how I began to feel–like my head was just above the water. I wasn’t sinking anymore.

I stayed pretty late and I felt the despair starting to come back as I drove home to what would be my lonely apartment, but I had begun to heal. I have a long way to go as he was an essential part of my life for a long time and as the summer comes to a lazy close, I realize I may not have much beach therapy left, but what I do have are my friends. My irreplaceable, funny, kind and generous friends who have stood by me through all of my madness. I suppose every group of friends needs one madwoman.

I am thrilled to be theirs.