What’s Mine is Mine; What’s Yours is Mine

When IO and I are alone together, 99% of the time, we’re fine.  I’ll sit and watch Mythbusters or Dirty Jobs with him, we’ll drink coffee, and later on, we’ll cook, eat, and maybe go to a movie or get on the computer. He bought a nice one recently, and even though he mainly uses it to play music, he’s learning. He’s learned how to put porn on it, how to check his mail, and how to surf. That’s a step forward in life. I don’t even mind the porn part. I don’t have to look at it.

He offered to buy me a new computer, but mine is mostly fine, and it’s mine, which is an important point, because he has a habit of buying gifts for me, then later on, claiming they weren’t gifts; he paid, so they belong to him.

A year ago, we went to his company Christmas party. He didn’t want to go, but I had a hunch we should. Actually, now that I am revealing my identity, I can say that I checked our charts and knew we should attend. He would be lucky.

Whenever we have gone, I have always won a nice door prize, and he’s won a $10 or $25 gift card, passed out as consolation prizes, so that every family gets something.  To cut expenses, the company gave tickets only to employees that year. IO gave me his ticket to hold for luck. And he won the Big Prize, a nice-sized flat-screen TV.  Ask him today who the TV belongs to, and he will tell you it’s his. His job. His party. His TV.

This, from a man whose sole possessions when I met him were a stereo and the clothes on his back. He had no car, worked at McDonald’s, and had three roommates. I sold my car and used the money as a down payment on a newer, more dependable one, which became the “family car.”  I paid the note.  He drove it.

I let him do those things in the beginning, the things that made him feel more manly, like driving, especially since he probably hadn’t done it for years. And giving  him credit for one of my ideas that made him a hero in the small town where we lived.

We had the car a year or two, when IO said he needed a truck for work. So we traded in the family car, and bought a truck that was in his name only. Yes, I did let him do that. He was paying the note.

A year or so later, to hear him tell it, he bought my little suv for me. He discovered it. He knew I wanted one, so he took me to look at it. I got a loan in my name, at my bank, where he also banked. I think that’s when we first joined accounts. I’m beginning to look pretty stupid here, aren’t I?

I made the notes for four years. Something happened, I don’t recall what–maybe I was unemployed–but I remember he had to help me with the last two notes. And that’s how “he bought it” for me. It is in my name only, always has been, and always will be.  I’ve had dozens of offers to buy it.

My little suv leaks oil. But never as much as it did the other night. It spilled maybe half a quart of oil onto the driveway. IO said he’d fix it. He put more oil in it and declared it good to go.

Uh. No.

I took his truck to work. I’m colorful that way.

I didn’t see him yesterday after he went to work because he didn’t come home. Two hours before I had to leave for work, I called to remind him I would need to use his truck. He wouldn’t answer his phone. I left a message.

An hour later, I called again. Same story. He didn’t answer. At the time I should be leaving, I alerted my boss. Then I called IO again. He still wouldn’t answer. This time, I left a message that if I lost my job or got reprimanded because of his antics (I’ve missed a few nights due to them) that there would be consequences.

He came home pretty quickly after that, and First Pen Pal, who was with him,  jumped in his own truck and high-tailed it out of here. He may be smarter than I’ve given him credit for.

That’s when IO told me he’s not going to fix my tiny suv (or have it fixed) because “we’re broken up.”  I’ll bet he doesn’t have any of that windfall left.  I know Third Pen Pal favors strip clubs, and you can drop a pile of money in those places in no time at all. IO used to spend his entire paycheck in them before he met me. He’s gone there at least three times recently. Then he didn’t come home those nights because he was too drunk to drive. How can I argue with that?

He likes to flash money when he’s got it. He’ll buy the house a round, or tip a waiter $50 on  a $100 tab.  He’ll loan large amounts to people who are never going to pay it back. Here’s one of my favorites: he bought $600 tool for a company to use so he would have a job with them for a month (before scampering back to the minimum wage job with all the ex-convicts).

When he told me the suv would not be fixed, I told him to keep pushing. I would push back, and he would not like the outcome. I warned him. I said it. “I’m warning you.” So much drama. I want this to be over.

And then he said, “Tell you what. You take the truck and make the note, and I’ll take the little suv.”

What kind of logic is that? Don’t you wonder if this is leading up to a blonde joke? Although he did recently change his beautiful salt & pepper hair to blonde, à la Billy Idol, I assure you, he was serious. He would invest money in the little suv if it were his, but not one dime as long it belongs to me.

Frankly, I don’t want IO working on it. He worked on it a couple times before when he didn’t want to pay someone to fix it, and he screwed it up badly. Screwups that remain to this day, such as heat from the engine pouring onto the gas pedal, where it blisters my foot in the summer (but is kind of nice in the winter, since it has no top and is permanently air conditioned, and I am wearing boots, not sandals).

As I said in the beginning, IO and I are pretty okay when we’re alone, but he gets like this whenever he’s around the Pen Pals.

I told a friend at work about First Pen Pal camping in my backyard, and why I don’t like First. I told him how if push came to shove, that I might call his parole officer, or the police, if necessary, and have him removed. Make sure he never comes back.  But I wasn’t sure. In spite of the fact that I always have these problems with IO whenever that guy is around, it seems an icky thing to do. He might go back to prison. If I do it, it will probably be in the heat of a battle, when I am most angry.

My friend said, “I would have already done that.”

Am I the blonde here? I wish I wasn’t writing this to no one. I wish I could poll opinions on whether it’s icky, or whether it’s necessary.

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