Installments

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

2007-10-22T02:39:31Z

Take a bathroom/snack break. This story was written in Microsoft on a computer that is no longer with us. It died. The information from the hard drive is being retrieved for a pretty penny. But alas, until I pay the smart man and pick up my discs, the story remains there and, as a result, not here. When I get around to A)buying a new computer and B) paying the smart man I shall resume regularly scheduled programming. In the meantime, why not go back and read from the beginning so you're nice and refreshed for the second half of the melodrama.

Stay tuned...

The Click By Version 1

2007-09-10T01:41:44Z

If I can't apologize for being wrong
Then it's just a shame on me
I'll be the reason for your pain
And you can put the blame on me

--Akon

After finishing The Click By, I let friends and family, and most importantly, Serge, read what I had written. The general consensus was it was honest (as honest as I could be without airing Caroline's own dirty laundry) and funny, as I had meant it to be.

Because they knew what had led up to my mean-spirited post on Caroline's website, a few friends wondered why I didn't explain all the stuff she did to get me so worked up, especially the weird shit she posted on the Marah board.

As the story wasn't for anyone else but Caroline I didn't include that part of the story. It wasn't meant to be an accurate accounting of every event that transpired, just a loose timeline of what eventually led to my comment on her website, written to convey to Caroline my embarrassment and an apology for what I'd done. That was the only point of the entire thing. Apologizing. It wasn't for anyone else. Nobody else even cared about such trivial bullshit, not to mention I'd been blogging for a little over two months. In October of 2005 there was a grand total of twenty or so people reading the blog, most of them close friends and family members who already knew what had happened anyway. So this? The orginal version of The Click By, it was for Caroline. And I didn't want to embarrass her by dragging out her own silly behavior, after all, she knew what she'd done.

I wanted everything on my end to be out in the open. To confirm that yes Caroline, I had a peek at your website and yes, I thought you were a bit haughty toward me even after sending us a gift and while desperately trying to get in touch with my husband, yes it was me who posted the shitty comment on your website and, yes, I know you are reading my blog and girls will be girls and aren't we silly and now that everything's out in the open, let us both move on, shall we?

My story was vague. I opened with how I'd met Serge at the same time his relationship to his ex-girlfriend was crumbling (I ommitted her name, of course, and details of her infidelity with Dom) and how I eventually began to look at her website. I wrote about how I sent her a kind email and how curt she was in response. I wrote how ultimately I was offended by her and eventually left a snotty comment on her site. I never mentioned her phone calls to Serge while he was on tour in London or later in December, I never mentioned her Dad's or her irritating emails about our marriage, I didn't write about her final, lengthy email to Serge six months into our marriage nor did I write that I knew it was her behind the AngelsAngry pseudonym on the Marah message board. I didn't even go into detail about what my comment on her website was about for fear of embarrassing her over her penchant for hiding behind internet pseudonyms. I kept the finger of rebuke pointed squarely at my own chest.

I published the story and watched my blog stats reveal Caroline reading each of three installments. I was pleased. I felt good that I'd thought of such a passive way to wave the white flag. I didn't have to personally email her as that had proved disastrous in the past, my story required no response from her and in fact, she could pretend she never read it but at least I would know I'd apologized and that she'd read it. I hoped she would at least have a laugh at my admissions of silly computer games, knowing she'd done the very same things herself... And then we'd move on.

It should come as no surprise to you that she wouldn't have a laugh and we wouldn't move on.

To begin at the beginning click here.

Table Of Contents

Watching You Watching Me

2007-08-11T17:12:17Z

He's watching me watching you watching him
watching me
I'm watching you watching him watching me
watching Stares.

--Jethro Tull

"Someone is reading my blog." I told Serge.
"Isn't that the point?"
"I guess. But I've only given the address out to Natalie, Barb and my Mom. They hardly ever log on. This person logs on several times a day at almost the exact same times."
"The same person?"
"Yeah. Every day at four o'clock in the morning. Which is weird. They read my blog and click through all my pictures."
"It's Caroline." Serge replied without hesitation.
"Why? What makes you think so?"
"Because your 4AM is her 9AM." That's right when she gets up, before she goes to her Dad's office."

He was right. Throughout August, September and October I watched my blog stats reveal Caroline religiously checking my blog several times a day; from her home and while working as a secretary at her Dad's office. How had she found me?

Myspace, I concluded. This curious internet explosion of folks from every walk of life. The genius concept that is really nothing more than an online version of high school. Look at me! Look how popular I am! Look how cute my pictures are! Look how clever I am! Listen to this! Read this!

Of course, there I was, backstroking through MySpace's murky waters because it truly is an amazing invention. More visual and interactive than email. And the voyeuristic nature was mind blowing. Just a click away is a Swedish woman with a giant rack and a penchant for exposing it. Look here! A nice girl who lives just down the street here in Brooklyn. And here! That amazing band I love has uploaded an MP3 from their new record.

I had created a MySpace account in June but wasn't really sure what to do with it. Wasn't even really sure what MySpace was. At the time, without knowing anyone on the network it seemed like some kind of dating service. Almost creepy. So there my friendless profile sat, an ocean of MySpacers floating around me in cyberspace.

While signing up, when prompted by MySpace I had imported my email addresses. But the search turned up no one I corresponded with. Including Caroline. It was early days when I started that MySpace page. Caroline was not on the site and never did I figure MySpace would become so huge that eventually nearly everyone I would know would start pages. I hadn't grasped the enormity of the concept nor its potential. MySpace just seemed like another internet website.

When Serge suggested it was Caroline reading my blog I went back to MySpace and searched her name. Boom! There she was. The date she created her account was the exact same time she began reading my blog.
"Shit." I told Serge. "You were right. It really is her."

The fact that my husband's ex-girlfriend was reading my blog was frustrating. Sure the blog is public but considering I'd begun blogging under a pseudonym and had done absolutely nothing to spread the URL I just hadn't counted on that little wrinkle. I'd forgotten the link on MySpace because I never logged into my page. Once I confirmed it was Caroline all over my blog I immediately deleted the link from my MySpace page, but, of course it was too late. She had found me and, like it or not, was apparently my biggest fan.

I flirted with changing my blog address in an effort to ditch Caroline but I'd already been blogging for several months, had uploaded dozens of stories and several hundred photos. My lack of computer knowledge made switching blogs seem like too big a technological endeavor to undertake. Awww fuck it. I decided to ignore Caroline's continued presence on my blog, figuring she'd eventually bore of my writings and move on.

But she didn't. She dutifully logged on to The Girl Who every single day and spent a very large chunk of her morning updating herself on my life. The technology of SquareSpace was so amazing I could even tell how long she sat, perusing each photo I uploaded. That was weird. I remember uploading a photo of Serge and noticing the next day that she spent two minutes looking at just that one photo before moving on to the next. That happened on more than one occasion, so much that I eventually stopped uploading so many photos and resorted to just one daily photo.

I certainly understood her curiosity. It was probably the very same emotion that had led me to her website. But that was a non-personal career endeavor. This? It was startling to be able to track Caroline by the second and realize how enthusiastically she was following my life, my marriage to her ex-boyfriend. By late October, after Serge and I celebrated our one year anniversary I came to the conclusion that Caroline was not going away.

In familiarizing myself with the ease of internet tracking, I assumed Caroline knew it had been me on her website. I figured that, coupled with her rabid interest in all things Serge kept her tuning in. I just wanted her to go away. Sure the blog is public. I knew close friends were occasionally reading and probably a few strangers here and there. But my husband's ex?

It was awkward and frustrating attempting to write about myself and Serge knowing Caroline would log on to slurp up whatever information I divulged. I had hoped to honestly document our first year of marriage and living in New York yet I didn't feel comfortable knowing the British nutter was probably gloating over any fights I chose to write about. It was a catch-22; trying to be honest yet not reveal so much to an unbalanced, frustrated ex-girlfriend. I didn't know how to get rid of her. After all, it is the internet. I chose to create a public blog. Caroline had every right to read. But I was surprised she'd want to. And so consistently.

As I didn't want to change blog addresses I decided, once again, to confront the situation head on. Well, not so directly as to email her. I was done with contacting her directly and time would prove that to be a wise decision as Caroline would eventually copy and paste my emails into a blog about me, twisting their intent to justify her crazy behavior.

I decided I would apologize, via my own website, for the comment I'd left on her site three months prior. Maybe that was all she was after. She'd read my story and if she were so inclined she could contact me, we could exchange apologies for our silly behavior and hopefully she would move on. If she didn't want to contact me (which would be an admission she read my blog) she didn't have to. But at least I would no longer feel guilty for any role I'd played in the situation. If she chose to keep reading my blog after that, well, that was her problem.

By this time in late October I had garnered twenty or so regular readers. A few friends from Utah, my Brooklyn buddies, some Marah fans I'd made friends with at various shows and a couple strangers. I posted a comment that I had a secret about which I was embarrassed but I'd decided to write about. Nearly all of these people already knew what I was talking about. Serge, my Brooklyn friends, my family, and a few girls I'd made friends with through Marah were aware of my tangles with Caroline. What I was about to write was nothing new to them. The comment was for Caroline. I figured she'd know I was referring to the post on her website and realize I was about to apologize. The next morning my blog stats revealed Caroline logging in and reading my comment that I was about to divulge an embarrassing "secret" that wasn't really a secret as I knew Caroline already knew what I'd done.

I began writing what I thought was a funny, extremely self-deprecating story about the events that led up to my post on Caroline's website. I had no desire to reveal (to all of 20 people) that she just couldn't deal with the fact that Serge had moved on, nor did I care to tell people about her bizarre behavior on my husband's message board. I didn't want to broadcast that I knew she was regularly reading my blog figuring that would surely embarrass her. I would simply write my story about what I did and let it stand as an apology. I was actually quite pleased that I had thought of a way to apologize to Caroline without having to email her. She could ignore the blog and move on with the knowledge I felt bad for what I'd done or she could contact me and we could make nice. It was a win-win situation, right?

I could never, in a million years, anticipate what was to come.

To begin at the beginning click here.

Table Of Contents

A Blog Is Born

2007-07-28T05:46:58Z

I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
I wanna shine on, in the hearts of men
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand

--The Killers

As I suspected and hoped, Caroline immediately deleted my post. I did log back onto her website one final time in an attempt to cover my tracks but quickly realized Serge was right. The best thing I could do was stop visiting her website altogether and let it all go, including her posting on the Marah website a few months prior. And I did. My own jackassery helped me understand where Caroline may have been coming from when she decided to do what she did on my husband's website.

I was so embarrassed over what I'd done that it wasn't hard to stay away. Hitting rock bottom with my internet conduct sufficiently shamed me into never venturing anywhere near Caroline's website. It wasn't difficult as I didn't even own a computer. I'd only been visiting her site while bored at work. But from that moment on I vowed to stay Pluto to Caroline's Mercury as far as cyberspace was concerned. I could only hope she would afford Serge and me the same courtesy.

I assumed Caroline would eventually find out it was me that had left the comment. Serge had told me he was pretty sure his own webmaster could track computer addresses of people who left comments. I wasn't surprised by the technology. In fact, I didn't think Caroline would need to analyze IP addresses to discover my identity. I was the obvious choice, wasn't I? But I had resolved to move on and I did. If she discovered it was me who left the comment then so be it. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, I concluded.

But for her, it was. Although I wouldn't know it until reading her blog a few days ago, Caroline apparently considered my comment on her site so atrocious, SO PETRIFYING, that she considered reporting me to ABC news for inappropriate internet use to get me fired. For a comment on a website? In particular the comment "we're all having a laugh because everyone on your site is the same person"? Um, melodrama, anyone? I could understand if I'd commented I want to poke you in the eyes and step on your toes and I know where you live! Or I, oh, I don't know, called her a coke-snorting whore who hooks on weekends. But "we're all having a laugh"? COME ON. It's obvious internet child's play.

As Serge had speculated she would, Caroline had combed her website, analzying IP addresses until she was able to determine I was the author of the comment. In the process she also discovered I left the comment informing her Serge was married. Caroline nixed calling ABC (which saved her an embarrassing phone call) and flirted with writing to Serge to "report her findings." Jesus Christ this chick is the fucking queen of drama!

I find her attitude interesting, that she assumes I kept my internet collisions with her secret, that exposure would humiliate me. That's because that's how she felt about her own shenanigans on the Marah board. She kept her fucked up behavior from Dom I assume because she knew he would have left her on the spot had he known she was still nosing around her ex-boyfriend's world well into their relationship.

Fact is, Serge was made aware of every single incident with Caroline as it occurred because I never felt I had anything to hide. Tangling with Caroline was not a paramount issue in my life. Over that stretch of months in 2005 something new would occur; a strange email from Caroline, the posts on the Marah board and then my comment on her site and I'd feel confused, talk to Serge, my mom and various friends every now and again when I felt like I needed a little perspective. But Caroline apparently whined about my "horrifying" antics to Dom and her friends without revealing that she had constantly attempted to get in touch with Serge since our marriage. On her self-serving, attention-seeking blog she continues in this vein:

(Monica) had been extremely cruel, unprovoked, and in a genuinely strange and novel way that was quite hard to pin down and explain to the average Joe without sounding like an obsessive twit. Those friends of mine who did manage to grasp the concept were ready to back me up however I chose to move forward.

Her friends were ready to "back her up". Over what? A snarky comment on a website? Does her penchant for dramatics never cease?

Let's recycle the perspective Caroline summarily tossed in the garbage in order to justify creating a blog and a MySpace page about her ex-boyfriend and his wife and then linking to all their friends, shall we? All this, everything that occurred up until the point I left a comment on her website was two girls being, well, girls. It's all so much whipped up drama on her part that I barely know what to say. Suffice it to say Caroline, of all people, is the last person who should be calling comments left under a pseudonym "strange" and "novel".

I'm certainly not trying to downplay my leaving a snide comment on Caroline's site. It was rude. I was embarrassed and appropriately apologetic. Two years ago! But now, years later, I am over it. Was over it after I sent her an email apologizing for what I did. But we'll get to that later... all in good time.

So, despite feeling confused and upset by the awkward manner in which the situation had ultimately unfolded and my unfortunate role in it, all was well. In stepping back and assessing the situation I was able to gain perspective on the silliness. In my quest to understand why I behaved in such an assholish fashion I spoke to friends and family who deemed my behavior juvenile. In fact, the general response:
"Well, what you wrote on her site is true isn't it?"
"Yeah", I'd reply. "But still..."
"She had it coming. Why was she posting about herself and Serge and then linking to her website from the Marah board in the first place? Of course she knew that would bother you. What was that about?"
"I know. We're both idiots."
Ultimately, in reflecting on Caroline's posting spree on the Marah board we came to the same conclusion. Juvenile. Tit for tat. Caroline and I were even, I thought. And it was over. Relieved, I moved on.

In mid-July, about a week after my silly comment on Caroline's website, Serge handed me an article in the New York Times.
"You should start a blog. You already have a bunch of stories saved in your email. You've basically been doing the exact same thing as this girl, just not online. And look what happened to her."

The Times article featured a blogger called Stephanie Klein who had just struck an astronomical two-book deal with Judith Regan. All because of her blog. Up until this point I had never even heard the word blog. The only computer I had access to was at work. I spent my down time there exchanging emails with friends, looking at Serge's website and really, that was about it.

But this girl Stephanie, she wrote boldly about her life just like I did in my email draft section only she published her stories online. For all to read. I carried the article with me to work and when I had a spare moment clicked onto Stephanie's site, Greek Tragedy. I was enthralled. Here was a girl, similar in age and experience, living in New York just like me and she had managed to turn the tragic story of the demise of her marriage and dating aftermath into smart, kicky anecdotes. And I'll be damned if she hadn't managed to parlay the funny stories into a bona fide career as an author.

I was stunned. By blogging, and mostly by the book deal. Could my dream of becoming an author be realized via the internet? (Oh the sweet, naive Monica of 2005!) I didn't know but it certainly was an inspiring concept. I realized, here I was in New York City, close to the biggest publishing houses in the world and I wasn't doing a damn thing to get shit going. Because I didn't know how. But a blog... It seemed to be an easy enough first step. If Stephanie could do it, I could.

After reading through Stephanie's archives I clicked an ad on her site that led me here. To SquareSpace. I immediately started this blog and wrote this post. My very first post. It was amazing. Here was this secret spot to which I could upload all my hopes and fears about my new marriage and my new life in New York City as well as the stories about my past I had already written and saved as email drafts.

I wrote in the blog for several weeks without telling anyone. In fact, I wrote under the name Zoey Snow and created no links, didn't know how to create a link. I called Serge "The Surge" so no Googling Marah fans would stumble onto the site.

Spilling my guts online motivated me so much that I organized all the stories I'd written into what amounted to a book outline and began brainstorming a title. For the book, not the blog. The blog was just a place to type daily events and practice writing. See, it wasn't Stephanie's blog that inspired me so much as her book deal. It's never really been about the blog or readership or getting paid to blog. It's about getting a book published. That's always been the dream.

"The Girl Who." It was early August, 2005. Serge was looking at my list of possible book titles. He liked a title I'd come up with - "The Girl Who blah blah blah." I can't remember what came after The Girl Who, probably something silly. Serge cut my title in half and said, "how about The Girl Who?"
"The Girl Who what?"
"Just The Girl Who. There's a band with an album called The Band Who."
"Oh. Yeah. I see. The Girl Who. It's a statement, a question, it's all encompassing. I dig it."

Caroline receded into what she should have been from the start; an unfortunate relationship in my husband's past and I began to work on my book in earnest while blogging here and there. The blogging helped jumpstart the writing.

In the hope of keeping in touch I shared the The Girl Who URL with a few friends back home who never really logged on more than a couple times a month. Same with Mom. Brothers and Dad could give a shit about blogs and so my only audience was Serge. And one other extremely faithful reader.

To begin at the beginning click here.

Table Of Contents

In Which I Fuck Up

2007-07-21T00:33:29Z

They say the devil's water
It ain't so sweet
You dont have to drink right now
But you can dip your feet
Every once in a little while

--The Killers

I was now unable to resist The Click By. Because of her appearance on Serge's website and because I'd read many things she'd posted on other message boards, my curiosity about my husband's ex-girlfriend was piqued. Watching what Caroline did on the web morphed into my default internet destination while bored on the job.

During several painfully boring overnight shifts at ABC in New York City I'd click by Caroline's website to see what internet character she'd create next and what that character would have to say. I told myself it was all harmless entertainment, but over time I became angry. Mad at myself for continuing The Click By and unable to stop. I felt like a smoker struggling to kick the habit. I'd last a few days, feel very pleased with myself, but the last minute would find me puffing guiltily in the corner.

I began to wonder when it would all end. Unlike the Girlfriend Box (the shoe box full of pictures and old letters from ex-girlfriends your boyfriend keeps stashed in his garage, under his bed) that quickly loses it's appeal once you've rifled through everything inside, the website was very nearly an organism. It was being updated, it could go on forever. Would I be 40-years old, I wondered, still logging onto Caroline's website?

Like she had on the Marah message board, she was putting on such a spectacular one-woman-show I just couldn't look away. The comments to herself, pretending to be a fan and asking for her own autograph. It was my own personal reality show and I dutifully tuned in every day to see what she'd do next.

I had finally weened myself down to a once-a-week click by when something happened. A terrorist attack on the underground and several buses in London prompted Serge to text message Caroline to make sure she and her family were safe:

"I hope everyone is okay?"

The next morning he recieved the following text;

"Hey baby, how are taxes treating you? Love you."

What? Serge smirked and shrugged his shoulders as he showed me Caroline's response.
"Jesus. Here she goes again. What is she up to now?" I asked. My diatribe was interrupted as Serge's cell chirped the arrival of another text

"Errant text there, obviously."

Being the devious, manipulative female that I am, I immediately recognized a like-minded woman.
"You know she sent that first text to you on purpose." I informed Serge.
"Yeah, I kind of figured that." He thought it was amusing, but I was annoyed. I was exhausted with all the hi-tech manipulations. Email, website pseudonyms, "errant" texts. Enough already!

At work that day a group of us, bored over the ususal on-the-job monotony, debated whether Caroline had sent the text on purpose.
"You just don't send a text like that by accident. If I'm texting an ex, It's very deliberate. I carefully consider what I'm going to say." Nora announced between sips of Mountain Dew.
"The texting of an ex is a careful process.. Not some fly-by-night operation. I am precise, I leave no room for error." Alisha agreed. "Any way you look at it, the text was sent on purpose. She had two options: Click on his text and text Serge back in which case there is no possibility for errant texts. Or she started a whole new text. I could see her accidentally sending a message meant for Serge to her new boyfriend because she's accustomed to sending him texts, but not the other way around. Plus she waited a day before texting back."
"I very fine point." I considered.
"There's another thing to take into account," Jenna chimed in.
"What?" We all leaned forward, devoting more attention to the subject than it deserved, if only to create a momentary diversion from work. "I don't know about y'all, but when I breakup with a boyfriend one of the first things to go is his phone number. I delete it pronto! Particularly after a year has gone by and especially if I have a new boyfriend."
"Yeah, so? I'm not following." Nora crinkled her brow in confusion. "Wait! I get it! She'd have to type the message then manually punch in Serge's digits. There's no way anyone would send an errant text after having to dial that many digits, especially from a foreign country, before hitting send. Case closed. The girl got game though, don't she?" Nora turned back to her computer screen. "Where's her website again? Lets check her out."

High on our pure Sherlock Holmes style deducements I shared another suspicion with my coworkers. I recounted how Caroline had created a persona to log onto Serge's website and ask questions about herself then shared my hunch that all of the "fans" on Caroline's website were actually her. She had even written an article about herself in which she pretended to be a reporter interviewing Caroline Lost, the pop singer.

We investigated my claims and after perusing the evidence the girls decreed my presumptions were spot on. We had ourselves a catty giggle over several of Caroline's comments to herself: "You are so beautiful your eyes are like crystal." and "I wish I had seen you at the show last night I would really like to have your autograph!"

Passively looking at her website and sniping cattily with coworkers was one thing.. But what I did next was a can of worms I wish I'd buried. Instead, I opened it, making the idiotic leap from watching to participating in Caroline's nuttiness. I logged onto her website and beneath one of the pseudonyms Caroline used I typed I know who you are.

Oh dear God! What was I doing? But I couldn't stop myself. That deep part of me that was so embarrassed and angry with the way she had stomped across my marriage during those early months with her concern for herself wanted to call her out.

Upon my arrival home I immediately confessed my silly deed to Serge.
"Oh baby, just log back on and say something random. Ask her if she's the same girl that posts on, oh, I don't know, the Tracy Chapman website. She'll say no and that'll be that."

And that's what I did. But I couldn't let it go. I had become warped. Offended by Caroline and I wanted her to know that at least one person was onto her internet bullshit. That she may have pulled the wool over everyone else's eyes including her boyfriend Dom, but someone knew the kind of manipulations she was capable of.

A few nights later my next shameful deed manifested itself in a rude post on Caroline's website. Fingers shaking, pulse rocketing, I logged in under a pseudonym and tapped out "We're all having a laugh at your site, it's obvious you're all the same person."

I know. How humiliating. What an embarrassing display of the very basest part of my personality. If I could take it back, I would.

Almost the second I pressed Enter on my keyboard I came to my senses, greatly regretting my moment of weakness. But it was too late. There was no way to delete my transgression. I fumbled around Caroline's website, desperately trying to delete the comment but because I wasn't a registered user I could do nothing but stare at my shitty comment. Shocked at my bad behavior, embarrassed that my annoyance ultimately materialized in such a trifling, juvenile manner, I shamefully admitted my mistake to Serge.

"Baby, why would I want to call her out like that?" I was ashamed. Embarrassed. Trying to understand why I had let Caroline's silly internet games get under my skin. So much so that ultimately I joined in the playground behavior.

He, who is used to all manner of rude, crude comments on his own message board, much more vicious than the one I drummed up, simply laughed. "She shouldn't have a message board if she isn't expecting a negative comment every now and again. That said, you should stop visiting her website. You're being just as silly as she was on the Marah boards."
"Aaawww!" I moan. "I am such a doof! I've got to email her and tell her it was me."
"Just let it go." Serge squeezed my shoulder. "It's not the worst thing in the world."
"You embarrassed by me?" I asked.
"No! I can totally understand why she bothers you. Hell, she bothers me. But I've learned to ignore her. Just let it go. Leave it be. She won't know it's you and it will all blow over."

And I resolved to do exactly that.

To begin at the beginning click here.

Table Of Contents

The Beat Goes On...

2007-07-15T00:29:00Z

The beat goes on, the beat goes on
Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain
La de da de de, la de da de da
--Sonny and Cher

Caroline's desire to banter with Serge's fans and discuss him and our marriage on his website, although fairly fucked up, ultimately made me feel bad for her. Seriously. I write that to illustrate that although I was bothered by her continued intrusions, I felt no malice toward her. Annoyed? Yes. But I ain't trying to pull off some lame I-am-so-superior-because-I-pity-her routine. It wasn't like that. I could actually relate. Every girl on the planet knows how it feels when an ex-boyfriend moves on before you. It sucks. And so, although I was bothered this girl had somehow managed to worm her way into our lives fairly consistently for the first six months of our marriage, I felt bad.

Before meeting Serge I had been involved in a relationship with a guy who decided I wasn't the girl for him long before I was ready and willing to accept his decision. It fucked with my head. Big time. It was a sucker punch to the kidneys but most of all a Hulk Hogan-sized blow to my ego.

Behind the kookiness of Caroline's posts on the Marah messeage board was the raw desperation of a girl floundering. Although I wasn't sure exactly what she was after, it was obvious she was seeking something. And I wanted to give her what she needed to move on. So I emailed her.

My emailing Caroline did not feel strange. After all, according to her own email admissions she had supposedly moved on in life, was madly in love with Dom and had been for some time. She had sent us a wedding gift. She had continued to email Serge. She was posting on Serge's message board. I felt that I was responding to her continued overtures into our relationship in a manner befitting the wife of the man she was continuing to watch and contact.

I should have left well enough alone, of course. I should have laughed off her posts on the Marah message board like my husband advised. I s'pose it was a cocktail of compassion and curiosity that ultimately led me to contact her that time. After her fevered posting on the Marah board, I was curious as hell about this chick. It was just so strange, catching someone in the act of doing something that would humiliate them if they knew you knew. My husband's ex-girlfriend, no less. It was a weird feeling, logging on to the Marah site, reading the bizarre comments and knowing it was her interacting with all these people I was now friends with. I guess I just wanted to slice through her pseudonym bullshit with an honest, direct email designed not to embarrass, but to perhaps offer closure that would help her extricate herself from Serge.

In my email I told her it had been my idea to delete Serge from her mailing list, that I'd done it without his knowledge and that he wished nothing but the best for her and if she was so inclined she could add him back to her mailing list. This was categorically not true. But I wanted to erase any hard feelings that may exist. I had a suspicion that asking to be removed from her mailing list had been the catalyst for her posts on the Marah board. If she was that upset Serge no longer had any desire to contact her, perhaps my email would go some way in massaging residual anger on her part. I went so far as to apologize for deleting Serge from the mailing list (above and beyond the call of duty, I thought.. everyone I spoke to told me we had done the right thing by asking to be removed from her newsletter list in the first place) and mentioned Serge had told me she was in a very serious relationship with Dom. I wished the two of them well and added that she should feel welcome to contact Serge directly (stop posting on the website!) in the future if she felt she had any unresolved issues to work out.

I signed off feeling very adult about the step I had taken. I had cleared my conscience of pressuring Serge to remove himself from her mailing list and I was able to address her behavior without alluding that I knew it was her making creepy posts on the Marah board linking back to her own site.

My mistake. In retrospect, my emailing her directly, regardless of the friendly tone I took, that's when the tide turned and she began to focus on me and not herself or Serge as the reason their relationship ended. She latched onto hating me, behaving toward me in the same smug, superior fashion in which her blog about me would eventually be written. She would spin me into some pathetic, nutty chick who was dying to be best friends with my husband's ex-girlfriend. Honestly, did she really think I was hoping to strike up a regular email correspondence in which we could laughingly compare notes on Serge's bedroom performance? Come on. I was tactfully trying to insert myself into the increasingly uncomfortable situation she had created. Perhaps I was too friendly. Should I have been short and rude with her as she was with me? I saw no point in that kind of attitude. Whether I was rude or kind, the situation was rife with awkwardness. It was probably uncomfortable for her to receive emails from me. Her continued presence in my marriage and on my husband's message board was just as disagreeable.

Although I couldn't then, now I can understand her base need to hate me. Even though I had played no part in the demise of her relationship with Serge, hating me was Calamine on her itchy heart. It was simpler to play the scorned lover and despise me instead of accepting responsibility for the failure of her relationship and her role in it. Placing the blame on me was so much easier to swallow than the bitter pill that was the terrible reality of her dysfunctional relationship with Serge.

Caroline's comments on the Marah message board stopped. And she deleted the silly posts about Serge and Marah she'd made on her own website. On the outside the situation seemed resolved, although it didn't feel resolved. A bad taste lingered in my mouth. The few emails she and I had exchanged and her subsequent internet shenanigans left me feeling awkward and stupid about the whole goddamned ordeal.

After we were settled in Brooklyn I continued to check in on the Marah message board to see if Caroline would create another persona to leave more comments. And I'd click by her website to see if she wrote any more posts about Serge. There, under the fan pseudonyms she had created, she continued her usual complimentary comments about her internet pop star persona, Caroline Lost. I was simultaneously fascinated and annoyed but I reminded myself that what she did on her own website was none of my business.

And then I had to go and stick my nose where it didn't belong, committing the one behavior I am truly sorry about in this whole sordid debacle, ultimately giving Caroline exactly what she wanted. A valid reason to hate me.

To begin at the beginning click here.

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The Angel Is Angry

2007-06-30T01:31:37Z

You’re the flowered cross
On the lost highway & you’re always gettin’ lost
Down at lovers lane
Tryin’ to be different
But you’re always the same
You really are a shame

--Marah

"I'm new to this band... Oh, and Dave is hotter. No, Serge is. No Dave, No, Serge...."

Caroline had begun posting on Marah's message board under the pseudonym "Angels Angry". The bizarre comments appeared a short time after her email and continued over several days, even trailing over to my best girlfriends The Shalita's site.

Although she tried to disguise herself by announcing a phony last name and pretending she had just stumbled onto the band ("...I have to know more...When I get into a band, I really get into them!") we all could see behind her pseudonym. No one who spent any significant amount of time with her when she dated Serge seemed surprised by her latest antics so I tried to have a laugh at the silliness along with everyone else. After all, it reflected poorly on her, not me. Yet as her posts continued, I became embarrassed.

I was relatively new to the Marah scene and had just begun to mingle and make friends with people involved with the band... you know, finally feel welcomed into my husband's world. And it isn't just Marah's fans that frequent the message board. It's Serge's family, all the rest of the band members' friends, family... really everyone in Serge's life. So I was absolutely mortified when Caroline kept bringing up her name, over and over again on the website in a desperate effort to get folks to talk about her and her relationship with my husband. Who is Caroline Lost? What is her connection to the band? Under the AngelsAngry pseudonym she began bantering with my husband's fans. "I was able to listen to some of the music on Caroline Lost's website, it seems kind of pop. Is she big in England?"

Dear God... So she wasn't just inserting herself into Serge's personal life with ridiculously lengthy emails about herself, she was embarrassing me by continually posting comments about herself, her musical "career" and Serge's marriage. It was a slow-motion train wreck. I was simultaneously horrified and fascinated. Here was my husband's ex-girlfriend, whom I always suspected was a tad loopy, proving me right!

Each day I'd log onto the message board, anxious to see what she was up to under her pseudonym. After asking about herself and apparently not getting a satisfactory response, she began to discuss our marriage. "Wow, so Serge is married? I kind of don't feel so comfortable lusting after him (as is my new job as a female Marah fan) now that I know that...!! And I might go and edit the message I left on the Caroline Lost board all about Marah..." Of course she linked back to her own website and, under the same AngelsAngry pseudonym, asked questions about herself, my husband and the band.. AND THEN ANSWERED THEM, in length, as herself. As Caroline Lost The "Pop Star."

WHAT?

Sure, I'd caught her at this very game before. But that was creating personas on her own website to leave cloying comments about herself in order to further her career. Or whatever. This? It was ridiculous. Dragging on and on under her pseudonym, asking about herself, making weird comments about Serge and linking back to her web page. What she did on her own website, while somewhat funny, was her business. Her continued presence on my husband's message board was straight up creepy.

During her carefully formulated answer to her pseudonym Caroline wrote on her website about how she first met Serge and then mentioned possibly touring with the band in the future. It was the longest post she'd ever made on her website. Caroline's answer to her AngelsAngry pseudonym closed by declaring how intertwined with the band she still was, going so far as to claim there might be a Marah/Caroline Lost tour in the future. It was all bizarre and fairly disturbing considering Serge and I had now been married nearly half a year and she'd just written an email to Serge uncomfortably detailing how in love she was with Dom. This chick ain't dealing with a full deck, I thought.

Serge, who had been aggressively uninterested in responding to Caroline's last email so as not to encourage communication, decided he should, if only to nip her strange behavior in the bud. In hopes of ending her obvious obsession with the situation, he emailed her about how pleased he was that she had found love and, once again, as he had in December, wished her the very best in life. Of course, he didn't mention her desperately deceptive posts on his message board, he was casual and friendly, saying he was glad she was happy with Dom and that maybe one day we'd all meet up for drinks and have a laugh.

Dom and Caroline's path would cross ours' one day... but it would be anything but a laugh.

To begin at the beginning click here.

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Things Come In Ones And Double Up To Twos

2007-06-23T22:00:54Z

Gonna follow you around
Gonna wear you down
Don't want to alienate you
As long as it might take you
Things come in ones
And double up to twos
Don't want to rain on your prossession
Only seeking you obsession

--Badly Drawn Boy

It was early February. Serge flew to New York City to sort some loose ends regarding our new apartment and was back in Utah in time for Valentines Day. And back in time to receive another email from Caroline the length of which rivaled the constitution of the United States.

There it was. Another fishing line cast across the Atlantic. An electronic tap on my husband's shoulder. Whether he was politely dismissive or ignored her outright, Serge just couldn't seem to shake his ex.

The email detailed Caroline's initial horror over our marriage and dragged on to explain how fantastic life was now that she was very seriously in love with Dom. She explained that she'd been with Dom, as Serge suspected, since before he met me. From there she elaborated on her life, her family, her musical aspirations, her pets, her apartment, even her roommate. Then she took issue with the wording of Serge's last email to her two months prior. She was very upset he had used the sentence "I was a bit sorry not to have met up with you in London..." Apparently he should have been horribly apologetic that she chose not to meet him, not just 'a bit' sorry.

She signed off smugly declaring how much she loved Dom, I love and I am loved. Dom has taught me to open myself in ways I never thought possible.

Serge showed me the email. What a trip. While he was bemused by the contents of Caroline's latest missive I sat, astonished by her inability to just let it all go. The email was so weird, so full of strange details about her life that I experienced an emotional cocktail of compassion and annoyance. Um... thanks for sharing? What is she thinking I wondered. And what in the world does Dom think about the whole mess or is he even aware of what the "love of his life" is up to?

"Dude! You tried to meet up with her in London." I told Serge. "She knows that. What did she want you to do, keep calling her over and over again? You were married! She was with Dom a year before you met me! If she is so in love with him, why, a year into their relationship and six months into our marriage, does she fucking care what terminology you used in an email back in December! What more does this nutty chick want from you?"

The strange, demanding ways of this overly dramatic creature from London were pissing me off. I just wanted her to go away - as did Serge. He had no intention of taking the bait that was Caroline's latest email, and was fairly concerned with her inability to let it all go.
"The email is ridiculous and she probably already regrets sending it. You know how it goes with email. Just ignore her. If I can, you certainly can."
"Yeah, you're right." I agreed. But I couldn't ignore what Caroline did next...

Like I said, things come in ones and double up to twos.

To begin at the beginning click here.

Table Of Contents

Whimsical Shmimsical

2007-06-06T20:12:55Z

Oh, What's goin' on?
Is that the way you wanna be
What's goin' on?
So tell me

--The Gossip

It was a book. Caroline had sent us a book Serge had once jokingly referenced in a post on his website. Watching my husband hesitantly open the gift from his ex, I had finally had enough of her trans-Atlantic fishing. This ongoing bullshit from her and then her Dad and now her again had taken it's toll on me and I wanted her to know I was sick of it.

Although the situation made me snap at my husband, I knew it wasn't his fault. He had behaved beautifully at every turn. He tried to meet up with Caroline in London and had subsequently responded kindly to both her and her Dad back in December. Since then he had done absolutely nothing to encourage Caroline, had, in fact, done everything to dissuade her. Now, well into January, she needed to stop. What had been rankling within me over the past two months was the fact that the emails to my husband from her and her Dad disregarded my feelings as a new wife. They had blindly assumed Caroline's feelings as an ex-girlfriend superceded my discomfort with the situation. Did this Daddy-Daughter tag team think I should sit on the sidelines while, at her Dad's behest, Serge catered to the very demanding Caroline?

I didn't know where to direct my increasing annoyance. I had never had to deal with a situation even remotely similar. There was no manual. No How To Deal With Your Husband's Fucked Up Ex Who Lives Clear Across The Atlantic book available for purchase at Barnes & Noble. Then I realized, why not direct my problem at the person who is causing it. I decided to take the bold, open route and email her myself. I figured emailing Caroline would force her to recognize me as an actual human being, effectively ending any private communication she felt she needed to have with my husband. I would be as friendly as I could while boldly asserting myself as Serge's wife, thank you very much.

In composing the email I almost felt as if I were massaging the very upset feelings of a petulant child and so I was, in turns, complimentary and self-deprecating. I opened the email by telling Caroline I thought her gift was a very cool gesture and so forth. In an attempt to make nice and break ice I told her I had visited her website and she seemed like a lovely, talented person.

At the time I thought the email struck the right balance of friendly and funny yet I was passively able to assert my role as Serge's wife. I'm here, I'm aware of you, so back the fuck off! In all honesty, I truly thought that being open and friendly would diffuse the situation on both ends.

But Caroline didn't like my effort to introduce myself into her desired continuation of some sort of relationship with my husband. Considering the obvious length I went to craft a benign, friendly email, her reply was icy. She sent off a couple very curt sentences. I viewed it as a 'fuck you' couched in uber-polite terms.

I felt foolish for putting myself out there in such a friendly manner. The rapidly dwindling supply of sympathy I had left for Caroline had led me to be open when I should have been extremely guarded. I realized I had underestimated how angry she was. I was dealing with someone who wasn't trying to gain closure, she was after something else entirely. Considering her cold response to an email that was ultimately thanking her for a gift she had sent, I realized the book she had mailed us wasn't so much a 'whimsical' gesture meant to convey her adult response to the marriage of an ex, it was her stepping on my toes, again, with an I'm-Doing-Just-Fine-Motherfucker message to Serge. Etiquette has simply forced her to put my name on the card. Fair enough. Instead of going to all the trouble with the compliments I should have sent her an email with my true feelings.. In a sentence; fuck off already and leave us alone!

Her reply left me strangely unsettled. Like, Caroline and her father could constantly pick at Serge but the first time I try to boldly deal with a situation that had begun to take its toll, I get the brush off. Fuck that. This was my marriage. And nearly five months into it, my husband's ex-girlfriend was still making her presence very much known.

So I emailed her back. I made an attempt to cut through her British reserve with a few more compliments.. you seem like an intelligent girl, we have a lot in common etc.. and then got to the point - I told her I understood why she might be upset. In the end, I mentioned that if she had some issues she needed to work out, feel free to contact Serge. And she could email me if she were so inclined. Perhaps this was going a bit overboard, but I felt better. I was assertng myself and Serge as a couple. And I'd implied I was aware she wasn't dealing with the situation so well. I had offered friendship (a purely symbolic gesture, mind you. It wasn't like we were headed for Girls Night Out anytime soon) and in the end, it was all I could do. I didn't anticipate we'd turn into pen pals, but I expected, at the very least, a congenial reply.

She replied in much the same manner she had before. Curt. As if I was a retarded little kid who was bothering her. Which made me angry because she had been bothering me for very nearly half a year! Don't want to hear from me? Quit emailing my husband. Quit playing Poor-Me. You're with Dom, as you were long before I even met Serge. Your days of back-and-forthing between the two fellas are over. Dom might be in the dark, but tread lightly little lady, I'm onto your man-games.

"Look, you tried to be nice. And now she knows you're aware of her. Let it go at that." Serge advised.
And I did. I wrote Caroline off as someone who had become accustomed to bouncing between two men, taking advantage of the affections of both and then becoming inconsolable when one of them decided he was no longer interested in her shit. I guessed that my emails took her by surprise. Perhaps she assumed that Serge and I didn't communicate about these kinds of things. Perhaps because their relationship had been riddled with infidelities she thought she could continue to email my husband and he wouldn't share her correspondence with me. I don't know what she thought and why, four months into our marriage and a year into her relationship with Dom, a man she proclaimed to be deeply in love with, she felt she needed to sort out anything with Serge.

But she was no longer my concern. Awkward emails had been exchanged and it was over. I had one month to finish up my job in Salt Lake City, pack a moving truck and prepare for the big drive across the country. I had a lot on my mind and Caroline quickly took a back seat to my list of things to do. I assumed my emails had rattled her and we wouldn't be hearing from her again. Which was fine by me as that was all I was after in the first place.

To begin at the beginning click here.

Table Of Contents

You've Got Mail. Again.

2007-06-03T00:42:04Z

Keep fishin' if you feel it's true
There's nothing much that we can do
To save you from yourself

--Weezer

Despite the barrage of electronic communications from my husband's ex-girlfriend and her Dad, we managed to spend a happy Christmas together at my Mom's house. In the end, I could understand Caroline's desire to exchange a few final words with Serge now that he was married. Although her Dad's involvement was a bit overbearing and I'd rather eat a bowl of scabs before I'd employ my Dad in communicating with my ex, I could appreciate his desire to help his daughter come to terms with the situation.

After Christmas Serge and I caught a Pennsylvania bound plane to spend the New Year with Serge's Mom. I was to meet my Mother-In-Law for the very first time. During the first months of our relationship when our courtship was conducted long-distance, while still basking in the fevered flush of newborn love, Serge and I had sent each other romantic, lovesick oftentimes ridiculously adorable (only to us) emails.
I love you!
I love you more!
I can't believe someone like you exists!
You get the point. We were sick with love. Those emails are an electronic road to our spontaneous marriage that my Mother-In-Law wanted to read. Serge and I were sitting together, logging onto his Mom's computer when Caroline made still another abrupt intrusion into our lives. There was yet another email from her sitting ominously in his inbox.

Turns out, it was a newsletter of sorts for her 'fans' that detailed what her plans in the coming months were regarding her music career. At the end of the email was the sentence "'If you feel you have received this email in error then please reply with the word 'REMOVE' in the subject header and you will be taken off the list.'

I sighed, well aware of the guileful implications of her keeping my husband on her mailing list. He wanted to be finished with her. Desired no contact with her at all and had done nothing since their break-up to encourage communication. Yet she was still fishing. Serge's reticence at returning her previous emails or texts was a polite yet obvious message to her to stop. He was extremely conscious of the fact that maintaining any sort of 'friendship' with her would be problematic, at best. For me, for him, for her... and knowing Serge as she did, at this juncture, Caroline was well aware my husband was trying to distance himself from her.

The email made Serge uncomfortable because he knew that in the wake of her Dad's emails a few weeks prior, the situation was becoming a somewhat sore subject with me. We had thought that each communication with her or her Dad would be our last. And always, there was something more. Another fishing line cast clear across the Atlantic.

We looked at each other.
"Do you want to be on her mailing list?" I asked.
"I honestly don't care. Do you want me to remove my name?"
"Maybe. I guess. I don't know. How would you feel if you knew Andy was sending me monthly emails about the details of his life?" I replied, referring to my ex-boyfriend.
"I wouldn't like it." Serge considered my point. Andy was a sore subject with him that would eventually be immortalized in a song on his fifth album called Demon of White Sadness.
"It means you'll get a monthly reminder about your ex-girlfriend. It does make me feel a little uncomfortable at such an early stage in our marriage. I don't trust her motivations. Like, this last email isn't about the newsletter, she's fishing for another response from you."
Serge could tell I was nearly at my limit with his ex and her family. He did what he thought would make me happy by asking to be removed from Caroline's mailing list.

Almost immediately I began to second-guess myself. I wondered if my annoyance with Caroline and her father had, perhaps, pressured Serge into removing his email from her mailing list. After all, it was just a silly newsletter. Granted it was quite obviously another fishing expedition on her part but I had an idea that had Serge checked his email without me present, he most likely would have ignored the email. Wouldn't have replied, wouldn't have asked to be deleted. And so, despite my annoyance, not only did I feel like I had forced my husband to do something he probably wouldn't have done without me there, I felt guilty for contributing to the pain and anger Caroline was obviously still experiencing.

Because I didn't want to be that wife; bossing my husband, dictating his behavior with women and so forth, and because I didn't want my husband to be on the receiving end of yet another email from her father, against my better judgement I decided to email Caroline. I figured I could explain, in a self-deprecating, humorous way, that because we were newly married, the emails from her and then her Dad made me somewhat uncomfortable and it was my idea, not Serge's, that he remove himself from her mailing list. My goal? To have a laugh at my expense and hopefully snip through this electronic spiderweb that had been built between Caroline, her Dad and Serge. I wanted to properly introduce myself as Serge's wife... with the implication that the continued communications to only him were inappropriate.

Why not, I reasoned with myself. She's known about our marriage for a month now and is still trying to establish some sort of communication with him. Between her Dad's emails and her rather bizarre missive to Serge about marriage and now this latest newsletter, I wanted to make sure she was aware of me not only as Serge's wife, but a person and, more importantly, that she knew I was well aware of her. After all that had gone on it seemed only appropriate that I assert myself. And hopefully it would put an end to her internet fishing. It wouldn't be strange for me to email... would it?

"I think it's better just to leave it alone. Don't communicate with her." Serge advised.

Following Serge's advice, I left it alone. After all, at this point Serge and I viewed the situation with his ex-girlfriend as nothing more than an annoyance; a three, maybe four on the lovequake richter scale. I settled with logging on to Caroline's website in an effort to figure her out. Was she harmless and heartbroken or creepy and cunning? Probably a little of both, I thought.

Caroline has never released an album, EP or song, has never toured or anything that might contribute to a music website's ongoing existence, so there was only minor activity on her site. In reading her message board I learned next to nothing about Caroline the woman. Most of what was posted by the few people on the board amounted to overzealous blurbs about Caroline's appearance and her music. But I did figure out something that would simultaneously aid me in discovering how low she would sink to keep her fingerhold in my husband's world and eventually lead me to behave like a total ass.

Language. Words. I've always been a wordsmith of sorts. I analyze sentences, dialects, accents, slang, speaking patterns, origins of words. The vast chasm that often lays between how someone speaks and how they write fascinates me. Or the ability of some talented authors to capture the true essence of the spoken word with the written word. I take note of the words certain people repeatedly use. Word habits. I study word trends, changing definitions (gay, sick, sweet) and how people pronounce them. How do you pronounce coupon? Roof? Root? Cement? Colorado? Warm? How do your Grandparents say the same words? And your parents? These are things I like to know.

Having read a few of Caroline's emails to Serge and through perceptively reading several posts from Caroline on the website, I inadvertently discovered that Caroline was also playing the role of several 'fans' with the goal of excessively complimenting herself and her music. Among those personas there seemed to be one woman and one man who made 99% of the few posts there. I could tell that the woman, who called herself "BettyForward", was Caroline and I figured the guy, whose pseudonym I can't recall, was Caroline's current boyfriend.

Although it's fairly harmless to create a pseudonym under which you rave about your own talent or appearance it engendered within me a suspicion of Caroline. I can't say why, I can certainly appreciate the desire to create a buzz about one's artistic endeavors, but it seemed silly and slightly unbecoming. I just couldn't imagine my husband logging on to his message board under a pseudonym to create comments about how sexy or talented he considers himself. Still, as a girl who likes to be told she's pretty, I understood Caroline's desire for attention for her appearance or her music. However, in addition to Serge's relationship horror stories, these internet pseudonyms and her behavior toward my husband over the prior five months were the only information about Caroline I had gleaned. Unfortunately, all the incidents slapped together on the same canvas served to paint a rather unflattering portrait.

After asking that he be removed from Caroline's newsletter mailing list Serge received no response. Which we considered a good sign. With the Caroline situation hopefully behind us and our move to the big city rapidly transitioning from dream to reality, I was finally feeling like a bona fide married woman. So a package from Caroline sent to Serge's Philadelphia address was a stinging reminder of an annoying situation. There, awaiting us on his doorstep was Caroline's "whimsical" gift.

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