Wanna succeed at shadiness? Let me be your Yoda

Unless you’re living under a rock — or you’re white — you’re probably aware of Steve Harvey’s best-seller, “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man.”

Well, I have some amazing insights that would make excellent fodder for my own self-help book. I’d follow along the lines of Mr. Harvey, only with a more provocative title:

“Act Like a Criminal …Think Like a Criminal’s Coddling Mother.”

I’ve been studying bad boys and bad girls for years — long before I became a mistress — and as a result, I have plenty of suggestions for anyone wanting to walk on the path to Hell wild side. They may be a bit unorthodox, but my tips are golden — trust me:

1. Watch a sh*tload of mafia movies

I first watched “The Godfather” trilogy when I was in middle school, and it forever altered my way of thinking. Now I’m a woman who’s a cross between Lorraine Bracco’s mafia wife in “Goodfellas” and Viggo Mortensen’s hitman in “A History of Violence.”

I mind my own business and would rather die than betray a friend’s trust. I’m capable of hiding a dead body or disposing of incriminating evidence cleaning up messes if need be, and I handle the shadiness I’m currently involved in, in an honorable manner.

So becoming well-acquainted with the likes of Al Pacino, Bob De Niro and Joe Pesci is a good first step toward eroding your morals self-improvement. Spend a week or two watching “The Godfather” movies, “Scarface,” “The Untouchables” and “Goodfellas.” Or for more recent mob films, check out “A History of Violence,” “The Departed” and “Eastern Promises.”

2. Blame Sheryl Crow for your bad behavior

Six years ago, she got dumped by her fiance Lance Armstrong because she wanted to have kids and he didn’t … and then a month later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer … and THEN after enduring all that, she recently found out she has a benign brain tumor.

But if you look past all of those gut-wrenching, sympathy-worthy details, you’ll clearly see that  Sheryl Crow is a f*ckin’ troublemaker.

Need proof? Well, she wrote a song called “If It Makes You Happy,” and in that song, she states quite emphatically: If it makes you happy/ It can’t be that bad. (She also sings: If it makes you happy/ Then why the hell are you so sad? — but I choose to ignore that part.)

And then in “Strong Enough,” she insists over and over: Lie to me/ I promise/ I’ll believe — and later adds: But please/ Don’t leave.

How is an emotionally torn woman supposed to follow her common sense when she hears compelling lyrics like that accompanied by a really awesome musical arrangement?

Fine, Sheryl Crow, you win. We all just need to do stuff if it makes us happy and believe people’s lies so they won’t leave us.

So go ahead and eat as many hamburgers as you want, or try some Ecstasy pills at a rave, or trust politicians, oil companies and NBA commissioner David Stern — because a cancer survivor whose heart was broken by another cancer survivor says it’s OK to be a gullible thrill-seeker.

3. Watch out for the Linkedins of the world

Did you know that if you look at someone’s Linkedin profile, Linkedin will tell that person you looked at his or her page? I didn’t know that important piece of information until a friend told me about a month ago — and I’ve been pissed ever since.

I’m not sure if The Husband’s wife has a Linkedin profile, and given my stalker tendencies, I’m surprised I haven’t checked already but if she did, and I had viewed it, and snitchin’ Linkedin had ratted me out, that would’ve caused some major drama.

Basically, I dodged a bullet purely on luck, and as someone who takes pride in always being a step ahead of the game, I’m quite annoyed by that.

But let this be a lesson to everybody: If you’re going to be shady, you’ve got to minimize risks.

• Know whom you can trust.
• Don’t leave a paper trail, i.e. get rid of incriminating evidence ASAP.
• Limit how much alcohol/drugs you consume around random people (because you’re likely to slip up when you’re intoxicated).
• And for the love of God, don’t stalk a woman’s Linkedin page if you’re sleeping with her husband and you’re fairly certain she knows your name.

4. Prepare for your Lewinsky or Watergate

“The truth shall set you free.”

That saying was probably invented by a wife who wanted to trick her husband into admitting he was having an affair. And after he “set his truth free,” I bet she “set his a$$ on fire.”

Most of the time, everyone is better off if the truth stays locked up like a minority in a maximum security prison. But in all matters of naughtiness, getting exposed is a real possibility. So if the sh*t hits the fan, you need to be ready for your Bill Clinton or Richard Nixon epic fail.

I basically have mea culpa speeches prepared for my mom and The Husband’s mom and sister — the three people I’m most worried about hurting if my mistressing becomes public. I’ve outlined my reasons for not telling them sooner, added a lot of “I’m so sorrys” and sprinkled in a few “Feel free to curse me out or throw a drink on me” lines.

Acceptance and forgiveness are all I’ll want if my sins are exposed, but sadly I realize that no amount of planning can guarantee I’ll get either one of those things.

Think I’ll omit that kernel of truth from my book.

True lies: Why The Terminator’s mistress is my worst nightmare

Like most women with low self-esteem, I spend a lot of time comparing myself to Hollywood actresses, reality TV stars and fashion models. Judging myself against beautiful, skinny celebrities wouldn’t be so bad if I approached it in a rational manner. Instead, I choose to overlook several important truths:

1. Most celebs don’t have to work 40 hours a week, 50-plus weeks every year.
2. A lot of them have jobs that require them to be in great physical shape, and as a result, they have an hour or two carved out in their schedule each day for exercise … usually with a personal trainer.
3. They have access to beauty-enhancing tools and surgeries I could never afford.
4. They have personal chefs, who can cook all kinds of healthy, low-fat food.
5. They have hairstylists and makeup artists at the ready.
6. Even with all those advantages, they still have their pictures digitally altered and wear undergarments like Spanx to look thinner and blemish-free.

So, yes, I have a love affair with a beauty standard that is basically fraudulent. But that’s not the main reason why my feelings of inadequacy are at an all-time high. A year ago, some big news broke, and it caused me to face a startling possibility: What if I’m as unattractive as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s mistress?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure Mildred Patricia Baena is a lovely person (on the inside) and perhaps she was breathtakingly beautiful back in the day before she got pregnant with Arnold’s love child. But let’s be honest. Maria Shriver is WAY more attractive — hell, even her name is more attractive: Who wants to f*ck someone named Mildred?

The first time I saw a picture of Ms. Baena, I thought: “Arnold cheated on Maria with THAT?!” and then about 20 seconds later I thought: “Wait a minute … what if I’m ‘THAT,’ too?!”

It’s a common belief that men cheat simply because their mistresses do certain things in bed that the wife won’t do. Or that men will overlook women’s physical shortcomings for a blowjob a cheap thrill. (But Maria has Kennedy blood, so there’s no way she’s isn’t a semi-Super Freak, right?)

My greatest mistress fear used to be that our affair would become public knowledge. But thanks to Mr. Terminator’s horrible taste in homewreckers, my fear has morphed into: our affair becoming public knowledge and The Husband’s wife, friends and family forming a circle around him and chanting:

“U-G-L-Y … Your whore ain’t got no alibi. She ugly … What, what … She ugly!”

There’s a good chance I am “a Mildred” because honestly, I don’t measure up to the stereotypical mistress. I’m 20 10 pounds overweight, I rarely wear sexy outfits, I can’t do the splits and I’ve never slid down a stripper’s pole.

I thought this whole mistressing thing would inspire me to work out consistently and maintain a nice figure. But pretty much since my last encounter with The Husband in February, I’ve had no desire to work out. Zip, zero, zilch. I just want to eat bad food, sit on my a$$ and live La Vida Lazy.

This could be some subconscious ploy to repulse The Husband by “letting my looks go.” But mostly I think it’s the result of being semi-depressed about a lot of things — my stressful, dissatisfying job and my lack of a dating/social life, to name a few — and not being in the mood to go through the rigors of getting back into shape.

Arnold’s affair stayed hidden for damn near 20 years. So hopefully that means I’ll have awhile to get back into some sort of fitness groove or, at the very least, save up for cosmetic surgery — before I have to face judgment day.

Don’t count your days before they’re hatched

Thursday was supposed to be such a positive day for me.

I was scheduled to see my shrink in the afternoon before going to work, and I had lots of good news to share with him. In the two weeks since our last appointment, I hadn’t spoken with The Husband for 12 straight days, which in dog years is like four years, and I was feeling really good about my new blog and how it was cutting down on how often I watched the Lifetime Movie Network improving my emotional well-being.

Adding to my great expectations for Thursday was the fact that I had planned a birthday surprise for one of my friends (The Husband’s sister) and ordered flowers to be delivered to her. I was looking forward to receiving her happy text message that afternoon or evening because she gave me a beautiful bouquet for my birthday, so I was super excited to return the favor.

Well, my plans began to unravel in the morning, when my therapist called because he needed to move our appointment to Friday. And a few hours later, everything officially shifted from forward progress to oh no, not this sh*t again total relapse when The Husband texted me out of the blue: “Happy Thursday.”

He and I swapped about 40 texts over the next few hours, and for us, they were pretty tame. (I only said d*ck, balls and c*m one time each!) I’ve recently gotten quite used to not sending The Husband pictures of me, so I had no problem rejecting his repeated requests for one yesterday. Once he realized I wasn’t caving, he asked me to lie to him and say I’d be emailing him a photo later that night, because “I sleep better when I get to look forward to seeing you in the morning.” (Yes, that did make me smile. Sue me.)

During our text exchange, neither of us addressed the fight we had a few weeks ago, i.e. why we haven’t spoken in almost two weeks. I won’t speak for him, but the reason why I chose not to revisit the clash is because a) I realized doing that wouldn’t solve anything and b) I’m just tired of being mad at him and feeling like sh*t because of it.

One of my best friends, whom I’ve dubbed The Mistress Advisor, told me a couple of weeks ago — when I was distraught and convinced that The Husband had lost interest in me — that he would contact me again and that I have a lot more power in this relationship than I give myself credit for.

Sure enough, she was right, and since that’s pretty much been the case with all her advice about The Husband, I’m finally starting to take her wisdom to heart.

So here are my vows for the immediate future:

1. No more sending him pictures of myself — even fully clothed ones.
2. I will continue to call him on his bullsh*t, since yesterday was proof that he won’t stay away for long, even if he gets angry.
3. I’m going to continue doing what I’ve done the past two weeks, i.e. not being tethered to my cell phone waiting for a text from him, and devoting most of my free time to romancing my vibrator doing things that are good for me and being around my friends and family.

Speaking of which, his sister did text me Thursday less than an hour after he initially did, and she really liked her flowers. She even tweeted a picture of them to all her followers, thanking me again.

It felt nice doing one good deed Thursday. But a part of me wishes I could’ve done one for myself, too.

Four really embarrassing facts about me

I don’t think it’s right to throw The Husband under the proverbial bus without discussing a few extremely personal things about me, too. So without further ado, here are four things I normally wouldn’t reveal unless I was sh*t-faced drunk lulled into candor by vodka:

1. I give without receiving

Here’s a startling truth: I’ve never had an orgasm while engaging in sexual activities with The Husband. How can this be, you ask? Well, like 70% of all women, I require clitoral stimulation to climax, and The Husband refuses to perform oral sex on me. (But he has no problem receiving blow jobs from me. Funny how that works.)

As far as manual stimulation, The Husband strokes my clit like he’s trying to start a fire with it it’s a penis, and there’s no nice way to tell a man while he’s thrusting inside you, “Hey <thrust> you’re <thrust> rubbing <thrust> my <thrust> clit <thrust> wrong <thrust>!”

So every time after we have sex, he asks, “Did you come?”

And I want to say something smart-a$$ like, “If you have to ask, then you know the answer.” Instead I just giggle like a Japanese schoolgirl and say “No.”

Why is The Husband so opposed to cunnilingus? “It’s gross,” he told me when he was a teenager. Then a few years later, I asked him again and he said, “I’ve only done that with one woman and you are NOT her.” (This was around the time he was in college, and he and his wife attended the same university, so maybe she was the “her” he was talking about.)

Sidenote: I assume that The Husband has gotten away with being a selfish prick — literally and figuratively — for so long because he is a pretty boy who preys on chicks with low self-esteem. A lot of women are probably like me and think, “This gorgeous man wants to have sex with me! Lucky me! I’ll do whatever he wants!”

Now let me explain why this no orgasm/no oral sex situation doesn’t bother me THAT much. A) I’m not planning to spend my whole life with this guy. B) Orgasm or not, this is the best sex I’ve ever had. I’ve only had three other sex partners: Two were my past boyfriends and one was a dude I had sex with twice while trying to rebound from The Husband and make him jealous.

The two boyfriends gave me many, many orgasms and were completely unselfish in the sack. But for various reasons, they weren’t very good at the actual act of intercourse. So being intimate with The Husband is allowing me to experience something that is long overdue.

2. I check his wife’s Facebook page EVERY DAY

After the engagement and the marriage, Strike 3 in the “Game of Breaking Ms. Tress’ Heart” is their having a child together. The wife hasn’t changed her profile picture since last August, so I’m wondering, “Is she pregnant?” She never posts status updates or comments on anything, so it’s possible her lack-of-new-pic is just a sign of her disinterest in FB. But about three months ago, The Husband changed his profile pic to a photo of him when he was a baby. And he mentioned that he’s the one who cooks dinner every night and they’ve had problems at home. So my glutton-for-punishment mind wonders if her being with child explains his FB picture, his cooking all the time and why their marriage is supposedly strained. One way or another, I’ll find out eventually.

3. Speaking of pregnancies …

I had a motherhood scare back in March. The Husband doesn’t like using condoms — he can’t “feel anything” he says — and I can’t take the Pill or any birth control that has hormones, because it’d increase my chances of getting cancer again. (And a huge uterine fibroid thwarted my plan to get a diaphragm.)

So sometimes we’ve had sex without using any kind of protection — I know, I know: I’m stupid. But the past few encounters, I’ve used spermicidal gel.

Well after the last time, in February, my period decided to play a little joke on me and act abnormal for once. I had spotting a week after we had sex (two or three weeks before my period was due) and then when my period didn’t appear when it was supposed to, I panicked. I purchased a home pregnancy test for the first time ever and practically danced the jig when that electronic display flashed the words “not pregnant.”

What made the experience especially stressful was the realization that if I had been pregnant, I was going to keep the baby. I’ve become semi-Pro Life in my 30s. (I believe all women should have the right to choose, but I don’t want to have an abortion.) I’m ashamed to admit this, but I would love to have The Husband’s baby: because it would be cute, tall, athletic and really smart with extremely f*cked up brain chemistry.

Sidenote: A few weeks after our trysts, The Husband always confirms that I got my period. I once told him he didn’t need to ask because if I did get pregnant, I’d just get an abortion without bothering him with all the drama (this was before my “Pro Life” change of heart). I’m not sure why, but he said he would get angry if I had an abortion without talking to him first about it. Here I thought I’d be doing him a favor, but what do I know?

4. My guilt cost me $90

Last year, I lost my debit card, and someone retrieved it and spent $90 of my hard-earned savings. When I went to my credit union to get reimbursed, the folks there explained that I would have to file a police report to get my money back. Since I get overwhelmed easily and like most minorities, I’m afraid of police stations, I procrastinated in going to file a report. After a month passed, I decided not to follow through with getting my money back because my mistress a$$ deserved to have something bad happen to her anyway. It was like how Catholics say a certain amount of Hail Marys to repent for their sins. Well I gave a karma $90 to atone for mine.

OK I’m still in the mood to humiliate myself. So here are a few more mortifying  tidbits about Ms. Tress:

1. Whenever Jennifer Lopez’s “Enough” is on TV, I stop whatever I’m doing and watch the movie.
2. I’m undergoing monthly laser treatments to have my mustache removed because I’m hairier than a Chewbacca from Siberia.
3. I think Nick Jonas is hot. (Did you see him on the Tony Awards?! OMG!)        
4. I cried when Jen and Evelyn hugged during Part 2 of the “Basketball Wives” reunion on Monday. (Even though that crap was probably staged.)
5. I carry on extensive conversations with my cats.
6. I really miss talking to The Husband. (Entering Day 12)

Songs every sidechick should have on her iPod (Part 2)

If there were an album called “Now That’s What I Call Music … For Mistresses,” several of the songs I mentioned in Part 1 would be featured tracks in that musical collection.

But what I’m about to mention in Part 2 are songs that transcend infidelity, so if you’ve ever felt “not good enough” or been the victim of a romance turned sour, you’ll either be well-acquainted with the following tunes or will enjoy hearing them for the first time.

During 99.999% the most painful moments of my “other woman” lifestyle, when I’m feeling bitter, heartbroken or incredibly insecure, I turn to songs whose lyrics comfort my sadness. I hope they bring you comfort and entertainment, as well.

A ‘Creep’ cocktail

1.  “Creep” — Stone Temple Pilots
2. “Creep” — TLC
3. “Creep” — Radiohead

Random notes: While listening to these three songs back-to-back-to-back, it’s really important to make sure TLC’s “Creep” is the second song you listen to. The STP and Radiohead songs are among the most depressing in the history of music, and listening to them consecutively would probably drive you to commit suicide. So for the sake of your own mental health, please sandwich the TLC joint between them. Or if you insist on disregarding my advice, at least take some Prozac first.

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Rock-bottom blues

1. “Sideways” — Citizen Cope
2. “With or Without You” — U2
3. “Is It A Crime” — Sade
4. “Love is My Disease” — Alicia
5. “Misery” — Maroon 5

Random notes: The chorus in “Sideways” — “These feelings won’t go away/ They keep knocking me sideways” — sums up my current emotional state. I feel like no matter how long I go without talking to The Husband (I’m entering Day 11), I’m always going to miss/care about him. … Getting drunk at a karaoke bar and singing “With or Without You” is on my bucket list. … A janitor where I work calls me “Sade” when I wear big hoop earrings and a ponytail. … Gotta have an Alicia Keys song on here since she basically stole Swizz Beatz from his wife fell in love under complicated circumstances. … “I am in misery/ There ain’t nobody who can comfort me” — Amen, Mr. Levine. A-frickin-men. 

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Drama, drama, drama

1. “Collide” — Rachael Yamagata
2. “When It Hurts So Bad” — Lauryn Hill
3. “Wasted Time” — Meshell Ndegeocello
4. “Highlights” — Van Hunt

Random notes: In case you’re unfamiliar with these artists, here’s a crash course: Rachael is like Fiona Apple, a.k.a. a bitter piano player who’s routinely scorned by men. … Lauryn Hill is well-known to anyone 25 and older, and her decade-long disappearing act from the music world left many of us traumatized. … Meshell Ndegeocello always switches up her sound from album to album, but I keep hoping she’ll do a sequel to  “Bitter,” an album so good I’m sure Jesus was its executive producer. … Van Hunt is like a more soulful Lenny Kravitz but probably would’ve cheated on Lisa Bonet, too, and has a wonderfully eclectic sound. His self-titled album was awesome. 

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Free at last, free at last

1. “Son Of A Gun” — Janet
2. “Swag Back” — Amerie
3. “Twisted Logic” — Coldplay

Random notes: Permanently extricating oneself from a bad relationship is cause for celebration, and these songs would be good to play during a “I Dumped His A$$” party.  … The Coldplay song isn’t about relationships per se, but about 1:30 into the track, the guitar chords get hyper and Chris Martin belts, “You’ll go backwards/ but then/ You’ll go forwards again.” I find those words reassuring because they let me know that even when I regress, I shouldn’t give up hope that someday I’ll be rid of The Husband — and all of the shady stuff associated with him — for good.

Songs every sidechick should have on her iPod (Part 1)

It’s no coincidence that most of my blog entries refer to songs and song lyrics. Music has been my lifesaver for many years, especially during all of this adultery mess.

In fact, I’ve developed quite a collection of stormy relationship/unrequited love/cheating songs, so I thought I’d share some of my favorites.

Sidenote: You’ll probably notice some glaring omissions, namely Adele’s “Turning Tables,” “Rolling in the Deep” and “Someone Like You.” I’ve listened to those songs, and the entire “21” album, about 2 billion times a lot. But so has everybody else, so that’s why I’m not including them on my list. For that same reason, I’m also excluding Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” and Eminem’s “Love The Way You Lie.” (But I hope Em and Gaga won’t hold that against me.)

Anthems for any mistress

1. “If Your Girl Only Knew”– Aaliyah
2. “Back to Black” — Amy Winehouse
3. “Saving All My Love For You” — Whitney
4. “Your Secret Love” — Luther Vandross
5. “As We Lay” — Kelly Price

Random notes: The “unplug her phone” line in “If Your Girl Only Knew” makes me giggle. God bless the days before cell phones. … The lyrics in “Back to Black” fit my situation to a tee, which is why it’s one of my all-time favorite songs. … I’m amused that adultery is so taboo in our society, yet Whitney, Luther and Kelly Price/Shirley Murdock all got hit records by singing about it. Hmmm.

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You vs. The Chosen One

1. “I Can Love You Better” — Mary J. Blige
2. “More Like Her” — Miranda Lambert

Random notes: I’m ashamed of how much I enjoy Lil Kim’s verses in “I Can Love You Better.” I’ll add that to the long list of things I’ve ashamed of. … The older I get, the more I appreciate country music. I only discovered Miranda Lambert in the past year, but I’ve quickly developed a fondness for her ballads. Shout-out to “Greyhound Bound for Nowhere.”

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F**ked-up songs that shouldn’t turn me on (but do)

1. “Tear you Apart” — She Wants Revenge
2. “Backstroke” — Teedra Moses
3. “Outta My Head” — Teedra Moses
4. “Love You More” — Eminem

Random notes: Yes, I do think having sex while any of these songs played in the background would be awesome. (Stop judging me!) … I highly recommend Teedra Moses’ “Complex Simplicity” album to anyone going through relationship drama. The two aforementioned songs are on it, and it also features another tune in which she threatens a woman who was trying to step to TM’s man. … Oh, Eminem, (dramatic pause) words cannot express how much I adore your work. To show my appreciation, I should let you choke me write you a letter sometime. 

A man can tell a thousand lies

Madonna’s “Live To Tell” is one of my favorite songs, and the past few years, it has turned into my anthem.

The song’s lyrics center on the burden of hiding a secret and dealing with a deceitful man, and if that’s not a good summation of my life right now, I don’t know what is.

The Husband is an outstanding liar. A few years ago, shortly after he had gotten engaged, we were among a group of his friends, and he looked me dead in the eye and asked, “How have you been?” He did this to make his friends think we hadn’t spoken in ages, when in fact, he had just had sex with me the night before.

Knowing how good he is at lying, I don’t really believe anything he tells me. I shrug off his compliments and ignore his insinuations to having marital problems.

Here are a few other classic lines from The Husband a.k.a. the man, the myth and the master of deception:

1. “Hey you”

The Husband likes to begin our text-message exchanges with “Hey you.” I know many men and women use those words as a way to flirt or convey affection. But I assume The Husband does it to cover his ass in case he accidentally texts one woman when he intended to text another.

2. “We just happened”

According to The Husband, his engagement was totally spur of the moment. He insisted that they had broken up before he and I started hooking up and told me they their reconnection and  subsequent engagement “just happened.” But anyone with a clue about jobs, marriage proposals and life in general would know that’s complete bullshit. Allow me to explain my reasoning further:

In the summer of 2009, The Husband moved from his hometown (where I live) to another city to attend grad school. At the time, the wife (who was then “the on-again, off-again girlfriend”) was employed in a city far, far away from both The Husband’s hometown and the city to which he relocated. But just three months after he moved, she moved in with him, and shortly thereafter, he proposed to her.

Sidenote: I found out about their engagement the day after it happened via an email from The Husband’s mother (who doesn’t know that The Husband and I are more than friends). The news was gut-wrenching, especially since at that time, I was going through radiation treatments while battling cancer.

OK back to my point. There’s no way the wife/girlfriend quit her job, arranged to have her stuff moved and found another job without extensive planning. Not in this economy. And men like The Husband don’t just pop the question spontaneously. It was a calculated move. (My theory is that since she is financially well-off and so accommodating, he figured getting hitched to her would be a smart way to pay bills, live comfortably and avoid having to deal with the headaches of single life while he got his MBA degree. Oh, and he probably loves her, too, but whatever.)

3. “It’s just pictures”

So here’s at least one lie he’s told his wife. About four or five months into their marriage, she searched through his phone and accessed his email. It was there that she discovered one of the NSFW pictures I had sent him. I wish I knew two things: 1) What made her suspicious enough to go through his phone and 2) Which picture she saw. (Hope it was a cute one!)

Anyway, when she confronted him, he supposedly told her: “It was ‘just pics’ and there was no ‘relationship history’ between us.”

When he informed me of this drama, he warned that he “might be getting a divorce” but wanted to make sure I didn’t feel guilty about their “inevitable breakup.” I told him I hoped he didn’t have an inevitable breakup. That was a lie. He answered: “Don’t worry about that. As long as I don’t lose you, I can handle it.”

Since the wife knew my email and name, she had the motive and means to contact me. But The Husband said there was only “a 2% chance of that happening” because “she wouldn’t do that.”

Sure enough, she bought his b.s. and didn’t contact me.

A few issues before I move on: 

On behalf of all womankind, I think it’s safe to say that unless a chick is a stripper, a stalker or a cast member of “Jersey Shore,” she’s not sending revealing pictures of herself to a man unless they have some sort of “relationship history.” 

Secondly, if wifey was suspicious enough  to search through his phone, why did she embrace denial so quickly after discovering the smoking gun?

Thirdly, his lines to me were precious, weren’t they? “Inevitable breakup” and “as long as I don’t lose you …” — perfect words to keep a girl hanging on.

4. “I just want to meet you for coffee”

Two times, The Husband had fed me a variation of this line when he wanted to see me during our estranged moments.

The first time happened about a month after the pictures incident, during a period when I had cut ties with him. I stopped talking to him because just a few days after getting busted, he wanted to pick up where we left off. The final straw was his saying, “When I got caught, I’ve never been more turned on by you.” (How sick is that?)

Then weeks of Husband-less bliss passed, until one random day when he emailed me on Facebook. He said he was flying to his hometown (where I live) that night for a long weekend and wanted to grab my boobs a cup of coffee with me sometime during his trip. “It could be in the middle of broad daylight,” he insisted.

I was feeling depressed about the state of my life at the time, so instead of ignoring his message or opting to actually get coffee, I invited him to drop by my place hours after his plane landed.

He did. And after spending about 40 minutes acting appropriately, we fell back into our old habit and had sinfully good sex. We ended up having sex three of the five days he was in town.

5. “But please know I am working on me, and I’m working on being a better person.”

After the aforementioned sex week, I felt guilty, so from April/May 2011 to late September 2011, I didn’t communicate with The Husband at all. During that time, he graduated from B-school, went on a month-long honeymoon (about seven months after their wedding) and relocated to another city with the Mrs. to begin his cool new job. I kept track of him via his wife’s Facebook page from a distance.

I had assumed since life was going so well for him, our affair was kaput. But then he emailed me on Facebook in late September, saying that I crossed his mind from time to time and that he hoped I was doing well and blah blah blah. I responded to his message in a semi-hostile manner, and before I knew it, I was hearing about how he had changed his old ways and was “working on being a better person.”

He stuck with this “better person” facade for a few months until I told him I would be visiting the town he lived in, in February for a conference. At first, he claimed he just wanted to take me out for lunch. But the closer we got to the date of my trip, our itinerary evolved into “I’ll pick you up from the airport and take you out to dinner and then we’ll go to a low-key spot to get drinks,” and the tone of his FB emails became flirty. (As Satan luck would have it, his wife was out of town the day I flew into town.)

The Husband had talked a good game about how he had seen a therapist and how he wanted no part of the “Old Husband’s” ways. But after dinner and drinks, he didn’t hesitate to come up to my hotel room. And a few minutes after he got into the room, he initiated the renewal our affair. And used his phone to take pictures of us while we were having sex.

6. “You’re the only ‘other’ “

After that last sexual encounter in February, The Husband told me our trysts were OK because he was “only doing this” with one woman. (I call it “monogamous shadiness.”) He said his statement in such a way that I’m pretty sure he was trying to convince himself that this was a legit excuse more than he was trying to convince me.

But I’ve flat-out told him I don’t assume I’m his only mistress. His reply? “You don’t have to assume because I’m telling you. You’re the only ‘other.’ ”

Riiight.

He knows I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him; I’ve told him as much. So I’ll never understand why he tells me stuff like that. Whether it’s true or not, I’m not buying anything the Master of Deception says.

Madonna would be proud of me, right?

The vampire (and virginity) diaries

I’m fascinated by vampire lore and will pretty much watch anything on TV or on the big screen that’s vampire-related excluding that god-awful “Twilight” series. One thing I’ve learned through studying the blood-sucking community is that losing one’s virginity is a lot like being sired by Dracula’s people.

For any non-“Buffy” lovers, “to sire” means to turn a normal human being into a vampire. I semi-jokingly say I was sired by The Husband because when he became my first lover many years ago, he sort of turned me into a monster. Once a rational young lady with a solid grip on her emotions, I transformed into a lovesick twit who craved sex.

I think my sire shaped my sexual personality. If I had lost my virginity to someone else, maybe my sex drive would be lower or I wouldn’t like blow jobs or doggy-style doing certain things in bed.

One’s first lover is monumentally important, and had I known this years ago, I would’ve chosen mine much more carefully. I try not to beat myself up about it, because as they say, hymen hindsight is 20/20, but I do wonder how different I would’ve turned out had I waited for Mr. Right instead of Mr. This Is No Strings Attached, Right?

So how did The Husband become my sire? Here’s the story:

I was a nerdy tomboy during my teen years — a la Joey Potter from “Dawson’s Creek.” Attractive Boys didn’t notice me … until The Husband (who was then The Teenager) came along.

He’s three years younger than me — and that kind of age difference feels immense when you’re a teen — so back then I considered him to be the little brother I never had. He flirted with me for years, but because of my lack of romantic experience, it took a bold move on his part to get through to me.

One night we were just hanging out on his bed. (I know how that sounds, but seriously, nothing was going on … at first.)

“Does this tickle?” he asked as he touched the stomach area of my sweater.
“No,” I laughed.
“Lie back and close your eyes. I know what will tickle you,” he said.

I really thought he was just going to tickle my stomach harder or something, but next thing I know, he was lifting up my sweater, hiking up my bra and sucking my right nipple.

“Did that tickle?” he asked.
The word “nope” stumbled out of my mouth.
So then he sucked my left boob.

I was 18 or 19 and had never been kissed before, so I went from zero to 2nd base in a matter of seconds. When I gathered myself, I was like “We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re too young for me. Blah blah blah.”

But later I drove home smiling the whole way and shifted into total “like” mode. In future encounters, he became my first kiss, first blow job, first dry hump and then at last, my first lover.

He awakened my sexuality and femininity. So even in our relationship’s worst moments, it has always been hard for me to stay mad at him for extended periods of time. Somehow he’s gotten into my blood.

Fight: The power

I haven’t been in the mood to write recently, because The Husband and I renewed our monthly-ish tradition of fighting. He got mad at me about two weeks ago after I sent him an admittedly inflammatory text message — I said he was using me — and he proceeded to not contact me for a week, which for us, is a long-ass time to go without correspondence.

After seven days of silence, I lost my patience and texted him asking if he was mad, just really busy at work or both. He said “both.” We swapped a few more terse texts that day and didn’t clear anything up. Turns out he wasn’t even mad about the “using” remark, but he wouldn’t say what upset him.

Still frustrated and clueless about what pissed him off, I texted him the next day and apologized for hurting him — but added that I wanted to take a break from talking with him. (How incredibly immature passive-aggressive is that: contacting him just to say I don’t want to talk to him?)

He texted me back, saying he didn’t remember exactly what I said to upset him but that it was “disparaging.” So to recap, what I said was awful enough to warrant silent treatment … but not significant enough to commit to memory. (Smh.)

My favorite text from him during that exchange: “You’re just so damn hard on both yourself and on me. … I can’t keep us up when you’re always trying to pull us down. I love having you in my life, but not to the detriment of either of us.”

Let’s dissect that text, shall we? First, I’m “so damn hard” on him? Um, don’t I have every right to be? Second, “keep us up”? Are you serious? You call relegating me to mistress status as keeping “us up”? What’s he going to tell me next: that Jagged Edge’s “Let’s Get Married” is a great love song?

By the way, my response to his text was: “This whole situation is to the detriment of both of us. If you had a conscience, you’d see that.” (I wasn’t even being overly dramatic when I said that. I’m pretty sure The Husband is a narcissistic.)

After my “conscience” comment, he went silent again. That was three days ago. So for the umpteenth time, I deleted his phone numbers and erased all traces of him from my cell (I confess that I do have his numbers and photos saved in various e-mails, but I’ve done this so often that I have the discipline not to use them).

This purging ritual isn’t something I do to expel him from my life for good, but when I start feeling overwhelmed by adultery’s negative side effects, I’ve found that this electronic erasing always brings emotional relief.

Whenever we’re beefed out, my mood and energy level pay the price. I’m OK when I’m around my friends and family, or able to throw myself into my work, but when I’m alone, I just feel … sad. Like “play REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’ 20 times in a row” sad.

I told a friend that every time The Husband goes silent for extended periods of time, I worry that he’s lost interest in me. She reminded me that based on his track record, that’s not going to happen. Ever. BUT, she added, if it did happen, that would be a good thing for me, so it’s kind of a win-win either way.

In the past I’ve found that if I can go two weeks without talking to him, the sadness starts to dissipate, so at this point, I’m hoping the next 11 days fly by.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to behave if/when he texts me again. Do I stop intentionally pushing his buttons and accept that there’s nothing I can say or do to prove  that I’m not some naive woman like his wife. Or do I continue to stand up for myself and call him on his bullshit?

Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.