The Historia of Frost, the Great and Powerful

Here's the blog entry a friend of mine would say is in the Realm of Verbal Masturbation. What the "About Me" blurb should really say...

I was born at the height of the Witching Hour, during the fiercest storm of the year, within a stone's throw of the nation's capital.

21 months after I was born, my brother was born.

By age 5, my vocabulary out-sized my parents.

Just in time for 1st grade, they decided to mainstream me into public school, so I wouldn't be a freak, even though I had been attending a private school up to this point, and now knew everything that they were going to try to teach me in the next two years.

By the end of 1st grade, I came to the conclusion that I was NOT like the other kids in public school, and thus, was a freak among the natives. For the record, they felt likewise, though I will admit that the French foreign student we had in the class became a steady girlfriend. Oh, memories of those bushes by the playground...



By 5th grade, in mid-year, I found myself moving from the Virginia lands I called home to this small backwards place called Vermont. I fell in love with it, however, and my heart has been there ever since, no matter where I roam. That first winter was interesting socially, ...well, let's just say the girls thought that a southern accent was cool, the boys thought that the Confederate Rebel invader must die.

By 6th grade, I had firmly established myself amongst the artistic types in my new territory, and proved myself to be one of the best. The southern accent charm had worn off, however.

By 7th grade, my best friend had finally convinced me to combine my storytelling with my art, making a cartoonist out of me. DAMN HER for tainting the purity of my classical training! However, when I do publish something illustrated, I will dedicate it to her. Paying attention, Kathy Garrow...?

By 8th grade, I began work on my first novel...or two...or three... I relished in the story-writing assignments (affectionately called "journals"), and the fan-base that grew from both the students and teachers, who craved to read more of my crafted tales.

My love of comics bloomed about this time, as well. Mostly Marvel, but loved some of the more esoteric DC stuff as well. The independent boom was coming soon, and I would embrace it, entirely. Chris Claremont, Dave Cockrum, thank you both for the hours and hours of entertainment.

I also began to play role-playing games, in addition to throwing my hat into the ring for theatre, and expanding my love of the muses to all nine of the ladies. It is a harem I still maintain to this day. Quiet girls, I'm working here.

High School. A four year journey where everyone fought to find their place in the world. It was an odd time. I have always accepted everyone for who they were, what talents and skills they brought to the table, the inner self. By my senior year, I had gone from social outcast to most trusted confidant, regardless of which circle it was. I think the fact that I gave everyone equal chance, and people saw, and finally recognized this, was a great factor.

I was the eyes and the ears in that school. Anything that was happening, I knew about. All the secrets, all the politics. I was privy to it all...but did not use that knowledge to manipulate or provoke. I was the listener that could be trusted, who would not judge you, as I had been judged for all those years. I still practice this philosophy to this day.

The second year it was enacted  I attended the Governor's Institute on the Arts, a two week arts-a-palooza held at one of the State Colleges, with the restriction of only the best two art students of each district could attend.

I chose Film (Animation) and Painting as my courses of study. During this time, we managed to convince the Film adviser to hand us a camera and a bunch of film. We wanted to film a live action movie. We chose to do a horror film...specifically, a slasher film. The Ellis Hall Massacre. We had kids lining up for the honor to be in the film. The instructor thought that he was going to see reels of crap when we were done. He complimented me, after watching the rough cut. Your eye, he said, strongly reminds me of Hitchcock in composition. Great praise indeed, for a man who had never held a camera before that time.

Come graduation, I had a few choices. College (not an easy choice for the brain who REFUSED to do homework, because it was a waste of my non-school hours...and besides, quiz me...I KNEW the material already, dammit!), get a job and pay rent (stay in the prison of my youth? I think not) or join the service. Rather than follow in the footsteps of my father, I chose the Marines over the Air Force. The physical challenge, and the fact that they were begging to get the perfect test scorer into their Aviation Program convinced me that this would be the way to go. Besides, I had dreams of the Space Program. What better way to go, than to get into the Aviation Program?

My classmates had a hard time with my decision. Betting against me that I would not make it, I not only made it, but finished in the top ten percent of my graduating unit. I returned home, collected over $100 from the suckers who doubted me, and became very popular with the girls who didn't look at me twice before I was wearing the uniform.

Off to Memphis, TN, for schooling. An interesting place, Memphis. We were advised that if we saw a sign saying, "Neckbone: $0.59" to immediately turn around. I never had any trouble. Hell, one time, Larry and I went with a local friend who worked on the base out cruising. We wanted to hit up a nudie bar. We saw one called The Dark Angel. We went to the door, paid for the first beer, and entered, ignoring the obvious omen of it being on the side of the railroad tracks (obviously, the WRONG side).

We were the ONLY white people there.

Mike nearly shit his pants, being a local. Larry and I sat down like we owned the place, and began to tip the ladies. Well.

Needless to say, this did not make us popular, because the rest of the yahoos in the place who were regulars and small tippers no longer were getting any attention. End of the first beer.

"Let's get out of here." Mike hissed.

"Another round, please!" Larry and I gleefully demanded.

The Marines took me west, after that. Tustin, CA. My bird? The CH-53E. Big. Bad. Fast. And if it couldn't carry it, you didn't need it.

Enter future ex-wife number 1. It's moments like this, that you look back and say to yourself...if I had ONLY known...

Bi-Polar. That was the least of it. I just want to know why it kicked in AFTER she said "I do" and not before, so to have saved us both the head and heartache...

My dreams of the Space Program died with Challenger.

This left politics. And the arts.

Returning to Vermont, I plodded around, my life in an out of control spin upon the dissolution of my marriage, which occurred approximately 3 months after she gave birth to the child she couldn't determine was mine or not, due to the affair she had around the time of conception. I was the first in my family to get a divorce. My FAILURE in this was eating me alive.

I met my longest standing business partner, artistic collaborator and rival at this time. We took ideas we had and when they meshed, a whole new world was born. Literally.

It was the perfect arrangement, him and I. What strengths he had, I needed to work on. What strengths I had, he was weak in. We challenged each other to improve, to strive, to compete with the other...to be better. To any artists reading this...? Screw your ego, and take on an art partner who will keep pushing you to one up each other. It's totally worth it.

His wife took a job in Virginia, and I got the call to return to these lands I had been absent from for these long years. Apparently, they PAID artists in Charlottesville for their work. A novel concept, compared to Burlington, VT, which is an amazing arts community-- but define "art" as coming from anywhere BUT Burlington.

We worked hard. We managed to grow faster than we could adapt. We had revolutionary ideas, and got the attention of some of the big boys in the Comic Book industry. And just as it seemed like we were about to break into the spotlight and revolutionize the industry forever...? We ran out of money. Completely.

In the meantime, my own personal quest, to get involved with politics, was well on its way. Pressing the flesh, making the contacts. Everything was going well. Heck, I was even dating a Baptist Minister's daughter. Nothing says political future in Virginia like better than that.

It all changed with one road-trip to visit my brother, back in Vermont.

It was the same weekend, my visit, that the State Police kicked in his door in a raid. Somebody somewhere, utilizing the Conspiracy Law enacted by Bush, Sr., told them that a drug deal was happening. The result? Since they found my brother's stash, we all went to jail, even though I had nothing to do with it. It wasn't until ten days later that anyone even noticed that I was missing.

It was an interesting experience, being in jail. Even though I had not been before a judge, I had been cycled into general population, to spend my days with LIFERS, who were never going to see the light of day as free people again.

To survive, I had to think quickly, act fast. One thing I have always had going for me...my ability to think on my feet. I became the best jailhouse lawyer those boys had ever met. Suddenly, I was a celebrity, and under protection. Sadly, because of the Conspiracy Law, I was never able to face my accuser. To this day, I have no idea who made me suffer this. And because I had no money on me, being so far from home, I had no way to pay for a lawyer. I had a Public Defender appointed to me. Of course, you realize, that the only job of a Public Defender is to plea bargain. They don't actually fight for you. At least, no one I know of who's been represented by one has claimed any different.

Now, any hope of being in politics is gone. They don't let FELONS serve the public.

With nothing, I now had to try to rebuild my life.

Again.

Over time, I began. Eventually, I met a girl that I felt had a head on her shoulders. She was going to school to be an elementary school teacher, if she could just finish the next two years of college. It was nice meeting someone who had goals in life. A checklist. Someone who was willing to do the work, and check the goals off, one at a time. So, since we seemed to get along so well, I made her a promise. Finish school. If we are still together when you finish, I will marry you. Within two months, she announced she was pregnant. Suddenly, certain members of her Catholic family were putting the pressure on, to "do the right thing".

In one fell swoop, she had managed to check off two things on her list, mother and wife. Not that this bothered me, mind you. After all, in two years, she would have her degree, and I would be able to investigate going to school, myself, returning to my artistic routes. In the meantime, I had to work the most flexible job I could find, which would allow me to be able to watch our son when she was not at school or work herself. This meant...dirt cheap fast food, the only work that allows you to set your own schedule.

Time passed. Two years of college somehow became three. Then four. Opportunities for me to actually work in my field of choice came and went, unanswered, because I was unable to respond due to her obligations. Five years, now.

It was done. I, during this time, finally came to the realization that I was merely two check marks in the Life List, and beyond that, my value and importance were null and void. It was the status, not the reality or the work involved with it, that mattered.
The tipping point that brought me to this conclusion...? See, during the course of the marriage, she announced that she was pregnant with our second child. But, regardless of how I felt about this, she was going to abort it. Let me see if I get this straight. Out of wedlock, interfering with your ability to finish your schooling in an expedient manner, you choose to have an accidentally conceived child because it comes with a father and the promise of a husband attached. However, once you're married, you decide to abort a pregnancy because it might interfere with your ability to finish your schooling in an expedient manner, even though it is, in the eyes of that same husband and father from the out of wedlock conception, a vote of confidence and affirmation of your marriage. So, to get me INTO a marriage, keeping the child is the way to go. Once married, actually having another child is just... well, who cares what the husband wants...? It's an inconvenient repetition of something already checked on the Life List, and not part of the Master Plan.

Yeah. If I didn't feel used and trivial before, imagine how I felt after that. Enough was enough.

I began to make my plans for the future, without her, as once again, lucrative opportunities were presented to me. At work, one of my female coworkers began to share with me how she felt about me, how she valued the time we spent together. This, too, weighed heavy in my heart. At home, I was an accessory, a babysitter, to be used and discarded. At work, I was wanted, my thoughts and feelings valued. In the end, I felt I had no choice.

To Virginia I returned, and brought my new girlfriend with me, a divorce now pending.

Things were tough, in the beginning. My business partner anticipated my return, but not with company. His wife resented that company not being my former spouse, which she got along marvelously with. Not a hard stretch, since they had so much in common with each other, including their names, and chosen professions. From the beginning, she and I hovered in one of those love/hate relationships, but now it was definitely deep into contempt/hate territory. Needless to say, this brought some hardship to the working arrangements. Well, not a whole lot, but... yeah. Some.

He and I go ballistic. Projects to the left, projects to the right. I'd have to say, we were creative generating machines. Instead of focusing on the comic books, we decided to shoot for what would make money right then and there. Thus, into the collectible card game business we go. After all, everyone else was doing it.

But there's one small glitch in our game plan. Make that three. The first two...? Well, if you aren't an artist, but considering getting into a relationship with an artist, let me give you a warning. See, there's this condition that happens when you get into a relationship with an artist. It's called "Artist's Widow Syndrome". What is that...? Well, it's when you discover that as much as you mean to them, as much as they love you, you just can't compete with those nine ladies (the muses), who will keep their attention away from you, and in their workshop/space as much as possible, being creative.

So, the first two problems...? The significant others, who felt sidelined by the continuous and constant hanging out together in his "office". They wanted more attention. The third problem...? Those sessions turned into massive smoke-outs. So, although we had a lot of creative juice flowing, it just wasn't producing a lot of finished product.

But boy did it fill up filing cabinets with half-developed concepts and ideas.

Well, my girlfriend became my new wife, and we had a daughter. This cut into the time that my business partner wanted. In fact, it seemed that he was more jealous for my attention than my spouse was. It was when he decided to just openly insult her, and my newborn child, that I stepped out of the working relationship altogether. I can take insults to me, but my offspring...? Seriously...? Not cool.

After a short while, my bride and I decide that we should move, someplace different. She volunteers Massachusetts. After all, our second child is on his way, so we should be closer to family, so they can help us out. Well, it sounded good at the time, but little did I know how her family was going to "help". If I knew, I would have never agreed to move.

Now, we were in Massachusetts. Up until this point, I had only been a resident of states starting with the letter "V". I was figuring if I kept that pattern up, my next stop would have been the Virgin Islands. A worthy destination for retirement years, right...?

I get hired within 5 minutes of entering this town. Promised big money for my efforts, too, compared to previous moves. I'm all sorts of psyched. I was hired as a headhunter for the Crowne Plaza's auditing department. They had 4 doing the job of 2, and my job was to streamline that position to the proper numbers. For the entire year of 2007, I worked every day except 24 of them. And 10 of those days were a vacation in April. See, when I removed the incompetence from the department, they seemed to have no desire to actually hire anyone to fill the relief position. Not that I minded too much, after all... I was making a killing in over-time.

I managed to convince my wife to get her GED (she dropped out when she was only 14), and then was even helping her through the extensive and intensive Registered Nursing program at Berkshire Community College. How much so...? Let's just say that her writing projects were being polished by a seasoned veteran writer to guarantee the "A" average she needed to stay in the program.

It was during this time that I was drawn into a writing group online. And while there, I met several folks with whom I still interact with to this day, writers of various talents and callings. One of them really caught my attention. She professed to have a Dark Lady who called to her, often. I dropped her a line, in her mailbox. "You don't know it yet, but I'm your new best friend." She replied back, why should I talk about things I don't want to with you? I already bother everyone else with it. Who said you had to talk about these things with me...? I said. Talk about whatever you want.

Thus began a relationship that lasted over two years. She found out that, yes, actually, I was indeed her new best friend. In fact, I was the bestest friend she ever had. Emotionally, we definitely were attached to each other. Fire to my Frost, as it literally was. We constantly chatted, a formidable team, together, collaborating on projects... mostly on TWN, my website.

Emotionally, our attachment grew even stronger. My wife and I had always talked about getting a third into the house, another set of hands with the kids (our 3rd child now joined us) and plaything for the bedroom. My Australian lass not only fit the bill, but was happy to oblige.

I know, right...?

So, I mention this to my wife. And next thing you know, I have a surprise arranged for my birthday between the two of them. The Australian is coming to stay with us for three months, as a trial to see if it will all work out. But before she arrives (but after she buys the tickets) a problem develops. While chatting one night, they discuss feelings. And the wife suddenly becomes jealous that this woman has feelings for her husband. And that he has feelings for this woman, too. (But what else is to be expected, if you are inviting someone into your house to live as part of the family...? This process is called VETTING the candidates. You want emotional attachment, it brings loyalty. It's not like she was going to replace anyone, and she was perfectly content with that, so there was no issue on her end.)

Now, even though she's suddenly expressing, for the first time in the marriage, any sort of sign of jealousy, she still invites the woman to fly all the way here. And then, on the day she was supposed to leave, one hour before, tells her "DON'T COME." Translation: You just wasted thousands of dollars because I changed my mind after telling you to spend the money.

She gets on the plane, because at this point, I've guessed at what's happening, and tell her to. The wife insists that she NOT get picked up from the airport. I insist she does. She just flew to the other side of the planet, and I'll be damned if we are going to let her sit there and rot.

The next two months becomes a bizarre bi-polar display of emotions, as the wife is pro and against this woman, doing anything she can to destroy our friendship. Seriously. It doesn't work, but my marriage is now entering really rough territory. She was supposed to stay for three months, but after two, I make arrangements for her to return, because, dammit, I want to keep my marriage, and secondly, because NO ONE deserves to be tortured the way that my wife was torturing this woman emotionally.

Suddenly, once she's gone back to Australia, I find myself in a pissing contest from two sides. One is doing anything she can to keep the marriage in limbo (not leaving, but not making any effort to help fix it). The other is screaming that I'm being lied to, to leave her, take the kids, go to Australia. I can't seem to fix things. Neither is working with me. Neither is pleased with how things are. By the fall, I finally figure out that I've been handed a line of bullshit... being told whatever I wanted to hear, just so I won't kick the wife out before she gets approval from public housing.

Remember that I said that if I knew how her family was going to help out, I'd have never moved...? Well, take serial divorcee mom, who picks up men in bars, wines and dines them, sucks up all their money, ruins their credit, and then moves onto the next victim. She teaches her daughter how she manages to fraud the system, and people, and convinces her that she can have her cake and eat it, too. So, my wife starts pulling plays out of mom's playbook. Unfortunately for her, I am not like the drunken troublemakers that her mom likes to target. No history of drunken misconduct, violence, or any other such thing. So, when you walk into a courtroom and point to me and say, he's a drug abuser, wife abuser and child abuser...? Yeah. It isn't going to stick, considering that I can bring in professionals that will testify to the exact opposite. Which is exactly what happened, when we faced each other in court, the first time she tried to steal the kids from me. She had just moved out only 17 days before, and we had been equally sharing the children, when suddenly...? She didn't think that was fair. Only later was I to discover exactly why she didn't think it was unfair.

Like dear old mom, she picked up a guy at a bar, and brought him home. Why would the kids possibly need their real father, when you've found a new one you like better for them...? Sad to say, it was right up until this point that I was giving 500% to try to make the marriage work. I accepted the separation. That was fine. It was a temporary thing. But when you go into a courtroom and boldface lie to steal my kids...?

Yeah. I'm not so interested in a relationship with you anymore. In fact, congrats-- you've just identified yourself as Public Enemy Number One, and there is NO working it out, or even considering getting back together. After all, I would be spending any time after we got back together thinking that it was just another ploy, to get your ducks in a row, and fabricate some evidence to try it all again. And I am just not into giving anyone that opportunity.

And honestly, I'm being generous when I say she picked up a guy. Because BEFORE the surgery...? The genetics tell a far different tale. But this doesn't surprise me-- after all, when you've been as abused as my wife had been, it would only make sense to fall for someone who represents something safe-- male in appearance, but missing that threatening "Y" gene that has caused so much ill in her life.

Doesn't mean that I care to have this "guy" given MY title to MY children. And I'm still trying to figure out how my boys are going to get their questions answered about things happening to them during puberty by someone who played for the other team at that time. I know, I should be more understanding. And I would, if there wasn't everything short of an assassination plot on my life going on with these two, regarding my children.

So, I've got to find a lawyer, because you know-- the classic triple play has been declared in court, and I can't leave it up to "He Said, She Said". I mentioned that I brought in professionals to testify on my behalf, but I still needed a quarterback to run the plays on the field. I met with the most recommended lawyer I could, who promised to take my case, for a retainer of $2000.00. This was a week before the hearing, and she might has well have asked for a million.

But this is Frost, the Great and Powerful, we are talking about here.

I left the meeting with the lawyer just after noon on the Monday, with court looming by Thursday. I had shown that I had everything she needed to do the case, all the evidence and documentation that would expose the allegations of monstrosity for the farcical fictions that they were. All I needed her for was, honestly, to present the case, then finish the arrangements, because I wasn't just going to be dealing with custody, I was filing for divorce. I don't know why my wife only filed for custody instead of filing for divorce herself, but... whatever.

So, here is was. Noon on Monday. No money to speak of. Less than three days to make two grand. How could I do this...?

I swallowed my pride. I sat at my computer, and began typing what had happened. What was happening. I then posted my plea for help to my Facebook page, and to my website, Third World Network.

By the 11pm news on Monday night...? My PayPal account had approximately $2100 in it, mostly from friends and family... many of them my classmates from high school, whom I hadn't seen in over 25 years.

Let that sink in for a second. What kind of person can appear in folk's lives after a quarter century, and get them, during the worst part of the "Great Recession", to donate all the funds needed to defend himself and fight his soon to be ex to keep his children...? What does that say about the impression this person must have made, then and now, upon these practically strangers, to have them empty their pockets in his defense...? It made the lawyer do a double take, when I handed her the cash the following day, and told her where it came from.

I could have pushed for full custody. I should have. Both her lawyer and my own were telling her that if she didn't start cooperating, they would award me full custody. I didn't want to take the kids from her, even though she showed no similar attitude towards me.

My kindness and generosity towards her in this matter has been something I've regretted, honestly, for the last 3 years, because it's been one trumped up accusation after another, all while she had defrauded public housing, and scammed the kids SSI checks for a car, tattoos, road trips to visit friends, new furniture, an HD-TV that is larger than I am tall, a parade of cell phones, smart phones, lap tops, and any other toys that have caught her or her now husband's fancy.

In the meantime, let's focus on MY life. I met a young redhead at work one day, and was social with her, as it is my custom with all humans I encounter, if given a chance. Her daughter was having a birthday, and she was looking for kids to fill out the ranks at the party. Suddenly, my three are invited. Everyone had a good time, and her parents weren't freaked out by the fact that... her mom and I were the same age. Actually... I am 6 months older, but... shhhhh!

In fact, they were suitably impressed with how well behaved my children were, and how well they listened to me. Now, sheer coincidence that this all was going down at about the same time I felt I had been processing and managing what had been going on... and that I had reached a point in my emotional digestion of the dissolution of my marriage and the pissing contest the divorce was turning out to be, that the possibility of dating or seeing someone without it being a rebound disaster... making them "pay" for the "crimes" of the prior relationship. So, we began to hang around a lot more. I got along fabulously with her folks, and her, and soon enough, feelings began to develop.

It culminated one night, Father's Day, when she asked me while we were hot and heavy, what I wanted for my present. "Bear me a SON." I said, climatically.

Today, he turns two years old. She and I tie the knot in June, on the 21st.
By the way, if you've read all of this, finally reaching this point, congratulations, you now know more about me than my in-the-flesh neighbors of the last several years.