It was late October 2015. After working out of town for several months, a tradesman [let’s call him Mr. D] showed up — unannounced — at his home in an older part of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
Mr. D was happy to be home … but bone-weary. The immigrant, in his late 50s, had just completed a 3500-kilometer road trip from Montreal, Quebec. Alone.
For much of the trip he sat behind the wheel of his aging van for up to 18 hours straight. Naps came on the shoulder of the Trans Canada Highway, often near a town called In The Middle of Nowhere.
When Mr. D arrived at his darkened two-storey house he slipped a key into a side door, stepped inside and called out his wife’s name. No answer. His spouse [nearly 30 years younger] was out with her friends. Let’s call her Ms. L.
The couple has no children.
Little did Mr. D know, but he was about to begin another long, hard journey.
The homeowner stared in disbelief at the sight before him. My God, he thought, there’s been a home invasion!! His abode was now a mess.
The damage was extensive. It would cost tens of thousands of dollars to make things right.
Smashed all to hell were walls in the living room, kitchen and in their master bedroom — all on the main floor. Left standing — like silent, dusty sentinels — were rows of old 2×4 wooden studs.
Throughout his residence, old electrical boxes — with live wires exposed — dangled precariously in mid-air.
Mr. D was damn lucky his place hadn’t burned to the ground.
Living in a pigsty wasn’t what Mr. D had in mind when he emigrated to Canada. His dream of owning a beautiful home had morphed into a nightmare, like an episode of the old black and white TV series, The Twilight Zone. And here it was, just days before Halloween. Go figure.
The beautiful kitchen countertop he’d so proudly installed was now covered with stained coffee cups and other soiled dishes, empty beer bottles and mail. There, too, a cat stepped gingerly, prowling for food scraps.
A stack of dirty dishes filled up the left side of the double kitchen sink. The right side was half full of cold, gray water. There was a blockage … the result of grease having been poured down the drain.
The flooring was ripped up in both the master bedroom and the kitchen, exposing boards that had been hammered into place back in the early 1950s, a bygone era when people took better care of things.
To make matters worse, the house stunk to High Heaven. The vandals had apparently forgotten to take out a stack of dog feces from a sawdust-filled work area, just down from the kitchen. You and I would use a paper towel or curl a puppy pad to remove a clump of dog poop from our homes. Not here. One would need a wide-mouth shovel.
Debris and filth were everywhere.
So was the dust. It was so prevalent — and thick — that Mr. D could [and did] scrawl his initials in dust throughout the house.
Okay, okay. The scene just described was NOT carried out by vandals. There hadn’t been a home invasion. Sorry. And the culprit who turned the house upside down was not a vandal, nor a drunk, a crazed drug addict, a drug dealer wanting to square a debt, a disgruntled co-worker, vindictive ex-lover … nor an escapee from a psychiatric hospital. Nope. None of the above.
It was Mr. D’s spouse.
Ms. L, an office worker in her 30s, had no formal training — nor experience — in construction and home renovations. Nonetheless, she decided to try her hand at “renovating.” Good intentions perhaps but how do I put this nicely? … you gotta know what you’re doing. If you don’t know what you’re doing, for the love of God — and remember, you make good money as a City of Edmonton employee — hire a professional who’ll do a professional job. Miss, it ain’t complicated.
Here’s a snapshot of the mound of dog feces I was going on about. Several inches high and several months old, the pile contained clumps of hardened fecal matter separated by layers of newspapers yellowed from age … and urine.
This is a redneck puppy pad …
The red circled areas are [the visible] clumps of dog feces. The urine-free Edmonton Journal newspaper [bottom centre-right] was placed on the floor as a ‘date stamp’ of sorts to show when this photo was taken.
Here’s the incredible, cautionary tale of how a thriving relationship in a modern Western city can be eroded and then, like cancer, destroyed by living conditions as appalling as those found in the Third World. Combined with deceit and insidious manipulation, it spelled a slow death to the relationship … and the birth of a bitter and costly divorce.
About half-way through this story, you’ll find yourself wondering what YOU would have done if you’d been Mr. D, one of the two epicenters in this story. Would you have stuck it out? Fled? Or — or as he did — attempt suicide?
This is a ‘heart-versus-head’ story …
CAUTION: I’ve used the actual words spoken by the key participants to illustrate the intensity of the conflict and to help bring some realism to the piece.
If you’re squeamish about foul language, foul food, dog crap, chaos and filth, you might want to give this one a pass.
For openers, Mr. D opened his refrigerator door to find rotting food covered in green mold. I couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of the fare was contaminated as well.
“That’s nothing,” the homeowner assured when he caught me examining the contents of the white bowl. “What the hell was that?” I asked, incredulously. “I have NO idea,” he said.
That’s not spinach.
Dinner’s ready!
Fresh out of the oven: black mold bread.
It was nearly impossible for Mr. D to eat at home, let alone prepare a meal there. Eating in a dumpster might have been a step up. I realize I’m stating the obvious here, but the man often ate out.
Changing the subject, Mr. D offered, “Let me show you my house. Watch your step …” No kidding.
And so off we went. The scenes that unfolded before us would cause drug addicts on skid row to vomit, which is exactly what the cat had done on the kitchen floor.
Anyone living in the house would be breathing in tiny spores from the dog feces. I suspect that dog poop isn’t as deadly as asbestos or toxic black mold, but still … it can’t be healthy.
It would be interesting if an air-quality test was done.
Dog shit stinks to high heaven, especially when it’s warm and there’s no air conditioning. Ms. L. claims all that dog poop doesn’t bother her because she has “more tolerance.” Lady, you’re full of shit.
‘Pigs live in barns …”
Back to Mr. D’s return to Edmonton in the fall of 2015 …
He gave a second tour of his battered house … this time to myself and a longtime media friend of mine.
There was no need for anyone to feign dramatics, even utter a word. This was a case of the eyes shouting what the lips feared to say. We were stunned — and there isn’t a better word — as we walked from room to room, sidestepping debris and piles of unwashed clothes.
The disaster raised the term ‘hillbilly’ to a whole new level. This was good old, born-in-Canada white trash. Put another way, if the producers of the Trailer Park Boys [a humorous TV sitcom depicting the seedier side of life in North America] wanted to shoot a segment in Mr. D’s house, they’d first need a day — perhaps a week — to clean up the place.
My friend shook his head in disgust and remarked, “How do people live like this??” Good question. He had only been in the house for ten minutes or so when he announced he’d seen enough. He promptly fled outdoors so he could breathe again. Can’t say I blame the guy. Fresh air never felt so good.
That evening, my friend shared that what he’d seen had wrecked his entire day. He couldn’t get the unholy mess out of his mind. “People live in houses,” he said, “… pigs live in barns.”
Answer this: why do educated people live like derelicts?
Mr. D. fought back the tears. “So much for all the hours and the money I spent renovating our home,” he said. “Look at it now. What a f—ing mess!”
The bathroom [pre-renovation]
Mr. D completely renovated the bathroom in the spring of 2016 only to see his wife try her hand at plastering the ceiling. [Renovation tip: Next time try using a drop sheet]
What would the Edmonton Fire Department think of conditions in this basement?
Hmmm. Could this be a fire hazard?
The garage
The place Mr. D nicknamed his “kingdom” was another screaming mess.
When the overhead door on the garage flung open, he discovered that an unemployed mechanic — his brother-in-law — had deposited a large tool box on the floor, leaving no room for Mr. D. to work on his van. And even though there was a proper place for the young man’s tools [ie: a large tool box], many of the tools were scattered about on the concrete floor.
Someone had been in one heck of a hurry when everything was dropped off. Perhaps they wanted to return and finish the job but simply forgot about it. As we know, some people have very busy lives.
How not to store a lawn mower. Gasoline has leaked onto the garage floor.
Wait. Mr. D was not able to get his van into the garage anyway because the driveway was blocked by a disabled vehicle — a seldom-used car owned by the tool-dropoff fellow, turns out.
No car keys had been left behind. One would think it would have been basic common sense, not to mention courtesy, to leave the keys behind in case the vehicle had to be moved. But that’s not the way yahoos think.
Mr. D repeatedly asked to have the car moved, but it couldn’t be done because people were “busy.” Three weeks later, Mr. D himself pushed the disabled car to a safe spot in the yard. One wonders why that wasn’t done in the first place. Duh.
Courtesy was not the issue here. The issue was this: free parking and free storage, and Mr. D is out of town … so let’s take advantage of the situation.
Here’s the irony: To safeguard his possessions, Mr. D says he was forking out about $100 a month for storage fees in Montreal, where he had moved temporarily to do maintenance work on the apartment complex he co-owned with his spouse and a friend.
Here’s a shot of his boxed possessions at that storage facility in Montreal …
Mr. D’s possessions going into storage in Montreal in late December 2015.
What is that growing in the gutter?
Yardwork galore
Mr. D was once proud of his spacious, clean yard. Not anymore. He now had his very own garbage dump.
Much of the new sod he’d put down only half a year earlier could no longer be seen, and that was simply because of the black bags of garbage and all the junk: Broken pieces of drywall, old furniture, discarded souvenirs, curtain rods, pieces of wood — and, incredibly — a brand new $1,000 shower enclosure and tub.
For some reason, the shower enclosure and tub was outside — in the elements. It wasn’t long before it was covered in snow. Mr. D brushed off the snow and carried it inside. It eventually became the focal point of the bathroom he did over completely. [See photos above.]
The yard was also littered with dog feces — some old and dried turds, some fresh and squishy ones. It was a landmine out there. If anyone had stepped without looking there was a good chance they’d be scraping something smelly off their shoes. Not that tracking it throughout the house would really matter that much, come to think of it.
Don’t forget the flies. After prancing around on the dog shit, flies walk on food at the dinner table.
Here’s what the Alamo Area Partners for Animal Welfare [San Antonio, Texas] has to say about the perils of dog feces …
Construction zone? How about psych ward?
“It’s a construction zone!” lamented Mr. D’s wife when asked about the mess. Destruction zone is more like it.
Aside from the substandard workmanship, the real issue was that the destruction/work had been going on for so long. When you know what you’re doing, it doesn’t take nearly a year to properly renovate a medium-size house. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing.
And if someone isn’t trained to do the job properly — great news! — there are qualified tradespeople and craftsmen who will not only do the job right, they won’t take forever to do it.
If one is pulling in a salary of $65,000, what’s stopping them from hiring professionals to do the work?
The issue wasn’t just quality or not getting the job done, it was about satisfying an ego … dealing with some bizarre psychological condition that’s far beyond my understanding.
Failed parenting = feral kids
Even if someone didn’t mind the unsafe wreckage; the unsanitary conditions, and the stench of dog poop and cat vomit, it was still a rough place to live because of the constant squabbling and the intense verbal abuse.
This was no longer a loving home. It was now an angry hell-hole. I can see why people who have little or no support would want to escape this sinkhole of torment by “checking out.”
How was the atmosphere like? Get this: It was so vile that a repairman, who’d been asked to inspect the house and give an estimate for repairs, overheard Ms. L. going on about something. He turned to Mr. D and said, “I’m not working here with that bitch …” The man felt he was in danger. But who knows? Perhaps he was just allergic to dog shit.
I’ve never heard a woman utter the word ‘f—‘ as much as Ms. L … and that includes women with criminal records and those associated with bike gangs. Her vulgar diatribes, which have been going on for at least a year, my guess a lot longer, earn her #1 spot.
Mr. D’s wife had taken a sledgehammer to the walls in the delusionary belief she could professionally renovate the place. She meant well, I suppose; I’m not sure. Some felt she was doing a great job. Friends and family cheered her on as her sledgehammer sent pieces of drywall flying. “Wow!” they said, “you’re really good!” In that respect, Ms. L didn’t act alone. There was a chain of complicity.
Her mother once remarked that Ms. L was “probably one the best [tradespeople] in Canada.” Guess that’s why she’s an office worker.
The false praise was music to the ears of someone battling self-esteem issues. I’ll give you two examples of self-esteem challenges … you can judge for yourself if this kind of behaviour is anywhere near normal:
- Ms. L once attended a family dinner at her mother’s house, arriving with a shirt that had been deliberately dabbed with paint. What was that about? Ms. L wanted people to see that she’d been painting. Not unlike a child that’s riding a two-wheeler for the first time, and glancing back to see if Mommy and Daddy are watching. When asked why she was wearing a messed-up shirt, her response was that it was the only shirt that fit her. The lie was instant; a reflex action — and she didn’t bat an eye.
- Ms. L would sometimes take off her office shoes and put on construction boots before visiting her mother. Not that she was doing any construction work, it was simply an attempt to impress. Pitiful. More BS.
The mother either wasn’t aware of her daughter’s desperate need for recognition, or she didn’t care. One would have to be from another planet not to realize that something was terribly wrong.
Heart versus head
In late 2015, Mr. D left Edmonton for Montreal. He returned to Edmonton a couple of months later where he would continue to renovate the house and live there while doing it. Most of his time was spent completely rebuilding the bathroom — only to see it seriously messed up the day his wife tried her hand at plastering the ceiling.
I said to Mr. D, “Why the hell are you still living here? Why don’t you move in with a relative?” He explained, “I want to repair the house so it can have a proper value again.”
I suspected it was more than that. And it was. Mr. D maintained that he still loved his wife and wanted his marriage to work, in spite of the destruction in the house and her unfaithfulness [more on that coming up].
“You know,” he said, “my wife said something beautiful to me the other day — that no man has done for her what I did! That included all her friends at school,” he continued, “her boyfriends, brothers — and her father,” adding, “Her dad is a ‘ghost’.” By that, he meant he was a deadbeat dad.
Time for another flip. “You never did anything for me,” Ms. L shouted at her husband during one of their many heated disputes. He shot back, “What the —k??” [WTF is one of his favourite expressions.] “I gave you a place to live, cleaned up your filthy condo so it could be sold, I was the only one to put money down on this house …”
Mr. D went on about always making her meals [he claims that part of the relationship was not 50/50, it was more like 95/5], that he was the only one to clean their house; he held down a difficult job working up to 10 hours a day, 6 days a week; got home and then worked long hours repairing and renovating the house. While this was going on, he pointed out, his spouse was off playing board games with what he called “losers” [welfare cheats], spending time at a private coffee shop … and arriving back home at two and three o’clock in the morning. Considering the uneven workload, Mr. D thought his wife’s contribution was outrageous.
“What the f–k …?”
When it was brought to the attention of D’s mother-in-law that her daughter made virtually no meals for her husband, the response was well, what do you expect? He used to serve her breakfast in bed, so why would he think she’d make him a meal? That may not be the exact quote, but that’s the gist of it. You might have to read that paragraph again to make sure you read right.
Booby traps
Not only did Mr. D and Ms. L continue to live in the same house, they also shared an upstairs bedroom where they each had their own bed. Although if Ms. L had her way, things would have been different. More than once Mr. D turned down her requests for sex, even during times of bitter conflict.
You gotta wonder about people who use sex as an enticement. Now that’s manipulation.
As for all the repair work he was doing in the house, I couldn’t determine if Mr. D was reaching out … or if Ms. L was “playing” him — manipulating — so that more work could be done.
Busted: The private coffee shop
Not only was Mr. D’s house wrecked, so was his marriage. Adultery and bullshit will do that.
Mr. D could never understand why he could never contact his wife in the evenings when he worked at the small apartment complex they co-owned in Montreal. He wanted to give her updates on how the repair work was coming along. The story he got from Ms. L was she was busy studying at a coffee shop, and that she had to get out of the house to get away from the mess — and her dog, the demented one that attacked and bit children.
[It’s the same dog Ms. L ordered to bite a relative of her husband who came over to visit. Ms. L smiled and laughed when telling people that her dog attacked and bit children, even though the kids cried and their parents were furious.]
Come to think of it, there was no ‘welcome’ mat at this house.
When Mr. D had returned to Edmonton in the fall of 2015, he thought it was odd that his wife slipped on a pair of high heels when she left in the evening. He claimed he also found condoms and a pair of clean panties in her handbag.
One evening, in November 2015, he followed his wife and that’s when his life really turned upside down. Turns out, she didn’t go to a coffee shop — but to the home of a co-worker. After two and a half hours [of coffee drinking], a man more than 20 years her senior escorted her to her car parked under trees on a darkened street. Mr. D then witnessed his wife being held in the arms of another man and kissed passionately. Some coffee shop. “Two sugars, two creams … and one viagra.”
I was on the phone with Mr. D as all this was coming down. Not to make light of the situation, but it was like listening to the play-by-play of an exciting ball game. “He’s kissing her!” he shouted. “He’s kissing her!” Mr. D went on: “The guy’s even older than me! [correction: he just appeared older] … he’s hunched over like an old man. He’s a cartoon!”
A cartoon? Now there’s a new one.
“I expected some guy in his 30s, big muscles …” an exasperated Mr. D exclaimed. “What the f–k …???”
I was certain Mr. D would lose his cool and pound somebody out, or at least give them a piece of his mind. But that didn’t happen. Mr. D remained in his vehicle, watching every move and trying to gain control of his senses. The words he uttered most often that night: “I can’t believe it … I can’t believe it … I can’t believe it.” It was like a broken record. It wasn’t a record that was broken. It was his marriage.
After he’d seen enough, Mr. D fired up his engine and headed straight home. When his wife walked through the door, Mr. D asked how her evening had gone. She replied that she’d been “studying hard.”
His spouse was fluent in lies, excuses, and bullshit. And her reality check was about to bounce.
It was not unusual for Ms. L. to offer her husband sex as an enticement. “Take me to bed, take me to bed …” she’d say.
I can’t imagine what Ms. L’s parents would think if they heard their daughter offering to jump in the sack to diffuse a tense situation. That ain’t love-making. That’s servicing … with an agenda.
What made the adultery more poignant was that Mr. D caught his wife cheating on their wedding anniversary.
Mr. D claims to have a videotape of his wife having sex with her lover. I don’t know if this is true as I haven’t seen any such recording. Perhaps it’ll be shown at the Family Court [Divorce] hearing. That should spice things up.
“I won’t let you fall!”
In their wedding ceremony just a few years earlier, Ms. L said that she loved her husband dearly. The usual til death to us part thing. Good housekeeping was not part of her vows.
Turns out, it wasn’t just the filth but the filthy lies and the usery that blew this holy matrimony to Kingdom Come.
The city worker insisted she’d been going out at night to study at a coffee shop. Turns out, more than the coffee was steaming hot. Wearing either high heels — or what her husband called her “horny boots” — she stole away to the apartment of a co-worker in a different part of town.
Her new lover was about as old as her mother.
“I don’t have time to have an affair,” she stammered when questioned by her spouse as to why she often went out at night. “I … uh … am busy renovating the house … uh … I am busy with my studies … uh …” You get the picture. You can file that one under shameless audacity.
Mr. D confronted his wife about what he claimed was evidence from a surveillance camera attached to the outside of their house — a camera, he said, that recorded when people came and went. “So where were you the nights you didn’t come home?” he asked. [This was during the time Mr. D was working in Montreal.] Her response: “I don’t know …”
You don’t know? Hmmm … lady, aren’t you a bit young to have dementia?
“When dealing with liars and manipulators, we often find ourselves playing detective. This is your intuition telling you that something is deeply wrong with the individual. For some reason, their actions never seem to match up with their words.
You find them constantly making excuses, even though their stories never actually add up. You become lost in confusing conversations.
You will look back and realize that they were lying to your face.” [PsychopathFree]
One never knew when the next lie was coming. An advantage that smooth-talking liars possess is that they can accommodate any situation that comes up because they’re not hemmed in by the truth.
From Mr. D’s perspective, he developed trust issues because his wife had lying issues. However, I’m sure Ms. L would say the reverse is true.
One of Ms. L’s favourite expressions was, “I won’t let you fall” — even after an evening visit to a private coffee shop.
“These guys are so smooth, so convincing, they’d convince the Pope he is a homosexual.” – Mr. D
The woman with the f— me boots later confessed that she’d been jumping in the sack with a co-worker. It wasn’t a serious relationship, she assured her spouse [who recorded the admission] — because she’d only f—ed him 50 times.
There you go. And that, straight from the lips of the daughter of two Bible school graduates. And we wonder why attendance at church has gone to hell.
One more Biblical slam coming right up: One time Ms. L said that she couldn’t hate Mr. D because she’s a “Christian.” Christ, here we go yet again. Fake Christians and their moral cover …
Mr. D is of the opinion that Ms. L and her mother are both manipulators and “predators.” “One’s a copy of the other,” he laments. “Look,” he says, “the mother tried to cover up for her daughter’s cheating …”
“What the f—?”
Suicide attempt
Mr. D and I have exchanged many phone calls, but the one that stands out is the time I called him and he was completely incoherent. Then the line went dead. I thought, what’s going on here? Is he drunk? Stoned? That didn’t make sense. He’s not much of a drinker, and he doesn’t do drugs. Had he fallen and hurt himself? … or had he …?
I scooted over to his house and rushed inside, expecting to see him hanging. Turns out, I found him sitting down, ‘zoned out,’ the result of an overdose of dozens of sleeping pills. He looked terrible, right out of it … but he was alive to fight another day. We talked a lot that day. My message was: If you check out, they get everything. They win.
I felt guilty for him overdosing on sleeping pills because it was I who had recommended he take sleeping medication to get to sleep at night.
Part of the problem wasn’t just that Mr. D’s relationship was on the rocks and his house upside down, but that he was out-gunned in the matrimonial break-up. His opponents were more clever, he was not fluent in English, they had a higher level of education … and he was a foreigner without many contacts and support in the city.
His opponents also didn’t play by the rules [“I’m separated!”], and they got away with stuff. Witness the horrid living conditions. Out-gunned is an understatement. The man didn’t have a chance in hell.
Mr. D’s state of mind fluctuated like the New York Stock Exchange did during its crazy days, but slowly things began to change for him. He hired a lawyer and began collecting evidence for his divorce case.
The evidence began to pile up, like the you-know-what.
Suspicious real estate documents
Mr. D and Ms. L had moved into their house shortly after they began dating. Showing me the bank statements as proof, Mr. D had put down more than $10,000 as a downpayment.
Mr. D was the sole buyer. Or so he thought.
Enter Ms. L’s mother — a lawyer — who said she’d take care of the real estate documents — for free. Nice enough gesture. According to Mr. D, his girlfriend’s mother told him, “Sign here, sign there” … and she left alone, clutching the unfinished document.
Several years later, Mr. D came across the completed real estate document on his wife’s computer. That’s when he discovered that he wasn’t the sole buyer after all. The document showed TWO people on title: Mr. D — and his girlfriend of a few months, Ms L.
How did that happen? he wondered.
What it meant is that had the boyfriend-girlfriend couple did the splits only months later, guess what? Mr. D would have lost half the property to a woman he’d been dating for a short while. In other words, Ms. L have half of her boyfriend’s down payment and half of any profit made on the sale of the house.
Even though Ms. L had more than $40,000 in the bank she had contributed nothing to the down payment.
Mr. D is adamant he did not authorize anyone besides himself to be on title.
He wrote to the Real Estate Council Alberta, which investigates allegations of irregularities.
The response from Executive Director Bob Myroniuk was that the Edmonton agent who handled the transaction didn’t do anything wrong. [Mr. D had gone around to the agent asking to see copies of the documents and when he was told, “I don’t want to get involved,” the alarm bells went off.]
“It is unusual,” Myroniuk pointed out, “for an individual to sign documents in second position and leave the first position blank if they intend to be the only signatory.” It begs the question why Mr. D was asked by the lawyer to sign on that particular line — without a witness.
“In the future,” Myroniuk cautioned, “good practice is to sign a document in the first position and cross out any space when further signatures are not required. Also, never sign a document witnessing a signature if you didn’t actually witness that signature.”
When Ms. L was asked how her name appeared on title, she ducked the question and responded, “Marital asset! Marital asset!” She has repeatedly refused to explain how her name appeared on title without the approval of the buyer.
Mr. D has now asked the Law Society of Alberta — which governs the conduct of lawyers in this province — to investigate the possibility of fraud. He’d like the Law Society to locate a signed document [essentially authorization from Mr. D] which would have paved the way for a second person to be on title legally. One would think it wouldn’t be difficult to find such a document — if it exists. I mean, isn’t that what filing cabinets are for?
Mr. D is adamant there is no document showing that he approved of a second name to be on title to this property. He claims that what happened with those real estate documents was above the law.
Question is, do his allegations have any weight?
And should Mr. D have contacted the Law Society of Alberta? That’s his call. There are some who feel the Law Society does a better job of protecting its members than the public. Time will tell. Let’s give the Law Society time to investigate and hope they do an honest job. Fingers crossed.
It’s interesting to note that around the time of the transaction, the lawyer in question made two claims: 1] that Mr. D was penniless … and 2] there was a way to get a mortgage without a down payment. At the time, both were news to me. I’ve since discovered that Mr. D was not penniless.
Mr. D. says, “I was not penniless … and what she meant was that she was able to get her daughter a mortgage without her having to put down any money towards the down payment. She was right. There is a way to get a mortgage without a down payment.”
“F—ing white society.”
Current value of the property
Combined with on-going neglect, the destruction has reduced the value of the property to the point where it’s now worth less than what’s remaining on the mortgage. In real estate parlance, the mortgage is now “under water.” This is in spite of the improvements Mr. D has made to the place in the past six years.
He puts a 100-thousand dollar value on those “enrichments,” to borrow a legal term.
The outside of the property is as messy as the inside of the house. Mr. D claims that no yard in his neighbourhood looks as bad as his …
What would the City say about this unsightly mess and weed control?
Before and after: [left] The garden when cared for; [right] the garden when abandoned.
Wild text exchanges
Ms. L and Mr. D exchanged many texts. Few were pleasant, but all revealed how each other felt. It’s good to know that if one is heading into a divorce.
This ditty is from Ms. L …
Ms. L. kept her word. She got around to the office of Mr D’s lawyer and gave him a piece of her mind.]
A text from Mr. D … [his English isn’t the greatest]
“You’re threatening me! …”
Discussions often ended with the same refrain from Ms. L: “You’re threatening me … you’re threatening me … you’re threatening me.” And, “You’re abusing me!” Incendiary comments, for sure.
Police have been called to the residence so many times I’m surprised they don’t have a dedicated parking spot out front. A female officer summoned to help keep the peace in one of their domestic disputes overheard Ms. L’s refrain of being threatened, causing the officer to remark, “Mr. D, you are not threatening anyone …”
Ms. L later appeared in Family Court requesting a restraining order against her husband, claiming that her life [and the lives of her family members] were “in danger.” The judge threw it out. Good call. Within days, Ms. L was walking naked in the couple’s bedroom — with Mr. D sleeping close by.
If someone genuinely fears another person will do them physical harm, why would they walk around naked — and sleep in the nude — just feet away from that person? That makes no sense. It makes me wonder how many requests for restraining orders are from unscrupulous spouses in marital disputes who are “playing the system” so they can not only gain an advantage but inflict emotional pain on their partner? How many times does that happen?
It gets worse. According to Mr. D, his wife regularly made sexual overtures, sometimes offering fellatio. Mr. D said he turned her down when she wanted sex [well, after December 22, 2015, he did; before then, he didn’t]. Given the high level of manipulation and deceit, Mr. D feared he might be accused of rape.
That was the same advice he got from two lawyers. They said, no sex … and they also said, get the hell out of there. The sad thing — and this is a warning to ALL men — when it comes to allegations of spousal physical abuse, the male defendant will be seen as guilty until proven innocent. That’s just the way things are.
Mr. D managed to keep his mouth shut about his wife’s infidelity, but only for a short time. On the fourth day, he couldn’t take it anymore and he exploded in anger. A shouting match went on for hours until Edmonton Police arrived to restore some civility. It was Mr. D who called the police.
His wife admitted to having a lover, but claimed there was nothing wrong with that … because she was “separated.” Ms. L’s mother had made the same claim.
There’s a problem with that. Mr. D acknowledges that while there was great marital discord, he hadn’t been told they were separated. One would think he would have been the first to know. As he pointed out, if his wife was really separated, why would she continue to have sex with him?
A hard drive and a harder truth
Mr. D uncovered some painful truths when he got into his wife’s computer. It held some secrets; some enlightening, some painful.
It was in the photo files where Mr. D saw images of her lover, including a shot with him proudly displaying his telephone number.
Most traumatic for Mr. D was to find the Valentine’s Day card his wife had received from her boyfriend in February 2015 — eight months before they were caught necking on the street.
“To think she had both her lover’s photograph and his Valentine’s Day card,” he said, “in the same room where we were sleeping … and she wanted to have sex with me. That’s crazy, my friend.”
“Well, it’s a damned good thing she was a Christian,” I responded, “otherwise it would have been a lot worse.”
Ms. L’s lawyer
Ms. L was either separated or married, depending on whose arms she was in.
“Who said you were separated?” Mr. D asked his wife. “My lawyer!” she responded. No name was ever mentioned, but it wasn’t really necessary. As Mr. D pointed out, his wife’s lawyer was none other than a family member who’d been through three failed long-term relationships, including a couple of marriages.
Ms. L then made an incredible admission. She revealed she wanted to have a child with her City co-worker because he reminded her of her brother. [Correct: Her sibling and the man she’d been boinking did look alike.] That’s not a typo. You read right: Her brother.
She later changed her mind about the relationship, saying she’d broken it off — but that it wasn’t serious anyway because she’d only screwed him 50 times.
Then two more flips: Ms. L maintained she was still seeing her lover … then changed her mind again, saying it was all over. Lord knows what the story will be next month.
It’s Mr. D’s wish to have the brother lookalike-lover subpoenaed to give evidence at a Family Court [divorce] hearing. Ms. L doesn’t like that idea, however. She claims the man has a mental disability of sorts — AND has no balls anyway. I mean, how do you have sex with a man who has no balls?
I mentioned to Ms. L’s mother that her daughter had been having sex with a man because he reminded her daughter of her brother. The response: “I don’t comment on my [married] daughter’s boyfriends.”
That’s really odd. In previous talks, she had no trouble commenting on her sons’ girlfriends …
“That is not a real mother,” says Mr. D. “She should be helping her daughter. Instead, she celebrated her daughter f—king around … and what does that say about her? And to think she goes to church and is involved in politics.”
F–k ’em all!
In a profanity-laced tirade — one of the worst I’ve heard in six decades [I’m 67] — Mr. D’s wife lashes out against everyone — even her own mother — describing her as a “terrible, terrible mother, a f—ing bitch … and a whore.”
“F–k her,” she screams hysterically, in reference to the woman who gave birth to her. “F–k her! F–k her! Fuck her …!
Well, you just did, Ms. L … and you did a good job of it. Your husband recorded the vulgar diatribe … and he’s been busy sharing the information with family and friends. It hasn’t been broadcast, but that’s only because it would be unlawful to do that.
Mr. D. attempts to calm down his wife. “Don’t say that,” he pleads, “your Mom brought you into the world …” “Oh yeah?” comes the fiery retort, “aside from that, what else has she done? Tell me! Tell me! What else has she done? Tell me!!”
So much for Commandment #5. Another case of moral cover gone terribly bad.
The death threat
In a later recording, Ms. L. spews out vile hate against their business partner in Montreal, telling her husband she wishes he and his family were dead. She then makes an even more outrageous claim: That she wants to put a bullet in their partner’s head. The three — Mr. D, Ms. L and Mr. Bullet-in-the-head — share ownership of a small, aging apartment complex in Montreal.
I heard that audio recording. I offered to play it for her mother, the lawyer, but she declined to hear it. Perhaps that had something to do with her being an officer of the court, not sure.
Ms. L also rails against her dead-end job at the City of Edmonton, a position that pays 65 grand. That’s gotta be a hit for homeowners in Edmonton who pay her salary — but don’t earn that kind of money themselves.
When questioned days later about the death threat, Ms. L responds, “I meant it.” That could be a problem because Canada has laws that prevent people from making death threats. Google: Section 264.1 of the Criminal Code of Canada.
Here’s what criminal lawyer Ron Jourard of Toronto says about death threats. The following information was taken from Jourard’s website …
Ms. L should be grateful her husband hasn’t played the recording to Edmonton City Police. She might have some explaining to do — to investigators and to a judge.
“I’m hot and beautiful”
Ms. L. maintains that she’s hot and beautiful. In spite of these boasts, she tells her husband she fears being doomed to f—ing guys she’s met in a bar. If you’re that attractive, Ms. L, try dating men who are not 25 and 30 years older than you.
It was a Deja Moo moment. The feeling that you’ve heard this bull before.
In one recording, Mr. D asked his spouse why she had a one-night stand [years earlier]. Her response was that she wanted to see what that was like.
Hot and beautiful? Try desperate.
Covert narcissism?
In spite of what all has gone on, Mr. D still professes love for his wife, incredible as that may seem. But, still, he wanted to know why she’s the way she is.
Mr. D has had a lot of time to think. He wanted an explanation that made sense, and he was getting tired of racking his brain for an answer. And so he decided to get on the Internet and see if there was anything out there that could help explain why someone could “never lose an argument” and would display such glaring self-esteem issues.
‘Covert narcissism.’ Now there’s a term, have to admit, I hadn’t heard before. I understood we all have a bit of narcissism in all of us — especially sports heroes who excel … they have something called ‘positive narcissism.’
Feel free to click on the following link … it’s something Mr. D came across while researching what a friend told him was the root of his problem. The sub-title of the article is called, ‘Know Your Emotional Abuser.’
http://infoselfdevelopment.com/covert-narcissism-know-your-emotional-abuser/
A footnote to the covert narcissism … Mr. D was at the computer and watching videos on the subject when his wife began to harass him, at one point yanking off his headphones. She claimed they were making too much noise.
In another incident, Mr. D reports his wife tossed his meal into the garbage. Not long after, she apologized and returned with another meal.
According to Mr. D, his wife rammed her chest into his, demanding that he punch her. If that really happened, it looks like the man was being set up for an assault charge. If Mr. D were to fall for such a ploy he should lose all his property on the basis of stupidity alone.
Getting the hell out of Dodge
Mr. D has thrown in the towel.
He’s now asking his lawyer to evict his wife from his house, which is in response to her demand [of a few months earlier] that she have sole title to their property. In legalese, an “exclusive possession” order.
Those are important but messy issues that some unfortunate judge will have to sort out. She will sure earn their money that day.
Meanwhile, Mr. D packed his tools and made yet another road trip to Montreal. He was faster than an Ethiopian chicken, making the journey in two and a half days.
His goal is to have his wife removed from title of their rental property in Montreal as well — in large part because he believes she may make good on her promise to murder both her business partners.
Note: As far as I know, Ms. L does not have a criminal record. Same with hubby.
Mr. D will pull out of town with this reminder on his cell phone:
Lessons to be Learned
If there are lessons to be learned from this fiasco for Mr. D …
- next time, marry someone close to your own age, although I’m sure there are relationships where the age difference is significant and things still work out. According to studies, however, a high percentage of those marriages [way higher than most] go nowhere. Mr. D’s marriage went nowhere fast. He admits he has no idea when his wife began cheating, especially after finding a Valentine’s Day card from her lover half a year before they were actually caught in the act.
- don’t expect people to change. When Mr. D and Ms. L met, Ms. L was living in a condo that was even filthier than her current residence. Leopards don’t change their spots.
- don’t be so trusting of those who handle your legal documents when 200,000 dollars of your money is on the line. Look beyond that big smile.
- be honest and transparent yourself. If there are children from a previous relationship, put all that on the table. Ms. L got into the relationship thinking Mr. D had no children when in fact he had. A little girl, he claimed, had been killed in a car accident was in fact, alive — although permanently injured. This lack of disclosure [honesty] became a source of friction between the couple, and rightly so, especially when Mr. D [whose annual salary was about $100,000] sent monthly amounts [$200-$300] to help his two adult sons get a university education in their Third World country. But in a strange twist, Ms. L. felt that money should have gone to her, not to her step sons. Mr. D called hiding his children a white lie. Ms. L saw it as money that should have ended up in her pocket.
And a final comment in this tit-for-tat: Mr. D claimed his wife made good enough money to pay for her own education because he was already paying the mortgage, carrying more of his share of the financial burden of the house, plus doing 95 percent of the meals and — until he just gave up — all the clean-up as well.
Mr. D wants to know where his wife’s money went. No one drinks that much coffee.
Moving forward
Ending this on a positive note, Mr. D should be grateful his vasectomy was never reversed. Can you imagine if he had children with Ms. L? And what would life have been like for the children? She couldn’t properly look after her dog.
Mr. D would be worried sick about what his children had eaten. “Hi Honey, I’m home. I see you’ve taken out the dog feces. Thank you!” “It wasn’t me, darling, Junior got rid of them …” Mr. D and Ms. L would soon have their own reserved parking space outside a medical clinic.
In spite of everyone’s pain and anguish in this mess, there are things to be grateful for. We can all learn from this tragedy — even if it’s that dog shit should be taken out more than once a year.
Narcissistic delusions of grandeur
There’s always one last word, one last email, one last text that spells everything out. Mr. D got his tell-all message in a text from Ms. L not long after he arrived in Montreal …
Keep in mind that one’s inner world is often reflected in their outer world.
Mr. L will move on with his life and in time Ms. L will become “Somebody I used to know” [… with credit to U.S. country music singers Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton].
An antidote to narcissistic living
For concerned parents, here’s some advice to help prevent your children from falling into a narcissistic trap, courtesy of an American woman. Doris Burville penned her thoughts back in 1955.
Her words of wisdom have recently gone viral and have now been read around the world. 
