The art of dating when you are in your 40’s is a perilous, soul destroying mission. I blame my misfortune with men on the 'fairy tale factor'... That never ending belief that love conquers all and that one day a prince will come.

Reality isn't even close to the fairy tale. Especially when the prince doesn’t just come with baggage – he comes with a bitter, money grubbing ex-wife clinging to his back like a hump.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

I’m not dead…

I’m not dead and I haven’t been abducted by aliens.  Life just seems to have become a tsunami and I’m struggling to keep my head above it all.  Something has to give; until now, that has been my blog.

When I last updated; I was attempting to settle into the house after taking a month off to be with my Dad and family (still miss you Dad x).  Since I was mid move when my Dad got ill, I was a bit of a gypsy for that period in time.  The stress and heartache messed with my mind to the point where I couldn’t hold a thought in my head for long enough to get from one room to another.   On one racing trip to Geelong I realised the very neat pile of ironed clothes I’d gotten out to take with me, were still sitting at home on my bed.  I had my bag with makeup, toothbrush and undies, but not a stitch to wear (lucky my sister bailed my out!) 

Sigh; and they actually were flying trips; I’m still paying off the speeding fines I received over that period of time.  Oh well; I didn’t want to miss a second and I don’t regret it, even if they are making me pay for it now.

So the last entry was around settling, my kids and the great Zombie invasion of the walking dead – that and not having five seconds to myself.  But I was home now and it was time to survey the land and see where was good to eat, what was fun to do… learn the lay of Ormond.  This is where the next wave started to rise; and it looked to be a doosie.

The groovy roof top bar on the corner had crap food but pretty good music late into the night.  I couldn’t care less about the music (all bar karoke night; sheesh, there are some crap voices in the world.  Just because you’re drunk, that doesn’t suddenly mean you can sing…)  Given I’m a vinyl gal and just purchased myself a Pro-Ject – I was never going to have an issue with the bar.  I do have an issue with the plebs walking home after a night out, up the lane way tossing their stubbies on the cobblestones outside of mine (and other) places; so I reported it to the council.  That was the first place in the street to dislike me (assuming they knew it was me J )

The entry prior to the last was around the “mouse” issue.   This of course became a “mice” issue.  Then a “RAT” issue; then a “RATS” issue.  And we are talking rats as big a freaking little poodles (weirdly fluffy too!)  Their claws tapping on the floorboards in my bedroom woke me several times and when I realised what it was, there wasn’t a chance in holy Hell that I was able to sleep in that house.  Every noise; each bit of scratching in the wall and I was bolt upright with my torch shining it into the darkened corners of the room and wondering if the damned thing was going to creep out in the middle of the night and gnaw off my nose.

Part of the tsunami wave that hit me was the Russian property manager who informed me that rodents only go to dirty houses; therefore I would have to pay for the pest controller.  I will admit that I blew like a kettle and since that moment in time, she has been called “that Russian whore!” when I’m walking around my house.  Frankly, I’m not sure if I was more outraged over her stupidity regarding rodents or her attempt to tell me; me!!  The Serial Killer Neat Clean Queen!!!! - that my house must be so dirty it was attracting rats!  The cheek of the woman!

From the rats, came the agent and owner drama and the war began.  I got a somewhat creepy tall, lanky guy in to do an “inspection and eradication” (seriously, he was always going to be a little strange – given his profession) and took pleasure in forwarding the written report, stating quite clearly that it was NOT due to my house, but due to the environment, to the Russian Whore and stating that the owner could reimburse me.

For some purpose that defies reason, the owner (possibly new to the real estate market) seems to think that he can “set and forget” and I’ll just keep paying a reasonably high rent even though he isn’t sticking to his end of the contract.  A liveable premise does not come with poodle size rats hovering in the corner of the room, waiting to gnaw your nose off!  Nor does it come with a legion of mice that were more like cotton balls with legs; devouring my pantry and leaving their stench over everything!

My house!  I already know exactly where it is coming from.  The filthy place next door called “Ormond Thai” (roll up, roll up and get your fresh food poisoning!) – so I contact the council again.  This time, they read the report submitted by the rat guy and turn up at the restaurant to do an inspection.  Imagine my surprise when they call to say they’ve shut the place down.  31 health code violations including rodents in the kitchen, fridge seals broken, bench tops were newspaper….  And the list goes on.

The next morning, I woke up to a rats head near my door (creepy sick photo below).  Really..?  Are we really going down a Godfather path..?  I mean who has more to lose here when I start a vengeful campaign…?  I guess that is another place along the strip that dislikes me.

And as the mice; and more slowly but at least moving rats dissipate, the war with the owner continues.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Zombie Apocalypse and changes

The weekend zoomed by.  In truth, it was boringly normal!  I spent Friday night shopping and then cooked homemade pizza.  The smell of it wafted throughout the laneway out back.  Yes, it tasted as good as it smelled and went well with red wine and a couple of television series that I never miss – Vikings and then Suits.

Wine.  Hmmm  It was my night off...  A night off from dieting since I’ve now hit 5.7 kilos for the year and am feeling pretty good; and a night off from thinking; since I’d worked all day and attended a million meetings followed by a 3 hour gig in the board room (which means keeping on my toes).

So Friday night was relaxing.  Saturday was housework followed by a girlfriend arriving in time to sit and eat left over pizza and with a bottle of champagne.  Then it was slinking off to the Flying Saucer Club to watch Russell Morris belt out old hits while keeping one eye on the weird relationships that show up at those places.  This it gave me a strange combination of emotions.  Firstly, it made me miss my own relationship that wasn’t nearly as weird has half of those in the room; then be glad I was single.  All in all, it was a great night.  At the end of the gig we trammed up Glen Huntly road and then walked home.  

This morning it was up to cook bacon and eggs – with champagne  J and coffee before my friend trekked off home and I had an hour to myself to do a walk, given my food intake this weekend.  By late afternoon, my kids had all arrived and we went off to a rooftop bar for dinner…

Boy 3 left to go home and now I’m left with Boy 1 – catching up on The Walking Dead.  Sheesh.  I’m basically submerged in the Zombie Apocalypse!   And all the while, Boy 1 keeps talking about what he would do… mostly it finishes with ‘I’d get a bazooka!’ 

Some things never change.  That part I like.  

Things with my Dad changed and that part I didn't like.  That continues to come out of left field and hit me like a freight train.  How I miss him.  The world; life... Doesn't seem the same without him in it.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

What's that smell..?

This is the first weekend since splitting with the ex, that I have been completely alone.   Up until now, there had been a million things that needed doing.  Hell, there are still a million things that need doing; the difference is that these things will wait.  Dad dying wasn’t going to wait.

How did I fare..?  It was a long day.  I was up at 7 awaiting the air conditioner guy who took one look, at how high the first story window was before shaking his head and saying he would have to come back.   After that, I did some cleaning before deciding to investigate what the smell was coming out of my pantry.  The girl had said last week "It's the spices!"  I wasn't so sure.  I’ve been cooking with black rice of late and when I noticed it spilled across the white shelving, I wondered how I’d done that without noticing and cleaning it up.  Then I noticed it was everywhere… and that it wasn’t black rice.  I have mice!!!!!  And the smell is furry rodent smell!

So it was off out to buy bait which I’ve strewn about the place.  Strewn… Ha!  It’s lucky I don’t have a pet because I’ve spread four packets of the stuff around!  Then it was remove everything.  Throw what was gnawed or even remotely suspect.  Wash with mint oil and hot soapy water.  Put anything not touched into large plastic tubs before vacuuming and washing the floor and bottom of the pantry.

I even went so far as to change the vacuum cleaner bag to try to get rid of that awful smell!  The box said it could take DAYS to kill them.   I saw the mouse this morning.  The mess it left made it seem like a dog sized rat had rampaged through my pantry.  In truth, it was a tiny grey field mouse.  I still want it gone; now.  I’m thinking about going to get another type as well to strategically position that. 

After the mouse/clean I looked around and wondered what I would do then.  This is the moment when loneliness strikes.  I can only imagine how my Mum is coping now that she has lost her husband of 59 years.  They eloped when my mother was seventeen.  How do you get over that...?

The girl was out for the weekend and so I sat, holed up in my house; alone with a mouse and a glass of wine.  It made me feel much lonelier than I have up until now.  It also made me feel stronger; because I can do this.  I am woman, hear me roar!  I had a moment of self-pity that I eliminated with a power walk followed by a book in the bath.  I was in bed with my book by 9pm and I suspect out like a light by ten!