Friday, September 30, 2011

Love Conquers Debt… Oh, wait! No it doesn’t.

You should probably have gleaned from my many scathing comments that the Harridan’s place (the house that we are not supposed to know that they moved to…) is a barren wasteland when it comes to technology.  This is partly due to the velvet wearing nonsense that it is evil (like penicillin) and you’ll drop dead of cancer if you use your mobile for more than five minutes in an emergency; and partly due to her ignorance in anything that isn’t ‘airy fairy, arty farty’.
We have had many discussions in the past re purchasing the kid a prepaid phone.  I was pushing this in an attempt to evade the Harridan’s need to control the world.  This would allow him to contact the kid without being at the mercy of her moods.  Silence is one of her petty punishments, symbolized by her refusal to answer or reply for days on end, like a mulish ten year old throwing a tantrum.
The Squeeze would agree with my reasoning but of course, nothing came of it.  We wouldn’t want to upset the Harridan, after all!  And if we purchased him a phone, well hell, that would remove her ‘control’.  And her anger is something he is too scared to face.
So imagine my surprise when the kid walks in last night with an iPhone.
The utter stupidity of this move is beyond astounding to me and I was still shaking my head about it this morning.
Why?  Well, this is a kid whom twice so far, I’ve found his nano on the floor or stuffed under something; a nano that was a replacement for the last nano he had, lost last year I will pause to point out.
So let us start there…  ‘Reason number one why this move is beyond brainless.’  He will in all likelihood, lose it.  In fact I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it will be gone by Christmas.
Ok, so assuming we get over the fact that some people are stupid enough to buy their 14 yo kid a phone worth about 1k, (even though they are more than likely to lose it) and we move on to ‘Reason number two why this move is beyond stupid.’  
This thing is worth a couple of good hits to any respectable drug addict.  This is a 14 year old kid and what 14 year old kid doesn’t want to look cool?  I can see it now!  ‘Look at me; look at me!  I don’t play table tennis!  I’m not on the debating team!  I’m groovy!  I have an iPhone!’ – which in turn means using it in full visibility of the predictable drug addict found in triplicate at any train station worth its salt.
So assuming he isn’t kid-ly lose it, nor is he beaten up and/or stabbed and his phone stolen by a drug addict.  We must still move on to ‘Reason number three why this move is beyond ridiculous.’   Even for her. 
The phone was purchased under a plan, payable by her. 
Ummm yes folks.  That’s right.  I love my kids madly, but there isn’t a hope in hell I’m stitching myself up for that.  Because we all know that it can take a day for the kid to have racked up a 2k bill above her ‘plan’.  And that hasn’t even accounted for his friends or the thieving drug addict that stole it contributing to the calls.  This is probable even, given that the plan that she has chosen is laughable!  Not to mention the fact that the iPhone 5 is supposed to be out in two weeks, and she’s just purchased a dinosaur in the land of technology – and a dinosaur that was not as good as its predecessor, the iPhone 3.
Even more astonishing, and please remember that this is a 14 yo kid with a propensity to lose stuff driving this iPhone; yet she walked out of the shop without purchasing insurance.  The guy selling it must have rubbed his hands in glee and high fived the other salesman that he had scored “moron of the month”!
This should be funny and in some ways, I have had a smirk or two over it.  The Squeeze can access the kid and she is in for a financial nightmare; however I didn’t miss the fact that the kid mentioned to the Squeeze that “he could pay some towards it each month” (yes, I’m sure he just came up with that idea on his own…) – which I couldn’t help but quip in with “he does petal; it’s called maintenance…”
Then we have the Squeeze online checking out plans and phone types and with a quick chest puff, stating he was off to the store today to get the plan changed and whine about the sale of a 4 when a 5 is around the corner.
I mentioned this morning that he is not the person with her name on the bill so in all probability, they wouldn’t discuss it with him.  He replied that he would threaten to take his business elsewhere. I’m sure they would tremble in fear at the thought that they would lose his 60 bucks a month!  Or maybe they would act like a salesperson at GASP and tell him to take his fat arse off to Virgin, because they are a “forward fashion” phone place…  Although that may be too complex for him to deal with…
But more than the plan that is not our problem; the possible loss where the plan must still be paid – that is not our problem; is the fact that taking ownership of it; means he will end up responsible for it.
She can float down the aisle of stupidity anytime she feels like it.  Do it as often as possible because I can always do with the laugh!  He however, I object to turning on the stupidity.  I won’t have us responsible for her foolishness and at the end of the day, this person just caused him a $1500 divorce debt with her spite – so why the hell does he even care what she has stitched herself up for..?
News Flash Moodle:  you are divorced.  She is not your responsibility.
Please Step Away from the Wife

Emotional Turmoil – Writings Key

Sadly, it is fact for me.  I have to be drowning in a sea of emotional misery to pour it all out in writing.  And why not?  Some of my best work has come at the darkest moments of my life!
My sister emailed me yesterday using an accusatory tone to say that when things are going well with the Moodle, I don’t update my blog as often.  She lives on the other side of the world so it is her small window into my life.  Either that or it’s just plain old fashion voyeurism.  Either way, she is correct.
I don’t make a conscious choice to blog less; there is just no need for the cathartic power of expelling emotion via words.  There is that and the reality that evolution for the Squeeze to man up is so slow, it is almost going backwards.  Meaning that the wheels of change turn slowly and I get tired of hearing myself say the same thing over and over.
So although I’m not steeped in misery, losing weight (damn it) and wearing black; it’s not like the Moodle suddenly pranced over, opened her handbag and took his testicles out.  No, that would be too much like a Doris Day movie.  And the sun is never going down on me wearing a 50’s style dress, madly in love and blissfully happy with a guy in a suit (probably rich) and singing a love song.  No, those things just don’t happen for moi!
She is ruling the world as firmly now as she ever did.  There just isn’t that much going on that requires her barrage of demands, his rolling over on a large ball while juggling and my shouts of frustration.
We have had several discussions about him seeing a nut doctor…  Not ‘us’.  ‘Him’.  (Because I’m sane)  We argued about the wording he used when he went to the doctor for a referral.  He chose to say that he “tries to please everyone”.  I shouted so much I could almost see his hair blowing in the wind; because I sure as hell am not seeing much of an attempt to please me!
There is no “pleasing everyone!”  That is not the problem.  The real dilemma is in his inability to stop attempting (albeit, uselessly) trying to please the Harridan. 
And I’ll never comprehend that.  I’ve tried!  She is a vile leech.  This is a person that made sure that “what was his; was hers” and so up for grabs in settlement.  Yet “what was hers; remained her own”.  Ie:  She took half of his super.  He didn’t take half of the money her mother left her.
She ended up with the house, the furniture, the money, the super.
He ended up with a fridge – Which he promptly turned around and gave back to her when he moved in with me!
She is abusive and insulting.  Stole his tent.  Berates and belittles him.  Orders him around like her pet dog.  He does all the travelling, yet she has the sheer audacity to hand him a petrol bill for when she takes the kid to a saxophone exam!!!!  She gave him hundreds of prescriptions to have filled over the years – even though she is on a healthcard so would get them basically for nothing!!!  All in the name of SPITE!
And he is still Moodling up and trying to please her!  No idea if the nut doctor can make him see how preposterous that is; guess I have to wait and see what happens in that space.
Other than her, as per usual, our lives are pretty good.  But my God, that part of it is damned hard work.
We have had my Kid 3 for a week, then the race day that encompassed an evening with all of mine.  Then my Kid 1 stayed until today.  Tonight, his Kid 3 arrives until Monday…
Yesterday I emailed the Squeeze to say I don’t care if she needs a lung or my kids are homeless.  Next weekend, our place is a kid free zone!

Sunday, September 25, 2011

What Makes for a Good Weekend?

Our weekend started in style with a sleep in, followed by the Squeeze cooking us the perfect Saturday breakfast.  It was an incredibly sunny spring day in Melbourne so we sat outside in the courtyard sipping our coffee and juice reading the morning papers; reading aloud the amusing bits.

This was followed by Kid 2 of mine arriving in her blue and white and the two of us catching a train to the G for a preliminary final.  We met Kid 1 at the game and only paused long enough to purchase our beer and pies (traditional football carte du jour) before finding our seats.  

All in all, it was a perfect finals day.  Sun shining, voices croaking, Cats winning.  Happy faces all around (at least for anyone who was wearing the blue and white).  We caught the train back home and Kid 2’s Squeeze arrived to pick her up where upon we all surmised what would happen next weekend.

If you have been reading my blog on a regular basis, you’ll know that the Squeeze and I have been to the football twice with my daughter and her partner.  He and the Squeeze both barrack for Collingwood (although have their own teeth).  My daughter and I are Geelong fans through and through.  It can get “touchy”, but less so I figure since Geelong have beaten them both times.  I freely admit, I’d not take it as well as he.

And now we meet in a grand final.

There is going to be one unhappy person in each household come next weekend…  (Hopefully it isn’t the daughter and I)

After the football, the Squeeze and I went out for dinner and then watched a movie before slinking off to bed at an obscenely early time.  Today, we are off to see a band in some obscure and potential bikie haven country pub.

Tonight, we have all of my kids up for a bbq followed by us all wagging tomorrow to go watch Kid 3 use his 21st present and do laps in a V8 Race Car around Sandown.  More entertaining for me, will be watching the driver take over and take him whizzing around the course, mock II with his hair on fire…

News/drama from the Harridan?  Nil.

As I said, all in all a perfect weekend.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

What Makes a Perfect Match?

As you can imagine, being married and divorced three times would indicate that there have been plenty of times over the years that I’ve asked myself “what makes a perfect match..?”  What ingredient gives it that little extra zing that gets you over all the awful times?
I’m not foolish enough (anymore) to believe that there is a “happily ever after…”  Not by half.  I’m a reasonably intelligent woman and know well that ‘Man’ is the most perplexing, unresolvable puzzle ever created.
The Squeeze goes beyond if this.  If I am black, he is white.  Hot/Cold.  Sharp/Blunt.  Hell, I could go on documenting our opposites all day but in the end, the only sane way to mitigate the outcome of our differences, is to anticipate the total opposite of any single thing that I may think/do/or say.
My parents were remarried on their 50th wedding anniversary; in a church since they had eloped the first time around.  Sounds incredibly romantic and it was, but it wasn’t like they didn’t have hard times; times I suspect they would have walked away had times been different.
So obviously you need something that can and will withstand the test of time.  For me, that is the art of conversation and humour.  Firstly, I have no doubt that I could talk under water with a mouthful of marbles. I remember one night in bed, the Squeeze turning to me to say “your dad was right! Don’t you ever shut up?”  A little cruel maybe, but no less true for it.
So maybe it isn’t that the conversation has to be a never ending information disgorge.  It just has to be ‘connected’.  We have to be ‘connected’; on the same playing field if you will, looking at the world in a similar way.
Yes, yes.  There have been multiple times over the last two years where I have literally wanted to pick him up by the scruff of the neck and march him out to the front porch, pausing only long enough in my storm back into the house, to slam the door, deadlock it and turn out the light.
But even when he is doing his Moodle Show; when he is laying prostate at the Harridan’s feet and begging for her to dig her heel in one more time; to make it hurt like never before – when I’m screeching at him because no one on the planet can be that fricking stupid…  We still have humour between us; it just isn’t visible at that stage.
Last night in bed with books, he asked me a question and I replied “yarrrsss” in a funny cartoon voice to which he said “Miss Prissy – Foghorn Leghorne!”  And that was when I knew we are the perfect match.  How could he have possibly known that I was a 1960's cartoon character!  And I wasn't even that good at it!
The Harridan, divorce, never ending drama aside, we are attuned…

Monday, September 19, 2011

Tongue Taming – Get Back!

The ‘get back’ is because ‘tongue tamer’ somehow has the feel of a lion tamer to it.   I need a whip and chair to hold the words at bay.  Jokes aside, I’ve been pretty good this weekend; the tongue has been firmly in check, although he probably hasn’t noticed!

I will admit that opportunity to make comment diminishes with the kid here, plus I’ve had a headache going for 3 damned days and it is hard work, if not impossible to think of a sarcastic quip when I’m knee deep in codeine…  Snap, its hard work getting up the energy to wash my hair at the moment, let alone have a pointless argument/debate with the Moodle.

Kid 3 on my side, is up for trade school this week so he has even more of a reprieve.  If at all possible, I’d rather save arguing until we are on our own.  Obviously my bad parenting skills by not helping him break the law, haven’t gone so far as to force him to find a rental for school week… He is very good at saving; his siblings call him “squeaker” so I don’t doubt I’d have to kill his whole family and then he’d still be weighing up the odds if his dog would live…

So my codeine muddled brain has not been up to concentrating on how unjust the whole divorce has been, and in the end, he is the fool that has to pay these things.  And I’m not sure what he hopes to gain by not standing up for himself.  I’m pretty sure she isn’t going to wake up tomorrow and think “gee… he is a nice guy!”

As payment for being a fool and a moodle over not forcing the divorce down her miserable throat – ie:  sign or I’m taking it out of your maintenance…  

He has copped a $1518.55 bill from the lawyer.
It would have cost $600 if she would have signed his application;
And $60 if she applied.

Then we had the tent which will cost another $600+ to replace since she has stolen his.  Initially I suggested we pay half each and get it for Christmas, but now I say stuff that; man up or you will be paying.

If it were me, I would say: “I have the receipt, purchased after our separation.  Give it back by the end of the week or I’m reporting it stolen”.  

He will send the odd ineffectual message to say “it’s mine”; which let’s face it, is basically akin to “I’m dobbing!!!!!  Muuuuum!!!!”

A threat of theft is much more to the point and getting attention, and in the end, that is exactly what she has done.  And if it doesn’t come back, then he will have to buy another tent – or not…

Let’s face it, I’m much more of a hotel/high heels kind of girl anyhow!

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Off to Market...

It's a perfect day today.  The sun is shining and we are off to the market.  I'm going to try for the perfect day!  

Then tomorrow, Kid 3 - mine comes to stay for a week while at trade school.

That ought to be fun.  Yesterday he couldn't understand why I wouldn't let him buy a V8 turbo ute and insure it in my name; as he is still on P plates, it's illegal for him to drive it.

He finished off the text conversation with "you're a bad parent!!!"

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Yay! - Divorced!

Finally!  And I'm sure the Moodle has no idea how much that meant to me.

It only took 264 Days!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Men.  Can't live with them; can't kill them.  Go figure!

Can I Tame the Tongue?

Is that even possible for one such as me..?  I don’t think so.  If I think it, I say it.  I can’t help it; and it’s not like I haven’t been completely honest about who and what I am.  I have told the Squeeze many times, “if I think it, I say it.” 
But maybe I should try not to…
Sigh… That is so much easier said than done. 
The other day we were out walking and I was having a one sided discussion about a strategy for getting the tent back.  I know well how I sound whenever her name falls into the dialogue; my voice is cold, modal.  There is nothing hidden with me; I sound exactly like I feel.  Lydia the Cold Hearted Bitch, my other personality, has me in her grip…
When he suggested we change the subject we fell into silence.  The quiet moved into uncomfortable as I watched his rat eyed syndrome brain search for another topic, I got to say “oh great idea, it seems we have nothing to say if not about her…”
But in truth, it’s not like I don’t know, see and hear what I sound like.  I’m like a Lotan when I’m in a tirade.  For those that don’t know or are going to jump to, a Lotan is the seven-headed sea serpent or dragon of Ugaritic myths, which is neither here nor there but can give you a visual of just what the Squeeze is dealing with.
So at the conclusion of the walk, I give myself a stern talking to.  Right-e-o.  I’m going to just shut my face from here on in.  If he wants to roll over, mess his curls up and piddle down his leg in fear whenever the Harridan demands he jump; if he wants to leap through hoops of fire only pausing long enough to grab wads of cash out of his pocket to throw at her on the way through, ducking and weaving poison darts – well power to him.
And then Saturday came and the market and the lying and the ‘UGG. RING’ and I tried.  I seriously tried to curb my tongue – and I mostly managed.  Yes I gave a comment or ten re his ungrateful kids and the lack of a father’s day present.  I muttered a bit about the lack of moral compass that allows her to tell a kid to lie to his father, not even pointing out how wrong that is to subject him to being forced to choose sides… 
Hell, I even pointed out that she is an utter moron, because what was ‘moving to the hidden house that we don’t know about’ actually going to achieve..?  It’s not like the older kids didn’t tell him.  And since she is too tight fisted to actually do any dropping off or picking up, how was she going to cover that..?
Yes.  She moved.  Big freaking deal!!  She is obviously too stupid to work out that we don’t give a hoot what she does!  Other than what pertains to the upbringing of the kid – something I am not seeing her excel at I might add. If she wants to move to a lesbian commune, power to her!
Then we got the ‘UGG’ on Sunday night and I went off my rocker with his “she can wait til after the show” line; said with such masculine delight - moron. 
So my taming of the tongue didn’t get to last more than a day or two.  And that is how it always is!  In my defence, I am dealing with an extremely bitter, mentally unstable woman and a man who has endured the bitterness and deranged personality for 25+ years. 
He is conditioned.  Knee deep in Stockholm Syndrome.  He is so conditioned he is almost begging her to throw that curly headed moodle into a sack and toss it in the river, pausing for a second or two just to watch it drown. 
And he’s too stupid/fearful/moodle-like to understand that the more he capitulates, the more she hates him.
I have a theory on this.  She is similar to my older brother’s ex wife who is affectionately known throughout the family as ‘the fat brown toothed slut’.  I began my theory with her but it still holds.  The Harridan and the FBTS are so alike that they could be sisters.  They are both over bearing, opinionated harpies that rather than face the truth about themselves; rather than admit to their own selfishness and subsequent ruination of their marriages – turn on the attack.  It is such a chore being perfect, in believing you are perfect and always right.  When your actions prove that you are a long way short of perfect, you can’t admit that your life has been a lie – so the only option is to blame someone else.  I watched my brother bend over backwards, repeatedly – and the more he did, the more she hated him for it.  Guilt.  Now I watch it with the Moodle.
I’m hoping that in the end, the Squeeze turns out like my brother.  Since that time (and it took forever) he has met someone, married and shut her down totally.
But yesterday the Squeeze was off to see the doctor for a referral to another “nut doctor”.  This time, it wasn’t about ‘relationship’ counselling, because that’s pointless.  Our relationship isn’t the problem – mostly, our relationship is damned near perfect.  Our problem is in his inability to separate emotionally from the Harridan and shut her down – and I think we both know it can’t work while he remains in that state.
Last night while getting dinner ready he mentioned that he told the doctor that he had trouble wanting to please everyone; that it didn’t matter what he gave her – it was never enough and that I go ballistic at him and if the rest of the relationship wasn’t so good he would walk…
That meant I had to leave Taming the Tongue until today – because I shouted his damned head off.  Idiot.  He isn’t trying to please everyone!  He is a moodle trying to please his soon to be ex wife!!!!!  And I won’t stay in a relationship where someone else rules his, and by default, my world!
Why did I get stuck with the damned Moodle!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Busy Little Bee

Today, the Squeeze had the day off.

This was not about Leisure Suit Larry; this was about Kid 3 having the day off school and she obviously thinks the kid is retarded so can’t spend the day at home on his own.  Frankly, I should think he’d be doing a Tom Cruise in risky business. 

Although I’m fine with the whole day off/bonding exercise; it is never about relaxation and bonding.  It is generally about a list of things to do with the kid – generally items that she doesn’t want to pay for but hey, you’ve a Moodle on tap who is constantly guilt’ d into opening his wallet, why not use it...?

At least it was organised.  The witch, finally letting an idea hang in her head for a few seconds, may have finally understood that ‘on the fly’ means ‘out the window’, so if she is seeking us to do something for her, she had sure as hell better get in with a few days’ notice.

When the Squeeze picked him last night, he discovered the day off was due to “parent teacher” interviews.  WTF?  Hello!!! Here he is paying half of the damned school fees, all of the uniforms - but it isn’t mentioned.  This could be because she doesn’t want a discussion to ensue with staff re her constant lateness; but I suspect it is just plain, old unadulterated ‘spite’.

He was to drop the kid back at school so the witch could drag him home to the ‘hidden house that we don’t know they moved to’, but she wasn’t at school.  Must have been a lesbian convention in town some place; either way, she was indisposed which meant he had to drive all the way to velvet land, take the kid to cricket practice before dropping him back at the ‘hidden house that we don’t know they moved to’.

When we last spoke, he was going to be here at normal time so that we could do our nightly walk; somehow, I missed the memo that he was running errands for the witch.  

Instead, I came home and cleaned – which is its own exercise I guess.  Well it is if you count that by the time I vacuum, make the beds that they are too lazy to straighten, pick up the array of junk left over the house; hang out and bring in washing; wash the jam drips from the floor; tut tut over the dent in the floor boards where my antique platter hit the floor to smash into a million slithers last night and finally, sigh over the drips of jam on the carpet.

Sorry.  But I have lived here for 5.5 years.  Yes; I have white sofas.  But they’ve survived! They’ve survived my family!  My brother waking me at 6 am to say he went to sleep with a glass of red in his hand – and informing me that 5% of it… it missed.  It’s survived my sister, here… smashed (are you getting a theme here…?) and the terrified look on her face as she tried to mop up the 4 gallons of red wine from my white sofa – with a tissue.  It’s robust.  It’s seen it all.

And now – it is going black! (don’t these people shower!!!!!????)

So I deep breath and put the cushion covers in the wash and make a mental note to tell the Moodle that food in the bedroom is henceforth out (I nearly mentioned it when I saw the kid saunter into the bedroom [running for the big screen] with home-made jam tart… but figured oh hell, stop nagging…)

Still, I’m really trying to curb my tongue this week, albeit, not very successfully.  Hopefully, he went to the doctor this morning to get a referral to a nut doctor – not for relationship counselling, but to get it into his stupid head that he no longer has to do as she says!

I’m tipping that he wasn’t smart enough when he got to velvet land, to saunter around to the ‘hidden house that we don’t know they moved to’ to steal his tent back.  No.  That is what normal people would do.

Wonder if he remembered to go to the lawyer and sign he affidavit for tomorrow’s divorce…  If not, then I guess he is homeless…

Sometimes I forget why I am here...

Monday, September 12, 2011

Liar, Liar; Pants on Fire

On the weekend, we had a BBQ to celebrate my daughter’s 24th birthday.  It is always such a casual thing to say.  “Oh, we’ll have a bbq!”
See how easily that just rolls off the tongue and glides out of the mouth..?  Of course the reality is that it’s always a tad more difficult and a lot more work/expense.
So Saturday saw us up and out early.  I did a few preparatory chores that would create a domino effect when we got back in the door – ie: stripping beds and throwing washing on but then we began with coffee and the papers at the Vic Market.  It is such a relaxing way to spend the morning; right before you are submerged in hell. 
Shopping at the Victoria Market generally consists of me holding my breath as we sail past the seafood aisle and dodging and weaving around a hundred thousand or so of our closest friends that also appear to think shopping on a Saturday morning is the way to go.  We lugged a tonne of meat around the organic veggie aisle since we stupidly shopped in reverse – we seem to do this every time and I’ve no idea why.
The Squeeze had sent a text message to Kid 2 to ask if he wanted to meet us for coffee but the answer he received was “sure, if you’ll drive me to ‘Velvet Land’ afterwards…”  The Squeeze replied with a simple no, but I thought that one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and here was Kid 2, presenting him with a perfect opportunity to have a small, yet deadly dig about this lack of Father’s Day gift.  So he followed it up with “Driving you to Velvet Land is something a good dad would do.  A dad that receives Father’s Day presents…”  I am uncertain if he received a reply but we got to chuckle about it in any case.
It seems Kid 1 and 2 were descending on Velvet Land because the Harridan was moving out of the gingerbread house and into the main house.  My first thought was that Kid 1 and 2 were nowhere to be found when the Squeeze was moving.  Hell, they were reluctant to even move their own things – so it becomes pretty obvious that the Squeeze commands absolutely zip respect which is downright selfish and I suspect, encouraged by the Harridan.
I am ambivalent about the move, partly because as I have mentioned previously, the environment at the Gingerbread House is unhealthy for a 14 yo boy.  It is creepy and the lack of bedrooms and privacy is not only an issue for the kid, but I suspect an issue for friends.  This should be a red flag as to why the kid has no associates hanging around all the time like normal kids do.
But the other side of the coin is that after agreeing to a set amount of maintenance, she is constantly asking the Squeeze to fund things that as far as I’m concerned, should be covered by maintenance.  So the tenants move out of the house and her monthly expenses are immediately substantially up – how does she intend to fund that without more income from him?
The Harridan has vetoed Kid 3 calling for a few days.  I suspect this is due to the divorce that is about to hit her in the face like a Mack truck; more than the divorce, is the fact that she can’t control it – this must be utterly galling for her since she is such a devious, calculating bitch.  Either way, there was no answer to any of the Squeeze’s calls or text messages over the days preceding our trip to the market but then suddenly, on Saturday, the kid calls long enough to tell him: ‘call’ and then he hangs up.
I abhor such utter rudeness and ignorance and if that had been one of my kids, I’d have texted back to say – call me when you have time, I’m sure the 50 cents won’t kill anyone, but that’s just me.  The Squeeze instead leaps through the hoops of fire and calls – as commanded.
We are walking about the market and the one sided chat sounds rather inane and a little bit perfunctory.  Then I hear the Squeeze ask what he has on for the weekend – and the kid says nothing.  The Squeeze rewords it, twice – Nada is the answer to both.
Ummm hello???  So if after that phone call and the Squeeze had mentioned that we had nothing on for the weekend, if he had of arrived only to find that we had moved to another place, how would he have felt?  My blood absolutely boiled, because it is obvious that cow has instructed him to lie and in my world, a lie by omission is still, just a lie.
I mentioned to the Squeeze that lying is just not on.  The Harridan needs to be told in no uncertain terms that her mothering skills leave a lot to be desired but also, the Kid is 14 years old!  Not really a kid.  He is responsible for his own lies and if he feels the need to choose sides, do so, but at least have the good manners to be honest about it.
In short, he needs to be read the riot act.  After all, he feels free to blab all and sundry about our life to his mother… 
And the joy!  We have him tonight.  An extra night.  Yay!  (And yes, that was fricking sarcasm).  Just what I need… more TELEVISION!  The couch with laptop, television on and smart phone in the hand – technology overload!
I can see I will be going to bed early with my book and biting my tongue because the Moodle is ill equipped to deal with such things and I am incapable of not dealing with it.  I’ve already had an email instructing me that he will be having a discussion with the kid and ‘at some point’, the Harridan (don’t you love that hazy lack of definition..?).
In fact it finished off with ‘Key Word…  I’ll’
And the reality is that I’m damned tired of defending someone who obviously has no problem allowing himself to be treated like crap – and they all do it, they are lining up for it!  I suspect Mummy Dearest says a lot more about the Squeeze than he ever does, which is cruel and untrue.
Why am I tired..?  Well after a great day with the bbq, we sat on the sofa and watched The Borgia’s and around 9pm the Queen summons – “RING”!  And the Moodle..?  Oh be still my beating heart; his manly answer is “she can wait until this is over!”
WTF?  How about ignoring the bitch!  If it’s urgent, she can freaking drag her stubby little fingers out to call him!
That is the point where I just gave up and went to bed.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Football – The Great Divider

Ha!  Last week at the football, we had a great time.  I fully admit that he handles loss better than I.  If my team had of been whipped, I’d have stormed about the place a bit and been an obnoxiously sore loser.  He would have paid for it. And let’s face it, we wiped the floor with Collingwood and he went down one point in his footy tips.

Last night, his other favourite team, Hawthorn, and the team his sons barrack for, played us in the first final.  They did invite us over to “clean freak hell” (I’m still not sure they actually invited me however, the Squeeze pointed out that I was only there to be tortured when we lost.)  But it was freezing cold and pouring with rain so we decided to stay at home and watch it in the clean, on a big screen with fresh air (as opposed to knocking stuff out of the way, choking on the cigarette smoke and watching it on a match box).

Things don’t always turn out as they seem and after we wiped the floor with them, Geelong are looking pretty.  The only sour part of the evening was the stupid hand recognition software the Squeeze has loaded onto his smart phone, meant I could only send the text ‘HA’ to kid 2!
Now, its shop and clean up time for a party tomorrow for the girl on my side.

Friday, September 9, 2011


Well, the Squeeze told me he read the blog – Actually found it amusing…

WTF – what the hell blog did he read..?  Moron!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Roll Over Beethoven

Amazing.  One minute I feel as though we are actually having a real grown up conversation; which basically means he isn’t saying “I don’t want to talk about it!” to any discussion centred on the Harridan and his subsequent never ending moodle-ness.
While on the phone tonight, he asked her why she hadn’t taken the paperwork for the divorce, to which she replied “I’m too busy to talk now!” and hung up.  Yes folks, that brain surgeon slash part time art teacher job really is just too fricking taxing for her.

So the Squeeze and I went for a power walk into the town centre where upon we sat to have a long black before walking back.  This isn’t as exciting as it could be since the Greek pastry shops that line the streets have an array of mouth-watering temptations that we must forgo, but hey – it’s out of the house.

Once settled, he got the summons text.  It is one word – RING!

In my head, this is always preceded by the sound: ‘UGG’, possibly because she is a 12 year old trapped inside a mid-fifty year old woman’s short squat body… her texts and emails are written phonetically, so I have to sound them out to understand them.  Ie:  wot u want (zip punctuation) – or Caveman speak as I think of it…  Thus the UGG.

So the quarrel ensues.  I think she believes if she doesn’t take the divorce papers then the divorce will not proceed.  I don’t believe this is in regard to legalities; this is more a “he wouldn’t dare!” thing.  I hope she is wrong, I think she is wrong…

From her perspective, she kicked his arse to the kerb 3 or 4 times before dragging him back (maybe with a text that said “UGG cum bak”)  Either way, she is probably still in the land of “he loves me and will be my moodle forever”.  Hell, get over it.  One of my ex’s once told me he would love me forever, when he got engaged I remember thinking “umm…?  What happened to I’ll love you forever!!!!”  Forever is relatively short in the land of the hurt – as it should be.

And then she calls and hangs up, because stone the crows, it is a case of “I’m not paying for the damned phone call’ versus ‘why haven’t you done as instructed mo fo!!???” (There is possibly a “don’t you know who I am” in there…)

So we have a rather composed conversation where upon I mention that his inability to stand up for himself and (knock her to the floor) will be the undoing of our relationship; a relationship that in every other area is pretty damned good.

But in truth, I struggle because for all intents and purposes, I’m a reasonably intelligent woman – and I just don’t get it.  And until I ‘get it’…  Until it gels in my head and I can understand it, then I can’t leave it alone; it is a loose thread that I just have to pull.

I mean am I really that stupid?  What am I just not seeing?  What am I not understanding..?  What is going on here, under the surface, that I don’t know so don’t understand?  And why the hell am I with someone that answers to someone else continuously...?  Someone I'm not 100% sure of..?

So I try to remain calm, even though I want to scream and kick things.

And it appears to be working.  He acknowledges the giving in factor and on the walk home, I suspect there is a spring in my step for I think he really does get it.  He has listened and understood what I am saying and feeling, that he is going to kill what we have, and for what?  Some bitch who will have almost certainly, have reached her aim.  Without me in the picture, she has the moodle back, the one that will book birthday dinners when commanded to do so, and then of course, pay the bill when she raises her arse off the chair and walks off…

But the calm was short lived when we reached home and I hear him on the phone.  For those that haven’t tuned in from the beginning, the Squeeze bought a tent after they separated.  We took it down the coast for a holiday and I was as annoyed as can be because he left it there for Kid 1 to use (which was really about the Harridan using it).  Because the marriage is over.  We are a couple, the time for sharing all and sundry is gone.  Separate everything.  And let's face it, she taken every single thing he had and left him with nothing.  Surely he could at least keep the tent that he bought after they separated...  

But he left it there, even though I argued that he would never get it back.  Didn’t matter it was his, she would find a reason not to give it back.  He of course argued at the time, but the argument lost weight after 9 months passed without it’s return.  When he would ask for it, she would demand to know what he wanted it for and I'd seeth and storm around the house shouting at him to try "because it's my fricking tent you cow!"  Which of course he could never do, lest he be turned to stone.
Last time he asked for it, she told him that she had given it to the school to use.  My reaction to that must have been a sight to behold - like Krakatoa I've no doubt because then I was totally astounded by the sheer hate inside this person, that she would set out to destroy anything that he had.

This time, she wanted to know what he wanted “our” tent for and after a brief argument explaining to her that it was his, purchased after the separation, I heard him say “you keep it then”…   And a pause, and I know he is expecting this heartless fricking harpy to actually feel a modicum of guilt!  Ha!  And I want to shout at him 'she has no moral compass you moron!' but it's too late.  The tent is gone and that vampire that is and remains his wife - now has the house, the car, and quite literally - the holiday.

And then it hit me.  While I go out with him; or until this bitch is dead – I will never have anything.  Why?  Because he will give her everything she demands.