Monday, April 30, 2012

A Big Bad Band

My week of stress started on Saturday with the arrival of the kid.

Let’s face it, it was always going to be stressful; how could it not be when asking for basic manners and/or a little bit of good old fashioned respect creates angst between the Squeeze and I. 

I; who had been pretty damned fair with my kid/step father relationship, was now in the alien land of “you can’t win”; and I’m not that keen on it actually.

So I sucked it up; bit my tongue and attempted to spend a whole weekend without actually asking/telling the kid anything at all.  On those moments where it became impossible to keep silent, I deferred to the Squeeze and asked that he rectify the matter in a way that was acceptable to him.  These were kept to “the toilet” and “bed time”. 

I’ve got to say it; I am at complete loss as to why there is no “button” pushing or hand washing when the kid goes to the loo.  We have mentioned it several times over the last year or so, but on the next visit, he reverts to it again.  I shudder to think what the loo in Velvet Land looks like...  Either way, staring down at someone’s pee when I walk into the bathroom is nauseating; ditto re opening the fridge or touching anything with ‘wang’ flavoured paws.  Given that this will start again on his next visit, I asked the Squeeze if he could discuss it with the Harridan and question why she is not reinforcing good hygiene.  I don’t think I’ll hold my breath.

As for the Squeeze, he went to bed relatively early on Saturday night and I stayed awake reading, waiting on the girl to return home from a night out.  (It’s always easier when they are at their own place; somehow, you don’t worry as much...)  At twelve thirty when I was thinking about rolling over and attempting sleep, I woke the Squeeze from a deep sleep and asked him to go out and turn the television off and tell the kid it was time for bed.  Eleven hours of nonstop television and internet surfing is enough for anyone in my book.  He probably didn’t like being woken, but since I’m unable to instruct the kid, that was just too bad for him.

Sunday, we took the kid to his “big band” gig.  Given the Harridan’s deliberate rudeness to me the last time, I was prepared to sit and ignore her, getting by with just the odd chant in my head to say: “are we there yet..?”  We walked in and took a seat strategically positioned for ‘early exit’.

It started with a text.  “Why are you sitting over there?  Aren’t you allowed to sit with the other parent?"  I wanted to reply for him to say: "because we are not friends and she doesn’t like you...” but the Moodle would never just go with something as simple as honesty.   She followed this up with a text that called him strange since anything I go to, he is distant.  Obviously, when I’m not there, they sit and chat like ‘besties.’
Power to them; I couldn’t care less; but nor will I ‘pretend’ that she isn’t the bitch that she is.  Why berate his fathering skills time and time again, only to pretend she doesn’t hate him because she is in front of people.  Besides, you only get the opportunity to be rude to me once so even if he had of sat next to her, I’d have chosen to sit in another section.

So the Harridan sat like a “scott-no-friends” on the opposite side of the room and I forgot about her and proceeded to count down the tunes until we could leave.

The first lot of kids filed out onto the stage and took their seats.  I watched them traipse past.  Either this was the ugliest school on the planet; or nothing has changed over the years.  The beautiful still didn’t join band, debating or the chess club.  I didn’t see the kid in sunglasses that caused me to snigger the last time, but that could be because it was day time.

And the tunes just rolled on... 

I’m not a fan of jazz.  Never have been; especially the variety that sounds like a whole bunch of instruments vying for attention; just a brass cacophony.  So my untrained musical ear probably doesn’t know what it’s talking about; still, the saxophones sounded too quiet for a solo (it was certainly no “Baker Street” sax solo).  The trumpet guy in his solo, sounded like he was short of breath which made him out of time.  After the tide of junior’s rolled out and seniors rolled in, it moved briefly to swing which I could handle.  It was like a scene from dirty dancing, minus Patrick Swayze to look at.  Swing didn’t last; it moved back into brass cacophony.

And even when it was bad; they clapped.
I hate parents. 

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Knife and Fork

Today the Squeeze and I went out for lunch with the kid.  The girl was working.  We went to a restaurant in Oakleigh which is nameless.   Fantastic food; but no name.

It's quite a nice place. Serviettes. Knives and forks. Waiters.
We had pizza and it doesn't come out on pizza trays but on lovely big white china plates.
I didn't even mention the fact that the kid ate with his hands...

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Back to Bed

I have the day off.  This isn’t like yesterday, Anzac Day, where everyone had the day off.  I decided that I’d take an additional two ADOs (another day off), giving myself a five-day weekend.  Yesterday was spent cleaning; today is for relaxing.
The first task in relaxing came in the form of sailing out to the washing line to hang washing.  It’s been raining for days on end so I’ve been able to get nothing dry.  Yesterday I had to drag a whole lot of stuff back into the house and spin-dry them so I could put them into the dryer.  Today looks like I can at least air towels prior to throwing them in the dryer.
Instead, the pile of towels remains in a basket in the garage.  I got to the line, put my hand in the peg bucket and withdrew two pegs and a bee.  So relaxing has gone quickly out of the window.  I’m anaphylactic.  In short, I’m allergic… To everything. 
The last time I was stung by a bee I had this weird swelling combination.  My knees blew up like balloons (at least it made my calves look slim); my fingers swelled up like polish sausages…  Not the hands, just the fingers, which trust me, is not attractive; and my lips, already quite full, would have put Mick Jagger to shame.
I can feel my finger puffing as I type.  Oh well, looks like the dryer is getting a work out today after all. 
The mound of washing I have is endless…  The Girl from my side is here with us at the moment.  Her life had been unraveling for a while, and last week she decided it was time to get it reraveled.  In reality, only she can change the trajectory of her life, but it doesn’t hurt to call mum and say, “I need help…”  Hell, in the scheme of things I’m glad that as a parent, she felt that she could call me and talk about the worst of it.
So the week has consisted off planning and phone calls and organization, dotted with discussion on moving forward.  None of it pretty, but a necessity.  I am at least seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, but she can’t move back to her place until I know that she will be okay.
You may figure this is easy, given that it is my kid… 
Let me put it this way; she is a young adult, not a surly kid.  She is also mine, which tends to make me like her more.  But in her depression, neatness seems to have flown out the window.  I am now on just over a week without the bed in the spare room being made.  Don’t think I haven’t mentioned this, or nagged, or ordered.  I have.  But it has fallen on deaf ears.
Okay, she gets a little grace, given the state of her life; but when she get’s home later today, she will find the Bed Fairy story I wrote and left on the kid’s pillow when he started out coming here.
And speaking of the kid, this weekend he is here.  What fun.  There will be four of us.  No idea how that is going to work.  Having said that, it will be good for me.  Why?  Because the Squeeze hasn’t said a peep about the girl being here; not one word.  Granted, he couldn’t care less if this place turned into “clean freak hell”, but still…  Maybe I just need to “suck it up” more.

Monday, April 23, 2012

The Kid Wants...

As expected, given that the Kid couldn’t stay with us all weekend, he was dropped at the Harridan’s sister’s place on Saturday night.  So much for the manipulative text “the kid wants to stay with you...”

I knew damned well that wasn’t the case.  Why on earth would the kid want to return to the place of his torture?  I bet he is still rocking in a corner some place; having nightmares at least – after all, I did ask him to use a knife and fork on his bacon and eggs.  Hell, he will probably require hours of therapy for that down the track.

In the scheme of things, from a Harridan perspective, I would think that this was the best possible outcome...  This way, the kid could be handed over like a batten in a hippy style relay; from one discipline ignorant, velvet wearing mummy to another.

Similar hair (look at me, look how arty I am; I’ve got a red streaky thing going on...); similar house environments (no garden, curtains bunched up in windows, stuff lying around the yard).  I can’t be sure, but I suspect more vegetarians that feel penicillin is evil... I mean you don’t suddenly wake up with those things resounding in your head.  Not unlike Kid 3 – that stuff is brain washed into you.
I don’t remember the younger kid but the one similar to Kid 3’s age was so obnoxious that I took an instant dislike to him when I met him.  In an effort to ensure he has good self esteem, he has clearly been told over and over again, how wonderful he is.  And the fool kid actually believes it.

When the Squeeze dropped the kid over there, he gave him a $50 note in case they went anywhere.  He didn’t go anywhere but the note sure as hell didn’t come home.  It would appear the younger kid over in velvet land, decided he should have it.  And who cares if they are breeding obnoxious little thieves; as long as they all feel good about themselves.  Will be interesting to see if it comes back...

Yesterday, we went to a family christening with Kid 1, 2 and 3 which was a big family event.  The Squeeze and I, in an attempt to help the baby grow with an appreciation for good music and reading, purchased an old classic record, with the book ‘Treasure Island’ as a card.  We are nothing if not original...

I found it amusing when Kid 1 and 2 were saying how good our Easter dinner was that Kid 3 turned and accusatory glare on the Squeeze and said: “you had something without me!”   Got to admit, I was impressed when the Squeeze fired back “you were invited last weekend; in fact it was our weekend and you blew us off!”  That shut him down rather effectively.

All in all, we had a pleasant weekend but with all the comings and goings, not a spare moment to ourselves.  There has been no discussion, nor resolution regarding the “great cutlery wars” which makes things difficult.  I dislike leaving things up in the air and the reality of life is that I don’t intend to put up with some kid being a smart arse to me; nor do I like the idea of my partner allowing that.

The Harridan, finding it too difficult to rouse herself to get the kid to school on time for his school camp, has arranged for him to stay with us on Thursday and Monday night.  I in turn, have arranged for the Squeeze and the kid to stay at my daughter’s apartment.  That way, the totally disorganised can get ready in one location and us with precision organisation; can get ready for work at home.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Weirdo City

"...the kid wants to stay with you Saturday and Sunday…" This is the Harridan manipulation text received the other day.  If you read between the lines it probably means "I've got something on; I hate you, your a selfish pig that won't give me everything…. I wish you were dead - but you and BunHilda can babysit the kid."

You don't have to read between the lines to hear my "Sorry.  I'm washing my hair… or maybe rearranging my sock drawer."

In reality, getting up the Harridan's nose took second place to the fact that A: this is not 'our' weekend and B: the girl from my side is here while her life attempts to re-ravel and it will be a cold day in hell before I'll push her out the door early for the Harridan.

When he mentioned the "kid wants to stay this weekend…" I swear I could almost see his hair blow back in the wind that was my hasty - "No!  Sorry.  I have the girl here."

That was the short of it.  The list of "you have got to be kidding's" were lengthy and even growing as I sit at the desk to blog.

Given that the hullabaloo of last weekend and my torture of the kid; my unrealistic, utterly astounding demands of asking him to use a knife and fork while eating still hadn't been sorted and I had already told the Squeeze without resolution, I wasn't prepared to up the ante on having the kid.  (Even as I wrote that, the Squeeze interrupted me to mention that the Harridan can't drag her arse out of bed to have the kid at school early for his school camp, which means we have to have him 2 nights the weekend after next…)

My main arguments and the ones he has had a go at me about are:  him packing clothes to bring, using basic table manners/hygiene, and his lack of consideration in time management.  He can live like a pig while with the Harridan, I don't care; but I do care about my side of the world.

Those problems could be easily rectified if the kid chose to, yet each one has been met with argument and sarcasm, which I quite frankly, don't intend to put up with.  Each time, the Squeeze took his side - even though both the Harridan and the kid's lack of consideration regarding time, drove him up the wall.  As did her "you can never win" rule with the step kid.

And that the kid knows he has taken is side each time, means the little brat is getting worse.  The argument and sarcasm over breakfast, followed by his obvious retarded attempt to fork bacon was in a word, childish bullshit and the Squeeze should have whacked him with the newspaper he was hiding behind.

When I spoke to him about the "the great bacon and egg torture", he implied that children didn't have to give respect unless earned.  Ummm, in my world, I earn it because he is in my home.  I cook, wash and clean up after him.  That is how I earn my respect and without it, things between us will never work.

Perhaps when he is drawing his relationship circles with the nut doctor next time, he can ask how this can be the kid's home; how can this possibly be a home when I get a comment such as "rather than argue with him about using and knife and fork, you should come and discuss it with me..."  Which I won't be doing.  If he is in and a part of my home, I'll treat him the same as I would mine.

I involve him in everything regarding my children.  He is involved, can have an opinion and inputs regularly - and it is most telling.  They see him as my partner and treat him accordingly.  He is on their facebooks, their phones and their gift list while shopping.

Please note:  the same can not be said for even one of his.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Are You For Real?

Days have gone by so I figured I would raise with the Squeeze the fact that he was wrong on Monday; and that I should and would continue to make a comment when the kid was in my environment. Ie. use a knife and fork. And that I didn't expect to get cheek back either.

He said "maybe you should talk to me about it first..."

WTF? I said "are you freaking kidding? So What you are saying is that I have to have the kid here but can't tell him to do anything..? Must instead run to ask you..?"

Squeeze: "perhaps I didn't think that through..."


Monday, April 16, 2012

Stop the world. I want to get off.

I've had a really crappy day. A girlfriend of mine flew off to Broome for a holiday with her husband - who just happened to be my old mentor. He had a massive heart attack on the plane and the flight was diverted to Adelaide. He died. She is there, awaiting formalities before she can come home.

My mother called me to tell me that my dad has chronic myeloid leukaemia; which I can't even pronounce although I can at least Google it, which means I can offer all kinds of inaccurate advice. Upside is the spider bite on his leg has receded somewhat…

And the Squeeze sent me a long email telling me how he just couldn't take the torture I was inflicting on his poor little teenager; or something like that. It was so long that I wanted to reply to say "you are a fool. the end."

The world is a harsh place. My dad has leukaemia. My friend and mentor is dead. My girlfriend is desolate. And the kid's life is ruined because I asked him not to eat bacon and eggs with his fingers.

I should be flayed. Really.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Auto Wash Selected

The perfect background music.

As anticipated, the weekend of "on the fly wheel of fortune" was not a highlight in my life.  I struggle.  It's hard work.  I keep my mouth shut as long as humanly possible but the kid needs guidance and he obviously isn't getting it at home.  Actually, what he probably needs is a good slap on the arse and not repeatedly told by mummy that he is the king of the world.

Some of my angst is centred around just plain old fashioned manners; some is around the fact that I'll be cleaning for hours as soon as he is out the door and I've taken ten minutes to breath a sigh of utter relief (or a grateful shout for joy!)

If you think this is harsh, then perhaps you should picture a casual Friday night at my place; watching a movie in front of the television.  We have cooked a thai curry and flatbread.  Usually, I'd ensure I set the table seeing that rich red tinged coconut milk being splattered across my white sofa.  This time, I just sucked it up and let those bowls and plates with flat bread, sail out to the lounge room.  They snaked past me, I could almost see those wedges of flat bread grinning as they got a rare night off the cleanliness leash.

No food leaves my kitchen without a knife, fork and serviette.  In the kid's case, I generally give 2 or 3 serviettes.  At the conclusion of the meal, his serviette, knife and fork are left on the table - unused. 

I guess you are wondering, as did I, how the hell you can eat without cutlery.  

Trust me, I don't  believe it is easier; in fact given the heat factor, it must be like juggling.  But I've seen it previously with the kid and even put in the odd waspish "can you please use a knife or fork..?" generally because we were with someone else and I've gauged the 'raised eyebrow' in his general direction.  And he can even eat bacon and eggs - with his fingers.  

Watching someone eat like a neanderthal doesn't help my digestive system (I have a low "heave" or "gag" switch, so low that the guys at work can actually talk me into dry reaching - which they think is hilarious) for myself, this is more about those hands, caked in bacon grease, that will leave the table, open the stainless steel fridge (and not by the freaking handle) and hang on to every single freaking white wall on the way to anywhere.

Last night, I sat through an entire Thai curry meal eaten as if we still existed in caves; sans knife and fork.  Instead, he used the flatbread as some form of scooper - Ingenious, if we hadn't already invented the wheel and say… The spoon.  I watched in fascination as he balanced liquid, chicken, vegetables and rice on the edge of a triangle of flatbread, before shoving the whole lot into his face - in one hit - (which weirdly, I felt relief over given that it avoided spillage…)  

Then we are off to the Laundromat…  Food is chewed in a cavernous, open mouthed fashion; it is like watching a clothes dryer of colours whizzing around and around; only the sound effects are different with a strange kind of mixture of slurp, slaggy chew, slurp/gurgle sound. 

And I didn't breath a word; but did encourage the Squeeze to push for the first shower in three days - more as a pity on my walls and furniture than on his hygiene levels which quite frankly, are a lost cause; there is a good 2 ounces of dirt that could be scrapped out from under the nails of those fingers he is eating with. Arrrgghhhh!

This morning, we cooked breakfast and took it out into the courtyard.  The sun is shining and it is a beautiful Melbourne day.  As the troglodyte style of eating began, I asked (quite pleasantly) for him to use a knife and fork.  This received a deadpan (he has an exceptionally flat, dead stare which is disquieting…  where I am wondering if he is wondering what it would be like to pick up my lovely Scanpan cooks knife and plunge it repeatedly into my chest) look and then he went back to his plate, wrapping bacon around his fork with his fingers before he said "you get covered in grease anyhow."

Me:  "Do you use a knife and fork at home?"  Kid: "yes"  

Me:  "well I'm certain you know how to use them then.  It's about manners and being out in the real world.  No one wants to sit and watch someone eating with their fingers…"

Kid:  "are you finished" [insert flat, dead, I want to plunge a knife eyes in here…]

Me:  'Don't be smart."  Kid:  "okay"  And then he proceeded to saw a piece of bacon into about fifteen pieces and I concentrated on the paper rather than bothering to argue with the fool.

And where was the Squeeze in all this..?  Ignore!!!  

Hell.  I could almost see his little rat eyes, his fricking brain muttering "keep head in paper.  DO NOT LOOK UP!  If I do, I'll have to address it!!!  Ignore!  It's not there!  
Hostility is not here!  Damned coward.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Risky Business

Every so often, I stumble upon an absolutely perfect piece of background music...  
We seem to spend our whole lives searching for ‘the one’.  That perfect person who may or may not be perfect, but are perfect for us.   A soul mate, or hell, maybe just someone to banish that crushing loneliness that has us signing up for ridiculous dating websites. 
Everyone is searching for a Squeeze – and I have found my very own ‘one’; and I honestly haven’t had a lonely minute since.
I guess you are wondering then, what my problem is...
Well; last weekend there seemed to be a cast of thousands that went all the way through to Tuesday.  I didn’t have a moment’s peace during those days and I had quite a lot of cleaning after.  The cleaning is never pleasant; not when you have a houseful of boy/men. 
For some reason that I am obviously incapable of fathoming, they either whip their ‘wang’ out before they actually get to the toilet bowl, or they are so eager to be gone that they don’t stand in the position for the whole performance.
And not a single one of them will look down and think “oh hell!  Look at that!  I pee’d on the floor; I’d better mop that up...”  So groggy with sleep, I stumble out in the middle of the night, only to step in a puddle of urine or worse; drag my pj’s through it.  Charming.
After a weekend like that, you would think I’d get a well deserved break; but no such luck.  Instead, the Harridan and Squeeze played a game of ‘let’s spin the “on the fly wheel of fortune”’ and it landed on a ‘Kid 3 weekend’.  Great.  Stupendous.  Thrilled.  As you can imagine, the only loser in this game is me, and I’m not even playing.
What this loosely translates to is not only will I have pee on the floor, but I will face a non flushed toilet; there will be nonstop television and a constant reminder of not taking food or drink into the bedroom (which is ignored given the drip marks I had to scrub from the carpet last week.)  If asked to do anything other than eat or watch television, it will be met with belligerent teenage refusal which in turn, will have my stress levels sky rocket.  He will arrive for a weekend stay with no socks or jocks and no jumper so proceed to take the Squeeze’s.
We will be standing around, waiting for at least half an hour – every single time we want to go somewhere.  This weekend, I have decided I will leave without him if given warning to be ready is ignored.  Maybe then he will get the idea.
Yesterday, the Squeeze sends me an email at work to say that he was going off to a comedy show with Kid 2 and 3 and did I want to go as well.  I thought about this for all of 1.7 seconds prior to replying “go bond, run free” and set about planning on having a night at home...  On my own...  Not a drop of pee on the floor.
As he left the house, I’m sure he could hear my cry of woohoo, before I started singing the old Bob Seger hit.  I had a night in, revelling in my total isolation.  It was a thing of beauty.  I put on a face mask; a hair treatment and fluffy pj’s before pouring a glass of red and sitting down to watch Smash.
I was lonely when single..?  Just when the hell was that!!!

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Our Own Little Kingdom

Just because this is kind of groovy "Background Music” for a blog entry about getting a house.

My organisational skills are legendary.  Everything is done by spreadsheet and/or project management plan; how can you exist without organisation..?  How can you not manage time efficiently!  How can you do that and live..?

This has been, and continues to be a huge gulf between the Squeeze and I as he and his children live life ‘on the fly’.  Even the term ‘on the fly’ is enough to have me break out in a cold sweat.  It is an ugly term.  I hate flies.

This weekend we are going to an open for inspection and the weekend after, the house we are looking at is up for auction.  It’s at the end of the street from where we currently live, is a little bit bigger and when I look at it, I see what “could be”, as opposed to the slump of time.

Even knowing that I will be responsible for the “could be” isn’t phasing me.  Let’s face it, the Squeeze is a “Gerry built” kind of guy with an inability to see a “could be” and I can envisage with style!  This isn’t even taking into account the fact that he wouldn’t know the arse end of a drill and thinks nothing of dragging out my tools and leaving them wherever.  I’m a "take that screwdriver out of that slot, and it sure as hell better go back in that exact slot!!!!" kind of girl.

Of course it is unlikely that we’d get to bid on the house, given that I didn’t grab ex husband super and he handed money to the Harridan, hand over fist.  Not to mention the fact that I am investing in my “inheritance”; so already paying off a house.  Still, it’s nice to dream about it...

I’ve already told the Squeeze that if we were lucky enough to prevail on auction day; we would have to address our spending issues and he would have to adopt a “tight fisted” lifestyle with the kids (who thanks to the Harridan, actually believe that he is a squillionaire... who could light cigars with $100 bills [if he smoked]) And those kids are basically financial vampires that rule his world (and garlic does nothing to this lot… I haven’t tried the stake yet, but am considering it.)

A house; sigh...  Now that would change our world. 

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Self-Centred Brats

Don’t think I didn’t look for a ‘background music’ gig for the title of this blog; I did.  I just came up empty handed!

I never realised what an absolutely perfect ex-wife I am; it’s good to be perfect at something!   
Some could say that is because I’ve been an ex-wife so many times and that may have helped; but I don’t think it’s just about that. 

So what is it..?  I'm a rather rational human being who realises that when you break up, both parties want and need to move on.  I was fair in asset splits and I walked away, let it go.  I didn’t feel as though I had to make their life a living hell.  Frankly, I’m more the “you are dead to me” type; so unless I have to contact them, they don’t hear a peep out of me.

I spent my 46th birthday on a farm with ex-husband number 1.

He didn’t think I was a harridan; we were just too young and too stupid to make a marriage work.  Husband number 2 would tell a different story although he did run off to the Gold Coast with his girlfriend when I was about five months pregnant with my daughter.  This puts him in the “scum of the earth” category as far as I’m concerned, so what he thinks doesn’t really count.  But hey, I didn't kill him - that makes me reasonable in my books!  (I don’t think wishing him dead counts...)

Husband 3 and I did our own settlement and divorce.  Hell, we went to the courthouse for the divorce and then went out for lunch.  Very civilised; but we had decided a long time ago that our son was more important than anything else.  Having said that, he has become downright distant since he married a “younger wife”... Yeah yeah, get over yourself.  She’s a control freak and since getting his vasectomy reversed and then moving to litter the planet with test tube babies, has discovered that “younger wife” doesn’t necessarily mean “one that puts out”.

So all in all, I consider I’m a pretty easy going kind of gal.  They all got to keep their super policies, although now that I basically have to die as a retirement plan, I can see may have been overly generous.  Still, it isn’t hard to be civil to someone.  And it is healthy for the kids to have that; important to encourage them not to take sides and to consider both parents in gift giving or the simple phone call at Christmas or birthday.  Firstly, it’s basic manners where I come from.

Yet there are those, like the Squeeze who get stuck with utter harridans for ex’s; and there is no shaking them off.  Especially if there are kid’s in the picture they can use to bludgeon their ex with.

I have two brothers.  Both divorced.  One actually did ok; he kept the relationship as ‘reasonable’, which basically means they don’t do “hallway” sex anymore [mutter “get f*cked as you pass each other in the hall].  

What you ask, is reasonable..?  Reasonable in my book is polite with an ability to attend the functions that you must attend or have a discussion when there is a kid issue.  It doesn’t require friendship; you don’t want them hanging around or calling in for coffee; that is just downright creepy.  You want... I’d rather not see you, but if forced to, let’s be polite.   Brother two of mine did not do as well as brother one.  His ex-wife, affectionately known to the family as the “fat, brown toothed, slut” is just plain evil.

Now I am stuck with the squeeze's ex-wife.  And trust me; she is one can short of a six pack; a sandwich short of a picnic; a screw loose; downright ridiculous.  And with each of those totally accurate descriptions comes the fact that she is a vegetarian, velvet wearing, tree hugging weirdo who considers penicillin is ‘evil’. 

She has manipulated these kids to do as she says; lie and hide things from their father (for example, moving house... WTF?  Like he wasn’t going to work that out since he has to do the 3 hour round trip to velvet land for kid pickup and drop off every single time!)

She has taught them to be selfish and self serving, but only where he is concerned – ie; this weekend Kid 3 headed down the coast with Mummy dearest.  His father didn’t rate a call or text Easter Sunday; nor could he be bothered answering any calls the Squeeze put in.  (And if that brat gets anything for Easter, I’ll totally wig out!)  Once again, the Squeeze received a gift from my children, from his own, he received nothing.

What I really hate about the Harridan, is that she fosters a ‘let’s treat your father like crap, because that bastard dared to move on with his life!!!!  Dared to be happy!  Why isn’t he dead?  Why aren’t I off spending whatever damned money he managed to clutch to his chest and escape with!!!  Why can’t I stick his head on a damned pike!”

And that kind of malice is scary.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Happiness. In a day…

Here is some background music for you while reading!  

Okay; I wasn't exactly singing in the rain with the thought of Easter Sunday festivities.  Often, when attempting to plan anything that involves a schedule and the Squeeze's kids; it goes to Hell in a hand basket.  And let's face it, far too much time has passed for these kids to learn the art of arriving on time.

They are often late, or cancel out at the last minute.  They are, in a word, a planning Nazi's worst nightmare.  I don't think they even know what the word 'spreadsheet' means...

And then it started about Sunday; mid afternoon.  Kid 1 called stranded some place in the middle of nowhere with a dead car.  I always find it amusing that they would pause to call the Squeeze to ask him about anything mechanical; as I have said many times previously, I am the man in this relationship…  Listening to these two discussing possible clutch issues was a case of the blind leading the blind.

Still, while listening in, I advised that driving it probably wasn't the best idea and the Squeeze came in with calling the RACV to get it sorted.  One kid in all likelihood, down.

Then there was the fact that he had been picking up Kid 2 and his gal from the other side of town.  Alarm bells were ringing.  They don't come over to see us much; if invited, they demand a 1.5 hour round trip to pick them up and I suddenly saw myself doing dinner on my own while the Squeeze zoomed around picking up and dropping up.

Luckily, I'd done quite a bit of preparation the day previously so I shoo'd him off and went to work, wondering what the hell I was going to do with all the food if they didn't turn up.  I tend to cook for 20 when aiming for ten at the best of times…  Testimony to that is our expanding girths that no amount of boxing can alleviate.

Still, when dinner time rolled around we had all parties accounted for and sitting at the table for what was a very enjoyable Easter dinner.  There was plenty of food and wine; lots of laughter and lively debate.  There was home made ice cream (which could have been firmer…) and by the time the Girl on my side + friend left, we were yawning and it was nearly midnight.

In the morning the Squeeze cooked breakfast on the bbq and we hung around in our pi's (and his oldest in his undies… which is a tad weird but hey, glad he felt comfortable :-) bonding with televisions depicting different styles (us girls in the lounge with Vampire Diaries [Damon certainly gets me making a weird little growl in the back of my throat… but that smile!]  And the boys in the spare room watching weirdo wrestling.

Then is was off to the football where his children and one girlfriend got a first hand exhibition of true Cats supporters as the Girl and I screamed and cheered and jumped up and down like lunatics.

That night, when I got into bed, I felt decidedly happy with my life.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Easter Brady Bunch

Today is Easter Sunday and the Squeeze and I are doing an Easter dinner.

Kid 3 on his side is out due to him being down the coast with the Harridan and her people.  Kid 1 on my side is up in Mackay so he and his girl are out.  Kid 3 on my side isn't up until tomorrow with his girl.

So we get to sit down to our roast with Kid 1 + Kid 2 and his gal on his side; and the girl + friend on my side.  This is blended families at it's best!
Assuming there are no rows and no one dies, it could be a good day and in fact, I'm looking forward to it.  Kids can be tough work but sitting down to dinner with a group that are all adults and can follow up with some pretty witty conversation, is good fun.

Thankfully, it's only 10.15am and due to the preparation I did yesterday, I figure I an go back to bed with a book for a little while.

Not 100% certain how my home made vanilla ice cream will turn out but the blueberry coulee tastes fantastic and the Squeeze is doing a leg of lamb out on the webber.  I have the lindt bunnies and tiny M&M eggs for the table so if nothing else, at least no one will starve.

Tomorrow, we are off to the football for a Geelong v Hawthorn game.  I mentioned to my daughter that the Squeeze's two kids are both Hawthorn supporters and she mentioned if we are getting whooped, that we would be leaving early… Oh she of little faith!

Nothing funny to write about as yet; of course I'm sure something will happen over dinner.   It always does!!  Maybe someone will mention the Broom Hilda comment...  Maybe it will be me!

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Liars and Loyalty

The perfect background music.  
There have been odd moments throughout the last couple of years when the Squeeze has implied that he is 'caught in the middle' of an argument.   This is never more apparent than when he opens the door after a visit to the nut doctor.  Then; over the course of a couple of days, I get a discussion that encompasses a napkin sketched issue in his life.  Thick black lines.  I can see when stress is paramount; as the line darkens and thickens.  It is psychoanalysing by crayon.

Mostly, I struggle with the line art.  Mainly because it is coloured in the Squeeze's somewhat philosophical tones; is is a fiction writer after all.  Although I recognise that these are his sessions and he can therefore add any flavour he wishes, I'm not blind to the fact that I usually come out in a negative light and it is difficult that I am not there to give what I consider a "factual" picture.

For example:  In planning for Easter dinner, I happened to ask the Squeeze if Kid 2 and his Gal were staying the night to which he looked at me rather blankly and said "isn't the girl staying..?"  My reply:  "not sure, but if she does there is a blow up bed!"  After all, if Kid 3 on my side comes to stay with his gal, his kid get's the blow up bed.  As far as I can tell, there are several 'pecking' orders.  1.  First in;  2.  Multiples - if they are bringing a partner;  3.  Age.

And the Squeeze turned to me and said "I didn't ask them as I figured you'd shout about it."  WTF?  Aside from the fact that I am scrupulously fair, if his kid has to abandon the spare room for my kid with girlfriend, then it goes without saying that this would happen in reverse, and the girl would lose the spare room to his kid and gal.  More than the reality of those facts, was how unjust those words were.

So I poured another glass of red and settled back to mull those words; understanding that this is what the nut doctor hears and this, from my perspective, is an outright lie.  Hell, he must figure I'm the Harridan!!!!!  Any negativity centred around kids staying has never been in regards to Kid 1 or 2; but always on Kid 3 where the Harridan stuffs us around, swapping weekends willy nilly with no consideration for anyone.

Still, back to the nut doctor and the life drawings.  Never, am I the central figure in these stick figure Picassos.  I begin to see that I never will be.  I am always in a line; a group.  With Squeeze; with kid; with Harridan.  It would appear that I will never have my own place in this world of Etch-a-Sketch.  I am habitually relegated to the antagonistic third wheel position.

In the early part of our relationship, I would attempt to discuss my thoughts (which sounds calm however usually consisted of yelling) that I would never figure on the "Squeeze" totem pole.  His positions of "importance'.  I'm beginning to see that this hasn't changed much with time. /span>

Somewhat stupefied, I'm at a loss to understand the art; I always have been.  For me, there is no "middle".  There is he and I; and there is the Harridan; there are kids.  His and mine. End of story.  Then again, my brain has always worked back to front, or at least not how the rest of the world works.  The totem pole analogy works well. My children; my family are integral part of my world and life; my totem pole.  But they are not the only part. 

In my naivety; I had hoped that the Squeeze seeing a counsellor would help him understand that the Harridan no longer held the reins in her hand; or if she did, he didn't have to allow it.  The whip could be tossed aside and for the first time, he could begin to live.  And if you have travelled this road with me, via my blog; you will understand just how damned hard that education has been.  He went from being tied to the stake in the pryer; to clinging to it and helpfully tossing her the matches.  Prising his fingers from the wood has been a thankless task that continues.

On occasion I have had suspicion that the Harridan was arguing just a ferociously from her side of the fence about me; putting him 'in the middle'.  I asked because in my world, his loyalty should now be centred around us but that has turned out to be another exercise in 'Relationship 101'.  Each time I received a negative; she made no reference to me at all.  Still, it usually struck a chord of untrue.   In typical Squeeze fashion, he evades; without skill.  He ducks and weaves.  He is an incompetent liar. 

After Bun Hilda was raised, he made an offhand comment that indicated that he had known that this was how I was portrayed by her.  I let this mull in my mind for a few days and then asked outright.  In his haste to weasel out of trouble; doing his infamous 'rat eye syndrome', he mentioned that he has seen the terminology previously; probably on the kids phone.  Or her phone.  Or written in the stars or the tea leaves!  Do I really look that stupid?  He drops the kid off and she won't even let him in the house; so it was a given that he didn't see it on her phone.  

Which means that she has entered my phone number into the kid's phone as "bun hilda"…  Could mean Broomhilda the witch, or could be Brunhilda, a Visigothic princess.

Okay...  So I can be a fat, green cartoon character witch with a wart on my nose; or I can be a Visigothic ice princess (Google image search left)
Yes please!  I'll take that!!!

What happened to Picasso..?

And just let me say that today's background music is in a word... Groovy. 

Last night, I had an epiphany...

In truth, this would be a relatively strange occurrence for me.  Let's face it; I know myself inside out; so what the hell is there left to have an epiphanic orgasm about?  And how could a moment of revelation…  A tiny, new insight; change my world?

Well, such is the life of someone with a peculiar brain like mine; but as per usual, there is an audit trail to my idiocy.

Several weeks ago, my sleek, ruby hued laptop died and was taken back to the store for repair; I have been working on a borrowed Mac Book Air.  Okay, the Mac is kind of hip, but I prefer mine.  How could I ever conceive of switching sides?  Every program I could ever want, I possess in the Windows platform; but that is beside the point.

The Squeeze had been using the Mac Book Air given that he is a Mac guy and I took possession of his relatively slow Toshiba and we settled into a routine of using a system that doesn't belong; that has idiosyncrasies that are only discovered, overcome and enjoyed - by the owner.

After three weeks and several bouts of touching base with the store; I had received no update on my laptop and a niggling feeling of ‘wrongness’ started in the pit of my stomach.  I decided to email the store and mention that the weekly calls put in had all received a "we will chase and call you" reply to no avail.  This, I gathered, meant that they had lost Ruby; I’m sure they could picture my bottom lip quivering as they read it.  My pathetic little email, wrapped in sorrow, encouraged the manager to call me and confess that although three weeks and three phone calls had passed, they had in fact, forgotten about my laptop and it remained sitting in the store, untouched.  

I'm not the type to do a gasket or be rude in the first instance.  I can be, don’t you worry...  But stuff happens and me ranting about it wasn’t going to change anything.  In the face of my “niceness”, the manager within the first sentence asked "your name is familiar..?"  Sadly for him, I couldn't say "that is because I'm a world famous writer.. or model..  Or rock and roll icon".  Instead, I mentioned that the last time my laptop went for repair; I had a slap down argument with their "service" company - who were rude, and incompetent.

He remembered me instantly with a groan and quite probably a cringe.  Niceness has its own rewards it would seem; I received a $100 gift card for my trouble.  But I digress…

Last night we were working and so happened to be positioned in different rooms.  While sitting in Mac Book land, fingers tapping away, a weird little Mac thing blinked at me from the corner of the screen and I was notified that "drop box" was saving my files.

I clicked it and a pop up opened with a list of documents that had absolutely zero meaning to me which meant that the Squeeze had networked and here he was, sitting maybe fifteen feet away, saving files, in the cloud.  I know... I know; curiosity and all that.  But I'm not a cat and judging by the titles, they were stories, so I opened a file that had been opened that day; albeit with slight apprehension.  It's not unlike eavesdroppers.  You can open something and there is nothing in there that you wanted to read; in fact, there is a world of pain in there…

As it turned out, the short story had absolutely nothing to do with me; and yet in some ways, it had everything to do with me.

I do not often read what the Squeeze writes; blogs aside.  In some ways it is if reading it would require absorption on my part.  This in turn, for me at least, would demand some form of critiquing; even if you avoid it to keep your relationship intact, it inevitably rears its ugly head.  And why wouldn't it?  A story that he would write would always be written differently were I to write it; and vice versa.  Neither way is right; neither is wrong.  It is because we are each different and see the world differently.

At times upon reading his work, it has left me feeling empty... Hollow.  I have no real understanding of why other than it is as though my dreams slip away as I read his words; so beautifully does he write.  

Last night I realised that the unease I feel, is because I am incapable of understanding an essence within his writing.  Not his words, for they are easily deciphered; but the sentimentalism that is wrapped within those words which is at odds to the real Squeeze.  They are like two different languages, woven with a similar ineptitude of punctuation.

The separation between the Squeeze and this person who writes of heartache and love so mournfully, is beyond my comprehension.  How could it not be?  This man that writes bitter words that bleed with emotion is not the somewhat empty man that lies beside me each night.

In his words, he is Picasso.  In reality, he is a beige canvass.

My mind drifts into “Rubik’s Cube” mode and I wonder if the empty man that is now my partner, is all that was left of him.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Domesticity – It wasn’t on the agenda

I know that some people positively crave a perfect domesticated life. They want the white picket fence; the kids offering thought-provoking conversation over dinner and witty repertoire while doing the dishes. A cat named Winslow, purring as it weaves in and out of legs. A spotty dog with a waggily tail prancing in the back yard and barking excitedly every time you go near the back door. Having their relationships move into “friendship” is high on the requirements list.

Yeah. Well not me.  And now for the background music:  Jack's Mannequin - I'm Ready.

I have never figured I fit into the normal populace; and that’s okay. I liked the fact that I was considered a little bit mad, not psychotic. To my mind, the Squeeze isn’t exactly ‘round peg’ either, which is just fine.  Personally, I've always found Round Peg = Damned Boring.

So what is wrong with domesticity?  Firstly, I hate white picket fences; they are just nancy-ish. I’m more a rustic French Provencale kind of girl. I don’t like cutesy or girly or frilly. My kitchen is about earthenware and copper and thick knotted wood.

I have found with my children and then also with the Squeezes, that kids these days have to be dragged to the table to eat; kicking and screaming. The only conversation you get is disguised within the whining because you just flicked off the television.

They are not witty, except in back chat. They would prefer to whack me in the head with one of the many meat cleavers positioned about the kitchen, than do the dishes.  And to top off this perfect "Brady Bunch" moment, Mrs. Brady sure as hell isn't dead - although after calling me Bun Hilda on the weekend, she's working closer it!

I dislike cats and sure as hell wouldn’t have an animal in the house. If it weaved in and out of my legs, it would only be purring until I gave it a swift kick and shoo’d it out of the back door. The barking dog I’d be hunting for a throat buzzing collar (needless to say that I don’t have any pets).  I'm not cruel; I just don't have them.

As for the relationship moving into the comfortable state of friendship... what the hell would I want that for? That is where it started! I have plenty of friends for friendship! Yes, yes, you have to actually like the person you are living with – but slink from romance into friendship at your own damned peril!

Hope you are reading this, Squeeze.

Sunday, April 1, 2012


This is 'BunHIlda'.  Got to love the wart...

When the Squeeze didn't hang around to clean Kid 2's house yesterday, suffice to say she was livid.  Kid 2 and the Gal were  leaving the current hovel they have been existing in, to move to new shared environment.  It was always going to be ugly due to the fact that it is even worse than "clean freak hell" was.

We were in Carlton having coffee and cake when he received a text message... "U R a fiken blah blah" and: "what... is Bunhildas kids moving??"

After we stopped laughing, we spent a good half an hour trying to work out who the hell Bun Hilda was.  I finally figured what she probably meant was "Broomhilda", the comic book witch.

Funny really because I see the emails/texts she sends to the Squeeze; the lists of demands and orders and insults.  I call her the Harridan because I see and hear first hand how spiteful she is.  She gets nothing from me; other than an end to her ability to rape and pillage any and everything the Squeeze owned.  And I suppose that his time is a little more limited; after all, she no longer counts in the scheme of things...  And we deal with six kids, and she doesn't see any other than her little darlings.  

Then I built her hopes up; thinking that she could think along "double income" lines; only to shoot that star down before it even made a glimmer in the sky.  Yet I am the witch.  Well I did come along and ruin her gravy train I guess.  What a damned cheek.

This time, I decided to sit and reply to her abusive text; which I have not done previously.  I merely thanked her for her concern; and pointed out that my children were not actually moving anywhere at the moment and for her future reference, I believe it is spelled "Broom-Hilda".  
Strangely enough, she didn't reply...

We were happy to help the kid move, even though we didn't get asked to or even told about it except by Kid 3 on Friday.  But there wasn't a hope in hell I was staying to knuckle down and clean.  Sorry, but you create a filthy slum - you deal with it.  This woman doesn't seem to understand that kids actually need to learn a lesson in life.  And when push comes to shove, not one of them could be found when the Squeeze was moving; not even to move their own damned stuff.  I work in IT; you seriously need to 'manage user expectations'; and there has been none of that happening in Harridan Land.  This became more than obvious during coffee today when Kid 2 mentioned that we could get him a "Webber BBQ" for a house warming gift.  Ummm yeah.  The Squeeze hasn't had a birthday or Christmas present, so they won't even be getting a candle.

Not only did I not care if he discovered a glimmer of "stress" re moving, due to the stress they inflicted on the Squeeze; but we were both positive "mummy dearest" would stay to do everything that was required - because she can't let the little darlings actually find their own feet.  Hell, if they learn to stand on their own two feet she would be superfluous; and she couldn't have that.  Personally, I have thought she was that for a long time.

What irked me the most is that this moron can't even punctuate and spell correctly when sending an insult!   How stupid can you be?

Yesterday, all I could think about was her saying to the Squeeze a couple of years ago "I am happy you are happy!"  -  which really meant that she wished he was dead.  Snap.  That hasn't changed lol

:-)  Love,
Bun Hilda!