Wednesday, November 20, 2013


Last night when we got home from boxing, the Kid squeaked down the stairs and paraded his new “suit” purchased for the year ten formal.  Kid 2 had taken him on a shopping expedition and between them; they had found a very swish cobalt blue suit with a sky blue shirt and tie.

Although we don’t hear much in my blog about Kid 2 anymore; the pages are full of absolute gems from the early days as he provided me with some hilarious idiot kid fodder.  My personal favourite was when I walked in to Clean Freak Hell one evening only to be witness to him royally stuffing up his hair with a pair of clippers.  Holding it the wrong way around, he had managed to shave huge hunks out of the back of his head.  The downside to the hilarity was the mess I had to clean up after, but somehow, it was worth it.  I still giggle about it on occasion!

So Kid 2 takes the Peniwhacker off shopping on Friday night.  It would appear Kid 2 and his girlfriend are the resident Peni baby sitters on Friday nights.  God knows why his actual ‘mother’ [note my sarcasm around the whole “everything I do… I do for Peniwhacker!”  sigh.. hand on brow; you God damned martyr vibe]  So his “mother” can’t have him more than two days in a week and Kid 2 is the Friday night sucker.

But let’s get back to the story…  Kid 2 parades his suit for the Squeeze, trying to take the stance of a David Jones model when I heard the Squeeze say “is that too tight..?”  I turn and cast a critical eye over Mr D.J. only to see he actually does look like a chipolata, squeezed in there.  It’s pulling across the back of the shoulders and the Squeeze attempts to slip his fingers into the waist band with no joy.  The kid whines out a statement about how he has been playing cricket in the sun which is why it’s tight.  Sure!  That must be why my clothes don’t fit…  Too much sport and sun!  The girl and I look at each other across the room and grin.

Okay, so the suit is too small.  It happens.  Hell, I even get a brief flick back to being sixteen and lying on the bed doing my Staggers jeans up with a coat hanger because they were so tight… 

But as the kid starts to argue re the size, he moves further into the light where upon the Squeeze says “hey!  The pants are a different colour to the jacket!”  and Peniwhacker says “They didn’t have matching pants in my size!”  The Squeeze mutters something about “suit” meaning they match before they start discussing a return process.

It wasn’t quite “throw a pair of floppy shoes in with that you clown!” but it was getting there!

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Living for the Moment

I wonder how long I've been burying my head in the sand.  Definitely, for a while.  Tonight, when I made mention of the future; the Squeeze said for about the millionth time; "I'm not interested in the future.  I'm just living for the now!"

My daughter left the room at that stage.  I'm tipping that was because she understood what was swirling underneath those words and felt uncomfortable for me.

And I don't feel uncomfortable.  I feel stupid.   Stupid that I ignored my "gut" and wasted years on someone that would have appeared to have "settled".  I mean let's face it.  He had a marriage.  A house.  A family.  He appeared to have cared about a "future" once!

Settled...  What the hell is that about?  Because in the scheme of things, I don't feel like I'm "settling" material...   I'm a fair bit younger than him.  Fit.  Smart.  Certainly not ugly...  Hell.  Maybe I'm the one that is delusional.  And I hate that some balless tosser has made me question that!

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Ghosts and Liars

Last night, the Squeeze and I went to a gig in Oakleigh at the Caravan Club; an absolutely fantastic place to go if you love live music and live in Melbourne.  We went with two other couples, long-time friends of the Squeeze…  Ones I really like I might add so I was looking forward to it as conversation is lively and the night is always fun.

Still, it is hard to feel the same when you know in your heart that things are different.  I dressed up, yet when I walked to the door upon leaving, I made a mental note that the Squeeze no longer tells me that I look good when I have gone to the trouble to do so.  Nor does he touch me; in any way.  He does not take my arm or hand moving down stairs or going to the car.  He does not walk beside me; he walks in front of me.

When you acknowledge that this is the case, it becomes screamingly obvious as the night progresses.  Each lack of touch or caring is louder than the last.

Throughout the evening, when he asks if he has been 'tagged'; I laugh and say "Funny.  You haven't even realised that I deleted you from Facebook.  That was over a week ago..."

By the end of the evening, I realised that we have turned a full circle and once again, we are no more than mates; nothing more; nothing less than house sharing mates.  Actually, when I really think about it, perhaps it is less.  After all, I think I like him less now than I did when we were friends.

We didn’t argue.  We enjoyed dinner and witty conversation.  We appreciated good smuggled wine and fantastic music.   We made it home in tact without one argument or cross word.  I used You Tube to blast out oldies, but goodies on the drive home.

When we got in the door, the conversation turned to the Harridan and the Peniwhacker, as it inevitably does.  It skipped down the same old and tiring path really.  I should ignore her as he does… (Ummm yeah, that’s really working).  I don’t make the toad welcome in my house; to which I replied quite truthfully – “possibly because I don’t want him in my house!” 

All roads lead to me.  Hell, I am obviously the cause of world hunger and the lack of world peace too.  What a mean and thoughtless bitch I am.

The argument didn’t last long.  It is pointless.  I raised (once again) that every promise he uttered in order for me to leave my home, he has reneged on.  For example, what happened to shutting the Harridan down..?  And he attempts to wiggle the remote and look at the floor to do anything but discuss it.  So I asked outright, “given that you delete all records so there is no point in my checking any more, how many times have you just had to communicate this week?  I mean considering that you promised to shut her down…?”

In answer, he looked me in the eye and said with a rather superior tone “only once!  So there goes your argument!”

I ceased speaking after that.  It’s pointless.  He will never admit that he is wrong; weak.  He won’t acknowledge that the Harridan has no right to call, text, email insults and demands.  No right to tell him he is a crap father and scoff that my home is not my business… that I have no rights in my own home…   He won’t see that the kid needs a wooden spoon around his backside, before it’s too late.  So why bother?  Why bother to get myself worked up and upset?  There is no winning here.

So instead I shut down, finished my red wine and went to bed.  Somehow, I sensed that he understood my capitulation; my utter surrender.  I just don’t think he understood what it meant.

I became a dead, lifeless thing – and he knew it.  He tried to hold me close when he came to bed and then again in the morning, sensing me leaving already.  But I am a cold, dead and lifeless thing; at least on the inside.  I do not crave or need his touch anymore.   It is pointless.  It is a lie.  He is a lie.

Today, when he went off to pick up pizza (I now have his cold and am going back to bed and feel [and look] like a hag) I picked up his phone that was on charge and spent all of two seconds flicking through it.

One communique this week he said to me last night…  Strange, yesterday she called him once and he called her three times.  Text messages were removed.  I didn’t check email.  I didn’t go back through call logs to see what the other days of the week involved. There was no need to go further than that.  I didn’t need to.

He is a liar. If I bothered to call him on it, it would be that he 'forgot' about that or she wasn't there; any excuse that can't be checked. 

Friday, November 8, 2013

Dumping a Hunchback

I really like the name of my blog, even if it doesn’t quite fit anymore.  I’ve basically got a book worth of outpourings - of the heart, temper and grief; so I’m not going to just start over.  Besides; it’s like life when you think about it.  An evolution!  So instead of dumping and starting again, I’ve amended the header a bit…  Personally, I think it looks kind of groovy.

Firstly; am I dumping him? 

Not certain really.  I have doubts that it can work in any way shape or form when I am wrong all the time.  When every issue or problem becomes about me, instead of about where it really originates from.  Being wrong all the time is getting old.  Coming last all the time makes me tired.

I think I've finally worked out that no matter what, the Squeeze will never see the the kid for what he is; nor the Harridan.  It's too much work; too hard to admit the truth of what they are.  They are both poison, the boy as much as the mother.  I can hope that he grows out of it but while his behaviour runs unchecked, I doubt that will happen.  Having said that, I can't wait until he get's his first beating down out in the real world - and he will.

Let's face it; I don’t want to share a table with him, let alone a life.

I don’t think we will get out of the lease and even though part of me actually hates the Squeeze for his weakness, I won’t leave him holding the bag on an over expensive house – which means sucking it up until April and the end of the lease.

Seriously not sure if I can do that… 

If I move out soon, we may have some chance to go back to dating.  If we don’t move until April; I won’t want to ever see him again I suspect.  I’m fifty one years old.  I want a life.  A house.  Something.  I’m not prepared to go back to where we were for years while he panders to his horrible kid and ex-wife.  Nor am I prepared to work my guts out to get a place and then just move him in to share that work when they have sucked him dry.

The relationship as it exists now is certainly not working and he doesn’t understand why this is so.  Why I can’t just bend over and take it like a man; like he does.  And I find his weakness an ugly trait.  A trait that doesn’t seem to have improved in the four years we have been together… Hell, it's all documented in these pages.  So frankly, I suspect we’ll go our separate ways.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Worst. Teacher. Ever.

He he, I have always wondered at the God’s twisted sense of humour at allowing a crone such as the Harridan to be a teacher.  Discounting the obvious in that she is borderline illiterate (ug wot u do. getit. pay muny); she has absolutely no sense of reality.

This person is totally delusional to the point where she is living in a self-made bubble.  In that bubble of madness, which I might add she has dragged her children into, no one else has rights.  No one outside that bubble counts.  It’s all about “me, me, me”.   No one loses.   No one is ugly or stupid.   Everyone is perfect and exceptional and just gloriously talented.   Yes; there are obviously no mirrors in the Harridan bubble…

My sister is a new teacher and in checking reviews of the school she has been temping in, I couldn’t stop myself from seeing if anyone had actually reviewed the Harridan.

In actual fact, there were five reviews, one was glowing (obviously from the kid when he went to that school) and one basically non-committal with a comment of ‘ok’ – so I only cut and pasted my favourite 3 (below). At least these kids know exactly what she is; manipulative and in it for what she can get out of it.

As for the Squeeze…  I gave him opportunity to let bygones be bygones and at least attempt civility until I can move however it fell on deaf ears.  Basically, he ignores me.  I get not one word until someone else enters the room.  Then he is like a chameleon.  I don’t do chameleon.  I don’t do ‘ignore’.  If you live with someone, without basic civility is becomes unbearable.

Even worse than dealing with the Squeeze, is putting up with the toad.  Usually when I walk in the door at night, he is sitting in my seat like a king, surrounded by remotes and laptops.  It has been to the point where I figure this is just another way to annoy me because when I walk in, I then have to say “I’m going to put the news on now…” otherwise, I have to put up with 8 year old after school television.  I mean there is a television and lounge upstairs.  Use it.

Last night when I walked in, it was blissful silence down stairs.  That manipulative yet cowardly toad sat in his room until he had to come down for food.  And I wasn’t leaving the kitchen, I stood right there as he lurched about with his arch less feet slapping on the floor.  When he did look at me, he looked through me as though I wasn’t there. 

My, what a lovely toad they are breeding.  Stay in my house, use all my things – and treat me like crap.  Just astounding really.

When I was in Oakleigh, it was my haven. 
Now, when I get to that house, all I want to do is leave.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

How easily it comes in the end...

I had several conversations with the Squeeze this weekend, but in the wash up, the whole issue is about me.  Wow.  There is a shock.

I sent the email to the witch telling her she was delusional.  It’s not about the witch saying that who lives in this house, uses my stuff, has nothing to do with me.  It’s not about the toad kid saying to me “you telling me to do something, is not a good enough reason for me to do it…”  It’s not even the fact that this vile person, purporting to be someone’s mother… would show him an email that basically said he was a toad that I didn't want in my house.  

As per usual, it's about me.  Seriously, you would think I would be used to it by now. 

How dare I defend myself - as he should have.  How dare I stick up for myself in the face of the toad king - as he should have. Nothing of course in any of these conversations about the fact that there is never any drama from my side; my ex's or my kids.

In fact at one point, he scoffed and said it's hardly the same thing. My youngest is 23. I pointed out that there was several communiques in last couple of weeks, including the scathing 'are you going to get kid 1 a father for his birthday...' Kid 1 is 29! But you guessed it; that's not the same thing. 

Every discussion ended the same way.  It is all about me.  If I didn’t read what she said, I wouldn’t get upset.

Great.  So in the end I decided that I don't need him or the drama that comes with the that horrible kid.  Nor the lesbian that still holds his testicles.  Seriously... I just don't need it.  I'm done.

All I can think of is that list of promises I received prior to giving up my home; going against my gut and moving so that we would have this horrible boy.

1.        No internet in the bedroom.  Didn’t happen.

2.       See a psychologist.  Didn’t happen.

3.        I intend to treat the kid as I would mine, since I’m raising him.  Meaning discipline.  Didn’t happen.

4.       I expect unfaltering support.  Didn’t happen.

5.       You have to shut that bitch down. I will not do 76 texts and emails a week.  Didn’t happen – in fact his idea of shutting her down is to delete her messages and the phone log.  Yeah.  Way to go moron.

6.       It has to be us against the world.  Didn’t happen.  Ha.  It is still them - against me.

I guess it all came to a head tonight when for the fourteenth time, I mentioned that he had to call the kid and tell him in no uncertain terms that if he thinks “you telling me to do something, is not a good enough reason for me to do it…” is life here - then don't come.  

Instead, when he finally went to call, he made such a song and dance that I shouldn't hear what he said, that I most certainly wanted to hear what he said.  He wanted to hide it so badly that I just knew, once again, it was going to be about me. Instead of giving this kid the set down he deserved, he was going to roll over. 

In the end, he walked down the street and I realised that this, whatever the hell it was, was over.

The first time this toad of a kid manipulated him or the ex wife had him jumping through hoops; it was over.  I'm just a slow learner.

Either way…. It’s done.  I’m already gone.    Now I just have to actually move. 


Friday, November 1, 2013

Put it in an email; that seems to be your way

Well the moment we all knew was coming, finally came.  That final straw was placed on my back and I bucked and screamed like a banshee.  In fact, I have now told the Squeeze that this is it.  The kid is not coming back to my house.  I won’t spend one more second with that horrible boy.  He will need to stay away while I find a house to move to and get moved.

It all started this morning when he sat on the sofa playing with his imaginary friends on Facebook instead of getting ready and/or cleaning up his room and completing his bathroom chores which are always ignored until the last minute.  And yes, although he went up and cleaned the bath and loo this morning, he did so in 2.1 seconds and there was piss on the edge of the bowl and a bath full of dirt; so it then took me an hour to clean it properly.

Twice while in iPhone land, I mentioned that it was time to get a move on.  Twice, I was ignored.  Then the Squeeze, on the phone outside, banged on the window and told him to hustle.  More ignoring.  Then the Squeeze opened the sliding door and said “move it” – you guessed it, ignored.   So I walk over and say “kid, do as you’re told!” more ignore.  “Ummm now!  Get up and get ready!  Now!” 

Peniewhacker: “why?”

Me: “because I’m telling you to!  And because your father has to go to work.  And because in this house you do as you are told!”

Peniewhacker: “That’s not a good enough reason.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Peniewhacker:  “You telling me to do something is not reason enough for me to do it!”

Me: “Kid… In this house, you will do as you are asked.  I don’t care what you do when you live anywhere else – but in this house, you are asked to do something and you do it.”

Peniewhacker: “Not a good enough reason.”

By this time, I am shaking with anger and my heart is racing so much that I figure I’m going to have a heart attack.  This ugly, pimply, psychotic kid that is the product of an ugly, psychotic bitch; is going to kill me.  I’m going to keel over dead and my last moment on this Earth will be looking into this ugly boy’s face. 

At this point, I’m not letting it go so I say “you need to go right now please!” and he takes the out and says “since you said please…” and stomps off up the stairs.  I nearly have a conniption and race after him and say quite clearly, “if you maintain this attitude kid, you won’t be living in this house.”
And he turns to me and says “put it in an email; that seems to be your way.”

That was when I realised this horrible piece of trash; this utter bitch who is what I consider the world’s worst mother; has shown him the one and only email I have ever sent to her.

And although I’m angry, and over it, and moving out, and in a tizz of God knows what; part of me wonders how horrible a person do you have to be to hurt your own child like that?  What part of that email, could ever be received by that kid as not being about him.  Is her desire to be rid of me so great, that she would hurt her own son…?

And of course, the answer to that is yes.  That is exactly what this bitch is like.