Share and Share Alike

Well he made it home unkilled by the heathen.  Not even any blood on his shirt.  Of course in his first telling (after my inquisitating) he made it sound as though she was “Miss Reasonable” and had gladly accepted everything he said.  Hmm, at the back of my mind there was the last “Miss Reasonable” meeting he had prior to us going camping; where she had actually said “I’m happy you are happy!”  And I knew, what that really meant was: “I want to see that happiness on your face… fleetingly; right before I extract your still beating heart from your chest cavity and wave it in front of your face a few times… Just so that you can actually watch it stop beating.”

Oh, I had no doubt the divorce part would be agreed to.  The divorce wasn’t the anticipated problem.  The money was always going to be the issue.  Strangely enough, the money is annoying and seeing him robbed blind makes my blood boil; yet for me, the divorce was the biggy here.  I mean even if things don’t work out for us, I’d like to think he can break away from that crap and maybe have a life without his very marrow being sucked out by her.

Still, as per usual, I had to wade through layers of iquinistation to get to the core of the actual discussion.  The money dialogue didn’t go quite as I planned and in the first telling, seemed to have been passed over with relative ease.  Yet burrowing a little deeper, it appears the “you pay this I pay that” was still on the table.  No… that wasn’t what we had discussed at all.  That was far too easy for Miss Reasonable to rob him blind – because he is a fool and never keeps track.

I worked out a figure via the child support agency calculator so that he could arm himself, but she would rather stick with the “you pay/I pay” which in Squeeze reality equates to “you pay”.

The problem with having bills handed to you left right and centre is that it is hard to collate them all and understand exactly what you are paying.  It is also impossible to plan with no real concept of expenditure; just a pile of haphazardly assembled of bits of paper?

Aside from the lack of planned expenditure and putting the responsibility back on her, there is a small realism factor to think about.  When it is done this way you have no real idea of exactly what you are actually paying all up and I'm tipping if he sat down and worked it all out, it would actually scare him.

When he threw a figure of what he thought he was paying, she mentioned that she was “matching that”.  Yeah...  Sure…  Kind of like she matched his $1400 Vietnam plane ticket for Boy 2 with her $150 travel insurance.  I mean there are realities; then there is the Harridan reality.

In between attempting to run with the “Miss Reasonable”, she dotted the odd reference to the past which was supposed to make his heart weep in sympathy.  Funny really; I thought she knew him.  There is no heart in Squeezeville!  She even went so far as to (wringing hands; eyes dropping away to the floor - I've no freaking doubt) that she found it difficult to “share her children”.  When he told me that one, I thought I would choke on my spleen.

Share?  Children?  I’d rather be freaking dead!  As I choked out; there is no share!  I don’t want to share them!  I don’t want them!  Hell, I barely like and want my own! (Which isn’t really true, but I’ll readily admit, I’m not exactly “kid friendly”) 

But her kids?  I wouldn’t spend one second with them if I didn’t love him.  He loves them.  He wants to see them.  I love him and want him to be happy.    Share..?  I’d be happy as Larry to move to Florence and only see them once a year!  That is my dream!  No Fear that I have the remotest of intentions to steal the freaking kids. (That made shudder to even write it…)  I mean the array of torture and manipulation that she puts him through is bad enough.  I sure as hell don't want to be a recipient of it!

I had to be a little careful in my choice of words.  I mean parents get thingy about their own kids - never seeing what the rest of humanity sees; so I guess it wouldn’t do to say “Ummm no thanks.  You can keep them!”  Even as I write this I am in Clean Freak Hell - no cockroaches in sight, but Boy 2's bedroom door is open... It scares me to even walk past it.  Mess such as this takes on a life of it's own and I'd hate to think it could suck me in to a vortex of filth.

When I inquisitated a little further, he mentioned that she thought we should have more communication and try to be amicable.  Oookay.  Amicable..?  I guess she forgot for just a second that she usually wishes he was dead and sends odd texts to the tune of "you are pathetic", or "you are a weak prick" or my favourite...  "you are so selfish, why don't you think about them for once". 

Of course at the mere mention of more communication I had to contain the volume of my voice but the sarcasm level remained sadly.  “No… No!  We want freaking LESS.  I’d be happy if we never heard from her again!' Did at least manage to articulate it quite accurately.

Like we would want more?  Fruitcake gives non stop parenting lessons and life skills (which we all know in velvet land means medication is evil...) and odd references to his lousy fathering skills.  Where would he be without her words of wisdom!

But the winner of the day was the comment "why do we have a problem?  Is it her?  Because I don't want you back..."  And the Squeeze is just too freaking dumb to retort  "ummm no.  We are both pretty secure in what we have."  

Still, that typical of Harridan reality - she figures the only reason they are no longer together, is because she doesn't want him.  Personally, I think she should have worked out by now that the real reason he isn't there is because she is a raving nutcase with an unrealistic view of the world who rants and raves so damned much that she gave him a heart attack.  Her wants and needs don't even come into it.


What a pity she asked him instead of me...

This Ought to be Fun

It’s early morning and instead of sleeping, I’m awake and thinking about sending the Squeeze a text to say “good luck, don’t let her stab you…”   He woke me with a kiss to the cheek as he left to go to his doom.  I feel like an old fashioned wife watching her man go off to war…

If I had my reservations yesterday on how this would play out; well suffice to say that uncertainties are no longer uncertain.  Before he was going in cold but being slightly up with the tent issue.  Of course I’m looking at the “tent issue” from a normal, sane perspective (well; as sane as I get which is a whole world of sane more than the harridan.)  For myself, if I’d just taken over someone else’s property, I’d feel contrite and therefore start the meeting on the back foot.  Since she doesn’t even realise this is a meeting and she is a raving lunatic, I’ve no doubt the same rules do not apply.

Last night, mummy psycho launched a whole new attack with the squeeze in the role of “the stepfather” or maybe just any run of the mill “kid killer”.  Weird really, because he has spent far too long with this cow and seriously needs to let them stand on their own two feet a little, which he is beginning to do…  But back to mummy psycho.

How did it start..?  Well that is my cue to take a bow.  The jeans.

A few days ago, the Squeeze sent an email to Boy 1 with a link to the pair of jeans that could be purchased at the same website I’d purchased them from (birdsnest – really groovy clothes site and lots of Jag) saying:

Boy 1, these are the jeans she is missing and she is quite angry about this - as she should be - someone has come into my room and taken her stuff.  No accident either since they removed the belt; and that is not on.  I do not want strangers in my room or in the house for that matter.   This needs to be resolved quickly.

For those that don’t understand my reference to the squeeze’s inability to communicate – this email is almost War and Peace – and it gets to the point and says exactly what has to be said.  He follows up with a phone call and Boy 1 tries to wheedle out of it but the evidence is pretty strong.  We are away.  My jeans were left there, with belt.  He brings slapper home.  My belt is on floor.  Ugly harry high rise jeans are on the floor.  My jeans are gone.

Now having a raving nut case who treats you like a kid constantly is seriously poor mothering and creates weirdo Peter Pan children that never grow up and constantly remain ‘mummy’s boy’ forever, which is unfair to the kids and a rather pathetic way to tie them to your apron strings.  (Well either Peter Pan or Anthony Perkins out of Psycho – frankly, I’m almost liking the Psycho choice…)

But due to the email and discussion on the jeans, Boy 1 calls and cries to mummy.  WTF?  He is twenty-freaking-five!  He bought a thief into the house!  Of course the Squeeze is going to be angry – and with good reason!!!!  The sook routine annoyed me more than her ranting because hell, this kid has obviously never been taught the idea of ‘accountability’!  And how are you supposed to make it in the real world like that?  You can’t call mummy to come slay the dragon every time you stuff up!

As for her… I’m sure I got an extremely watered down version but it basically went “how dare you give Boy 1 a hard time, blah blah”.  And he was good with the “it’s none of your business.”  Way cooler than I would have been under the circumstances.  Voice, ice cold with just an underlying hint of scorn and anger (that I secretly enjoy lol) Of course I noticed that as soon as I went for a shower he ran for the phone to check messages – probably to delete the nut’s brutal and scathing follow up.

How the Squeeze managed to survive in the same house with her, without being able to have a say or an opinion; incapable of chastising the kid, is beyond me.  Frankly, I’d have grabbed a shovel and a bag of lime ages ago.

And I’m sure I won’t get the real version of Boy 1’s response either because I was ready for it!

The link sent had this fantastic body, wearing my jeans and I was waiting for something along the lines of “they don’t look like her jeans, that’s for sure” or as equally mean since I dared to complain that someone has stolen my stuff!  I was ready to reply “and yet the chick he bought home for the night was obviously my size!  And probably in her early 20s!  I’m 48 and have had 3 children!”

But with the squeeze vetting things, I never got the opportunity to say it. 

Why does he ruin all my fun...?

Negotiation - the Game of Life

Tomorrow, the squeeze heads off to watch kid 3 at cricket.  This is where he has chosen to have ‘the discussion’ with the Harridan.  I suggested he have a warning procedure in place prior to arriving.  Just a brief email to say: “we need to discuss some stuff tomorrow.”  People tend to act in extremes when put on the spot.

But no, he doesn’t see a need for that.  He actually thinks he is going to waltz in there like Kevin Spacey in The Negotiator and prance out with more money in his pocket, a divorce on the way and the harridan will henceforth be a reasonable if not pleasant person.  Moron.

Let’s face it, the art of negotiation lies in the skills we bring to the table.  There are plenty of rules to guide you.  For example, you need to be clear in your head about what it is that you want prior to meeting.  But there are several rules that are an absolute necessity to enable you to win the day.

1.   Effective Communication

Ok, we all know that the Squeeze’s idea of communication is the odd grunt; or if you’re really lucky, you can actually extract a couple of words here and there in answer to some question.  I mean it’s like pulling teeth.

In the art of communication, she will murder him.

2.     Don’t be Emotional

There is also a requirement for the ability to stay cool, don’t let emotions rule your head.  Ha!  He is about as emotional as a freaking puddle (on a romantic day) and she will be on the spot; we are not talking emotional…  I’m suggesting utterly ballistic.

In the ability to stay cool – he’ll  annihilate her.

3.     Know your Opponent

You cannot have a strategy if you don't understand your opponent and this idiot doesn’t have a clue.  Hell, he may have married the Harridan, but he actually has no clue as to who she is.  She manipulates him with utter ease, so well that he doesn’t even realise it has happened.

For example, she takes over his tent and keeps it for the duration.  Instead of bringing it back somewhat sheepishly, she sends him a message to say “I couldn’t bring it – you have to go down the coast to pick it up”; then leaves it a day and then sends “don’t worry about it, its sorted.”  Strategy; go in high; let him stress before fixing it.  Upside, he gets the tent back and is so relieved not to have to do the 6 hour journey, he forgets to berate the cow for taking it over in the first place!

In the art of understanding your opponent, she will massacre him.

But for all that, there is the one little thing that he has that she doesn’t; he pays for everything; rolls over constantly; allows her to rule the kid world – and all without slapping her (how, I’ll never understand…) and I suspect that even he understand how one sided it is; how he is allowing her to acquire an asset – while draining his ability to even think of getting one.

Should be interesting… But it sure as hell won’t be over with tomorrow.

Pfft.  Kevin Spacey – my ass!

Chill. My problem. It’s Alright. No Drama.

Ok, I obviously missed out on an important gene.  Maybe I just don’t have that certain ‘turn the other cheek’ protein sequence that would make me the perfect partner for the Squeeze.  To be honest, I think he is looking for Goldilocks…  And since she actually entered the bears house which was relatively ballsy, I figure even she has too much gumption.

Sorry.  Turn the other cheek..?  I’m more the ‘take a Louisville slugger and beat their fricking head in’ type. 

Is that a bad thing..?  No.  I don’t believe so.  Sometimes you have to stand up for yourself.   And I suspect his inability to do so will be the end of the road for the Squeeze and I.  He can’t stand up for himself.  I can’t not.  There is no happy medium there.  It is black and white.

We argued over leaving the tent and tarp for boy 1.  I said he wouldn’t bring it home.  He told me: “Chill.  No drama.  I explained.  He’ll bring it back”.

He didn’t bring it back.

We argued when he didn’t bring it back.  Then he said wife will bring it back.  The sister in law will bring it back.  I said they wouldn’t.  He told me:  “Chill.  No drama.  I explained.  She’ll bring it back”.

She didn’t bring it back. 

Instead, she left it there sitting in the middle of an abandoned campsite.  Tomorrow, he has a 3 hour drive after work to pick it up (if it is even still there...), followed by a 3 hour drive back. 

And strangely, he couldn’t understand why I would tell him that someone needs to bitch slap that cow off her chair.  He sees it as a bonus that means he will get the tent back.  I can't help but see the utter selfishness of these people; and it's astounding.

And God; I'm so tired of being the bad guy all the time...

Saturday, he is doing the “divorce” discussion; combined with “I’m not paying for everything anymore”.  Do I have faith that this will be done..?  Do I think he will come home and say: "Everything was fine.  She'll start paying her own health insurance and we agreed on a monthly amount instead of her shouting cha-ching down the phone and passing every bill to me!"

No.  Actually, I have no faith.  Zip faith.  Zilch faith.  Nada faith! 
And if he does speak to her, I have no doubt she’ll hold the kid at bay and he will fold. 

That is what she does.  That is what he does.  It’s a long practised dance that I just can’t seem to break through.

Where the Hell are my Jeans!!!

Kids are damned hard work.  I’m not overly fond of them. 

Hell, sometimes I’m not even fond of my own, let alone someone else’s...  So imagine how my anger levels escalated when I got to clean freak hell and see an ugly pair of “Colorado” jeans (high rise – and we are talking up to the nipples); with my belt on them!  I went through about 55 octaves of violence (internal).

Umm Okay.  Calm down and figure it out.  Where the hell are my Jag jeans? (medium rise)  They can’t be lost.  I checked the hideous laundry although knew they wouldn’t have been in the general mix.   The odd times I wash while in clean freak hell, I ensure I wash separately.  This was a proven protection valve the week before last when my clothes flapped on the line, glistening in the wind.  The squeeze and boy three’s clothes flicked back and forward, tossing remnants of the tissues left in one of their pockets…  Fools.

I kept a lid on my anger and waited to get home to check.  It wouldn’t be good to freak out and then discover I’ve left my belt there with some work pants and my jeans are actually neatly washed, ironed, folded in my wardrobe.

But no; I get home and pull the house apart – and my favourite jeans are gone!  Missing!  Taken!  Bastards!  I love those jeans…

I mention to the Squeeze that they didn’t turn up and whoever the boombah Colorado wearer was who dumped them but forgot to take my belt – had taken them!  And I wanted them back.

Finally, the son who no longer lives there turns up.  The Squeeze asks him about the jeans and bingo.  There we have it – the answer.  He had bought home some chick (with zip in the style department obviously) and humped her in the squeeze’s bedroom (I’m guessing that bit, but as daughter says – it’s soooo obvious). 

Come morning, Harry High Rise has slinked off to the bathroom with my jeans!  (Hell, given a choice, I’d have taken my jeans too!)

Okay, we have the answer – but no resolution!  He can’t remember her name…  (The youth of today!) And he will check at his place.  We all know that is an unlikely scenario, he wouldn’t have taken them to his house – I don’t even think he knows where his house is!!!

So I follow up (again) and tell the Squeeze that he needs to point out that I want them back; they are my favourites and I won’t be able to purchase the same pair…  Everyone knows what that one pair of jeans you love is like…  And how rare they are to find again!  And I send a suggestion that maybe he should tell son one that if he wants to bang bimbos – take them to his place.  Hell, I seriously don’t want to have to bring everything home all the time.

Unlike him and his coffee bag with one pair of jocks in it; I ‘woman’ pack.

The Holidays are Over. Damn it.

We spent our last day by meeting my brother and sister in law in Lygon Street for a leisurely lunch and then went over to Kensington to catch up with a friend of the Squeeze's that I know, but meeting him encompassed meeting a cast of thousands.  Of those, I knew no one.  All nice, but I was not unaware that this is the family of the "soul mate" from the Squeeze's 20's.

I was secretly amused when the uncle mentioned that the 20 year old soulmate; was now a 'House Frou” - uncertain of the spelling – uncertain what the hell it is but it sounds utterly gleeful!  I had to clarify that it meant someone who has settled into “comfortable” prior to smirking for the rest of the day. 

Soul mate my arse.

So a day filled with lively conversation and champagne at both stops – can’t be all bad!  Then we came home to the land of the clean freak where my daughter and her boyfriend had hijacked the tv and I forced myself not to whine as I glanced at the little things that normal people just don’t notice.  The black finger print on the outside of the bathroom door…  The speckle of fat on the hot plates…

I soldiered on and kept my silence but as I sat down to dinner, asked how the house was they had gone to view on the weekend.  This was followed by the boyfriend saying “in other words, hustle and move out…”  I mentioned that was a given and I didn’t have to use subtlety; I’d just say move it.  And I’d be pleased for them to have their own place.  Pleased for them and pleased for me!

As we showered and got ready for bed, I realised that the squeeze and I had just spent 3 whole weeks with each other.  24/7.  Not only that, but as this is the end of our holiday, either of us quite easily could have chosen to stay home alone tonight – (well him with boy 1 who doesn’t live at home and me with girl and boyfriend…) 

I sat on the other side of the room and sent him an email that said:

“3 weeks together…  And I didn’t even stab you.”

This is romance, squeeze style.

Last of the Holiday...

I threw on a black dress and slunk off for an interview this morning.  Part of my “let’s change the life” mantra.  No idea how it went but if I got it, it would certainly be a part of the great life shakeup.  How did I go?  Standard question that I want to reply “how the hell would I know?”  Felt ok, but the person after me may have blinded them with charm and let’s face it; charm is not exactly my forte.

What sucked about this interview is that today is the last official day of my holidays and I was up at 7.30 am.  Where the hell did three weeks go?  And what do we have to show for it?  I don’t feel well rested and less stressed.   Aren’t I supposed to feel tanned, rested and on top of the world..?

Ahhh, but there is a reason I’m more stressed.  It would seem that the Squeeze in his infinite wisdom has it all worked out.  I’ll pause to point out here that this is an idiot that can’t work out how to get the universal remote working.  The concept of romance would reduce him to tears… If he even knew what it meant.  His idea of shocking people to cover shyness is one thing I could perhaps forgive however, introducing me as his ward..  A 12 year old girl name Heidi just takes it that one step too far. 

So, here we have a self-centred, relatively short (I know that is nothing to do with it; I just thought I’d throw it in to piss him off) emotional puddle that basically figures he can enlighten me on why I regularly feel like stabbing him.  Well… I was ready.  I’m always ready for a laugh!

And I have to say, it was quite enlightening.  Lucky for him we were out at lunch because I’d prefer no witnesses when I ‘grab me a shovel and a bag of lime…’

So he starts telling me that I actually go out of my way to acquire stress.  I create stress…  Just flit off and look for it!  Generate it out of absolutely nothing.  I focus on problems and issues instead of just ‘letting them ride’.

Hmm, I’m pretty certain the old ‘let it ride’ attitude would go out the window if our roles were reversed.  If he had to deal with the array of crap I deal with regularly, he would have up and moodled off by now because without a doubt, it would have been far too hard for him.

Still, as reality and sanity prevail I realise that short of hiring some guy to stalk me, walk through my house early in the mornings like he owns it, send insulting messages, stuff up my plans; suck money out of my bank account at will…  Demand more money…  Well he’s just not going to be able to see my side. 

And the reality is that he chooses not to see my side; to see it, means he would have to deal with it.  And dealing with it..?  Well… Suffice to say that is a whole other nut doctor session that he has to line up for.  However it went something along the lines of “keeping the peace and not wanting to upset people”.

WTF?  So we don’t change anything so that we don’t upset the Harridan..?  (because we all know she is the ‘people’)  Well hell, maybe it is time he thought about not upsetting me for a change; if nothing else, surely fear should dictate that bit of common sense to him.  I see him far more often than her; the odds of me stabbing the idiot are far higher than her doing it.

What can you do other than shake your head..?  So I fiddle with my phone so I don’t have to actually speak to him and we stopped at the market to shop for dinner.  I’ve walked from the tram; I’m wearing high heels and a little black dress.  Its 32 freaking degrees and my feet a hurting; sweat is rolling down my back but we have to pause to hover when we reach the meat section.  Why?  He needs to put in a call to number one son to find out if he is in for dinner.  You know, the son that doesn’t live at home anymore but I see more now than when he did?

Yes, of course he is in for dinner again.  Cha ching, the meat bill just jumped from 12 to 34 bucks.  I did pause to point out that aside from the cost, it would be nice to have some “us” time; but the fool that I date doesn’t understand things like quality time or romance. Why on earth would we wish to have sex in the kitchen..? And if he doesn’t understand those things, well hell, the art of conversation is totally beyond him.

Over lunch he so lovingly points out the reason why we have issues is because I have an inability to turn the other cheek, turn off, and turn it down, blah blah.  Deflection I say.  Because we all know if he could shut down the issue of the harridan, our lives would be almost perfect (well aside from the romantic aspect… and maybe the money aspect…)

I managed to launch into an speech to say that I can understand caving in on stuff; giving more than required – but I sure as hell want something for it!  He gets to roll over, cave, but still pay through the nose and be told that he is the lowest scum on earth.

You may ask why anyone would do that.  God knows.  That is question that makes me lose my cool.

Anyway, we are driving along and I am discussing this, pausing every so often for his input and getting the odd grunt.  Not sure why I bother really.  We’ve had this same discussion 54 times without his input.  Hell, his chair could recite this conversation back to me, but not the squeeze.  He doesn’t quite get it.  After ten or so minutes, I turned and say “you know this is a conversation!  Input by two people is usually required!”  To which he replied “this isn’t a conversation; it’s just you telling me what to do!”

Talk about flabbergasted!  So now I can’t even discuss things..? 

He is a shallow muppet and can’t actually hold a decent conversation; can’t discuss things, then my continuation of the discussion – becomes a TELLING!!!????

I’m still speechless by the time we get home and he glances into the spare bedroom.  It was the gasp that put me on alert.  Now I’ve got to say, if he is going to gasp over the appearance of a room it has to be bad and I of course, wanted to have a laugh!  When I looked in at the mattress on floor, clothes strewn about the carpet; well, I think my eyes started to bleed…  The only thing it was missing was the cardboard box and a shopping trolley.

I decided against cleaning anything and slunk off to blog.  We are thinking to move in together in March.  I can shut up for that long can’t I..?  It’s only two freaking months…

But I have pointed out that this living arrangement will sure as hell not be happening when we are together!!!  If he wants a home away from rental – go stay with the harridan!

You’re Inquisitating Me!

Weird; I don’t see myself as daunting.  I don’t intend to intimidate.  Yet if you listen to the squeeze, I’m the Step Father.  Hell, I’m the husband in Sleeping with the Enemy.  I’m that creepy individual at the movies that just showing them on camera makes you gasp...  So much so that the squeeze invented a new word…  (Not that I don’t like it.)  But you’re inquisitating me..!  (Yes, there is a defence!)  WTF does that even mean?

Of course I’m not inquisitating him.  I merely ask questions and he deals answers with avoidance…  One word at a time.  His bouts of looking over his shoulder to see if I’m looming behind him (perhaps with a switch blade or one of my Tridents) while he is on  the phone or reading a text message is no more than ‘guilt’ or perhaps more ‘moodleness’.

He figures that if he can “protect” me from some of the bullshit, I will stress less and he will have it easier.  Having it easier, I assume in moodle world is not having to admit that you’re a pathetic weasel who is incapable of standing up for yourself.

Humph.  In my world, lying by omission is still just lying and if you have to lie to your partner, well hell, it’s dead in the water anyhow.

Yesterday, son one calls to say he is back.  Back..?  He doesn’t go home to his house but instead goes to Squeezeville.  Instead of moving out and making it on your own, modern move out is pay some tosser for a back room at their place, but just make sure you stay at dad’s every night!  Upside for him is the illusion of independence and meals.  Downside for squeeze is bills haven’t reduced but any help with rent has (not to mention downside for me is the fricking mess left).  Having said that, I am typing this to his practising piano and since he is fantastic, that is a bonus.

But I digress.  While on the phone, I was ‘looming’ around my lounge and happened to mouth the word “tent”.  He then asked if son one had bought the tent home.  We left it on the proviso that all the stuff we left for his use would be dismantled and bought home.  I argued with the squeeze that he could kiss the tent goodbye, because mummy would not let him pull it down and bring it home.  The squeeze told me he had made it clear and it would be fine.  The poor bastard is delusional or living in a fairy land of how things work for others obviously.  How is it so obvious to me how the Harridan works, but he is still living in denial..?

Anyhow, when I realised that I had effectively set up a camp with tent and fly and tarp – for the harridan and her family, well let’s just say I was less than impressed.  She delayed us going… Wasted a day for the Oliver “more” part with her demands on presenting the first aid bag; she sent the “you are a weak prick” text for no apparent reason – but hell, we had spent time and money setting up her camp!!!

I’ll admit that I’m pre-menstrual, but hey, I’m fast getting over the emotional and financial vampires that rule his world (and garlic does nothing to this lot… I haven’t tried the stake yet.)   But in about five seconds, when we are living together as planned, they are going to be ruling my world too… 

The tent seemed the final straw.  Yeah, I know nothing… I get it wrong… blah freaking blah.  I literally screamed his head off and stormed off to bed where I tossed and turned.  I know myself well.  I know that he is ensuring that I will steadily fall out of love.  How can I not?  How do you love someone you don’t respect?  And how do you respect someone that can’t respect themselves?  I may as well pull a lipstick out of my handbag and write “victim” on his forehead.  He just rolls over and lets them kick him – at will!  And our life doesn’t have to be like this.  He does not have to “perform” on command (except in the bedroom).  He does not have to pay $1000 because she decree’s it.  WTF?  Go to court, get an amount for maintenance – he couldn’t be worse off!

At the end of the day, money has never been a major motivator for me.  But I do want a house and home with him.  I do want a life.  And while he rolls over and lets wife and children suck him dry (and not in a creepy way), what hope do I have of attaining anything with him?  But more importantly, when I can’t take any more of this shit and leave, is that what he wants his life to be..?  Bossed around and terrorised by this bitter, miserable woman?

So although we both know what the issue is, that we can see that his inability to shut the wife down is ripping us apart, we are at a loss as to how to rectify it. 

This morning, when I got up, he dumped me and was going back to clean freak hell.  Yes… yes… How dare I be pissed off.  And there’s the solution, let’s dump possibly the only person on the planet that actually loves you!!!  (What a fricking moron)

Ok, I can admit, I’m a bit Joan of Arc-ish’ but that is who I am.  Love it or fuck off.  Abuse him and I want to stab you.  Hurt my children and I want to pull your eyeballs from your head and feed them to a dog!!!!  Harm my family; and I’m going to get me a shovel and a bag of lime!!!  That is who I am; how I was raised.

My suggestion is a very simple “fix the fricking issue and it won’t be an issue anymore!”  And now..?  We await the end of February.  If fixed, great, let’s get on with our life.  If not, I will have my answer on life and love because I’ve made myself pretty damned clear so if it isn’t fixed, I’ll know that keeping me isn’t as important to him, as it is to me.

Tomorrow Never Comes

Ok.  My life needs a serious overhaul.  Yes; it really does.  And I’m planning one; I just have to await the Gods to smile upon me and have something happen.  I should probably point out that life’s shake ups occur due to a whole range of events; for this one, I’m hoping for a piece of good.  My tarot cards are certainly turning up some rather thrilling cards (and I always believe in them when they are good; in that regard, they are kind of like astrology.)

But back to the shake up; this could come in many different forms.  I could win lotto, have a wild fling, or get a new job.  I have been keeping my eye on the job market with a ‘que sera, sera’ attitude and a new job would mean moving; even more excitement. I love where I’m living; but I’m starting to see that it is time to ‘evolve’ and start somewhere new.

I also write young adult fiction and have one book at two different publishers.  This sounds far more glamorous than it actually is.  The reality of “at the publishers” is that they will hang on to it for several months, letting you agonise…  Then when a few more months go by and you’re actually spending your first check; you get it back with a brief “thanks but bugger off” note (sometimes not even using your name but a rather soul destroying “dear author…”)

I am in a pretty good relationship; well pretty good if you forget about romance, ignore his penchant to “shock”, his bouts of moodle-like behaviour, the fact that he is as shallow as a puddle and his harridan of a wife who moves no closer into ex-wife land.  Thus the title, tomorrow never comes.  Because I’m living in ‘tomorrow’ land; there always seems to be time to do exactly as instructed, when instructed by the wife but anything I bring up that needs doing to progress the shutdown of the marriage, gets a “no hurry” or a “later”... "tomorrow".

So I wonder, at what point will I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m being strung along and tell the moodle to ‘prance’ off..?   Because it is fast approaching.  I’m struggling now to put up with the wife controlling every single thing in his life and the very fact that he knows this is the case, but still hasn’t attempted to resolve anything (not even her health insurance that he is still paying for, 5 years into separation) is sending a pretty loud message to me.

So if you wonder why I would consider a job and moving to another town; this is why...

I’m going to let fate dictate and if I get a job in another town, I will go.  Maybe he will swallow his moodleness, shut her down and follow; and maybe he won’t.  That will be up to him.  But rest assured, she'd better be shut down prior to him coming!

Back to the Real World

The worst part about camping; more so than the ‘float across the pool to the bar’ type of holiday, is the unpacking.  There was sand/dirt in absolutely everything.  I have a mound of washing 2 mile high (that I can’t quite get the energy to fold) and that’s not counting the washing line full outside.  And by the time I wiped off and put stuff away, I felt as though never actually left to go off and de stress.

And in the end, it was a relatively stress free period.  I mean aside from howling winds, torrential rain, bouts of harridan and the odd bow tie/moodle performance.  Even better, we still have a few days off to do the civilised things we should be doing on holidays – which may or may not include absolutely nothing at all.

What it will include, is a measure of tidying.  My skin feels like a lizard it’s been almost baked!  My daughter said I looked like a tanning lobster upon my return – at least that has settled into “tan” now.  But the worst, of course, will be waxing.  The job for today!

Ouch.  The perfect end to a holiday…  Let’s just smother burning wax on to the body before ripping it off.  Yeah.  Camping.

Weak Prick... WTF?

Today, I figured all my worries and teeth gnashing had been for naught.  I'd focused so much on the Harridan that in the end, she had ruled my holiday.

She didn’t arrive there until we had left.  We packed quickly, eager to be home but we were both aware that getting out of there prior to her arrival would be beneficial – however it worked, the reality was that I didn’t have to put up with her at all; at least in the physical sense.

Then, when I thought about it I, realised that in my constant Rubik’s cubing of the brain and the dread that I would have to put up with her on my holiday I’d actually given her so much more power than she was worth.  I’d tossed and turned and fumed…  Wasted time where I could have been romancing! (or least I could have been romancing if I was there with some other guy!)

So yesterday, I decided that from here on in I was just going to ignore her.  She can carry on; she can abuse and threaten; she can hold the kid at bay, she can demand money, yell cha-ching – but in the end, she will not beat me.

Yes, I get it.  She’s had all the benefits of a husband without the bullshit.  Have to admit, it’s a damned stylish move if you can find a moodle to pull it off with!  But hey, when all is said and done, I actually love the dumb schmuck. So ignore her from here on in, I’ll attempt.

Decision made, we then set about packing up everything we were taking, leaving more than I’d have liked for the harridan, but hey, my new found decision to ignore was in full flight and I bit my tongue and shut my face – and packed up (like a good little moodle).

We drove home with the blazing sun streaming in the windscreen.  I almost glow in the dark I’m so red – but at least I lost a few kilos with all our walking over beaches and sand dunes!  Probably a few from the weird dance I did every time a march fly landed on me, but they were like small dogs with wings! Either way, we were brown, thinner, and still another week of holidays to go!  Civilised holidays!  Art galleries, museums!

Traffic was crap; the drive took forever only broken by the odd outburst of road rage that the squeeze would shout (never so they can hear; just loud enough to make me jump and make him feel like he did actually abuse some moron).  His road rage is quite a sight to behold; he can work himself into a fury, swearing his head off because some person has the audacity to turn right and annoy him.  Frankly, I’m all for it as a stress release; he spends his life sucking in the anger, ignoring…  Turning the other cheek - and it smacks of ‘volcano’ – because all that anger has to be released at some point!

For myself, no problem at all letting my anger out:)

We finally got home and walked into a landmine of dishes (thank you kid 1 – that I’ll point out, doesn’t even live here – but seems to think he can come stay and leave a freaking pigsty for us to get home to (the squeeze so has to toughen up…  or except that he is breeding the laziest kids on the planet.)

Then we cook, pour a red, watch a movie and off I go to shower (in a real shower, admittedly not as clean as I’d like but no fat kids head sticking under the door either).  We are tired.  We are done in.  And then the dying seconds of the night, the squeezes phone lights up with a message.

‘You are a weak prick.’

Ooookayyyy.  What is that about?  Because we both shake our head in wonder.  Or at least I am genuinely stumped and he is saying he has no idea.  Weak prick..?  What the hell could have enticed that comment?  We have dragged half a trailer of stuff down there for her, we left the tent, annex, flooring etc in tact so that kid 1 could use it (which I suspect means we will never set it again).  We had kid three and he had a great time.

Weak?  Implies an inability to stick up for ones self, to tell someone they way it is or should be.  Sounds a lot like she believes he caved in to me in some way shape or form.  Funny really; because we’ve had a lot of discussions over weakness and how thing have to change and if he suddenly throws off his “moodle” mantle and develops a spine, I’m tipping she sure as hell won’t like how that will work out for her.

I’ve been an ex wife 3 times.  And I just thank the lord I’ve never been such a selfish, miserable, bitter bitch.  Because the only thing awaiting such a person – is karma.

Survival

Those strong enough; courageous enough to make it through the night/morning, were rewarded with clear blue skies and sunshine!

It wasn't easy. Not by any means. It rained from when we got back. Hell. Rained? It was a steady stream. Non stop until about 1pm. My everything was wet. I'd have just liked my feet to feel dry. Just for a moment!

Although the tent leaked, our work when we arrived made sure that the Nile running through the other night, was merely a stream; nothing a few strategically placed towels couldn't combat.

Then we had the 11 pm wombat that opened the esky and ate it's way through our flat bread. While the squeeze dashed off to find a broom to 'scare' it; I merely pushed it out.

Next was the 3 am wind tunnel that blew the tarp over and us; wind, rain, nighty (me. Not him) pulling the 'structurally sound' construction down.

We had an emergency dash to Yanakie for wine (the wowser squeeze didn't quite understand how this could be an emergency; how quickly they forget...) then the heat; sun; was so much that the ground was steaming.

The queen arrives tomorrow. Yay.

Here We Go Again

We are in the car zooming off to the Bermuda Triangle once again. Excuse the brevity of my posts but it's one letter forward, three back when typing via iPhone.

I choose rain, hail and storms over harridan hell anytime so although the storm icons are still flavor of the day on the weather site it sure beats living under a harridan dictatorship.

Of course I don't escape her completely. She is due to arrive Saturday.

Oh the fun.

I can bite my tongue for 2 days! Can't I?

PS: we just reached Leongatha so are about half way. Another hour to go. Already: harridan text messages = 4. Isn't it still raining? I want school fee money. Have you got the epi pen? (I'd have liked to reply with 'no, we are morons' but what's the point...

Make that 7 text messages...

Last one was something about a stove and Anaconda shopping. Maybe she figures we a vaguely interested in her itinerary (I'm not). Not sure. The squeeze wouldn't let me read it. Probably because of my utterly scathing tone when commenting.

Happy Little Sun Icons

Could be I’m the only person on the planet keeping my eye on the long range weather forecast and hoping those next 3 or 4 days of rain clouds and lightening strokes doesn’t magically turn into happy little sun icons. Weird really, because I’m about as fond of ‘clean freak hell’ as I would be of getting leprosy. (I could have said salmonella, but that was too damned close to home really…)

But the great outdoors can be hell on...  Well everything really.  When we got back yesterday, my hair was like brillo; my skin was downright crispy and my nails… they were absolutely shocking.  In one evening, I’ve managed to rectify those ailments and I’d like to keep it this way.  Even if for just another day or two!

My argument is that if we go back to the camp site, (which has been left like a yacht in the Bermuda Triangle – eerily abandoned) we all know that within a day we will have the same problem – and it’s hard to have a good time while a river flows through the tent and sleeping in a wet doona.

I’ll admit that I’m not exactly an outdoors kind of girl, but I suspect the major issue is that the fly thing is sitting on the tent, as opposed to hovering over it.  So everywhere it touches sucks rain in; in effect, working the opposite to the way it should.  Although the tent issue is quite logical to me, how to rectify it is not.  My first impulse is to shrug my shoulders and say “your tent”.

Yet as I have said before, that isn’t going to work.  I am the man in this relationship so shoulder shrugging isn’t going to get me very far and I have a feeling he isn’t going to like the idea of taking it down and starting again.

I had to browbeat him into putting the tarp up.  He is a legend around the camp and there were multiple comments on his inability to “tarp up”.  We got it up.  Up..?  It was a thing of beauty.  And as a bonus (aside from his sending off images of himself in front of a tarp that was structurally sound) we had a fantastic couple of days of shade (which became a gigantic sail as the winds picked up and I spent a night stressing that the trailer I’d secured one side to would be picked up and land on our head.)

So I have to sit and ponder.  Weigh up the pros and cons. 

Firstly, he isn’t going to feel we had enough time with only one week.  That means I’ll have to go back.  Therefore, I need to choose when I go back.  This week through rains and rivers and late night tent securing; or the week after, when the harridan will arrive like the freaking queen.

Originally when we discussed this idea around May/June, I figured she’d be on one side of the place; us on another and never the twain shall meet.  I thought I could probably do that. Sure, it may be a little uncomfortable every so often… but the marriage was a done deal, everyone should be happy.

And although the marriage is over, she sure as hell doesn’t want to lose her meal ticket/circus act so since working out that we may actually end up together, that God forbid, the poor sap may actually be happy…  She has set about making our lives a living hell.   It should be obvious why I am no longer okay with being there when she is but the squeeze, idiot that he is, just doesn’t see it.  I have until now, managed to remain in the background however I fear I will not be able to do that if she starts her games down there.  And if push comes to shove and I let her have a piece of my mind, she’ll get both damned barrels.

Prior to me even pausing to contemplate the rain/harridan choice, I think about the rants on what she wanted out of the camping stuff and delaying our departure (funny, I’m sure I had been told the “financials” of the split were complete…)  And I can envisage her walking through and pointing an imperious finger at various things to say “I want that.”

And that will create stress and angst between the moodle and I.  Because he will want to bow and ask if she wants that gift wrapped, and I’ll be waiting for her to put one foot on our site and it will be the Hatfield and the McCoy feud all over again!  Complete with pot shots over the fence if she so much as sticks her head up!

Far from being across the park on the other side of Wilson’s Prom as was the original story, I have been informed that her campsite is on the same little street as ours!  My intuition tells me that no matter what, knowing my luck, the cow will end up being next door…

The emotional cripple I date doesn’t quite understand why this would by my idea of hell.  Idiot.

Frankly, I’d rather be dead.

No Place Like Home

Well.  Camping rained out.  Home.  Done.  Dusted.  At least it is as far as I'm concerned.

It is hard work.  It was bloody hot; and there was no damned relief!  When I squeaked off and spent longer than the demanded 4 minutes for a shower, I got to feel clean for about 4.3 seconds.  Then my feet were dirty again!  There was a world of sweat.  Ice was at a minimum and although the bugs weren't exactly terradactyls, they were out in force as soon as the sun started to dip to the point where at night you'd need a blood transfusion.

I usually adapt;  not so for the wet bed as the rain and wind drenched us last night.  There were hurricane winds that had the tent shuddering and me fearing I'd wake in Kansas.  And let's face it; I'd already hit the "there's no place like home" part and tapping my ruby havaianas sure wasn't working.

We awoke to kid three alerting us "the tent is wet!" and haven't stopped since.  Bedding.  Pillows.  My neatly packed suitcase with ironed, folded and stacked by colours clothes - wet!  There was a river rolling down the tent and across the floor.  All campsites surrounding us packed up and left; leaving us with dripping hair and no neighbours.  Hell, I had to drag the coffee over to a rotunda just to make my morning coffee!  And even then I had to sit on the table since the rotunda was a swamp.

Holiday???  Crap.  Rain!  And yes, week one consisted of long walks in the sun and cooking meals that the neighbours were coming over to ask about (we had to be famous for something and it sure wasn't getting drunk and rowdy).  But underlying the whole damned holiday has been the harridan...  Dictating.  She is relentless.

She delayed us going.  Each day was some drama.  Never ending questions about stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with her!  Then she wouldn't let kid three come for several days which just added stress to the squeeze (and therefore me).  Then she would let him come, but only on the proviso that the squeeze bought our 'first aid' bag to hold open so she could check that we actually had everything the modern velvet wearer thinks you should have in a first aid kit (including vix vapour rub {wtf? - it's 34 freaking degrees here!!!}  

As you can imagine, with an opinionated cow like myself - this created angst between us.  I figure he should tell her to F herself sideways with a pogo stick and lawyer up.  He figures to see his son, he has to put on a bow tie, fluff the curls and jump through the hoops of fire she holds out for him - like any good moodle.

And of course he bow tied up which affects our relationship because I have to say, that whole bow tie thing is incredibly unattractive.  If you don't have any respect for yourself, how the hell do you expect anyone else to have respect for you..?  And going off and holding out some first aid bag like Oliver asking for more - well that is about the bottom of the food chain as far as I can tell.  No wonder she gets so much enjoyment out of sticking the boot in.

And we keep talking about the changes; but that is all it ever is.  Talk.   Nearly 1.5 years in - still nothing has changed.  She walks around like she owns the place (including, I suspect, putting soap on my toothbrush).  Tells him what he can and can't do.  Hell, he even pays the family health insurance and whatever else he is told to; because we may not have been allowed to have the kid, but the text demands "he needs shoes.  He needs a swimming top.  He needs blah blah blah - Cha-Ching!" sure as hell keep coming!

So suffice to say that stress levels, circus music, rings of fire and harridan hell continued right up until the final farewell; including the squeeze, who after our discussion that rain for 4 or 5 days was taking the great outdoors too far, decided he just had to squeak off and call the wife prior to us leaving...  Just to make sure she knows everything about our life...  

Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't call to tell her we had sex yesterday morning.

And the worst of the whole thing is that in the middle of the night, before the river through the tent; I awoke to the squeeze saying quite loudly; "I love you".  Kind of weird because he never finds it easy to say.  Certainly not like I do (which has actually hampered my frequency to say it).

Still, I woke, leaned over and checked...  He was asleep.

At first I thought it was cute that he would say in his sleep what he struggles to say in wakefulness.

Today; I figured that the words probably weren't for me.
Frankly, I doubt he has permission to love me.

Nut Case Continued

Well New Years Eve was a bit of a fizzer.  It was too damned hot to do anything.  We made pizza.  I drank a bucket of red wine and we were both in bed before midnight.  The squeeze fell into a deep sleep and woke in the body of a 100 yo guy; to the point where he could barely bend enough to get his jocks on.  I had this sudden, ugly flash of my future, dressing this old guy.  And there you have it.  The perils of dating an older guy.

I tossed and turned in the heat that was absolutely stifling; and cursed the weather guy from the tv who had promised a cool change was an hour off at 6pm.  Fools.  Do they have any idea how people cling to that?  Cool change my ass!

I heard the party over the back fence go off when midnight came and went, however the squeeze was out like a light and I was too damned tired to get up and look.  I felt vaguely guilty, but in the end, who the hell cares?  It’s not like you actually see anything in any case. 

Today, we went out for breakfast and then off to do last minute camping shopping.  I have the headache from hell (possibly due to the wine consumed last night) and so we decided on a day of nothing.  We haven’t resolved the nut case and how we will work things; we think we have a plan forward but in the end, she will do what she can to throw a spanner in it.

I am in ‘clean freak hell’ alone as he has been summoned by the Queen and so moodled off to meet her around the corner.  Guess she couldn’t meet him here since I am in residence (smart girl, because the time is fast approaching where I’m going to call a spade a spade).

Amazing.  You can actually order people to come to you for a lecture.  It kind of smacks of my dad when I was little and was going to cop it for something I’d done.  “Come here…” 

Umm yeah.  That is working.  Come here and get a smack.  I don’t think so.

Partly, I wanted to go – just to throw a spanner in her ‘get him away from her’ tactic, but in truth, it was unbearable last night listening to her whine on, order, demand and asking a million questions.  Today I pointed out that from here on in, she can ask or comment re the kids.  Anything else, she can stuff herself sideways with a pogo stick.  It’s none of her business. 

Hell, taking back the power is an ugly, difficult thing.  Even worse to watch.

Hmmm an hour passes.  This will be interesting.  Maybe she stabbed him.  Hell, maybe she has decided it is time for them to ‘give it another shot’.

Pity this is a blog.  You didn’t get to see the grin I had while typing that.