Life - Too Busy!

What a drama.  Daughter moving and packing; the Squeeze’s Boy 2 – packing and moving out; the Squeeze filtering through rooms of stuff trying to sort out what he is bringing, what he is dolling out to whomever (hopefully not the harridan or that will have its own drama). 

Sunday, the Squeeze and the Harridan are moving Boy 2 into his apartment.  Glad I am not going to be there, because I don’t think I could stand listening to the orders.  And when they have moved him, I suggested he hire in a professional rental cleaning company – because come hell or high water, I am not cleaning it!

What will I be doing?  I’ll be cleaning.  I haven’t been here for a full weekend since I don’t know when.  And hell, my place has missed that whole Saturday morning cleaning thing.  And it shows.  And even though I can see it, there is still a whole world of work less to do here than in clean freak hell!

God knows where we are going to put everything because for the life of me, I can barely move in here now.  What ever happened to the days where I had space?

I can see we will be moving.  Soon.

Only One ‘t’

I write.  I write a lot.  I used to write rather lengthy and somewhat protracted emails and send them to the Squeeze documenting the things that normal humans, the ones with souls - already know.  We are talking deep; emotional pouring’s from the heart.  For example, trying to explain why I may be a tad upset to sit at home while he squeaks off on a happy fricking family holiday over Christmas.

Sometimes I would sit for hours.  Occasionally, I would cry while I wrote.   It was gut wrenching and even I have to admit it, sometimes pathetic.

Mostly, he would not reply.  I would have no idea if he had actually read them and he certainly didn’t address any of the issues I had spoken of as they just seemed to keep repeating themselves.

Still, every so often I would open the laptop and start the email program and then be shocked to the core to see an email from him.  If it started with [for example] “RE: You are a moronic moodle!”  I would open the reply to my 3000 word email, my hand shaking; expecting some sort of explanation; some insight into who he really was, on the inside.

And I would read “detached only has one t”.  That’s it.  He had perused my tale of woe and sorrow and that is all he could come up with.  Only one ‘t’.

In fact, that was the reason that I began this blog.  This way I got to speak my mind; remind him he is a moodle and off times, a fool.  I get to write and in the documenting of my feelings, it becomes something else – something for me; cathartic.  Hell; it was that or stab him.

Given his propensity to pour through three thousand words long enough to actually spell check would be an indication that he shares my love of the written word – which I know is the case.  So even though he teases me on the odd bit of diction, (when some weird sort of cockney accent jumps out of my face), or chooses to answer my sometimes lengthy emails that I know he has read, if for no other reason than the desperation to find fault in the spelling - I know and love that we share this love of words.

Still, it does irk me on the odd occasion when I see a text or email from the Harridan; who both texts and writes in a weird combination of phonetic slash prehistoric.

Ie:  Wot u do car.

All it is missing is the ‘ugg!’ at the end.

Trouble on the Horizon

I often wonder why I can’t just win lotto and bugger off to live down the coast and be that scary woman in black with the haunted house – where kids cross the street rather than walk past.

In short, I basically work for a rather large and somewhat wieldy organisation that goes through regular upheaval and restructure as the powers that be, attempt to find the meaning of life; or answer the question as to why the department doesn’t work.

In reality, it does work.  It works as well as it can with the funding it gets.  Doesn’t take a mental giant to work that out; hell, I’d tell them for free!  Instead, they hire CIO’s and get in consultants that basically come up with the same answer I just had – except their invoice is a damned site more.

Perhaps the astounding part of this is that each evolution appears to actually get worse than the one previously.  Now, we reach this point; where the fools really are running the show!

What this has to do with the Squeeze is that I find it better if only one area of life goes haywire at a time.  It gives you time out; you cope better.  As much as I figure this is the case, I do not get to experience it I’m afraid.  I have always been “the tower”.   My whole world pretty much just crashes down and I have to build it again.  If nothing else, it keeps you on your toes; makes you resilient.

It is comical how different my life has been to the squeeze, considering we are quite similar…

Obviously, the ‘testicles in the handbag’ is not really in my makeup.  Nor is refusal to face the inevitable or be closed off and/or fear change.  Change is what wakes us up; because no one actually ever said the change was going to be bad – even if you figure it is at the time.

This difference between us; my propensity to walk away (thank you three ex husbands) and his to Moodle on – will be the death of me.

When the last relatively long term relationship I had ended (which I pause to admit lasted far longer than it should have) it was done and dusted.  Over.  Kaput.  Why drag it out?  He was a sleazebag.  I didn’t want or need to be “friends”.  We have spoken maybe once in the 5 years since.  I don’t wish him dead.  I don’t wish him anything. He just ceased to exist really.

Ex husband number two and three that I have children with, I rarely speak too.  I would if I needed to but they don’t pop into my head.  Three seconds after the door shut, they ceased to be a priority for me.  I didn’t move house or clean out rooms and think “ex 1 may need this!” or “look at that, ex 3 would just love this!”  They are ex’s.  They are not my priority.  I couldn’t care less if they mow the lawn or get lost because the grass has grown 10 feet high.

And if they had the audacity to abuse me on email or text; suffice to say I wouldn’t bother to reply, do as demanded or answer again.

I am the “you are dead to me” queen.

He is the “prancing puppy/moodle/do as you are told (literally ‘til death do you part’).

I see trouble on the horizon…

Please Step Away From The Marriage…

I have been totally pushed for time this week and as such, the blog has been left to gather cobwebs.  I had a good reason.  The Squeeze and I went to look at a house on the weekend and it just so happened that it was in a great position and had all the bits and bobs that we wanted!  Ie:  good kitchen, two bathrooms, floor boards, extra bedrooms.

Deciding to apply for it meant that we had to collate documents that stretched from birth until now; (at least that is how it seemed) and not only do they want the documents, but they wanted all the contact numbers – which they then sat and phoned!

And the application was looking good.  They had phoned me a couple of times and I knew we would get it.  I’m a clean freak; my previous property managers would have sung my praises.

Then I went to bed and tossed and turned because it all just seemed like a rush.  My lease isn’t up yet so I’d be penalised there.  My car died – more money flying out at a rate faster than I can earn it.  The girl isn’t ready.  The list seemed endless really.  So, after a night of sleeplessness I got up and emailed the squeeze to say “I think you should get rid of your place; I will aid the girl to move out and we should stay here until the end of my lease and save the money to move without hassle or drama.

He agreed so I wrote a brief letter, blaming my Moodle like boyfriend of getting cold feet and withdrew our application.  In fact, they were very nice to me; probably discussing what a pathetic weasel I was going out with and feeling sorry for me; which was ok by me.

But in the end, here we are making decisions on house size based on Kid 3!

As I said in my early morning email; for one - if the kid is even remotely normal he will begin to cease wanting to come and spend the weekend shortly anyhow (given that he is about 14). 

For two; this was about Kid 3 having “his own space”. 

Ummm excuse me?  WTF?  At the moment the kid has a room with a single bed futon velvet wearing thing in the corner on the floor (bed never made and I doubt ever changed...)  Kid 1 has a piano in there that basically takes up a whole corner.  And there is a bookcase housing sheets etc that takes up another corner.  There is an ugly wardrobe which I assume is empty given that if he doesn’t bring clothes with him when he comes to stay, it means a shopping expedition (not added to the spreadsheet to calculate maintenance either I bet.)

Other than that, there are clothes (not his) strewn about the floor and I suspect that whenever the kid rolls out of that bed, Kid 1 (who I pimped for) rolls into it – because he obviously can’t find his own place!

Shoot me for being a fool, but I kind of figure a weekend in my spare bedroom; clean queen sized (normal) bed.  Spotless room; no risk of slipping on the slime in the shower; not a cockroach in sight – would be paradise by comparison!

So we are agreed that the Squeeze needs to set about giving notice at his place (hopefully it doesn’t take as long as the ‘one more page’ on the divorce) getting a mini skip (half of his crap is just that – crap – and it isn’t coming), and organising what goes where.

Not that I’m being pessimistic, but I suggested that he doesn’t just ‘give it away’.  I mean what happens if it doesn’t work out?  And if he was dolling it out to Kid 1 and 2, he should tell them it is on loan and look after it.  Otherwise they’re likely to move house and the Squeeze’s large (and dirty) fridge will just get left behind somewhere.

Last night I’m looking into storage.  I will have some of the daughters stuff and I have a few things stored for Boy 1 (mine) and my sister in the UK – and hell, my place is already packed to the rafters, so figure we can store stuff off site.

So while using the calculator, I say “I’ve put the lawn mower into this storage calculator, what else do you think should go in there?”

And he replies: “I’ll just give the lawn mower to the harridan.” (He uses her name)

WTF?  Would this be the same bitch that sent text messages earlier in the evening yelling at him to fix her latest organisational cock up with Kid 3 (while attributing blame to him of course)?  The same cow that delayed our holiday?  The same holier than thou, velvet wearing weirdo that wouldn't let him have drugs and nearly killed the kid?  Then wouldn’t trust the squeeze to have him when he was sick (unless she had to go somewhere)? 

Give her the new-ish lawn mower?  Over my dead, freaking, body!

Moodle!  You are one page away from divorce!  You don’t have to look after her.  You never did need to!  She has done perfectly well when you consider she has a house – you have a rented dump and a couple of kids that require assistance! 
News Flash:  She no longer has your testicles in her handbag!!!  Please step away from the marriage!

And all that flicked through my mind before I even thought of the fact that we will be looking for a house in September; and I’m sure as hell not buying a new mower because the Harridan might need it!  I couldn’t care less what she needs!  (Except for maybe a good slap) 

It is freaking Stockholm syndrome! 

Deal Breakers...

Today we went off looking at houses.  It’s such a thankless, time consuming job.  Practically a whole day is gone and we’ve only gone through two. 

On the second place there was a line up.  A line up!  To rent a bloody house!  And that was one that although pretty good in size etc., fell over on the kitchen.  Sorry.  I cook.  A good kitchen is a deal breaker.

We both liked house number one, but I did wonder if it is a bit small.  Plenty of room for the Squeeze and I but he has a kid there on and off and we are not talking transient; it’s pretty regular – which means that is bedroom 2.

All of my family live somewhere else; be that in the country, interstate or in a whole other country.  Point being (and the kitchen prerequisite resurfaces here) when they come to stay we cook; we drink enough to down a horse – and then they stay. 

So bedroom three is basically needed to be a full time set up.  Hell; I haven’t even added into the mix that Boy 2 of mine comes up for a week or two when he has trade school and Boy one lives interstate.

I was tired before we began.  Clean freak hell does that to me.  When we are there, everything is harder.  Getting a straight answer as to “who is in for dinner?” so I can shop is hard enough. 

When I started coming here a year and half ago, I would clean before I started.  These days, not unlike right now, I don’t.  I sit in the bedroom (and the Squeeze has changed the bed in anticipation of my arrival so at least that is clean) and I blog; or read.  I don’t mind cleaning, and I’m good at it – but five minutes after someone walks in, it looks like a bomb has hit again – so there is no lessons if I do it.  Actually, there is no lessons if I do – because they don’t care if they live in squalor.

Last night I walked in and it was an utter pigsty.  One look around and I felt my nose creep back on my face.  I wasn’t sure if it was distaste or a snarl.

And when the light shone through the window, it highlighted just one thing.  Lying in a discoloured heap on the floor, was the squeezes Triumph t-shirt.  A Bob Dylan Special Edition; covered in God knows what and tossed to a corner.  Hell, it had dried so hard you could stand it up in the corner!  My anger levels rose…

The squeeze thinks this is a compliment…  That one of those heathens would wear his t-shirt to work behind the bar in a pub meant he is ‘cool’.  Idiot.  That only made me cool since I searched for the damned thing, found and imported it. 

And staring at it - I was not; fricking; happy.  It was a bloody hard find.  And this is a major problem in clean freak hell. 

There is no hygiene; no manners and a distinct lack of basic consideration for other people or their belongings.  Shall I make a comment on my jeans again here…?  Probably not since the whole world knows I became a pimp!  My jeans paid for that Idiot Kid 1 to get laid!  Who, I might add, even though he has moved to a place quite close to here – is still here all the time.  Cooking; leaving a mess; dropping things where ever the hell they land! Sleeping on the sofa.

Now Idiot Kid 2 swans in and steals a t-shirt that I bought the squeeze for Valentine’s day!  And it’s ruined!

I swallowed the anger and cooked dinner.  Hell, I may even have forgotten  it (I can almost hear the squeeze make a comment there…)  But no…  There it was.  2.38am.  Kid one and Kid 2 are home where they decide to laugh, put on every light in the house, cook, make more freaking mess and then turn the television up full blast – WFT?

So while house hunting today, I pointed out to the squeeze that there are several deal breakers on the idea of ‘Him; Me and a House.’

They are:

1.    Must have a good kitchen.

2.    Must have a bath.

3.    Kids do not get keys.

And of each of the deal breakers, number 3 is not negotiable.  I’m not living with them; and I’m not coming home to their mess and selfish bullshit.  And I won’t be changing my mind – not in this lifetime!!!!

The Weird Games He Plays

If I think on it, I assume the squeeze would miss me if I wasn’t there anymore.  I mean we get along like best friends.  Both write; love music. 

But I have to admit that maybe I’m projecting; because hell, he is his own one man show of wonder.  I’ve never met anyone so totally enthralled with his own humour and little fantasy world that consist of over the top weird stories that are actually delivered through song.  To be honest, I think he could amuse himself for hours and hours.  So what the hell does he need me for...?

His nun stories are hilarious; as are the lesbian ones but I have to say that the gym teacher is a little creepy!

Why can’t he role play being a lawyer and complete the freaking divorce?

One More Page…

Where is the divorce at?  I hear you ask.  Funny; I asked the same thing via text on Monday night.  That went unanswered.  Tuesday while at work, I added to the bottom of an email – ‘and where is the divorce at?”  I got the reply of ‘all done bar one page.’

Just one more page…

Hmm.  My immediate thought was ‘yeah and how damned long will that one page take to get done?’  And we all know that just filling out the paper work is the easy part!  Then you have to give it to the harridan and hope she signs and passes back; because if she has to take it home and read the whole eight pages, well suffice to say that we would then be rolling into next year before that paperwork is coming back.

Then when it actually comes back signed, you have the whole drama of sending it off with the money and getting a time for it to be heard.  After that, there is scheduling going to the hearing…  And the list goes on really.

And after all that, he will have only completed one item on the list of things that he said he would have completed by February.  I mean it is obviously just so damned hard to organise to rollover all your super policies into one and have the wife removed as the beneficiary.

Organise a will and a medical proxy to ensure everything is as you would want it…

And for the life of me; when all is said and done, given the whole “I’m happy that you are happy”  - which actually translates into “why aren’t you dead you mo fo” – you would imagine he would be keen as mustard to get her off the policies and divorce her so that she doesn’t have the legal right to instruct all and sundry that it was his one wish… Told to her many, many times – that there was to be a ‘non-resuscitation’ rule!

If the never ending “delay” is just a tactic to wear me down; cease my asking for what is rightfully mine – what I in fact, give to him; then I have to say it’s working.  Because I’m fast approaching ‘over it’!  Line in the sand!  He gets me: unencumbered.

I don’t intend to be a Moodle Master forever…

Groundhogs Day

Weird.  I have spent 1.5 years on the same wheel.  I’m a mouse…  A hamster!  A furry rodent! WTF?

I used to be tough!  Mind you, I used to be slim too and those wheels have most certainly fallen off.

I’m bloated!  And it seems that everything else goes to hell in a hand basket.  Too fat to lean over and do a pedicure.  And if you think on it, what is the point of dressing up when everything looks like crap?

And then there is the sway on things.  Is this me in a funk, or me finally admitting to what I’ve known the entire time?

Reality is that I know my propensity for drama.  When I’m happy, I tend to rip down my life.  I don’t deliberately set out to self-destruct; it just kind of happens.  Upside is I lose weight, but surely dieting would be easier!

And I know I have to weigh it all up and make an informed decision.

But hell, when does it stop being ‘self-destruction’ and become ‘self-preservation’?

Something is missing with the Squeeze and for the life of me; I don’t know how to fix it.  I don’t even know if it can be fixed.  And at the end of the day, I’m not sure I want to be fixing something all the time – it’s beginning to be bloody hard work and when all is said and done, I have done the hard road!  More times than I care to admit.  I want something easy; to be in love and know that they love me.

We had a high level discussion this morning regarding a “what if”.  Say I got a job 1.5 hours from here – which is a possibility; I’ve a yearning to move to Torquay; be close to family – obtain a lifestyle you can’t get in Melbourne.  So he pipes up to say he would have to think about the impact on his life and family before deciding if he would move or not.

Personally, I’d have thought that titbit could have been announced prior to me applying and going off for an interview; but to each their own.

It’s not like we would be moving to the moon.  But it certainly would impact the harridan.  Her ability to call him at the first sign of the kid’s runny nose to tell him he is taking the day off work to baby sit (a fourteen year old…) would certainly be more difficult.  As would the “do this/do that” text messages.  I see that as a bonus for going.  He sees it as a minus – that he wouldn’t have as greater impact on his kids’ lives (be a slave).

For me, I kind of figure that ending things with me would have a far greater impact on his life than he expects it would but, we all make our own decisions.  Luckily we were walking in the sun as we had the discussion and my watery eyes were hidden behind my sunglasses – but hell, what do I have to do to move into the area of “important” to this person?  And when do I just give up trying?

In the end, I decided we would each just to do what is right for us. 

For me, I’ve put up with dating a whole family; complete with nagging wife – for far too long.  If I get offered the job; I’m taking it.  Aside from that, it is a fantastic opportunity.  And if what we have doesn’t mean enough to him to come with me, then I guess that is that. 

I did say there is no point in a long distance relationship.  I don’t want that and have no intention of living like that.  It’s bad enough now with the divorce, financial discussion and superannuation policy updating that was supposed to be done in February – that is still not done.  And to be honest, I’m getting sick of hearing my own voice telling him it has to be done.

I guess fate will take me where it will! 

Sisters Night

Yesterday I went off to Daylesford with my two sisters for the night.  My younger sister lives in the UK so we try to make sure we do the family thing; and often.

Yesterday, this consisted of an afternoon of tarot card readings, lunch, then champagne, hot stone massages, more champagne, dinner, more champagne and then some red wine. 

To start off the proceedings my sister called me when I was about .5 hour out of Daylesford.  I was on day two of a migraine and had consumed enough codeine to kill a small farm animal.  This actually makes you pretty dim witted but leaves the headache thumping along; point being you’re too dim witted to care that your head is thumping.  She noted the time and told me that my tarot appointment was fast approaching and I’d better ‘push it’.  I did.  Right up until the tyre blew out. 

Upside was that this happened just outside of town so I got to limp into the main street, the rubber basically on fire and billowing smoke.  Then I got to do the ‘helpless’ act.  Stand by the car; spare tyre on show for ten minutes until two gentlemen pulled over and offered to change my tyre.  Of course I was missing something, so off they went and came back with all the tools you could possibly need including a hydraulic jack. 

I stood by the car with my umbrella while they changed it, threw the pieces of the dead one in the boot and took off.

Then it was off for lunch, massage, champagne, more champagne and then out to dinner.

The rest of the family knows when a good night is in progress as weirdo text messages fly around (never sent from the owner of the phone of course).  Now, with progress and technology, this is even worse.  iPhone access meant my Facebook status said “I am a hermaphrodite”.   Proof of how expected this is within my family was my niece leaving a comment of: ‘left your phone unattended huh?’

The champagne and all meals were fantastic.  The place we stayed in was gorgeous with only the minor hiccup of the ipod docking station not working so the movies didn’t happen and we wasted about 2 hours with plugging and unplugging before finally giving up.

The tarot reading was interesting.  I think the velvet wearing psychic’s generally use a combination of intuition, the law of averages and pointed questions.  Palm reading meant touching rings which noted relationship state.  The month you were born gives an insight into star sign and therefore some personality traits of that sign.  Still, even with all that (he did guess wrong a few times), I still found it kind of interesting!  I’ve had it done quite a few times and never, not even once did one ever turn to me and say “your life is crap!”

So you cross their palm with silver, or in modern day terms, a visa card – and you get to feel good about the fantastic changes that are coming to your life!  Sounds worth it to me!

Although this morning we were lacking the verve of yesterday, we went out for breakfast so it couldn’t have been too bad. 

As for the squeeze; the tarot guy had that right I suspect.  ‘You have a strong, very good relationship that is here to stay.  You are the same.”

Great.  I’m a moodle…

Falling wheels…

Ok; I figured I’d point out from the outset that the Squeeze is still a moodle.  Hell, he is ‘moodle personified’ in all things, with all that it entails – including the circus music.  However, every so often he does seem to surprise me and make an off the cuff comment that goes totally outside the realms of ‘squeeze reality’.

I was being generous there.  It happens so rarely that I’m not actually giving it its due.  Instead of feeling my heart miss a beat and then quicken…  Instead of swooning and giving him a hug; I’m sitting there thinking ‘who the hell are you..?  And where have you stashed the moodle?’

There was nothing special going on this weekend.  We spent Friday night over my side of town which is always enjoyable (and clean).  Saturday night we were going to a party over his side of town so were to spend the night in ‘clean freak hell’.  This alone is enough to make me drag my feet so I suggested he pick me up which in fact gave the whole thing a kind of “date” night feel.

Benefit of this is when we got home to his house; the place wasn’t as clean-freakish as normal.  While I had spent the afternoon on my side of town, in bikie mode watching Sons of Anarchy; he had been cleaning; and it showed.

We had a good night out and got home in time to pj up and watch a show on television and then slink off to bed.  I awoke quite late and he was nowhere to be found.  That the car was in the drive and a wallet/phone on the table meant I could safely assume he had gone off to swim laps; either that or had been kidnapped (and they’d bring him back soon enough, so I wasn’t overly concerned.)

When he returned, he said, quite casually: “as I was walking back from the pool, I thought how lucky I am.” 

I was quite taken aback.  In fact, had to clarify that he meant he was lucky because he had me; was happy and things were going well!

On our way back to my side of town, he accused me of being a ‘time thief’; because it felt as though we had only just had breakfast.

I began to wonder if the wheels were falling off his ‘moodleness’.  Maybe he was going to actually turn out to be ok in the art of romance.  Perhaps he wasn’t as shallow as I figured.

Hmmm.  No.  I’m positive he will revert to form soon enough.

Bikie Tough - Grrrrr

Weird.  I’m totally hooked into the Sons of Anarchy at the moment. 

We are talking total macho crap with tattoo’s and Harleys.  Laws broken, wheeling and dealing, the odd murder.  The works.  The first few episodes I wasn’t quite sure, but by episode five, I was addicted to the point where I’m sitting there watching as I’m downloading more.  I was seriously considering watching another episode after I got up at 3am to check where I was at in download land. 

For those that may be shaking their head – I am watching the whole three seasons on eBay – so I’m not killing anyone.   It's about waiting, which in case you missed it - I'm not that good at.

Anyway, a hard man is good to find.  Give me one with a sense of humour, a code to follow and the strength to follow it through and I’m there.  Hell, throw in a nice bike and that is even better! (husband number one has about eight bikes – including four Harley’s).

So; sitting there watching it with my little Moodle last night – I wondered where it all went wrong…

Reneging - Promises come and go…

Well D Day came and went with no busy bee activity and the promises/agreements made in the Nut Doctor’s office; remain unfulfilled.

As you have probably figured out by now, I’m not often at a loss for words.  Yet strangely, I am.  I am sitting here submerged in uncertainty and inaction.  I’m uncertain if this whole “tomorrow” (never comes) thing is about wearing me down, utter laziness or just incapable of ending the marriage.  And I have no idea what to do about any of those scenarios anyhow.

If it’s about wearing me down, trust me; it’s working.  I’m not seeing wisdom coming with time; I’m seeing weary comes with time. 

Laziness?  Well he is most certainly that, yet can you be so lazy that you are willing to walk away from a pretty damned good relationship...?  Well if too lazy is the reason that nothing has been done, then I can only assume that ‘yes’.  You can be that lazy.

Then we have what is behind door number 3.  Ahhh the mysteries of true, never ending love (I could almost break into singing ‘sweet mysteries of life at last I’ve found you…’; but since I’m at work, I won’t).  

Ok.  So is this whole thing just about an inability to say goodbye?  Incapable of ending?  I’m pretty certain it’s not about going back – if so then forget about the problems with the dicky ticker…  He should seriously be looking at mental health issues because I’ve only ever met one wife that was a bigger nut case bitch than she is – my ex sister-in-law – wife to my older brother (Ahhh she is affectionately known as the ‘brown tooth slut’ in family discussions and as it happens, I am off to his wedding to the new wife (who is neither fat, nor does she have brown teeth!).  So no.  It can’t possibly be about wanting to keep that little tie there, the link, keep things together… Just in case.

I could never love anyone that freaking stupid, so I know that isn’t the case.

So we go around and around and around – and it all comes down to laziness..???  He has got to be kidding! 

Hey!  Moodle – shut down the wife and old life or get lost – because I’m seriously getting to the end of my patience!