158 Days

Perhaps it was unwise to put a counter up, given that I feel a surge of anger when I see it… 

Kid 3 came and went without discussion or papers; and this only served to annoy me all the more.  First, its winter; its damned cold – but the Harridan sends him off without a change of clothes or a coat.  I guess it’s too much to ask that the kid have additional jocks so he can actually shower…

The Squeeze gave him a pair of his jeans to wear; it was a pair that no longer seemed to fit around his girth.  Although he is now down a pair of jeans, at least he didn’t have to hand over money to buy the very thing he is paying maintenance for. 

He has asked me several times if I am shrinking his clothes.  I’m not.  But we are both expanding.  The other morning while driving to work I had a flash of us getting ready that morning and I realised that we looked like a pair of gingerbread men – with currants for eyes in our doughy white faces.  But I regress…

Of course he did buy a specific calculator for school that the kid said he ‘had to have’ and I could immediately see that will be her future ploy.  One I hope the Squeeze will curtail quick smart.

The most difficult part of having kids which are not mine around me; is not being able to say exactly what I think, when I think it.  We have very different views on parenting.  If the squeeze and I are black and grey; then the Harridan and I are black and flaming red.  In a nut shell, I believe in discipline.  I’ve never believed in “there are no losers”.  What a lot of nonsense.

In fact I kind of liked some speech Bill Gates gave at some college (which could quite possibly be an urban myth) that basically said:  The world won't care about your self-esteem.  The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Spot on.  Sorry, but let’s not tell kids they’re great when they aren’t.  Let’s not push kids down a path wrong for them; and then have a hissy fit because the rest of humanity sees ‘reality!’  The rest of the world is not blinded by your hippy glasses!  If the kid doesn’t get enough time on stage that is generally because your kid moves like a robot, looks uncomfortable and totally out of place against all those kids that actually love what they are doing as they sing and dance their way across the stage!

As far as I can tell, kid gloves and rose coloured glasses means you are basically breeding kids that will never cope with failure.  They miss out on the ‘suck it up’ gene.  Not everyone can be a ‘sensitive’ artist or musician; and when I think about it, why the hell would you want one?  Hard to break into (combined with an inability to suck it up…)  And not great in financial security; at least not unless you hit the big time.

I’ve gone off on a tangent again...

My point is that I don’t want to pounce on the kid nonstop for what I consider are bad manners.  Sorry, but if I am watching something on the television and leave the room for a second, do not pick up the remote and switch channels to start watching something else.  If we say “dinner is on the table”; don’t ignore us until the show you are watching is over; because if you come to eat after we have done the dishes, cleaned up and sat down – then you need to do your own damned dishes; don’t expect me to wait on you.

And my number one pet hate – don’t become an extension of the damned television! Or one day you’ll wake up with a remote stuck to your hand!  You have to push kids to get out there and live life.  Growing up with over protective, helicopter, velvet wearing parents creates socially inept young adults.  Not that it bothers me – ain’t my kid!

Tonight; the Squeeze is off to watch kid 3 at the debating club.  Not my cup of tea, but hey, gives me a night off to do girl stuff!  Will he come home with divorce papers?

Not a snowballs chance in Hell.

You Guessed It…

No talk about what 'he knows he had to talk' about today.  

No divorce papers either.  

This is becoming beyond ridiculous and I’m almost tempted to send her a link to the blog – just so she can see how the real world views what she is.  It annoys me that I’m annoyed.  It annoys me to hear me annoyed – but as the counter would attest to – we are now at 155 days of him being in control – and I’m totally jack of it.  She has totally decimated his finances; emasculated his manhood; and obviously won’t stop until she has ruined this for him also.

And he is going to sit and let her.  Because I can’t, and won’t, just put up with this.  Not for much longer.

The lack of organisation is driving me absolutely mad.  It’s like sitting on a damned seesaw – I am incapable of dealing with it and having said this prior to the ‘move in’; feel a seething anger at her utter selfishness and his inability to tell her to jam it sideways with a pogo stick.

I had no idea if Kid 3 was coming until about 2.30pm today.  I object to having this thrust upon me without giving me time to organise.  I object to the fact that this seems to be decided by the Squeeze and Harriden – when this is my home.

My objection becomes irritation about everything… I suspect that the time is coming where I will just say “umm no.  Sorry.  It wasn’t planned, so no.”  

Time For A Countdown

It seems that this weekend will not be the “you know what has to happen” conversation required by the Harridan prior to signing the divorce, after all.  Go figure.

We are going to a Christening which I felt was just a tad more important than kid 3 soccer; given that it is a once in a lifetime affair; as opposed to soccer – which occurs every weekend. 

As much as I admire his ‘dadly’ sensibilities, I have to wonder at the commitment.  I mean we are not exactly talking about the Socceroos.  Sure, put in the fatherly stuff; stand on the sidelines in the cold and clap a bunch of 14 yo hoons racing around an oval every Saturday; but in the scheme of things, I doubt the kid will remember if he skips one every so often.

To my email reply to ask ‘what about the discussion…” the Squeeze informs me that he has a plan.  The thought of his ‘plan’ does not excite me.  Then is no thrill or shiver of anticipation.  I never doubted his smarts but let’s face it; he never actually has a good plan. 

His plan, it appears, is to somehow get his car over to the other side of town; let kid 2 take it the day before and then have kid 2 drive kid 3 to the Christening to meet us.

All sound incredibly complicated to me.  After all, he does all the too-ing and fro-ing (at his expense).  I reply to say why can’t she drop him off; and how, pray tell, are you to have the “conversation” you know you have to have before she’s sign the stinking divorce papers!

Hmm.  No reply to my calmly worded email.  And it was calmly worded, but after so much time has elapsed and so many conversations/arguments over the divorce, it’s lack of movement, his testicles and his inability to disengage; well I figure he can read the frustrated shouting mind blowing freaking anger that wants to leave my mouth; yet remains firmly trapped within.

Then I start to wonder; exactly how long has this divorce been “in control”..?  So I waste a little time going back through my phone calendar because, ahh hell, my whole life is organised and synched on there.  And there it is: 25^th November, 2010 during the nut doctor session.  153 Days to be exact.  We have had 153 Days of “In Control” – yet seemed to have moved no further forward.

I decided I’d create a little counter to see just how many days will pass by before the Moodle actually throws the hunch of his damned back!  And here it is…

And the Harridan remains...   But it's under control!

The Art of Disengagement

We all have our strong points; the things we are good at, those that we are not so great at.  In the Squeeze’s world, the ‘slow on the uptake’ list would have ‘cleaning’ and ‘organisation’ firmly there at the top of the list. 

I would imagine most of my blogs are around ‘clean freak hell’; that and his inability to organise. 

Organisationally, I’ve taken to coordinating our outlook calendars to manage time.  When something comes up, it goes in the calendar and updates his.  He’s taken to that so well that he is in fact sending invitations to me when he organises a night out – so ‘inability to organise’ slinks down the list.

His utter laziness and lack of care if the place looks like a crack house, has to some extent, been eliminated by moving to my place.  I don’t let things get to the point of no return and although I abhor the use of the term ‘house frou’, I suspect that is what I am in regards to him picking up after himself.  I try to bite my tongue.  In fact, if he realised just how often I actually stopped myself from saying “get your shoes off!” he would run a mile.

Personally, I’m not sure why I have to explain that taking your shoes off when you come into the house is a good idea.  I have beige carpet in the bedrooms.  It’s winter.  Winter = mud.  Mud = stained carpet.  See…  A fool could understand it, so I’m not sure why he can’t.

But like a dazzling star on a Christmas tree, what sits at the very top of his list, is retarded disengagement gene; or RDG.

It took the nut doctor all of about 2.7 seconds to work out that he had a problem with being able to reclaim the power…  He couldn’t quite get to what I consider, is a relatively simple task of just opening the Harridan’s handbag and extracting his testicles.

To be honest, I suspect she has wished me to hell and back a hundred times.  With me, came the vanishing – albeit, slowly!  But she is watching her money tree/whipping boy slowly dissipate; fading before her very eyes.  And I’m quite certain that she intended the “til death do we part” bit would actually be until death; at least on a financial/scapegoat level.

But it is not without pain and anger.  And I am ever reminded of this.  Yesterday I found his application to remove her from the joint bank account – completed in January.  Joint bank account!!!!  Lucky for him I found this and not a joint bank account statement; or I have no doubt I’d have stabbed him!  Damned Moodle!

No.  It won’t happen overnight.  There is no striding to the handbag to snatch the testicles back.

It will be done one pubic hair at a time…

Groundhogs Day…

Well.  The Squeeze is off to see the Harridan on Saturday.  Was to be tonight… Maybe tomorrow night but it all just seems all too hard for the art teacher.  So it’s before, during or after the soccer on Saturday.  What if she hasn’t got an answer… the divorce papers… resolution?  Well the Squeeze will do it himself.

You are probably thinking that we heard that one last week.  And the week before.  And the one before that.  And quite probably, the week before that. 

You are right.  We did.  Do I expect it will occur?  Not a chance.

That he wants something just seems to set off the 'cha-ching' chant.  A light goes on in her head (which is good, because there isn’t a whole lot more going on up there) she has the upper hand; she can drag more out of him.  Take just a little more. 

I argue that it’s not worth the drama.  Just do it himself and have her notified because hell, she will want her pound of flesh...  His first born in exchange for a divorce; and since she already has that, she probably wants his left testicle; maybe both.  Rich, considering he doesn’t even need her consent.

As for me, my “I want her dead. I want her dog dead.  I want her house, burned to the ground…” (in true Godfather fashion) radar goes off.  I couldn't give a rats what she wants.  I’m voting for a scorched earth policy.

And getting information out of him is like pulling damned teeth.  But the gist of it is that he needs her to do it because if he does it, it's about $600 and if she does it, it is $60 because she has a healthcare card...

Ummm Pardon?  A healthcare card?  The Harridan is on a HEALTHCARE CARD? 

I can actually feel my anger and outrage escalate at that titbit.  So here she is, sending the kid and a million prescriptions (all at about 25-30 bucks a pop) for the Moodle to get – when she has a health care card and could get them for about 5 bucks a pop?  That level of spite is beyond my capability of understanding – and I’ve got three ex husbands!!!

I had seen it before; her giving him a prescription for an epipen to get it filled.  Unfortunately for her, I’m anaphylactic and also require an epipen and so know that if you have a permission number, the cost is $25 or so.  If not, it’s about $125 or so.  For her of course, on a healthcare card, it would have been $5 or so.   

Surely there is a God and he will throw the vitriolic bitch a whole world of something nasty.

Snap - Is the Weekend Over Yet?

I'm not being slack.

I've had days off with flu; then number 1 son and his partner come for the week before squiffing off to do the family/friends partying.  Tonight, I dropped them at the airport, shed a few tears, came home and tomorrow - back to normal and blogging!

The Great Divider

You know what they say; you can choose your friends but not your family.  They also say you can’t choose who you fall in love with.  Hell; they are certainly true.  But the friends we choose and the lovers we allow access into our lives, all come with a great divider.   

Football.

I figure it should be something you confess up front because let’s face it; who you barrack for is supposed to say a lot about who you are.  Collingwood = no teeth, probably comes from Frankston and wears moccasins.  Melbourne = a little snotty and just a tad too good for the rest of us.  The list goes on really; Footscray, the working class west.

To be honest, I’d never heard the Squeeze breath a word about football.  I’d never seen a scarf emerge, nor any reference to any particular grand final; so I was mildly surprised to discover he barracked for Collingwood.

I’m not sure how committed he is to the “supporting” of the team.  He doesn’t own a scarf and has all his own teeth so it can’t be too firmly ingrained I suppose.  Kid 3 once barracked for Footscray I think, then switched to St Kilda; and now says he doesn’t follow AFL – so that shows no firm commitment right there.

My kids, all three, have ‘blue and white” blood.  Most of my family are also Cat fans.  I didn’t remember the ’63 grand final since I was about one but I remembered the 2007 grand final sure enough.  We’d been to four losing ones and they stick in your mind…  

My mother, well into her 60’s trundled off after the game to fulfil a lifelong bet; when we win the flag, we would get a ‘Cats’ tattoo.  In fact she was the only one of us that did and made it to the news filming this old duck squeaking off to a tattoo parlour.  It was quite funny and to be honest, pretty cool.

But I regress.  So last night, the Squeeze and I and Daughter and her Squeeze, also a Collingwood fan go off for a night in the freezing cold to bond.  The boyfriend is actually amazingly quiet.  Getting a sentence from him is like pulling teeth.  We get into the ground and it was white line fever.  He’s on his feet shouting “ball!” to the point where I worried he would lose his footing and roll from the top of the great southern stand!

And every goal we missed; they would turn and grin at us.  Every goal they got, the Squeeze would just look at me and smile.  Not a real smile, one of those smug “stuff that” kind of smiles.

But of course as in all good fairy tales, reality is an ugly thing.

The last quarter saw our team prevail and daughter and I were on our feet, singing the song over and over.

Weird.  But the Squeeze’s sat; rather subdued.  Not a smile in sight!

Cantankerous

I’m not sure why, but I’m basically the bitch from hell of late.  I’d be surprised if the squeeze wasn’t squiffing off to bed wishing that he was safely in the arms of the harridan – which would be akin to wishing yourself dead as far as I can see.

Why am I so irritable?  I’m trying to keep it in check, but suspect it is work that is seeping into my world.  I liked it better when it was work hours; log off computer and mind and get into the real life.  Instead, the atmosphere there at the moment is evil; the new kings and queens are downright insidious – and it is relentless.

Hell, why does meanness travel in a pair with utter stupidity..?

It’s totally mind boggling!

Pinch Me

Every so often I shake my head in utter astonishment at how I got to be where I am.

Upon slinking into the post office tonight, I was greeted with a ‘registered letter’.  Frick.  I hate those – nothing good ever comes in a registered letter.  After my heart did a little dance and my stomach did a tiny dive, I turned the envelope over and saw it was addressed to the Squeeze rather than me and breathed a sigh of relief.

When I got home, he had that little look on his face… You know; the one you have prior to working out that nothing good ever comes via registered letter.

I wasn’t surprised… He was disappointed.

It seems the landlord and agent from ‘clean freak hell’ have been in to inspect and followed that up with some Gerry built invoice on repairs and had forward an invoice and intention to claim 5+ k for repairs.

Now I’ll admit; I hate that hole called a house, but the reality is, it is a piece of rat crap.  I’ve said from the start, from the ugly walls to the ripped blinds – right down to the 3 inch thick moss green shag – it is a filthy hole of a house that is impossible to clean.  Lino doesn’t reach the walls.  The floorboards are warped - almost a death trap.  If you dare to put the .2 horsepower air con on; the power point gets hot enough to fry an egg on it.  The cupboards are chip board and falling to pieces.  I’m sure I’ve mentioned my great drawer repairs after just pulling them out has seen them disintegrate!

And if they think that we (meaning the Squeeze) is just going to run with that – oh hell; they are in for a surprise.  If they don’t back off I’ll be spending my weekends down there out the front of the house with a large sign that says “landlord from hell!”  Not to mention out the front of the agents office with “rip off agents!”

Then we have the mental giant that is the Harridan – who sends weirdo messages such as “happy 2 do divorce but u no wat has to happen” – Ummm no.  Actually, neither of us have any idea what has to happen – other than a quick course in literacy skills for her.  What the hell could “have to happen?”  Or there is the “we have 2 discus…” No.  Actually.  We don’t.  What part of living with someone else...  Separated for 4 damned years does this woman not get..?   

And if it is a power trip; power to her because after all her crap, he is now doing it himself.  Looks like power just went out the window and even better, if I will make sure I mention to anyone that asks that she refused to sign the divorce papers so he had to just do it on his own.  That would make the witch choke on her spleen lol thinking that she was dumped and at home pining.

Between the real estate tossers and the Harridan, whom I’m convinced is mentally unstable – they’ll give him a heart attack.  And after he just moved in too!  If they think there is any moving going on if they kill him – they can think again!

No Papers Saturday; I’ll do it Myself

This becoming quite the mantra; and I guess a week here or there doesn’t really mean much to the squeeze but from my perspective, when the ‘divorce’ has been ‘in control’ for going on six months now…  Well I’m obviously getting just a little tired of hearing about it and never actually seeing it done.

Last week it was ‘if she doesn’t turn up with the papers, I’ll submit them myself’.  

Of course she didn’t – and he didn’t.  

Last night it was ‘if she doesn’t turn up with the papers, I’ll submit them myself’. 

Of course she didn’t, even though he had sent her several reminders to bring the paperwork.  This time when he asked, it was “we have to talk about it”.

Excuse me, but with the frick is left to talk about?  He is living with me, supposed to be my partner, in a relationship with me.  There isn’t anything to talk about.  The marriage has been over – in fact I’ve thought it was over for most of the 10+ years I’ve known him.

And sadly, the first emotion to escalate in my head is anger – because I’m sick to death of hearing about it.  Sick of him ‘being in control’ when he is anything but ‘in control’.  She is in control, as per usual.  And it is made worse because I can’t even shout at the idiot, since the kid is here and I find it hard to even look at him or have any form of conversation because if I open my mouth, everything I feel will most certainly just fall on out!

I can see I’m going to have to give an ultimatum and to be honest, I think I’m ready for that – because this means a lot to me, he knows it does – but still drags his feet.  

And I’m really starting to wonder why… 

The Meile

I’ve basically slept for three days straight.  Thank you, flu vaccination.

Not even the bits of black fluff from the Squeeze’s synthetic scarf that I washed and dried, and is now covering every freaking available surface, could get me out of bed to wield the Meile like a sword.  And I love my Meile.  The last one retired after 15 years – I saw a long hair beside the drain in the bath and made the mistake of sucking it up.  After 15 years, my vac had enough suction to slurp up a bucket of drain water before blowing up…

I hate carpet yet I have it in the bedrooms; cream carpet – now dotted with black, synthetic fluff!  It’s on beds, pillows, tables – it’s everywhere.  I nearly just took the damned thing out and shoved it in the bin; I mean no one would wear it... Surely!  It’s only about two foot long, so not actually long enough to be a scarf in any case. 

So today, feeling a little better than yesterday meant that I’m setting my alarm to get up and vacuum, do a little shopping and cook something.  Poor guy thought he was getting a housework Queen with skills in cooking – and all he has got so far is a shivering, sleeping mess with bad bed hair.

Headaches from Hell

I’ve been stuck at home in bed with a blinding damned headache so have had nothing to say even if I could have dragged my drug addled arse from bed to be bothered saying anything.

Could be stress; yet strangely not from the Squeeze; nor even the Harridan at the moment.  Work sucks – which is probably the root cause.  Upside is that I forget to stress about things here so other than my standard “get the divorce yet?” question once at the end of each day (if I remember) which I will admit, is more to annoy him than anything else, I haven’t got anything to complain about!

Headaches are so annoying.  Our new storage units turned up yesterday and I was too sick to feel any glee at being able to put stuff away!  I did start putting the alphabetised records away but realised I was better off waiting until we had sorted what goes where.  As now they are out of order – yet strangely, I felt too much like crap to move them all again!

That is when I know I’m sick…