Sunday, July 31, 2011

Lazy Sunday

I realise today, now that I have sat down, that I spend a rather large amount of time just tidying up after the Squeeze.   

Amazing!  This penchant to drop after use is something that has taken years to learn; and I wonder how long rehabilitation will take.

I see evidence of his evolution.  Small things, like this morning while cleaning the bbq hot plate he actually bought in the scourer from the cupboard under the bbq instead of using the one I have in the kitchen which costs five times more and has to be thrown out five seconds after he has used it.  That only took three or four exclamations of “WTF????” and it’s sunk in and seeded in his head.

Ok.  So how long til the music sheets go back in the box, the slipper go in the bedroom, the guitar goes back on its stand, the assortment of papers, books and dvds go to their rightful place.  How long til all of that occurs..?  And how long until he stops telling me “I have to do everything!!!” if I ask him to put one thing away…?

The answer is probably never; and in the scheme of things, perhaps I just have to put up with the use/drop – just like he has to put up with the manic cleanliness.

But I’m not so sure about the drooly, squeezing his nipple while thrusting his hips thing….

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Bravery. Thy name is ‘Squeeze’

He needs a medal.  No.  Really.  Today we went to watch kid 3, play soccer.   

Turned up in the old home town; unannounced.  I’m sure the huddle of lesbians looked twice, but no one said anything.  It wasn’t overly planned.  I went because on the return trip we wanted to look at a house.  I didn’t want to have to attempt to navigate suburbs away…  iPhone with google maps on my knee, trying to watch the road; so watching a game of soccer was a small price to pay.

It was blisteringly cold but over with rather swiftly.  At the conclusion, kid 3 sought us out and we spoke to him for minutes before the Harridan descended and played her game of  ‘aren’t I civil? See how nice I am..?’  She even asked if we were going for coffee and I felt my hackles rise and bit my tongue.

I’m not great a faking.  If I like you and find you interesting, you know it.  If I have no feeling one way or another, I probably look right through you.  If I dislike you, I’m polite but as frosty as freaking snow.

She got frosty.

But hello? Does she really think he doesn’t tell me everything? Does she for one minute think that I don’t see and hear..?  Read the messages she sends?  Know that she is a bitter cow?  Yeah, well don’t bother to be nice to me; I do far better and have more respect if you just show your true colours.

Frankly, I wanted to say loudly, “actually, I don’t want a coffee.  I want a divorce but you’re obviously too desperately clinging on to give him one.”  We all know she wouldn't want him back in a pink fit...  Doesn't even like him!  So that really would have been just for the audience, but that would be enough.

Oh God.  It filled me with joy; and that was only thinking about it…

Friday, July 29, 2011

The Harangue Continues…

There was a moment, albeit, very brief, when I actually felt sorry for the Squeeze this morning.  He was up early and rushing about the house to get on the road, off to do the Harridan’s bidding.  Why did I feel sorry for him?  Because I suspect he realises he has reached a ‘do or die’ moment in life and he is uncertain how to deal with it.
He isn’t big on change at the best of time, and here I am, asking him to completely change the way his life has been for the last 25 years.  But when all is said and done, the life he has lived for the last 25 years just isn’t sustainable.  He has allowed it to evolve in this fashion and like everything else that you let slide, there is a world of pain before you get to where you need to be.
For the sake of peace, he has gone above and beyond; let her strip him of everything (including his testicles and spine) so in part, it is his own fault.  But as with most people that suffer battered syndrome, it is done slowly, systematically, with such manipulation that you are in too deep to stop it before you realise what is going on.
So we end up with this co-dependent relationship where she nails herself to the cross for the world to see what a martyr she is, while she continuously berates him for being what she considers, is a pathetic father.  And his acceptance of this, just seems to escalate the demands and abuse.
I should probably point out the truth of what I mean when I say ‘asking him to change how it currently works'.  If this paints me as the picture of restraint, having a calm and reasonable conversation with him – that would be erroneous.  It is more like me screeching at him and storming around the house slamming doors, before slugging back another glass of red while wondering what the hell I have let myself in for.
I try and look at it abstractedly; without success.  No matter how many times I twist that Rubik’s Cube, I come to the same pattern.  He fears her.  It’s that simple.  And I’m sorry, but “you can’t deal reasonably with a psycho” just isn’t going to cut it for me anymore.  I don’t care if she’s a psycho.  She hasn’t seen me in action yet.
So after me shrieking at him last night, he finally refused to give into one of her demands.  Just one…  And for that, he obviously didn’t sleep well, got up early to shower and was ready to head across town to pick up kid 3 for school before I even got up.
I am a mother.  I’m not blind to the realities of life – there are unforeseeable circumstances that leap upon us all – we can’t plan for everything and I’m fine with that.  But her whole life is an unforeseeable circumstance.  Planning and organisation has never been demanded of her.  He has always just given in; done as instructed and so this is how she intends to proceed from here on.  It doesn’t matter that he is in a relationship and living with someone else.  She couldn’t care less if it inconveniences him, or me – as long as it doesn’t inconvenience her.
Yesterday, she needed the Squeeze to have the kid.  Fine.  That was fine by me.  Of course if I’d have understood the drama before I had said fine, I’d have said “sorry, no can do.”  But hindsight is a marvellous thing.  You see although she wanted us to have kid 3 for her benefit, she also wanted to go out for dinner with kids 1, 2, & 3 across the other side of town – and have the Squeeze trot over there when she was good and ready, to pick up the kid.
Sorry...?  Simple.  Either let the Squeeze get Kid 3 from school (far less inconvenience) and have the kid skip dinner; or go to dinner and drop him off when you are finished.
Sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?  Not in her world; because she does everything… EVERYTHING!!!!!!  See how she burns while doing things for these kids; do you see it???  Never was there anyone on the planet that was a martyr like this.  Joan of Arc was nothing!  Nothing! 
And I totally blew a gasket.  He told me he had put forward the option of meeting them half way, but no.  That was good enough.  Frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t want him to front at the restaurant to pick him up.  That way he could pause to pay the bill prior to buggering off home again.
Change is going to be a long drawn out affair.  Hope I last.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

The Wheels on the Bus Go…

You got it… Round and Round.  This is my life; summed up with one preschool song.  Hell, I’m not even sure if it is a preschool song; maybe it’s just a Simpson’s song?  Either way, we go around and around.  The difference being that unlike the bus, I never quite get anywhere.
We have had a quiet week since the tent issue on Sunday.  I must admit, I did briefly wonder if I would get the unpunctuated email and arrive home the next day to find empty drawers, however that didn’t eventuate.  So the feud fizzled out and we just moved into the land of normal.
If the Squeeze heard from the Harridan, he kept it to himself; or at least to a minimal explanation of no more than a couple of words.
Of course there is always the standard needle that she likes to dig in regarding kid 3 and how he is living on the edge of despair.  There is always that…   And while she draws the line at actually stating ‘it is all your fault’, she does dot information with what she considers is his obvious lack of care – this is her true skill – manipulation.
Frankly, I don’t see it.  I’m obviously missing something because we have him quite a bit and he is a relatively cheerful kid.  Granted, he’s not skipping around whistling show tunes, but he is fourteen.  If they do more than grunt at you I figure you’re in front! 
He is being teased and teasing in return.  He isn’t shy, he knows his way around and is perfectly comfortable; so either she is lying; or the kid is rolled into the foetal position, rocking and crying because he has had to go back to the gingerbread house with the wicked witch – and his name has suddenly been changed to Hansel.
But she won't accept happiness…  While he is a happy, well adjusted kid, she can’t hold a hand to her brow and present the face of the victimized, oppressed, and self-sacrificial martyr that she so obviously is.
Last night, he was to go to the “debating club” to watch the kid debate the for’s/againsts of the space program  [yes people, you can stop wondering why the kid doesn’t have a swag of friends lining up outside the door and around the block…  the debating club, combined with table tennis…]  Instead of slinking off for a night of fun, so much fun in fact that I mentioned I’d rather be dead… he received a text to say “no debating”.  No reason and let’s face it, he could send repeat questions via text or call until the cows come home; she was not going to answer. 
She was not going to answer because this way, she is the keeper of the knowledge and holds all the power. 
Not as groovy as other super heroes and I bet she doesn’t even get a ring like Shazaam…

Sunday, July 24, 2011


Tonight while taking the kid back, he actually remembered to ask for the tent that he left for their use at the start of the year.  Could have been the 5 reminders I gave, or maybe the text I sent when he left.  Yes... That is nagging, but it sticks in my craw that he always goes above and beyond and she delayed our holiday, treated him like crap and made our life stress on that trip; yet he leaves the camping stuff for her to use.  More so because he bought that when already separated, yet she continues to call it 'our tent'.

He doesn’t quite get my anger, but my life with the moodle is hard enough without him encouraging the “married couple” thing stays intact.  And let’s face it, while it is “them” and anything is still shared, then there is no “us”; at least not in my head – not that what I need or think has ever been considered.

He texts from the supermarket to enquire what I need and tacts on the text that we are to have kid 3 on Monday night.  I figure it must be lesbian night in velvet town…  I begin to text a reply to say “no problems for me, other than I’d prefer to stuff up her plans as she does ours every time”.  Then backspace and just send the fine by me, thinking that will shock him (which it did)

He comes home and I ask about the reason for Monday which is all about her having to leave early to take kid 1 to the airport.  I have to wonder why she doesn’t just let the kid get ready for school on his own and catch the bus; after all, for once he may actually make it to school on time…  But no, he is too little.  WTF..?  A quick memory flash to the never ending list of instructions that the Squeeze received when he arrived to pick him up because he didn't feel well one day is a pretty good indication that if he was 50, she still wouldn't think him capable of getting himself ready for school without her supervision.  Ooookkkaaayyy.

Then, I ask about the tent which I am almost positive he didn’t ask about.  He tells me he asked but doesn’t have it.  She gave it to the school to use.

I felt my blood boil up and down and up again and screeched at him. “What part of it isn’t her freaking tent does she not get?”  And I can picture what it will look like when and if he ever gets it back with a bunch of hideous kids running rampant through it.  

But that is the point I suspect.  That idiot Moodle I live with is obviously too stupid, or too disillusioned to understand that the idea of him ever having anything, must make her blood run cold.  For the life of me, I can't understand why.

And I keep wondering why he doesn’t feel anger, because there isn’t another person I know that wouldn’t have slapped that cow.  Twice.  What makes him continue to let her stomp all over him?  I'm not sure I will ever find out and at the end of the day, if he is happy to never have anything and to time and again, risk our relationship (sorry, but the cowardly lion act wears thin and is really unattractive) - then what the hell do I care?  All I can do is let him throw her the final megre things she has allowed him to have - and protect what is mine. 

But I can't stop wondering why he lets her do as she wishes; why he has to keep letting her attack continuously without repercussion.

And then I wonder about me; and realise that perhaps he is my self-flagellation; and I wonder when I will have punished myself enough.

Sandwich Short of a Picnic

We’ve had a busy weekend.  We always have a busy weekend when its kid time.  Mainly because the Harridan books him into all this stuff in the hope that he will start to have friends come over.  The issue with the gingerbread house, no privacy and the lack of technology obviously hasn’t registered in her head.  I’ve said my peace, now it’s up to the Moodle to attempt to bludgeon her with some reality.  Of course we all know how that will end.

So Friday I’m at jury duty and the Squeeze is at a funeral in hippy land.  From there, it’s grab the kid, take him to table tennis (try booking him into something cool may help…) and home at about 9pm.  A long day ending with the dragging of the stupid saxophone into the house where I say it has to go to the laundry.  It’s never played when here; the only thing it has managed to do is fall over and put a dent in the wall.  I see it as a test.  If the kid doesn’t willingly go and pick it up, unprovoked, then he’s not interested so perhaps she can cease the 3 private lessons per week and the demand for more money to pay for it.

Note:  It hasn’t moved from the laundry – and I’ve made it visible from the door…

Then it’s up and off to the soccer (with my point scoring oranges).  Then since they are on that side of town, they call in and have coffee with kid 2 before I text him a list of organic stuff he has to get at the market on his way home.

They straggle in the door about 2pm.  So far, the whole weekend has been about the Squeeze doing stuff with/for the kid.  Truth tell, I’m fine with that.  That is how it should be when you are a parent and aside from that, it gives me a moment of ‘me’ time so I can clean the damned house before the lazy swine come back through the door and start to leave stuff everywhere again.  Leave stuff around they will do, but at least the kid is still making the bed - including mimicking my cute little fold at the top.

So we sit down to finish watching ‘The Godfather’ - we’d started the night before but got too tired to finish, so decided intermission was the way to go.

Then then it starts.  A text at 3.55:40.

‘If you thought of only yourself again and didn’t take kid 3 to grading night or talked him out of it you’ve fucked up big time'         [please note that spell check corrected her illiterate crap]

WTF?  She is obviously not all there. Thought of himself..?  Again???  
When has he ever been allowed to do that..?

Saturday, July 23, 2011

The Art of Organisation

The kid is starting to learn the benefits of organisation.  We woke late, mainly due to my middle of the night tossing, turning and questioning the Squeeze.  Still, blame aside, it was nearly 10 am when he jumped out of bed and ran about the house organising the kid to throw on soccer gear.
I paused long enough to roll over and ask if he had done the oranges. 

Now the reception to that was almost laughable.

WTF?  How on earth…?  Is it oranges today?  How did I know?  As for the kid, he was astounded – and impressed.  I guess he has never, ever, faced such military precision before.  

It is simple really…  It’s a secret that we in the world of organisation know well; have handed down from generation to generation.  It’s called ‘use your brain’ or ‘logic’.

The soccer schedule comes in and rather than throw it on a pile of stuff to get tossed out with the rest of the crap or buried so far down it could never be found; I actually read it and set a reminder in my phone for Orange Day – with a reminder 2 days prior so I can ensure I buy the bag of oranges; which of course I had done.  So I get up, get a container, cut the oranges while they are still stressing over maps as to where it is at.  I can’t help there; somewhere – in velvet land I daresay… 
I don’t even want to know because you can bet your ass; it’s not a place I’m ever likely to visit.

So I hand them the oranges as they rush out the door and the kid has a grin on his face from ear to ear.  Why?  Because for once he can turn up someplace and be organised.  He doesn’t have to stress because his parents forgot.  And the Squeeze doesn’t have to turn up there, only to tuck tail and go shopping for oranges – and all the while, the other parents speculating at the sheer disorganisation and wondering if these parents actually give a shit.

In fact, they do.  They are just self-focussed and don’t think.  If they did, they would know that it would stress the kid; just like arriving for school late every day.

When they ambled home, I asked if I had the right day.  Not only did I have the day right, they mentioned that it was a whole lot less stressful turning up and being organised for once.  However, they didn’t appreciate it so much as to buy me flowers at the market on the way home. 

I still have so much more to teach them…

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Almost Forgot....

On the email sent to alert me to the fact that he has cleared his stuff out… The subject line read:  “you can turn your counter off”
Had I been in a laughing mood, that would have done it I suspect!
At least I know he is still reading the blog.

The Communicational Inept

Well the Squeeze packed up and let me know via email that he was gone.  Astounding.  I kind of figure after 2 years and living together, you actually get some form of discussion about it at the end – but no, not him.  He just grabs his bat and ball and buggers off home.
Home, since he has no home other than here, was with sister and mum.  Not as groovy as when you first think about it I guess.  Anyhow, he turned up here today and we managed to actually have some discussion without killing one another, or in fact, the spilling of anyone’s blood.

I’m quite articulate and have no problems in voicing my concerns, needs, wants, desires – hell, anything.  We are partners.  That is how it is supposed to be, at least from what I know.  He on the other hand, obviously just stores things until his explodes.  I have no idea how that works.  I would explode too often to do it that way.

No wonder he has had a heart attack is all I can say; because with all that emotion down there, smothering you, surely the only way out is to pop your clogs...?

It’s not as though I don’t know as things don’t progress, the harridan becomes monster like until it rules my world.  I wondering how he can not know that, and how I not do that.  I don’t think I can in reality.  Having said that, maybe I do have to step back, take a breath and let him work it out himself…  I just haven’t worked out how to do that.

And he - well he has to learn to understand that the harridan doesn't like him. She hasn't for a long time and never, ever will.  Get over it.  Who give's a hoot!  Let her drown in her bitterness!  But don't ask me to sit and watch while you allow yourself to get repeatedly tortured.  I can't do it.  If I could, I'd be like her.

Of course when discussing me, his words were chosen rather carefully, but I couldn’t help but see myself sitting there in the corner of the room, like some big, black spider… just waiting for him to walk in the door so I could suck the marrow from his bones…

I like it!

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

The Magic Phone

We went to bed without speaking last night – which I hate.  I got more silence this morning; which I also hate; mainly because I figure if there is an issue, it should be discussed.  So I say “don’t you think we should be discussing this..?”
And then I copped it.  I snooped on him.  Spied on him!  How dare I!  How dare I change the settings on his phone to spy on him!
You may recall a few months ago while blogging, I mentioned that we had been out to lunch with his brothers, the Munchkins.  The Squeeze’s brother and wife were fighting because he got caught out lying to her.  She was beyond angry; she was visibly shaking with it.   I was actually impressed when the Squeeze mentioned several times – “you just don’t get it do you? It doesn’t matter why or what.  You don’t lie to your partner.”
Hmm seems those wise words are only for others to live by, because I believe I am entitled to the same level of commitment really.  I mentioned this while he stormed around the house this morning; asking why it is, that this is the major focus – given that he lied to my face, twice.  I kind of think that lying should be right up there as well.
But this is not the case.  He didn’t lie.  He didn’t send that message.  Yes, he sent it to his friend, but not to her.  Even seeing it sitting there – in his sent folder – he still “has no idea how it got there.  He didn’t send it.  Can’t say more than that.”
Yeah.  And I’m just supposed to run with that???  Sorry, did I lose brain cells while gaining kilos?  I don't think so.
I remember an interview with Whoopi I heard once a long time ago; I think it was about Bill Clinton and the “I did not have sex with that woman” comment.  She said “of course he lied.  Any man is going to lie about that!  If you come home and walk in on your husband having sex with a cheerleader on your bed, he’s going to say he tripped and fell!!!!”  And she is, of course, 100% correct.
I am supposed to feel contrite that I snooped on him.  Here he is, taking the moral high ground about me snooping, and changing the settings on his phone so that I could snoop!  So a planned snoop!  And yep, guilty as charged; and I have no problem admitting that.
Well sorry, but I hate liars and I intend to know if that is the life he is offering.  My mother used to say "I'd rather live with a thief than a liar; because at least then I'd know to put my wallet away!"  I've never forgotten those words, beacuse they are spot on.
So I’m not even remotely contrite – because I am not the type to bury my head in the sand and just ignore the fact that someone else has more power over him than I; that he cares more about someone else and their feelings, more so than mine.  That my wishes obviously don't count and after nearly two years, it's getting pretty obvious, that they never will.  Why the hell would I just accept that?  I give more than that.  I deserve more than that.
But it is apparent now, that this is the case.  It is more important to him to attempt to be in her good books, than to be honest to me.  Even though he will never be in her good books.  And this is the reality, phone fairy’s and text messages aside.  Maybe he will shrug off this life and just go back to her, because he is not much use to anyone else until he can shut down what ever this is he has going for her.
No one wants to be second all the time.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Imagine My Surprise

I’ve gone out with quite a few liars over the years.  Three ex-husbands would kind of allude to that I guess.  That isn’t to say I haven’t lied when I felt cornered, I have.  But that was always at the end.  At the goodbye.  When you are at the door…

We have this recurring problem, the Squeeze and I, in that he can’t be anything, but a moodle – no matter how much I argue.  I thought that we had gone a little way in repairing that on the weekend.  I highlighted the fact that on the death of a friend, he had immediately sent her a text to tell her.
I don’t think I’m unreasonable when I say that I can't understand why he feels this overwhelming need to do things for her, pay things.  She has told him outright – she doesn’t like him.  She goes out of her way to ensure that things go badly, cost more, and are hell.  And yet he can’t wait to send her a text to tell her. I’m picturing a poodle on hind legs – tongue out… Look at me!  Look at me! 

And let's face it, it's not like she wasn't told by one of the mutual friends.  In fact, she didn't even bother to reply to him.

So he agrees that yes, maybe he needs to look at this and see someone.  We have a lengthy discussion on who to see so that he can work out what this is all about; why he can’t shut down this side of his life, even though it is affecting our life.

In reality – it is 'he' see someone; not 'we'.  And while debating, it’s 'not an issue' of course.  It’s just that he has a need to be liked by everyone.  From my perspective, that argument tends to go out the window when I point out that he wants people to like them yes, but doesn’t generally just hand over a 1000 k stainless steel fridge to anyone – just her.  Doesn't go above and beyond for anyone else.  Just her.  This isn’t about being liked by all and sundry.   This is an inability to close the door on her; put her in the past. 
Today, he gets a message of the anticipated funeral. Did he text her to tell her?  I ask him, given our lengthy discussion on it yesterday.  No, of course he didn’t.  He wasn’t sure the facts were correct so didn’t bother to tell anyone.

You may remember that in a blog last week, I said he lied.  I felt that he had and I had told him that, hell, he reads my blog anyhow - so he knew that was how I felt.  He denied it of course, but then that is how it usually works.  The worst person I ever went out with was a PI.  He used to laugh at the men caught out; they would deny it right up until you could see their face in the photo.

It’s not that I distrust him.  Mostly, I do trust him – but I go with the gut.  Last week when I suspected he lied to me, I changed the phone settings so that the sent messages are retained.  So I ask again if he had told her when the funeral was.  It's not a big deal, he could have said yes and I would have ranted at him a bit and called him a Moodle, big deal.  He says no, but this time the story changes slightly.  He only told a friend of his...

So of course, I look at the sent messages and low and behond.  There it is.  In black and white.  Sent to "many".  The friend, and the wife.

I'm not a bad snooper but I'm not great at keeping it under wraps.  I mean common sense would be to not alert him to the fact that I had checked, and he would blithly go on.  Of course I can't do that.  I'm far too busy steaming because not once, but twice - he looked me in the fact and lied to me.  And about..?  The same issue we have had since day dot.  The wife.

And in the face of my anger, he just continued to lie about it… “I did not” then when the phone is tossed at him – “I don’t know how that…”  Blah blah

Yeah.  Right.  Guess that means we moved into ‘the end’.  And in some ways, I guess I felt like I was just starting; and now I’m at the end already.  But then, such is life (according to Ben Cousins at least…)   ‘The Beginning of the End’ is what it means to me; because more of what I felt, just died.  
More will follow I expect.  He can’t seem to help himself.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Once Again for the Moron in Front…

I feel as though I go round and round in circles with the Moodle.  Possibly because that is exactly what I do!  I don’t believe he suffered any form of birth defect or mental retardation.  For the most part, he is a rational, humorous, intelligent person.
So why, as soon as the Harridan calls, does he become a 12 year old jumping to do her bidding like she is Mommy Dearest..?  And in reality, that is exactly what it is like.  She is the mother; he the child.  I mean what the hell does he think she can do..?  Whack him with the wooden spoon?
So given the Mommy Dearest theory, I can’t even really accuse him of still ‘holding a torch’; and that would almost be more appealing (and kind of amusing…) because she is a horrible person and I wouldn’t have to stab him.  It would be so much funnier to watch her torture him to death (as she invariably would).
Obviously, this isn’t how he sees it, but this is due to his ability to twists the facts in his own head after listening to her idiocy.  Guess that makes it more palatable to him when he is attempting to explain things; after all, I’m a gutless coward and I’m scared of the mentally unbalanced cow, just wouldn’t be cool.
And if it is propping up his self esteem, good on him - but it sure isn’t working for me!
Tuesday nights 2.5 hour marathon to pick up kid 3 from kid 2 and drop it at kid 1’s place was all about kid 1’s plans to go to velvet wearing hippysville the following day…  So that would eliminate drama and allow kid 3 to get home to the Harridan.
Logic (at least my kind of logic) would decree that kid 1 could pick up kid 3 from kid 2 – on his way to velvetland.  Cutting out the 2.5 hours the Squeeze added into the mix.  But no…  Because the fruitcake says “it’s a good opportunity for kid 1 and 3 to spend time” – yeah, well you make it happen fruitcake.  This is the bit he skips over.  It is all about the kid getting home.  Ummm no idiot.  It isn’t.  And either way, it’s her problem to deal with!
They live in a no bedroom, 2 level, tiny gingerbread house – that I’m tipping isn’t exactly neat.  There is no technology.  No internet.  No bedroom door that the kid can slam and escape her (or have privacy, which is kind of important at 14).

I’d be more focussed on fixing the kid’s environment than ensuring he spends time with kid 1!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Sounds of Silence

After I brooded for hours on end last night, I downed several glasses of red and then went to bed.  I awoke and… you guessed it; felt absolutely hideous.  More importantly, I am still damned hurt and angry. 
Angry because I am tired of having no opinion and fed up with some nut job ruling my life/house/relationship/time.  Hurt because I suspect the Moodle lied to me on Monday night.  The 202 klm drive was not due to Kid 2 forgetting work.  It was of course, something to do with the Harridan.  Something she had booked or planned that the kid had to come back for.
Of course the Squeeze denies this, but with 3 ex-husbands and a few boyfriends over the course of my life, I’ve learned to trust my gut every time.  And my gut says he lied.  This is disappointing; more so than all the other disappointments.  For if he has to lie to me, rather than telling her to arrange things herself… well we don’t really have a relationship, do we.
So anger and lying has meant that it is the sounds of silence at my place.  And I can't see that changing any time soon.
Given that I can usually talk underwater with a mouthful of marbles, the fact that I have barely uttered two words to him since shouting ‘just bloody go’; should be an indication of where I am at.  But the reality is that I’d rather live with a thief than a liar.  At least then I’d know to put my wallet away!  I truly hate liars, so the realisation that he would rather lie to me than fix the issue, is disturbing.
As for the anger… It seems that even if we had of been going out last night, I’d have been dumped; which is astounding.  How can I live a life like that, with no plans.?  It really just makes me shake my head in wonder and question myself as to what I am getting out of this relationship…  And I’m just going to come right out and say it – not fricking much to be honest.
The funny part is that it wasn’t as if it was an emergency.  The kid wasn’t stuck somewhere or lost.  This is the Harridan having a revelation that this is a “good opportunity for kid 3, to spend time with kid 1”. 
And out of that, the Moodle has to spend 2 hours making it happen.
I seriously just don’t get it.  I don’t understand why he doesn’t say “you organise it, you make it happen…!!!”  All I know is that I do 100% of the washing and ironing, 90% of the cleaning, 70% of the cooking and yet the wife is still the wife and I… well hell, it would seem that I don’t even get to have an opinion – thus the lying and the notification when it is too late to have an opinion (both of which I consider cowardly in the extreme.)
Until he learns to treat me as his partner, I will treat him the same.  Way down the food chain.
So I guess he had better work out how to turn the iron on…  Because it won’t take long before he runs out of shirts.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Here Boy! Here Boy! Come Here Dog!!!

That is the sound of the Harridan summoning the Moodle across town to do as he is told.  Did he go…?  What do you figure?  Of course he did.  He is obviously too stupid to work out that the occasional “no” would mean that her first thought, would not be him all the time.

Then again, that is probably what it is all about.  Can’t help but see the evidence mounting here.  No divorce; incapable of telling her to bugger off; the whole prancing Moodle act.
Frankly; I’m finding the whole thing fricking boring really.

Of course if I loaded up his email and sent her a link to the blog from him, I guess things would get interesting pretty damned fast…

With or without him...

I’m beginning to see that there is no training the Moodle.  I suspect he is too old to change out of that bow tie that wears so well.  No new tricks for the moodle, that’s for sure and hell, it is his problem.  Still, it isn’t like it doesn’t impact on me.
Last night I get home and start washing.  Then start on dinner.  We’ve been away all weekend so the place has missed its usual Saturday top to bottom clean.  5.30 comes and goes and he is still not home… I’m not going to call and ask, because I already know what is going on.  Kid drama.
It is not that I don’t trust my kids; I do.  But I also value family and friendships.  I was taught from a very early age to ‘anticipate problems’ and ‘don’t put yourself in the position to stuff up’.  So I guess you can imagine my eyebrow raise when the Squeeze, somewhat stupidly decides it is fine to leave kid 1, 2, 3 and girlfriend at his friend’s house down the coast when we leave to go home on Sunday.   When my son was eighteen, he wanted me to organise him renting my sisters holiday house down the coast.  I waited an hour then text him to say it was already booked out… sorry. 
Yeah.  Like I want that stress…
So although I thought it was a stupid idea to leave them there, I was over it by then and I just wanted out of there.  I’d have left them with Satan at that point so I wasn’t even thinking about friendships and houses.  I wanted to be home, now… before plans changed on the fly again and we were forced to wait another couple of hours while they gathered their stuff.  This, quite frankly, would have caused a huge row – because my son was coming to stay and I wasn’t going to be waiting for them and getting home late.  I’ve had my fill of “on the fly” stuff.
But I did raise a brow.
These kids have been taught that they don’t have to clean up after themselves.  In short, they are happy to live like pigs (which is a learned trait).  This is not an exaggeration.  You’ve seen the photos…  You’ve read where I have blogged with utter astonishment how I have walked in to find cups literally dropped on the floor.  I am still astounded by the vision that put in my head.  I’m not even going to mention the tiny little squashed cockroach…
Frankly, I value my friendships too much to risk leaving them with the possibility to create such havoc.  And let’s face it, the Moodle wouldn’t notice if the towels had been changed or not so I’m not expecting anyone did the ‘white glove’ treatment prior to departing.
Initially, they were to come home Monday with kid 1.  Of course that was always going to be a disaster.  3 kids, each with their own selfish attitude of “planning… what fricking planning?”  We went from them coming back Monday, to kid 2, 3 and girlfriend staying until Tuesday where upon they would catch a train to Frankston and the harridan would grab them from there.  Yeah.  Right.  She is next to useless and they are too lazy to catch a train.
So I was kind of expecting the Tuesday call to say he would have to go down there and get them; but no…  Instead, I get a text last night at 5.30 to say he is picking them up then.  The moron’s scheme is that if he sends a text late, when he is already there, then it is too late for me to go off my head about it.  Of course I can always go off my head.  I don’t care if it is too late to do anything about, he can still hear about it til doomsday!!!  And then some.
So because kid 2 couldn’t organise something if his life depended on it, the Squeeze drives 3 hours and 200 klms to go pick them up after work.  Mind you, I did point out that he wouldn’t drive 20 klms to pick me up when my car broke down not so long ago… The harridan can’t get them, her car is stuffed and she’s going to buy a new one (how you do that when you live in a creepy gingerbread house, are a teacher and on a health care card is beyond me…)
So I go home from work thinking that we can both do some of the work that was missed and then he can fix dinner while I do a tax return online; instead, I am doing it all, stress levels escalating and if I’d have had a dog I probably would have kicked it.  Twice.   
I got to walk the house muttering about that “damned moodle!!!”
This is frustrating in the extreme, but at the end of the day, it is his prerogative to breed useless kids and live life as a doormat.  And while he keeps forking out for them; I keep purchasing pounds and euro – because come hell or high water, I’m off to Europe for my birthday.
With or without him.