A Simon and Garfunkel Moment

I had an exceptionally busy day today which doesn’t sound very different from any other day of life I guess; except for now, at 9.30pm, I am sitting at the computer feeling as though I’ve actually achieved a great deal in a single day.

I went to work; nothing special about that, granted – but I did manage to breeze through a million tasks that had been hanging over my head for forever and a day; all those little niggly things that you are going to go back and do, but never manage to.   I felt so damned good at the conclusion of my 3 pm meeting that I got up from the table, slung my bag over my shoulder and kept on walking out the door, through the car park and off home.  It was a thing of beauty.

Earlier in the day, the Squeeze had sent me a link to a manuscript competition.  I’d looked it over and thought ‘yeah; why not’ even though there is that tiny part of me that figures I’d have a better chance of lying on the ground, pouring petrol over myself and setting myself on fire; as opposed to winning.  Still, if nothing else, you must go through the motions; so I filled out the forms, joined up, wrote my proposal and sent it off; feeling pretty good about my day of achievement.

The Squeeze was off after work to have a “meeting” with the Harridan to discuss the new school, the requirement to up the hygiene levels at home and the possibility of the kid seeing someone to make sure all is okay in the head of teenager.   I’m not expert, but the no friends… the lack of hygiene…  staying here and seeing us as some sort of weird, pseudo friends adds up to alarm bells ringing in my head. 

And trust me; we are talking Notre Dame type bells they are peeling so loudly!  I mean I have mentioned on many; many occasions that I think his mother is a raving nut so it is not like there isn’t some history there.

I left him to prance off in his Moodle outfit, curls all primped; wondering what the hell he will have agreed to pay for by the time he gets back in the door.  Instead of bothering to worry about it, I grab my gear and head off to boxing, sans Squeeze.   He will be in late and aside from the fact that I am thoroughly enjoying it; I’m not missing a chance to get one up on him.

So off I go; the only woman in a gym full of boxing guys; a little nervous but with no idea why; I can do this!  And it was fantastic… Exhilarating!  I was almost humming Simon and Garfunkel's 'The Boxer' on the way out of the door; dripping sweat.

When the Squeeze got home, we had a brief discussion on the evening’s events and I masked my surprise that she hadn’t demanded his left lung, or testicle; but had instead, remained quite calm.  Calm for her is telling him only five times that he couldn’t care less about the kid and demanding he calls her, not the kid (yeah, well that would defeat the purpose of calling the kid and cutting her out of the picture!)

And then sitting here, I wondered just when it was that I ceased to care about what she says anyhow!  Oh yeah, that was last night, when the Squeeze made me sit and watch My Kitchen Rules and I instantly fell in hate with that bug-eyed bitch from Adelaide!!!

Storms Approaching

The Squeeze and I went back to work today and if I can’t say I actually looked forward to, I at least enjoyed the “routine” of it all. 

Routine will need to control us this week as we step back into our “no alcohol/no fat/boxing” lifestyle; and let’s face it, our week away was an alcoholic carnivore’s dream.  Any progress made the week before was set back by weeks which I have never quite understood.  Why is it that a single week of food/wine debauchery, takes about three weeks to rectify!  Who the hell thought that one up?

Anyhow, last night when the Squeeze got back from hillbilly heaven; and as expected, we had a conversation regarding the stressful week’s holiday, the kid and how we combat this particular issue.  And trust me, it needs combating, because we are not going to make it if we can’t manage to figure out some work arounds.  Separate holidays is not the answer, although the most favourable solution at this time.

And let’s face it; there are several major issues; all converging at the one time; so many personalities and interests working against the other.  How on earth do we muddle through and come out on the other side as a working ‘family’ unit?

I mean, I can work around most of the issues regarding the Squeeze.  I already knew that he was basically lazy and totally disorganised; even better, he knows I know it.  We’ve talked about it millions of times (which I think means I’ve talked; he has ignored or just nodded…) But now we have moved into the ‘one year living together’ thing and the absolute miserly amount of romance I was receiving in the early days has totally diminished.  We are talking down to zilch.  Zip.

I tell him things or send him things and he sends them back to me a few days later; infuriatingly proud as punch about his find!  Idiot.  Still; I can mostly handle this right alongside the lack of romance, because it is expected - but there remains to be seen some evolution into manning up and removing the Harridan’s self ordained ‘keeper of the knowledge and guardian of all that is right’.

Jury is out on how he will handle the “we need to discuss uniforms and books” comment from yesterday’s drop off.  Not that it wasn’t expected; she is nothing if not predictable when talking money.

My suggestion was for a resend of the maintenance agreement where it stated quite clearly that uniforms and books would come out of maintenance.  Astounding how quickly she forgets any agreements that do not work to her benefit…  And sorry, but if you agreed to it, maybe you should have purchased said books and uniforms before you bugger off across the country for Christmas and then for an overseas holiday.

But the kid..?  Now there is a delicate issue and a road fraught with danger.  I myself wore the opposite shoe when my children were young and it’s tough, I know that.  Made tougher I suspect because the Harridan is so unreasonable with her demands and the Squeeze just wants to Moodle up for peace and quiet.  Hell, I wouldn’t know how to Moodle up if my life depended on it.  Instead, I want to grab a sword and go Joan of Arc.

And when all is said and done, there has to be some measure of fairness here; it can’t always be my corner that must suffer and bend; for it is my life, home and relationship also.  It can’t just be me that ‘negotiates’; and maybe it is time for the Squeeze to see the reality of life and understand that there is quite a lot of negotiation on my part and not much coming back; and some things that I can’t negotiate on and nor should I – for they are detrimental to this kid growing up and becoming anything even remotely sustainable as a human!

Home. At last.

In a weird Wizard of Oz moment, we walked in the door yesterday and I muttered “there is no place like home” as I kicked off my ruby havianas.

I understand that this is an odd way to look at the conclusion of a holiday; but I suspect I am too old for back chatting kids; to be honest, I forgot just how horrible they are.

The rather wide variation in how the Squeeze and Harridan have bought up their children, compared to myself, also comes into play.  Not that I am about to release a movie on the success story of motherhood or anything.  Mine have been horrendous on occasion; but I do like think that I’ve managed to breed kids that are considerate of other people; understand they are responsible for themselves financially and that the world does not revolve around them. 

So it was with certainty that I figured that the Squeeze and the kid would have breathed a loud sigh of relief as they drove off this morning, just pleased to be gone from my screeching presence.  And this morning I was actually screeching.  Waking to find that some idiot left the freezer open last night and that everything has melted and will now have to be cleaned out to get rid of frost – will do that to me first thing in the morning.  So yes, they probably were relieved to be gone.  I myself barely refrained from doing a jig and shouting ‘thank the Lord!’ as they pulled away from the kerb.

The worst part about the whole thing is that I really do try to shut my mouth.   For each comment that leaves my lips; five are swallowed.  And am I really asking too much?  Mostly, I don’t think so.  Aside from the fact that hygiene is pretty damned important on my list and I don’t see why I have to be offended at my table by a lack of it from others; it is important for this kid to get with the program – preferably before starting at a new school. 

And the worst part is that I’m not sure how to fix it.  I refuse to allow my house to be treated like “clean freak hell’ – I can’t (won’t) live like that.  Nor do I want to spend the whole week after a visit, cleaning it furiously since it is no more than sheer, unadulterated laziness.

And all the while, I wonder just what the hell her place looks like if they are both just tossing apple cores where they land and figuring you don’t have to wash clothes even if you have worn them for three days straight in 35+ weather…

This afternoon, I’m off to unwind.  Kid 2 on my side, the girl, is taking me to the movies to see “Underworld”.  And that; I'm sure, will set my stress mode off again as I hear about the muppet she is living with and she arrives with mere minutes to spare before the movie starts! 

At least she is paying!

Mister Romance

Wherefore art thou?

And It Begins

The Squeeze and I have quite different views on child rearing. Where I come from, kids are respectful. Don't get me wrong, I've had my share of screaming matches over the years but as a general rule, the kids understood that I was the adult; they were the kid and they should respect that.

Today, my stress levels have been going through the roof as the Squeeze attempts to reason with the kid. There is no reasoning. He argues about everything. From showering to not being allowed to control the television.

We are away and in a small house - this is proving difficult. He is unhappy if the television is not on. Especially the cricket (we are talking test so it goes for days) and if we drive anywhere, there is a carry on because he figures he wants to listen to the cricket so we should have to suck it up and listen to it. News Flash kid. I don't like the cricket and have no intention of rolling over and pandering to tantrums; that's for sure!

Of course the Squeeze's first instinct is to cave which just makes me feel defeated and angry.

We got back from shopping and lugged all the groceries in. The kid hovered at the door so as to run to the TV (ignoring the earlier statement that the cricket would not be on for the afternoon); I paused in the door with my arms full of groceries to ask him to grab the last two bags. They were all of six feet away. 'No.' was the reply. Just like that; then he just pushes into the house.

I don't care if the Harridan is texting instructions for the Squeeze to keep his hygiene regime to himself because the kid needs to 'feel good about himself' (call me stupid, but I think washing would be a first step in the self esteem stakes!) the clean regime will stay!

I didn't take that crap from my kids so I'm not sure why I should have to take it from his

Now I can see... The trouble is about to begin because I'm not sure I can do years of this.

Kill Me Now

I'm driving along with the cricket bleating at me. I can think of no other form of torture. It's possibly the most boring thing on the planet. When I'm ruling the world, there will be no damned cricket.

And why am I listening? Because the kid has been storming around the house in tantrum mode all morning. He wants to sit at home, locked inside, watching the cricket.

Yes; that is considered a holiday; stuff everyone else. The Moodle has said 'no TV in the day, but doesn't have the brains to stick to it. Once again the kid learns that all he has to do is say 'no' and ignore him.

Life of Leisure

Okay. I obviously have to win lotto. I seriously need a life of leisure. To wake to the sound of the ocean... Walk along the beach. Lay in a hammock with a glass of champagne!

Holidays...

Today I awoke to the sound of the ocean. I'm laying in bed arguing with myself. Get up and walk on the beach? Go back to sleep?

I suspect that if I try to go back to sleep, guilt will push me to get up. Stupid guilt. I'm on holidays!!!!

I plan to get some work done while here so I guess the walk will do me good in the 'wake the fuzzy mind' area.

Aside from the fuzzy mind, there is the reality that holidays... And even worse., Sunday morning; means cooked breakfast and the Squeeze and I both, even with boxing, still seem downright lady!

Butterflies and Bees

I have lived in Oakleigh for about six years.  Each time I drive to the shopping centre, which would be going on a million times or so now, I see a huge sign over a bridge that says “Boxing Circuit”.   For at least five of those six years I’ve muttered to myself “I should do that…”

That mutter is as far as the idea went…  Until this week.

I finally dragged the Squeeze there to have a look at it.  It was fantastic.  We are talking ‘Million Dollar Baby’ kind of fantastic.  We walked in and were greeted by old style dusty floorboards; bags hanging from the ceiling, some still gently rocking with tell-tale drops of sweat staining the floor boards. 

There was a ring at the back and bells ringing between the thump of fists and the grunts.  Highlight windows poured light over the room, show casing those finely tuned, boxer bodies.

I should have run then.

Why didn’t I?  Well firstly, the organiser was a lovely old gentleman in his seventies who told us his life story on the first “look through” (and repeated it on the second visit) but more than the ‘old school’ million dollar baby vibe, was the fact that there was not one stitch of lycra in sight.  Not one.  It was a thing of beauty.

This week we threw on our training clothes (they were straining at the seams and I suspect I looked like a polish sausage with a string tied around the middle) and off we went.   I was so excited to actually start, even though neither of us had a clue about how to even begin, let alone start training. 

All I knew was that there was no way that I was going to shove my hands into some scungy looking boxing gloves that God knew who had been wearing, sweating and bleeding in – not a snowballs chance in hell!  So first up was the purchasing of the gloves.  It’s a weird feeling, owning your own boxing gloves.  I have them hanging over a chair, visible from the minute you open the front door.  It’s not as glamorous as the vase of lilies one is greeted with, but its way cooler.

And we are not too damned bad.  I’ll admit that I don’t believe I have ever sweated as much in my life and after training session one, it took about twenty six hours for my arm to stop shaking, but I could pack a punch and remember the hits being shouted at me.

When I got home, I put a message on facebook that said “the Squeeze and I are going to be lethal weapons!!!!  Boxing is fantastic!!!”  My sister left a comment to say “why are you letting him box?  He might be able to defend himself now!”

My reply:  “Doubt it.  I’m pretty certain it would be Me=Fight, Squeeze=Flight”.

He doesn’t like the idea of sparring.  

Me…?  I can’t wait until we climb through the ropes and I get to do my first Tyson like KO on him.

In The Thick of It

Yesterday, I received notification that my blog had received another email.  My initial reaction to this was a brief bout of anger combined with muttering “that’s it!  I’m going to remove the ability for others to leave any damned comments.  Where do these people get off?  This is my platform; my arena to vent!”  I was pleasantly surprised to discover instead, words of support.

Someone else out there is living the dream.  And after I digested this and went to her blog, I realised there are many out there – all living the dream.  There are more ‘wicked step mothers’ than you can poke a stick at!

I find this comforting in some small way.  More so because I realise that my blog and my endless rantings are more about the Harridan and how she impacts the relationship; or the Moodle and his lack of reaction (which is totally confounding); also impact it. 

Yet looking at other blogs, they most certainly have issues with the controlling, nut job ex wives, but they also have issues with the kids.   There were plenty of blogs out there with the word step-mother in there and most had wicked incorporated into it in some way… Well, isn’t that just the icing on the cake!

But then I wondered if I could ever love anyone enough to be copping it on all fronts…  Not only the vile, demanding ex-wife or the Moodle partner, but kids that hate you and set about making your life a living hell…  And I suspect the answer to that, is no.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I live in a kid issue-free environment.  I don’t.  Kid 3 and his lack of hygiene is quite literally going to drive me around the twist.  That damned Moodle that I live with, who refuses to admit there even is a hygiene issue (ummm yeah; that’s going to work…) makes it worse. 

I mean the implication of there being no ‘real’ issue means that I’m just inventing problems to be mean to the kid. (aka wicked step mother style…)  And I don’t quite get his thinking on that, since one of my main arguments on the topic is that this kid is about to start at a new school and if this isn’t rectified prior, he can kiss goodbye any social life from here on in.

We got as far last night as him admitting that while out for coffee last weekend, he had in fact, noticed how dirty the kid’s clothes and hair were…  But he couldn’t smell anything.  (Yeah... whatever…) but then he went on the defensive and attacked me – because when I blog, it is his kids that make the cut – not mine.

I had to explain to the idiot that the blog is called ‘Dating a Hunchback’. 

It is a blog about our relationship and the things that impact on that relationship.  His idiocy.  His Moodleness.  The Harridan’s mental instability.  The injustice.  The rape and pillage on his finances.  The kid coming in filthy clothes with little to change in to. 

I quite confidently mentioned that my kids don’t make the blog very often because they don’t live at home and as a general rule, don’t impact on our relationship.  On the times they have, like when Kid 1 of mine was stuck overseas and had us traipsing to the scary part of town in the middle of the night to do Western Union money transfers… Multiple times – you can bet your arse it made the blog!  Or when the daughter moved in with some muppet not fit to lick her boots – you guessed it…  Blog.

At this point, the fool said “well my kids don’t impact on the relationship either.’ 

And that has to be the most stupid thing that has ever come out of his mouth; and that is a tough call to make, because there have been some doozies! 

Are you out of your ever living mind???  I have a teenager in the house every second weekend!!!  I’m back to thinking of kid entertainment…  Suddenly, I’m tiptoeing around my home; trying desperately not to whine and nag about leaving a mess or washing your hands.  I’m careful about making sure there is an appropriate amount of “bonding time”.  Hell, we are about to holiday with the teenager!  How the hell does that not impact me???? 

And then we have the realities of life – in that he loses a substantial amount of his pay to support this kid.  There are no financial obligations for mine.   And given his age, it means that there is a constant stream of interruptions from the Harridan (less now than at the start, thank God) and not a peep from my side.  I would imagine I’d have heard from my ex all of 10 times in the last 5 years.

And given that the kid is approaching fifteen, means that there is still years of it to come!  How on Earth will I cope without stabbing someone???

Then this morning I received another lovely email from the wicked step mother who said that she hasn’t had the strength to write as they are still in the thick of it all…

And that made me feel sad, because I suspect in the “thick of it all”, is where we all stay…  That is the reality of the step family.

You Can’t Please Them All

I was humbled the other day! I finally received a comment.  A real one!  As a general rule, I don’t get much in the way of comments; mainly because I guess most people are smart enough to understand the concept of ‘tongue in cheek’ or venting and find the blog relatively amusing.  If they don’t I’m in trouble since amusement was what I was aiming for…

When I think about it, it probably would have been prudent to understand my audience a little better and make sure I put in all the warnings and/or disclaimers required.  I mean there was always going to be a stream of vitriolic ex wives that would be outraged over my words.

And of course they are outraged!  If my ex-sister-in-law the ‘fat, brown toothed hag’ came across this site she would be hurtling religious hell down on me; forgetting of course, that her religion was nowhere to be found while she was humping a school teacher behind my brothers back and then dragging him through hell because things didn’t work out for her.  Does that make me sound bitter..?  I’m not of course, for my brother is married to a beautiful gal who loves champagne and our family and treats him like the gem that he is.  The ex wife is fat, old and alone. 

Anyhow, I thought since people may stop in and read one or two posts and then decide that they know the spin on the world, maybe I should correct or argue some of the points on the single paragraph I received this week.

And let’s face it, I have been scratching for something to vent on lately so it was a breath of fresh air when some idiot ex wife calling herself Anonymous sends me waspish words about how bitter I am and how I will ‘blight my life and the lives of those around me’ (please… is this religious hell raining down on me..?)

So let’s cover off the comment of ‘leave the finances to your partner’?  Ummm no; in the modern era women have the right to understand the finances that make up their households.  It is not open slather on the ex-husbands wallet just because he once married and it didn’t work out.  Why should it be?  Why is the ex-husband not entitled to make a new life for himself? 

Under the heading of financials, I suppose I should put in the tent.  It obviously upset Anonymous no end since she demanded we should ‘let her have the “damned tent”.’

Well thanks for your infinite wisdom Ms Anonymous but theft is theft in my world.  The tent was purchased years after the marriage was legally ended.  He didn’t lend it to her; she took it from Kid 1 without permission and then refused to give it back to him; then lied about it.  Why should he “let her have the damned tent”? 

I’m going to go off the cuff here and say that I just don’t get ex-wives that think the next partner should sit down, shut up, and have no say…  As if they still control the world.  Why should I have no say?  These things impact on my life as well as that of the Squeeze.  If she is too lazy to wash the kid’s clothes; then I have to do it because I’m not letting the poor kid walk around looking filthy.  She steals the tent and there go any camping holidays for us; unless we purchase a new tent.  How I ask, is this rational or reasonable?  In anyone’s language!

The single shining light within the one paragraph (other than leaving me wonder just what the hell Accidental Google was and why I haven’t stumbled across it before) was the fact that fifteen minutes a day that equates to my blog, represents to this fruit cake that I am “consumed with bitterness” and that “the terrible negativity of it stuck with me for days”…

WTF?  My make believe world of blogging stuck with some idiot for days!  Now that is bloody amusing but I would suggest that this would signify to anonymous, that maybe it is time to shut off the computer and go outside and play…  Find a real life…

And maybe remember; it's my blog and I can vent if I want to  ;)

My World in One Day

I’m following Steve Kilbey on Twitter and he left an interesting tweet that said “my world in one day”.  Of course I read it; there is nothing this guy writes that I wouldn’t read and love; hell, I’d probably swoon over his shopping list. 

My day wasn’t nearly as exciting.  I didn’t even think about “creating”.  I didn’t write a word, other than to blog; I didn’t paint (and wouldn’t know where to start)…  And I didn’t write a song or play an instrument.  The Squeeze played guitar throughout the morning as is his want to do; which is actually very relaxing.  I keep thinking I will buy a piano at some stage…

So I didn’t do anything even remotely creative.  Instead, we awoke, showered and then took the kid off to Chadstone for the last of his Christmas shopping.  As per yesterday’s jaunt to the market, this consists of walking the various aisles to the sound of the kid saying “can I have this..?”; “can I have that?”.   

Of course the fool that I live with makes this worse for himself, for example todays stupid act of the week “If I found a good cheap flat screen, I’d get it for you…” -  Ummm no you fricking won’t.  We are not buying a flat screen for the Harridan’s house.  The day that happens is the day the idiot I live with is single again.  What a fool…  Mind you, the Harridan doesn’t believe in technology so there is zip over that side of town; no wonder he overdoes over here.

Anyhow, today I decided to compete so the whole way around Chadstone (which was as brief a trip as I could get away with…  I am the one not wanting to go [the man]; the Squeeze is the one in shopping heaven [the woman].  So the whole way around I chanted “can I get a bracelet from Tiffany’s?” and I teamed this with the odd tug to his t-shirt.  I think the kid got the drift although in saying that, in his head the idiot Squeeze basically promised him a flat screen.

While shopping, I did manage to ensure that caught up in those gifts was another wash bag with anti-dandruff shampoo, deodorant, pimple cream, teeth cleaning implements etc.  Not sure how much of a workout they will get but I can only do what I can do.  I did manage to point out that where I went to school; yesterday’s head of hair would have opened him up to bullying and ridicule.  I wasn’t joking; you can only stamp it out so much and you actually do have to help yourself to avoid it.

Then the cricket was booming out from the television (thanks; my weekend is truly in turmoil now) and just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Kid 1 arrived to take him to the soccer and I was left in blissful utter peace.

Gagging for Release

Am at a crossroads to know what the hell I’m supposed to do about Kid 3’s fortnightly foray’s over to Oakleigh.

Firstly, the kid is nearing fifteen so like me, you may be wondering why he would want to come and spend the weekend with his father and his father’s Squeezette; given that he has only just returned home from Perth/Bali and 3-4 week enforcement of ‘Mother’ company.  When I was the same age, I’d have done just about anything to get out trotting off to see anyone other than my friends.  Besides, the world in teenage years has completely altered within a few weeks.  There is a whole new world of gossip to catch up on.

Where are the friends..?  Well that is easy enough to answer; there are none. 

If I raise this as an issue, the Squeeze will mention that he may go spend the day with his cousin on Monday.  Yeah; well cousins don’t count as far as I’m concerned; they have to play with you – it’s part of family doctrine.  Besides, I’ve met this cousin who was a know-it-all little worm who was mean to Kid 3 and immediately got my back up; probably because of the enforced play time.

Okay…  So how do we fix it?

Well I could play this youtube movie...

I may have mentioned that often when the kid arrives he is wearing a stench that makes my eyes water and my stomach gag.  And please note, this is not by any stretch of the imagination, exaggerated.  I embellish quite a lot on here, it makes for a more exciting read but about this, I lie not.

And it is without doubt, a huge problem.  I’ve asked the Squeeze to tell the Harridan to ensure he packs clean clothes; although I’ll admit, any clothes is a step in the right direction – more often than not he used to come for 3 days with nothing to change in to.  And he must take some responsibility for this; he is nearly fifteen after all.  Either way, wearing clothes so filthy they could stand up by themselves in the corner is a problem when shopping for friends.

To rectify that, I’ve got the kid showering as soon as humanly possible and when he gets out, I get the Squeeze to go and get his stuff, turn it in the right way and put it in the washing machine (then I come along and program the long wash, Napisan soak and fluffy rinse.)

The Squeeze and I have discussed this quite a few times as for me, it is a huge issue.  But I am going to take a punt and say that if we are in the car, and I have to open the window and stick my head out like a dog because the stench is so bad, then anyone at school would cringe away from him.

Today, I realised that the clothes are only one issue.  There is no toothbrush whipping out when he is here and before you ask; I did buy him a toothbrush, toothpaste, face wash and deodorant when the Squeeze moved in here; put it in a little wash bag in his room – God knows where that has gone.  But there is no desire to shower.  How it usually works is I nag the Squeeze, he tells the kid to shower, the kid ignores him; I whine to the Squeeze, he tells the kid to shower, the kid ignores him.  I whine to the Squeeze, he yells at the kid and the kid storms off to shower.

Today, while over the other side of town having coffee with Kid 1, I got a look at the kid’s hair and from that moment on, I was gagging.  When we left, I did the “head out of the window” dog act all the way home.  A grease slick with enough dandruff to look like snow – and I’m tipping that is where the stench is coming from.  I’m nearly gagging now even thinking about it.  It is the most revolting thing I've ever seen.

When we got home the Kid was marched off to have a shower and wash his stinking hair – but that will only fix it today.  The Squeeze needs to have a talk to him and tell him that if he goes to a new school like that, then he sure as hell won’t find any friends there either…  And he has to take it on board and rectify it, because that moron that he calls mother is obviously too stupid to enlighten him on the art of cleanliness!  This is bordering on child abuse in my world…

And I'm not at all sure how to handle it.  This is not something I’ve had to deal with previously.  My kids, still to this day, more often than not had me banging on the bathroom door shouting at them to get out!  So I am beginning to think it is learned behaviour.  Ie:  The Harridan is always late – the kid is always late (according to his report) and evidence of this is when we are ready and waiting to go somewhere, he absolutely will not hurry.  Organisational skills are zip.  Anitbiotics he won't take as they are "evil"...

But the lack of hygiene?  That didn’t come from the Squeeze.  Living in a pigsty...  Now that he contributed to, tossing stuff where you like has been learned at both homes (and a hard habit to break here.)  But what the hell do we do about the body odour?   And how does the Squeeze bring this into the conversation without making the kid feel bad about himself?  (Sorry, but I want no part in it; I just want it fixed...)

In short, I’ve emailed the Squeeze to say if he does not fix this; then he will have to go camping every second weekend from here on in because I refuse to be gagging around my own house.  Aside from anything else, the poor kid needs guidance!

The Carnival is Over

Background music for this entry can be found here: 

Sorry Seekers fans, but it’s the Nick Cave version which is just so much cooler.  Sounds like, although I'm not sure, the one played at the end of Underbelly 1.

Ok, for those that know me, don’t panic…   The Moodle is not off the hook; let loose or in any way running free (poor bastard).  The only thing that is ‘over’ is the peace and tranquillity of these precious weeks we had while the Harridan was in another state on the other side of the country.  It has been bliss.

She is home and as per yesterday’s entry; the demands, rules and orders without doubt, will begin en mass.  Trust me; she can’t help herself.

The Moodle, God love him, is incapable of not only standing up to her, but even planning for an attempted ‘stand up’.   He can’t even pretend to get to his feet before he rolls over!  In my overly organised life where I keep everything important and can actually put my hand on it within seconds, I had suggested that the Squeeze go back through his email and put in the draft folder the emails he had exchanged with the Harridan regarding the maintenance agreement.  He would need them.  They were quite explicit; the gist of them was “this is it, this is what we have agreed to and you should plan for purchasing uniforms/books etc. out of maintenance”.   And there it was, in black and white.  Moodle pays maintenance and school fees; she pays the rest.

You would think that as there was an agreement, all would be well in the world.

Not so.  Nothing is ever in black and white where she is concerned.  She has agreed but I can almost bet that when she received that email, her eyes glazed over and the scorpions did no more than wiggle in her wallet.  In short, she won’t have actually read it and if she did, would have muttered a “we will see” or “I’ll get you my pretty” or some other wicked witch line. 

She will figure that the Moodle will roll over and pay.  She will be banking on this.  I hope to be able to sway him to the side of sanity because we went for a few days to Adelaide for a family thing.  The Harridan went to Perth for weeks and then flew off to Bali for a quick break before flying home.  Doesn’t sound to me as though she adhered to the agreement that they reached, I’m not seeing planned for the “uniforms and books”.

And it will not be cheap.  Hell; new school.  New uniform.

She will have sold the uniform purchased last year by the Squeeze and be expecting him to fund the new uniform while she gets the books as they did last year.  Yeah, that works!  His bill was $800.  Hers $200.  But she changes reality when it suits, i.e.: last year, when Kid 2 went to Vietnam; the Squeeze bought the ticket and she purchased the travel insurance – later she actually said to the Squeeze “I’ve paid as much as you!”   You probably don’t need maths to become an ‘art’ teacher, but hey, anyone should be able to see that his 1.5k beats your $120 hands down – or maybe she figures her kids are morons and can’t work that out...

Well; things should get interesting around here.  But the upside is that when she is not here and the Moodle is not rolling out on his ball – my blogging gets boring!  So at least I’ll have some material to work with!

The Inevitable

As expected, the Harridan was due to fly in today.  She hadn’t even landed before the orders were sent and the Moodle had dusted off his ball and circus outfit.  This reads better with THIS music going in the background…..  “Pick up kid from airport.”  Well; either she is sick to death of him and awaiting a bit of her own space or she has been forced into normality and now it’s time to head for the land of carpet for a weekend… 

I have no doubt she is up for a bit of "her" time but hell, I like more than one hour notice to have the kid for the weekend, given I’ve had to jump through hoops to find a place for us to take a week off and spend time the week after next – now that we don't have a tent.  But this perfectly planned weekend, using their standard planning of zip organisation and thought means I'm questioning what the hell the kid is doing tomorrow – because in case they all missed it, I’m home and I'm certainly not baby sitting a fourteen year old for the day - I'd rather be staked to an ants nest!  I’m not stupid enough to have had kids when I was too fricking old.  I’m 8 years younger than this pair of dinosaurs and all mine are adults and doing their own thing – so I’m sure as hell not babysitting one on her command.  It is their problem; so work it and don’t include me.

My irritation level went through the roof.  This bitch didn’t even have the common decency to discuss a change of school with him.   Hell, she still hasn’t even told him the kid is changing schools – even though he is due to start in a couple of weeks!   And yet one text and the Moodle is running to do her bidding.

Why doesn't he understand that if he snapped her off a few times, then she would learn that she had to play fair???

This Sucks

Yesterday on my "wagging" day, I awoke with a headache that escalated as the day went on.  Although I shoved handfuls of pain killers down my throat, it seems that when I get a migraine they only allow me to drop one level into sleep.  I'm aware of everything around me and most especially the dull throb in my head.

I suffered through the day and even managed to cook a huge roast with all the trimmings including apple pie for dessert.  Kid 1 on my side and his fiancé left at 4am for the Queensland coast and a new job so the girl and Kid 3 with his girl all came to dinner.  It was a nice night filled with banter (why do they always gang up and pick on the youngest???)

I wagged again today after the 4am wave off and teary goodbye which is when I realised this headache wasn’t going anywhere.  This is annoying in the extreme as a couple of sick days in a row means I have to slink off to the doctors and get a certificate (I mean I'm a professional woman working in a professional industry - I know if I have a migraine or not yet must in some way prove it, quite ridiculous really)  I weighed the day off with having to go off to the doctors with the fact that I could get all those little things out of the way...  Make sure I'm stocked up on prescription stuff that I may need.

So I set my alarm this morning; drag up through the grogginess and call to make the appointment only to discover they are on leave!  Great!

As expected, the Squeeze is wagging tomorrow.

I can hear him now...  heavy breathing...  Sighing.

He is in the lounge room;  it's as if the grim reaper is there ripping his lungs out and he is going; not willingly, but as a snuffling martyr.  I should record it so that he can hear just how pathetic it sounds.  It’s not inspiring me to run and get him a hot toddy.  It’s inspiring me to run and get a pillow; to push over his face.

I got home from working hard all day to a house full of mess.   And I’m annoyed since my Kid 1 and his fiancé are about ready to land on us.  Excuse??  Well that was “I was at the doctors”.   This translated to “I went to the other side of town to go to the doctors, which meant I had to take the kid that owes me a fortune and who couldn’t be bothered getting me a Christmas present; out for lunch.

He doesn’t understand the reality of making them understand that you “reap what you sow”.  Idiot.  No wonder those kids treat him like a doormat.  I guess they have learnt from a master; the Harridan.  Having said that, he could and should stop it now.

Sad news for the Moodle is that I’m wagging tomorrow too.

Poor bastard.

There, There; Poor Bunny…

The Squeeze had the snuffles all weekend.  The only break in the sniffle fest was the odd heart-wrenching sigh that punctuated his ‘through the mouth /blocked nose’ breathing.

I don’t care what arguments they put forward, men wouldn’t be able to handled child birth.  If they suddenly found themselves in a strange world where they were the ones giving birth to a 10lb baby without so much as a panadol; procreation would halt…  And there goes the human race.

Today he is off sick.  I’m tipping he will be off tomorrow too.

I probably shouldn’t laugh but he makes it so damned easy to!  And let’s face it; although I successfully managed to fight the cold off on Saturday, it isn’t like there aren’t germs being spread all over the house awaiting me at every turn.  And if I’m snuffling by Wednesday, I have no doubt that he will be reminding me of my words.

Of course if I did happen to wake tomorrow to a stuffed head, you can bet your arse he won’t hear a word of complaint out of me!

Games We Play

It doesn’t matter the season or even where we are; the Squeeze does not sleep in.

It is a predictable part of our lives.  Saturday rolls around and I wake briefly while the Squeeze creeps out to the lounge to work on the computer.  He will either have Rage on, volume down low, or large headphones slid over his ears, which kind of gives his round head a teddy bear look.

This morning I woke at 8.30 and was amazed he was still asleep beside me.  The next time I awoke, it was 11.30; a first for us.  Don’t get me wrong, we have woken and made breakfast or at least coffee and then gone back to bed; but that was more customary in the early part of our relationship.  These days for the Squeeze, its wake and go.

Given the day was nearly gone we achieved absolutely nothing.  I got to tidy and then drag him down the street for a walk before coming home to flop on the sofa and watch a scary movie I had hired.  I’ll admit the cover looked strictly B grade, but it was Australian had a few good reviews strategically positioned at the top, in your face - so I thought we should give it ago.

Yes…  It was B grade without doubt.  Just goes to show that you should stick to your gut instinct.  At least it gave me a glimmer of joy when I sent a text to my brother to say “best scary movie ever!!!!!!”  Can’t wait until he wastes a couple of hours on it!

Perchance Soul Mates

Today I woke up feeling pretty good.  That glimmer of flu I experienced yesterday sent me to bed expecting to wake with the full blown version of Typhoid Mary (aka the Squeeze) symptoms.  Instead, I was bright eyed and bushy tailed; even the Squeeze seemed better than he had the last few days; so we went out for breakfast. 

Yes, I remember we are on diets however, we are having weekends off and I made sure we went to the place doesn’t load your plate up with 24 rashers of bacon; and let’s face it, 24 rashers would be a dream come true if they could manage the “crisp” instruction that I give them each time, but they never do.

After breakfast, we rushed out to a relatively new Ikea that we hadn’t made it to as yet.  It rivals the size of the MCG and I’ve never seen so much ‘flat packed’ bits of crap in my life!  We didn’t last long.  It was so huge that I felt like a waif (minus the thin bit); trapped in a nineteenth century English garden maze.  They had these weird lights that displayed arrows on the concrete floor and to ensure you notice them, they jiggled slightly which was giving me vertigo.  Frankly, I felt like any minute I’d start hyperventilating, then muttering to myself loudly as I ran around attempting to find an exit.

We left, only pausing to pay $2.47 for obsolete Christmas decorations.  Finally free of the maze, we rushed to an open house.  It doesn’t matter what house we go to see, the Squeeze always asks if they have a “section 32”.  I don’t even know what a section 32 is; I doubt he does.  He just thinks it makes him sound like a real estate mogul.

From house one that had an obvious slump to the back left and a weird bathroom which was in the back of enclosed porch, we went to see another place that was cute and in the right price range.  Problem was it had an attic; and the attic had one of those weird doors you open with a pole with sliding stairs.  This would be fine except it opened into the master bedroom.  Yeah, I can see me sleeping there.  I write horror for Christ’s sake.   I mentioned to the Squeeze when he was opening it, “careful, there is bound to be a creepy clown up there…”  It is the type of thing directly out of a horror movie and didn’t matter how much I liked the place, I’d never be able to sleep in that damned room.

While rushing from place to place the Squeeze put his ipod on in the car and an old John Lennon song started which the Squeeze, proving his musical intellect, sang the first line.  Naturally, I sang the second.  Strangely, this impressed him.  I’ve no idea why.  As I said to him, who on the planet Earth doesn’t know nearly every word of every song that John Lennon wrote?  

This may be true however he continued to look at me with awe before saying: “you know, you may actually turn out to be my soul mate…”

This he believes, however misguided, is the most romantic thing he has ever said to me.

When I think on it, it is far better than a few months in when I asked if he thought you have only one soul mate or several, he answered that he believed you only get one and that his was back in his twenties; some woman he went out with that is now affectionately known as the “house frou”.  After that little comment I sat and wondered why I was going out with this emotionally inept fool.

Typhoid Mary

Last night, just before I collapsed into a peaceful sleep, the Squeeze, flu infested bastard that he is, did one final coughing fit….

In.  My.  Face.

Today, I have felt snuffly.  My head is full… Heavy.  I've had so much to do, but my brain has really struggled.

After I told Typhoid Mary to turn over so that he faced the damned window; I lay for hours playing scrabble or cards on my iPhone in an effort to make my brain shut down.  Just lying there in the dark, eyes closed, doesn’t work.  My brain won’t shut up.  This is the point where the Squeeze would say “neither does your damned mouth” – sadly, he is right.  I can't help it.  It is an affliction I was born with.

He coughed and sniffed for hours.  I finally went to sleep only to wake in the middle of the night and he was blessedly silent.  When my leg touched his, he was cold.  My first, groggy thought was “frick; he is dead…”

Sadly; no.  He continued to sniffle and carry on until nearly dawn.

When the alarm went off, I clamoured to wakefulness and went about getting ready for work – all the while, tiptoeing around so as not to wake him and leaving him a note as I left for work.

That, my friends, is love… empathy… consideration.  All the things that are alien to the Squeeze.

Too Old...

The dieting is progressing along quite nicely and the Squeeze and I are already feeling the benefits of being baby whales instead momma whales. 

Of course the reality is that even if we just slumped back into our “over cater/eat too much” lives, we would lose weight; given what we have consumed over the last week or two.  We are talking a Simpson episode…  “Come for the freak, stay for the food” sketch.  We are the freaks. 

Yet here we are, pretty much in diet land, so those first few kilo’s are coming off with relative ease.

We have all done the diet merry-go-around a million times before…  Those first few kilos are always easy.  It is next week that I expect we will hit a wall; and that is ok.  We are not going over the top and intend to give ourselves a little leeway on the weekends (for me, that is wine…); but even on the weekend, we will attempt to keep a rein on it. (Attempt…)

Those first few kilos’ make a difference; if not to how we look, at least how we feel.

I no longer feel as though if I fell onto my back, I’d be stuck there, pathetically thrashing my arms and legs like a turtle.   I’m pretty certain that now I could get some sort of rocking motion going and manage to hoist myself into a roll, crawl, crouch kind of thing and gain my feet.

As the feeling of bloat diminishes, the amatory mood escalates so the Squeeze, in un-squeeze-like fashion, has been hot to trot each night.  Having said that, his idea of foreplay is basically pouncing on me so there is no “mood setting” happening.  I’m not walking in the door to dinner, candles and Barry White.

The trouble with this is that he is loath to relinquish control of the television.  Woe and behold he should miss something; so there is no early nights happening.

This morning, while yawning, he turned to me and said “I’m too old to have late night sex…”  Where the hell did I get this guy from?

The Little Things

When I talk about romance, I’m not saying that I need to receive a large box of roses weekly, or even monthly.  It’s not about hearts and flowers and professing undying love – in fact those things can get boring.

I’m talking about those little things in life that make your relationship, romantic.  Out of the blue, unrequested/undemanded tiny actions of affection that let the other person know that you are thinking of them.

For one of my ex-husbands, this was calling past my car on his way home from work and leaving a cute handwritten note under the windscreen wiper, or bringing me home a bunch of handpicked flowers – completely unprovoked and unexpected.

Today, the Squeeze moved into this group of ardent romantics.

Quite unexpectedly and completely unprovoked, just to let me know that he was thinking of me, I received a text message.  Just a single word really; in fact a shortening of a single word.

Lez.  Which was short for lezzo.

Oh be still my beating heart!

The Gloves Come Off

Today we stuck to the stupid diet; which was harder than I figured. This was probably due to the fact that in anticipation of starvation, we have spent the last week, eating out; and neither of us was ordering the salad.   Although there was token greenery, we race down the full carnivore path into cow/sheep/pig land with a love of pastas and cheeses on the side.

The only exercise we indulged in was the walk from the car to the next restaurant and then whatever calories were consumed in passing bread across the table and a fair amount of laughing.  This routine has been followed by us flopping on to the sofa in the evening where we proceed to shove something else down our throats.  For me, this is wine.  For the Squeeze, this comes in the form of Twisties.

So suffice to say that our stomachs have stretched to the point where we should be wearing a moo to work.  I did the dash to the wardrobe three times this morning.  Pants and a top until I saw myself in the mirror; changed the pants – no better (yes, you guessed it, it isn’t the pants that is the problem); then into the modern ‘moo’; a wrap dress.

Well day one is down.  And the gloves are off when it comes to blubber.  Actually, the gloves are on.  After work, we walked to a boxing club in Oakleigh (we are talking a “Million Dollar Baby” style gym here; not a single piece of lycra was in sight) and discussed our try out for tomorrow night.

I can’t wait to step into the ring with the Squeeze…

Sumo Wrestlers

It has been damned hot of late.  Summer is in full swing at the moment; the temperature didn’t get below 30 last night.  What the Hell is that about and how is anyone supposed to sleep?

Thinking about the heat and how I suffer in it causes me to think of an old expression my mother used quite a lot while I was growing up.  “You made your bed; lie in it!”  And made my bed I have done.  My relationship with the Squeeze now bares the dubious honour of having made me the fattest I’ve ever been in my life.  We are talking sumo size!  I'm going to have to start wearing a moo.  I'm picturing myself as Homer Simpson in the episode where he realised he could work from home and wear a caftan all day if he got fat enough.  And I never looked good in caftans...

Of course neither of us are anywhere near sumo size, but we may as well be.  Last night while the mercury got stuck around thirty, we lay on the bed like two bloated whales.  Sleeping is an exercise because I was sweating and puffing whenever I rolled over!

Today we started juicing (sigh) and tonight it is boxing.  Why couldn't I have slithered out of slim genes..?

Man Cold

I have a DVD called Man Stroke Woman.  It’s damned funny and quite accurate, if not a little extreme, in depicting the differences to the way a man and woman think.  One of my favourite sketches from it is called “man cold”.   

Which you can see here: (and trust me, it’s worth it.)

I have had fourteen brain operations to insert/replace ventricular shunts.   The last time I had my shunt replaced was in 2009 and I took two weeks off work and returned with a severe undercut and another fantastic scar.   The guy I share an office with went off sick just after I got back and upon his return, found a large photo of my head complete with staples in the skin showing.  I had strategically positioned this on the wall between us with the words “woman cold” written underneath.  When he quizzed me, I mentioned that he had taken longer off for a cold, than I had for brain surgery.  The photo is still on the wall.

Am I just reminiscing?  Taking a trip down memory lane..?  No.  I am not.

The Squeeze has hay fever.

My God; you’d think he had lost a piece of lung with the carry on we have had for nearly two days.  Snuffling and sighing loudly.   Hay fever!!!  And because of it he can’t do anything!  His energy levels are sapped (what energy..?)   If I ask him to do anything I get more sighing as he adopts the look of a martyr before going off to pick up whatever he has left on the floor.

And he is expecting compassion from me; and I’d better keep it coming.  This from the man who wouldn’t know compassion or empathy if it jumped out of the water and bit him on the arse!

The upside of this is that he is off snuffling in the spare room while watching wrestling (yes, I’ve no idea what the whole greasy fat guys in speedo’s with mullets is about either…)  I’ve shut all the doors  since it is damned hot again and he is probably baking alive in the spare room.  In this heat, it won’t take long until he looks as slippery as his idols.

Lazy Days – My Favourite

I have decided I may like New Year’s better than Christmas.   If you think about it, Christmas is a lot of work and far too much money flying out of your wallet.  It’s expensive, alcohol fuelled and there tends to be at least one argument at the dinner table.  Although we didn’t have any disagreements over dinner, we did spend a lot of money on presents and kids and food.

New Year’s Eve for me, started when the boss gave me a half day on Friday.  My brother and his wife came to stay the night and we cooked, drank champagne and laughed our heads off.  The next day, we went out for breakfast, did some shopping; went out for lunch and then they left while I napped in preparation for New Year’s Eve.

Tomorrow, they return for lunch prior to going back to Sydney; so I’m anticipating a long, leisurely lunch.  I look forward to it and love the thought that the Squeeze fits in as though he was made in my family.

This afternoon we had lunch with Kid 1.  The Squeeze was supposed to catch both Kid 1 and 2 today but I suspect Kid 2 is ducking and weaving his calls.  After twenty or more calls went unanswered, I mentioned that the kid is treating him like a debt collector now.  In all probability, this is quite possibly the case.  After all, the Squeeze was stupid enough to purchase their airfares back from Perth the other week and they were supposed to pay him back.  Frankly, I don’t see it happening.

For my mind, I have to wonder what sort of knob buys a one way ticket to Perth and doesn’t organise the return airfare..?  Let alone the fact that they have flown there to attend a Harridan family wedding.  Sorry; but a cousin is pretty low on the food chain; especially when it’s going to cost $1k to attend and they are kids that work in a pub – so don’t earn much.  That isn’t even taking into consideration that they haven’t worked or been paid for the ten days they were gone.

Kid 1 mentioned that he was glad they hadn’t answered and come to lunch as they had been difficult in Perth and they owed him money which he was resigned to losing.

To be honest, this is the worst thing you can ever do in my eyes.  It is theft.  But the fact that they haven’t been working and couldn’t pay a brother what he owed, is indicative that the Squeeze won’t be receiving what he is owed.

So, here we are, funding the Kid for a wedding in Perth which is annoying enough, but not only has he funded the kid, he has now funded the girlfriend.  When you think about it, why wouldn’t they think that was fair.  After all, their mother has treated him like a cash cow since day one; why wouldn’t they?

Today, I wondered how Christmas would be if I was not in his life.  He received a present from me and one from my daughter and son; but nothing from his own children.

New Year’s Eve

I had a fantastic New Year’s Eve.  I didn’t expect to; in fact, I expected to be home by 10pm.  I was annoyed at the Squeeze who mostly treats me like a mate – which was fine when we actually were mates, but every so often these days, I’d like to think I could see a glimmer of something inside him.  He of course is too damned stupid to realise that all is not well in the world; and too damned self-centred to read my “frosty” signs.   If the word FROSTY was a flashing neon across my forehead, he still wouldn’t see it.

We went off to the Caravan Club in Oakleigh for a blast from the past.  We had been meaning to go there for at least the last year and keep our eye on the website and the acts that are coming; but hadn’t got there until last night.  Now we will be joining as members.

Sean Kelly, Billy Miller, Stephen Cummings (plus more) were on for a New Year’s Eve gig and since I loved the Models when I was young, I figured it would be a good night.  Let’s face it, no matter what came of the night, it was certainly going to be better than last year’s sitting at home with the kid, waiting for midnight to come and go so we could go to bed.

We swan in only to discover a dusty old hall which I have to admit, had a band ambience; tables scattered about with lots and lots of old people.  WTF?  Maybe it’s just me, but I’m off out to see the Models for crying out loud; I’m not expecting to see comb overs.  Strangely, I just figured most people would be about my age since most of these ancients musos were playing the pubs when I was twenty.

We take up our position at the back of the hall, against the wall, corona with lemon in hand – and wait.  We had seen Bob Dylan earlier in the year and he looked as though he’d been bathing in embalming fluid for years.  It wasn’t pretty.  There comes a time where you just don’t have it anymore.

Sean Kelly and Billy Miller were not in that ilk.  In fact Sean Kelly, bearing in mind the lighting was “old hall”; didn’t appear to have aged at all and had this extremely cute beret thing going that looked so cool that the Squeeze mentioned he may have to get one.

They rocked on for hours while we sang and swayed.  Suddenly, they are counting in midnight and I actually got a New Year pash from the Squeeze who strangely enough, has a somewhat noble/weird reaction to me whenever we go to a similar event.  It is as if he sees me as a different person and realises why he liked me in the first place.

The top of the night was Billy Miller doing his old Ferret’s hit, Don’t Fall In Love.  It was brilliant.  I was dancing and singing (amazing what alcohol will allow you to do….) albeit, still in position at the back of the hall. 

For those that are struggling to remember Billy Miller, you can watch the 70’s hit here:   The Ferrets - Don't Fall in Love