Friday, March 30, 2012

Superiority – Idiot

My blog was much funnier when the Squeeze and I were merely trying one another on for size, as opposed to actually ‘living the dream’ as we are now.

Perhaps if it had been just the Squeeze I was trying on, it would have been a little easier. However, with the potential of blending families, it is more like trying on a whole new outfit – with all the accessories. The Squeeze was the dress; kids were matching shoes; and the Harridan... Well what else could she be but the bag..?

After a couple of years, I’m no longer utterly astounded by some of her comments and expectations. It wasn’t a once off and she wasn’t just having a bad week in the start. She really is that spiteful, it wasn’t an accident.

With that acceptance, also comes the reality that I am no longer prepared to tippy toe around that much either. Yes, yes; there is a list of things that you must “suck it up” for; to allow for the benefit of all, but there is also a requirement to be true to yourself. For example, I’m not prepared to put myself into situations such as the school concert the other week. I don’t intend to give the Harridan the opportunity to look through me as though I wasn’t there, thus enforcing this behaviour on the kids. That just makes everyone feel uncomfortable and let’s face it, it is the behaviour of twelve year olds.

Kid 2’s gal’s birthday went by last week in between moving house and the text came that they would hold a backyard bbq at their new shared living arrangement. This of course, is my idea of hell and to be honest, I have no desire to go anywhere that the Harridan is frequenting. When the “frost” came out at the school concert, the ‘gal’ didn’t give me any conversation until we had left so in effect, I was made to feel like an interloper – which is exactly how the witch planned it.

Yeah; I don’t generally give someone the opportunity to be ‘in your face’ rude to me a second time. Either the Kid and his Gal can do dinner separately with us or the Squeeze can go on his own for the “happy family bbq!”

You may wonder how, if I don’t turn up for these events, how the hell I’m going to get any fodder for my blog... The truth is that the Harridan is incapable in not bandying about her superior knowledge in ‘every-single-fricking-thing-on-the-planet’. Just ask her. The Squeeze has a million text messages, all depicting her supremacy.

Just yesterday he received a text in her usual Neanderthal style of English demanding that he return Kid 3’s EPI Pen. Upon his reply of “No problem; bring ours and I’ll do a swap”. He got back “What has happened to you? I’ll bring your out of date pen back!”

Sigh. What has happened is that he no longer does and pays as instructed.
And he is no longer brainwashed into believing that the Harridan is the “source of truth” or that “she must be obeyed”. For example, the EPI Pen does have a ‘use by date’. On ours, it is next month. 

But if you care to pause in your tirade to examine the pen, you will see the large green window with a clear liquid window on the side that says: REPLACE WHEN SOLUTION IS DISCOLOURED.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Worshipping at the House of Blues

In the past, I dated people who I thought were similar to me; making sure there were just a few oddities thrown in to give some measure of diversity.   Hell, who am I kidding, I married most of them, but that's another story.    Still, after you have had several wild misses, you tend to examine things a little more closely to see what you did wrong.   What were the little things that worked; and what were the alarm bells and lessons you learnt along the way.   What was the “hidden” that when it came to the surface, had you worshiping in the house of blues.

Okay the music is actually John Lee Hooker, Rock House Blues - but near enough is good enough!

When I look back, I see that there was me as, say...  Black; then there was them as... well, white.   And because I’m dieting, let’s go with a chocolate analogy.   This is not any black arts, black magic, black is evil crap either; I just prefer to run with a Wesley Snipes moment of “always bet on the black”.

Anyway, I’m dark chocolate over here and then along comes a cup of white chocolate and it just jumps right into the bowl – yet somehow, the two just didn’t mix.   Maybe it was because they weren't the same blend; maybe they just didn't stir it enough or put enough effort into it.  Mainly I suspect, it was because there was way too much dark and only a dash of white.   Or maybe the dashes of white came from myself; given that I’m a Gemini and therefore already a set of twins in my own head.

Either way, every so often I pause to examine the Squeeze to see where he fits into this analogy; have we combined to create a lovely caramel swirl?  Has the white, tempered the bitterness of the dark?  In fact, I believe that he is almost a mirror image of me for the deal breakers.

Deal breakers I hear you ask?   For my mind, there is the list of things that are vital in order for me to continue being ‘me’; and there is no man on the planet worthy of renouncing them.   What works between the Squeeze and I, is that our list would appear to be the same.

We each have a music and writing compass that rules our world.  It's not the same compass and the guidelines are not rigid.   There is no necessity that we be identical.   In some ways, we are in what could only be considered, extreme dark/white chocolate corners.  For example, I like Gaga and he likes Miles Davis; but there must be enough of a cross over blend (Bob Dylan) to understand each other; to appreciate why the other would worship at our respective musical houses.

What is my blog about?   Nothing really; just mulling.  I do that.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Gemini Dream

For this evenings listening blog pleasure

Now this is romance. Read these lyrics…
Yes I know you have to skip over the whole 80’s thing.
Shut one eye and squint with the other and you barely notice the fashions.

And how can you not love lines like this:
First night, so long
A state of mind
What can go wrong?
I mean given that we had kids over every night last week, it definitely was a first free night in so long.

And then we move into:
We're here, the time is right
To rock 'n' roll
Right through the night

And about there is where the wheels fall off.
All through the night..? What…. The whole night?
That really is a Gemini dream!

There is no “whole night” – not while television is alive and well!

Monday, March 26, 2012

My Head Hurts

I had a shocker of a weekend. Actually, in one way it was dreadful; yet not so bad in another.

The shocker part was due to waking up Saturday morning with a splitting headache and this swiftly morphed into a full blown migraine by Saturday afternoon. Aaarrrgggghhh but the life of a partner/mother/stepmother never stops, not for a little thing like a migraine; so it was onward as planned to pick up a “rent a van” which is another term for renting a heap of crap that had no tread on the tyres.  It spun out and squealed at ever corner; not to mention the Squeeze that couldn’t find gears but could certainly grind them.

The day started out with breakfast, followed by securing the van in between swallowing handfuls of headache tablets in an attempt to keep the monster at bay.   We got back to the house where the Squeeze tried to coax the kid out of the spare room to help with the lifting.   His plea falls on deaf ears until fed up, I flick  off the power to the house and I hear the endless racket that is the television, go dead.

Then, like a mouse sneaking out of its hole for a look around, he sticks his nose out to mention that the power went off.

This is where he made his mistake as the Squeeze directs him to assist with lifting and then we go through the “I’ve got no shoes on” followed by the run off to get shoes, never to return.   Then at a Squeeze bellow, answers: “I can’t find socks!”   And the Squeeze’s shout of “Stuff the socks! Get out here!” answer. And all the while I feel like walking into the kitchen, pulling out my sharpest spoon and stabbing them to death with it, because a knife would be too damned quick considering the torture they are putting my head through!

Eventually, the van is stacked and we are on the road; a cosy little trip with the Squeeze in the driver’s seat, me in the passenger and the Kid sitting cosy in the middle between us. I do pause in my wishing myself dead to mention as we sit at the lights that it would be quite amusing if a group of kids from his new school went past at that moment in time; and spied him sitting up in a rental van. He was not as impressed by the idea which only made me find it funnier.

I suffer the 1.5 hour drive to the sound of the Squeeze grinding gears and the Kid fiddling with the volume on the radio and I closed my eyes and chanted “I won’t say a word” to myself for the whole trip down there. And just when I thought I would have to turn it down and scream at them all that I was dying over here, the Squeeze got jack of his inability to hear if anything was wrong with the antiquated heap we were driving and swivelled the knob to the off position – which suited me fine.

We arrive at the beach. I already know that this won’t be a relaxing romantic trip. We have the Kid and my brother and wife have their 2 kids – all the same age. Instead, we actually do manage to acquire some down time.  There are enough kids on hand to help with emptying the van and then we sit in the warmth and watch movies until it’s time to go out for dinner.

I managed to down 2 glasses of red in the hope that if nothing else, they’d help the drugs to work, but instead, my head just decides to thump even louder; so I slink off to bed at about 9pm.  On a Saturday night.  What a wowser.

The next morning my alarm goes off at 7.45 so that I can prepare for the breakfast I organised with my niece, hubby and two darlings. And they arrive to me preparing a breakfast feast that would kill a lesser person, there are calories upon calories. And the kids are on me – like fat kids on a cupcake!   But I have to say that being the ‘bestest cook in the whole wide, wide world’ did relieve my headache slightly!

My niece turns up with orange juice and champagne as instructed. Testimony to my headache is that I can’t swallow a drop of champagne.  This basically means I am clinically dead.

We have to be on the road by 9.30 am to take the rent a hack back and the girls manage to extract a sleep over promise before they depart.   This in itself will be fun and I may coax my daughter over for an evening of “girl” time as it usually ends up with them doing our hair and makeup to the point where we look like five dollar harlots; but is endlessly amusing!

We get home and drop the van back and at last... at last... I am home! I can go to bed. Finally. No one wants or needs me for the next 12+ hours!
I swallow a handful and slump into slumber... Heaven... (Although today feel like a cat that has been through the washer.)

So what was the good part of the weekend..?

Well when I have a migraine, I’m quiet. So the Squeeze got a blissful weekend with barely a peep from me! He must have been in seventh heaven since the silence was golden!

Friday, March 23, 2012

Oh Lord, won't you buy me…

Okay.  My life sucks.  Work sucks.  I had a totally hideous day!  Hell, they don’t pay me enough to turn up there each day and listen to the whining!


while you read my prose…  And I should probably point out about now, that although I like to think that I select the music fit the specific blog, it only has to fit it according to my brain and my brain doesn’t work the same as everyone else’s.
I have a project at work that has been quite dear to my heart.  Dear to my heart for about 3 years.  In fact it is moving out of ‘dear to my heart’ into ‘can we get this thing in already’ land…  Still, I’ve gone the ‘extra mile’; ‘above and beyond’, ‘into the twenty first century and beyond!’  It is for the NICU, (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) and I have a great amount of empathy for these people because firstly, they do a great job; secondly, I once lived in one for 6 months while my son was in at the children’s.  Actually I lived in Ronald McDonald house but that is splitting hairs…

I agree – it has taken a long time, but hey; it’s public health for crying out loud.  Yes… I know that there is never enough resources to get any actual work done; making it impossible to achieve any ‘good’ and when you think about it, how could there be with so many chiefs..?  Still, the few of us resources that turn up each day do a pretty good job.
So I left early after an unjust berating from a director.

Yep.  Just up and left.
And now that I am on my first red and coasting into ‘relaxation’; I figure it is time I won lotto and retired.  Please…

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Spencer Street Station

This week has seen more comings and goings than Spencer Street Station. 
Boxing has slunk out the door due to a mindless calendar; and dieting is completely pointless due to a reluctance to serve up “Lite & Easy” to guests.  Not that I mind too much about giving up the Lite and Easy; and I’m pretty certain the Squeeze doesn’t, given that last week he was begging my daughter to come stay after boxing so that he could “eat a normal meal…”
The trouble with entertaining is that involves so much eating and drinking.  You go out for breakfast, lunch and dinner – and there isn’t one second spent calorie counting.

Although I’m okay with the odd “off” week, can’t say that it has been all roses.  The girl has been spiralling with allergic reaction and I’ve got some weird migraine thing that puts me off balance.  We are talking a complete breakdown of my ability to stand without swaying.  I’m sure that anyone who saw me walking around today figured I was a closet drinker.
It brings back memories of me trying to sidle into the house when I was young.  The object was to be seen for only the briefest of moments.  Long enough for my parents to register that I was alive and home, not long enough to register that I was half sozzled on the drink of choice which if I remember correctly, when I was sixteen, was Blackberry Nip. (I still can’t stomach it)

So I’ve fallen into bed in an exhausted heap each night and tonight will be no different; only earlier if I have it my way.  Boy 2 and his gal (my side) are here tonight and after dinner, they are off to a concert and I will be out like a light!

Monday, March 19, 2012

I'm Gonna Love You Just A Little More Baby

Tonight we wagged off boxing. Instead, I stopped off to get my leg's waxed and the Squeeze went to sit, sip coffee and watch the world go by.

I hate that week before I get my legs waxed. I'm not an overly hairy person at the best of times but this morning, I looked like a European wolf spider. So by the time I was walking out of the salon and off to meet the Squeeze for a cup of tea and conversation; I was feeling pretty good about myself.

We got home and he cooked a fantastic Carbonara; I had a glass of red. I showered, we watched My Kitchen Rules and I turned to him at 8pm and said “let's just go to bed now... have wild sex and go to sleep...”
And here is where the background music is needed...

And he said “but we can't! It's My Kitchen Rules night! And then we've got to watch the Walking Dead!”

Hmmmm. This idiot sounds like a man that since being with me, can't remember what “sexual drought” was like.  Doesn't remember when he had to put a bit of Marvin Gaye or Barry White on to get a bit of action.

And I think he is about rediscover just what that feels like...

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Do Not Forsake Me

Background music...

I'm not what you would call a 'girly girl'. In fact when it comes to power tools or understanding the manly thought process; in this relationship – I am the one.

For example; when we decided to buy and hang a bag in the garage to practice boxing, the Squeeze figured we could just throw a chain over the existing beam and start whacking.   I tend to figure I'd rather check out the support structure and when I find it insufficient, won't hold with the additional weight and impact, set about fortifying it.

Today however, I think it was proven that I am the woman.  The Squeeze, is well... truly swimming in the land of testosterone.  He is sweating it.  Totally manned up.  All bow at the feet of the man.

After doing a mercy dash to the girl and delivering an epi pen (she has inherited every bad gene I have got going and reactions come with swollen tongue and throat); we went out for breakfast, did an Office Works run which is like Toys-R-Us for adults and then came home, slammed the door and settled in.

Being in an unusual mellow mood, I've just gone with the flow today and the Squeeze has had his will with the television.  He has poured through dvd's and offered the odd, perfunctory "what about this..?" query.  But now, at 8.12 pm, I realize I've totally overdosed on testosterone today; hell, I could literally scratch my balls at any moment!
My afternoon consisted of gangster movie “Public Enemy” (although having Johnny on screen for the afternoon was pleasant...) and this was followed by Wyatt Earp.

Never was there so much spitting, punching and gun fighting in my house...

Thursday, March 15, 2012

I’m Moodle... Your Brand New Man

The Squeeze went off for his monthly visit to the Nut Doctor on Tuesday night.  This is in the hope that one day, he will become a real human; so far this has not been a success.
He was born with a retarded 6 drops of essence of “romance”; five drops of “Moodle sauce”.  And now that the stirring is done, I daresay that not unlike Milton the Monster, that is just who he is and I must deal with it (or kill him off...)
After the Nut Doctor, it is usual for him to walk in the door clutching some sort of weird drawing in his hand.  A simple glance at this will easily give me a synopsis of the session.  I can tell with one fleeting glimpse what facts that idiot has twisted in his head and exactly how they have been presented.
The first few sessions had little circles drawn in thick black texta; all on an even par.  In the middle of each, was a stick figure; the Squeeze in one, the Harridan in another to one side and me crammed into a circle on the other side.  Simple really; a visual representation of being stuck in the middle which I suspect was true enough.  Still, you don’t need a degree in psychology to understand that if he attempts to keep the peace and just continues to obey the Harridan at every turn – then that was never going to work.  I believe he may even be starting to get that, albeit, slowly.
Then this week, there was a change in the diagram.  The Harridan didn’t even make it onto the drawing.  Instead, we had the Squeeze, the Kid and me; three circles equally intersecting and distinct lines in the sand to dictate “relationship” and “parenting”. 
I decided that some actual conversation around what was discussed and a possible resolution was required because I may have been drawn as an equal circle with as much input in the intersecting as the others, but that is not the reality. 
And I decided that I wasn’t going to pull any punches or hold anything back.  I have said previously, the day he comes home and says the kid is moving in, is the day I’m helping him find another place – because that isn’t happening... Not on my watch!  I never wanted to go back to parenting a teenager; I still don’t and mummy has always had such a tight hold that I figured I was safe there.
So looking at the picture, both the Moodle and the Nut Doctor seemed to have forgotten something in their doodles and arrows and lines.  While scratching about relationships and scrawling “his home” under the kid’s circle they forgot to get my perspective on it.  The Squeeze and I live a life alone and then 2 days a fortnight the kid is there – so how can they all have the same input and consideration requirement?  In my world, this is OUR home and 90% of the stuff in it is things that I have collected and restored over the years.   
Yes, he can parent all he likes and I have never wanted that role (I’d rather be staked to an ants nest and covered in honey.)  Hell no, I don’t want that, he is welcome to it; but he must actually ‘parent’ him.  He must put controls and rules in place that protect me and the things that are important to me.  Everyone’s needs and requirements must be address; not just theirs.  Up to this point, I have been left with the feeling that my needs are worth less than everyone else that exists in the equation – and I didn’t sign up for that.
So how do we do this?  Via compromise I suppose.
I won’t live a slovenly life and nor will I have my things used harshly.  My compromise is that my home looks more chaotic now than it ever has; and I deal with it.  And in truth, I don’t see that what I am asking for is even about parenting; it is about manners and respect.
So I decided to put my own “compromise” line in the sand; if his requirement was to have the kid an additional night a fortnight, this would work better for me, if he came on the Friday night and maintained the Sunday afternoon home time. 
From his perspective, it really isn’t any different other than he won’t have to have the added stress of the Monday morning debacle of this week.  From my perspective, they will be up early and gone for the Saturday morning so I can keep my routine; and come Sunday afternoon, I can continue my “pour a glass of red, unwind, clean up and distress!”
I’ve put it to him; it will be interesting to see what answer I get back...

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Lighter shade of pale

This was the colour of my face this morning when I waltzed half-awake into the bathroom, bra and undies in hand; only discover a naked kid in the bathroom.  He twisted like a pretzel in an effort to hide, leaving me with an image of Marge walking in on Mr Burns in the shower.
For me, this end to the weekend was in a word, apt.

The Squeeze and I had decided to take a four day weekend; he teaming a visit to his GP with a ‘sicky’ and me taking an ADO.   By Thursday I realised that our weekend wasn’t going to be quite the blast of relaxation I’d planned when the Squeeze informed me that he was no longer going to ‘waste’ a sick day and was going in to work.
This immediately got my back up; hell, we both knew that had the Harridan called to instruct him to have the kid, he’d have taken the day off quick enough.  I however, don't quite fit into that totem pole of importance.
Okay.  I can deal with that ‘on the fly’.  I don’t have to like it but I can deal with it.  And although I had a rather leisurely day on Friday, I woke Saturday with a raging stress headache.  Why?  Well the reality is that somehow, somewhere along the line, all the rules changed and it irks me that I have no input in to decisions.
We have a simple routine.  The word by its very meaning would tend to imply “organisation”, although it is a little more haphazard than that.  Still, as a general rule, the Squeeze heads off to the Velvet side of town while I sleep in and read, then get up and do a housework day.
By lunchtime, he and the kid are home and we either cook a brunch or go out for it.  The afternoon whizzes by in a blaze of television and technology where upon we cook, eat and get another bout of television and technology.  The morning is unhurried.  We cook breakfast, read the papers and clean up.  At this point, depending on what is on, we either all go off some place, or I encourage the Squeeze to go bond with the kid over a movie or something, prior to taking him back to the vice like grip of mummies arms and Velvetland.  I get to use this time to clean up, sit down and relax before he is back in the door.
But no, the Squeeze informs me that from here on in, he will be staying an extra night and catching the bus to school on the Monday and my annoyance level peaks again because unless I am mistaken, I kind of figure that extending the nights we have the kid should be something discussed between us; not something decided by the Squeeze, Harridan and Kid and handed to me fait accompli!
Sunday afternoon is my sanctuary after what is a rather stressful time.  It’s not that he is a bad kid or sets the house on fire or anything.  It’s that he has been raised completely differently to mine and there appears to be minimal boundaries – and I struggle with this.  Where I come from, families help out.  I work full time and do 90% of all the work around the house, sorry, but I expect you to pick up after yourself; either that or pay me a hell of alot more since it appears I'm to be the “help” as well.
Saturday over dinner, we had a discussion re why you need a job - so as to be able to provide for yourself and buy the things you want.   This was in regards to a non stop whine for a $50 soccer top that went throughout the day.  I think he missed the undertone of the message as it was answered with “you only have to think about what you want and it will come to you…”
WTF?  Trust me, that isn’t true.  If it were, I’d be getting up in the morning 10 kilo lighter, 10 years younger and Bradley Cooper would be making my coffee!  Having said that, I guess it was true for the Harridan who decided she could think about the Squeeze's tent – and then almost like magic, it was hers.
I like a good debate and I can be quite vocal in my argument (loud and obnoxious), so keeping myself restrained was in a word… Difficult.   Then Sunday, as we were about to leave for the caravan club to watch gospel for breakfast, the kid decides it’s time for breakfast – so we stand around while he spoons cereal into his face – and all the while, I feel every muscle in my back and shoulders tightening…
For stress relief, I decide to take the afternoon off and catch a movie with the girl.  We go off and have lunch and come home to help the Squeeze prepare a roast with all the trimmings, including chocolate steam pudding with custard and cream.  (Approximately 7000 kj I imagine….)
Given the waiting at breakfast, I start a discussion on the importance of keeping time; because in the end, I’m not hiring anyone that figures they are too busy and important to meet me at the correct time.  Sorry, but your time is not worth more than mine…  If you are more than ten minutes late for a meeting, I won’t be there.
To answer this, I get utter gibberish, informing me that being on time is only about “my” reality; in “his” reality, he can do as he likes and doesn’t have to submit to my time frames.   And with that one comment, I saw the rest of the next few years stretch out before me;  standing around tapping my foot as he refuses to hurry for “my" reality.
At the conclusion of the roast, the Squeeze and kid retire to technology in the bedroom where upon I get to clean up and wash all the roast dishes, including drying and putting away – because I can’t fit dessert dishes on the rack!
The Squeeze slinks back out a while later (possibly due to how loud the saucepans were crashing together like cymbals) and takes the tea towel from my hand – to which I say what is obviously the equivalent to “velvet wearing child abuse”…  ‘No.  You can wash.  The kid can dry.  I did all the rest.’
The outrage!  The Squeeze wouldn’t hear of it, his face and reaction were akin to me suggesting we drag him out to the back yard and flog him for an hour or two.  As my eye rolling becomes almost comical and the pot slamming routine escalates, I get the argument of "and why should he, it’s not like your children do the dishes when they are here?"  I'll admit, I had to go off and think about that because I'm not unaware that I can sometimes be the pot, calling the kettle...   But no, he obviously missed the part where the girl hasn’t been here for a meal since last year; boy 1 stayed 2 days on his way to moving to Queensland with his gal – and I know that she did the dishes…  And boy 3 came one weekend so far this year.  At the conclusion of me cooking breakfast – he and his girl got up and did all the dishes and clean up.  And I'll go so far as to say each of those times was unprovoked (what happens when you actually expect kids to help out...)
When I questioned the kid being here an extra day – and the off the cuff comment of “and if you have a music thing on or just want to come stay through the week… no probs…”   I got “it won’t affect you!  He will catch the bus to school!”
No.  It won’t affect me.  This morning I got woken up 15 minutes earlier than usual.  Much to my horror, walked in on a naked kid.  Suffered a cold shower because the Squeeze and kid are busy and important and must go first.  His music thing at school started at 7.30 so there wasn't any bus travel.  And after the seventh time of hearing the Squeeze say “come on come on come on!” this morning, I just turned off.

Friday, March 9, 2012

It’s all in the Breeding

Last night we went off to a school concert to watch a bunch of nerdy kids, all dressed in black and playing instruments.  These are the kids that back when I was young, may have gone on to obtain greatness however, you know that there is a world of torture going on before they get to that point.  At the half time break, one kid walked passed me actually wearing sunglasses.  It’s night.  You are inside.  Get real.
I’m not overly fond of the whole school concert/play thing.  I never have been.  I didn’t like being in them when I was young; didn’t like going to them when my kids were at school; dislike it even more now that there isn’t any cute little kids dressed as the grub in Alice in Wonderland or Earth shattering talent to be found.  The whole thing is full of nepotism and unrealistic demanding mothers.  I go for the same reason I went every other time; because you need a united front of support for kids. (And when I was young I was forced to.)
I always know I’m going to be in for a fun-filled, thrilling school adventure because the Harridan will be there; and fronting up to any event is proceeded by the never ending list of orders and instructions that come via text message.  In this instance, it was “pick up kid 3 from kid 2’s place (we are talking across the city via peak hour traffic), buy black shirt and shoes and get kid to the venue by 6.15 and then take kid 2 back home to the other side of town; and I still don’t have my epi pen!” (Rather than the 233 characters I’ve just typed, the message would have been 90 given the “ugg-caveman-wot-u-fkwit” speak.
She seems to miss the point where we actually work for a living, and this is surprising, given her “two income” comments that comes out on the occasional monetary argument.  So you would figure that she would understand the implications of us just walking out of work whenever she feels like it...   I mention to the Squeeze that he needs to reply to say “sure, bring our epi pen and we can do the swap”.  I also point out that although the kid’s is in my bag, we are not handing it over without the return of ours – if that occurs, then we are not having him this weekend.  After all, they are her ‘rules’; he wasn’t allowed to come camping with us unless the Squeeze turned up holding the epi pen in his hand like Oliver asking for more – as proof we actually had one.
Although it takes a few more harsh words than it used to, to get him out on that ball performing in the middle of the circus tent; years of obedience is hard to shake, so although he has vetoed the pick up; I notice that new black stuff and am told that when we make our escape, we will be driving back to the city to drop kid 2 off.
In short, she is like any good negotiator.  Ask for more than reasonable, and if you get most, you are winning.
I have struggled in the past when the Harridan has put on her performance for anyone that may be watching.  She goes out of her way to prove that she has no problem with the Squeeze being happy, in a relationship and moving on.  At soccer last year, it was a very chatty and loud “let’s all go for coffee!”  My face must have been priceless and I’m not sure how I refrained from actually saying out loud “I’d rather be dead…” because the week previously, she had inundated him with screaming, abusing, text messages that repeatedly told him what a pathetic, useless, uncaring father he was.
This has every protective instinct in my being rise up Joan of Arc style and I would love nothing better than to whip out my sword or leap across a room Wendi Deng style.  It isn’t like I wouldn’t love to say exactly what I think of her constant demands and spite; I would.  But in the end, it is about two things.  Good breeding and the kids.  I say exactly what I feel via my blog so I don’t need to be either rude or friendly to her.  I remain on the steady course of civility.  Nothing more, nothing less.
So after leaving the soccer, we were literally laughing our heads off at the ridiculousness of her even attempting to pretend that she doesn’t wish us both dead.  Even though we didn’t start seeing one another until 4 years after the final, legal end of the relationship, it is like acid to her.  His happiness is her kryptonite!  She can grin at him like an evil clown and say “I’m happy you are happy”; even while wishing she was pulling his entrails out through his nose.
Last night, it was the opposite.  She walked up to us standing in the foyer drinking coffee.  A happy little group consisting of the Squeeze, myself, Kid 2 and his gal, plus Kid 3 laughing about a television series – and pushed herself in, changed the conversation and was very, very careful to make sure she didn’t look at or acknowledge me in any way.
It is quite simple in my world.  I don’t like you.  You don’t like me.  That’s fine.  But face to face, with the kids, you retain civility.  They are her kids and if she wants to teach them rudeness, that's fine I guess.
I assume the discourtesy was designed to make me feel uncomfortable and ensure I stayed at home (where I belonged) the next time.   Sorry, you have to do a little better than turning on a show of rudeness and ignorance.  Blended families are strange things.  I love and support the Squeeze which means I do belong there.  I like his kids and have spent a great deal of time with them, which also means I belong there.
I have also just spent an hour washing Kid 3’s clothes that were dumped here last night.  Why an hour?  Because they required 2 washes with napisan since the Harridan obviously can’t work a washing machine and they could have stood in the corner on their own they were so filthy.  And if nothing else – that entitles me belong there.
There is a fine line between ‘fake’ and ‘vulgarity’ and the Harridan does not possess the common sense or good breeding to walk that line. 

How do I maintain my civility..?  Because the Squeeze is mine...

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

The Claytons Ending

Sheesh!  Just when I figure the whole tent thing is finished, it rears its ugly head again!   What would I do without that tent?  How would I blog?  Surely my well of blogging fodder would dry up!  I’d be forced to blog about normal stuff!
And when all is said and done, I’m not even that fond of camping...  Its okay, but I can’t say it’s my first choice on holidaying ideas, that’s for sure!  Bugs the size of pterodactyls abound and even worse, there is this constant “dirty” feel that no amount of showering can improve, which really goes against my serial killer neatness.  But this was never about the tent; it was always about the principal.
So even as the tent shunk into the background, it managed to retain a glimmer of light as the Harridan continued to make threats to take action over her enforced “purchase” of the tent.  Frankly, I could almost wish that she would go that far since she seems to need someone other than the Squeeze to tell her you can’t just steal someone’s property – even if you were once married to the other person.  Marriage does not equal “open slather on their stuff until they are DEAD!”
And then last night, kid 2 sends a text with the one word that has become the Goodyear Blimp of blog silage.  He is off for a weekend concert and seeking a tent to go camping with so sends a query to the Squeeze to ask if he can borrow the tent.
The Squeeze returns with a ‘tongue in cheek’ “ask your mother”.  A minute or two delay and the kid comes back with “she says she doesn’t have it.”
Now this has my curiosity blazing.  Because she would revel in her ability to martyr up and be the one that races in, Joan of Arc style, to provide a tent for the kid and his gal – even at the risk of the kid, knowing the true ownership, hands it back to him.  That she doesn’t is the first real indication that she no longer has the tent.
So...  What the hell did she do with it? 
And curiosity gives way to amusement because if she is truly so damned spiteful that she has given the tent away; or even better, has tossed it in the backyard and used it as a sacrificial bonfire to dance around – then the fact that he has made her purchase the thing must be making her eyes bleed!

Monday, March 5, 2012

Waiting; Like a Big... Black... Spider

The other week in blog land, I stated that I was scratching for fodder to blog about.   Not that the relationship is perfect (show me one that is)...  It’s just that I didn’t have a lot in the way of major drama, going on.  I had the girl/muppet saga and then we had the Squeeze's boy 2 and his albeit brief foray into the world of turning Muslim; but we had reached a plateau in regards to the Harridan. 
Somewhat weirdly; she has become no more than sporadic twinge in our relationship.   I still get to feel my anger/vexation/astonishment rocket at regular intervals; given her delusions regarding finances or her sending outrageous orders and/or insults via phonetic text message; but the blood boiling is a swift eruption and just as swift an ending.
And as much as I love my blog, I have to be careful what I wish for...  I am under no illusions as to her style of mischief and I have acknowledged in my head that it will continue forever; for as long as the Squeeze and I are an item and alive at least.  In some ways, it is as though while sitting in her attic spinning a web, she shudders to life with the realisation that she hasn’t stage-managed trouble for at least a couple of weeks – so gets busy spinning.
Stupidly, I’m not as good at game playing and so it actually does work to some extent.  Yes; I know I should get over it or not bother about it – but I don’t appear to be capable of that.  And I kind of feel annoyed that I'm the one that has to be the "bigger person"!  I mean this weekend seemed innocent enough for at least 3 seconds, but it defies logic so doesn’t stand up as anything other than annoying stalker type behaviour.
We were at the Regent Theatre awaiting staff to open the doors to the seating for the Ryan Adam’s concert.  Expectations were high, we were dressed nicely...  It was our Christmas present to each other so something of a date night.  This is when the Harridan called – 8pm on a Saturday night.
The Squeeze pressed reject immediately; partly I’m ashamed to admit, in fear that it would annoy me and therefore disrupt the equilibrium of our ‘date’. 
Although I suggest that this may have been his reasoning for rejecting the call, that doesn’t necessarily mean that this is the case.  In fact I did no more than raise my brow curiously and when she called again and he rejected, mention that perhaps he should just answer the thing.  We hadn’t moved into the auditorium as yet and there was always the rare chance that it was actually important. 
But no; he prefers not to speak to her when I am around.  This is possibly due to my “tsks!” or the rolling of my eyes that go with hearing him attempt to speak ‘reason’ to her; but quite probably around his inability to raise his voice while attempting to speak ‘reason’ to her, given where we were.
To highlight the importance of the repeat phoning, she leaves no voicemail so whatever it is that she wants, it is obviously not Earth shattering.  Instead, she sends a text to say ‘is boy1 ok’. 
That is it.  A pretty good hook if you were in sales.  That would have me calling and questioning what the hell is going on.  Still, he is more of an expert on her than I and replies “is as far as I know” and then turns his phone off.  He mentions to me “she probably called him and he didn’t answer...”
He checks when we gets home and there is nothing further from her.  Nor is there any communiqué throughout the next day – nothing.  It was just the Harridan and her moment of being a Telstra commercial (look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me...) and my anger shot to the roof again because when all is said and done, it was just so utterly pointless!
Late in the day, the Squeeze and I argue.  He has spoken to the kid and he is alive.  In fact, he has been off with 'mummy dearest' during the day; so what exactly was the drama supposedly about?  And what information did she expect to get from the Squeeze; given that we live on the other side of town... None of the kids live with us and we would be lucky to see Boy 1 once a month!  And the answer to that is ‘zip’.  This was no more than a little ‘remember me..?’ prod.
From there, I suggested he follow up with a text to state that from now on when seeking information about the boys, that it would be prudent to actually call them!  He does in fact send this but cops an instantaneous tirade of abuse along the lines of “fekwit.  U dont care! its like u r dead...”
Of course I want to reply for him with a: “as far as you are concerned, I am!” but the Squeeze won’t go for that. 
He prefers the “ignore” way; which would be fantastic if I could just manage to do that...

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Romance - Zip

Sitting in the 2nd row at the Regent Theatre awaiting Ryan Adams. No romance yet; unless you count him rejecting a call from the Harridan!


Tonight we are off for our "Christmas Present" to each other... 

Ryan Adams at the Regent Theatre.  I can't wait! 

Ryan Adams is significant to our relationship.  The Squeeze once sent me a song of his for my birthday...   Given that he is a dilettante in the art of romance; I cried.

It was one of the 5 times (at least) during his "procrastination stage".  Where he had dumped me because it was going to be too hard to ‘man up’ and stand up to the Harridan – and I wasn’t the type to sit meekly in the background and leave some utter shrew to dictate the rest of how my life went.

This ought to be interesting!

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Close to You

Today we get say goodbye to another Leap Year and celebrate the fact that I’m not stupid enough to propose to the idiot I live with.
Although I remain unengaged as intended, I did somehow manage to keep the ember of ‘proposal fear’ burning in the Squeeze until after 11pm when I got bored with the whole idea and basically just fell asleep.
It’s not like I threw a cup of petrol on that ember, but I did give it the odd poke and blow a bit of air on it throughout the night.  I made reference to champagne at the movies a few times while we were on the way and to my delight, this bought a resurgence of R.E.S (rat eye syndrome – eyes sliding from side to side and I can almost hear the voice in his head chanting “let me out let me out let me out.”)
I also came in the door from work singing “Close to You”.  Granted; this may have had more effect if I’d had a Rick Moranis moment (from Parenthood) and entered the room on my knees singing the old Carpenters hit...  Maybe a wilted little bunch of wild flowers in my hand... But frankly, I don’t think my knees would have been up to the job and it’s hard to look sophisticated while groping for something to heave yourself off the floor with...  No glamour in that!
I’d already had to say on the drive to the movies “that’s it.  I’m not proposing to you anymore!  You’re too damned annoying!” after a banking mishap.  This saw a glimmer of relief cross his face prior to him shutting it down and hoping I hadn’t seen it...  At one point during the movie, I poked around in my bag and pulled out a piece of paper before tapping his hand and saying “are you ready... for the ring...?”  His laughter upon discovery that it was merely a piece of paper was a little hysterical and I’m sure he actually mopped at his brow after.
Still; he made it through.  Unscathed.  Unengaged.  And even more strangely, un-dumped.
And this morning I paused for at least one tenth of a second to wonder why I hadn’t proposed.  I was getting ready for work; putting makeup on in the bathroom mirror.  He wrapped his arms around me from behind and mentioned that boxing was really paying off as he could feel that I’d lost weight and it was actually visible. 
Then he ruined the whole damned thing by saying “at least front on” and then moved into the danger zone by doing this insulting hand shaping thing to show me that I was obviously looking like a pregnant rhino from the side view; just in case I had misunderstood his words.
No wonder I’m not ever proposing to the fool!