Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Oh. My. God. The. Mess.

You wouldn’t guess it, not for a single moment; but I have had the last 1.5 weeks off work.   Being a somewhat prolific story teller/exaggerator, you would figure that I’d have a list of blog entries a mile long.  In fact, I just haven’t found the ‘whatever’ to blog.

Let me guess; you are thinking that I’ve been too busy out socialising, or maybe I just haven’t had anything to blog about..? 

Wrong on both counts.  Well kind of.

I have been out and about a bit over the last week or so, more so than I’d have liked since days off work are supposed to go hand in hand with long sleep ins.  It never quite works out that way which is somewhat annoying.  Still, I could have dragged myself away from bed or the television for long enough to blog. 
But I didn’t.

So maybe I just didn’t have anything to say..?

Wrong there too.  In fact I intended to blog… Several times.  But I just didn’t get there. 
I wanted to blog about the preparations for the stupid half century party that I was pushed to have; and then left to organise.  I could have blogged about the Highland Fricking Dancers that I wasn’t going to be getting.  I could have blogged about my trip to the country or housework.  Could have blogged about the fear I am experiencing as the Harridan moves closer and the texts re the kid staying are coming a lot more regularly.  But none of them made the cut.

I especially wanted to run to the computer and somewhat gleefully blog about Kid 3 – who just happened to call me on the night of my birthday.  You are probably wondering what the hell he called me about; given that I’m such a witch; a bunhilda!  And to be honest, when the Squeeze handed me the phone I thought okay, he’s been brow beaten into giving a perfunctory ‘happy birthday’; and all the while he will be wishing me dead under his breath.  Maybe a little torture prior to death.  Maybe a lot of torture.

No.  Wrong again.  Instead, he wished me a happy birthday; asked me about my day and what I received and then continued on to apologise for being ‘a smart arse’ the weekend prior when he had been in Casa Oakleigh. 

Astounding.  So I’m not imagining that sulky ‘smart arse’ tone with the “are you finished..?”  Humph!  I told that idiot Squeeze this was the case, but he refused to see or acknowledge that this was the case.
To the kid; well I thanked him and said that although it may not seem like it; or he may figure it was so long ago I wouldn’t have a clue – but I was actually a kid too once – and left it at that.  And truth tell, our meeting this weekend was much more pleasant.

I still don’t want that damned Harridan upping the ante on kidsville; because firstly, I can’t stand the mess and secondly, he is no longer a little kid that needs babysitting.  I’m sure when she buggers off out, he skids through the house in his modern version of risky business!

Oh.  And as for the title – well suffice to say that I didn’t finish cleaning up after the party until last night.  2 days of living in hell.  The upside was my sister vomited on the way home (always the sign of a great party!) and at the conclusion of the night, I had 3 bottles of Moet in the fridge!  Yay!

Sunday, May 20, 2012

You Don't Know Where We Live!

The Harridan moved house and once again, made sure the Squeeze didn’t know where they live.  My suggestion to fix her penchant for the ridiculous is to hence forth, post her maintenance as a cheque – to her house.  I’m pretty sure she won’t move without telling him after that…

So the weekend goes by and the kid remains alive; the Squeeze takes the kid home after his 12 hours straight of “in bed with television and computer” while we are working like dogs in the back yard. 

I slunk off and left them to go off and bond before home while I cleaned in preparation for a party next weekend.  Aside from the actual cleaning part sucking, the spring clean will look fantastic!

The Squeeze walked in the door late and grinning.  Late because the kid didn’t have a key to get into the new house that we are not to know about, so he had to await Kid 1’s return to take him off his hands.  Grinning as he recited the next saga that is the Harridan.

Kid: “you have to drop me at the corner.”
Squeeze:  “I’m not doing that; look at all the bags you’ve got!”
Kid: “I’ll get in trouble if you know where we live!”

Me:  How dumb is this ridiculous bitch..?

So while getting dinner ready, I encourage him to send her a text to say “the lounge is a little dark…” which somewhat surprisingly, he did.

We giggled like school girls; I can almost see her reading it and then choking on her spleen!

Saturday, May 19, 2012

The Ugly Truth

Gone is that wonderful “stress free” feeling I attained at Daylesford.  The floatation bed; the massage and exfoliation followed by a mud cocoon.   We had dinners out that centred around talks of the magnitude that can only occur between two old friends that have known one another forever.

I came back to the reality of Melbourne yesterday and started cleaning.

The Squeeze had obviously hit the “no nagging zone” and had quite literally, skidded across the floor in his undies while I was away.  Anything used, was left out.  The bed was haphazard, but at least made.  I sighed as I unpacked my bag and began cleaning.

My real joy came at about 5pm when he mentioned that Boy 1 would be dropping Boy 3 off for a weekend of Squeezette Hell; I really tried not to let the dismay show on my face, but according to the Girl, I don’t think I achieved ‘calm face…’

So the weekend of King Kid begins.  Yay.

First, he arrived over an hour late which I’d anticipated so although I had saved food, I hadn’t bothered to hold dinner until his arrival.  Having two to feed I hadn’t counted on so the Squeeze had to rush out to get them take away.  I can suck that up every so often but there was a small shiver of fear that sidled up my spine – did them moving closer mean Kid 1 was going to take the opportunity to land on us to get away from the Harridan..?  And how often is that going to happen?  I didn’t blame him for wanting to escape the spider that she is, but hey, he chose to move in with mummy so I sure as hell don’t intend to suffer the consequences of his action…

Then Kid 1 and ‘The Little King’ arrive with enough bags to make my fear level spiral and my heart leap into action.  Ummm what is this about?  What the hell are all those bags for..?  It took all of my will not to scream it out loud.

Strangely enough, probably in anticipation to my freak out, the Squeeze makes comment on the numerous bags; almost like a camel train as it headed in through the door and out to the dining room.  Little King tosses the off handed remark that they are school bags and I have a glimmer of hope that he has homework to do.

Three seconds in the house and immediately on the computer, I hear the hacking, chesty, mucus filled lungs wheezing in and out of his chest cavity and with a brief interrogation, discover that he has been home sick that day.

Thanks you miserable bitch.  Ummm yeah, don’t worry about sending a virus infected kid to my home so that I and my children get sick.  I mention to the Squeeze that if I get sick this week – on my week off – I will skin him alive.

Then interrupting our sleep in, the Harridan texts to ask how the flu is and if Little King told us he was going to school Monday from our house.

WTF?  She really is an ignorant bitch; totally bereft of manners or consideration for another person.  I guess she forgot that this is my place; I live here and we make plans as opposed to sit here, baited breath, awaiting Harridan orders.

It didn’t matter what we were doing Sunday night, I was not having the Little King.  The Harridan can learn manners or it is her problem to deal with.

Of course since we don’t know where he lives, I wonder what the Squeeze will do if she just decides to say “too bad, you are having him”…

Then we went to breakfast.  It is always an effort to get the kid out of the door; so I switched off the television after the fifteenth time the Squeeze asked him to shower.  Personally, I think the ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ adage has an element of truth; and this kid could certainly have benefited from it.

It is time to admit the ugly truth.  The kid doesn’t like me; not one little bit.  And I'm not fond of him either.  How do we get around this?  How do I live in my house and shut my face while this kid is rude to me?  How do I make the Squeeze see that if he can't fix it, we have a serious relationship problem our hands because I can't hack this every second weekend for years on end.  I don't want to.

We go to a very nice Greek restaurant that I have decided I won’t be frequenting again with the kid in tow; where he proceeded to eat sourdough smothered in avocado, tomato and balsamic with bacon on the side – with his hands; complete with dirt encrusted fingernails.  The Squeeze, perhaps noting my shiver of revulsion, did ask him to use his cutlery, but this went unheeded.

Bacon, eggs, sauce, avocado - all with fingers!
At the conclusion of breakfast, I suggested that maybe washing his hands would be a good idea which received a look and then a blatant ignore.  My temper seethed higher.

Then we went next door to the chemist to get some chesty cough medicine, which is kind of like treating cancer with mint leaves if you ask me.  Even the chemist notes that it is on the verge of a full blown chest infection.  In the car, on the way home, while my nails are digging into my hands and my teeth are on my lip; the kid mentions around another bout of phlegm filled coughing:  ‘the best thing for a chest infection is time!”

Amazing.  She must be a ventriloquist.  And an excellent one!  She slipped her hand up his arse and moved his mouth and I didn’t even see her lips move!

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

The Land Of Bliss

In another 22 minutes or so, I’m out of the door at work and off to a funeral.  Weirdly, this is the same funeral I was off to the other week; which got cancelled.  Yes; I couldn’t work out how you cancelled a funeral either but this one has turned into a circus.  Messy affairs when there is a wife on one side of the coffin, his kids on the other.

So no, the funeral isn’t the ‘land of bliss’ part; that will come when I get home from the funeral and start packing for my 2 nights in a spa at Hepburn Springs with one my longest serving best friend.

We are getting seaweed body packs and head/hair treatments and massages and cocoons and a million other weirdo named stuff all because I am in the unenviable position of turning 50 next week.  And she is already there so figures this is what 50 year olds should do (and I do believe she is right!)

So we have two days of relaxation and beautification and nonstop conversation.  Sounds just about perfect to me.  Even better; we are staying at the spa so there is no real requirement of glam up; just a whole lot of swanning around in their robe and slippers.

Yesterday, my boss gave me Waterford Crystal for crying out loud!  My family purchased me a gorgeous rose gold and ruby ring!  The squeeze, a Chanel necklace!

Hell.  I’m beginning to think turning 50 is a.o.k!  I’m even starting to look forward to the stupid party!

Monday, May 14, 2012

The Final Countdown

As the end of the work day rolls around, I’m beginning to feel a small measure of excitement that comes with going on leave.  I don’t even have to be going somewhere!  Just being able to relax, unwind and do some stuff around the house will be fantastic!

So the final countdown begins about now; which is kind of funny since I will be at work tomorrow morning!  But come lunch time, if there is anyone standing between me and the door – be it on their head!

Saturday, May 12, 2012

I don’t want to Play House!

Saturday rolls around and once again, it looks like I’ve had a house full of hobos all week!  And not tidy hobos either!  So my whole weekend is damned by the fact that I have to get up and CLEAN!  Sheesh!  I don't want to play house!

Next week’s itinerary looks better:

Monday – Work
Tuesday – Work in the morning; funeral in the afternoon (well that bit of the week isn’t fun…)
Wednesday – Off to Daylesford with my best friend to be pampered at a Spa; followed by dinner  and copious amounts of champagne.
Thursday – More pampering…  More champagne.
Friday – Home – just in time to start a week of holidays!  Yay!

Oh stuff it.  I’ll clean next week!

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Please sir, can I have more…

The Harridan has a new little insult that she pitches like a hand grenade over a fence at the Squeeze.

She always finishes her messages with a standard line; she always has.  The lines may have changed over the years, but the sentiment is there to stay.  No; it’s not ‘love, the Harridan’.  Nor is it, ‘regards, the nutjob’.    It has always centred around something about his lack of ability as a father; or his penis size; or a threat of…  I never quite worked out what.

It was never actually specific, like “or I’ll gut you!”  Instead, it was usually along the lines of “if you did blah blah, you just made a big mistake!!!!”   They have always been threatening without actually threatening; and written phonetically so that it has a vibe that is both harsh and guttural.

But the new final words of any text/email are a childish: ‘if you are allowed.’
If you are allowed…  How old is this woman..?  Twelve?

So it would appear that she has missed the fact that the Squeeze is a fully grown man and therefore able to make his own decisions and judgements.  Don’t get me wrong, I have no problems at all in having my say, neither does he; but we are each responsible for our own decisions.

The day he cut his Moodle lead and stopped creeping up to the Harridan like Oliver asking for more, was the day he could take back responsibility for his own life and decisions.  Hanging up the lead meant that no longer did he have to sit on her knee with her hand up his arse, moving his mouth for him.  Puppet, he was no longer.

So I guess what she really means is ‘now that you are no longer the whipped dog that I can order around…’

I like it!  She is admitting a loss of control.

Granted, she is accusatorial.  It’s as though she thinks I must have taken over her role as the ventriloquist.   She sees that I am now in control of his words because she doesn’t understand a relationship that doesn’t work that way.

Little does she know that if I wanted a Moodle, I’d buy myself a dog.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

That Didn’t Take Long

I’m about to turn 50.   Now what the hell is that about?   Twenty seconds ago, I was 18!   Ten seconds ago I was thirty and worried because my head felt the same as it did twenty seconds ago, but things on the outside were starting to slide.   That didn’t seem fair at all!

And now I’m going to be 50.

I’m having a small party, but I have to admit, my heart just isn’t in it.   The Squeeze pushed me to have something (if not, he would get the blame for me not having a party!) but it just seemed like too much drama and too much money really.  I agreed, mainly because people kept asking what I was doing.  Hell, I didn’t want to appear so ‘unloved’ that I’d sit at home on my 50th birthday because I couldn’t find anyone to party with!

There are a thousand restaurants in Oakleigh.  The ones I liked didn’t have a separate room to accommodate thirty or so (not to mention the Squeeze turning pale at the cost).   The ones that could fit them, I didn’t like as much.  Seems like just a few too many people to squash into home (not to mention the work involved) and not enough people to hire a hall.

My guest list is obviously the hellish number for party planners.   Then I ran out of time.  So we are having it at home.  Great…

My suggestion for getting it catered for caused a ‘Squeeze adverse reaction’.    When I told him the cost of the alcohol, his hair turned a shade grayer.   He’ll have a conniption when we do the food shopping, I’m sure.  I haven’t even started on decorations…

Every suggestion has been “too expensive” and his return volley of a suggestion is equivalent to me suggesting a case of Moet for each person and he suggesting a bottle of cranberry juice and a bag of crisps!

And every so often, I remember the pictures of the Harridan’s 50th.  A smiling Squeeze in various shots with groups of people.  Big hall; drinks flowing; speeches.  They had all the peripherals that make up a great party – even down to the Highland frigging dancers.

And I’m supposed to have a bottle of cranberry juice and a bag of crisps..?
Strangely; I’m not looking forward to it.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Wrestling… Kill Me Now

As soon as the Squeeze came through the front door, the television was on and one of his creepy, old, 1980’s wrestling DVD’s was life size on the new big screen.  I should point out that these classics are not easy to find.  He needs to import them via other creepy, old guys in the states.

If I mention in a blog that the Squeeze is keen in wrestling – and I have several times previously, I don’t think anyone understands the full impact of that statement.

As a reader, you would miss the visual, which is a thing to behold really.   It’s not horror exactly… But it is pretty horrific.  We are talking a world of really fat guys who are play acting with less finesse than I did 40 years ago when I wrestled the kids to the ground and threatened to dribble on them to the accompaniment of their squeals and peals of laughter.  And when I think back to those times, those little buggers put up a pretty good fight.

But back to the fat guys…   There are obese men with mullets; oiled up to highlight that muffin top (which is really more like a high loaf tin) that is spilling over the top of their lycra.  They are wearing glittery speedos, Elvis costumes, camouflage, bad facial hair and studs and buckles to the point where they look like they just slipped out of the basement in Pulp Fiction.

There is Mr T, Hulk Hogan, Macho Man and the Texas Tornado.   There is Rowdy Roddy Piper, Honky Tonk Man and Greg the Hammer.

It is a cult.  It is an obsession.  It scares me.