Bat Bat Baby

The weekend was uneventful.  Well considering that the Harridan was up to no good and there was some funny business going on Friday night; in that suddenly, the kid wanted to stay home.  Personally, I’d rather put clag in my own eye than spend five minutes in the same room with her; but hey, to each their own.

So he didn’t arrive here until Saturday after soccer when we all slunk off to hillbilly heaven for a trivia night at the soccer club.  Oh the joy!  Even more of a joy was the bullying text message that threatened the Squeeze not to leave early.   Seriously…?  Or what?  Personally, I wanted to get up smack bang in the middle of the last round and say “we are leaving, text the harridan and tell her we are off!”  

And I would have loved to have left early.  There were plenty of people there in the usual velvet wearers garb – ie: socks and sandals; the bright streaks of red through the hair that says “see how trendy I am”.

The questions all seemed quite mismatched and the entrée was a tray of pastries that had calories actually leaking out on to the plate – yet they were exquisite when compared to the perfect, white, cardboard flavoured deep fried chicken schnitzel and chips for main.

Still… we survived.  Only one minor “moment” when the kid went and took a “winners” box from the main table – and we were of course not winners.  My comment that it was theft was only met by ridiculous fifteen your old argument and ignorance by the Squeeze who shrugged and made excuses when I asked “why didn’t you make him take that back…?”

Sunday was housework.  While cleaning, I noticed that the kid has dirty encrusted, ragged toenails that are so long, he could swing from a tree branch with no fear of falling.  Like a vampire bat!  I raised my eyebrow and asked how the branches were swinging lately, but I’m sure the Harridan is pushing him not to cut them.  Hell, we can’t have another 1.5 year ingrown toenail episode!

I cleaned out the pantry and watch the ticking clock until they went out the door and I poured a glass of red and yelled “yahoo!” as my daughter and niece arrived in time for us to go out for lunch.

When I came home, I bought the washing in and low and behold, the pterodactyl with the five inch toenails had shredded the freaking sheet!

I don’t care what the Harridan says about toenails, but that thing isn’t getting into my bed next weekend without them trimmed!!!

Still Alive....

I'm alive but way too focused on boxing and training.  Fear is a powerful motivator.

What do I fear..?  In 38 days we leave for Greece.
There is sun.  There are beaches.  There is a need for bathers...

Did You Come In My House?????

Last night, we had ‘Squeeze’ friends come to dinner.

I’m never quite sure if they like me, or like me because they feel they have to.  It’s not that I don’t think I’m interesting; or that I won’t give them a good meal… But let’s face it, couple friends try (at least for a while) to be friends to both parties.

Throughout dinner, I was surprised to learn that one of the guys had an ex-wife. His partner said “his ex-wife has texted me a few times tonight…”

Hell, my ex-husband called me on Friday – sometimes ex’s can get along… To follow on from her comment on the texting, I mentioned that the Squeeze had been kissing his ex-wife the night before; thinking that they knew them both so must understand how utterly ludicrous this was. Strangely, all I got in reply was “it’s great that people can still get along…”

I smiled, raised my eyebrow and took a gulp of wine. Get along…? Get along???

Ten minutes before they arrived, the Harridan had been on the phone screaming at him that he dared to enter her house (he carried bags in for the kid; after dropping the kid home at her bidding.) After he hung up on her, I wanted him to send the text “I guess you won’t be kissing me anymore this week” to highlight what a fake bitch she is; but that damned Moodle I live with, wouldn’t.

 At times, even he is amazed at what an utter nutcase she is.

Small Mercies

Thank God, every so often I have the unenviable task of squiffing off to a jazz night featuring Kid 1 on piano.  For me, these nights are really just about ‘support’; clapping at the end of each instrumental cacophony is just a way to relieve the monotony.  If I didn’t have these nights, what would I write about..?

Don’t get me wrong; the kid is talented on piano.  I just can’t quite comprehend jazz and I see now, that I never will.  And I’m okay with that.

So this was never going be a fun, action packed night.  I tried to lessen the blow by dragging a long-time friend who I knew wasn’t adverse to a little jazz but more importantly, liked wine.  Of course waking up that morning with a killer migraine seriously wasn’t going to add to the overall experience.

I had questioned the Squeeze earlier re the Harridan, because I seriously didn’t want to deal with the fake queen for a night; and my migraine comes an inability to colour things or just ‘suck it up’ for the good of mankind.  I’m more apt to just go off the cuff and call a spade a spade.  Not that I don’t believe the cow needs a put down.  Of course he is clueless; at least that is what he is telling me.

So I drag myself out of bed and throw on a pair of jeans.  Hell, I felt so bad that I didn’t even shower and wash my hair.  We go out for dinner to a place where the seating meant conversation was impossible, the lasagne tasted salty and to add to my mood, they didn’t sell alcohol (wtf is that about..?)

Then it’s off to the jazz.  Yay.  Oh be still my beating heart!

My head is pounding along to the vapid drummer who seems to do no more than brush a tiny weeny little drum with a twig and look proud of himself; and a guy on the cello (at least that is what I think it is) moves his head continuously to the point where I’m mesmerised – it’s like a toy dog in the back window ledge of a car.

And I’m counting songs; counting down the time until I can get the hell out of there.  This place is small and reminds me of a cartoon when I was a kid, three little pigs (in berets if I remember) and a wolf who was the jazz player.  The crowd – maybe twenty people in all; have thick black rimmed glasses and black skivvies – idiots; and if you dare to speak, you get scowled at.

And then the Harridan arrives, with a cast of thousands including the fifteen year old (way to go, mother of the year – let’s drag a kid out to an adult night of jazz, on a school night no less) and a velvet wearing sister.  I just slunk further into my chair and count down the songs until I can get the hell out of there.

I didn’t bother to turn around and speak to her.  I don’t like her.  At least I’m honest.

Then utter bliss comes with the end of the first set and I’m instantly on my feet and hankering to be gone.  I can almost taste those migraine tablets on my tongue.

A quick scan of the room shows we can make it to the door without the enforced company of the witch and we slink down the stairs and out into the night – only to come face to face with the Harridan, some kids, the velvet wearing sister and a “good male friend” who is not the “why can’t I just die” husband – and the show begins.

She drags him into the tight little circle which ensures I am left out in the cold.  The sister makes a song and dance of introducing me and saying my name not once – but four times.  Yeah… got it… that’s my name…  You’re so damned clever….

And then the Harridan pulls the Squeeze by the arm, drags him into the circle and plants a kiss on him and laughs.

And the fool that I live with is too stupid to actually put her on the spot.  Too half-witted to mention the fact that last week she is sending text messages that say “don’t you f***ing come near my house!!!!!!!”  That this bitch hates him!  That she would love nothing more than to push her hand through his chest cavity and rip out his still beating heart?????

Where the hell did I get this moron from????

Missing in Blog Action

A girlfriend emailed me the other day and mentioned that my blog was a little light on these days.

She was right of course.  I’m a prolific blogger when I’m furious and venting.  When the Harridan has skipped down one of her outlandish paths, I’m at my absolute sarcastic best.  Lately, I’m missing in action – blog wise.

But let’s face it; her diminishing power has seen my life move into a “coasting” phase.  Her pipping in over the top happens less; even more astounding is that when her head does bob up, the Squeeze jumps to handle it.  At least he does when I point out the absurdity of some of her demands.

With the “birthday dinner”, one minute he was emailing me telling me we were doing family dinner some place and that I should ‘suck it up’; the next he was bitch slapping her via phone and quite rightly asking why the hell she should waddle in and plonk her arse in the middle of “our” dinner – yet feel free to have her own “family birthday dinner” that we were not on the list to attend.

It was a thing of beauty really…

So other than the odd interruption of Kid 3 coming over to give me a tongue biting weekend and the Squeeze and Kid 3, turning it into a little piece of “clean freak hell”, things are good.

Actually, that would be good aside from the fact that we are so fat we are almost circles, so life is miserable while we diet (including being extremely light on re alcohol) and go boxing four times a week!

Stupid fat genes!

Friendship – the art of bonding

When I was contemplating divorce number two, I realised that I needed awareness about the faults within my relationship.  It was necessary to look; to really look and understand which parts were good, which parts lacked growth and which parts were downright destructive.

In the end, I asked myself if I was stuck on a dessert island with just him, nothing and no one else for conversational stimulation, could I survive.   The answer was no.   To this form of decision making, one of my best friends scoffed “he doesn’t need to give you mental stimulation; no man will ever give you enough of that!  That’s what your friends are for!”

In some ways she was right; friends are a big part of life and maybe if that had of been the only issue I faced with my husband, then I’d have adopted that line of thought and moved on with my expectations downgraded.  Of course if I fast forward to the present; I quickly realise that if I had of made that choice, I’d have wasted years and probably made us both miserable. 

The Squeeze manages to cover off “friend” and “partner” quite well.  Admittedly, in the eternal negotiation that is life, I’ve given up having a guy with an intricate knowledge of power tools or who can tweak a car engine but I guess you can always just call a tradesman for that.

As per usual, I’ve gone off on a tangent.  What my entry was supposed to be about, was friends.  On Sunday, I went off to catch up with a couple of girlfriends in the city.  We did coffee and a bout of shopping followed by a long lunch where we cover off ‘life’.

When the Squeeze goes off to his “kid” stuff, I almost wet myself with glee and skid around the house with a sense of freedom that you can only experience when you live with someone else.  Love him to bits, but hey, me time is high up there on the list of special moments…

This is not the case for the Squeeze.  In fact, I don’t think he likes “me” time.  Whenever I am out; he goes out, as though fearful of being home alone.  So I asked him what he intended to do and got back a summary of “pick up the kid, go see one of the other kids”.

WTF?  What about friends?  What about manly testosterone dripping conversation..?

When all is said and done, the only thing weirder about a guy having a day pass and using it to go pick up his fifteen year old kid to hang, is the fact that a fifteen year old kid has nothing better to do than hang with his father.  After all, he hung with him last weekend and will hang with him this weekend.

I love my dad, but hey; no way would I be hanging with him when I was fifteen.  I had places to go, people to see!  This kid needs an intervention!

The Zing Fling

A few months ago, I turned fifty.

This didn’t come hand in hand with suicidal depression or homicidal rage (at least no more than could be considered normal).  After all, I’ve had a slew of brain surgeries and a zillion other things that cause me to think turning fifty is in fact, a testimony to my sheer bloody refusal to leave the planet.

So I was fine with the idea of turning fifty; and before my birthday, one of my best friends took me off to a “day spa” for two days of pampering.   Pampering came in the form of gossip, wine and weird floatation beds while we were covered in mud.  And I’ve got to admit; it was incredibly relaxing and made us feel comatose tranquil.  The only problem was that we were going out for dinner and breakfast which was adding to my bloated appearance.

I should probably point out here that since the Squeeze moved in and yanked his testicles out of the Harridan’s handbag; things have been somewhat calm and normal.  We have the odd drama where she attempts to flex muscle, but in truth, she is no more than an annoyance…  A dog barking in the backyard of our lives if you will.

With the blanket of ‘comfortable’, I have managed to add approximately fifteen kilos to my body – and I’m not happy about it.   I walk along and suddenly see my reflection in a window and cringe away from it.  It’s shocking.  How can this be me..?  This isn’t the person I see in my head!

So while at the day spa and during one of these dinners, I suggested to my girlfriend that what I needed was a “Zing Fling”.    She was intrigued.  No unlike her, you may wonder what the hell a Zing Fling is…  Just what have you been missing out on..? 

In truth, it was something I made up on the spur of the moment.  Just a way to explain to her that as my life was sinking more and more into “normality”; it was as though my body was bloating so as to stay afloat in the land of ‘on the edge’.  Let’s face it, ‘on the edge’ is rattling; it’s nervy…   It’s when I am at my best physical appearance.   It is the beginning of the relationship; facing the unknown.

So I needed something to pull me back to the edge.

You can probably hear the clanging bells of warning at that sentence; I could.

But I was thinking more about how you could get the zing back into life, a spring in your step, a bounce to your pony tail – without jeopardizing your relationship.  You want to be lingering near the edge, not actually hanging on by your finger nails.

I told her that what I needed was for a select few of my best friends to hire a man to bump into me and start a mild flirtation.  Just a little zing!  They know exactly what would appeal to me; they control it and they tell him what to do.  You can’t cross any boundaries…  You can’t endanger my relationship; just give me the tiny message that someone actually can find me attractive.  Someone is going to look at me and smile, and I’m not going to feel like dragging my carcass away while roaring “I am not an animal!”

Yes.  I know.  It has a million holes in it and without doubt, would probably end with “tears before bedtime” – as I’m fond of warning my another friends while they are explaining equally ridiculous hair brained schemes.   But come on!  Even the name is catchy!

Silence

It’s 12.04pm and the Squeeze and Kid 3 have left to go bonding.  Yay!

Kid 2 is starting football.  The last time they were here, he donned gloves and took to punching the bag.  I’m pretty certain when we started at the boxing gym, we were almost laughable so little skill did we possess; but this kid!  This kid smacked like a twelve year old girl which was quite hilarious.  I’m not seeing a thrilling career in football.

So they have traipsed off after taking forever to get ready and to the sound of my ‘drip technique’ “what time are you going..?”; five minutes - “what time are you going..?”  Not that I was eager to have them gone or anything; I mean my afternoon consists of cleaning and then going for a walk!  But we have been a crowd so far this weekend considering the girl on my side was here Friday night and I’m planning on enjoying a little ‘me’ time.

Ahhh the silence is utter bliss!