Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Popping My Clogs!

The last few weeks I’ve had this bizarre heart thing.  I wake from a dead sleep feeling like I’ve just gone three minutes in the ring with Tyson; my heart is racing so fast.  Or even worse, virtually panting; trying to drag in air that seems so thick it’s almost like I’m breathing soup!

I figured I was surely going to have a heart attack.  Pop my clogs and go out with a bang.  If I think about it rationally, this is my choice of death.  I don’t want to be too old and it had better be damned fast; no painful lingering.  Still, I didn’t really intend to invoke my ‘retirement plan’ just yet.

So I’ve been to the doctor a few times.  I’ve been prodded and poked, tested and looked at and everything has come back ‘normal’.

Then today, I realised her questioning has taken a different turn.  Now it is centred on ‘how is work..?’  Yeah, I got a pretty good rise last week so things are fine and dandy there.  ‘What about the kids…  House…  Life….?’  Nup.  All rosy!


Me?  Stressing..?

Then I realised that this all started around the same time that damned Moodle gives me “the kid will have to move in; or I’ll have to find a place with kid” routine.

That idiot is going to kill me.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

How did we get here…

When I used to know you so well…  I do love this acoustic version of Decode, byParamore; and it seems to fit with my mood today!

The Squeeze has gone off to the cricket.  I’ve sent a single text message to say “discuss this today, because it’s gone on long enough.” – And let’s face it; it has.   I’m living up in the air; on the edge; not knowing what and where things will be next month.

And the weird part is that the Squeeze, the kid and Witch (kind of sounds like the witch and the wardrobe…) are planning to sit down and have a discussion that involves me… my home… my life – yet I don’t have an opinion. 

Sadly, this bunch of self-absorbed fools hasn’t even bothered to think about that.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

I didn’t do it…

Last night, was like a scene out of a Simpson’s episode.

No…  The Squeeze did not come out in his y front undies, scratching his balls and eating pork chops.  Frankly, that would almost have been my preference!  Instead, he became a ridiculous ten year old surly brat and I, in my usual desire to issue truth and discipline, wanted to slap him.  The wooden spoon never looked so good.

The trouble started about the time I noticed some pretty severe dents in the plaster of the wall in the lounge.  It didn’t take a mental giant to work out what they were.  The kid grabs the Maton from the guitar stand and in a moment of rock star delusion;   plays.  It is usually some Sid Vicious type of thing - violent.  I cringe with the style but also, not being a player myself, I fear for the strings and wonder how they don't break.  When dream time is complete, he tosses it back to the corner with that last, lingering bit of rock star fueled testosterone - so that the tuning keys whack into the wall.  We are talking machine gun dents… All in a neat little row and severe enough to require filling.

So I mention to the Squeeze that I’m annoyed about the wall and maybe he can ask the kid to exercise a little bit of restraint while putting it back; a glimmer of care and consideration for other people’s property.  I mean considering I have to repair the damned wall.  And I mean who the hell does that without noticing…?

First I get “how do you know it is was him…  It could have been anyone… in true Bart Simpson he didn't do it...” fasion.

Yeah.  My kids can’t play the guitar.  Nor can I.  So scratch that.  the only two people who pick up that guitar are the Squeeze and the kid.

So then he adopts the Harridan technique of being the martyr.  It could have been him; or maybe he did some and the kid did some.  Whatever.  I mean, do I seriously look that stupid?  I have never seen the Squeeze pick up and use the Maton with anything other than reverence.  He loves that guitar.  He wouldn't toss it back to the stand haphazardly; not out of consideration for my wall, but out of love for his guitar.

So he becomes the ugly parent that can’t just admit that their kid has done something wrong.  And for what purpose?  In my mind, for a brief second, I thought of what my life would become if I stupidly agreed to the demands of the Moodle and the Harridan and this kid lived here full time.

I would never be right.  I would never win.  I would always be in the wrong.

Yeah.  How long does he thing that would last?

Sunday, November 18, 2012


My mood today can only be described as melancholy.  I hate the sound of depression.  It’s an ugly word.

Why?  My good friend is moving to the UK and I had my farewell lunch today.  She has left a veritable swag of stuff for me to get rid of on eBay which is depressing – given what she has paid for some of these things and what I know she’ll get for it.  I’m not kidding; there must be 20 pairs of sunglasses and some of those are brand new – still with the $500 price tag attached.  I’d keep some myself except most are those hideous “blow fly eye” large glasses and I’m a John Lennon round kind of girl.

My oldest son’s father is such a narcissist that he has never thought about either my son or daughter.  He has never figured in their life in any way at all; other to swan in once every five years to tear their still beating hearts out of their chest cavity.  My older son has never really coped.  Just put on a brave face.  He has started the process to change his name, which has upset my brother – who has laid it at my door.  Hell; nothing to do with me.  The kid is entitled to be whoever he wants.  Even if it happens to mean his name will basically be the same as my brother.

Then we have the fact that I’m tired.  I’ve been washing all day.  5 people for the weekend involves a hell of a lot of cleaning after the fact.  Sheesh, there has been 2 loads of towels, let alone anything else.

Then this morning I was left astounded by the Kid today when he was a smart arse about not getting the Squeeze anything for his birthday.  In front of the whole table I asked “did you get mummy a birthday present?”  Of course the answer was yes.  “Did you get her a mother’s day present?”  You guessed it – yes again.  “And did you get her a Christmas present..?”  Of course he did.  They all did.

And yet the Squeeze got nothing for any of those things.  Kid 2 couldn’t even be bothered to send him a “happy birthday” text.  And the kid is either too stupid, too selfish or too brainwashed; either way, he seriously couldn’t understand why I wanted to bitch slap him off a chair.

And within seconds I knew that I never wanted this kid in my life 24/7.  Not a chance.  He is selfish and self-centred and without even the common sense to understand that he has zip in the friends department and that maybe it’s time to look at himself.  At 15; he is her.  He has learned as they all have; that the Squeeze is wrong, bad, lazy, useless – and that is how they treat him.

So my melancholy stems from the fact that the Harridan and Squeeze will get together with mini Harridan to decide what happens next.  What the Squeeze pays, or if he moves, or what he does or doesn't do next.  And even though that discussion will change my world; will strain or end my relationship… I’ll only hear about it after the fact.  How the hell does that work..?

In truth, how can it not end things?  How can going back to what we were before, not end things..?  How can he make such a statement, that being with me is somewhat less than the demands placed on him – not change how I feel?  What I want?  Who we are..?

Snap. Breaking Up To Do.....   Or maybe we should just kiss and say goodbye...

Thursday, November 15, 2012

You are a pathetic, selfish, pointless father…

For his birthday, the Squeeze copped a barrage of abuse from the Harridan.

She loves to tell him what a pathetic, selfish pig he is.   In fact, he is a totally useless father who has no care and does nothing to assist in the rearing of his children.   Hell, let’s face it; just as picking up the kid to take him to dinner and a movie doesn’t count as spending time, the average 1k a month he is shelling out doesn’t count either.

If we jump to the end of the tirade, it ends with us having the kid…

So what the hell does that say about this woman?  Is she really intending to hand over her child to this uncaring, selfish monster? 

I have been incredibly busy of late and so blogging has taken a back seat.  Of course the fun and games do not stop; I can’t see them ever stopping really.  Not while she is still drawing breath.

At the moment, I believe the dialogue is about her ‘wants’ and 'demands'.  And why not; after all, his surely don’t count.  They never have up until now, so I can't see that changing any time soon.

In short, an ideal solution for her is for the Squeeze to move out of our home, take over the lease that this moron took out on an expensive, dark, ugly house in Blackburn and rear the kid – paying for everything no doubt.

And the reality is that if he has to have the kid full time; it’s not going to be an “us” thing.  There isn’t enough room in our apartment to raise a teenager.  Even if there was, I seriously couldn’t stand it.  I would have no rights in my own home – even if he agrees to the kid being reared in “my world”; he wouldn’t stick to it.

If we look for something bigger, then I give up my home and without doubt; she will change her mind within a few months or the Squeeze and I will argue over the kid – and I will have lost my place. 

This doesn’t even address the fact that I don’t want the kid.  I don’t want to move back to teenager land.  This was not ever on the cards or a reality.  Trust me, I made sure of that.

Sigh… What the Squeeze doesn’t seem to get is that when he moves out and begins to rent a place for him and the kid – that effectively ends any hope we have of getting a house.  Even if he were to man up and demand she pay him what he now pays and went via the Child Support Agency (because she is a thief and a liar and wouldn’t pay) – he won’t be able to live on his wage.  Our saving a house deposit will most certainly go out the window.

And she will have achieved her aim. 

Ensured the fact that he will have nothing…  Own nothing…  And die alone.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Elephants and I…

Tell me a lie and you had better remember exactly what you said – for the rest of your life...  Elephants and I never forget.

I may not be a Rhodes Scholar; but I do have a few super powers:

1.       I can sing a few bars of a song and have anyone… Anyone, walk off singing that song (which can be fun if you happen to sing something particularly daggy; ie: whip-crack-away from ‘Calamity Jane’.)
2.       I can name the actor that just walked on the screen and say what they were in – no matter how fleeting that walk on is or how different they look.
3.       I can remember every detail of the lie you told me when you forget as time passes; and mention it again.

Today is Melbourne Cup and therefore a public holiday.  The kid had yesterday and today off; the Harridan once again attempted to place him with us for a four day weekend while she was off doing whatever it is she does.  Actually, her idea was to place him for the weekend, the week following and the weekend after.

That a fifteen year old possesses not a single friend that he can go hang out with is, in a word, tragic.  He had yesterday off – not one friend.  Friday night he was with us.  Saturday, he didn’t go hang with friends; instead, he went to the country to go camping with mummy and her velvet wearing, red back packed dreadlocked hairy friends and family for her sister’s birthday party.  No wonder the kid was in bed by ten.

Sometimes I hate myself.  I hate that part of me that is as gooey as caramel in the centre of a chocolate.  Feeling sorry for him, I gave up one of my days and suggested we grab the kid today to go drop of resumes.  He came to the car with filthy clothes that looked like they’d been dragged from a pile on the floor.  His hair, although neat since we had it cut Friday night, was back to a stinking greasy mess that was making my eyes bleed.  Runners – shoe laces not done up and head bowed like he was off to the gallows.  No one is giving this kid a job.  If he didn’t get close enough for the putrid cloud to envelop them, then the drooping head would put them off.

It is frustrating to watch.

Afterwards, we went for lunch where the kid mentioned he had gone camping on Saturday night.  I dragged information out of him with a few questions.  At first I felt a glimmer of hope that he had actually gone some place fun; only to discover it was a party for the velvet wearing obnoxious sister, attended by her “I’ve had life… I just want to die…” selfish prick of a husband.

Instead, I focussed on one thing.   “Camping..?  Didn’t realise you had a tent…” 
Lying, thieving bitch in true parenting skill of a despot, once again instructed her children to be liars.

One day, it is my fervent wish, that her arsehole festers.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Lonely Boy

Life for the disorganised is hard.  No ifs or buts about it.

The Harridan repeatedly berates the Squeeze for his lack of ‘care’ or attention re the kid.  This is her way of sucking it out of him, rewriting history and then using her “truth” to beat him into submission.  And he falls for it.  He has for years.  He immediately Moodle’s up, feels guilty and then caves in to her tantrum.

Okay, that was the old Squeeze and rewriting history isn’t as easy when I’m here to colour code our calendar.  I could take a screen shot and send it to her to let the truth wash over her, but what would be the point.  If we shoved it in her face and put electrodes to her eyeballs, she would still go with her version of the truth.  Still, the Squeeze actually has the kid quite a lot.  More importantly; he spends time with him.

But back to our calendar…  It looks kind of busy and I believe I’ve put a shot of it on the blog previously; but if not, the colours are:

Red = time we have the kid.
Orange = time she sends the guilt ridden “kid wants to spend time with dad…”
Green = time we go out – which often encompasses the kid and is less than any other colour.
Black = the repeat demand “you will have the kid!”
Purple = My time.  Touch this at your own peril.

Today we have been inundated with Harridan history.  The Squeeze is a low down lousy father.  She attempted to get a bed and breakfast thing up and running in velvet land – which has backfired.   Well an ounce of sense would have dictated that a:  the economic climate would be against her; and b: she is a lazy pig with zip hygiene – and weirdly, people prefer to rent clean houses.

The short of it is that she can’t make rent wherever she is at so the Squeeze has to pay more; oh, and the kid wants a new saxophone – so let’s fork out for that.  And the school trip to Paris!  (I guess the fact that she can’t make rent is totally lost on her…)

Anyhow, the crux is that she figures we “owe” her kid time; after all, we went to Europe for 6 years.  
Actually, it was 3 weeks.  We missed one weekend of the kid and we had him here for 2 nights prior to leaving to make up for it.  Since that time, every weekend and quite a few’ through the weeks’ have been kid time.  We owe her nothing – except maybe a bitch slap from a bar stool.

When she is cornered by his reply stating the actual dates and times we have had the kid, she becomes patronizing.  His life sounds horrible.  He is nothing but a lonely person. 
A Lonely Boy.

Then she sends a text asking for for our doctors number; with a follow up to state – “you don’t even ask why we need the doctor!!!!!”

Who the hell would have to ask?

Easy...  The kid had a scratch on his hand the other day.  His hygiene levels are dismal at the best of times and so the deep scratch got infected.  Big deal.  I noticed it looked red and angry.  The next time I saw it, she had placed a bandage on it and I thought to myself “well let’s see how that goes.  Let’s just trap those germs in a warm, moist environment...”  If antibiotics weren’t “evil”, I’d have put some antibiotic cream and a bit of gauze on it and it would be gone.  She will of course, await red streaks up his arm, agony and the potential arm dropping off phase before resorting to ‘evil antibiotics’.  Dumb cow.

And let’s face it; if I tried to put it on the kid, he recoil as if he was a vampire and I was treating him with ‘holy water’.  My God; he is brain washing at it’s finest.

I haven’t even started to cover the “sit down… we need to talk” discussion I received from the Squeeze yesterday.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Where has all the maintenance gone..?

Background music:  where has all the maintenance gone...  well close enough....

Last night, on our fourth weekend in a row of ‘kid’, he arrived in his school uniform lugging an armful of clothes - not even in a bag this time.

As expected, the pants were limp and of course, not ironed.  The jumper obviously washed (whenever it was last washed) with towels as it was pilled and lint covered.  The white polo shirt, as with any white clothes he brings, was a dull kind of grey.

After he went to bed, I was moving his kicked off shoes from the centre of the entry way to near the door (marveling at my skill in teaching him the 'shoes off' in the house rule) when I noticed what a poor state they were in.  Obviously not good quality when purchased, the top to the toe where the fake leather was extremely dull - the coating had pealed away.  On each side of the shoe – about 2 inches long – was a huge gaping hole!  One shoe was missing the insole, the other was all scrunched up.

How on earth does she send her kid to school looking in such a state of neglect..?  And if she can’t buy him a pair of shoes, what the hell is she spending all the maintenance on?  

Yes.  I know.  Kids are expensive.  I had three of them and I had all the same costs.  Much of that time, I was on my own.  It's not cheap, I know.  But she get's a lot of help from the Squeeze, not to mention the fact that she obviously rents out the house and apartment since she is renting somewhere else.

So where has it gone..?  Not on clothes, that’s for sure.  The only clothes he gets are the ones the Squeeze buys.  He does school fees… Music… so what the hell is she doing with it?

All I could do was think back to my kids going off to school in their clean, pressed uniform, hair in neat braids or cute short boy cuts.  Whites were white.  What a horrible, neglectful person she is.