Not Under the Lilies…

It’s been a busy time.  Work is frantic, Christmas is fast approaching and there has been organising left, right and centre to enable me to have a whole two weeks of leave - starting tomorrow.  Needless to say, blog world has slunk to the back burner.

School holidays descended and I had the usual argument with the Squeeze around the “agreement”.  This time it was a debate about school holiday time and that it means we revert to our previous life; where we have the kid every second weekend.  I was quick to point out that I given up four nights a week and my sanity to ensure weekends and holidays are mine.  There was some too and fro debate on email before I sat went through the blog and old email and found the signed agreement.

Lucky I’m a project manager.  I document, and keep, everything.  And there was his scrawl on email.  Agreement to my terms…  Suck it up princess.

Now it’s not like I haven’t catered for some time over the holidays.  Up to two weeks is documented as ‘Moodle Madness’ where the Squeeze and Boy Wonder go off into the wild blue yonder to bond and more than likely, not wash.  Still, just because he hadn’t arranged anything, didn’t change my world or our agreement.  I may also have mentioned that you attract more bees with honey than vinegar, at which he just looked at me blankly.  My point… The kid has been a trouble making, rude little sod.  Of course I’m not going to suck up having him for one second more than I agreed to.  Do I look mad…?

This tale of course was about me pouring through my early blogs and that it was an amusing testament to life as the Brady Bunch; but since moving and having the kid through the week, the amusement had diminished and I had turned into a veritable shrew who hated this life.

So I decided that the girl and I would move out and that if we did it right, we could still date, but I wouldn’t have to put up with the plethora of outrageous Harridan demands and the fun stuff, like the kid wiping snot on the bedroom wall.

Since that decision, my life has been surprisingly relaxed!

Oh, the reference to the lilies… A girlfriend text me the other night to say: “no Facebook.  No Blog.  You’re not in the back yard under the lilies are you…?”   Which I found hellishingly funny!

Chipolata

Last night when we got home from boxing, the Kid squeaked down the stairs and paraded his new “suit” purchased for the year ten formal.  Kid 2 had taken him on a shopping expedition and between them; they had found a very swish cobalt blue suit with a sky blue shirt and tie.

Although we don’t hear much in my blog about Kid 2 anymore; the pages are full of absolute gems from the early days as he provided me with some hilarious idiot kid fodder.  My personal favourite was when I walked in to Clean Freak Hell one evening only to be witness to him royally stuffing up his hair with a pair of clippers.  Holding it the wrong way around, he had managed to shave huge hunks out of the back of his head.  The downside to the hilarity was the mess I had to clean up after, but somehow, it was worth it.  I still giggle about it on occasion!

So Kid 2 takes the Peniwhacker off shopping on Friday night.  It would appear Kid 2 and his girlfriend are the resident Peni baby sitters on Friday nights.  God knows why his actual ‘mother’ [note my sarcasm around the whole “everything I do… I do for Peniwhacker!”  sigh.. hand on brow; you God damned martyr vibe]  So his “mother” can’t have him more than two days in a week and Kid 2 is the Friday night sucker.

But let’s get back to the story…  Kid 2 parades his suit for the Squeeze, trying to take the stance of a David Jones model when I heard the Squeeze say “is that too tight..?”  I turn and cast a critical eye over Mr D.J. only to see he actually does look like a chipolata, squeezed in there.  It’s pulling across the back of the shoulders and the Squeeze attempts to slip his fingers into the waist band with no joy.  The kid whines out a statement about how he has been playing cricket in the sun which is why it’s tight.  Sure!  That must be why my clothes don’t fit…  Too much sport and sun!  The girl and I look at each other across the room and grin.

Okay, so the suit is too small.  It happens.  Hell, I even get a brief flick back to being sixteen and lying on the bed doing my Staggers jeans up with a coat hanger because they were so tight… 

But as the kid starts to argue re the size, he moves further into the light where upon the Squeeze says “hey!  The pants are a different colour to the jacket!”  and Peniwhacker says “They didn’t have matching pants in my size!”  The Squeeze mutters something about “suit” meaning they match before they start discussing a return process.

It wasn’t quite “throw a pair of floppy shoes in with that you clown!” but it was getting there!

Living for the Moment

I wonder how long I've been burying my head in the sand.  Definitely, for a while.  Tonight, when I made mention of the future; the Squeeze said for about the millionth time; "I'm not interested in the future.  I'm just living for the now!"

My daughter left the room at that stage.  I'm tipping that was because she understood what was swirling underneath those words and felt uncomfortable for me.

And I don't feel uncomfortable.  I feel stupid.   Stupid that I ignored my "gut" and wasted years on someone that would have appeared to have "settled".  I mean let's face it.  He had a marriage.  A house.  A family.  He appeared to have cared about a "future" once!

Settled...  What the hell is that about?  Because in the scheme of things, I don't feel like I'm "settling" material...   I'm a fair bit younger than him.  Fit.  Smart.  Certainly not ugly...  Hell.  Maybe I'm the one that is delusional.  And I hate that some balless tosser has made me question that!

Ghosts and Liars

Last night, the Squeeze and I went to a gig in Oakleigh at the Caravan Club; an absolutely fantastic place to go if you love live music and live in Melbourne.  We went with two other couples, long-time friends of the Squeeze…  Ones I really like I might add so I was looking forward to it as conversation is lively and the night is always fun.

Still, it is hard to feel the same when you know in your heart that things are different.  I dressed up, yet when I walked to the door upon leaving, I made a mental note that the Squeeze no longer tells me that I look good when I have gone to the trouble to do so.  Nor does he touch me; in any way.  He does not take my arm or hand moving down stairs or going to the car.  He does not walk beside me; he walks in front of me.

When you acknowledge that this is the case, it becomes screamingly obvious as the night progresses.  Each lack of touch or caring is louder than the last.

Throughout the evening, when he asks if he has been 'tagged'; I laugh and say "Funny.  You haven't even realised that I deleted you from Facebook.  That was over a week ago..."

By the end of the evening, I realised that we have turned a full circle and once again, we are no more than mates; nothing more; nothing less than house sharing mates.  Actually, when I really think about it, perhaps it is less.  After all, I think I like him less now than I did when we were friends.

We didn’t argue.  We enjoyed dinner and witty conversation.  We appreciated good smuggled wine and fantastic music.   We made it home in tact without one argument or cross word.  I used You Tube to blast out oldies, but goodies on the drive home.

When we got in the door, the conversation turned to the Harridan and the Peniwhacker, as it inevitably does.  It skipped down the same old and tiring path really.  I should ignore her as he does… (Ummm yeah, that’s really working).  I don’t make the toad welcome in my house; to which I replied quite truthfully – “possibly because I don’t want him in my house!” 

All roads lead to me.  Hell, I am obviously the cause of world hunger and the lack of world peace too.  What a mean and thoughtless bitch I am.

The argument didn’t last long.  It is pointless.  I raised (once again) that every promise he uttered in order for me to leave my home, he has reneged on.  For example, what happened to shutting the Harridan down..?  And he attempts to wiggle the remote and look at the floor to do anything but discuss it.  So I asked outright, “given that you delete all records so there is no point in my checking any more, how many times have you just had to communicate this week?  I mean considering that you promised to shut her down…?”

In answer, he looked me in the eye and said with a rather superior tone “only once!  So there goes your argument!”

I ceased speaking after that.  It’s pointless.  He will never admit that he is wrong; weak.  He won’t acknowledge that the Harridan has no right to call, text, email insults and demands.  No right to tell him he is a crap father and scoff that my home is not my business… that I have no rights in my own home…   He won’t see that the kid needs a wooden spoon around his backside, before it’s too late.  So why bother?  Why bother to get myself worked up and upset?  There is no winning here.

So instead I shut down, finished my red wine and went to bed.  Somehow, I sensed that he understood my capitulation; my utter surrender.  I just don’t think he understood what it meant.

I became a dead, lifeless thing – and he knew it.  He tried to hold me close when he came to bed and then again in the morning, sensing me leaving already.  But I am a cold, dead and lifeless thing; at least on the inside.  I do not crave or need his touch anymore.   It is pointless.  It is a lie.  He is a lie.

Today, when he went off to pick up pizza (I now have his cold and am going back to bed and feel [and look] like a hag) I picked up his phone that was on charge and spent all of two seconds flicking through it.

One communique this week he said to me last night…  Strange, yesterday she called him once and he called her three times.  Text messages were removed.  I didn’t check email.  I didn’t go back through call logs to see what the other days of the week involved. There was no need to go further than that.  I didn’t need to.

He is a liar. If I bothered to call him on it, it would be that he 'forgot' about that or she wasn't there; any excuse that can't be checked. 

Dumping a Hunchback

I really like the name of my blog, even if it doesn’t quite fit anymore.  I’ve basically got a book worth of outpourings - of the heart, temper and grief; so I’m not going to just start over.  Besides; it’s like life when you think about it.  An evolution!  So instead of dumping and starting again, I’ve amended the header a bit…  Personally, I think it looks kind of groovy.

Firstly; am I dumping him? 

Not certain really.  I have doubts that it can work in any way shape or form when I am wrong all the time.  When every issue or problem becomes about me, instead of about where it really originates from.  Being wrong all the time is getting old.  Coming last all the time makes me tired.

I think I've finally worked out that no matter what, the Squeeze will never see the the kid for what he is; nor the Harridan.  It's too much work; too hard to admit the truth of what they are.  They are both poison, the boy as much as the mother.  I can hope that he grows out of it but while his behaviour runs unchecked, I doubt that will happen.  Having said that, I can't wait until he get's his first beating down out in the real world - and he will.

Let's face it; I don’t want to share a table with him, let alone a life.

I don’t think we will get out of the lease and even though part of me actually hates the Squeeze for his weakness, I won’t leave him holding the bag on an over expensive house – which means sucking it up until April and the end of the lease.

Seriously not sure if I can do that… 

If I move out soon, we may have some chance to go back to dating.  If we don’t move until April; I won’t want to ever see him again I suspect.  I’m fifty one years old.  I want a life.  A house.  Something.  I’m not prepared to go back to where we were for years while he panders to his horrible kid and ex-wife.  Nor am I prepared to work my guts out to get a place and then just move him in to share that work when they have sucked him dry.

The relationship as it exists now is certainly not working and he doesn’t understand why this is so.  Why I can’t just bend over and take it like a man; like he does.  And I find his weakness an ugly trait.  A trait that doesn’t seem to have improved in the four years we have been together… Hell, it's all documented in these pages.  So frankly, I suspect we’ll go our separate ways.

Worst. Teacher. Ever.

He he, I have always wondered at the God’s twisted sense of humour at allowing a crone such as the Harridan to be a teacher.  Discounting the obvious in that she is borderline illiterate (ug wot u do. getit. pay muny); she has absolutely no sense of reality.

This person is totally delusional to the point where she is living in a self-made bubble.  In that bubble of madness, which I might add she has dragged her children into, no one else has rights.  No one outside that bubble counts.  It’s all about “me, me, me”.   No one loses.   No one is ugly or stupid.   Everyone is perfect and exceptional and just gloriously talented.   Yes; there are obviously no mirrors in the Harridan bubble…

My sister is a new teacher and in checking reviews of the school she has been temping in, I couldn’t stop myself from seeing if anyone had actually reviewed the Harridan.

In actual fact, there were five reviews, one was glowing (obviously from the kid when he went to that school) and one basically non-committal with a comment of ‘ok’ – so I only cut and pasted my favourite 3 (below). At least these kids know exactly what she is; manipulative and in it for what she can get out of it.

As for the Squeeze…  I gave him opportunity to let bygones be bygones and at least attempt civility until I can move however it fell on deaf ears.  Basically, he ignores me.  I get not one word until someone else enters the room.  Then he is like a chameleon.  I don’t do chameleon.  I don’t do ‘ignore’.  If you live with someone, without basic civility is becomes unbearable.

Even worse than dealing with the Squeeze, is putting up with the toad.  Usually when I walk in the door at night, he is sitting in my seat like a king, surrounded by remotes and laptops.  It has been to the point where I figure this is just another way to annoy me because when I walk in, I then have to say “I’m going to put the news on now…” otherwise, I have to put up with 8 year old after school television.  I mean there is a television and lounge upstairs.  Use it.

Last night when I walked in, it was blissful silence down stairs.  That manipulative yet cowardly toad sat in his room until he had to come down for food.  And I wasn’t leaving the kitchen, I stood right there as he lurched about with his arch less feet slapping on the floor.  When he did look at me, he looked through me as though I wasn’t there. 

My, what a lovely toad they are breeding.  Stay in my house, use all my things – and treat me like crap.  Just astounding really.

When I was in Oakleigh, it was my haven. 

Now, when I get to that house, all I want to do is leave.

How easily it comes in the end...

I had several conversations with the Squeeze this weekend, but in the wash up, the whole issue is about me.  Wow.  There is a shock.

I sent the email to the witch telling her she was delusional.  It’s not about the witch saying that who lives in this house, uses my stuff, has nothing to do with me.  It’s not about the toad kid saying to me “you telling me to do something, is not a good enough reason for me to do it…”  It’s not even the fact that this vile person, purporting to be someone’s mother… would show him an email that basically said he was a toad that I didn't want in my house.  

As per usual, it's about me.  Seriously, you would think I would be used to it by now. 

How dare I defend myself - as he should have.  How dare I stick up for myself in the face of the toad king - as he should have. Nothing of course in any of these conversations about the fact that there is never any drama from my side; my ex's or my kids.

In fact at one point, he scoffed and said it's hardly the same thing. My youngest is 23. I pointed out that there was several communiques in last couple of weeks, including the scathing 'are you going to get kid 1 a father for his birthday...' Kid 1 is 29! But you guessed it; that's not the same thing. 

Every discussion ended the same way.  It is all about me.  If I didn’t read what she said, I wouldn’t get upset.

Great.  So in the end I decided that I don't need him or the drama that comes with the that horrible kid.  Nor the lesbian that still holds his testicles.  Seriously... I just don't need it.  I'm done.

All I can think of is that list of promises I received prior to giving up my home; going against my gut and moving so that we would have this horrible boy.

1.        No internet in the bedroom.  Didn’t happen.

2.       See a psychologist.  Didn’t happen.

3.        I intend to treat the kid as I would mine, since I’m raising him.  Meaning discipline.  Didn’t happen.

4.       I expect unfaltering support.  Didn’t happen.

5.       You have to shut that bitch down. I will not do 76 texts and emails a week.  Didn’t happen – in fact his idea of shutting her down is to delete her messages and the phone log.  Yeah.  Way to go moron.

6.       It has to be us against the world.  Didn’t happen.  Ha.  It is still them - against me.

I guess it all came to a head tonight when for the fourteenth time, I mentioned that he had to call the kid and tell him in no uncertain terms that if he thinks “you telling me to do something, is not a good enough reason for me to do it…” is life here - then don't come.  

Instead, when he finally went to call, he made such a song and dance that I shouldn't hear what he said, that I most certainly wanted to hear what he said.  He wanted to hide it so badly that I just knew, once again, it was going to be about me. Instead of giving this kid the set down he deserved, he was going to roll over. 

In the end, he walked down the street and I realised that this, whatever the hell it was, was over.

The first time this toad of a kid manipulated him or the ex wife had him jumping through hoops; it was over.  I'm just a slow learner.

Either way…. It’s done.  I’m already gone.    Now I just have to actually move. 

:(

Put it in an email; that seems to be your way

Well the moment we all knew was coming, finally came.  That final straw was placed on my back and I bucked and screamed like a banshee.  In fact, I have now told the Squeeze that this is it.  The kid is not coming back to my house.  I won’t spend one more second with that horrible boy.  He will need to stay away while I find a house to move to and get moved.

It all started this morning when he sat on the sofa playing with his imaginary friends on Facebook instead of getting ready and/or cleaning up his room and completing his bathroom chores which are always ignored until the last minute.  And yes, although he went up and cleaned the bath and loo this morning, he did so in 2.1 seconds and there was piss on the edge of the bowl and a bath full of dirt; so it then took me an hour to clean it properly.

Twice while in iPhone land, I mentioned that it was time to get a move on.  Twice, I was ignored.  Then the Squeeze, on the phone outside, banged on the window and told him to hustle.  More ignoring.  Then the Squeeze opened the sliding door and said “move it” – you guessed it, ignored.   So I walk over and say “kid, do as you’re told!” more ignore.  “Ummm now!  Get up and get ready!  Now!” 

Peniewhacker: “why?”

Me: “because I’m telling you to!  And because your father has to go to work.  And because in this house you do as you are told!”

Peniewhacker: “That’s not a good enough reason.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Peniewhacker:  “You telling me to do something is not reason enough for me to do it!”

Me: “Kid… In this house, you will do as you are asked.  I don’t care what you do when you live anywhere else – but in this house, you are asked to do something and you do it.”

Peniewhacker: “Not a good enough reason.”

By this time, I am shaking with anger and my heart is racing so much that I figure I’m going to have a heart attack.  This ugly, pimply, psychotic kid that is the product of an ugly, psychotic bitch; is going to kill me.  I’m going to keel over dead and my last moment on this Earth will be looking into this ugly boy’s face. 

At this point, I’m not letting it go so I say “you need to go right now please!” and he takes the out and says “since you said please…” and stomps off up the stairs.  I nearly have a conniption and race after him and say quite clearly, “if you maintain this attitude kid, you won’t be living in this house.”

And he turns to me and says “put it in an email; that seems to be your way.”

That was when I realised this horrible piece of trash; this utter bitch who is what I consider the world’s worst mother; has shown him the one and only email I have ever sent to her.

And although I’m angry, and over it, and moving out, and in a tizz of God knows what; part of me wonders how horrible a person do you have to be to hurt your own child like that?  What part of that email, could ever be received by that kid as not being about him.  Is her desire to be rid of me so great, that she would hurt her own son…?

And of course, the answer to that is yes.  That is exactly what this bitch is like.

I am “mistaken”; he wouldn’t lie

Tonight was heading in the direction of pleasant yesterdays; but then 10.00 pm came around and the Squeeze left to collect the hygiene king from somewhere in Box Hill.

Upon return, the Squeeze ran around like a mother hen.  Ummm this kid is 16, yet is somehow incapable of doing anything for himself; including turning on the microwave it would seem.  (Thank you, you velvet wearing, poncho donning harridan…)  So the Squeeze dashes about serving him reheated Mexican (which I might add was fantastic at 7pm).

I had a movie on.  The old Eddie and the Cruisers.  If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favour because it was fantastic.  It may have been from 1983, but we did some good stuff in those days and Michael Paré  was a dish….  The Dark Side was great.

So the kid comes in and the Squeeze is juggling dishes like a carnie clown and the kid slinks off to go to the loo near the staircase; where upon I pause the movie.

The Squeeze says “what are you doing…?”  and I reply “nothing…” but I sit, ear cocked. Then I hear the button press and 3.7 seconds later, the door opens and the kid proceeds to swank out of the toilet, dripping penis germs in his wake.  So I turn and say to the idiot that I live with “can you get him to go back and wash his hands please, the tap didn’t turn on.”

The kid enters the room and the Squeeze says “If you didn’t wash your hands… Go do it.”  And the kid turns and looks him in the eye and says “I did.”  Liar.

My blood boiled as the idiot just took him at his word; because I am “mistaken”; the little angle/peniwhacker wouldn’t lie.

So I give it two minutes and then leave the room to fluff around with washing and then go to the bathroom and run my hand across the bone dry sink, tap and towel.  Lying little pig.  So while the Squeeze is mother henning, thinking I’m “picking on his poor little creep”, the creep in question is touching my fridge, dishes, table, chair, dishwasher and sink with his peniewhacker infested chipolatas. 

So after 3.9 minutes, when he has shoved food down his face and is off upstairs; I turn to the Squeeze and mention the fact that the kid is a liar because the sink, towel and plug are bone dry – and next time when I say “talk to the hand” at the thought of an extra evening with this little pig, maybe he should remember that I now have to throw out anything he went near, for fear of his penie juice over everything; not to mention the fact that I then have to spend fifteen minutes using the spray Pineoclean and a cloth to wipe over everything he touched.  And then wipe it over again; just in case.

And he wonders why I don’t want him here and won’t take on one extra second!

The good old days…

It’s 22.13. 

Early; and yet we’ve managed to shop, cook dinner and eat.  I’ve washed, ironed, showered.  We’ve watched both shows that we download and love and I am in awe at how perfect our old life was.

These days, the Squeeze, and therefore ‘our’ life, is about pick up duty.  It could be a school concert.  Music… Or one of the two cricket clubs this kid slinks off to train/play for.  His idiot mother hasn’t quite worked out that by year ten, if you want to make it through school, you should probably reduce those group activities you put the kid in at grade three so that they can make friends.

Now, our life is that we are pushing to have the second show in by 11; and that’s before I have gotten to the shower.

In other words; I’m in heaven.  The Squeeze is too; he just isn’t prepared to admit it out loud.

I came home after work and the Squeeze was sitting on the sofa watching creepy male wrestling, which I suspect is porn for him… I don’t care to examine that too carefully.  And the house was quiet.  Hmmm; I raise an eyebrow and ask “where is kid..?”  Only to receive the reply that as it is Kid 1’s birthday, the kid has gone home to hillbilly heaven and the velvet wearing idiot that I suspect wears tin foil on her head at night so the aliens, CIA or the gammatrons from the mobile phone don’t get her… is having a birthday dinner. And I'm almost positive, she'll be decked out in a poncho!

Yay!  Praise the LORD!  A night off! 

I quickly texted the girl “kid is back in redback land!”  (this is a scathing dreadlock remark I’m afraid…) and she replies “YAY!”

And at 22.24, I see exactly why I breathe a sigh of relief and say yay... Her too.  During dinner, the girl and I don’t have to ensure that if there is any “bowl sharing”; ours is separate.   I don’t have this ‘strange’ kid lurking upstairs like a spider…  I don't have to hear about how he didn't press the loo button or for the three hundredth time (because nothing sinks in) that he left the bathroom mat as a soggy mess on the floor.  And, I don’t have to stress about asking him to do anything – which then turns into an argument with the Squeeze on how I’m picking on him.  Yes people, because as we all know, when I ask if he could take the recycle out, that really means “cough up a lung, lumpy!”

Then, after that quiet moment in which he let me enjoy the knowledge that the kid would be absent for the night, he pounced with “he is playing cricket here tomorrow night, and then again Saturday morning.  Would make sense for him to stay here...”

I was already shaking my head before he finished the first line.  Are they out of their mind?  Probably would make sense, but I will give nothing for that cow.  Let her drag her lazy carcass out to take him to cricket and pick him up!  And while that idiot I live with panders to the kid’s manipulation; while everything is about me, instead of about the kid…  While snot wiped on my wall is just “grotty boys”, well suffice to say I won’t have that kid for one second more than I agreed to.

Hell.  Even if things were great, give that lazy pathetic mother an inch and I’d be having that kid every weekend!  Yeah… Over my dead body!

Glass Houses

My mother is fond of 'sayings'.  One that comes to mind was 'people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.'

Sounds kind of reasonable.  Always did. So tonight when I did a quick browse to see what I'd missed this week when I hated the Squeeze too much to speak to him, let alone browse what the cow had been up to, I was reminded of that saying. 

The Harridan had sent:

'What are you getting Kid 1 for his birthday? A father?' 

WTF..??  She seriously has a screw loose.  Why would you send something so utterly random?

There were oh so many replies I could have sent. Such as 'what are you getting Kid 3 for Christmas? A mother..?'  Or. 'Kid 1 already has a father. He was smart enough to head for Canada when you got pregnant but Hell, he still exists!'  Or maybe 'dear bitter lesbian... Get f*cked' 

Any or all of them would suffice. 

However, I sent none. 

Seriously no point. She is a total nut job and to be honest, I'm a little weird-ed out by the totally unhinged bitch.

And the Oscar goes to….

I made a movie as a presentation at work.  In fact, it was fun.  Project management is fine as a way to pay the bills, but let’s face it…  The creative is where my heart is at.  It got rave reviews at work so figured maybe I could have an outlet creating a movie at home.

After an absolutely crap weekend that saw the Squeeze and I barely on speaking terms, we caught up for lunch yesterday and had a “where to” discussion.  It was the same debate as usual however this time he did at listen when I said the ‘repeat’ arguments over the same things are not an environment in which I actually want to live.

I was tidying this blog the other day when I noticed that continue to moan and argue about the exact same things that I moaned about years ago!  Nothing changes.  It is the same with the kid.  I don’t want to have to explain to a kid every single day/week that he is there, that the toilet button needs pressing.  I don’t want to have the same argument each week about using a teaspoon for anything other than spooning or stirring.  It is not an eating utensil.

The Squeeze nodded and said ‘well why don’t you make a list?  Document all the things that you say you can’t live with and I’ll discuss them with him.”  Although I have no hope of the kid actually listening to them all, I thought maybe a list was the way to go.

When I got home, I thought hmmm stuff the list.  I’ll make a movie and call it “A Clean Freak’s Idea of Hell”.

I started filming last night and it annoyed the Hell out of them.  I didn’t argue about anything, I just went and grabbed my ipad and then began filming!

Hitler finds out the kid is moving in with us....

I've loved the "Hitler finds out.." series.  You can find them all over You Tube - I stumbled across them when Geelong won the Grand Final and laughed my head off at "Hitler finds out Geelong won the Grand Final."

When someone sent me the movie creator wizard, I immediately got to work.  Trouble was that you tube kept taking it down for copy right!  And even worse, they've jittered it a few times so there is a couple of bad partial sentences!

Well here it is...  Excuse the swearing but it had to fit how they are usually done!

  :-)

The Fairy Tale Factor

I read an article in the newspaper this morning and settled back into my chair thinking “you see!  Its stories like that that gives credence to the Fairy Tale Factor!”

The heading read ‘Elderly couple still ‘holding hands’ in fatal car crash’ and went on to talk about how troopers that had attended a fatal car crash, had discovered a rare and touching sight amid the carnage.

In the wreckage was an elderly couple and the lady was still holding hands with her husband. Floyd Nordhagen, 92, was already dead and his wife, Margaret, 88, would soon die at the crash scene.

:’(       And that my friends, is "Fairy Tale Factor" at its best.

Of course the reality is I'll be long dead and my tiara turned to dust before a prince arrives to sweep me off my damned feet!

The Clock is Ticking…

It’s 10.42 on Sunday night.  In the old days, the Squeeze and I would look at one another at the conclusion of a movie and mutually just kind of gravitate to the bedroom.  Usually, it would start with me having shower number 2 for the day.  I can’t help it; it’s not about being a clean freak.  It’s about feeling nice before you go to bed.

Anyhow... I regress.  Since not long after being here in this house; I have noticed that I now go to bed on my own.  The Squeeze comes in when I’m asleep.  If I’m awake, he will put laptop on and jiggle earphones until I feel as though I don’t exist.

I’ve been through enough downward spiral of relationships; so many I could write pretty good commentary on it.  He’s no rocket scientist – the messages one gives are loud and clear; and I’m pretty certain I’m putting out the same signal - just as easily.

When cleaning this weekend, I bought down the basket of hygiene goodies I purchased when we moved here.  Deodorant; anti  dandruff shampoo…  Tea tree oil for the acne.  I suggested as summer is fast approaching (it was the high 20’s here today) that maybe the Squeeze should instruct the kid on using deodorant.

I bought it down because the one inch of dust on the basket and deodorant would circumvent the argument of “but he does use it.”

Still, we managed to argue over the toilet brush in the upstairs loo.  We’ve had to lecture the kid who has been dragged up by some slovenly cow, that when you go to the loo for number 2 – use the freaking brush and white king and leave it in a reasonable condition for the next person.  After repeated requests, he has used the brush however, has scrapped his crap from the bowl and then shoved it back in the holder – so both were smeared with poo.

I looked.  Gagged then promptly told the Squeeze that he needed to go purchase another.

Of course we argued over it.   According to the Squeeze, it was only a little bit of shit encrusted on my brush and holder – so what was the drama..?  I was (as usual) just making a mountain of a mole hill.  I do that a lot apparently.  Make a mountain out of someone leaving shit on the brush… Snot on the wall… Not washing their hands after holding their dick and then going to my fridge…  Not washing their hair and having it stink out the house or cause me to gag with the grease and dandruff… the list of my “issues” is endless really.

We don’t even discuss the fact that every single thing he promised prior to me moving; has gone by the wayside.  We discussed his “lying” today however, it was just another ‘in my face’ lie of how he is not a liar.  He was just mistaken in his answer to me.  Forgot one of the three lines she sent saying my house was none of my business.  But - I’m a spy.  Yes… A spy.  And I’m a spy when we argue about poo.  Or anything really.  It all turns around to be about me.

I kind of figure I’m a spy because he is a liar.  Seems reasonable to me actually.  If you are a liar - I'm going to find out the truth.  And I don’t see that changing.  And I don’t want to spy – it takes too much energy.  So I think I’ll just scream at the poo kid when he does the wrong thing, and not give an inch when she wants to change things.  And not care what she calls him.

As for the Squeeze – well I dare say he has coming to him what he deserves a ‘not quite right’ kid that creeps everyone out… an ex-wife that wishes him dead and a bunch of kids that couldn’t give a hoot about him.  He had his chance to change things….  But was too ball-less to take it.

At the moment, I am just trying to ensure I’m ready to be free come April.  On nights like tonight, it can't come fast enough.

Flicking the switch

I never got why the Harridan treated the Squeeze like a dog.  I mean he does as told (on command).  When she orders him to do stuff he basically clamours to do it.   He handed over money and fridges and tents and anything else she figured was his, which therefore meant it was her right to take it.  It didn’t matter how many years they’d been divorced – his was hers.  She has basically had a wallet/baby sitter on tap – for years; yet still, he is treated like a dog.

I gave up 4 nights a week so that we would have weekends free and clear of kid and running around for kid - but like all other discussions/promises prior to moving; that went out the window.  This weekend, he had to go to a school concert so that he could then drop the kid at kid number 2's house.  Yes folks; that perfect mother that is the Harridan - she who puts a hand to brow to say "everything I do is for the kid..." - can't even be bothered having him on the lousy 3 nights a week she could.

The Squeeze didn't get home until 8 and didn't communicate anything to me until I sent a text to ask that maybe when he grew up and reached the age of twelve, he could send me a text and let me know if he would be home for dinner.  

I can't stand the silent treatment.  It's pathetic and immature.  This time was worse than usual because I dared to actually tell that delusional cow, how it was and would ever be in my world.

Saturday, he had to go across town and get the kid from Kid 2's place and take him to cricket.  He came home for a while while the cricket was on and then left at 4pm to go pick him up and take him to a train station (or home for all I know) - which meant he got home at 7.

No word of course and so the girl and I went and organised dinner for us.  After all, if he plans on adopting her ignorant hillbilly ways, he will be treated like a ghost.

So now I’m starting to see the problem; and even feel the response to some degree.  Don’t get me wrong; under no circumstances would I keep a pet ex-husband hanging around.  This type of ‘puppy dog’ weakness is ugly and I’d get no thrill in seeing just how pathetic this person was.  Ie: let’s see if I can make him override Brunhilda (me) into having the kid full time.  I guess she learned that there is no overriding me.  He wasn’t going to even try it and she wouldn’t have a snowballs chance in Hell.

The Squeeze has a basic ineptness for anything romantic or emotional.   This could be amusing and at off times cute – when you know and understand how he works and by his actions, you know that although he has a retarded “show emotion” gene, he actually does have them floating somewhere inside that miniscule atrophied thing in his chest most people call a heart.

But of late, neither word or action tells me anything.  I feel as though it is still him and her – against me and I’m ‘flicking the switch’ – I can feel it.

If you’ve ever watched the Vampire Diaries (yes, yes… It’s teenage vampire stuff but still pretty good) when things are bad, the vampires can “flick the switch to their humanity… or emotions.”

And this is where I’m at.  What I feel.  My emotional investment in this one sided relationship is beginning to wane.

Standing on the ledge…

Sometimes I feel as though I'm standing on a ledge, screaming my head off but no one can hear me. Today has been one of those days.

I’ve managed to get to 4+ years of reading the Harridan’s tantrums and illogical demands; and never once did I reply.  Don’t get me wrong.  I sure as hell wanted to reply!  Plenty of times.  There were even times when I did reply and left it sitting in my outbox – just so that I could daydream about that cow reading some of the home truths that the Moodle is too … whatever… to say.

I say whatever because I’m not sure what the reason is.  Maybe he still pines for her.  Maybe he is afraid of her.  Maybe… God knows what.  I can not for the life of me, work out why or how he can even be civil to her.  She is horrible to him.

Anyway, in my world, we are a couple which means it is us against the world.  Yet repeatedly through these years, I find it is the Moodle and the Harridan – against me.  To the point where he will lie to my face.  And frankly, I’m over it.

This revolting, ignorant woman dares to say that her kid living in my house is none of my business…?  And that pushed me to the point of no return.  So I replied to her late last night, after several glasses of red.  Luckily, upon a read this morning I felt no differently!

This was my email:

Dear Harridan.

It’s my house.  Everything in it is mine.

I do have a say.

I am an equal in this house.

If your arrangements impact my world – then I will have my say.

And I say, as I have from the start… The 4 days a week I have agreed to have the peniwhacker, were my maximum.  I won’t move one second more – only less.

He is your child – raise him.  Don’t expect me to.

Frankly, how the Moodle hasn’t told you to rotate on a pogo stick, is beyond me.

Seriously; the delusional world where you live, that see’s you as queen – is just that.  A delusion…

Having said all that, congratulations.  I’m done.

I’d rather be by myself than deal with your psychotic bullshit and his inability to tell you to f*ck off.

No reply.  She’s probably in shock that someone told her the truth.

Insanity – thy name is Harridan

She really has a screw loose.

After last week’s somewhat attempt at polite conversation with the Squeeze re poor kid wants to be able to come to his “da’s” house when he likes; things turned relatively nasty and “nice gloves” came off as she didn’t get capitulation.

This is about her getting rid of her son full time.  Let’s just call a spade a spade.  Frankly, I’d rather have stabbed my eye out with a burning cigarette than give my kid over to someone else to raise.  Let alone to a woman that I knew didn’t like him and didn’t want him on the same planet – let alone the same house.

So this week she sent this:

Im going to step in here and do what I know my "peniwhacker" wants

Its not up to her
She does not have a say in my arrangements

Yes people.  That is a supposed teacher.  Illiterate.  Illogical.  Freaking creepy.

Umm – I don’t have a say?  Let’s see how that works for you nut job.

When I last looked; it was MY house.. with my things!

Ummm how does that work..?

Tonight, the Squeeze informed me that the Creepy Kid, who lives upstairs in our house... the same kid that I get stuck with his washing and the cleaning up after him - and the added work of walking around with the pinoclean to wipe over everything he's touched - is none of my business.

Really.  Well dickhead; let me know how that works for you.

This moron has the weirdest idea on what a relationship encompasses that I'm almost looking forward to April.  Then he can go to Hell.

Flexibility…

After suffering a whole week of having her Kid, the Harridan had obviously had enough and started the week with attempted reason – in the face of her psychosis.

This time, the email began with comment that the Kid had mentioned on his week away that he wanted flexibility and if he wanted to stay with the Squeeze, he couldn’t see why he shouldn’t be able to... Whenever he wanted to.  Yeah.  Then she went on to suggesting that maybe we should try alternate weekends too.

Ummm yeah.  It's your kid.  When do you intend to have him..?  

Annoyingly, a whole too and fro conversation ensued between the Moodle and the Harridan – no pause or mention of the fact that I actually live in this house.  I have children; family.  Of course… As per usual, I don’t count.  Why would I when it’s ‘all about the kid…’

My blood boiled the further I read.  I’ve made no secret of the fact that as soon as this lease is finished, I’m out of here.  I can’t suck this kid up for a minute longer.  He is chalk and I’m cheese (weirdly, everyone that isn’t immediate family of this kid appears to be cheese – the Squeeze just won’t admit it).  I won’t do the lack of hygiene.  I won’t do the sitting in his room for all time except the 13 minutes at night to eat.  I won’t do the manipulative little games of snot on the wall.  I won’t do the bullshit arguing with a sixteen year old that believes he is smarter than I am and I won’t do this lazy bitch foisting her kid on to me to raise.

Weekends????  In a pigs eye! There is no chance in Hell that will happen.  I was so furious I mentioned to him that he could tell her straight up; the only change I will accept will be for LESS time.  I got a “why did you check my email” – to which I replied “derrrr because you and that dumb cow continue to think you can decide on MY life without me contributing. 

So here is my contribution.  NO WAY IN HELL!

Back to normal...

The Squeeze hadn't even been back 24 hours before my bedroom looked like a tip. 

I had sent him a photo through the week of how neat and clean our room looked without his form of ghetto decoration. 

Ie...

One day of the Squeeze and we have this. 

Don't even start me on Creepy Kid who is without a doubt, bringing Creepsville to my home. Only time not spent in the bedroom is 10 minutes to eat (never assistance in cleanup) or enforced showers. 

Serious psychological issues there. I've had my older son all week so between him and my daughter, there is lots of interaction and laughter. I don't get how the Squeeze can ignore that really. 

How fantastic is this....

"We Are Brothers" By Baddy Paris and Rufus Starlight. A Best Man Song.
I've been married 3 times and never saw a best man song like this!

Holidays! Thank the Lord!

Reading that headline, it may sound as though I’m about to embark on a fabulous journey.  Maybe I’m off to Greece again like last year…  Sigh no; not that lucky.  The joy I am experiencing is due to school holidays and that means I am kid free for two whole weeks. 

In reality, holidays started last week so I’ve existed in a relatively stress free domain for a week.  Well, more like it was restricted to the normal stress of having the Squeeze walk around the house dropping things wherever he is standing when their usefulness is finished.  No amount of training seems to be able to rectify this.

It took a week and two bottles of Frabreeze to air the spare room out – seriously, that kid is stinkier than anyone I’ve ever known.  His doona and pillows were shoved in the wardrobe so I did no more than open the door and throw sprinkles of frangipani oil on them before slamming the door again.

So Saturday rolled around and the room smelled normal and the Squeeze was packing for a week down the coast.  Just the Squeeze and Kid in technology heaven – and it is heaven, at least for the girl and I.

In the typical organisational skill-less land that they live, the Squeeze had arrange for the kid to catch a train but when the train fell several stops short, the poor little poppet couldn’t get his arse off the train and catch a bus.  He had to call Daddy to go pick him up and bring him home which meant by the time he had chauffeured Little King home, there was no packing or preparation for the coast.

In my world, you pack during the week before.  You have a spread sheet and document everything you know you’re going to need and check it off as it goes in the case.  Case…  Ha!  Last week we went to Torquay for my sister’s birthday.  I came out with a glossy black overnight case – which I had put his toiletries in but left the packing of clothes to him.  As we were leaving, he strolls out the front door with his clothes packed – in two plastic Coles bags.  I just rolled my eyes.  We picked up my brother from the airport on the way and he just shook his head and laughed.  My sister and her husband looked down at his bags in mock horror when he walked in.  I’ve just learned to live with it really.  He is a strange beast is the Squeeze.

So I hand him my overnight bag so that he can pack which elicits a laugh and start the “Saturday morning clean”.   The Squeeze goes off to start gathering what he will need and Little King races for the television, laptop and phone in hand, attempting to download the new iPhone OS and God knows what else while he has internet.

Now that I’ve fumigated the spare room, I move up there to vacuum and make up the bed in anticipation of the boy on my side, flying in from Perth, which incidentally, also has my stress levels rising.  He is no picnic either I’m afraid, but at least he is transient and I can suck it up for a week!

The kid is hovering near the router, I’m not sure how he figures that’s going to make it go faster; the Squeeze is lugging armfuls of crap to the car and tossing it to the boot (nothing like packing!) and I open the blinds and windows in the spare room and drag my Meile into the centre of the room only lurch to a stop as I spy a big patch of red ink smudged into the brand new carpet of the brand new house we are in.  My stress went up a couple of levels – to muttering point.  Loudly.

I speak to the Squeeze about it but all he wants to do is shove his hands over his ears and sing so he doesn’t hear the words.  He doesn’t want to deal with it (he never does which is why I am in this mess)… ‘It’s not ALL over the carpet – there is just a large smudge’ but he neglects the part where it is basically as soon as you open the freaking door. 

It’s red ink on cream carpet!  So I shrug.  What the Hell do I care?  It isn’t my bond and I’m not cleaning it.  I’m not even going to try.  It can rot there.  Rot I say!

Having no joy with the Squeeze, I go downstairs and say to the Kid “there is red ink over the carpet upstairs…”  And he looks at me with his dead eye glare.  Either he is slightly autistic or just trying to be annoying, but all I get is a stare. 

“Do you get what I’m saying..?” I finally ask? 

I should think “Wow.  Sorry.  Didn’t realise.  Want me to try to get it off?  I’ll make sure I don’t leave pens on the floor next time…  I’m really sorry.”  Any or all of these would have been appropriate, but he just continues the dead eye stare.

I finally give up, creeped out by the dead eye stare and go back upstairs, this time to find more snot on the wall.

My stress went up a couple of levels – to screaming point.  I want to go down stairs and smash this kid in the face.  Instead, I go down and with a voice that is so frosty I’m surprised the furniture doesn’t crust up, I tell the Squeeze to get up there and clean the snot off the wall.  I’m not happy and he knows it.

The Kid comes out for something and I say “why is your father up there cleaning snot off the wall again..?” to which I get (you guessed it) dead eye stare.

Then mercifully, they leave.  I want to cry with happiness.  I love the Squeeze but his constant weakness regarding the Harridan is ugly.  His inability to ram the truth down her throat sticks in my craw.  Not seeing the requirement to bitch slap this horrible, snot wiping kid is sucking the life out of me and our relationship and it’s pointless to even discuss it with him anymore.  He just can’t deal with either of them – even to save our relationship; and there is a little piece of me that thinks that if it isn’t important enough to him to change things in his life, man up, then it isn’t important enough for me to stay and put myself through the Hell that this kid is.

So Grand Final day went by without my beloved Cats getting to play so I watched ‘Moses’ as I drank red wine, ate pizza and cleaned the house; then warmed myself by the glow of “clean” that night.  This morning when I left for work, it was still sparkling.

School Holidays!!

It's school holiday time and the Harridan has already begun her campaign to foist this kid off onto me for extra days.  WTF - over my dead freaking body!  So the insults, demands and manipulation begins.

Tonight I wrote my own letter to the bitch and forwarded it to the Squeeze to send.  Of course we all know that he'd rather chew off his left testicle than actually anger the cow; which has it's own alarm bells...

Still, I thought my letter was pretty good really!  I was relatively polite, which is more than she deserves.

Dear Harridan.

I know the concept of thinking of someone other than yourself if relatively alien to you, however; I wanted to point out several things regarding the school holidays.

Let’s address your repeated demands that I collect The Kid as soon as humanly possible – ie:  Saturday…   For the record, amongst your insults and delusional drivel, you appear to have forgotten the facts so I reiterate them for you now…  In English, with punctuation – which is more than you ever offer me.

My partner has your child more often than you do.  No easy feat either, given you have brain washed him into refusing medication, using deodorant, washing his hands/hair/clothes or even demonstrating the basic civility of pressing the toilet button.  She has moved homes and agreed to the terms we outlined – and you agreed to them; even as I outlined that I would under no circumstances be dropping everything to adhere to your demands.  These were the terms.  End of story.

For the record…   I’m not changing the terms so that you get an extra day with whatever lesbian assemblage you are currently sitting around the camp fire singing with kumbayah.

You can attempt to toss that mantle of “everything I do is about the kid” around your shoulders, but at the end of the day – you argue to be rid of him as often as possible.   I can almost hear your reply – yes, what about the kid – but as I already told you; he didn’t even want to go to the beach for the whole week I have taken off, so as per usual, this isn’t about him – but about you.  It's always about you.  Always has been.

For the record, your style of manipulation is old and transparent.  I don’t need you to tell me “The Kid wants to watch the grand final with his daddy” or “what about play time” etc.  News flash.  He is 16 years old.  Seriously… Play time?   And you wonder why he doesn’t bring friends home…  Are you trying to breed a serial killer!!??

At the end of the day, it is about this.  I am going to the beach for one week – as we agreed upon.  No more.  You bombarding me with and insults isn’t going to change that.  Your constant, yet fake, holier than thou attitude wore thin years ago.   Now it’s moved into downright irritating.

So… Let me finish by saying:  “shut the fuck up you delusional bitch”.

Your “ex-husband (thank the Lord) 

Hitler. They name is Me!

Sometimes I love going to work.  This morning, I received an email from a guy I work with to a link for a Hitler sketch generator – it happens to be one of the funniest things I’ve watched in a long time and here I have a generator to create my own.

Yeah.  Like I'm going to get any work done for the afternoon.

Can’t wait until I get it and can upload…

Don’t worry.  You’ll see it here first!

Romantic Dates. Ummm what are they..?

So after deciding to avoid blogging re the peniewhacker, I was left to wonder just what the Hell I’d blog about now when the Squeeze assisted. 

He muttered the word 'date' and then we were off to head out on our own.  Trust me, ‘us’ time doesn’t come along very often…  So we headed off to Chadstone to grab something to eat and then see a movie all smiles at getting out on our own.

I should have known before I agreed that this was never going to be ‘romance – they name is Squeeze’, mainly due to the fact that he is crap at it.  Still, I live in hope.

So much for hope.

It started with “can you grab the tickets online?” – like this idiot isn’t online 24/7 and could have easily accomplished the task.  Of course if he actually logged on to do it, that would mean he would have to pay for it, and we can't have that.

In the car on the way, I mention that since I purchased the tickets, he is on lunch.  Anticipating what this means to him, as opposed to what it means to me; I continue on to say that maybe we should head to Oakleigh so that we can get something decent to eat, prior to going to the movies. .

Yeah, they have burgers, pancakes and Nando’s at Chaddy.  They have all sorts of stuff that is going to enter my mouth, pass my gullet and then head for my ass and as per my post this morning, I’m kind of trying to avoid that.

He hums and hars and we end up in Chadstone anyhow.  So he swaggers to the counter with my pre purchased tickets (like some romantic guy, taking his woman to the movies) and then it’s off to find some lunch.

We twist and turn through corridors and end up in the food court.  I mention that long ago, a friend of mine had seen a cockroach in one of these places and I’m not doing lunch in a food court.  So we compromise, noticing a place off to the side, with what appears to be relatively real food (no cockroaches in the window at least) and it looks clean enough.

I felt a little bit guilty because there seriously wasn’t anything you could get that was going to make me feel like I’d stuck to my promise to watch it, so I settled on a focaccia and we moved into one of the red fake leather booths with me determined to eat slowly and no matter how good it was, stop when I had eaten enough.

We were just starting to actually begin some kind of conversation when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of brown skit across our table.  I jump to my feet, holding my plate and the Squeeze continued eating while watching it do a 360 in the middle of the table.  The Myers sales woman in the next booth rescued me by grabbing it in a serviette and removing the body – but of course, my hunger has now dissipated.

So I watch the Squeeze eat, feeling sick but also a little grateful that my diet had stuck, albeit thanks to a critter.  Then we head for the movie.  I have no idea what it is even about but soon found out it was some slasher pic called ‘You’re next’.  Lots of blood.  Zip romance.  More blood.  

Yeah.  I’m living the romance dream.

Living the dream.

Suck it up my darling…

I’ve decided my own blog is becoming a boring rant about the bane of my existence – the peniwhacker and I’m stuck in the predicament for the time being so I guess I just have to suck it up my darling; and plan for a future that is peniewhacker-free.    

So I plan to cease the rants for a while (unless I positively have to via him provoking me) and concentrate on life in general!

So…  Life in general.  A month or so ago, after arising from my near death experience (yes, this is an exaggeration…)  I suffered a series of horrible shocks.  I looked in the mirror.  I looked at my bank account.

Let me explain.  The bank account is an easy answer.  I’m what is loosely termed as a spendthrift.  Wow, that was almost cathartic…  Like standing up and admitting to be an alcoholic (which I’m not but I will admit my wine intake impacts shock 1 and 2)   So, I have decided that I’m not going to be that anymore.  I’m in spending lock down.  I don’t care what passes my by – I’m not buying.

The mirror is a little more dependent on my somewhat unlucky circumstances.  The process of my brain problem is quite simple.  I spend a month or so in total denial that my shunt is going, mainly because the shunts intermittent plunges into a useless piece of junk allow me to have a glimmer of hope that it will correct itself.  You’d think I’d learn by now because it didn’t correct the other fourteen times, so I’m not sure while I continue to clutch at that straw.

During that month of ‘delusion/denial’ things are winding down.  I’m literally like an old wind up clock that is approaching wind up time again so things start to fall by the wayside.  It takes all the effort I possess to get out of bed and go to work, let alone worrying about my nails or if my legs are waxed.

Then we have the five or six weeks in and out of hospital which means all exercise stops and food intake escalates in between days of starvation awaiting surgery.   Your family worries about you and in a family of “puddiepies” like I come from, we cure worry or stress or illness with cooking.  We give.  We love to give; and what better to give one another than tasty little treats.  Every day when Squeeze and my daughter would come to see me, they would bring a handful of lollies.  You may be thinking that no one tied me to the bed and stuffed them down my throat, and you’d be right; but let’s face it.  My will power was as deflated as the rest of me by then.

So let’s get back to the shock of looking in the mirror.

I had to force myself to take stock.  Stare myself down.  It wasn’t pleasant.  I looked like a bloated, aging woman with a bad haircut.

Sometimes that shock is required as it propels you into action.  So I’ve started a six month plan.  I went on the 7/2 diet (2 days a week I am restricted to 500 calories but the rest of the time, I’m supposed to be able to eat what I like.  I’m in the middle of testing that “what I like” theory because the first 3 weeks I lost 3.5 kilos – but I was being ‘careful’ on the 5 days.  This week, I literally ate what I liked and didn’t lose anything.  Having said that, I didn't gain either, so that is okay.

This could be due to that diet plateau around the three week mark but I guess we will see this week!  I feel better after the 3.5 kilo but I’d like to keep going.  I don't need a new look.  I've got oodles of clothes - I just have to teach my body to get back into them!

I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about my hair.  I’ve had it cut, but seriously – there is no hiding a huge hunk shaved out of the back of your head.  Neurosurgeons should have to do a semester in ‘cut and style’ if you ask me; they may have brains as big as a basketball, but they’re seriously crap hair dressers.

Want to Play with Me?

We’ve had the kid all week – it’s such a joy.   The chest rattling cough persists.  For a kid whose ‘body is his temple’…  Good bacteria and all that velvet wearing crap – he is sick more often than any of mine who were immunised and had antibiotics during the rare moments in childhood they required them.

My daughter sent me this link the other day.    

My God; how perfectly a two second clip can sum up this kid.  And yes, it does sound that horrible.

I’m sure he will continue the duck cough through next week – although it’s one of those magical ones that is not leaving germs nor are any of us able to contract it.  It’s a miracle…

The highlight of this week was hearing the kid want to slink off home for the afternoon on Thursday, as it was ‘parent teacher’.  The Squeeze, muttered something about the kid staying at school to do homework but I knew he would capitulate, (as did the kid) and so in fear of him creeping through my stuff, I left my desk drawer partially open and photographed how I left everything.

This may sound weird to the casual reader however; when I sent a text to the girl later that day, she replied with "you mean like I left the strategically positioned slipper at my door so I'd know if he went in my room..?

When I got home, the kid and Squeeze had skipped off to parent teacher with the Harridan and the first thing I did was check out my drawer; only to find it now tightly closed.  I tried not to instantly jump to conclusions, so I asked the Squeeze later that night what he had been fossicking through my desk for, to which he was honestly mystified.  Not him obviously.  So I asked why the kid had gone through my desk as I didn’t want him in our room.  Sorry, but our domain is off limits.

I was immediately met a “don’t be ridiculous!’ (could this guy be any  more delusional if he tried..?)  So I mentioned that things were not as I left it and anyone creeping through my stuff was, in short, disturbing.

At off times I have a vision of this kid dressed in his mother’s ‘velvet’, wig on head and holding a butchers knife above his head – so the thought of him anywhere near my things is just wrong.

Already this week he had broken our usual routine by running to the sofa to move in on our “Suits” night.  Usually, it is the Squeeze, my daughter and I watching while we chat and laugh while the kid masturbates or strangles kittens up in his room.  This week, the kid ran to place himself in my daughters spot.  So she went upstairs and I sat, body turned to the other side of the room and being creeped out with him sitting only four feet away and slightly behind me…  He didn’t say a word.  He didn’t laugh or cry or gasp.  He had ‘nothing’.  He always has nothing.  He is in fact, the emptiest person I have ever met.

But back to my desk…  The Squeeze decided to go upstairs to ask him (and of course, he isn't going to lie) and then proceeds to come back down and say “no, he hadn’t been in our room.”  Oooookayyyy.  So once again, I am a liar?  Or delusional…  Or stupid… Or forgetful...  Maybe just mistaken?  It doesn’t matter what; obviously once again it is me – never Mr Creepy.

My Body is a Temple

Every so often I get an email that gives me a bonus.  It’s all I can do not to send a text to my daughter to say “we are on champagne tonight!” And do a jig around the kitchen.

Today, the Squeeze forwarded a teeny weeny email to say “no kid tonight”.  That’s it.  I’m telling you, extracting information from this guy is like pulling teeth.  So I reply with one word:  ‘why’ to which he replies ‘sick’.

I couldn’t resist the needle of “boy, for a kid that figures his body is a temple, he gets sick more than any other kid I know. 

This is not an exaggeration; its the unvarnished truth.   He does put it over that idiot he calls mother.  If he shuts one eye and squints with the other she's whipping out the thermometer.   But hey, when my kids were too “sick” to go to school, there was no sitting up watching television or on the internet, pausing in between to stuff their faces.  I went with the “too sick to go to school, too sick to get out of bed” routine.  The kids hated it, but we had sickies down to a minimum.

It doesn't say much for the velvet ideal of not having antibiotics and not sullying their perfect bodies and good bacteria.  Seriously, this kid is sicker than anyone I know!  Granted, it could have something to do with the lack of hygiene.  I mean if you can't wash your hands after holding your penis while in the loo, I'm not seeing them get washed after some flu ridden classmate has coughed and spluttered over everything!

Still, a night off!  Yay!