Thursday, January 31, 2013

Just Do It

No, this is not an ad for Nike.  This is the attitude the Harridan takes when “ordering the Squeeze” to do the never ending list of requirements.  And we may be four years in, but when the order comes, Moodle jumps through those hoops of fire and starts dancing.  Nothing has changed there.

The Squeeze came back from camping on Wednesday evening.  As you can imagine, he trailed a pile of sand through my beautiful clean house; ran straight to the television and didn’t even think about unpacking the car. 

And let’s face it; I know him.  I know his idea of unpacking.  “drop”… “table”…  “floor”… “chuck”.  I knew that everything would be thrown in the washing machine until it was bursting at the seams and incapable of washing well.  That is if he actually remembered how to work the washing machine.  So I left for work with strict orders on “hey… the house was immaculate when you came home.  Gleaming!  And it had better be that way when I walk in the door tonight!”

Then last night, I walked in the front door and the Squeeze was nowhere to be found.  There is crap on the table; on the benches.  The laundry floor has disappeared under a mound of washing.  Tents and bags are chucked haphazardly in the garage.  There is a bag still sitting out on the back table.  Food, including cheese, that has been in the car for over a day – now resides on my bench.

All day.  He’s had all damned day.  And what has he achieved?

Well he managed to pick up the Kid and take him out for breakfast.  Then go shopping for his school uniform (WTF?  IT’s the day before school!  What about washing and ironing it???); then go to JB HI FI, just because they could.  Then off to purchase some music books, snatching up a piano book on his way out the door so he could appease the tiger he knew he would meet when he got home.

When I surveyed my once beautifully clean house, all I could think about was going to boxing and how I dared not spar with him, because quite frankly, I’d knock that damned hobbit on his arse with one good right!  And even worse, I wanted to!

We had a bit of a shouting match where in retaliation of my frosty mood, he mentioned that when I have a day off, he doesn’t send me text reminders to clean.  I got to mention the fact that he doesn’t have to – because I’m a clean freak and he is a lazy dog.  Then he bandied the word “orders” at me and I totally blew a gasket.

Yes.  How dare I send an email “order” for him to put all of the crap HE has had over the last week, away.  He doesn’t take orders.

My reply was: “of course you couldn’t do what I ordered you to do!  You’re too busy off doing what the Harridan has ordered you to do!  Because she has just been far too busy on the several months holiday she has had for her to get the kid a school uniform!  Not to mention that this way, he foots the bill.

The idiot I live with still can’t see that she is syphoning every single thing she can…  And I wonder how I’m ever supposed to get a house when he is handing cash hand over fist because he is told to.  And do I really want to suck this up for the rest of my life..?

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Back to the real world....

The Squeeze came back from camping yesterday.  Was there romance..?

Actually, he walked in the door; dropped the bags and such a look of longing and desire crossed his face.  He just looked so... happy.

And then he turned on the object of his desire.

The television.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Sounds of Silence

The Squeeze and kid are away camping. In fact, when they left; I breathed a sigh of relief. By Saturday, after an impromptu text from the Squeeze on Friday night to say he loved me... I was starting to miss him.

So when he called Saturday, and sounded as though he wanted me there, I packed the car and did the 3 hour trip down. It was fun, considering I got little sleep between wombats, drunken sing alongside and blow up beds!

Today, I'm just enjoying the silence...

Friday, January 25, 2013

Blowin' in the Wind

No.  This is not a Bob Dylan moment.  It is just that I was side tracked by the filthy band aid stuck on to my coffee table last night, so didn’t get any other whining down.

I will ensure I spend time on the weekend putting up the screen shots that I took from the Squeezes phone prior to his escaping my disbelief and wrath in regard to the coffee table pig trick.  Such mindless Harridan’s psychotic-ness via text message is always amusing.  She actually thinks she is God… I’m sure of it…

Yesterday, amongst my cleaning, spraying of Freebreeze and band aid anger, I wondered why they hadn’t been well on their way to the coast.  It’s not like you need to pack a lot for two camping.

This morning I realised that the line was full of Kid 3 clothes when I came home.  All lined up just ‘Blowin' in the Wind’.   So the Squeeze had picked him up, taken him to get his hair cut as told to (cha-ching… those vicious little scorpions in her wallet won’t allow her to pay 20 bucks for a bloody haircut.)  Then he has had to wash all of the kid’s clothes prior to going.

What sort of lazy bitch sends her kid off to go away for a week, with a bag of filthy clothes…?

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Stupid Hygiene

Today, I went off to work and the Squeeze packed the car to take Kid 3 camping for a week.

I was going to blog and insert the deluge of text message orders that we all know was going to come; including ensuring the "sack" that he had to drag before her to inspect the last time - containing all the goodies that you need at the beach...  Vicks vapour rub...  thermometer...  But I got side tracked by my "stupid hygiene" rules; the ones that just make everyone feel bad about themselves.

Considering I packed a toiletries bag and got out hampers and dishes.... I was surprised to arrive home and discover they were both here.  Squeeze packing the car; kid watching television.

When I finally shoo'd them off and could begin the clean up - I found a filthy band aid stuck to my coffee table; and blogging about the witch and her pathetic text messages went out the window...  (bill will come about soon enough!)

Yes.  Of course my hygiene rules are stupid.  But I ask; who the frick thinks that this is in any way acceptable?????

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Wrong. Mistaken. Erroneous. Incorrect.

The night before last I went to plug my iPhone into the wall socket I have positioned in the pantry.  I have two around the house; mainly because if plugged it into the one on my bedside table while out in the kitchen, I’d never hear it.

So I take two steps into the pantry and realise it is gone.

I find this endlessly annoying; mainly because if you drag something out and don’t put it back, you waste time and energy in the ridiculous pursuit to find it.  Hell; just remembering where I had it last is difficult.  The Squeeze has often said “do you happen to know where ..?” and I walk straight to the item in question, pausing to expand upon the benefits of putting things back where you found them.

If I stretched my mind back, I remembered walking in the door the night before to find the kid in his usual position.  On the sofa, laptop on knee, phone in hand.  I noted that the phone was plugged in to the Squeeze’s laptop and without a doubt; this was my USB connection. 

So I angrily tell the Squeeze to find my damned wall socket to which he does the usual routine of “how do you know it wasn’t the ‘little princess’?”  Where upon I shout a bit, call him an idiot and say “the kid and I are the only two that have an iPhone!  The rest of you all have Samsungs!” and storm out of the room muttering loudly about people touching my damned stuff and from here on in, I was putting stuff where it couldn’t be found!

The next day, I received a text from the Squeeze telling me that my daughter had the wall socket.  Actually, he said “your little princess has it” in an attempt to sound as scathing as I can be when discussing the kid doing something annoying.  He can never quite pull it off…

Last night, he mentioned that I never blog about being in the wrong; and he is right. 

Then again, he doesn’t take into account several things:
  1. The blog is mine.  It’s about the dumb arsed things he does; which includes his Moodleness and ridiculous kid antics. 
  2. The Kid was by no means totally innocent!  He took the connection, used it and left it lying on the damned sofa where it would disappear behind a cushion and be lost forever!
  3. The blog is mine.  I rule it.  I can write what I like.

Okay Squeeze; for the sake of peace... 
I was wrong.  Your little precious darling didn’t take the connection.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Astounding. No… I mean Astounding!

Every so often I get to sit here and shake my head… wondering just how the hell I mistook this current living arrangement for a relationship.

The Squeeze and I are at opposite ends of the universe.  He is most definitely Mars – a cold, barren place lacking warmth and emotion.  Empty.

I am Venus.  Hot blooded; hot tempered.  I am full of emotion – could be hot, could be cold – but there is always something there.

For the last four years, I have spent many of my weekends with the Squeeze and his assorted children.  Two of those years, I spent nearly every weekend in an objectionable house…  A filthy hovel that I named “clean freak hell”; it gave me sleepless nights wondering if a cockroach would crawl inside my ear and lay eggs.   I’ve washed and cleaned; I’ve cooked.  I’ve fixed kid’s pathetic attempts to shave their heads.  I’ve entertained, set reminders, cut oranges for soccer.

Kid 1 on my side lived in Queensland for a while; then in the UK – now he is in Perth.   We don’t get to see him very often.  Last year, Kid 2, 3 and 3’s partner decided that we should all fly to Perth and spend family time for Easter.   Tonight, I was showing the Squeeze houses in Perth I was thinking of renting for the 9 nights.  We are talking nice.  There sure as hell wasn’t going to be any cockroaches there!  Swimming pools!  Elegant!  Luxury!

What do I get..?

“I’m not going to Perth for 9 nights.  It’s your family holiday; not mine.” 


Then, while I’m still digesting what this means, I mention that he needs to call and speak to the Harridan about one of his kids.  I don’t like the woman, she’s horrible – but she is their mother and as such, needs to be aware of the worries we discover.  Not discussing serious issues with the kids mother borders on criminal in my mind.

Then I get, “I call her tomorrow when you’re not here.”  I ask why that would be the case.  I mean isn’t it supposed to be him and I against the world..?   But when I think about it, I realise that I am the one on the outer.  I am always the one excluded from discussions - even when those discussions are about me and my home and my requirement to suddenly have their kid full time.

How am I supposed to be a family; yet not a family..?  Just how the Hell does that work?

And why the hell would I leave my beautiful home and move to another house just so that I can suffer his kid more often, if he can’t even come and spend 9 days with mine..?

Saturday, January 12, 2013

de•lu•sion•al [dih-loo-zhuh-nl]

The Dictionary explains the meaning of the word delusional as having false or unrealistic beliefs.   This I’m afraid, is my partner.

The other day, while talking about job hunting and Kid 3, I happened to ask “what does he want to do when he leaves school..?”   The Squeeze quickly came back with “he doesn’t have to think about that yet.”

I raised an eyebrow and mentioned that at nearly sixteen and in year ten at school, it is good to have some idea of what path you hope your life will take.  After all, next year he will start his VCE and if you don’t have a direction, you meander through school choosing the easiest path and end up with nothing.  My question was designed to spark his imagination in attempting to find “school holiday work” in an environment he would enjoy.

As I spoke, the Squeeze’s forehead furrowed and he said “Yeah, I guess you’re right.  Well he wants to write music scores for motion pictures.”

My mouth may have gaped open a few times before I asked “Wow.  What has he got so far; I wouldn’t mind a listen.”   What I really wanted to say was “is that on the top of the list..?  Above say… an astronaut or a movie star; maybe a a sculptor or a rock star.  Now can we pick something that is just a little more achievable!”  But of course I didn't; that just would have been downright rude.

He frowned.  I already knew what the answer would be.  None.  Zip.  Zero.

Although the Squeeze has delusion down to a fine art; he isn’t mentally unstable like the Harridan.  He could at least voice concern that the kid hasn’t actually tried to put something together.   The Harridan comes under ‘meaning number two’ in the dictionary, which is ‘a belief held in the face of evidence to the contrary, that is resistant to all reason.”   Oh that’s her alright.

I’m a firm believer that when it comes to the arts, you need a whole world of talent and a double dose of persistence and passion.   Kid 1, a musician, will play the piano on the weekend for hours on end.   The most I’ve ever seen the Kid do is pick up a guitar, play for five minutes before he turns back to the television.  I’m not seeing passion or persistence as part of his genetic makeup.

The Squeeze, wondered aloud that in this day and age when you have a world of technology at your feet, the kid could be out filming whatever he liked…  I didn’t need to point out that his words were the reason why “writing music scores for movies” would never be anything more than a pipe dream.

Don’t get me wrong, everyone needs to have a dream – but you need a backup plan in place in case your dream never actually becomes anything more than that, a dream!

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

The Penie-Whacker Diet

Last night, we had Kid 3 over for the night.  Generally, I’ll admit, I’d argue the point if for no other reason than to give the Harridan a moment of grief in the hope that she learns to stop handballing drama and grief at us.

Yesterday however, I had stayed home from work suffering from Day 2 of a migraine.  In short, I couldn’t be bothered putting in an argument and it just seemed easier to make no comment.  And it was easier.  At the time...

But then the Squeeze went off to get a haircut and I got woken by the bathroom door to my bedroom sliding open and then slamming shut in a hurry, which I assume was the kid. So sleeping after that was not going to happen...  Instead, I got up and polished copper... 

The kid, phone in hand, was watching some old black and white he’d downloaded…   Asking class mates to come over and sit through a couple of hours of old black and whites obviously isn’t helping in the “friend” quest.

So here we are, half way through the school holidays and he has been nowhere with no one; (I refuse to count family in that mix.)  There is still no job and yet all roads in “conversation land” are leading to the trip to Paris including the Squeeze financing travel insurance in anticipation. 

The only way that kid is going to Paris, is if the Squeeze pays for it in full; and that will be the start of Armageddon because proving to the Harridan and Kid both that his threats are just empty words, means it will forever be open slather on his wallet.  But that is a whole other tangent!

Last night we had all of 2 minutes of conversation.  Hell, I couldn’t lead it.  My head was thumping so opening my mouth seemed like too much effort.  There never seems to be conversation required by the Squeeze or kid; far too much interest is in technology.

Then the Squeeze came in the door with souvalaki and a huge box of chips for dinner (oh let’s just slap some more lard on my arse…) and laid it all out on the coffee table so that they didn’t actually have to tug their eyes from the television to eat.  We had to ask the Kid three times to put the phone down before he paused to pick up his plate.

And that is when it happened...  He slunk off to the loo.  After a moment, I looked at the Squeeze and mouthed “hand washing…” just before the loo door flung open and the kid comes back to the lounge as if he’s on a monopoly board; he passed the bathroom; he didn’t collect $200 or a hand washing.  He went directly back to his dinner.

Almost in slow motion, I saw him lean forward and thrust his penie-whacker tainted hand into the box of chips, pausing to massage each one individually (it felt like) before dragging a handful to his plate.

My already precarious appetite shrivelled.  I muttered a quick “no chips for me” to the squeeze and set about picking at my souvalaki before tossing it all in the bin.

This morning, I actually feel better for not having consumed such a fat laden meal. 

The penie-whacker diet actually works!