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.