Retirement… Holidays… Life…

Okay; the Squeeze and I seem to have settled into the realms of ‘normality’.

Strangely enough, this is by no means boring. 

My whole life can be summed up in an analogy…  I have lived in towers.  When things were ‘good’ I’m in the white tower.  I may have spent years climbing that tower before sitting down to rest with a glass of wine.  Then, looking at the walls that surrounded me, I would feel them closing in.  So I would set about destroying it…  Finally, when the tower turned to black rubble, I’d move on to create a new tower.  I have no idea why and I’m sure a good psychiatrist could work it out if I so desired, but what would be the point?  Here I am, in the white tower, in the sun, and there isn’t a cloud or storm in my mind.  I can’t feel a tsunami on the horizon or volcano about to erupt.

That isn’t to say that things are perfect and I’m skipping along the path in ruby slippers.   No, not by any stretch of the imagination.  The Squeeze is basically a slob who traipses the house dropping things at will.  Can’t pick anything up or put anything away.  Can’t shut a cupboard or a drawer to save his life!  His side of the bed looks as though a homeless guy has taken up residence…  [Luckily I had the sagacity to put him on the wall side of the bed, so at least this isn’t visible from the door]

And of course his basic slobbery clashes with my serial killer neatness; which should drive us both stark raving mad.  After all, I feel as though I’m whining nonstop to put things away; and of course, I am.  Frankly, I’m surprised that one of us hasn’t stabbed the other.

But there is even a tiny bit of enjoyment in this too.  He finds it amusing that I have to ensure the dual light switch in the bathroom is turned off correctly – so that the light and fan switch that sit side by side, are in the same position.  I find it endearing that every single white shirt he wears, needs to be soaked in napisan to get that drop of coffee or pasta sauce out.

The Harridan doesn’t step out of her box much anymore and when she does, the Squeeze appears to have “manned up” [mostly] and does a very good job of slapping her down…

The kid would benefit from a little bit of discipline, but at the end of the day, we each raise them differently.  At some stage he’ll make some friends and thumb his nose at coming every second weekend which will be pleasant for me and fantastic for him.  We have drama’s every so often with one of them, but there are six all up so that’s to be expected.

So what is this blog about?  Well I think I’ll be retiring for a while…

In September we are off to Greece and I won’t even be thinking about the blog!

Having said that, you never know what Tsunami is around the corner!!!

Bat Bat Baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still Alive....

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

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

Did You Come In My House?????

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Small Mercies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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