While my guitar, gently weeps...

On the Squeeze's last birthday, I brought him a guitar. Now I don't know a whole lot about guitars; I was always partial to the piano when I was younger, which was beautiful. Still, I don't know a lot about guitars, but I love how they sound. You don't have to be a know it all, to be a connoisseur.

I have to say, I outdid myself this time around. 

Yes... We have got beautiful gifts previously. The music stand. The mandolin. My ring. Some downright extravagant. But this won the crown for best ever birthday gift.

It was a cream, Fender Stratocaster which I bought from a guy who had it mounted on his wall. I went to Melbourne for the day so coming home, I called him and asked him to help me bring the stuff in.

I pulled up, and walked down the driveway, opened the boot... The look on his face!

So, it went from one wall mount to another.

WFT? I've had it with her photo!

It never ceases to amaze me. The Squeeze, though he has clicked over to 71 years old now, occasionally doesn't realise what he is saying or doing. You would think after living with me he would walk on eggshells! It's funny if I have a knife in my hands and walk in the room; he flinches and jumps; I must say, it's a scream to watch! 

Maybe it is as simple that he does know, but gets a laugh from it... Exacting his little revenge...

He has been living here for six or seven blissful years now and we've bought the odd thing together, but unless it's a television; he is not interested. I had to really push for a new leather couch and some chairs! 

I bought this groovy thing for the kitchen. It has all our photos on there and some are beautiful ones of when I was young; or he was. And our kids are all little, no bigger than toddlers. 

We have beautiful pics fly past, from when we went to Santorini, or to Paris... Thailand and Vietnam. There are old pics on there also. Ones from overseas trips from years ago, seeing us smile. We are tanned, thin and a lot fewer wrinkles on the face. I believe at least once, I've seen one of my ex-husbands fly past.

But I digress...

My problem is that every time I walk into the kitchen, a photo of the Squeeze with his old girlfriend Dianne D zooms up. 

It is without fail. I bet if I walked in the kitchen now - there she'd be! And I scream, and he laughs.

But I always have the last laugh. 

When my mother was over here for lunch and saw the pic come up, she said "Is that your mother?", to which he just stared, and I laughed my arse off. 

So, I always say, "that pic of you and your mother comes up as soon as I walk in the room!!"

Oh Mandolin....

My musical genius is about three seconds away from having the mandolin I bought him for a birthday, snatched off him and broken across the back of his skull.  Why did I buy it for him?

Oh wait, now he has put the mandolin down and picked up a guitar…  Now this is just so much better.  When I bought the mandolin, I was thinking “Heart” type tunes flowing out of it.  Not so.  He hasn’t mastered it as yet.

The wall of guitars means (or should mean) that there is an expert in the house. Ahh not so. Although I like him strumming on a guitar...

He's not too bad on the guitar. He'd be a heap better if he had some lessons that sunk into his fat head! Maybe, when he retires, we'll be able to do stuff. Learn the guitar! Learn salsa dancing! Learn... anything.

Today is Sunday, last day off where we are supposed to enjoy! Relax!  I’ll be happy if I don’t actually get dressed for the day and instead, just slink in and out of bed to read; so, there is no point in actually getting dressed.

Help! He needs help!

Today we had our usual drama. Christmas number 4 - and that psychotic witch continues to disrupt the world according to normal, rational people.

In short; and the Jewel on the crown is that Harridan is dropping kid 3 off 2.5 hours after the lunch expected time frame/invite and sending bursts of text to the Squeeze to say this is what happens when he doesn't organise via her.  So glad she had the good sense not to cross the threshold...  Although that level of sheer audacity wouldn't have surprised me.

In reply to her abuse via text, I got fed up and replied "you need help".  Short.  Sharp.  Accurate.  To the point.

She replied that she was checking in to a 'facility' come end of January.  Frankly, I don't believe it but it obviously tugged at the Moodle's heart strings who then began an argument with me that I dared to send a reply from his phone - of course I made sure she knew it was from me so I'm not sure what all the fuss was about other than the fact that I called an kettle a kettle.

But once again, I'm the bad guy.   When does this idiot grow some testicles and just tell her that her reality will no longer played to?    Longer than I have to wait I suspect...   Why does she wreck everything; why does she dictate all meetings.  Why does her let her..?

Aren't I the one who just had his whole family to lunch - served at 3 pm due to her ridiculous games of "I don't know what's going on....  We are at Rye..."   Of course we don't want to deal with her; she is a raving nut job and we don't wan't to deal with it... seriously!

I am so sick of being the bad guy...  This woman could set him on fire and I'd be berated because I raised the fire extinguisher and put it out; because she was going to stifle the flames...   I'd ruined it all.

Over it.  Fed up with it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The idiot I live with can live an emasculated life without any joy - but with a shit load of "do this!!! NOW!!!!!"   And I seriously won't care.  His problem.  But all "lunches/days/parties/organisation" is off from this side of the planet!

Stupidity - they name is Man

For anyone that actually reads my blog, you should note that I am about to slink off to the beach for three weeks.

Camping.

Yes.  You heard me.  Camping.

Think bugs.  Probably snakes.  No power.  No laptop.  Zip other than my iphone and although I dare say I could leave the odd comment on my blog to signal that I’m still alive, I doubt I’ll waffle on as I usually do.  If you an avid reader over your morning coffee; have no fear, I will return.  Or at least I’m not anticipating ending up in a shallow grave at the Prom, but who know what he has in store for me!

Now.  Camping…  I used to have a fantastic theory on holidays.  Sadly, this appears to have gone out the window since the squeeze came on the scene.  (Along with romance)  When holidaying – don’t go anywhere you can’t wear high heels (or thongs)

That doesn’t mean you have to wear them, it’s more about luxury level.  Holiday luxury level should encompass huge beds; floating your lilo over to the bar; drinks with little umbrellas; dining out; romantic dresses and high heels!

I’m really not seeing a requirement for any of those things at the beach - CAMPING!!  Hell, I haven’t even packed any heels.  If annoyed with the squeeze, I’ll have to show my displeasure in a different way it would seem.  That’s alright.  I can be creative.

Strangely, I’m quite looking forward to three weeks away.  I have a bag of books; and plan to totally relax.  No computer, but even better…  No television.

Hell.  What will the squeeze do..?  How will he exist???  He may have to spend the nights in; ‘gulp’; conversation!

Now this ought to be fun.