Busy Little Bee…

Well D Day strikes today… 

I did happen to remind the Squeeze yesterday that this time was approaching; after all, it was at his insistence that everything would be finalised and attended to by the end of February.  He of course, denied it in his moodle-ish, stuttering kind of way.

In fact, the date has already zoomed past.  Originally when sitting like a bug under a microscope in the nut doctor’s office, he had suggested that the conclusion of Wilson’s Prom would signal that everything was done; we could move on and everything would be right in the world.

When we got back, there was a small amount of debate in that he couldn’t organise anything while we were away and at the conclusion of our stay, the Harridan was down there (using all of his stuff of course) having her own little ‘velvet wearing’ holiday.  So that effectively put all of January out.

Ok.  Fair enough.  I’ll run with that (and did) so the end of February became the new D day.  Today.  And where are we at?  You may be shocked to learn we have not progressed very far at all, actually.  Yes…  I know.  You’re not shocked.  Neither am I. 

I do believe he has tossed her off the health insurance which is something I guess; but let’s face it; there was not a chance in hell that he was moving in with me while still paying the wife’s health insurance!  Not a chance!  Zip.  Nada. 

Of course he would argue that some things are open to interpretation; not to mention that we have a rather wild variation on what constitutes as “done” adding to the angst.  I’m not a “put off today until tomorrow…” kind of girl.  Get things done, shut the door, move on!

I mean to satisfy the ‘organising a divorce’ requirement you actually have to do something about getting it done.  Organising it, does not equate to “mentioned it to her” and then printing the document out.  You actually have to lift those papers off the printer; read them… Fill them out.  Frankly, I see that as the easier thing to do in the list!

So item number 1 on the agenda:  Nil Conformity to Agreement.

Then we had ‘fix the superannuation policies’.  I have managed to reduce his five super policies to 3 – (please note that I said “I”).  All he had to do was take the very neat folder containing all documents that I produced, to an accountant and seek advice on which one he should retain and roll everything over into.  Personally, I thought he should stick with the industry super but he can waste money going to the accountant if he needs it in black and white…

Part of this discussion encompassed the ‘get a will’ and a ‘medical proxy’ also.  After all, if we are living together; a couple perse, then if anything happens to him I hardly want to be sitting in the hall while the wife rushes to his bedside and tells the doctors that he would never have wanted to be on life support!  And it was his one wish to donate all of his organs!  Hell, he hasn’t even looked at those things and you’d imagine he would be wanting to tidy that bit up quick smart…

So item number 2 on the agenda:  Nil Conformity to Agreement.

Then we had what I consider for him – the hardest part.  The Finances. 

Hardest because this will require him manning up and removing the Harridan’s grip from his testicles – something that he finds incredibly difficult.  And trust me, it’s not getting any easier over time.  I'm beginning to wonder if she will ever let them go...

This should have been relatively simple and they had the discussion around “we need to discuss” – but of course this has been constantly delayed – in all probability, delayed because as it stands now, certainly suits her.  And although she certainly hasn't come back with a day or time, he sure as hell hasn't prepared for it either.

I figure if you are going into a negotiation, you need to sit down and work out what you have to give; what you are prepared to give; and what you can give up in order to come out with your requirements met.  

You also need to establish what is to be covered in the discussions and make sure you stick to covering off those issues - and only those.  For example, send an agenda; or at least an email to say ‘we are discussing maintenance arrangements for Kid 3.  We are not discussing health insurance or any other kind of payment for Kid 1 or Kid 2 – they are both adults and working.  Discussion on them is off the table.”  That would deflate her some I suspect.  Then there is the reality that "maintenance covers everything.  I pay.  You organise."  For example, I don't pay 2.5k school fees and then slink off to pay for all the uniforms - and then pay maintenance on top.  That's not how it works!

In an attempt to work out what he would be up for, I did some quick calculations on what maintenance should be using what I consider to be very generous figures; I also worked it out on a calculator via the Child Support Agency who from what I can tell, is obviously governed by man hating lesbians, so I figure it is erring on the side of caution most certainly!

It was then up to him to sit and work out what he had paid for the last year, make a comparison and then give the facts – in black and white.  This is what I am supposed to pay.  This is what I have been paying.  This is what I’m prepared to pay in the future.

More than anything else, he has to get a standard figure.  She is robbing him blind by sending a million different things his way to pay – and he moodles off to pay!  Part of working out a figure for the last year was introducing some shock factor; because I’m tipping he has no idea.

So item number 3 on the agenda:  Nil Conformity to Agreement.

If he intends to accomplish all that he said he would by the end of February; I suspect he will need to get cracking.

He will need to be a busy little bee.

Fat and Happy

My sister is on her way here from the UK.  My brother is about to be married.  This is his second wedding.  Brother 2 – 2 marriages.  Me – 3 marriages.  If you schedule them well, you will never run out of small appliances.

But I regress.  My sister emailed tonight to ask what dress I was going to wear.  She mentioned she had moved into fat jeans.  I argued I would need ‘obese’ jeans now…

It sucks being happy.  I am waiting for the moodle to do something that will strip all happiness from my bones (and blubber!)

Damned fool has to be reasonable now!

The Money or the Curb!

My life used to be kind of relaxed.  I’d get home, runner up, go for a walk then come home, pour a glass of red and put music on while I cooked.  Then I started dating the squeeze and there seemed to be a moratorium on ‘relax time’. 

These days, I am basically kicking in the front door and biting the top off a bottle of red…

I am swinging from one side of town to the other and the weekends I spend in clean freak hell, ensures I will be working every night to catch up.  Partly this is due to my not being there to do the things I would normally have done, like the Saturday morning housework fest.  But partly this is due to the girl who doesn’t seem to understand the concept of “have as many friends as you want over – when you move out to your own place!”  In other words I get home to every towel in the house is in the wash, the floors are dirty and then there is the minor problem in that my table gets scratched or the walls and doors have dirty hand prints on them; not to mention the greasy fingerprints on my stainless steel fridge – I ask you; how freaking hard is it to use the damned handle!!!!!

So as you can see, things are already stressed.  Then I add to the mix the fact that work has gone through restructure (again) - the idiots at the top still don’t see the reality of “you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear…”  In other words, try funding the department so we can do what we are good at and stop restructuring.  Stop figuring tasks are not done because we are slack and therefore there is a requirement to bring in idiots, make them managers at which point we are forced to sit and listen to their nonsensical ideas.

Ideas, that if even remotely positive, are in fact regurgitated ideas and templates that we did years ago!  Difficult, because I’m seriously inept in covering up my look of “you moron…” so am obviously seen as a rebel.

We are house hunting at the moment and even that causes a minor ripple of stress.  I have to very carefully balance the requirements – I want room to move, but not so much room that suddenly I’m coming home to find Mess 1 and Mess 2 (with nose ring) have moved in!  The squeeze wouldn’t quite understand that but hey, we are a new romance – we are entitled to a little bit of time on our own – kid free!  Where we can do stuff together instead of being at everyone else’s beck and call…  Have sex in the kitchen!

Aside from anything else, by moving he’ll save money.  If he’s not at home they won’t ring or come home with the great idea that they all go out for breakfast or coffee – and not take their wallets!  And the idiot that I date, even knowing he is broke; wouldn’t think of saying “cool, your shout.”  Hell, I’m tipping by the end of the week I’ll wig out (again) because he still hasn’t kicked the harridan off his health insurance!

Why did the Moodle Circus have to roll into my town!??

The Death of Technology

Yesterday we went out for breakfast with Boy 2, nasal ring still in place, much to the Squeeze’s disgust.  If you catch him at the right time - generally out of the house and over food, he can be quite the conversationalist.  As prickly as he is, I probably get along with him the best.  His table raconteur offers lively debate and if you add the fact that he lacks the “clingy vine” factor of ‘run and squeal to mummy’, well suffice to say, that is a winning combination for kids in my world.

Part of why I see him as likeable is the haughty twenty something year old attitude which is a mixture of “know-freaking-everything” and” I’m-too-damned-cool”.  Add to that the fact that the Squeeze and I are sitting across the table in “past-your-prime” and “you-were-never-young” land and the conversation flows quite nicely!

Yesterday, he wowed me with his desire to shut down technology.  He lost his sim card while in Vietnam and so has been phone-less since returning home and this so some degree, changed his life slightly.  He mentioned the fact that he now has to resort to the life the squeeze and I grew up in – the pop over.  But perhaps more importantly, he talked about forcing yourself to be organised and keep time.  Without a phone you can’t forget the details; nor can you send a text to say ‘I’m running late’. 

So he wants to go back to year zero.  When I pointed out this meant no power; no hot showers… he decided that since he is the one going back, he could pick and choose the areas he went for.  Cold showers weren’t on the list I take it.

Sunday, we went out for lunch with the Squeeze’s mother (Geelong!  I hate people from Geelong!) and his brother – who I get along with…  He greeted me with “is that bitch still giving hell?”  Prior to our meal arriving, the Harridan (speak of the devil) called for directions.  Lucky I wasn’t eating or I may have choked.  As it was, she was dropping kid 3 off; and I figured she would do her 'waltz in there like she owned the place, take over' and drink me $44 champagne. 

My stress levels rose and I began looking at the door...

Luckily, she dropped the kid and ran; at the same time Kid 1 (who doesn’t live there but makes me a pimp by having some slapper steal my jeans) and nasal ring Kid 2 arrive.  Of course they have to get the Squeeze’s credit card to order their lunch.

WTF?  21 and 25?  Hopefully in future, he’ll point out that if they don’t have money, maybe they should stay home!  Our $60 lunch just became $150!  How does that idiot think he can just maintain this level of "vampirism"?  He is broke now!

As for the death of technology, I give it a month.  Then he’ll be forced to take his laptop in to get fixed and actually go get a new sim!  That night as we were leaving to come back to my side of town, the Squeeze basically had to pry his laptop from Boy 2's fingers...   So much for the death of technology!

Saints Preserve Us

Is it just me?  Sometimes I think I’m too old to be a mother; too old to put up with anyone else’s pain and stress and heartache.  Hell, I can barely put up with my own!  And kids are so easy to push around that every so often, some utter moron tries.  What really gets me is that the kids almost expect it…  Certainly accept it.  Don’t seem to want to do the Maid of Orléans (aka Joan of Arc). 

Makes me wonder where the world will end up when we are prepared to just roll over and let someone take advantage because they are bigger.  The daughter has had a succession of these things happen over the last few months and as opposed to just rattling my sabre, I actually want to go and rip their entrails out!  Not my kid!  Not on my watch!

My point being that there is so much effort and emotion that goes in to sabre rattling and when you have three children, the stress multiplies.  If you’re really lucky, they hit those moments of need at different times.  Don’t think I could take having to do my Joan of Arc routine for the three of them at once. 

My ex-husband is remarried and at forty nine, his wife had a baby.  When he told me on the phone, I think my initial comment was “are you out of your ever living fricking mind?  I’d rather be dead!”  My position on this certainly hasn’t changed.  It would seem that neither have his as they are about to have baby number two. 

Personally, I’d rather be stripped naked, covered in honey and staked to an ants nest – but hey, whatever rings your bell.  And the reality is that if he put forward any opposition at all, she would just pick up her handbag, give it a shake and let him hear his testicles rolling around in there like dice in a Yahtzee cup.

Now that the Squeeze and I are together, we have six kids.  I would be as equally offended if someone tried to take advantage of them; hell, I already get into trouble when I go to war for him!  And he is on a regular clockwork of abuse and manipulation – so it’s hard not to.  The Harridan flies in like momma bird to drop the worm of abuse; and the Squeeze just opens his mouth for it like a good little baby bird.

When ex-hubby number three’s kids reach their 20’s, he will be in his 70’s!  Certainly too old to do defence and yet this is not unusual in the way the world is these days.  I see it all the time; second time daddies with younger wives and trailing along behind them, brats.

When all is said and done, I may have snagged myself the Moodle Extraordinaire, but at least he is smart enough to stick to his own ‘woman pool’ and not want to breed!