Hovel. Dump. Pigsty. Living in the Filth!

We have the kid here this weekend for the first time in a month.    He came yesterday and is supposed to go home tomorrow before we go out to see a band with friends.  I say supposed to because the Squeeze has not actually spoken to the witch re the Sunday return.  This shouldn’t be an issue since the arrangement is that he goes home on Sunday afternoons…  And in the real world, it wouldn’t be.   But psychotic bitch has issued orders that we are to have him until Tuesday eve.

Although I’ve given an unequivocal “not a snowballs chance in hell”, as yet, I haven’t seen any discussion regarding him going home tomorrow as planned.  I’ve seen the Squeeze send a text message (like coward) but it is by no means decided what the hell is going on which I believe I have explained hundreds of times – the disorganisation drives me mad.

Some people may wonder why I shudder or argue over additional days.

Mostly, it is that I refuse to have this bitch order us to have the kid.  Without any discussion or question – if we have plans, we are obviously supposed to just break them.  Like Hell!

But this is also a huge part of it…  My walls after one single night here.

I question, who the frick lives like this..?  Just what the hell sort of pigsty is this kid living in?  Obviously living in filth doesn’t bother the Harridan; but Hell, I can’t live like that and who do you think get's the clean up??  Which is seriously unfair.

Keeping Posted

The beauty of having a life with a man who was once married a raving psycho nut job, is that said nut job, never fails to revert to what is the “core” essence of her personality.  Ugly.  Vitriolic.  Delusional.

Last weekend we returned home from a fantastic holiday in sunny Greece.  After three or four years together, this was actually our first holiday on our own.  It was a beautiful, stress free three weeks in heavenly Santorini.

For those that haven’t read my blog previously; or are sympathetic to the type of ex-wife depicted in my drama; I’ll make it clear from the start.  Firstly, the type of ex-wife I’m talking about is the one who figures the relationship is crap; so they dump the husband only to discover it’s not so easy out there.  You’re on the downward spiral; you’re in your fifties – and there are a lot of single women quite a few years younger.  There is a man drought.  Suddenly, the husband you dumped is going out with a younger woman…  Hell, he even looks relatively happy with life!

So you whistle and pour on the guilt of “the kids” – the same kids you didn’t think about when you kicked said husband to the kerb in the first place.

The Harridan did this to the three or four girlfriends the Moodle had prior to me.  Each time, the reconciliation lasted mere months before he was living in the shed/flat at the back of the property – but like a fool, he continuously fell for the routine and dumped who he was with, skipping back to Hell.  I don’t think she tried it this time.  I don’t really care if she did; if she did, it didn’t work.

So… We have been on holidays with the kid previously.  The kid has been on several holidays with the witch.  I figure we can take three weeks on our own.  Aside from anything else, we were staying with a friend of mine in a villa in Santorini so had the argument for the kid to come ensued, I’d have gone on my own.

The flight home was in a word, a nightmare.  30+ hours in cramped conditions with the worst case of BO I’ve endured, sitting 2 seats away; eye watering BO.  We get in at midnight and the next day  the Squeeze is off to work while I attempt to unpack bags and begin the lengthy process of washing.

This is when the Harridan decides that the kid will stay here; after 3 weeks away, stuff everywhere and exhaustion.  More guilt pours on as she neglects the fact that we had the kid for additional days the week we left.  She doesn’t even think about the time she took him to Perth and then Bali without any thought to “needing his dad” then. 

I didn’t care about the guilt or anything else.  Staying here with all this crap to be done..?  Not a chance.  Its school holidays and we’ve both just had three weeks off, so can’t take time off as baby sitters.  Instead, we pick him up and take him out to dinner before dropping him home again.

Then it’s a weekend swap and the kid is here for the weekend.  I’m okay with this because the Squeeze hasn’t spent time for the weeks away, even though it throws all organisation out which makes my stress levels peak.  We have planned to go to see a band with friends on Sunday – a date agreed to as it was a “non-kid” weekend; that’s okay, we’ll just have to work around it.

But that’s not good enough for the witch who tells the Squeeze that he is having the kid Sunday, Monday and Tuesday night also.  Ummm, thanks, but no thanks.

The idea of the kid here watching 24/7 television for 5 days makes me shudder, but not as much as her telling us we are having the kid.  The Squeeze writes and says, umm sorry, but no can do.  So she replies to say in her typical, illiterate, “I’m king of the world” bullshit style:

well then he stays sun and mon nite

 with u

He can get bus home  on tues morning and he can get bus to u mon about 5 He has pod app mon which i will take him too I feel yr input and attention to *kid* lousy

It isn’t about the kid; but I couldn’t care less if the world was ending – I will not be told what to do.  I will not have the kid Sunday or Monday night.  I do pause to ask him to get the silly cow to have the kids vampire bat toenails that have shredded my sheets, trimmed….

I don’t think she realises that it is my home.  I have input here also.  The world is not about her.  It is about the Squeeze and I and all of our kids – not just hers.

Sigh, sadly, I realise that I’m wasting energy on hating the stupid cow; but my God, I’d love to practise my boxing skills with her in a ring for ten minutes!

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...