I can't believe I'm actually middle aged. 38 to be exact, and I suppose that's middle aged. Or maybe not, what with how long people are living these days. Maybe middle age is really around 50. Wait, let me check Wikipedia. Eh, shit. The Census defines it as 35, Collins Dictionary as 40 and Oxford English Dictionary as 45. Erik Erikson says 40. So the average of that: 40. Okay, I'm not there yet. Close, but no cigar.
Things with Guy #1 are going really well. We survived Thanksgiving, to which his ex-wife did not show up, and I think next year maybe I just want to stay at home and eat country ham and broccoli casserole. I won't have my kids next Thanksgiving, so it won't matter if I do that. We'll see.
I took my children to see Santa this past weekend, and my mother went with us, since that's my normal routine. I had planned on The Ex NOT being there, since he bitched about Santa every year since my older daughter was born, but my older daughter insisted on calling him on the way to see Santa and then insisting to him that he come. To his credit, he did manage to extricate himself from World of Warcraft and get his ass in to see Santa, and didn't bitch about it much. Maybe his third marriage is agreeing with him.
My mother got to my house a little early and we were sitting pretty much hip-to-hip on the sofa, trying to figure out her fancy schmancy new iPhone, being that she upgraded from a tracfone to an iPhone with nothing in between (who the fuck does that?) when my phone buzzed. As a prequel to this whole story, Guy #1 and I had been indecently texting each other all day, well, because we can. It's my phone and if I want to text dirty, I can do just that.
Anyway, my phone rang.
I see it's Guy #1 calling.
I answered, "Hello?" even though I knew it was him, because my mother and children were in the room.
Keep in mind my mother and I were still sitting hip-to-hip at this point, thus causing the proximity of her head to my head to be about six to eight inches apart being that we were looking at her phone together.
Guy #1 says, with no greeting, "I wish you were bouncing up and down on my cock right now."
I was silent.
I did not move a muscle in my body as I cut my eyes over to my mother and wondered if she had heard that, since her ear was only a few inches away from my phone that I then desperately tried to press into my inner ear.
That five seconds of silence between the three of us, Guy #1, my mother and I was deafening.
And then my mother snorted, and I think just a teensy bit of soup that she had been eating right when Guy #1 made his proclamation shot out of her nose. She got up and stumbled into the kitchen and I heard a chair scrape back from the table.
Oh. My. God. She heard that.
I whispered to Guy #1, "My mother is HERE!"
He says, "So?"
I said, "She heard THAT!"
Of course Guy #1 didn't believe me, and the peals of laughter coming from my kitchen didn't convince him. I was somewhere between laughing and crying at this point, because that's pretty embarrassing. Mothers are not supposed to know that stuff. Although, I'm pretty sure she's come to the conclusion that after a year of dating, he and I have consummated the relationship. But still, that's not a point of discussion between my mother and I because I am 38 and don't need sex advice from her. That's what I have girlfriends for.
Guy #1 continued to insist that my mother did not hear him say that. I finally had to hold the phone out and yell at my mother in the kitchen, "Hey, did you hear that?" To which more laughter came. I put the phone back up to my ear and said, "SEE?!?!? She heard you!"
And then it got worse. My mother yelled back, "It brings back memories!"
Oh. My. God.
Who knew that in one split second one of my eardrums could burst and I could throw up in my mouth, all at the same time? It's amazing what the human body can do, that's for sure.
With that, Guy #1 was silent. He said, "Did she really hear me?"
I whispered, "Yeah, she heard you."
Guy #1 said, "Oh my god, why would you have your phone on speaker?"
I said, "It wasn't on SPEAKER, you damn fool. We were sitting right next to each other."
Guy #1 argued back, "I wasn't that loud!"
I said, "You know I've got bad ears and I have to keep the volume all the way up!"
He said, "What's wrong with your ears?"
Holy shit. And that's when it struck me. Bad ears, bad eyes, bad back. I'm getting old. Helloooooo, middle age. I didn't think the realization would hit me like this.
Some days are just like that, I suppose.
Showing posts with label The Ex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Ex. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Much More Chill
As the title would suggest, I'm much more chill today. A long afternoon with Guy #1 tends to do that for me. So I am probably not going to drink my way through Thanksgiving, but I may have a couple of shots here and there. I'm not going to call them shots, though, I am simply going to call them fortifiers. I don't know if the ex-wife will show up, but if she does, then she does. I have no choice but to roll with it and be the princess that I am. I will simply nod my head at her and say, "What it do?" My stepfather, on the other hand, may get a few more curse words hissed at him randomly throughout the day. Or... I'll figure out which alcohol belongs to him and I will work on drinking that exclusively. As long as it's not moonshine, we'll be good to go.
I had to pick my mother up from work today and she never mentioned the whole thing and I didn't either. I had already decided I wasn't going to mention it, because I didn't want her to be in the predicament of hearing me bitch about her husband. I mean, really, she can't help what comes out of his mouth any more than I can. So it was a long and awkward ride, what with this whole topic hanging in the air and yet remaining unspoken. I decided halfway through the trip that this too would go on the "List of Shit My Mother And I Will Never Discuss". It's not a pretty list, trust me.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the football picks thing over at http://www.armchairlinebacker.com/ kind of fell apart, but hopefully we can get something going again in the next few weeks. I think we did it for a total of four weeks. Week 1 - I fucking rocked! Week 2 - not so great. Week 3 - I know a few retarded people who could make better picks than me. Week 4 - I lost so much pretend money that I was only allowed to bet on one game, and I picked right! Ha! I win, bitches! But this was also the week the whole thing fell apart. However, if you need a guest contributor to blather on endlessly about everything and nothing and maybe a little bit of the requested topic, I'm yo' girl! Hit a sista up!
We've wrapped up the whole fall athletic thing. My older daughter survived cheerleading and I've managed to extricate the cheer director from her life and from mine. Culling the herd is a good thing, you know? My younger daughter played football this year, yes - football - I can't remember if I mentioned that or not. Anyway, she played flag football, but that was because of her age, not because she can't play tackle. She did awesome, and I'm pretty damn proud to have been the mother of the one girl a team of 30 boys. Once she understood what she had to do, she did her best to go out there and make it happen. I was surprised that towards the end of the season she was telling her eye doctor that she played football and the doctor asked what position she played. I whispered to her, "Safety", because that's what I thought she played. My daughter looked at me quite scornfully and rolled her eyes, and said, "No, Mommy, I play outside linebacker!" Well, excuuuuuuse me, is what I thought. But fucking awesome that my daughter is playing linebacker! Hell yeah! And I was even more excited when she managed to hold the other teams players off, sometimes two at a time. Yep, that's my little princess out there. And even better was that she was one of the few kids on her team who didn't cry all season. The Ex and I had drilled into her over and over and then over again that THERE'S NO CRYING IN FOOTBALL!!! We figured that as soon as she started crying then it was over for her. The whole girl stereotype thing would just take over and her season would be done. Sidelined. But my girl hung in there tough and didn't shed a tear once. She made a point of telling the coach that she was the only one who didn't cry all year, and then, at the awards banquet, when her name was called, the coach made sure he repeated that she was the only one who didn't cry all year. I'd like to think this was because she had earned his respect, and not because he spent last football season and this football season trying to make 'eye contact' with me.
My older daughter surprised me the other day by informing that she had sold one of her cups of jello to a friend for a dollar. Several things were wrong with this picture. First of all, I just got screwed because I bought that jello for her, and I did not get reimbursed by that dollar. Second of all, her friend got screwed because I'm pretty sure that jello cup wasn't worth a dollar (or maybe it was to the friend, I don't know), and lastly, why the hell is she selling the jello instead of just giving it to her friend for the sake of being a good friend? Oh, that wasn't lastly, lastly-lastly, that jello was for her to eat since she's still recuperating from having her tonsils taken out two weeks ago, although I'm positive this little budding hypochondriac will make this recovery last for about 2.89 years. But on the other hand, I was still kind of pleased, because this does show some early entrepreneurial skills, and because she's learning the laws of supply and demand along with a touch of negotiating skills. I asked her why she sold the jello instead of giving it away, and she said because her friend offered to buy it. Well, okay, but why does an elementary school kid have cash on them? The school has a rule - no cash with kids, probably because of stuff like this, and because my younger daughter will be that other kind of kid strong arming everyone out of their lunch money. Oh, her friend had that cash on her because the friend stole it from her older sister. Lovely. Since my daughter doesn't like the friend's older sister, I know she took even greater joy in selling the jello, then. We had a little talk about how if you have an extra jello (which Mommy bought for your throat!) and you'd like to share, then just give her the jello for the sake of being a good friend. As a reward, I promised to set her up the candy bar business in middle school and she can run around and financially rape those kids if she so chooses. Middle school IS a dog-eat-dog world, you know. Everyone needs a niche in middle school and I'm glad we've already defined hers. My father, half-shyster and Indian-giver that he was, would be delighted by this.
And with that, Happy Thanksgiving!
I had to pick my mother up from work today and she never mentioned the whole thing and I didn't either. I had already decided I wasn't going to mention it, because I didn't want her to be in the predicament of hearing me bitch about her husband. I mean, really, she can't help what comes out of his mouth any more than I can. So it was a long and awkward ride, what with this whole topic hanging in the air and yet remaining unspoken. I decided halfway through the trip that this too would go on the "List of Shit My Mother And I Will Never Discuss". It's not a pretty list, trust me.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the football picks thing over at http://www.armchairlinebacker.com/ kind of fell apart, but hopefully we can get something going again in the next few weeks. I think we did it for a total of four weeks. Week 1 - I fucking rocked! Week 2 - not so great. Week 3 - I know a few retarded people who could make better picks than me. Week 4 - I lost so much pretend money that I was only allowed to bet on one game, and I picked right! Ha! I win, bitches! But this was also the week the whole thing fell apart. However, if you need a guest contributor to blather on endlessly about everything and nothing and maybe a little bit of the requested topic, I'm yo' girl! Hit a sista up!
We've wrapped up the whole fall athletic thing. My older daughter survived cheerleading and I've managed to extricate the cheer director from her life and from mine. Culling the herd is a good thing, you know? My younger daughter played football this year, yes - football - I can't remember if I mentioned that or not. Anyway, she played flag football, but that was because of her age, not because she can't play tackle. She did awesome, and I'm pretty damn proud to have been the mother of the one girl a team of 30 boys. Once she understood what she had to do, she did her best to go out there and make it happen. I was surprised that towards the end of the season she was telling her eye doctor that she played football and the doctor asked what position she played. I whispered to her, "Safety", because that's what I thought she played. My daughter looked at me quite scornfully and rolled her eyes, and said, "No, Mommy, I play outside linebacker!" Well, excuuuuuuse me, is what I thought. But fucking awesome that my daughter is playing linebacker! Hell yeah! And I was even more excited when she managed to hold the other teams players off, sometimes two at a time. Yep, that's my little princess out there. And even better was that she was one of the few kids on her team who didn't cry all season. The Ex and I had drilled into her over and over and then over again that THERE'S NO CRYING IN FOOTBALL!!! We figured that as soon as she started crying then it was over for her. The whole girl stereotype thing would just take over and her season would be done. Sidelined. But my girl hung in there tough and didn't shed a tear once. She made a point of telling the coach that she was the only one who didn't cry all year, and then, at the awards banquet, when her name was called, the coach made sure he repeated that she was the only one who didn't cry all year. I'd like to think this was because she had earned his respect, and not because he spent last football season and this football season trying to make 'eye contact' with me.
My older daughter surprised me the other day by informing that she had sold one of her cups of jello to a friend for a dollar. Several things were wrong with this picture. First of all, I just got screwed because I bought that jello for her, and I did not get reimbursed by that dollar. Second of all, her friend got screwed because I'm pretty sure that jello cup wasn't worth a dollar (or maybe it was to the friend, I don't know), and lastly, why the hell is she selling the jello instead of just giving it to her friend for the sake of being a good friend? Oh, that wasn't lastly, lastly-lastly, that jello was for her to eat since she's still recuperating from having her tonsils taken out two weeks ago, although I'm positive this little budding hypochondriac will make this recovery last for about 2.89 years. But on the other hand, I was still kind of pleased, because this does show some early entrepreneurial skills, and because she's learning the laws of supply and demand along with a touch of negotiating skills. I asked her why she sold the jello instead of giving it away, and she said because her friend offered to buy it. Well, okay, but why does an elementary school kid have cash on them? The school has a rule - no cash with kids, probably because of stuff like this, and because my younger daughter will be that other kind of kid strong arming everyone out of their lunch money. Oh, her friend had that cash on her because the friend stole it from her older sister. Lovely. Since my daughter doesn't like the friend's older sister, I know she took even greater joy in selling the jello, then. We had a little talk about how if you have an extra jello (which Mommy bought for your throat!) and you'd like to share, then just give her the jello for the sake of being a good friend. As a reward, I promised to set her up the candy bar business in middle school and she can run around and financially rape those kids if she so chooses. Middle school IS a dog-eat-dog world, you know. Everyone needs a niche in middle school and I'm glad we've already defined hers. My father, half-shyster and Indian-giver that he was, would be delighted by this.
And with that, Happy Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Oh.My.God.Thanksgiving.Is.Here.
So, Thanksgiving is almost upon us. And with the holidays comes the drama. Revenge is a dish best served cold, so they say, and I'll have to assume that drama is a dish that usually comes at you piping hot. For the record, I generally dislike drama and really try to remove myself from it. The fact that I work with a bunch of women makes this difficult, but on my personal time, I feel like I really work towards avoiding that shit. Having an anger management problem can complicate this, except for me trying to tell myself that my anger management problem really isn't a problem for me. Yeah, I'm not convinced either, because I'm usually the one that walks away looking like a jackass.
Anyway, today. I get a text from Guy #1 saying he's got something to tell me and please promise I won't be upset. Okay, note to Guy #1, if you have to precede the message with that, I will most likely be upset. But, I promised because I was sure the worst thing he could tell me was that he was working on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to join me for the day. Oh my god, I wish it were that simple.
Somehow and somewhere in the realm of a rural county, my mother's husband (my second stepfather) decided to invite Guy #1's ex-wife and her husband to Thanksgiving dinner. Huh? Actually, that's huh to the eighth power, because my stepfather is not even friends with Guy #1's ex-wife or her husband, at least not to my knowledge. Okay, wait, let's stop texting and let me call to verify that I've got this right, because I can't possibly be reading this correctly. I called Guy #1, and yep, I've got it right. His ex-wife is saying that she's been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. As I felt my anger rise up within me, I hung up the phone and called my stepfather.
"Did you invite so-and-so to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Well, yeah, but we were just joking around and I didn't really mean it."
"WHAT THE FUCK did you do that for? I mean, GODDAMMIT, are you kidding me?"
"No, it's okay, we were just laughing and joking and I invited four or five other people to dinner to but none of them are actually going to come."
Famous last words.
"Don't worry about it, I'll tell them tomorrow that I was just joking and they won't come."
"At this point, I think you've done enough. But just in case, how about I invite your ex-wife to dinner? How would you FUCKING like that?"
"I swear, they aren't coming. We were just laughing and joking."
Click.
I have met Guy #1's ex-wife for the briefest of moments, and I was so pissed at myself for not looking like Miss America at that exact moment in time. It didn't matter that this was the most happenstance of all meetings, nor did it matter that they had already been divorced for more than 10 years. It mattered to me that my hair didn't look supa-fly and that I can't fit into any clothes that are in the one-digit range. Meaning 0-2-4-6-8. Not that I'd want to be a size 4, because I've been a size 4 before and I've gone back and looked at those pictures and I looked fucking anorexic, but still. I don't even know why this bothers me other than I'd like to think I'm the upgrade, not the downgrade. And I want the woman who got upgraded to know that she got upgraded, because that's how the mind of a woman works. Kind of like between me and The Ex, well, he knows I'm still the upgrade, even though he has a new wife. Of course, I'm still moderately sore about Guy #1 telling me in the spring that his ex-girlfriend thought I was fat and ugly, and I've kept it in my mind that that's probably what everyone thinks about me. The fact that all of this came out today in the same Thanksgiving phone call wasn't helpful, and I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him in the end (still not as sorry as I felt for myself, though), because I know he had no idea those words had been living and festering in my brain for months.
Yes, I am shallow like this. Just like I'm shallow about dating ugly men. Meaning, I won't date someone ugly. No, thank you. That's what God made ugly women for. Of course, I'll modify that completely horrid statement by saying that one woman's ugly is another woman's handsome. But still. It's out there.
But back to Thanksgiving. I'm stuck at this point, because Guy #1 says they won't come by because they have too much to do for their own dinner, but I'm of the opinion they will. I mean, why not stop by? They've been invited and are probably a little curious. So now I'm in a pickle of the highest order, because I can do several things:
1. Not go to Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, this is my favorite option, but it's also the option where I cut off my nose to spite myself. This is also the most passive-aggressive of all of my choices, even though I like to call it me making the decision to not get involved and just completely remove myself from situations I don't want to be a part of. Those of us out there who operate on the shady realm of passive-aggressiveness have a million excuses as to why this behavior is acceptable. If I didn't have my kids for Thanksgiving this year, this would most likely be what I would be doing. But I can't bring myself to effectively punish my children for what they don't have any understanding of. Fuck me! for being somewhat of a good mother.
2. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and then pray upon all great beings, including the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, that Guy #1's ex-wife doesn't show up. And when she does, I can hide. I really don't want to have any dealings with this woman, because I know how she has chosen to do certain things in her life and I don't like it and don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. However, this option will never work because I.am.an.alpha.female. and we don't hide. Period and end of story. So the hiding option is out.
3. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and drink. This is looking like the only viable option, because when I drink I love everyone. And so, if the ex-wife shows up, I'll just make a new friend! Yay! We can take trips to the bathroom together like we're in a club and I'll accidentally drop her phone in the toilet. And then I'll drink too much and puke in her car. Okay, maybe it won't go that far, but I can try!
Guy #1 is of the opinion that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but dammit, how has he been dating me for a year and not know that I'm just a teensy bit high maintenance? Just a teensy bit high strung? Okay, maybe a little more than a teensy bit. The fact that I'm about to have a panic attack because I've got that tingling feeling in the top of my head and down the back of my neck and tightening in my chest will just go unsaid. But more than anything, I'm pissed that I'm not going to be able to lose 30 pounds and get my hair done in the day and a half before Thanksgiving. I don't feel very upgrad-ish right now and that's what I'm really mad at.
Anyway, today. I get a text from Guy #1 saying he's got something to tell me and please promise I won't be upset. Okay, note to Guy #1, if you have to precede the message with that, I will most likely be upset. But, I promised because I was sure the worst thing he could tell me was that he was working on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to join me for the day. Oh my god, I wish it were that simple.
Somehow and somewhere in the realm of a rural county, my mother's husband (my second stepfather) decided to invite Guy #1's ex-wife and her husband to Thanksgiving dinner. Huh? Actually, that's huh to the eighth power, because my stepfather is not even friends with Guy #1's ex-wife or her husband, at least not to my knowledge. Okay, wait, let's stop texting and let me call to verify that I've got this right, because I can't possibly be reading this correctly. I called Guy #1, and yep, I've got it right. His ex-wife is saying that she's been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. As I felt my anger rise up within me, I hung up the phone and called my stepfather.
"Did you invite so-and-so to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Well, yeah, but we were just joking around and I didn't really mean it."
"WHAT THE FUCK did you do that for? I mean, GODDAMMIT, are you kidding me?"
"No, it's okay, we were just laughing and joking and I invited four or five other people to dinner to but none of them are actually going to come."
Famous last words.
"Don't worry about it, I'll tell them tomorrow that I was just joking and they won't come."
"At this point, I think you've done enough. But just in case, how about I invite your ex-wife to dinner? How would you FUCKING like that?"
"I swear, they aren't coming. We were just laughing and joking."
Click.
I have met Guy #1's ex-wife for the briefest of moments, and I was so pissed at myself for not looking like Miss America at that exact moment in time. It didn't matter that this was the most happenstance of all meetings, nor did it matter that they had already been divorced for more than 10 years. It mattered to me that my hair didn't look supa-fly and that I can't fit into any clothes that are in the one-digit range. Meaning 0-2-4-6-8. Not that I'd want to be a size 4, because I've been a size 4 before and I've gone back and looked at those pictures and I looked fucking anorexic, but still. I don't even know why this bothers me other than I'd like to think I'm the upgrade, not the downgrade. And I want the woman who got upgraded to know that she got upgraded, because that's how the mind of a woman works. Kind of like between me and The Ex, well, he knows I'm still the upgrade, even though he has a new wife. Of course, I'm still moderately sore about Guy #1 telling me in the spring that his ex-girlfriend thought I was fat and ugly, and I've kept it in my mind that that's probably what everyone thinks about me. The fact that all of this came out today in the same Thanksgiving phone call wasn't helpful, and I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him in the end (still not as sorry as I felt for myself, though), because I know he had no idea those words had been living and festering in my brain for months.
Yes, I am shallow like this. Just like I'm shallow about dating ugly men. Meaning, I won't date someone ugly. No, thank you. That's what God made ugly women for. Of course, I'll modify that completely horrid statement by saying that one woman's ugly is another woman's handsome. But still. It's out there.
But back to Thanksgiving. I'm stuck at this point, because Guy #1 says they won't come by because they have too much to do for their own dinner, but I'm of the opinion they will. I mean, why not stop by? They've been invited and are probably a little curious. So now I'm in a pickle of the highest order, because I can do several things:
1. Not go to Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, this is my favorite option, but it's also the option where I cut off my nose to spite myself. This is also the most passive-aggressive of all of my choices, even though I like to call it me making the decision to not get involved and just completely remove myself from situations I don't want to be a part of. Those of us out there who operate on the shady realm of passive-aggressiveness have a million excuses as to why this behavior is acceptable. If I didn't have my kids for Thanksgiving this year, this would most likely be what I would be doing. But I can't bring myself to effectively punish my children for what they don't have any understanding of. Fuck me! for being somewhat of a good mother.
2. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and then pray upon all great beings, including the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, that Guy #1's ex-wife doesn't show up. And when she does, I can hide. I really don't want to have any dealings with this woman, because I know how she has chosen to do certain things in her life and I don't like it and don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. However, this option will never work because I.am.an.alpha.female. and we don't hide. Period and end of story. So the hiding option is out.
3. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and drink. This is looking like the only viable option, because when I drink I love everyone. And so, if the ex-wife shows up, I'll just make a new friend! Yay! We can take trips to the bathroom together like we're in a club and I'll accidentally drop her phone in the toilet. And then I'll drink too much and puke in her car. Okay, maybe it won't go that far, but I can try!
Guy #1 is of the opinion that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but dammit, how has he been dating me for a year and not know that I'm just a teensy bit high maintenance? Just a teensy bit high strung? Okay, maybe a little more than a teensy bit. The fact that I'm about to have a panic attack because I've got that tingling feeling in the top of my head and down the back of my neck and tightening in my chest will just go unsaid. But more than anything, I'm pissed that I'm not going to be able to lose 30 pounds and get my hair done in the day and a half before Thanksgiving. I don't feel very upgrad-ish right now and that's what I'm really mad at.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Stuff On My Mind (AKA Updates)
Here it is:
1. I saw a few little blurbs on facebook tonight about an impending global disaster, which will then bring forth a food shortage, the likes of which have never been seen before. People blabbing about how they've been stockpiling food for the past year, how much a 50 pound bag of rice costs, how much rice can sustain a person for x amount of time, so on and so forth. Huh? Okay, I'm still on my news moratorium, except it's starting to creep back in because I have found myself checking the local newspaper website a few times a day. I don't like that I'm creeping back over to obsessing about the news, because it only brings me anxiety, but I'm finding it hard to stop. So a food shortage? Holy shit, should I be stockpiling food too? What should I buy? Just a few cans here and there? Peaches or pears? I mean, it probably doesn't matter because you'll eat anything when you're starving. Where should I put the food I start to stockpile? Attic or crawl space? Although, it's not really a crawl space for me, because I'm short. So it's a stand space for me. I have shelving in my crawl space, but maybe I should move the shelving to the attic. Nah, the temperature extremes in the attic probably wouldn't do good. So maybe I'll start to buy three or four cans of shit on sale per week and stocking up. I'm not sure if this is just fearmongering to the extreme, so I've sent a message off to Uncle Finance (not Uncle Hippy!) through Uber Aunt and we'll see what he says. Should I stockpile water, too? I'm never sure about the water thing. I've only stockpiled water once, during a hurricane when the county water source was compromised. And that stockpiling consisted of me filling up the bathtub.
2. Made it through a year with Guy #1. We recently celebrated one year since we started dating, and guess what? Got engagement? Don't worry, I don't. Lots of discussion and chatter amongst our various friends about when that time will come, I suppose because for a lot of people, that one year mark is "it". Nope, not for me right now. We've settled into something right, something that is so right that I can't even find the words to describe it, other than it's righter than anything I've ever had before. We talk about when "the" time will come and he knows that I'm not ready. I *just* got divorced, and really, I'm enjoying having my own house where I'm in charge all of the time and no arguments about what I want to do in my house. Ten years of a shitty marriage, constant bickering and power struggles will really make you appreciate not arguing all of the time. The few times that Guy #1 and I have argued, it's been really nice that we can just go to our separate houses and not have to be together (in that moment in time, at least). And for real, this man is a k.e.e.p.e.r. of the first order. Any man who can stand twelve feet up in the air on a ladder and pull start a gas powered blower to clean my gutters out is the man for me. Or maybe that's just the firefighter in him, I don't know. But as I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, I know that I am loved, and appreciated and cherished. That's some powerful shit. I've had a few men that I've encountered over the years tell me later that I was the one who slipped away. And guess what? Guy #1 will not be one of those men. If you've got something good, then don't let it slip away.
3. My older daughter got glasses this past week, and also had her tonsils taken out. So she gave a little and got a little. Two days after surgery, just when I knew that we had bid a fond farewell to strep throat, guess who go strep throat? My younger daughter. Are you kidding me? However, I've gotten so good at diagnosing that shit that we marched right off to the doctor's office, who promptly examined the child and pronounced that she did not have strep throat. Until the nurse poked her head in the examination room and whispered the strep test was positive. DO NOT QUESTION THE MOTHER!!!!! Dammit, we know what we're talking about! I wanted to tell the doctor if I was drug-seeking, and if I were to use my children to seek out drugs, it sure as hell wouldn't be an antibiotic. Just give me the damn prescription and let me be on my way. The older daughter likes her glasses, though. I secretly tried them out after she went to bed the other night and they seem more like magnifying glasses to me. It's just for reading, so maybe that's all they are is magnifying glasses wrapped up in a pretty Candie's frame with hearts on them. Being that she's still reading below grade level, I am slightly hopeful they will help, but I'm not holding my breath. I've diagnosed this as the most minor of all reading disabilities, because her fluency is below grade level, but her comprehension is on par. Plus, she's actually absorbing the reading because she reads a chapter out loud and then I ask her to tell me about what she read and ask her questions, and she's on the money every time, which means she's not just saying the words. She's actually reading and absorbing. I have pretty much stopped expecting the school to address it, because she's one of a thousand students in her school (holy fuck, that's a big elementary school!!!) and I'll just have to figure this out as we go along. And her grades are good (other than reading fluency). So go figure.
4. Not-so-nice things with The Ex. If you read my last shortest of all posts, you'll know that things are getting ugly on the visitation side of the custody thing. Instead of just heading right to the courthouse today to file for a hearing (as I threatened him with last night), I called my attorney today. I'm waiting on a call back, and maybe a strongly worded letter from her will set things right. In the meanwhile, though, I've printed up every email and begun transcribing all of our text messages and every other kind of communication. I think I've known for a while it was going to come to this, and that alone saddens me because I don't want to be in a place where I have to sit down every day and write everything down. I just don't. It's stupid and I hate it, and it makes me feel like I am still stuck in this strange, demilitarized zone of our divorce. I felt like for most of the marriage I was raising another child (and not doing it very well because it's hard to go back and correct 30-some years of fucked up parenting) and now I just feel like I'm his supervisor and I've ramped up the documentation in a last ditch effort of getting rid of him. But this is what I have to do right now. I look at my gorgeous, funny and most sweetest daughters, and I wonder how in the world the two best things that ever happened to me resulted from what is undoubtedly my biggest mistake. This paradox is not lost on me, believe me.
5. I called my stepsister tonight to let her know that my daughter's birthday gift arrived and she answered the phone sobbing. This would be the stepsister that I still speak to, if you hadn't figured that out. And for that one milli-second in time, I thought to myself, "Oh, shit, why did I call her tonight?" You know it's bad when that's the first thing you think upon hearing the other person. She went on to tell me, between sobs, that she's been diagnosed with a chronic, progressive pain disease thing that not a whole lot of people know about (that whole lot of people would actually be me). Ultimately (per my favorite medical source, Wikipedia) and in the extreme worse case scenario, it can lead to amputation of the affected limb. Except this shit is in her back. Yep, no such thing as a back amputation. Horrible, right? But here's the rub - this stepsister has been getting progressively fruitier over the years, much like her mother, Mothbrain, and I'm not sure how much of this is just maybe her need for drama. I feel badly for her, certainly, because she's states away and no family nearby to help her out, but at the same time, I'm like, "What?" It was after that phone conversation when I realized that my drama is really garden variety, and for real, I have no reason to complain about anything. And so, I won't. I've still got a leak in my roof (contract signed, repairs not for another two months due to hurricane backlog), I've still got bills I'm going to pay late, I still owe my younger daughter a bike for her birthday, I'm still going to get fucked on taxes this year because I can't go from six withholdings to zero in one year, I'm still not going to know if I should stockpile spaghetti sauce or just plain tomato sauce, I'm still not going to be able to figure out how to tell the world that saying "Holy Shart!" is way funnier than saying "Holy Shit!", but in the grand scheme of things.... Life is good. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, I am healthy, (knock on wood because I'm terribly superstitious about jinxing myself) and that's all that really matters.
1. I saw a few little blurbs on facebook tonight about an impending global disaster, which will then bring forth a food shortage, the likes of which have never been seen before. People blabbing about how they've been stockpiling food for the past year, how much a 50 pound bag of rice costs, how much rice can sustain a person for x amount of time, so on and so forth. Huh? Okay, I'm still on my news moratorium, except it's starting to creep back in because I have found myself checking the local newspaper website a few times a day. I don't like that I'm creeping back over to obsessing about the news, because it only brings me anxiety, but I'm finding it hard to stop. So a food shortage? Holy shit, should I be stockpiling food too? What should I buy? Just a few cans here and there? Peaches or pears? I mean, it probably doesn't matter because you'll eat anything when you're starving. Where should I put the food I start to stockpile? Attic or crawl space? Although, it's not really a crawl space for me, because I'm short. So it's a stand space for me. I have shelving in my crawl space, but maybe I should move the shelving to the attic. Nah, the temperature extremes in the attic probably wouldn't do good. So maybe I'll start to buy three or four cans of shit on sale per week and stocking up. I'm not sure if this is just fearmongering to the extreme, so I've sent a message off to Uncle Finance (not Uncle Hippy!) through Uber Aunt and we'll see what he says. Should I stockpile water, too? I'm never sure about the water thing. I've only stockpiled water once, during a hurricane when the county water source was compromised. And that stockpiling consisted of me filling up the bathtub.
2. Made it through a year with Guy #1. We recently celebrated one year since we started dating, and guess what? Got engagement? Don't worry, I don't. Lots of discussion and chatter amongst our various friends about when that time will come, I suppose because for a lot of people, that one year mark is "it". Nope, not for me right now. We've settled into something right, something that is so right that I can't even find the words to describe it, other than it's righter than anything I've ever had before. We talk about when "the" time will come and he knows that I'm not ready. I *just* got divorced, and really, I'm enjoying having my own house where I'm in charge all of the time and no arguments about what I want to do in my house. Ten years of a shitty marriage, constant bickering and power struggles will really make you appreciate not arguing all of the time. The few times that Guy #1 and I have argued, it's been really nice that we can just go to our separate houses and not have to be together (in that moment in time, at least). And for real, this man is a k.e.e.p.e.r. of the first order. Any man who can stand twelve feet up in the air on a ladder and pull start a gas powered blower to clean my gutters out is the man for me. Or maybe that's just the firefighter in him, I don't know. But as I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, I know that I am loved, and appreciated and cherished. That's some powerful shit. I've had a few men that I've encountered over the years tell me later that I was the one who slipped away. And guess what? Guy #1 will not be one of those men. If you've got something good, then don't let it slip away.
3. My older daughter got glasses this past week, and also had her tonsils taken out. So she gave a little and got a little. Two days after surgery, just when I knew that we had bid a fond farewell to strep throat, guess who go strep throat? My younger daughter. Are you kidding me? However, I've gotten so good at diagnosing that shit that we marched right off to the doctor's office, who promptly examined the child and pronounced that she did not have strep throat. Until the nurse poked her head in the examination room and whispered the strep test was positive. DO NOT QUESTION THE MOTHER!!!!! Dammit, we know what we're talking about! I wanted to tell the doctor if I was drug-seeking, and if I were to use my children to seek out drugs, it sure as hell wouldn't be an antibiotic. Just give me the damn prescription and let me be on my way. The older daughter likes her glasses, though. I secretly tried them out after she went to bed the other night and they seem more like magnifying glasses to me. It's just for reading, so maybe that's all they are is magnifying glasses wrapped up in a pretty Candie's frame with hearts on them. Being that she's still reading below grade level, I am slightly hopeful they will help, but I'm not holding my breath. I've diagnosed this as the most minor of all reading disabilities, because her fluency is below grade level, but her comprehension is on par. Plus, she's actually absorbing the reading because she reads a chapter out loud and then I ask her to tell me about what she read and ask her questions, and she's on the money every time, which means she's not just saying the words. She's actually reading and absorbing. I have pretty much stopped expecting the school to address it, because she's one of a thousand students in her school (holy fuck, that's a big elementary school!!!) and I'll just have to figure this out as we go along. And her grades are good (other than reading fluency). So go figure.
4. Not-so-nice things with The Ex. If you read my last shortest of all posts, you'll know that things are getting ugly on the visitation side of the custody thing. Instead of just heading right to the courthouse today to file for a hearing (as I threatened him with last night), I called my attorney today. I'm waiting on a call back, and maybe a strongly worded letter from her will set things right. In the meanwhile, though, I've printed up every email and begun transcribing all of our text messages and every other kind of communication. I think I've known for a while it was going to come to this, and that alone saddens me because I don't want to be in a place where I have to sit down every day and write everything down. I just don't. It's stupid and I hate it, and it makes me feel like I am still stuck in this strange, demilitarized zone of our divorce. I felt like for most of the marriage I was raising another child (and not doing it very well because it's hard to go back and correct 30-some years of fucked up parenting) and now I just feel like I'm his supervisor and I've ramped up the documentation in a last ditch effort of getting rid of him. But this is what I have to do right now. I look at my gorgeous, funny and most sweetest daughters, and I wonder how in the world the two best things that ever happened to me resulted from what is undoubtedly my biggest mistake. This paradox is not lost on me, believe me.
5. I called my stepsister tonight to let her know that my daughter's birthday gift arrived and she answered the phone sobbing. This would be the stepsister that I still speak to, if you hadn't figured that out. And for that one milli-second in time, I thought to myself, "Oh, shit, why did I call her tonight?" You know it's bad when that's the first thing you think upon hearing the other person. She went on to tell me, between sobs, that she's been diagnosed with a chronic, progressive pain disease thing that not a whole lot of people know about (that whole lot of people would actually be me). Ultimately (per my favorite medical source, Wikipedia) and in the extreme worse case scenario, it can lead to amputation of the affected limb. Except this shit is in her back. Yep, no such thing as a back amputation. Horrible, right? But here's the rub - this stepsister has been getting progressively fruitier over the years, much like her mother, Mothbrain, and I'm not sure how much of this is just maybe her need for drama. I feel badly for her, certainly, because she's states away and no family nearby to help her out, but at the same time, I'm like, "What?" It was after that phone conversation when I realized that my drama is really garden variety, and for real, I have no reason to complain about anything. And so, I won't. I've still got a leak in my roof (contract signed, repairs not for another two months due to hurricane backlog), I've still got bills I'm going to pay late, I still owe my younger daughter a bike for her birthday, I'm still going to get fucked on taxes this year because I can't go from six withholdings to zero in one year, I'm still not going to know if I should stockpile spaghetti sauce or just plain tomato sauce, I'm still not going to be able to figure out how to tell the world that saying "Holy Shart!" is way funnier than saying "Holy Shit!", but in the grand scheme of things.... Life is good. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, I am healthy, (knock on wood because I'm terribly superstitious about jinxing myself) and that's all that really matters.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Annoyance Management
This started out titled as "Anger Management" but I don't consider my anger management problem to really be my problem. It would be the problem of those around me, except I refuse to not be accountable at this stage in my life. And old age does things to anger, like whittle it down to just sheer annoyance that is oh so slightly flavored with a little anger. I actually think this is worse, because I can read books and get counseling and shit for anger management. But annoyance? I'm thinking there's not a fucking thing I can do for that.
This week's annoyances:
1. I am annoyed that The Ex got married on Saturday morning (his weekend) and promptly pushed the children off on the older daughter's cheer director on Saturday afternoon for the rest of the weekend because I told him I was not available to have the children. Blame that on Mommy, I suppose, is how that whole conversation went down right before he tossed them out of the moving vehicle in front of the cheer director's house so he could rush home to have his normal two-minute sex marathon with a woman who reminds me of my stepmother. Although, his new wife is probably way smarter and saner than my stepmother.
2. I am annoyed that the cheer director then dragged the children off to football games and made the older daughter cheer. I think being involved in a rehearsal dinner the night before, morning wedding and afternoon reception were enough for the child, especially when the younger daughter was given the option of not playing football for her team. Again, my fault for having plans.
3. I am annoyed that the cheer director then let the children stay up until ten o'clock on a Saturday night knowing full fucking well that they had to get up at six-ish to get ready for the cheer competition. Hellooooo, my children are NOT trainwrecks because I make them go to bed at 8:30 every night.
4. I am annoyed that the following morning, at the cheer competition, the cheer director was not able to run up and down the bleachers because her knees are bad and so I had to be the one to go to the coach's meeting and do the music check. If you can't run up and down bleachers, maybe you should reconsider coaching and directing anything athletic. I felt catty and pissy and thus sprinted up and down the bleachers with great aplomb, taking two steps at a time on my way up each time. Two steps at a time on the way down is a big no-no for me.
5. I am annoyed that my older daughter's dance routine was a complete bomb, and because one girl's parents announced two days before the competition they were going out of town, there was no time to do substitutes in the stunt portion. We only had eight girls to begin with, and trust me, teaching second and third graders how to do cheer stunts is actually much more complicated than one would think. I don't care what anyone says - cheerleading is much more dangerous than most people give it credit for being. If anyone should have helmets and padding on, it should be the cheerleaders. So anyway, the stunt portion went right out the window, and the girls didn't have enough time to learn the adjustments in the dance. And it showed.
6. I am annoyed that the cheer director then felt it necessary to tell my older daughter that her team got the lowest scores in the competition, amongst all the other same-age teams for that division. Um, are you kidding me? Why the fuck would you tell a child that? Just because you feel bad about yourself doesn't make it okay to make other people feel bad about themselves, too. That was the precise moment in time that I knew: we won't be returning to this athletic association next year, if this same cheer director is involved. We've got a whole county to pick from, and dammit, I can bully someone into signing the free agent waiver. I also knew at that precise moment this is when I begin to back away from this woman and limit my children's activities with her, and by limit I actually mean exclude. I already know which athletic association we're going to but my older daughter and I talked, and I told her we're obligated to finish out this season with our current association, and she's fine with that. One game left, bitches!
7. I am supremely annoyed (the highest level of all annoyances) that The Ex started talking to the children last spring about taking them to Disney World this summer. I was not surprised when he didn't do it, and instead took them to the beach. That's cool, because I know that Disney World is not cheap, and I know they enjoyed the beach. I also hope that his girlfriend slept in the same bed with him, because when he and I went to the beach the year before I said I wanted out, I refused to sleep in the same bed with him. It was a double bed and I didn't want to accidentally touch him while I was sleeping. Gee, and he wondered later why I thought the marriage was a failure. I am positive it was just him, because Guy #1 and I had to sleep in a double bed while we were on vacation and I didn't even notice it was a double bed for the first four days. I'd cram my big ass up in a twin sized bed with Guy #1, for real-for real. But anyway, if you talk to your kids about taking them to Disney World, and then don't do it, then don't FUCKING tell them that you're going there on your honeymoon! I mean, for God's sake, that is just a shithead narcissistic move. Period. That's about him trying to get attention from his kids and have them oooohhhh and ahhhhh over how great it is that Daddy went to Disney World. What a complete douchebag.
8. And lastly, I am minorly annoyed about the whole roof repair thing. Finally got someone to give me a quote - yay! But they can't guarantee any repairs will be actually done before the end of the year - boo! Fuck.
9. Oh, yeah, I forgot one. This will be the pettiest of all of my annoyances, but I can own that. The Ex changed his facebook status as he was walking back down the aisle (I'm sure of that, because it's.all.about.the.attention.here), and who leaves a congratulatory message on his wall but my damn uncle! No! Uncle Hippy, you do not leave congratulatory messages on your only niece's ex-husband's facebook wall when he gets remarried six motherfucking months after getting divorced! That is just one great big HELL NO! Are you freaking kidding me? I've overlooked his fruitcake politics for all of these years, but damn! I'm sorry, but I have to draw the line somewhere and decide what I'm willing to put up with and what I'm not. And this is not something I'm willing to take lying down. Effective tomorrow, I will be signing him up for every conservative and ultra-conservative website I can find. Payback's a bitch, you know?
This week's annoyances:
1. I am annoyed that The Ex got married on Saturday morning (his weekend) and promptly pushed the children off on the older daughter's cheer director on Saturday afternoon for the rest of the weekend because I told him I was not available to have the children. Blame that on Mommy, I suppose, is how that whole conversation went down right before he tossed them out of the moving vehicle in front of the cheer director's house so he could rush home to have his normal two-minute sex marathon with a woman who reminds me of my stepmother. Although, his new wife is probably way smarter and saner than my stepmother.
2. I am annoyed that the cheer director then dragged the children off to football games and made the older daughter cheer. I think being involved in a rehearsal dinner the night before, morning wedding and afternoon reception were enough for the child, especially when the younger daughter was given the option of not playing football for her team. Again, my fault for having plans.
3. I am annoyed that the cheer director then let the children stay up until ten o'clock on a Saturday night knowing full fucking well that they had to get up at six-ish to get ready for the cheer competition. Hellooooo, my children are NOT trainwrecks because I make them go to bed at 8:30 every night.
4. I am annoyed that the following morning, at the cheer competition, the cheer director was not able to run up and down the bleachers because her knees are bad and so I had to be the one to go to the coach's meeting and do the music check. If you can't run up and down bleachers, maybe you should reconsider coaching and directing anything athletic. I felt catty and pissy and thus sprinted up and down the bleachers with great aplomb, taking two steps at a time on my way up each time. Two steps at a time on the way down is a big no-no for me.
5. I am annoyed that my older daughter's dance routine was a complete bomb, and because one girl's parents announced two days before the competition they were going out of town, there was no time to do substitutes in the stunt portion. We only had eight girls to begin with, and trust me, teaching second and third graders how to do cheer stunts is actually much more complicated than one would think. I don't care what anyone says - cheerleading is much more dangerous than most people give it credit for being. If anyone should have helmets and padding on, it should be the cheerleaders. So anyway, the stunt portion went right out the window, and the girls didn't have enough time to learn the adjustments in the dance. And it showed.
6. I am annoyed that the cheer director then felt it necessary to tell my older daughter that her team got the lowest scores in the competition, amongst all the other same-age teams for that division. Um, are you kidding me? Why the fuck would you tell a child that? Just because you feel bad about yourself doesn't make it okay to make other people feel bad about themselves, too. That was the precise moment in time that I knew: we won't be returning to this athletic association next year, if this same cheer director is involved. We've got a whole county to pick from, and dammit, I can bully someone into signing the free agent waiver. I also knew at that precise moment this is when I begin to back away from this woman and limit my children's activities with her, and by limit I actually mean exclude. I already know which athletic association we're going to but my older daughter and I talked, and I told her we're obligated to finish out this season with our current association, and she's fine with that. One game left, bitches!
7. I am supremely annoyed (the highest level of all annoyances) that The Ex started talking to the children last spring about taking them to Disney World this summer. I was not surprised when he didn't do it, and instead took them to the beach. That's cool, because I know that Disney World is not cheap, and I know they enjoyed the beach. I also hope that his girlfriend slept in the same bed with him, because when he and I went to the beach the year before I said I wanted out, I refused to sleep in the same bed with him. It was a double bed and I didn't want to accidentally touch him while I was sleeping. Gee, and he wondered later why I thought the marriage was a failure. I am positive it was just him, because Guy #1 and I had to sleep in a double bed while we were on vacation and I didn't even notice it was a double bed for the first four days. I'd cram my big ass up in a twin sized bed with Guy #1, for real-for real. But anyway, if you talk to your kids about taking them to Disney World, and then don't do it, then don't FUCKING tell them that you're going there on your honeymoon! I mean, for God's sake, that is just a shithead narcissistic move. Period. That's about him trying to get attention from his kids and have them oooohhhh and ahhhhh over how great it is that Daddy went to Disney World. What a complete douchebag.
8. And lastly, I am minorly annoyed about the whole roof repair thing. Finally got someone to give me a quote - yay! But they can't guarantee any repairs will be actually done before the end of the year - boo! Fuck.
9. Oh, yeah, I forgot one. This will be the pettiest of all of my annoyances, but I can own that. The Ex changed his facebook status as he was walking back down the aisle (I'm sure of that, because it's.all.about.the.attention.here), and who leaves a congratulatory message on his wall but my damn uncle! No! Uncle Hippy, you do not leave congratulatory messages on your only niece's ex-husband's facebook wall when he gets remarried six motherfucking months after getting divorced! That is just one great big HELL NO! Are you freaking kidding me? I've overlooked his fruitcake politics for all of these years, but damn! I'm sorry, but I have to draw the line somewhere and decide what I'm willing to put up with and what I'm not. And this is not something I'm willing to take lying down. Effective tomorrow, I will be signing him up for every conservative and ultra-conservative website I can find. Payback's a bitch, you know?
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Cranky
I am feeling pret*ty goddamn cranky tonight. Perhaps it's because it's 10:51pm and I'd like to be reading a trashy book in bed but instead I'm waiting on the clothes to finish washing because I need to pack up football and cheerleading stuff for the weekend, perhaps it's because I haven't sorted through the shit on my desk in a week, maybe even it's because The Ex deemed himself an involved enough parent to sign off on parental shit from the school tonight. My football picks from last week sucked complete ass, my house is a mess, but I'm really trying to look at the bright side of things. Here goes:
* I've decided that I will start calling everything old 'throwback'. So when my girlfriends hook back up with old hook-ups, I'm just going to call that a throwback hook-up. Maybe when I get a bill for something that happened last year (like medical companies like to do), I'll call that a throwback bill, which is different than when you just don't pay the bill and they keep sending you notices. Which has never happened to me. American Express.
* Despite a major fuck-up at work in the spring and a couple of minor fuck-ups, along with several panic attacks, I still got a great yearly evaluation. I straight up told my boss she was being overly generous. But, since my evaluation doesn't get me any more money, it's just generous in the most verbal of all senses. She told me, correctly, that I am my worst critic. I guess cheers for being accountable and being willing to publicly blame myself for my screw ups.
* I am spanking several different asses on Words with Friends. Want some of this? What what!?! Hit me up on superfreak929. Yep, that's me.
* After this week, cheerleading will slow down. If either one of my kids don't want to do cheerleading next year, it's no skin off of my ass. I'm quite disillusioned after figuring out that the cheer director (I'm pretty sure, but not sure enough to straight make the allegation to anyone in authority) most likely falsified the ages of some of the girls on the cheerleading squads for the competition, and when I almost painted her into a corner about it, she then had to go back and do double cover-up lies to make things right. Except they aren't right with me, and you can't go back and fix that, as far as I'm concerned. But next week we only have football practice, thank god, and I'm hoping that might get rained out.
* I'm working on an open (and anonymous) letter to Mrs. PTA President in my head. Expect to see it in writing within about a week or two.
* I finally got my children scheduled to see the eye doctor. My insurance only covers every two years, so I am hoping my older daughter's placement YET AGAIN in remedial reading club is strictly related to the fact that she can't see the words, not my suspicion that there's a slight reading disability in there somewhere. But the good news about that is that she's been placed in reading club before the parent-teacher conferences this year, which means I can find out what in the hell is going on a little bit earlier in the school year. And, there's a new reading specialist this year, so I am going to pursue again trying to get her tested without me having to take her to a private tutoring company for the tests.
* She and I had a good talk last night, and what I thought was anxiety about her father's wedding is actually fear about her upcoming tonsillectomy. She's upset that she won't be able to talk for a week. I love my children with all of my heart, but I can actually do with half the chatter, and besides, that's one week she won't be able to argue with her sister. I hope. God only knows what will come out of that week.
* Lots o' quality time with Guy #1 this weekend. Definitely looking like a highlight of the week.
* I've decided that I will start calling everything old 'throwback'. So when my girlfriends hook back up with old hook-ups, I'm just going to call that a throwback hook-up. Maybe when I get a bill for something that happened last year (like medical companies like to do), I'll call that a throwback bill, which is different than when you just don't pay the bill and they keep sending you notices. Which has never happened to me. American Express.
* Despite a major fuck-up at work in the spring and a couple of minor fuck-ups, along with several panic attacks, I still got a great yearly evaluation. I straight up told my boss she was being overly generous. But, since my evaluation doesn't get me any more money, it's just generous in the most verbal of all senses. She told me, correctly, that I am my worst critic. I guess cheers for being accountable and being willing to publicly blame myself for my screw ups.
* I am spanking several different asses on Words with Friends. Want some of this? What what!?! Hit me up on superfreak929. Yep, that's me.
* After this week, cheerleading will slow down. If either one of my kids don't want to do cheerleading next year, it's no skin off of my ass. I'm quite disillusioned after figuring out that the cheer director (I'm pretty sure, but not sure enough to straight make the allegation to anyone in authority) most likely falsified the ages of some of the girls on the cheerleading squads for the competition, and when I almost painted her into a corner about it, she then had to go back and do double cover-up lies to make things right. Except they aren't right with me, and you can't go back and fix that, as far as I'm concerned. But next week we only have football practice, thank god, and I'm hoping that might get rained out.
* I'm working on an open (and anonymous) letter to Mrs. PTA President in my head. Expect to see it in writing within about a week or two.
* I finally got my children scheduled to see the eye doctor. My insurance only covers every two years, so I am hoping my older daughter's placement YET AGAIN in remedial reading club is strictly related to the fact that she can't see the words, not my suspicion that there's a slight reading disability in there somewhere. But the good news about that is that she's been placed in reading club before the parent-teacher conferences this year, which means I can find out what in the hell is going on a little bit earlier in the school year. And, there's a new reading specialist this year, so I am going to pursue again trying to get her tested without me having to take her to a private tutoring company for the tests.
* She and I had a good talk last night, and what I thought was anxiety about her father's wedding is actually fear about her upcoming tonsillectomy. She's upset that she won't be able to talk for a week. I love my children with all of my heart, but I can actually do with half the chatter, and besides, that's one week she won't be able to argue with her sister. I hope. God only knows what will come out of that week.
* Lots o' quality time with Guy #1 this weekend. Definitely looking like a highlight of the week.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Not Being Married
I guess I've mentioned The Betrothal. And the fact that it's this weekend, right?
Well, this storyline actually started last month. For real, it started early in 2010 when I said I wanted a divorce, but we shall only go back to last month.
Her Awesomeness: (That would be me) Are you taking the kids to their football games on your wedding weekend? I assumed they would not be participating in games that day.
The Ex: What time are the games? (Like he hadn't already gotten the emailed schedule).
Her Awesomeness: Evening games. First game starts at 5:00, so the younger daughter needs to be there at 4:00.
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: It's your weekend.
The Ex: That's the wedding.
Her Awesomeness: Okay, so, are they going?
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: I had assumed they would be doing wedding stuff.
The Ex: No, they can go. All of the wedding stuff should be done by then. Oh, and can you take them that Saturday night?
Her Awesomeness: For the night?
The Ex: Yeah, can you take them?
Her Awesomeness: No, I have plans that weekend. (Which was not a lie, by the way.)
The Ex: *Silence* Uh. Okay, well I'll just tell my folks they have to take them for the rest of the weekend.
It actually went on a little longer than that, just because I wanted to make him squirm in realizing that I was not going to babysit on his wedding night. Helloooo, douchebag, did you really think your ex-wife was going to babysit on your wedding night, especially when it's her weekend off? Um, that would be a great big fuck no. FUCK NO. I mean, really, did he honestly think that?
Apparently so.
So this past weekend I mentioned to the older daughter that I needed to call her grandparents to find out who would be bringing the children to the older daughter's cheer competition this Sunday morning. I'll make yet another assumption and figure that their father won't be the one to do it, being that he will be freshly married. Right after being freshly divorced earlier this year. Imagine my surprise when the older daughter corrected me and told me no, they weren't going to their grandparent's house, they are spending the night with her cheer coach.
Which I'm totally fine with, but I need to make sure all of the cheer stuff gets to the proper place by the appointed time, as I'm not really willing to trust her father to get it done correctly this weekend. So begins several texts back and forth about where the kids would be staying on his wedding night and who would be taking the children to the cheer competition and the birthday party later in the day. What a fucking circle jerk that was. Jesus H. Christ.
First of all, if you don't plan to spend any quality time with your children during your wedding weekend (because that would require actual parenting), then why in the hell would you schedule your wedding on the weekend that you are scheduled to have the children? I mean, this wedding has only been in the works for about a year or so, so he's had plenty of time to sit down with a calendar and figure out my weekends and his weekends. Why not just get married on my weekend and ask to have the children for a few hours on the night before and then for a few hours for the wedding and reception? I know this isn't going to be the fanciest wedding, being that between the two of them, it's the fifth wedding. Yes, my math is inflated, but with this being her second wedding (2) and (+) this being his third wedding (3), that comes up to (=) five (5). See? Makes sense to me.
Second of all, if you are going to pass your children off on someone because of the aforementioned wedding, at least have the decency to make all of the arrangements for cheer competition and birthday parties in advance. Don't open the birthday invitation, see that it's for your wedding weekend, and then hand it to me like it's my responsibility. At least acknowledge the invitation is for your weekend, and then ask if I will handle getting a gift. But again, this would involve The Ex in thinking about someone else. Besides himself.
But it's cool. I'll roll with it and enjoy knowing that whatever I screw up this weekend, it won't be in the form of a legal union. My plans for the weekend, you ask? Well, I get off work at 5:00pm, but might manage to slide out a few minutes early. By 5:45pm, I plan to be bare-ass nekkid in the bed with Guy #1, who will also be bare-assed nekkid, and we will do bare-assed nekkid things like play Words with Friends on his cell phone, and he might even treat me to a shadow puppet show later in the evening. Maybe I'll make a frozen pizza at some point in the night, but maybe not. Maybe it will just be Toaster Strudel - who knows? Saturday morning we will do more bare-assed nekkid things together, and then we will pretty much spend the entire day together at a wine festival. And then Saturday night, maybe more bare-assed nekkid stuff, but maybe stuff with clothes on. The weekend is my oyster, you know? Sunday - cheer competition with Guy #1 in tow (but he doesn't know that yet and I hope he doesn't have too much of a hangover because that music gets L.O.U.D. as F.U.C.K.) and Sunday afternoon, yet a little more bare-assed nekkid stuff and maybe he'll read the paper whilst I clip coupons.
Most of all, though, I'll enjoy *not* being married, because I'm just not there yet.
Well, this storyline actually started last month. For real, it started early in 2010 when I said I wanted a divorce, but we shall only go back to last month.
Her Awesomeness: (That would be me) Are you taking the kids to their football games on your wedding weekend? I assumed they would not be participating in games that day.
The Ex: What time are the games? (Like he hadn't already gotten the emailed schedule).
Her Awesomeness: Evening games. First game starts at 5:00, so the younger daughter needs to be there at 4:00.
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: It's your weekend.
The Ex: That's the wedding.
Her Awesomeness: Okay, so, are they going?
The Ex: Are you taking them?
Her Awesomeness: I had assumed they would be doing wedding stuff.
The Ex: No, they can go. All of the wedding stuff should be done by then. Oh, and can you take them that Saturday night?
Her Awesomeness: For the night?
The Ex: Yeah, can you take them?
Her Awesomeness: No, I have plans that weekend. (Which was not a lie, by the way.)
The Ex: *Silence* Uh. Okay, well I'll just tell my folks they have to take them for the rest of the weekend.
It actually went on a little longer than that, just because I wanted to make him squirm in realizing that I was not going to babysit on his wedding night. Helloooo, douchebag, did you really think your ex-wife was going to babysit on your wedding night, especially when it's her weekend off? Um, that would be a great big fuck no. FUCK NO. I mean, really, did he honestly think that?
Apparently so.
So this past weekend I mentioned to the older daughter that I needed to call her grandparents to find out who would be bringing the children to the older daughter's cheer competition this Sunday morning. I'll make yet another assumption and figure that their father won't be the one to do it, being that he will be freshly married. Right after being freshly divorced earlier this year. Imagine my surprise when the older daughter corrected me and told me no, they weren't going to their grandparent's house, they are spending the night with her cheer coach.
Which I'm totally fine with, but I need to make sure all of the cheer stuff gets to the proper place by the appointed time, as I'm not really willing to trust her father to get it done correctly this weekend. So begins several texts back and forth about where the kids would be staying on his wedding night and who would be taking the children to the cheer competition and the birthday party later in the day. What a fucking circle jerk that was. Jesus H. Christ.
First of all, if you don't plan to spend any quality time with your children during your wedding weekend (because that would require actual parenting), then why in the hell would you schedule your wedding on the weekend that you are scheduled to have the children? I mean, this wedding has only been in the works for about a year or so, so he's had plenty of time to sit down with a calendar and figure out my weekends and his weekends. Why not just get married on my weekend and ask to have the children for a few hours on the night before and then for a few hours for the wedding and reception? I know this isn't going to be the fanciest wedding, being that between the two of them, it's the fifth wedding. Yes, my math is inflated, but with this being her second wedding (2) and (+) this being his third wedding (3), that comes up to (=) five (5). See? Makes sense to me.
Second of all, if you are going to pass your children off on someone because of the aforementioned wedding, at least have the decency to make all of the arrangements for cheer competition and birthday parties in advance. Don't open the birthday invitation, see that it's for your wedding weekend, and then hand it to me like it's my responsibility. At least acknowledge the invitation is for your weekend, and then ask if I will handle getting a gift. But again, this would involve The Ex in thinking about someone else. Besides himself.
But it's cool. I'll roll with it and enjoy knowing that whatever I screw up this weekend, it won't be in the form of a legal union. My plans for the weekend, you ask? Well, I get off work at 5:00pm, but might manage to slide out a few minutes early. By 5:45pm, I plan to be bare-ass nekkid in the bed with Guy #1, who will also be bare-assed nekkid, and we will do bare-assed nekkid things like play Words with Friends on his cell phone, and he might even treat me to a shadow puppet show later in the evening. Maybe I'll make a frozen pizza at some point in the night, but maybe not. Maybe it will just be Toaster Strudel - who knows? Saturday morning we will do more bare-assed nekkid things together, and then we will pretty much spend the entire day together at a wine festival. And then Saturday night, maybe more bare-assed nekkid stuff, but maybe stuff with clothes on. The weekend is my oyster, you know? Sunday - cheer competition with Guy #1 in tow (but he doesn't know that yet and I hope he doesn't have too much of a hangover because that music gets L.O.U.D. as F.U.C.K.) and Sunday afternoon, yet a little more bare-assed nekkid stuff and maybe he'll read the paper whilst I clip coupons.
Most of all, though, I'll enjoy *not* being married, because I'm just not there yet.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Love Thy Ex
Okay, that's a total lie. I think we all know I DO NOT love that bastard. I would love for him to stop being a douchebag, is what I would love. I would love for him to just voluntarily pay child support a couple of times a year, as a show of good faith, since I voluntarily did not ask for child support. I would love for him to go to therapy. I mean, it wouldn't do any good, but again - good faith. I would love for him to pay the children's medical copays in advance, especially since the health insurance is paid in advance, and without making me have to ask for reimbursement. I would love, love, love for him to see his children when he is supposed to, and I would love for him to come to their football games, cheerleading events, doctor's visits, school activities and various practices. But I will stop now, because this could just go on and on. And on. And on some more.
He is getting married this weekend coming up. Because this is apparently the best way to celebrate getting a divorce. I had to chuckle tonight, because the older daughter called him on the way home after the football games, and he's out of town - bachelor's weekend, I suppose - and he made a point to tell my older daughter that The Fiancee is lonely at home. First of all, why would you tell your child that? Secondly, I thought to myself, this is just the beginning for this poor woman. She has no idea what she's in store for. I wonder if she knows that he's made an effort on more than one occasion to tell me where the spare key to his house is so I can just stop by when I need to and let myself into their house to get stuff that the children have left over there. Not that I would do that, because that would be the beginning of me being charged with Breaking and Entering, but I have given some thought to just cracking the door ever so slightly and setting a squirrel lose in there. I can only imagine the havoc that would be wreaked by the dog if that happened. I like to fantasize that their house would look kind of like the house in Home Alone, but at the end of the movie.
It's good to dream, I suppose.
The children are dealing with all of this pretty well, and seem to be very excited about the wedding. I, too, am excited. Because if I decide to ever ask for child support, the fact that he makes more money than me and will have a double income will certainly make it easier for me. But for real, I know I probably won't do that. Even though I can, being that his attorney forgot to put the "forever and ever" clause in that part of the divorce agreement and my attorney said we wouldn't mention that it was left out. My greatest concern is that this marriage of his will fall apart in about five years and this woman who my children have gotten so attached to will disappear from their lives. Really, I like her. I like her a hell of a lot more than I like him, and if I had my druthers, I would just deal with her exclusively. This is actually a much better situation than if I didn't like whomever was going to be my children's First Stepmother. Better that I like her than hate her. And that shall be her new blog name, come next week. First Stepmother. Kind of reminds me of my first stepmother, except my children's First Stepmother really is more like my second stepmother, also affectionately known as Mothbrain. I just went back and read that and it sounds a little West Virginny. We'll just wrap it up, then.
He is getting married this weekend coming up. Because this is apparently the best way to celebrate getting a divorce. I had to chuckle tonight, because the older daughter called him on the way home after the football games, and he's out of town - bachelor's weekend, I suppose - and he made a point to tell my older daughter that The Fiancee is lonely at home. First of all, why would you tell your child that? Secondly, I thought to myself, this is just the beginning for this poor woman. She has no idea what she's in store for. I wonder if she knows that he's made an effort on more than one occasion to tell me where the spare key to his house is so I can just stop by when I need to and let myself into their house to get stuff that the children have left over there. Not that I would do that, because that would be the beginning of me being charged with Breaking and Entering, but I have given some thought to just cracking the door ever so slightly and setting a squirrel lose in there. I can only imagine the havoc that would be wreaked by the dog if that happened. I like to fantasize that their house would look kind of like the house in Home Alone, but at the end of the movie.
It's good to dream, I suppose.
The children are dealing with all of this pretty well, and seem to be very excited about the wedding. I, too, am excited. Because if I decide to ever ask for child support, the fact that he makes more money than me and will have a double income will certainly make it easier for me. But for real, I know I probably won't do that. Even though I can, being that his attorney forgot to put the "forever and ever" clause in that part of the divorce agreement and my attorney said we wouldn't mention that it was left out. My greatest concern is that this marriage of his will fall apart in about five years and this woman who my children have gotten so attached to will disappear from their lives. Really, I like her. I like her a hell of a lot more than I like him, and if I had my druthers, I would just deal with her exclusively. This is actually a much better situation than if I didn't like whomever was going to be my children's First Stepmother. Better that I like her than hate her. And that shall be her new blog name, come next week. First Stepmother. Kind of reminds me of my first stepmother, except my children's First Stepmother really is more like my second stepmother, also affectionately known as Mothbrain. I just went back and read that and it sounds a little West Virginny. We'll just wrap it up, then.
Friday, October 14, 2011
What It Do, Part Deux
So... part two.
Cheerleading.
My older daughter is doing cheerleading again. Again. I actually encouraged it, because I thought this year would be more fun, since I volunteered to be the assistant coach of her squad, and because I thought it would be more fun working with older girls. Well, girls older than five and six, anyway.
It hasn't really turned out like that. My older daughter has enjoyed it greatly, and that's what really matters, but Mommy... not so much. Here's the deal. The head coach of my daughter's cheerleading squad is also the cheer director of the organization. And that's cool, because sometimes you have to do double duty in these organizations, especially when so many parents won't step up. As cheer director, this woman has done about 100 percent better than the brainless idiot last year. That is most certain, but as a cheer coach, again... not so much. I understand that it's difficult to do both, but holy fuck, I'm getting tired of doing pretty much all of the work. I think I had realized this by the second game, and got a little aggravated by it by the fourth game. At this point, I just want to get this shit over with. The head coach/cheer director doesn't know I won't be at next weekend's game, and I think I'll probably let her know late next week. I mean, if The Ex is getting married that day, and my daughter won't be cheering, I don't really feel obligated to be there. Next weekend will be my happy little break.
I really want to regret coaching, but I can't, because I've gotten to spend so much time with my older daughter, and I really am searching for a way to enjoy my way to the end of the season, which blissfully, will be here in about another three or four weeks, provided our football team doesn't make it to the playoffs. And this football team making it to the playoffs would be about the equivalent of ummmm, I don't know, Tampa Bay making it to the playoffs? I keep thinking, just make it through. Just make it through. The awkward part is that we got rather snappy with each other last weekend at the homecoming game, and I basically yelled at her for yelling at my daughter for something stupid. Helloooo, if you saw my daughter running around with football sun glare stuff on her cheeks an hour before the game and didn't say anything to her about taking it off then, don't get nasty with her ten minutes before the game. And then act like the victim. Nothing can set me off more than someone acting like the victim. If you're going to act like a jackass, or a bitch, or whatever, at least own it when someone confronts you on it. I mean, goddamn.
So practice this week was a little strained, and I was tempted to just not even show up at all. Hey, how about you do some of this work? But that's not going to set a good example for my daughter, and I know it. I can make it through this, because that's what I do. And tomorrow, I think I am going to hang back and let her do all the directing. Okay, maybe not, but I'm going to try. Not micromanaging stuff is pretty hard for me, especially if I see it's not being done to my level of micromanagement.
The best part to all of this is that we won't be participating in basketball cheerleading. My older daughter has decided she wants to do Tae-Kwon-Do (karate!) and my younger daughter wants to go back to gymnastics. If it entails me not dealing with this woman, I am good with it.
Cheerleading.
My older daughter is doing cheerleading again. Again. I actually encouraged it, because I thought this year would be more fun, since I volunteered to be the assistant coach of her squad, and because I thought it would be more fun working with older girls. Well, girls older than five and six, anyway.
It hasn't really turned out like that. My older daughter has enjoyed it greatly, and that's what really matters, but Mommy... not so much. Here's the deal. The head coach of my daughter's cheerleading squad is also the cheer director of the organization. And that's cool, because sometimes you have to do double duty in these organizations, especially when so many parents won't step up. As cheer director, this woman has done about 100 percent better than the brainless idiot last year. That is most certain, but as a cheer coach, again... not so much. I understand that it's difficult to do both, but holy fuck, I'm getting tired of doing pretty much all of the work. I think I had realized this by the second game, and got a little aggravated by it by the fourth game. At this point, I just want to get this shit over with. The head coach/cheer director doesn't know I won't be at next weekend's game, and I think I'll probably let her know late next week. I mean, if The Ex is getting married that day, and my daughter won't be cheering, I don't really feel obligated to be there. Next weekend will be my happy little break.
I really want to regret coaching, but I can't, because I've gotten to spend so much time with my older daughter, and I really am searching for a way to enjoy my way to the end of the season, which blissfully, will be here in about another three or four weeks, provided our football team doesn't make it to the playoffs. And this football team making it to the playoffs would be about the equivalent of ummmm, I don't know, Tampa Bay making it to the playoffs? I keep thinking, just make it through. Just make it through. The awkward part is that we got rather snappy with each other last weekend at the homecoming game, and I basically yelled at her for yelling at my daughter for something stupid. Helloooo, if you saw my daughter running around with football sun glare stuff on her cheeks an hour before the game and didn't say anything to her about taking it off then, don't get nasty with her ten minutes before the game. And then act like the victim. Nothing can set me off more than someone acting like the victim. If you're going to act like a jackass, or a bitch, or whatever, at least own it when someone confronts you on it. I mean, goddamn.
So practice this week was a little strained, and I was tempted to just not even show up at all. Hey, how about you do some of this work? But that's not going to set a good example for my daughter, and I know it. I can make it through this, because that's what I do. And tomorrow, I think I am going to hang back and let her do all the directing. Okay, maybe not, but I'm going to try. Not micromanaging stuff is pretty hard for me, especially if I see it's not being done to my level of micromanagement.
The best part to all of this is that we won't be participating in basketball cheerleading. My older daughter has decided she wants to do Tae-Kwon-Do (karate!) and my younger daughter wants to go back to gymnastics. If it entails me not dealing with this woman, I am good with it.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Vacation
My kids went on vacation today. I am so incredibly annoyed about the whole thing I can't even begin to put words to it. Of course, they went with douchebag and The Girlfriend. I'm pissed because for ten years of being married to that complete asshole, we went on exactly two vacations, both times to the beach, and he bitched and moaned the entire time, because he hates the beach. We went on vacation for our honeymoon, which was to the Outer Banks, because I refused to fly anywhere. He wanted to go back to the place he had his first honeymoon and then pouted for weeks when I refused. Maybe the honeymoon would have been more enjoyable if we had taken separate vacations. And then, fast forward to 2009, we took our first family vacation, and he bitched and moaned about that one, too, even though I had found a completely decent house to rent a block and a half off of a beach access during high season for $600 a week! Tightwads of the world, unite!
I'll assume he didn't hate the beach but just hated me. Well, dickface, it's mutual. I sent him a text today and told him that I needed the address where the children would be staying for the week, well, because I need to know where in the hell my children are. He texted the address back and I didn't bother to acknowledge it or to say "Have a great time" or any of that nice shit. Nope. Nothing from me. Simply because I know how much it pisses him off when I don't acknowledge his texts. So right after work I came home, hopped on Google Maps and googled that bitch. Yep, because that's what any self-respecting, sometimes bitter ex-wife would do. I'm pleased to report they are staying at a condo development about five miles from the beach. I can't find any real estate rental information about it, other than it's owned by some guy in New York, so I'll have to assume it's some sort of time share. I hope that my kids have a great time and I hope he has a miserable time and gets sunburned on his nasty furry chest that he refuses to manscape. See, I'm already feeling better.
My vacation starts on Saturday. Guy #1 asked me to go back to his hometown in Indiana and meet the family. I didn't realize what a big deal this was until all of my guy friends started weighing in with their opinions. Apparently, meeting a guy's family IS A BIG DEAL. How the hell would I know this? I've never had to travel to meet anyone's family before, so this is new. Dating is still kind of new. Dating someone with kids is still kind of new. Traveling with a kid to meet the family is new. Traveling with a kid and the dog to meet the family is new. I'm just a tiny bit antsy.
I don't travel well, and this is probably because I never do it. In my adult life, I've taken one honeymoon, one family vacation, one weekend trip with a girlfriend to the beach (for which The Ex gave me shit about for three months afterward) and one trip to Illinois to take my grandfather to his World War II reunion, so that didn't even count as a vacation. I've gone out of town a few times for a couple of conferences and I hated that and I'm already working on my excuse to get out of the next conference. But when I say I don't travel well, I mean, I don't travel well. I'm like that purebred Afghan hound that alternately howls and pukes the entire trip, all the while trembling and shaking. Seriously. This is why I've never moved far away from my family, and this is why I have an aunt who lives in Seattle who I haven't seen since 2003. And I have no intention of seeing her unless she comes back to Virginia. She's kind of a weird, left-wing, spinster aunt whom I've never really known beyond Christmas cards and I already told my mom when my aunt dies she's on her own to get my grandmother's stuff back to Virginia. I also have a stepsister in Alabama that I see exactly once or twice per year, when she comes back to Virginia. I'd like to think I'm that kind of person that doesn't come to you, but you come to me. Like the Godfather.
So Saturday morning, Guy #1, his teenage daughter, dog and I will be loading up in the car for a nice 15 hour drive or so to Indiana. Yeah, mapquest says 12 hours and some minutes, but with a dog (and me) it will be about 15 hours. I know this and have told him this, but he doesn't believe me. I am guessing that by the time we hit mid-Kentucky all four of us will want me to be riding in the trunk. Bound and gagged. And then, after we finally get there, I get to meet his ENTIRE family. Which will not be stressful to me *at all*. Not at all. I feel kind of like I did when the people at work gave me employee of the quarter and I guiltily felt like I had bamboozled them and then felt obligated to work about three times harder to make them think they hadn't made a bad decision after all. Which I am still sure that they did, because the quarter after they gave me employee of the quarter I got in trouble with one of the big wigs at work which resulted in me having to write a letter of apology and sitting in my office sobbing for hours at a time.
So given that experience, God only knows how this is going to go. I'll assume a few months after this trip I'll end up having to write someone a letter of apology. I've unfortunately heard all these great things that Guy #1 has told his family about me on the phone and I'm like, HOLY FUCK! I have got to go to another state and pretend to be fucking phenomenal now! OH MY GOD, the pressure is on! I can fake being phenomenal in the next county, but I've never had to do it in another state. I've got exactly one week to live up to all of this shit he's told his family about me! And so, arriving in Indiana sometime Saturday night will be the Stephanie version of Betty Crocker meets Carol Brady meets June Cleaver meets Claire Huxtable (except I'm not black) meets Cagney and Lacey (just because I thought they were tough as hell when I watched them on TV) meets Daisy Duke meets Wonder Woman. Which is a joke, because most people know me more of a Roseanne kind of person. Minus the factory job and polyester pants. And then, because I do have some semblance of manners, I'll feel obligated to be on my best behavior the whole time and be the best and most unobtrusive house guest there ever was. I won't sleep in the bed, I'll just sleep under it. I'll scrub the bathroom down every day and fold my clothes and zip my suitcase back up every morning, I'll go to bed at 7:30pm and stay in bed until 7:30am, and I won't eat more than an anorexic teenage girl. I'll set lots of other rules to follow (and I'll write them down and carry them in my wallet just to make sure I'm doing everything right). Because really, who the hell wants a sloppy house guest who just makes themselves at home? Not me, that's for damn sure. This is also why I don't allow people from out of town to stay with me, either. Get a room, for chrissakes. I am not going to be your fucking Courtyard at the Marriott.
And then, we will make our way to Chicago where we will stay with other family members and I get to pretend all over again, and blissfully, on Saturday morning, I get to face one of my greatest fears when I hop on a big, old jet airplane to fly back to Richmond (well, let's hope the jet airplane isn't old). My kids are moving back home that weekend and my work schedule isn't workable for me taking Monday off. I shall decompress at the Chicago O'Hare bar bright and early Saturday morning, and then I shall visit the Philadelphia airport bar as well, because the plane that's taking me from Philadelphia to Richmond is kind of small. At least this trip makes geographical sense and not like the time I flew to Atlanta from Richmond, because obviously the most direct route from Richmond to Atlanta is through New Jersey. The last time I flew I almost had a panic attack when we started backing away from the terminal, so I'm not sure how this one is going to go, being post-9/11 and all. I can only hope my TSA fondler is a good looking dyke.
I'm pretty sure Guy #1 still doesn't realize how high my level of maintenance can go. He probably will after this trip. If he's still speaking to me.
I'll assume he didn't hate the beach but just hated me. Well, dickface, it's mutual. I sent him a text today and told him that I needed the address where the children would be staying for the week, well, because I need to know where in the hell my children are. He texted the address back and I didn't bother to acknowledge it or to say "Have a great time" or any of that nice shit. Nope. Nothing from me. Simply because I know how much it pisses him off when I don't acknowledge his texts. So right after work I came home, hopped on Google Maps and googled that bitch. Yep, because that's what any self-respecting, sometimes bitter ex-wife would do. I'm pleased to report they are staying at a condo development about five miles from the beach. I can't find any real estate rental information about it, other than it's owned by some guy in New York, so I'll have to assume it's some sort of time share. I hope that my kids have a great time and I hope he has a miserable time and gets sunburned on his nasty furry chest that he refuses to manscape. See, I'm already feeling better.
My vacation starts on Saturday. Guy #1 asked me to go back to his hometown in Indiana and meet the family. I didn't realize what a big deal this was until all of my guy friends started weighing in with their opinions. Apparently, meeting a guy's family IS A BIG DEAL. How the hell would I know this? I've never had to travel to meet anyone's family before, so this is new. Dating is still kind of new. Dating someone with kids is still kind of new. Traveling with a kid to meet the family is new. Traveling with a kid and the dog to meet the family is new. I'm just a tiny bit antsy.
I don't travel well, and this is probably because I never do it. In my adult life, I've taken one honeymoon, one family vacation, one weekend trip with a girlfriend to the beach (for which The Ex gave me shit about for three months afterward) and one trip to Illinois to take my grandfather to his World War II reunion, so that didn't even count as a vacation. I've gone out of town a few times for a couple of conferences and I hated that and I'm already working on my excuse to get out of the next conference. But when I say I don't travel well, I mean, I don't travel well. I'm like that purebred Afghan hound that alternately howls and pukes the entire trip, all the while trembling and shaking. Seriously. This is why I've never moved far away from my family, and this is why I have an aunt who lives in Seattle who I haven't seen since 2003. And I have no intention of seeing her unless she comes back to Virginia. She's kind of a weird, left-wing, spinster aunt whom I've never really known beyond Christmas cards and I already told my mom when my aunt dies she's on her own to get my grandmother's stuff back to Virginia. I also have a stepsister in Alabama that I see exactly once or twice per year, when she comes back to Virginia. I'd like to think I'm that kind of person that doesn't come to you, but you come to me. Like the Godfather.
So Saturday morning, Guy #1, his teenage daughter, dog and I will be loading up in the car for a nice 15 hour drive or so to Indiana. Yeah, mapquest says 12 hours and some minutes, but with a dog (and me) it will be about 15 hours. I know this and have told him this, but he doesn't believe me. I am guessing that by the time we hit mid-Kentucky all four of us will want me to be riding in the trunk. Bound and gagged. And then, after we finally get there, I get to meet his ENTIRE family. Which will not be stressful to me *at all*. Not at all. I feel kind of like I did when the people at work gave me employee of the quarter and I guiltily felt like I had bamboozled them and then felt obligated to work about three times harder to make them think they hadn't made a bad decision after all. Which I am still sure that they did, because the quarter after they gave me employee of the quarter I got in trouble with one of the big wigs at work which resulted in me having to write a letter of apology and sitting in my office sobbing for hours at a time.
So given that experience, God only knows how this is going to go. I'll assume a few months after this trip I'll end up having to write someone a letter of apology. I've unfortunately heard all these great things that Guy #1 has told his family about me on the phone and I'm like, HOLY FUCK! I have got to go to another state and pretend to be fucking phenomenal now! OH MY GOD, the pressure is on! I can fake being phenomenal in the next county, but I've never had to do it in another state. I've got exactly one week to live up to all of this shit he's told his family about me! And so, arriving in Indiana sometime Saturday night will be the Stephanie version of Betty Crocker meets Carol Brady meets June Cleaver meets Claire Huxtable (except I'm not black) meets Cagney and Lacey (just because I thought they were tough as hell when I watched them on TV) meets Daisy Duke meets Wonder Woman. Which is a joke, because most people know me more of a Roseanne kind of person. Minus the factory job and polyester pants. And then, because I do have some semblance of manners, I'll feel obligated to be on my best behavior the whole time and be the best and most unobtrusive house guest there ever was. I won't sleep in the bed, I'll just sleep under it. I'll scrub the bathroom down every day and fold my clothes and zip my suitcase back up every morning, I'll go to bed at 7:30pm and stay in bed until 7:30am, and I won't eat more than an anorexic teenage girl. I'll set lots of other rules to follow (and I'll write them down and carry them in my wallet just to make sure I'm doing everything right). Because really, who the hell wants a sloppy house guest who just makes themselves at home? Not me, that's for damn sure. This is also why I don't allow people from out of town to stay with me, either. Get a room, for chrissakes. I am not going to be your fucking Courtyard at the Marriott.
And then, we will make our way to Chicago where we will stay with other family members and I get to pretend all over again, and blissfully, on Saturday morning, I get to face one of my greatest fears when I hop on a big, old jet airplane to fly back to Richmond (well, let's hope the jet airplane isn't old). My kids are moving back home that weekend and my work schedule isn't workable for me taking Monday off. I shall decompress at the Chicago O'Hare bar bright and early Saturday morning, and then I shall visit the Philadelphia airport bar as well, because the plane that's taking me from Philadelphia to Richmond is kind of small. At least this trip makes geographical sense and not like the time I flew to Atlanta from Richmond, because obviously the most direct route from Richmond to Atlanta is through New Jersey. The last time I flew I almost had a panic attack when we started backing away from the terminal, so I'm not sure how this one is going to go, being post-9/11 and all. I can only hope my TSA fondler is a good looking dyke.
I'm pretty sure Guy #1 still doesn't realize how high my level of maintenance can go. He probably will after this trip. If he's still speaking to me.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
High Kicks and Stuff
Did I mention that I'm coaching cheerleading again this year? Although, this time around, I'm not quite so "Helen-Keller-teaching-paint-by-numbers" ish, meaning I actually have a clue as to what's going on. And, I'm coaching my older daughter's team, and I'm not even in charge - I'm the assistant coach! Perfecto! This means I just have to show up and take direction from the real coach, and when I do pass on tips and instructions to the girls, they actually have the capacity to listen and follow directions, unlike the five and six year olds that I coached last year. This year is also easier because I know what to expect for the games, halftime, homecoming and the county-wide cheerleading dance competition. So I feel pretty damn good about volunteering again this year! I also love that my kids will remember that Mommy was right there in the thick of it, and was at every game, like I know The Ex won't be.
This past Thursday night, I was out at practice, wearing my non-work clothes, since I'd shown up the practice in work clothes on Tuesday, and yeah, I did a couple of high kicks. I mean, what kind of coach doesn't demonstrate this stuff? Apparently the smart ones, because when I woke up on Friday morning, I couldn't move. Literally, I couldn't move. I wiggled around in the bed for a few minutes, and then just barely managed to slide out of the bed onto my knees, and then finally managed to grab hold of the side of the bed and get myself in a somewhat upright position. Pain was radiating out of my right glute, straight down my right leg and ended somewhere in my calf. Oh my god, are you kidding me? I decided I could hobble into work to get my laptop and then hobble home, but then I realized I could barely make it in to the kitchen. Nope, work was not going to happen. I knew instantly I had done this with one of the high kicks I had demonstrated. Couldn't be anything but that.
Off to the doctor, who snickered inbetween writing me prescriptions. Guy #1 sympathetically laughed, as did the coach of the team, most of my friends and my mother. The only two people who didn't laugh at my were my children, little loyalists that they are. My mother had to come over and get them straight for dinner, and that was after my former mother-in-law had to bring them home. Saturday morning my mother had to come over and take care of them, because I sure as hell couldn't do it. Not only was I still in severe pain, but I couldn't really function because the meds were finally starting to work. Basically, I got no time with my kids this weekend because I couldn't function, and I'm really pissed off and disappointed at myself for that. I wasn't able to take them to the birthday party of a little friend (passed that off on a girlfriend), I wasn't able to go to cheer camp (which I really did want to do), and I did just barely manage to get school supplies purchased. I don't remember much of anything else, except I very strangley opted to watch the Season 2 marathon of Top Shot on History channel. Some of those guys were hottttt! And manhandling some heavy duty armament! But, I digress.... Everything I did do this weekend was with my mother, and that was painful enough by tonight. I love my mom, but jesus christ, she was getting on my last nerve to the point that I was just ready for her to LEAVE.
My back still hurts, but I am pretty much done with my medication. I can't be all foggy-minded and disoriented at work, because then I won't notice when someone else is like that either. So I'm just doing the Aleve thing right now, and it's working okay. I'm done with high kicks, though, and I'm not even going to try to bust out the splits for the girls to be impressed with.
And oh yeah, I discovered a leak in my roof tonight, just a mere week before I go on vacation. Not really what I needed. The stress of traveling is enough. I've thought up a million and one ways to get out of this trip, except I committed to it when I bought my plane ticket home. Because that one hundred dollars will not go to waste, and it's a non-refundable, non-transferable ticket. So regardless of anything else, I will have to get my ass to Chicago some kind of way to fly back home in about two weeks.
Lastly, Guy #1 and The Ex met today, somewhat awkwardly when we all decided to eat lunch at the same restaurant. I mean, really, in Chesterfield? What are the chances of that happening? I only wish I could have looked better, but damn, I could barely focus my eyes. It helped when The Ex and The Girlfriend walked off and Guy #1 made a snarky comment about the shoes The Ex was wearing. Again, why in the fuck would an almost 45 year old man wear checkerboard tennis shoes? I'm embarrased that I have to own up to having been married to his sorry ass.
Stay tuned for the roof saga!
This past Thursday night, I was out at practice, wearing my non-work clothes, since I'd shown up the practice in work clothes on Tuesday, and yeah, I did a couple of high kicks. I mean, what kind of coach doesn't demonstrate this stuff? Apparently the smart ones, because when I woke up on Friday morning, I couldn't move. Literally, I couldn't move. I wiggled around in the bed for a few minutes, and then just barely managed to slide out of the bed onto my knees, and then finally managed to grab hold of the side of the bed and get myself in a somewhat upright position. Pain was radiating out of my right glute, straight down my right leg and ended somewhere in my calf. Oh my god, are you kidding me? I decided I could hobble into work to get my laptop and then hobble home, but then I realized I could barely make it in to the kitchen. Nope, work was not going to happen. I knew instantly I had done this with one of the high kicks I had demonstrated. Couldn't be anything but that.
Off to the doctor, who snickered inbetween writing me prescriptions. Guy #1 sympathetically laughed, as did the coach of the team, most of my friends and my mother. The only two people who didn't laugh at my were my children, little loyalists that they are. My mother had to come over and get them straight for dinner, and that was after my former mother-in-law had to bring them home. Saturday morning my mother had to come over and take care of them, because I sure as hell couldn't do it. Not only was I still in severe pain, but I couldn't really function because the meds were finally starting to work. Basically, I got no time with my kids this weekend because I couldn't function, and I'm really pissed off and disappointed at myself for that. I wasn't able to take them to the birthday party of a little friend (passed that off on a girlfriend), I wasn't able to go to cheer camp (which I really did want to do), and I did just barely manage to get school supplies purchased. I don't remember much of anything else, except I very strangley opted to watch the Season 2 marathon of Top Shot on History channel. Some of those guys were hottttt! And manhandling some heavy duty armament! But, I digress.... Everything I did do this weekend was with my mother, and that was painful enough by tonight. I love my mom, but jesus christ, she was getting on my last nerve to the point that I was just ready for her to LEAVE.
My back still hurts, but I am pretty much done with my medication. I can't be all foggy-minded and disoriented at work, because then I won't notice when someone else is like that either. So I'm just doing the Aleve thing right now, and it's working okay. I'm done with high kicks, though, and I'm not even going to try to bust out the splits for the girls to be impressed with.
And oh yeah, I discovered a leak in my roof tonight, just a mere week before I go on vacation. Not really what I needed. The stress of traveling is enough. I've thought up a million and one ways to get out of this trip, except I committed to it when I bought my plane ticket home. Because that one hundred dollars will not go to waste, and it's a non-refundable, non-transferable ticket. So regardless of anything else, I will have to get my ass to Chicago some kind of way to fly back home in about two weeks.
Lastly, Guy #1 and The Ex met today, somewhat awkwardly when we all decided to eat lunch at the same restaurant. I mean, really, in Chesterfield? What are the chances of that happening? I only wish I could have looked better, but damn, I could barely focus my eyes. It helped when The Ex and The Girlfriend walked off and Guy #1 made a snarky comment about the shoes The Ex was wearing. Again, why in the fuck would an almost 45 year old man wear checkerboard tennis shoes? I'm embarrased that I have to own up to having been married to his sorry ass.
Stay tuned for the roof saga!
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Feeling More Optimistic
I am going to make it through these last three weeks with my children. I just know it, and I'm not even going to collapse from exhaustion prior to them going to their father's house for the summer. The light at the end of the school year tunnel (for me) is shining a little more brightly with each passing day. I got up this morning and realized that I have exactly two more Wednesdays until the only person I have to be in charge of on a full time basis for almost three months will be me.
My older daughter has her last appointment this upcoming week with her child psychologist, and what I've gotten out of that whole thing has been my sweet little girl back. My baby (okay, not really a baby) has returned to me. She's the sweet little girl that she was years ago, before things between The Ex and I got really dysfunctional, and with lots of love, affection, attention, consistency and me doing my level best to not badmouthdouchebag her father in front of her, along with removing TV and it's Disney teen attitudes, she's come back to me. She's more affectionate, she laughs so much more, she's open to conversation, hell, she has conversations with me, and she's just come such a long way for such a little girl. I am really proud of her. My greatest fear is that spending the summer with her father will set us back to where we started in September of last year, which was hostility, a nasty attitude, anger, blame, confusion, and generalized upset. But I can't worry about what might or might not happen in August tonight. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow night, but not tonight.
The younger daughter has recovered from her latest bout of strep throat. I've gotten strep throat exactly once in my life, when I was 23, and I thought I was going to die. So far this year, my children have had it five times, between the two of them. I need the older daughter to go ahead and get it one more time before November because then they will finally take out her tonsils. And strangely, even though they live together, are are therefore in each other's faces ALL OF THE TIME, they never catch it from each other. So when the younger daughter got sick last week, all I could think was, "Wrong kid, dammit, wrong kid. I need the other one to get this shit." How the hell do they keep catching strep throat and I never had it as a child? I don't get that at all, other than these are some super-germs floating around the schools now. The older daughter also got lice again, but I'll say that the second time around wasn't that traumatic for me. I was still quite grossed out, of course, but I'm determined that a tangential mission in life has been to make sure that everyone knows that clean kids get lice. The younger daughter has never caught it from her, so I don't understand that, either. Nor did the cat or I catch them, thank god, because I don't know what I would have done if the cat got them. That would have been a real fucking mess.
Knock on wood.
I got a ticket last week, on the way to the pediatrician's office, no less, for my expired inspection sticker. Yes, I knew the damn thing was expired the day after it expired, and I've let it float. I had a couple of different lies worked up in my head for The Man should the time come, but opted not to use them. Lies, you ask? What kind of lies? Oh, and these were pretty good. Lie #1 - "But, sir, I just got divorced (truth) and my ex-husband always took car of my car (lie) and he told me the inspection was good until October of 2011 (and not November of 2010)." That one might have worked since the two boxes say 10 and 11 respectively, at least from my perspective inside the car. Lie #2 - "My inspection is expired? My ex-husband told me that inspections were good for two years! That SOB!" But I didn't do it. How can I expect my children to be honest if I can't even do it? So I just fessed up and told him that yeah, I knew it was expired and I didn't have the money to fix what was wrong with it, being that I'm spending $75.00 a week in gas just to run around Richmond and Chesterfield (okay, I didn't bitch about the gas part even though I wanted to). And so I got to press hard when I signed my name on the triplicate form. I can't fault The Man for doing his job. The docket's in August so that means I've got a little wiggle room. I've formulated my argument for the judge when I go to court to have it dismissed, even though the judge won't ask for my argument and won't care.
"Your Honor, I'd like to plead guilty to the infraction. Yes sir, I've gotten the car inspected and here's the proof. But I'd like to respectfully note for the record that the Commonwealth's state inspection statute does not serve any purpose in keeping the citizens of the Commonwealth safe on the roadways. This is because the inspection is conducted once per year, and immediately after having a vehicle inspected, any number of mechanical failures could occur which would normally result in the vehicle not being passing an inspection. However, the inspection isn't due again for another eleven months, effectively leaving a vehicle on the roadways of the Commonwealth that would be found to be unsafe for travel. For the state inspection process to work effectively in maintaining safe vehicles within the Commonwealth, the Commonwealth must begin to impound vehicles immediately upon failing an inspection or having found to have an expired inspection. At this point in time, a vehicle can be inspected and fail that inspection, and then immediately driven out of the mechanic's shop back onto the roadways that it has been deemed to be unsafe to be on. Without the immediate impoundment of such vehicles, the Commonwealth will never be able to reasonably ascertain that the roadways are safe from vehicles that are mechanically fit to be driven. Additionally, inspections should be conducted once every six months."
Ha! How you like me now? Logical but yet so very farfetched. I think the state inspection process is bullshit. BULLSHIT. It's bullshit. Did I mention it's complete bullshit? I figured this out when I bought a car brand new in 1994 and then the damn thing failed the inspection the following year. I've had a car fail almost every fucking year since I've been driving. And no, they haven't all been hoopties. I'm no slouch in the mechanics department, but I pretty much have to take them at their word unless I'm going into the garage and getting under the hood myself. The state inspection serves to keep mechanics in business. That's all it does. Shystie-ass mechanics who are legit only because they're working in a building with a state inspection plaque somewhere on the property and not under a shade tree. So this weekend, I'm going to Wal-Mart to get new tires. And some tampons and a couple of frozen pizzas.
Yes, indeedy, I am feeling more optimistic. Who doesn't love a place where I can get tires, tampons, pizzas and my favorite $4.00 wine?
My older daughter has her last appointment this upcoming week with her child psychologist, and what I've gotten out of that whole thing has been my sweet little girl back. My baby (okay, not really a baby) has returned to me. She's the sweet little girl that she was years ago, before things between The Ex and I got really dysfunctional, and with lots of love, affection, attention, consistency and me doing my level best to not badmouth
The younger daughter has recovered from her latest bout of strep throat. I've gotten strep throat exactly once in my life, when I was 23, and I thought I was going to die. So far this year, my children have had it five times, between the two of them. I need the older daughter to go ahead and get it one more time before November because then they will finally take out her tonsils. And strangely, even though they live together, are are therefore in each other's faces ALL OF THE TIME, they never catch it from each other. So when the younger daughter got sick last week, all I could think was, "Wrong kid, dammit, wrong kid. I need the other one to get this shit." How the hell do they keep catching strep throat and I never had it as a child? I don't get that at all, other than these are some super-germs floating around the schools now. The older daughter also got lice again, but I'll say that the second time around wasn't that traumatic for me. I was still quite grossed out, of course, but I'm determined that a tangential mission in life has been to make sure that everyone knows that clean kids get lice. The younger daughter has never caught it from her, so I don't understand that, either. Nor did the cat or I catch them, thank god, because I don't know what I would have done if the cat got them. That would have been a real fucking mess.
Knock on wood.
I got a ticket last week, on the way to the pediatrician's office, no less, for my expired inspection sticker. Yes, I knew the damn thing was expired the day after it expired, and I've let it float. I had a couple of different lies worked up in my head for The Man should the time come, but opted not to use them. Lies, you ask? What kind of lies? Oh, and these were pretty good. Lie #1 - "But, sir, I just got divorced (truth) and my ex-husband always took car of my car (lie) and he told me the inspection was good until October of 2011 (and not November of 2010)." That one might have worked since the two boxes say 10 and 11 respectively, at least from my perspective inside the car. Lie #2 - "My inspection is expired? My ex-husband told me that inspections were good for two years! That SOB!" But I didn't do it. How can I expect my children to be honest if I can't even do it? So I just fessed up and told him that yeah, I knew it was expired and I didn't have the money to fix what was wrong with it, being that I'm spending $75.00 a week in gas just to run around Richmond and Chesterfield (okay, I didn't bitch about the gas part even though I wanted to). And so I got to press hard when I signed my name on the triplicate form. I can't fault The Man for doing his job. The docket's in August so that means I've got a little wiggle room. I've formulated my argument for the judge when I go to court to have it dismissed, even though the judge won't ask for my argument and won't care.
"Your Honor, I'd like to plead guilty to the infraction. Yes sir, I've gotten the car inspected and here's the proof. But I'd like to respectfully note for the record that the Commonwealth's state inspection statute does not serve any purpose in keeping the citizens of the Commonwealth safe on the roadways. This is because the inspection is conducted once per year, and immediately after having a vehicle inspected, any number of mechanical failures could occur which would normally result in the vehicle not being passing an inspection. However, the inspection isn't due again for another eleven months, effectively leaving a vehicle on the roadways of the Commonwealth that would be found to be unsafe for travel. For the state inspection process to work effectively in maintaining safe vehicles within the Commonwealth, the Commonwealth must begin to impound vehicles immediately upon failing an inspection or having found to have an expired inspection. At this point in time, a vehicle can be inspected and fail that inspection, and then immediately driven out of the mechanic's shop back onto the roadways that it has been deemed to be unsafe to be on. Without the immediate impoundment of such vehicles, the Commonwealth will never be able to reasonably ascertain that the roadways are safe from vehicles that are mechanically fit to be driven. Additionally, inspections should be conducted once every six months."
Ha! How you like me now? Logical but yet so very farfetched. I think the state inspection process is bullshit. BULLSHIT. It's bullshit. Did I mention it's complete bullshit? I figured this out when I bought a car brand new in 1994 and then the damn thing failed the inspection the following year. I've had a car fail almost every fucking year since I've been driving. And no, they haven't all been hoopties. I'm no slouch in the mechanics department, but I pretty much have to take them at their word unless I'm going into the garage and getting under the hood myself. The state inspection serves to keep mechanics in business. That's all it does. Shystie-ass mechanics who are legit only because they're working in a building with a state inspection plaque somewhere on the property and not under a shade tree. So this weekend, I'm going to Wal-Mart to get new tires. And some tampons and a couple of frozen pizzas.
Yes, indeedy, I am feeling more optimistic. Who doesn't love a place where I can get tires, tampons, pizzas and my favorite $4.00 wine?
Monday, May 16, 2011
Updates
I swear, I really have some updates coming soon. Summer school, The Ex, Guy #1, house stuff and spotting a snake under a landscaping timber, which then resulted in me frantically ripping them all out, stupid signs for the stupid athletic association, and maybe a meta-analysis of The Real Housewives of All The Places I Watch (except the meta part will be me, myself and I researching bullshit on the internet and then the analysis will be the three of myselves making up some bullshit formula about how intelligence is directly proportional to breast size and how both are impacted by hair color), and maybe something about how I realized tonight that there really is a do-over in life. It's called System Restore. If it weren't for my children, I'd want to do a System Restore on my life, right back to February 28, 1996, which was the exact day before I met The Ex. I also intend to write a good little piece about the nasty habit I have of either disappearing out of people's lives or making them disappear out of mine, though not a la the Jimmy Hoffa way. Yes, I am absolutely positive that was not grammatically correct, but you get the drift. I might also discuss my most recent traffic ticket for an expired inspection sticker, which is really just more bullshit and I'll give you my libertarian slant on the whole thing and how it doesn't serve any purpose other than the guv keeping a whole lot of halfway shystie (my improved word for shyster) mechanic shops in business. And yes, I know the damn inspection ran out in November of 2010. If I had money to buy new tires then I would probably also have money to pay my bills on time, and I can't seem to do that either, except for daycare, mortgage and utilties.
Be patient, young grasshoppers.
The good shit is coming.
Be patient, young grasshoppers.
The good shit is coming.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Back On Track
Okay, so I am really trying to pull myself away from The Ex bashing track I was headed down last week. I took uber aunt's words to heart and am really trying to pull myself together.
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Bear With Me...
Bear with me while I rant just one more time about The Ex. Okay, "just one more time" really means "today" in Stephanie-speak. I realized tonight that I need to quit checking his facebook page on a daily basis. I didn't used to do that, until the whole middle-finger-picture thing, and now I feel compelled to check it regularly to make sure he doesn't have my children hanging off of a stripper pole or anything like that. But anyway, while he hasn't posted anything inappropriate, he has posted a few lies.
Here's my interpretation of a few of his facebook postings. This could be really funny, or it could be really catty in that ex-wife catty kind of way.
Here's my interpretation of a few of his facebook postings. This could be really funny, or it could be really catty in that ex-wife catty kind of way.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Reposting...
Head Lice and Skid Marks
Our outdoor day summer camp experience is complete. Head lice have determined that my older daughter's clean blond hair is a great place to ride the wave into elementary school. Ha! Caught your little asses before that could even happen, motherfuckers.
It started Thursday morning, though not with the hair, but with an ear. She woke up a little whiny and said her ear hurt. The child's almost eight, so I asked if she wanted to go to the doctor or not. I know that sounds a little too democratic-parenting bullshit to some, but for real, it's her ear. She'll let me know if it starts to get out of hand. She said no, let's just wait and see. I was down with that, because I had a dentist appointment scheduled for the younger daughter and I was already going to be late for work, but I didn't want to be dentist appointment AND doctor appointment late. Thursday night I asked about her ear, she says it's fine. But her head itches in this one spot. Hmmmm, I sure hope that's not lice. But it can't be. She washes her hair everyday, specifically so she won't get bugs in her hair.
Our daycare had a lice outbreak a few years ago, five years ago to be exact. I remember this because it was shortly after the younger daughter had been born and I had just returned to the SHITTIEST job in the whole entire world from my maternity leave. Seriously, it was a horrible job and I hated everyone there and I hated myself for having to go there every day. Anyway, our daycare owner, who could also be called the Daycare Nazi, like the Soup Nazi, declared that any child who got lice would not be admitted into her facility until the parent had a doctor's note that the lice had been treated and were eliminated. Obviously, you see where I got the Soup Nazi reference from. There were daycare workers stationed at the front door every day checking each child's hair before entree was granted. If your child had lice, well then, NO DAYCARE FOR YOU! I used to imagine her saying that with a Russian accent like the Soup Nazi.
I immediately spazzed out, because I had just taken three months off from work on vacation leave. I didn't want to burn up any more vacation time, because I would need that to call in sick to go on job interviews because did I mention this was the shittiest job ever? So I went old school on my older daughter. I used the old country ass/prison trick of rinsing her hair with vinegar every night in the bathtub, because this was what the prison system used when hosing down all of the convicts coming in from the local jails. Worked for them for decades before they switched to lye shampoo. Yes, the child was stinking horribly for about two weeks, but no lice. Mommy had prevailed. Take that, you dirty lice.
But back to the story at hand. She's scratching a little bit on Thursday night, but her ear feels all right. Okay, maybe this is just something that's psychosomatic about being back with me after spending a summer with her father whom I am pretty sure just let her do whatever in the hell she wanted. Friday morning, her ear hurts again and she agrees that we should probably go to the doctor. She's asymptomatic for an ear infection, but she always was. And her head still itches, same place. So MommyKemosabe has a little look-see, and honestly, I didn't know what in the hell I was looking for. I didn't see much, other than three or four white flakes that I assume is dry skin from all the scratching. We'll have the doctor look at that, too.
Off to the doctor's office. Swimmer's ear and a middle ear infection. Glad as fuck I caught that before the weekend, because The Ex would have been miserable had it gotten worse, since this is his weekend. I was actually more relieved for my daughter, because screw him. And yes, we have nits. Lovely. I guess nits are baby unhatched lice. I didn't ask because it was gross either way. According to the doctor, lice like clean, light colored hair the best. Who knew? I guess I can stop strong-arming her into washing her hair every day and just go for every two or three days like she really wants to do anyway. I will continue to insist that she at least rinse her ass off every day though, preferably with the soap that I have kindly placed in the shower for that purpose. Off to the pharmacy to get the prescriptions filled, because apparently lice have become resistant to the over-the-counter treatments. Ewwwwww. Or this is just part of a larger conspiracy of the drug companies to get us to buy their shit. Whatever, I don't care at this point. The good news is that it's not a full-blown infestation, it's localized to that one spot. Thank God. And the doctor gave me refills in case the younger daughter gets it. Or in case I get it. What??? Uhhh, what the fuck are you talking about, in case I get it? Oh, hell no. Hell no. Mommy will not get lice. That would totally mess up my chi. Sorry, but quiet time with my vibrator will just not feel the same if I have head lice. It would be like that time I broke my wrist and had a hard cast. I refused to have any kind of sexual relations for the entire duration of wearing said cast because who has sex with a cast on? Seriously, who does that?
My older daughter was quite excited by all of lice-n-nits drama. As I was running her over to summer camp, I cautioned her that this is really something we should just keep to ourselves. Let's not tell any of your friends at camp, because they might make fun. When she asked how they might make fun, I felt this immediate sense of relief, as this was my biggest clue yet that my daughter is not a mean girl. I had to explain what making fun of someone was, and how badly she would feel if someone made fun of her because of this. She asked about telling her camp counselor, and I was like, noooo, this is something we just want to keep in the family. But you can call Nannie and Popeye and tell them if you'd like. I felt absolutely no concern about taking her to summer camp with an active case of head lice. That's where she got them at, so let's just take them back one last day for a little visit. We'll have this knocked out before she returns to the Daycare Nazi for before and after school care, and I will know I narrowly slipped through the net and got one over.
As for skid marks, I don't have much to say about that, other than exactly how old does a child have to be before they actually begin to apply the toilet paper directly to their ass instead of just waving it around down there? Really, it just made for a better title
It started Thursday morning, though not with the hair, but with an ear. She woke up a little whiny and said her ear hurt. The child's almost eight, so I asked if she wanted to go to the doctor or not. I know that sounds a little too democratic-parenting bullshit to some, but for real, it's her ear. She'll let me know if it starts to get out of hand. She said no, let's just wait and see. I was down with that, because I had a dentist appointment scheduled for the younger daughter and I was already going to be late for work, but I didn't want to be dentist appointment AND doctor appointment late. Thursday night I asked about her ear, she says it's fine. But her head itches in this one spot. Hmmmm, I sure hope that's not lice. But it can't be. She washes her hair everyday, specifically so she won't get bugs in her hair.
Our daycare had a lice outbreak a few years ago, five years ago to be exact. I remember this because it was shortly after the younger daughter had been born and I had just returned to the SHITTIEST job in the whole entire world from my maternity leave. Seriously, it was a horrible job and I hated everyone there and I hated myself for having to go there every day. Anyway, our daycare owner, who could also be called the Daycare Nazi, like the Soup Nazi, declared that any child who got lice would not be admitted into her facility until the parent had a doctor's note that the lice had been treated and were eliminated. Obviously, you see where I got the Soup Nazi reference from. There were daycare workers stationed at the front door every day checking each child's hair before entree was granted. If your child had lice, well then, NO DAYCARE FOR YOU! I used to imagine her saying that with a Russian accent like the Soup Nazi.
I immediately spazzed out, because I had just taken three months off from work on vacation leave. I didn't want to burn up any more vacation time, because I would need that to call in sick to go on job interviews because did I mention this was the shittiest job ever? So I went old school on my older daughter. I used the old country ass/prison trick of rinsing her hair with vinegar every night in the bathtub, because this was what the prison system used when hosing down all of the convicts coming in from the local jails. Worked for them for decades before they switched to lye shampoo. Yes, the child was stinking horribly for about two weeks, but no lice. Mommy had prevailed. Take that, you dirty lice.
But back to the story at hand. She's scratching a little bit on Thursday night, but her ear feels all right. Okay, maybe this is just something that's psychosomatic about being back with me after spending a summer with her father whom I am pretty sure just let her do whatever in the hell she wanted. Friday morning, her ear hurts again and she agrees that we should probably go to the doctor. She's asymptomatic for an ear infection, but she always was. And her head still itches, same place. So MommyKemosabe has a little look-see, and honestly, I didn't know what in the hell I was looking for. I didn't see much, other than three or four white flakes that I assume is dry skin from all the scratching. We'll have the doctor look at that, too.
Off to the doctor's office. Swimmer's ear and a middle ear infection. Glad as fuck I caught that before the weekend, because The Ex would have been miserable had it gotten worse, since this is his weekend. I was actually more relieved for my daughter, because screw him. And yes, we have nits. Lovely. I guess nits are baby unhatched lice. I didn't ask because it was gross either way. According to the doctor, lice like clean, light colored hair the best. Who knew? I guess I can stop strong-arming her into washing her hair every day and just go for every two or three days like she really wants to do anyway. I will continue to insist that she at least rinse her ass off every day though, preferably with the soap that I have kindly placed in the shower for that purpose. Off to the pharmacy to get the prescriptions filled, because apparently lice have become resistant to the over-the-counter treatments. Ewwwwww. Or this is just part of a larger conspiracy of the drug companies to get us to buy their shit. Whatever, I don't care at this point. The good news is that it's not a full-blown infestation, it's localized to that one spot. Thank God. And the doctor gave me refills in case the younger daughter gets it. Or in case I get it. What??? Uhhh, what the fuck are you talking about, in case I get it? Oh, hell no. Hell no. Mommy will not get lice. That would totally mess up my chi. Sorry, but quiet time with my vibrator will just not feel the same if I have head lice. It would be like that time I broke my wrist and had a hard cast. I refused to have any kind of sexual relations for the entire duration of wearing said cast because who has sex with a cast on? Seriously, who does that?
My older daughter was quite excited by all of lice-n-nits drama. As I was running her over to summer camp, I cautioned her that this is really something we should just keep to ourselves. Let's not tell any of your friends at camp, because they might make fun. When she asked how they might make fun, I felt this immediate sense of relief, as this was my biggest clue yet that my daughter is not a mean girl. I had to explain what making fun of someone was, and how badly she would feel if someone made fun of her because of this. She asked about telling her camp counselor, and I was like, noooo, this is something we just want to keep in the family. But you can call Nannie and Popeye and tell them if you'd like. I felt absolutely no concern about taking her to summer camp with an active case of head lice. That's where she got them at, so let's just take them back one last day for a little visit. We'll have this knocked out before she returns to the Daycare Nazi for before and after school care, and I will know I narrowly slipped through the net and got one over.
As for skid marks, I don't have much to say about that, other than exactly how old does a child have to be before they actually begin to apply the toilet paper directly to their ass instead of just waving it around down there? Really, it just made for a better title
Friday, April 29, 2011
Weddings
I really made an honest effort not to get sucked into the whole royal wedding thing. Really, I did make an effort. But what woman can deny the real-life fairy tale that was unfolding on television? Not me, that's for sure. However, I did not get up at 4:00am to watch it, and my children didn't either. At that time of the morning, I will be roused for two things: crying children and sex. But not together. No, no, no. Oh, and a tornado. I would drag my tired ass out of the bed at 4:00am for a tornado. Crying children, tornadoes and sex. And they all better be legitimate. Bring your A game, because that's all I have the patience for at that time of the morning.
The royal wedding dress was gorgeous and as a woman who doesn't weara lot of any clothing that is revealing ,(although I did buy a super cute halter top the other day to surprise Guy #1 except... I need to lose ten pounds first) I was relieved to see the bride in a dress that was modern, classy, unfussy, unfrilly, and covered her up very nicely. Hopefully this will start a new trend of women not looking like strippers walking down the aisle. It reminded me of my own wedding, except she looked happy, relaxed and really thin. I, on the other hand, was none of those. I have got to get back on my diet. My ass is getting FAT. Guy #1 insists it's PHAT, but he's not the one having to lay down on the bed to zip up his jeans. But kudos to him for liking a fat ass! And yay for Prince William for marrying a brunette! I don't care what anyone says, there's nothing better than being a brunette. Because we can go out and get drunk and still remember it the next day.
I found out last weekend that The Ex is getting married, and strangely, since the announcement was made public, the children have never said anything to me about it. I never asked, not even after the odd and stilted email he sent me on Monday to discuss "the changes that are occurring in this household". I didn't acknowledge his email, because I know how much it pisses him off if I don't acknowledge his emails and texts. I sent him an email on Tuesday about doctor's appointments and copays for the children in the next couple of weeks, and he never acknowledged that. Hello, dumbass, there's a big difference in me not acknowledging your impending nuptials and you not acknowledging that you have to cover these copays. But whatever, motherfucker, we can play that game. So when he dropped the children off tonight, I asked for the copay for the follow-up appointment for the older daughter's foot situation. He acted stupid. I stood on the front porch and looked at him and asked if he got the email I sent. He said he did and I said I needed the copay.
Then I asked if he had ended our gym membership, because this was the last joint membership that we had kept after the separation because it was cheaper for us to keep the family membership and me pay him monthly than for us to join separately. But since we've determined we won't be using that gym for our summer camp or summer pool membership, I said that I didn't want to continue to have a family membership with him. I asked him about this because since we had already discussed it two weeks ago, I decided in my head that effective May 1st, I wasn't going to give him another fucking dime towards it in the event he forgot to end the membership. He said that he hadn't ended the membership, but he would just take my name off of it and put another name on it in my place. Okay, I know what your girlfriend's name is. You can say it around me. I suppose that was his dig at me to let me know yet again I've been replaced. Whatever again, douchebag. I said fine and have a good weekend. What he doesn't realize is that he might have replaced me, but I've upgraded. So there, bitch. It works for me better because now the children still have that membership and I don't have to pay a dime towards it. I like it!
But when the children and I were watching a rerun of the royal wedding tonight, it was suddenly announced by the younger daughter that her father and his girlfriend are getting married. She asked if I knew and I said yes, The Ex had emailed me about it. If you remember, I posted sometime last year about our "card" games, and I thought to myself when he sent that email, he thought it was his ace in the hole. For what, I'm not sure, but it ended up actually being an 6 card. Can't beat much with that, dickface. My ace card was that I still haven't acknowledged the nuptials to him and I'm pretty sure I'm going to act oblivious and stupid through the whole thing to him. My passive-aggressive is way better than his passive-aggressive.
I did ask the children, though, when they were getting married. I was just curious since he didn't mention that in the email. October, they reported, because his girlfriend has lots of work stuff to do in September. Yes, everyone should get married six months after their divorce is finalized. I just checked the internet and her house isn't for sale yet. She better hurry up, because this housing market still stinks. Maybe I should just list it for rent on craigslist. Every woman should have a future husband with an ex-wife as nice and considerate as me to list their house for rent. That can be my wedding present to them. Maybe I'll list his house for rent, too, just to cover all of their bases. ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!
The most annoying thing to me is that I finally feel like I'm getting to the place where I can actually start to call Guy #1 my boyfriend, and now, very irrationally, I feel like I can't because I'll always think it was in reaction to finding out The Ex is engaged. I am exceptionally bothered by the fact that he's rushing the children through so many stages so fast that I have to go extra slow. I mean, I've been dating Guy #1 for six months and he's finally met my children. Just as I'm getting over this hump... boom. I don't know if my children are ready for all of this. Life goes so fast for kids anyway that all of this must be happening in the blink of an eye. I just don't want to add to the fast-forward they've been put on. Getting over the whole boyfriend verbiage has been hard for me, and god knows, Guy #1 has been patient. He has been more patient with me than I think any man ever has been. I don't know what to do to get over this hump. I'm annoyed because I feel like I'm right there, at the top of the roller coaster, and now some dumbass a few cars back is having a panic attack and they have to stop the whole damn thing to get that one person off, and in the meanwhile, I'm just waiting. It's.... right.... there.... but I'm still here.
And so, that's where I am right now. Trying to get over the hump.
The royal wedding dress was gorgeous and as a woman who doesn't wear
I found out last weekend that The Ex is getting married, and strangely, since the announcement was made public, the children have never said anything to me about it. I never asked, not even after the odd and stilted email he sent me on Monday to discuss "the changes that are occurring in this household". I didn't acknowledge his email, because I know how much it pisses him off if I don't acknowledge his emails and texts. I sent him an email on Tuesday about doctor's appointments and copays for the children in the next couple of weeks, and he never acknowledged that. Hello, dumbass, there's a big difference in me not acknowledging your impending nuptials and you not acknowledging that you have to cover these copays. But whatever, motherfucker, we can play that game. So when he dropped the children off tonight, I asked for the copay for the follow-up appointment for the older daughter's foot situation. He acted stupid. I stood on the front porch and looked at him and asked if he got the email I sent. He said he did and I said I needed the copay.
Then I asked if he had ended our gym membership, because this was the last joint membership that we had kept after the separation because it was cheaper for us to keep the family membership and me pay him monthly than for us to join separately. But since we've determined we won't be using that gym for our summer camp or summer pool membership, I said that I didn't want to continue to have a family membership with him. I asked him about this because since we had already discussed it two weeks ago, I decided in my head that effective May 1st, I wasn't going to give him another fucking dime towards it in the event he forgot to end the membership. He said that he hadn't ended the membership, but he would just take my name off of it and put another name on it in my place. Okay, I know what your girlfriend's name is. You can say it around me. I suppose that was his dig at me to let me know yet again I've been replaced. Whatever again, douchebag. I said fine and have a good weekend. What he doesn't realize is that he might have replaced me, but I've upgraded. So there, bitch. It works for me better because now the children still have that membership and I don't have to pay a dime towards it. I like it!
But when the children and I were watching a rerun of the royal wedding tonight, it was suddenly announced by the younger daughter that her father and his girlfriend are getting married. She asked if I knew and I said yes, The Ex had emailed me about it. If you remember, I posted sometime last year about our "card" games, and I thought to myself when he sent that email, he thought it was his ace in the hole. For what, I'm not sure, but it ended up actually being an 6 card. Can't beat much with that, dickface. My ace card was that I still haven't acknowledged the nuptials to him and I'm pretty sure I'm going to act oblivious and stupid through the whole thing to him. My passive-aggressive is way better than his passive-aggressive.
I did ask the children, though, when they were getting married. I was just curious since he didn't mention that in the email. October, they reported, because his girlfriend has lots of work stuff to do in September. Yes, everyone should get married six months after their divorce is finalized. I just checked the internet and her house isn't for sale yet. She better hurry up, because this housing market still stinks. Maybe I should just list it for rent on craigslist. Every woman should have a future husband with an ex-wife as nice and considerate as me to list their house for rent. That can be my wedding present to them. Maybe I'll list his house for rent, too, just to cover all of their bases. ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!
The most annoying thing to me is that I finally feel like I'm getting to the place where I can actually start to call Guy #1 my boyfriend, and now, very irrationally, I feel like I can't because I'll always think it was in reaction to finding out The Ex is engaged. I am exceptionally bothered by the fact that he's rushing the children through so many stages so fast that I have to go extra slow. I mean, I've been dating Guy #1 for six months and he's finally met my children. Just as I'm getting over this hump... boom. I don't know if my children are ready for all of this. Life goes so fast for kids anyway that all of this must be happening in the blink of an eye. I just don't want to add to the fast-forward they've been put on. Getting over the whole boyfriend verbiage has been hard for me, and god knows, Guy #1 has been patient. He has been more patient with me than I think any man ever has been. I don't know what to do to get over this hump. I'm annoyed because I feel like I'm right there, at the top of the roller coaster, and now some dumbass a few cars back is having a panic attack and they have to stop the whole damn thing to get that one person off, and in the meanwhile, I'm just waiting. It's.... right.... there.... but I'm still here.
And so, that's where I am right now. Trying to get over the hump.
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