They were having some fun over on Chump Lady this weekend, creating memes. I somehow got sucked into it and have created over 50 of them. It’s been so much fun. I thought I would show off some of my artwork. Enjoy!
They were having some fun over on Chump Lady this weekend, creating memes. I somehow got sucked into it and have created over 50 of them. It’s been so much fun. I thought I would show off some of my artwork. Enjoy!
I thought I’d try something new today. I debated sharing this because after re-reading it it’s kind of scary in a disturbing way. I’ve written a lot of weird, scary, slightly disturbing stuff but this one… it kinda takes the cake. In fact, I would crown it the wedding cake of bizarre and disturbing. Let me say for the record I wrote this when I was young. I would also like it noted that I wrote it after a nasty breakup with a very evil guy. I’m not going to change any of the references; however, since it was originally written in 1990 some of them may not make sense to anyone born close to that date! Also, it was written before school shootings became the unfortunate frequent occurrence that they are now. But, as I said, I didn’t go through and re-edit so what you’re seeing now is what I wrote all those years ago. You have been warned; read at your own risk…
Killing the Anti-Christ
“And as we have heard so many times before commencement means ‘the beginning’ and not ‘the end’. So as we graduate and begin our new lives, remember that today, Commencement is not the end; it is the beginning,” I said to the fellow members of my graduating class. I looked out into the rows of hapless students and 200 pairs of watery blue eyes with sunken red faces and blond receding hair lines looked back at me, dully. The stupid expressions on their faces cut straight to my heart and at once I was sickened by the sight. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “this should be the beginning.” And then I looked at those pitiful souls- the ones who would do nothing at all with their lives because they were all too stupid to do anything except lie and cheat and give birth to exact replicas of themselves. Those words danced in my head. “STOP RIGHT THERE!” I shouted. “I haven’t finished my speech. Commencement is the beginning-”
“We’ve heard it before. This speech is doing nothing for me!”
I shot my heckler a look of burning hatred. I hoped it burned through his ugly little retinas, leaving him blind forever. “Commencement means the beginning, not the end- EXCEPT FOR YOU!” I screamed, pulling the Uzi out from behind the podium. The rapid spray of bullets took out the front row immediately. Others scattered for shelter. I laughed cruelly. “I can see you all from here. You can’t hide from me!”
I stomped down into the crowd, my graduation robe flapping in the wind, my Uzi grasped tightly yet confidently in my hand. I confronted the heckler.
His eyes looked up at me, pleading. He cowered in fear, his mouth a blubbering mess as slobber spilled from all corners.
“Is this doing anything for you?” I asked before spraying him with a round of bullets.
I should have felt guilty, pouring the bullets into his pale face and skinny, worthless body, but I didn’t. I was doing important work. I was killing the anti-Christ.
I woke with a start. It was the same dream that had haunted me ever since Dick entered my life. I should have known something was amiss when his name described his only admirable feature, not to mention personality. I think his parents should have named him Lucifer. It fit him better.
Lucifer, I mean Dick, was a pinball wizard. I met him one night at the arcade. I was playing an innocent game of Ms. Pac-Man and he was ferociously playing a game of pinball. I was soon to find out his whole basement was filled with the damn things. I blame them for the demise of our relationship. It got to the point where he never wanted to have sex unless we were doing it on one of the pinball machines. it was hell. Unfortunately for me, along came a pretty young thing who had a penchant for that kind of thing. Last I heard, they were trying to add Space Invaders and one of those race car video games to their repertoire.
He was a lowly snake; he didn’t deserve to live. I felt this intense need to kill him, mutilate him, scatter his body across the country. Call me insensitive, but I truly felt that arrangement would work best for both of us.
One day I invited him over. It wasn’t too long after commencement- you know, the beginning, not the end. I promised him a good time on the pinball machine and he was over in no time.
“Look, Serena, just because I dumped you for some little bimbo who likes having sex on a pinball machine doesn’t mean you need to complain about it incessantly. I mean, I can’t help the way I feel. She makes me happy.”
“But what does she have that I don’t have?”
Dick was such a bright boy. I paused a moment to reflect in his brilliance.
“Okay, but what else? I mean, is she smart?”
“Who needs a woman with brains? It only detracts from their body. Give a woman a brain and a mouth and what do you have?”
“A person?” I thought to myself.
“A fucking pain in the ass. If I wanted someone to talk I’d get a dog. What I want is a fuck machine. Just lay down and spread your legs. Don’t ask questions; don’t comment on social issues. I won’t know what you’re talking about anyway. It’s like I always say: Women have it made. They can make a living laying on their backs, so why don’t they? They get married and forget what they’re all about. They kinda start living outside their standards; they start thinking their worth something. They need to get knocked down a peg or two; show ’em who’s boss.”
“Yes, well, we digress, Dick. Does this girl have any musical talents?”
“She moans well.”
“But does she know any songs?”
“Oh, I don’t know- Old McDonald. Ever hear it? I love it! Sing with me, Dick:
Old McDonald had a farm
E I E I O
And on this farm he had an axe
E I E I O
With a whack whack here
And a whack whack there
Here a whack, there a whack
Everywhere a whack whack
Old McDonald had a farm…
My voice trailed off and I looked fondly at his severed head. Blood covered my clothes. It was a nice feeling, not quite unlike hopping naked into a warm waterbed that’s set at about 100 degrees on a cold winter night. You just snuggle under the covers and while the frost threatens to freeze anything in its way, you lay there all toasty warm, sweat running off your body. That’s what this felt like.
I grabbed his head and slammed it against the wall a few times, laughing as I did this most obscene, disrespectful thing. I then took it outside and climbed my favorite tree, high into the sky. I stuck his head up there, right beside the bird nest.
There were eggs in it and I chastised Dick, “You be quiet up here. And look after those eggs. You’re getting free room and board. Put yourself to use!”
I climbed down and walked calmly into the house.
I chopped his body into small pieces and then called to my three huge dogs. “Here puppy, puppy! Dinner!”
Two days later I was innocently washing my car when who should happen by but Dick! I was told this would happen. Like the Phoenix who rises from the ashes, the anti-Christ will refuse to die.
“Serena, you’ve gotta quit killing me. Now give me back my head!”
Reluctantly I climbed into the tree and threw his head down at him. “Catch!” I called playfully.
I needed a new plan. How do you kill the anti-Christ? I thought and thought until my brain burst and my head exploded in a fiery ball of fire.
“Damn! I hate it when that happens!” I said to myself, collecting my head.
I thought some more. And the more I thought the more I liked the idea of tampering with his brakes and steering and watching gleefully as his stupid little ugly Beretta crashed into a tree. With a little luck, it would decapitate him and his head would roll into the middle of the busy intersection. Then the car would explode into fiery brilliance, charring his body beyond recognition. And then, just to make sure no would ever know who that charred corpse was, a Mack truck would come along and run over his head, squishing it like a meatball into the pavement, forever etching him into the road. Dead.
I liked it. But it would never work. I needed something more sinister.
“Dick,” I said, handing him a glass of juice laced with Liquid Plumber, “we need to talk. We really should try to resolve things.”
I watched as his body retched and rolled along the carpet, trying to expel the vile chemicals.
“Get your feet off of my coffee table!” I shouted as his feet struck the expensive oak table. “And didn’t I tell you no shoes on the carpet?”
Men can be so insensitive.
I waited until I was sure he was dead. I kicked him a few times in the ribs and stomach to really make sure. Then I went into the kitchen and got out my new set of carving knives. I cut his penis off and glued it on his forehead.
“No one else is ever going to mistake you for a nice guy. Why, you could say you have ‘I’m a dick’ tattooed on your forehead,” I told him. I proceeded to carve the rest of him into little tiny pieces, sawing the bones in half.
Then I added him to a nice creamy broth, added some shrimp and crab, baked it for an hour and ate him.
“There!” I said to myself triumphantly, patting my full tummy. “Just let them try to pin this one of me! They’ll never know where he went to- unless I burp.”
I took his head with penis attached to it and threw it inside the bird house. I covered it with bird seed and left it to rot. “No one will ever find it,” I said out loud to no one in particular. And then, just because it felt good, I belched.
I was holding him under water, drowning him. I only kept him under long enough for him to lose consciousness. Then I would bring him back and strap him to the table so the first thing he would see when he awoke was my smiling face. I tried to get right up in it so my head looked huge. Then I’d smile a big smile so my teeth looked like giant white knives. He would scream in terror and beg me to let him go. I’d just shake my head, not really sympathetically, but just because he was so stupid-looking, and then I’d lead him over to the water again and proceed to drown him again. It was a fun two weeks but eventually I tired of the game, and so with a single bullet between those watery blue eyes I ended his life.
Of course there was the time I electrocuted him. We played a stunning game of pinball and discussed the value of women in the world. Dick, of course, felt they served no purpose except as penis receptacles. I disagreed. A huge argument resulted and he hit me. The stupid sonofabitch slapped me across the face and told me to go make him his dinner.
I waited until he climbed into the jacuzzi and then I approached him. “Dick, what did you want for dinner, honey?”
His head was draped back across the edge of the hot tub. “I don’t care. Just make it quick or I’ll beat you again.”
I put my hand behind the jam box, and gave it a little shove. “How about something fried?” I asked, watching his body jump and jerk and sizzle.
Nothing, it seemed, could stop him. I tried everything. Stabbing, eating, poisoning, electrocuting, decapitating. I needed a plan. A good plan. I thought it over carefully and decided the only way he would stay dead is if he wanted to stay dead. I needed to put him a place that he would enjoy forever. Eureka! I had a plan.
Yes, I admit it: I poisoned the steak. I poisoned it and I fed it to him. Then I chopped him up into a million small pieces and put them through the garbage disposal. I collected them, in even tinier pieces, and burned them. Finally, I took the axe and broke open his most prized possession- his Bart Simpson pinball machine. I scattered the ashes inside and stuck his head on top of a sharp pike attached to the pinball machine. His sightless eyes stared vacantly off into space, not a real big change from when he was alive, and I proceeded to play a nice game of pinball. “Who, Mama!” I screamed as I achieved the high score. “It’s radical, dude,” I said to his picture as I left, leaving Dick a.k.a. Lucifer, the anti-Christ, with his most valued possessions- his mouth and his pinball machine. Finally the anti-Christ was dead.
I sincerely hope I haven’t scared anyone off. I promise I’m a really nice person even if I do have a macabre sense of a humor. This was a dark time in my life. Not unlike the dark time I’m going through now. Hmmm….. I promise this is about an old boyfriend and not a current husband, however delightful the thought may be.
My mom would really like me to clear up a few things. Well, two.
First, and probably most importantly, The Dollar Tree is NOT her favorite store. She does shop there frequently but it is only because of the dollar price tag and not because it’s her favorite place to be. Now you know. I did ask what her favorite store might be now and she said it was probably a department store she frequents down in Florida. They have what she calls, “Old People Day” where she gets an extra percentage off. What with using her coupons and phone apps plus her additional discounts she can get $100 worth of clothes and merchandise for something like a dollar. I know she also likes Kohl’s.
Second, she doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about her watching ID TV all the time. She doesn’t even have it down in Florida so she has to make due with “Forensic Files”. It used to be she watched Law & Order all the time but she has moved on from that. To real life crime shows. I’m not sure what she wants here but I can testify that I spent the entire day after Christmas watching Homicide Hunter: Lt. Joe Kenda. I’m not complaining. I’m simply saying it happened. She’s not a killer, however. Look, I’m with you, Mom. I love a good serial killer story, doesn’t mean I am one. Update: As of today she does have ID TV. We were watching Ice Cold Killers together on the phone. 😉
I’m sure I will have more to atone for at some point in the future and I will once again come back to correct the record. In the meantime just know that my mom is a fantastic lady and has been my rock. I love you, Mom.
Ugh! I know I’ve shared here before that I doubt I’ll ever even find someone to date again, much less fall in love with. I definitely won’t be remarrying or living with someone. So here is my dilemma.
I read on Chump Lady recently one of the readers saying marriage is a trap. Chump Lady replied (and I’m going to quote her verbatim because I thought what she said was quite profound): I don’t think marriage is a “trap.” It’s a wonderful blessing when you’ve got a good one. Most of the bad marriages you find here were never marriages to begin with. I wouldn’t even describe them as “bad marriages” — they were cons.
Hmmmm…. I’m not sure I would call what I had for twenty plus years a con per se. Unequal, unbalanced, not a partnership… sure. Nonetheless, her words did give me pause. Not so much to actually give remarriage a try but relationships in general.
I’ll be honest. I don’t think I have the best picker out there. You could look back at my boyfriends and realistically ask me, “What the hell were you thinking?” I’m also fairly certain that the lack of boyfriend for five years directly led to me rushing into things with Cousinfucker. Furthermore, if I had not gotten engaged so quickly to Cousinfucker I probably wouldn’t have married him either. Then again, that’s the whole purpose of love bombing. Get them committed so they don’t see the real person.
Anyway, in addition to Chump Lady chiming in with her views on marriage and what a blessing it is I also think about another reader from her forum. This person had a disastrous marriage with a cheater that cheated underground for fifteen or twenty years after she caught him the first time. His goal upon walking out the door was to make it impossible for her to trust another man ever again. He actually told her that. Her philosophy was that she didn’t want to have this be the last chapter in her story. She wanted to find love and experience it. Bravo to you, brave reader!
I’m not that brave. Remarriage and living together are definitely out. I will never put myself into that kind of jeopardy again. I lose everything if I do either of those things and then once again I am at the mercy of whatever man I’m with. No thank you! I would love to say: I will not let Cousinfucker be the end of my love story. I will not let him be the final chapter.
The unfortunate truth is I think he is. I’m done. If I couldn’t trust him after twenty-one years together what chance do I have that someone else isn’t going to fuck me over? They don’t come with signs or warning labels. Why would I ever think that someone who had only invested a year or two or five in our relationship would ever be faithful or not up and leave me? I was fooled so completely by him that I don’t think I will ever trust myself to pick another companion. The picker is broken. And I just don’t think I’m into dating again.
I will admit that my experience with dating ends in my mid-twenties back when I was still relatively thin, child free, mostly baggage free, and well, young. I wonder who on earth is going to be interested in me now. I don’t look like a model. I have rolls and flab and stretch marks. I have wrinkles. I’m in the middle of a divorce. I have two kids that need me. I have no job and am living on spousal support and child support. I’m not sure what part of that screams, “Wow! I’m a catch!” To be fair I know I’m not hideously ugly. I’ve also been blessed with youthful looks. And while I’m no longer thin I won’t be appearing on “My 600 Pound Life” anytime soon either.
I don’t think I ever want to envision a future with someone again and have that particular rug pulled out from underneath me. I thought I was living in my forever home. I thought my kids would come back here on college breaks and for holidays even once they were married. I thought we would welcome our grandchildren to this house. They would be swimming in our pool for years to come. I thought this is where we would spend holidays with our children and our grandchildren.
I don’t want my finances wrapped up with someone else. My retirement was his retirement. Now I’m fucked. I’m seriously and honestly fucked. I don’t want a house that I have to leave when he decides he’s done with me and no longer wants me. Of course I’m also never going to live with a man again so there’s that. Even if spousal support wasn’t part of the equation I still wouldn’t do it. I don’t want to believe I’m at one socioeconomic level and have him leave and now I go back to nothing. I don’t want my kids thinking that their lives are going to be one way- cars and college and weddings and Sweet 16 parties and awesome Christmas gifts- only to have to completely overhaul that when the man walks out the door. I don’t ever want to make plans- any kind of plans- travel, home remodeling, retirement, anything- only to have him bail on me.
Cousinfucker has done a lot of damage. I have no problem admitting that. Maybe that was his intention. I have people who tell me I’m going to be so much better off without him but honestly I have a really hard time believing I’m going to look back a year from now, two years from now, maybe even five years from now, and saying, “Oh thank God I got out of that marriage when I did! I’m soooo much happier now.”
Where am I going with this, you might be asking? Glad you asked. I had lunch with a longtime friend the other day. She thinks I should put my profile up on one of the dating sites. She thinks it would be good for me. As she put it: You have spent so much time talking yourself into why you aren’t a catch. I think it would be good for you to see that there are people out there who are interested.
I promised her I would think about it. I am thinking about it right this moment. I have a few reservations.
The first one is obvious to me. What kind of a man wants to get involved in any way, shape or form with a woman who is merely separated from her husband? What kind of a drama llama is he? I am 99% certain I would not get involved with a man who was merely separated from his wife so I have a real problem asking a man to get involved with me even superficially when I’m in the same situation. My mom points out that at least the guy can be certain we’re separated and it’s not some bullshit line seeing as how he’s moved out of the house and is living in another state completely! I will give her that one. I am definitely not feeding anyone a line.
Secondly, I feel like a hypocrite. Before I became embroiled in my own divorce mess I always thought I would never date until I was officially divorced. I couldn’t understand why people would rush to get involved with someone new when they were just getting out of a relationship. Hell, not just a relationship, but a marriage! To a certain extent I do still feel that way. I spent twenty-one years with Cousinfucker. I’m not sure I’m doing anyone a favor by getting involved so quickly after this marriage has blown up. I realize that not every date will lead to everlasting love but I do wonder about how emotionally available I would even be with all of this going on.
Here’s a third reservation. What if no one likes my profile? That would be a bummer! More heartache on top of what I’m already going through. It’s not enough that my husband of two decades cheats on me and leaves me for his cousin; no, I get to find out that I’m not appealing to any male out there! That alone is enough to make me hesitate.
I also need to contend with the fact that this is pretty much how I met Cousinfucker. Oh, it was long enough ago that I didn’t do the actual online dating. No, I ran an ad in the personals. We see how well that worked out for me. But, to be fair, I’m not a wing nut so perhaps not everyone doing online dating is like Cousinfucker.
What else? I keep hearing about how so many disordered personalities use online dating to find their “victims”. Women over on Chump Lady who confide they found their husband’s online profile on Christian Mingle, match.com, and the like. Ugh! Good news is I think I can spot a married man pretty quickly. And again, I’m not a nefarious sort of person so maybe there is hope.
You also have to be careful how you word things on your online profile. I can’t really come right out and say: I don’t ever want to get married again. I’m not even looking to move in with someone ever again. First of all, that’s really putting the cart before the horse, but secondly, it’s like a neon light saying, “I just want to hook up!” But I don’t. I’m not opposed to a relationship; hell, sometimes I think it would even be nice to have someone by my side while I’m going through this, like Cousinfucker has.
There are even moments when I worry about finding someone I really like knowing I’m planning on moving in about two years. Of course, my friend who is encouraging this tells me something like this, “You could be dead in two years! No one knows. You could get hit by a bus. Live a little.”
I guess what it all boils down to is this: I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what’s out there. I’m afraid no one will want me. I’m afraid of being rejected yet again. I’m afraid of being alone for the rest of my life. I’m afraid of being with yet another someone who takes me for granted and doesn’t treat me the way I should be treated. I’m afraid of being a bitch to someone who doesn’t deserve it because I’m making him pay for Cousinfucker’s sins. I’m afraid of losing myself to someone else, putting all of my needs aside for him. I’m afraid of never having a satisfying relationship. I’m afraid I’ll find someone that I really like and he won’t really like me. I’m afraid of introducing my kids to someone and them getting attached and then him moving on. I’m afraid of my kids never having a healthy male role model, or knowing what a father should do. I’m afraid that my kids will never know what a healthy relationship looks like and that they’ll repeat my mistakes. I’m afraid of moving too fast, and I’m afraid of never moving on.
Fortunately for me since Cousinfucker moved us to the middle of nowhere I’m fairly certain that if I ever do decide to try online dating any guy who might see it will probably be a good hour away so it’s not like I’m going to be faced with this problem anytime soon. Plus, as I’ve mentioned before the average age in this town seems to be about 85 so I don’t think I’m going to run into anyone naturally. I’ve tried looking into meetup.com just to meet some new people and there is very little available. I’ve looked into volunteering and again, very little available. I thought perhaps volunteering through the schools might be possible but that was a dead end as well. I swear, I sometimes think Cousinfucker thought, “Hmmm, I’m a miserable, unhappy person who is never content with life. It’s not fair that Sam has chosen to make the best of any situation. It’s not fair that even though her life is not perfect she has chosen to be happy and to look for joy in other areas of her life. What can I do to make Sam as miserable as me? I know! I’ll rip her life apart, move her to the middle of nowhere, and then I’ll leave her for my whore of a cousin and move out of state! If I can’t be happy in my life then I’m going to make sure everyone else is just as miserable as me! And as an added bonus, once I make everyone else miserable with my piss poor choices, I’m going to make sure that I give everyone around me some sob story about my pitiful life so they’ll all tell me how I deserve to be happy. Then I’ll go off fucking my gold digging, bad check writing, frequent flier jailbird, white trash slut of a cousin, playing daddy to four kids that aren’t my own, and working side by side with my bestest buddy in the whole wide world! Everyone will tell me that I deserve this happiness and my family can suck it! It’s my turn to be happy and their turn to be miserable. Ha!”
Cousinfucker is an asshole and I’m still pondering this online (or any kind!) dating thing.
I LOVE my crockpot! I have more than one. I have a Ninja which is amazing! I love being able to brown hamburger or sear roasts right in the crockpot using the stove function and then turning the crockpot function on. I also have the mini crockpot and the three crockpots in one system. With that in mind here is a crockpot recipe. It’s very popular on Pinterest and that’s where I got it.
Crock Pot Chicken & Rice (also called Italian Chicken)
2-4 skinless boneless chicken breasts
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 envelope Italian dressing (you can use the Zesty version as well)
1 can cream of chicken soup
You can cut the chicken into strips or chunks, or just shred it if you prefer. I always shred it. Also, if you are not a fan of rice you can substitute noodles or mashed potatoes.
I had this pinned on my Dinner board for ages before I finally tried it. It was delicious and I try to make it about once a month. It’s quick, easy and inexpensive. You can use fresh or frozen chicken breasts. It’s also one that both of my kids love!
Have you ever had a dream where you woke up pissed off at the other person in your dream? I remember CF having a dream where I had an affair (oh the irony!) and he was mad at me the next day. I’m like, “Dude, it’s your dream!” He didn’t care. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like he wouldn’t talk to me or anything. It didn’t rise to the level of a fight. He simply woke up with residual bad feelings towards me because of this dream.
So…. I had a dream the other night and I was definitely not proud of *my* behavior in this dream. I’m going to classify this as a bad dream because what did happen is the stuff of my nightmares! Rock Star and Picasso (my son is a talented artist) went with CF for visitation. Like a week long visit. I picked them up and we got to talking about what all they had done while they were away. In this dream (nightmare) they had family pictures taken with their dad, Harley and her kids. Harley also owned a pizza restaurant and the kids ate there frequently and loved it. Is any of this making anybody else sick? This is the point at which I lost my shit and even though it was a dream I’m not proud of my behavior. Dream Sam was not happy and was yelling at her kids, telling them that maybe if Harley was so wonderful they should just move in with her. Then I woke up. Thank God!
The reality is I don’t want that bitch anywhere near my kids. I feel for anyone who is dealing with a double whammy of being betrayed by their spouse and knowing that their kids actually like the other person. I know people say that it is far better if the OP likes the kids and is good to them but I am in no way prepared for that. Selfishly I hope I never have to find out. Is that wrong?
Look, I’m a chump. I have a kind heart and I try my best to be fair. The last thing I want to do is be accused of alienating my kids from their dad. So I have my moments where I think I need to do more to make it possible for my kids to have a relationship with their father. Some days I think it would be good for my kids to have a decent relationship with their father. Rock Star has said it makes her sad whenever she sees little girls out with their dads because it reminds her that she doesn’t have one. Picasso seems more… accepting. His stance seems to be: My dad is dead to me. There’s nothing I can do about his behavior and the things he has done so why dwell on it? Don’t look back.
The truth is I think we all come at this from different places in life. The reality for my kids is that their dad never played a huge role in their lives to begin with. I don’t say this to tear him down. It’s a simple fact. He spent most of his time holed up in his bedroom.
Yes, he did go to a lot of Picasso’s sporting events, mainly hockey and baseball. I do remember him being so embarrassed by Picasso’s antics on the baseball field when he was four or five. “Doesn’t that embarrass you when he’s laying on the grass?” he asked me. “Well, he’s four and all the other kids are doing the same thing, so no. He’s a kid! If he were 14 and doing that, sure; I would be embarrassed then.” He was never a fan of soccer so I don’t think he went to many, if any, of those games. I don’t think he ever went to a tae kwon do belt testing either. Then again, CF was big into sports so that was something he had in common with his son. Why that didn’t extend to Rock Star I’m not sure. I suppose because he said it made him so nervous. To which I say, “Suck.It.Up!” Does he think I enjoyed watching my daughter fly off the uneven bars and break her back? I did not! But I was there; I didn’t need to be told about it after the fact. Does he think it was fun watching her hit her head while she was doing a back handspring on beam in practice? It was not. I ducked my head and clenched my eyes tightly shut and was close to tears seeing my girl crying. But I was there. I was there for every fall, every bad meet, every good meet. I was there when she struggled to get back on bars. I was there when she would cry all the way home from a meet because of disappointment (thankfully, that only lasted one season!). I was there even when my stomach was in knots and I thought I would throw up because I was so nervous for her.
He liked to play video games with Picasso. Sometimes. Other times, especially towards the end, he “didn’t feel like it”.
He was never left alone with the two of them until they were both practically teenagers. Sadly, I hear they had a really great time. My daughter told me that she was hoping I would go out of town more often because her dad could actually be a lot of fun. Eating out, movies, family fun centers… It was a great time. Unfortunately, he didn’t do that often. Even family outings where I accompanied him didn’t happen all that often. There were some. I have always said I will give credit where credit is due. I spent a lot more time with my kids without him around than I did with him.
Here’s another sad fact. Both of those kids *wanted* his time and attention. They enjoyed spending time with him when he was in a good mood. Too bad he wasn’t in a good mood often. Two things stand out for me in recent times. The first was Picasso telling a therapist that if a miracle occurred it would be that his dad would finally be better and they could play games together and do all the things his dad had talked about doing with him. It would also include his dad checking in to see how *he* was doing, instead of Picasso being the one who always had to go to his dad. The second thing was Rock Star telling me she got tired of coming into our room to talk and the first thing her dad would say was not, “How was your day?” or “How are you?’ Rather it was, “Time to get out of my chair. That’s where I sit.”
I can worry and wonder if I’m being fair all the days of my life. When you look at it objectively there is really nothing I can do to make him *want* to spend time with them, to make them a priority. He didn’t do it when they lived with him. What on earth makes me think I can do anything to change that now that he lives seven hours away from them? He made his choice when he deliberately moved away from his kids. I don’t control that. I will not be put in a position where I take responsibility for that. It is not my job to cover for him or to make excuses for him. It’s not my responsibility to lie for him. My only duty to him is to not interfere with his relationship with them. I have not. Never have I told him he couldn’t see them. I have not once told him he was not welcome at any of their events (although I did tell him once that Rock Star didn’t want him coming to something). He’s lived with them up until a month ago. He’s had access to everything. He’s had opportunities to take them out to dinner, lunch, or breakfast. He’s had the chance to go into their rooms and talk to them. He’s had access to their cell phones so that he could text them or call them. He’s had the chance to take them to school or pick them up from activities. Hell, he’s even had the ability to ask them if they wanted to go with him on one of his many weekends down to visit the whore! He didn’t choose to do any of that. He decided spending weekends with the whore and her kids was more important than spending time with his own kids. He doesn’t do anything that’s difficult so why would he offer to take them somewhere, or do something with them and be rebuffed? Ultimately, he is responsible for his relationship or lack thereof, with his children. I’m sure he spins it that I’ve turned them against him. That way he’s the victim. He takes absolutely no responsibility for his actions that have caused them to feel betrayed by him. If he had been a decent father throughout the years I might be facing the reality that I would have to share my kids with Harley. Instead it’s just a bad dream.
As I said previously Rock Star and her father had a texting conversation. Wouldn’t want to actually talk because that might be awkward. I think she was texting yet again about her allowance. That child is like a dog with a mighty meaty bone. She was not letting go! She later told me about it because, well, let’s face it, I’m the only parent she really has. In fact, she’s said that to me before. “I’ve gotta keep you healthy, Mom; you’re the only parent I’ve got. If anything happens to you I’m NOT going to live with my dad.”
She’s relaying this conversation to me and the whole time I’m thinking, “This is interesting.” And it was. You see, the very interesting part comes in when you see this person clearly. You see him for who he is and you can spot his faults and not make excuses for him any longer. The victim morphing he was doing was worthy of an Academy Award.
He tells her that he cries every day. Really? He’s going to tell his fifteen year old child how much he cries and expect her to feel sorry for him? Are you freaking kidding me? He did this to himself! He walked away from his family!
He tells her how he goes to lunch with his best friend (did I nail it, or what?) and his buddy just listens to him cry and he’s there for him. He knows that she’ll never believe anything he says ever again and she’ll probably never look at him as her father either.
As she tells me this I cock my head, like a dog does when it’s confused or hears a strange noise. The entire time I’m thinking that he’s not actually apologizing for anything that he’s put them through. He’s giving her a long song and dance about all his failings and expecting her to come riding to his rescue and tell him he’s not that bad. As I said the other day, “Sorry, Charlie. They’re on to you.”
He tells her that he only has a little over $1000/month to live on; he gives us 70% of his paycheck so that we’re supported. And he never contested the amount of money he has to pay me. Cousinfucker, you’re a lying liar who lies! He did, too, contest the amount of money he had to pay me! Our lawyers got together and came up with a figure. He balked and lowballed me. My attorney came back with another number and he balked at that one as well. Let’s put it this way: The amount my attorney came up with was over $2000 more than the number he countered with. My attorney then returned with a figure that was $1000 more than what CF was wanting to pay and was pretty much in the middle between the beginning figure the attorneys came up with and what CF offered originally. I ended up getting just $600 more than his original offer. How he can even say with a straight face that he never contested the amount is beyond me. Oh wait- no it’s not. He lives in a fantasy land! As for his sob story about living on just over $1000/month? Let me count the number of lies in that sentence!
Lie #1- that figure isn’t even accurate! He told his attorney he was making slightly more at this job which would mean his take home pay is not LESS than what he was taking home before. I KNOW how much money he had left over. It’s close to three times that amount once he’s done paying support. So cry me a fucking river, CF! Even if it were true he did it to himself. Lie #2- I would be willing to bet he is living with his best friend and best friend’s family. For simplicity’s sake we’re going to call best friend Blockhead. Now, I don’t know for certain CF is living with Blockhead but seeing as how he didn’t take a single thing with him and didn’t even take all of his clothes my guess is he’s not in his own apartment yet. That means, once again, every dime he has after he pays support is his- no car payment, no insurance, no rent, no utilities, blah blah blah. It does appear he now has a cell phone bill to pay because the calls come from the whore’s town but that could still be paid for by his new company even if he did have to go out and get the phone himself. The only thing he pays for is Harley and her daughter’s cell phone bill and potentially his own cell phone bill. He has a credit card that is in his name only but most of the charges on it are for her and her kids. I suppose it’s not so much a lie as it is pointing out that while he may not have a lot of his paycheck left over once he’s paid what he owes us, everything after that is his. He actually has more spending money than I do because I’m paying all of the bills. Plus, he doesn’t have those pesky kids around asking for nonsensical things like lunch money, field trip money, pants that fit, new tennis shoes, club fees, money for going out with friends, food… ah yes, the list goes on and on.
He goes on to tell her my absolute favorite lie which is that he had no choice but to move out of state because I would no longer let him live at home. That one still makes me laugh. OK, we’ve already covered the fact that he *could* live at home; he would simply have to pay rent. We’ve also covered the absurdity of the idea that his only solution to being “thrown out” of the family home was to quit his job, move out of the state, move in with Blockhead and get a job working with him. Yes, I can see how some might think that was the only solution. He messed up, though, because he did admit to Rock Star when she asked, “Why there?” that it was because Blockhead was his best friend in the entire world. Again, makes complete sense. You know, I kinda miss my BFF, too. I think I’m going to desert my kids and move in with her. I’m shaking my head at the idea that you’ll move away from your kids so that you can be closer to your best friend. I did mention that he’s seen Blockhead six times in the last twenty plus years, didn’t I? There’s a slight possibility he saw him at some point when he was traveling, but I know he hasn’t seen him more than ten times in twenty years.
Blockhead is also the person who outed me and my fake FB page. I believe that is what started Cousinfucker on his downward spiral. It led to him voluntarily committing himself. Guess who didn’t come to visit him? Blockhead! He did come a few months after Cousinfucker got out; I’m sure it was so he could talk him into leaving me or assuring him that his affair with Harley was a wonderful idea. I don’t really care for Blockhead. Neither do my kids.
He did admit he was still with Harley which led to Rock Star telling me that he obviously wasn’t that sorry about what he had done. I know there was also some exchange where she told him to go have fun with Harley’s daughter, to which Cousinfucker wailed, “We’re not that close!” Let’s all cry for him. Hey, if not being that close results in a new iPhone, my cell phone bill being paid, a $300+ dress, the promise of a car, a brand new dog, $200 worth of Christmas gifts, and my truck being repaired I say, “Hey kids, strive for a not close relationship with your dad!” Hmmmm…. I wonder if this means that his attempts to bribe them with bling isn’t working. I knew they trash talked him behind his back; I didn’t realize they didn’t put on a big performance for him in his presence.
Another favorite of mine was when he told Rock Star that he respected me very much as a mother. Really? The jackass has left the state, leaving his kids behind with me. Telling either of them he respects me as a mother is just…. sad? Obvious? A hollow compliment? He left them with me during a hurricane warning. He left them with me during a blizzard warning. He left all of their care and upbringing to me the entire time we were together. Telling them he respects me as a mother is just…. I don’t know. It’s like saying the sun is hot. Or that rain is wet. What does that say about him if he doesn’t respect me as a mother? Maybe it’s the fact that I look at that “compliment” as bread crumbs being thrown my way. Apparently I’m a lousy wife, worthy of being cheated on, but I do ok as a mother. Halle-freakin’-lujah!
Finally, he told her he is still working on his mental health issues and it’s coming along slowly. Oh please! I’ve got to be honest. I don’t believe the man has a single problem. I spent twenty years babying him. It wasn’t that long ago that we were planning a move across the country. He was freaking out about everything. Even being gone during the showings stressed him out. Now he can suddenly move out of state without a single issue but we’re supposed to believe he’s “working on” his problems? Or how about the fact that when he was waiting for the offer to come through for the job here I told him that maybe he should consider leaving his present company and going to another one? I was told that that would be too stressful and he couldn’t deal with the change. Wow! But now that he’s struggling with these so called mental health issues he can suddenly switch companies and even move out of state. That’s amazing! Oh, let’s not forget that when we were getting ready to sell the house he was worried about not being able to sell it and not making enough money to cover the loan. Again, I will remind you that back *then* we had a guaranteed buyout. They wanted him out here so even if our house appraised lower than the loan (we bought just as the housing bubble was beginning to pop) they would undoubtedly once again pay the difference. We also had all closing costs and commission fees paid for by the company. Now? We have none of that. But apparently that’s not a problem anymore. Then there’s the fact that shortly before he began his affair he was telling me how he could barely function and even driving to work was almost more than he could bear. Again, what an amazing recovery! He can now drive hours to get to his whore every weekend. He can drive at night. He can drive during the day. He couldn’t manage to go Christmas shopping with me, or to a baseball game, or sit out on the porch, or go to dinner with the kids on their birthday, but now he can wander shopping malls on Christmas Eve to shop for kids that aren’t his; he can go out to restaurants. He can attend class reunions. Folks, I think we should all alert the VA and let them know that the secret to curing any mental health issues for our vets is to simply advise them to have an affair with their cousin! Problem solved!
Finally, we had the obligatory: Your mom and I weren’t very close. I’m torn on this one. On one hand, things were getting so much better after the discovery of his first affair. He was finally engaged in family life. On the other hand it’s really hard to be close to a person who is constantly shutting you out. I don’t want to spend my life shut up in a bedroom. I’m all about watching TV. I have nothing against it. But could we please do that in the living room instead of being shut away in the bedroom? It’s hard being close to someone when they don’t ever want to do anything. It got to the point where I’d have the kids ask him if he wanted to go someplace with us because he wouldn’t turn them down as easily as he would me. He is trying hard to rewrite history so that it appears I was this cold calloused wife that cared nothing about him and his feelings, and who left him behind while I pranced around the state doing fun things with everybody except him. I’m sure there will be those who believe him. Those people are stupid. I did everything I could but finally I got tired of trying. It was never enough.
I called him a poopy head to my mom the other day, and I think that fits him. He is juvenile, childish, entitled, selfish… need I go on? He is living in a fantasy land that is eventually going to come crashing down around him. I am still struck by how everything he says is a justification for what he has done. It is all about painting himself as the victim. Oh, look at me! I’m so sad. I cry all the time. I bet you hate me and don’t even want to think of me as your dad. I’m a failure. I’m such a terrible human being. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me I’m great. Never once does he apologize to her. Never once does he come close to admitting that what he has done was wrong. She even went so far as to tell him that he ruined her life. I’m not sure what he had to say in response to that. Undoubtedly something that portrayed him as the real victim in all of this. He is a champion at this game.
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aftermath [af-ter-math, ahf-] noun 1. something that results or follows from an event, especially one of a disastrous or unfortunate nature
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