The Continued Airing of Festivus Grievances, aka My Bitch List, Part 8

Yeah, Christmas is over and so is Festivus, I’m sure. Does anyone have a date on this holiday? Nonetheless, the airing of grievances continues! One of my all time favorite stories follows- the infamous show lettuce. Plus, some slight repeat stories. This started out strictly as a bitch list and eventually I wrote about some of these atrocities so I apologize for the repeats.

– We were at a company management Christmas party, I believe. Something was brought out on a bed of show lettuce. My dear husband eats whatever the course was, maybe cottage cheese? And then proceeds to eat the show lettuce. Not wanting him to be the only one who ate the show lettuce I swallow it down as well. My friend told me, “You’re a good wife.” Yeah, apparently not that good; he decided to fuck his cousin instead of being faithful to me.

– The first time I begged him to go to marriage counseling with me after his “confession” (June 2013) he flat out refused and then told me when I found out he’d spent the summer texting and calling his cousin/whore, “You know I haven’t been happy for a long time.” Many years earlier I had asked him to go with me, not even necessarily for marriage counseling and his response was that he didn’t believe the counselor could offer him anything.

– As our kids got older and could stay by themselves for short periods of time I suggested doing a date night weekly, or at least monthly. “Why would we want to do that?” was his response. Yes, I’m totally to blame for us “growing apart”.

– He got mad at me after marital counseling and accused me of thinking I was “so perfect”. This was after the counselor asked how things were going and he just sat there. I was the one who had to tell the story. I told it factually. I didn’t call either of them names or embellish. I simply said, “This is what happened. This is what I was told.” But yes, apparently because I can recall our conversations and tell the counselor what happened I think I’m perfect and do nothing wrong.

– He repeatedly threw me under the bus, especially near the end. Some of the whopper lies he told: We hadn’t had sex in 10 years. I wrote on my other Facebook page, while he was DYING (lie #1) that he was annoying me and wasting my time (lie #2). I left him upstairs alone to cry and didn’t check on him all day. Yes, he couldn’t wait to tell everyone how horrible I was and how mistreated he was; meanwhile, here I am protecting him at all costs. I told three people about his original affair, and two of them lived out of state. Some of my closest friends had absolutely no idea what he had done because I didn’t talk about it. We never had a ten year drought on sex; in fact, considering who he told this to I know he lied about this in the last year. It is true that our sex life took a huge hit for a year or so before his first affair with the gold digging whore, in the last 2 years we had been having lots of sex! Make up sex. Sex twice a day sometimes. Perhaps when he said we hadn’t had sex in ten years what he meant was we hadn’t had sex as frequently as he liked in ten years, and the frequency he would like is ten times a day, every day. Stupid ass! The whole, “She just leaves me upstairs to cry in my room. She hasn’t checked on me all day,” was bullshit! I had checked up on him frequently; every time I checked on him he was sleeping. He was always complaining about how he couldn’t get any sleep so when I saw that he was finally sleeping I didn’t want to wake him. In hindsight I think he lied about the sleeping, too. Every time I would come to bed he was snoring. No sleep my ass. Finally, we all know the dying story is not true. He wasn’t dying and I never wrote anything like that anywhere.

– He also loved to tell people that I only stayed with him for the money, and he had told me he felt like he was nothing more than a wallet and a handyman. I will admit he makes (made) good money. The kids and I lived a very nice life and there wasn’t a whole lot we couldn’t have within reason. No, we weren’t out there buying cars and diamonds and flying off on vacation every other month, but if the kids needed clothes I bought them clothes. They had very nice Christmases. We live(d) in a beautiful, spacious home. To hear him talk, though, you’d think he had a trust fund or something. When I think back to all the things I put up with “the money” wasn’t enough to make me stay if I didn’t love him. He has not been a big ol’ joyful picnic. He’s a neurotic mess, a drama queen, a pessimist, and he was never much of a partner or a parent. 20 years later and all we have is a bunch of debt despite him making 6 figures for the last 15 years. 20 years of moving all over the country, no matter how happy we may have been somewhere. 20 years of buying a new house, getting situated in a new community, making all new friends, watching my kids have to go through that as well. So, no, sweetheart, the money wasn’t why I stayed. The really funny part though is he’s involved with a true gold digger. She’s never had a budget, spends money like it’s water, and has been arrested for writing bad checks. Seriously! How many bad checks and at what amount do you need to write them before they haul your ass off to jail? Not only that she attempted to sucker my husband in with her sad tale of woe where she’s trying to convince him that her husband is the one that likes to spend, spend, spend, and she’s had to file bankruptcy three times because of him! She works 70-80 hour weeks because her husband is wasting all of their money. Ironically, her husband says that never happened. They filed bankruptcy once- when their restaurant closed down. Aside from that it never happened. He wasn’t the one with the spending problem; she was. My dumbass husband is throwing money at her like he used to throw at the strippers he once dated. I’m sure she’s not in it for the money, though! And she will definitely not be moving her ass any time soon. Oh hell, no! Her kids aren’t going to have their lives disrupted.

– Oh yeah, before he dated me he dated two strippers. Not at the same time. Although with his track record and habit of lying who the hell knows!

– While he will bitch and moan to anyone who will listen (mainly his mommy, his sister, his “best friend”, and, I’m sure, his whore) that I just spent every dime he ever made he’s not doing a better job! He’s cashed in stock and taken out a loan to the tune of over $11,000. He has almost $5000/month from his paychecks because he lives at home and pays no bills (he gives me what he thinks he will be ordered to pay and not a dime more! I then pay all the bills out of that.) When he was asked if he had put his share of the money into my account he told me he hadn’t. When asked why he hadn’t, his response was he didn’t have it. His American Express bill is 60 days past due. He paid $200 of a more than $4000 bill when the minimum payment was over $2000. And his corporate card? Oh, that sucker was delinquent as well. And filled with charges for his whore and their fucktastic getaways! (Obviously, this was written during the time he was still living in the house. Things did change but all of the above remains true.)

– He never gets along with his immediate boss. They are fantastic once they are no longer his boss, but while he’s working under them they’re a PITA. In hindsight, I think the reason the people out on the floor like him so much is because he feels he can afford to be generous with them. They fawn over him. They never tell him he’s wrong, and if they were to question him, hey, he’s the boss. I think it’s possible that he gets along with the people from corporate because they all think he’s the greatest thing ever, plus they don’t tell him what to do. They are not his immediate superior and in fact they are known to have an attitude of, “Whatever it takes for him to fix the mess….” He loves that because he’s never told no.

– He was not much of a social person period! He had his moments, but pretty much after he lost his job and we moved he became a hermit. As for holidays, well, he hated them and started leaving me to go visit family on my own almost as soon as we got married.

– He makes no effort to keep up with friendships and then whines that no one comes around. Not that he really has many friends anymore.

– He hated Christmas or at least getting gifts. It was like pulling teeth to get gift ideas. He said it was because he didn’t want to disappoint anyone if they got him something he didn’t like.

– He didn’t like getting birthday gifts, supposedly, either, but he would get butt hurt if you didn’t get him a card.

– I know this is bitchy but I’m going to list it anyway. He was usually terrible with gift giving. I read somewhere once that it’s because people like him have no empathy; they think only of themselves so they can’t imagine thinking about what another person might want. If you gave him a list he was very good about getting everything on that list, even if you didn’t expect that. He was also very good about sending flowers. I will give him credit. But there was one Christmas I got a water filter, a spaghetti pot with a strainer lid, and footie pajamas about 3 sizes too big. There were a few other things in there, too, but I don’t recall what all they were. I think that might have been the year he put car wash coupons in my stocking. My mom always remembers that. Another Christmas I recall him being so proud; he told me he got me a lot of things he thought I was really going to like. It was, as I like to call it, the “As Seen On TV” Christmas. I think I got everything except the automatic plant watering bulbs. There was the pedi-egg, the facial hair remover pads, the no corner brownie tray, a pancake pourer (I will admit I do use that), the sliders griddle…. hmmmm, I can’t remember anymore. It was just package after package of this type of stuff. One year I got a coat that I still wear. Update: I bought myself a new coat so I don’t have to wear that thing anymore. It was quite the practical gift. I do appreciate it but it’s also about 2 sizes too big. Was he subtly trying to tell me that I was a big ol’ fatty and I needed to slim down? Seriously- all the pajamas he bought me were 2X and 3X.

Cold Hard Reality Sneaks Up

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m a loyal Chump Lady reader. I find her view on infidelity refreshing. She doesn’t make excuses for the cheaters. She doesn’t accept blame for their actions. I’m sure there are those that don’t like her black and white thinking, or the fact that she’s not very optimistic when it comes to reconciliation. I don’t march in total lockstep with her but I do agree with most of her viewpoints. I like reading the comments as well because so many others have endured something very similar to what I’m going through. I have a huge Word document that contains little nuggets of wisdom I’ve gleaned from her pages. So much of what is said there makes so much sense to me; it also tends to closely align with the way I believe. You read there for a while and you forget how the rest of the world views infidelity.

How do they view it? Let me count the ways. Read any online article and its comments or a blog by the affair participants and you’ll read about how it takes two, it (the affair) was a mistake, no one is perfect, she/he wasn’t meeting my needs, the poor dears just have such a high sex drive and the spouse can never keep up, there must have been problems in the marriage, happy people don’t cheat (i.e. it must have been the spouse’s fault), monogamy isn’t natural, people are so judgmental of adulterers, adultery has been around as long as time so it must be natural to cheat, and affairs can make you a better spouse/parent because you’re happier. That’s just for starters. There is also the ever popular: She must have let herself go, she gained weight, she withheld sex, she doesn’t know how to take care of her man…

What a load of shit. The whole “letting herself go” kills me. Yes, because only fat, ugly women get cheated on. Maybe someone should let Jennifer Aniston, Christie Brinkley, Halle Berry, Jennifer Garner, Reese Witherspoon and Eva Longoria know they need to take better care of themselves. You’ve let yourself go, ladies!

I’m also a big fan of the withholding sex/not enough sex excuse. First of all, over the years I’ve read comments from a lot of women who were absolutely stunned that their husbands had enough time and energy to have an affair because they were getting it at home every day or every other day. I know of a woman whose advice was to give it up whenever he wanted, even if you didn’t feel like it because if you didn’t he would go looking for it elsewhere. Guess what? Her husband still cheated. Fathered a child with his mistress, in fact. I’ve already recounted how my own little cousin fucking sociopath told everyone we hadn’t had sex in ten years. Hey, current and potential mistresses? The thing about cheaters? They lie. So while you may think you’re saving the poor soul from a sexless marriage chances are he’s a lying sack of shit.

Closely related is, “My spouse is not meeting my needs.” Oh well, then by all means go out and fuck someone else! You are entitled to it, my poor sad sausage! You know what else? If your boss isn’t meeting your request for a raise you should just steal from the company! You deserve it. Who is your boss to deny your request? What are they expecting when they won’t give you what you want?

We could extrapolate this to everything! I told her to shut up and not make me angry. What did she think was going to happen? You can’t fault me for slapping her around. Or: Hey, I paid a lot of money for that dinner and concert. She knew I was really into her. What did she think was going to happen at the end of the date, especially when she agreed to come inside my apartment? I deserved sex for everything I did for her. Sure, some judgmental people might call it rape, but I call it rewarding me for all that money I spent. Let’s try this one: The baby was crying. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t get him to stop so I shook him. You can’t blame me for that; anyone else would have done the same thing! Or my personal favorite: He cheated on me so I ran him down with my car. What did he think was going to happen?

Funny observation here… you know what’s even older than adultery? Murder. And yet I’m pretty sure none of the cheaters out there would find it understandable if their spouse actually did kill them. I certainly don’t see them defending the act with the same vim and vigor that they excuse cheating because “he/she wasn’t meeting my needs.” Another funny observation… Thanks to all my ID TV viewing it seems it’s usually the cheaters who kill their partners and not the other way around. Because they’re entitled fuckwits who don’t care who gets hurt so long as they get what they want. They don’t think they should have to lose anything so it’s easier to just kill off the discarded partner instead of divorcing and taking whatever consequences happen to hit them in the face.

Newsflash! People in happy marriage DO cheat. Some people just like knowing they are getting one over on their spouse. They like a pussy or dick buffet. No matter how happy or satisfied, no matter how well fucked, they will still mess around because they like it. It is fun for them. It is all in the thrill of the deception.

It also does not take two people to destroy a marriage. It takes two people to make a marriage work; it only takes one to destroy it. Well, I suppose if you also count the whore who is willing to sleep with another person’s spouse then yes, it does take two. But we all know when a person says that they are referring to the husband and wife both needing to participate in the destruction. This is also the point in the discussion where I like to point out that if I couldn’t make my cousinfucker eat a turnip then I couldn’t be expected to make him be faithful.

No marriage is perfect; therefore, every marriage is going to have problems. Cheating does not solve them. It adds to them. Furthermore, there are many things you can do if you are experiencing problems in your marriage. Counseling, talking, and divorcing are a few of those. Having an affair is not a great solution. It is a selfish move and it is no excuse. I know there will be those who say, “But we’ve tried counseling! I’ve tried telling him/her what the problem is/what I need but my spouse never listens. Nothing ever changes.” This is your chance to be a big boy or girl and actually file for that divorce. If you’re so miserable you are looking to fuck another person then I would think you were miserable enough to actually file for a divorce and attempt to start a new life. Grow up and act like a damn adult instead of a toddler throwing a tantrum! Get out when you realize you’re unhappy and nothing is going to change instead of waiting until you have a new warm bed to fall into. I don’t care how horrible your spouse was; when you wait until you have someone new lined up you will always be the the one in the wrong. Nothing they did or didn’t do will compare to what you’ve now done.

I think my quartet of favorites, though, might be the “it was a mistake,” “it just happened,” “no one is perfect” and “people are so judgmental” justifications. No one is perfect? Really? Here I thought if I was the perfect wife, married to the perfect man, raising the perfect children in the perfect house then I would have the perfect life! Can you see my eyes rolling so far back in my head that I can actually see the dinosaurs? Do you honestly think you need to be perfect in order to not cheat on your spouse? Seriously? That’s the bar we’ve set now, is it? In order to keep your dick in your pants or to keep dicks from falling into your vagina, you must be perfect. Everyone else fucks indiscriminately! Ridiculous! You know who thinks you need to be perfect in order to not cheat on your spouse? Entitled, cake eating fuckwits, that’s who!

Furthermore, no the affair did not “just happen” and it was not “a mistake”. You weren’t walking along and happened to trip onto someone’s nether regions. There were conscious decisions and well thought out deceptions that occurred all along. I wrote something similar about that here.

I’m going to paraphrase Chump Lady: A mistake is forgetting to pick up milk on your way home, or buying Charmin Extra Strong instead of Charmin Extra Soft; it’s not fucking another person. That is a deliberate choice!

When you find yourself getting a little too close and a little too attracted to someone who is not your spouse, that’s your moment to sever ties and get your head out of your ass. If you decide to keep this “friendship” going then you have made a choice and you can no longer say the affair “just happened” or that it “was a mistake”. No, you nurtured it. You chose it. If it was “a mistake” like you wish to claim then it was “a mistake” you willingly made.

Every lie you tell your spouse in order to carry on your relationship with this new person is a deliberate deception. It is not something that “just happened.” You don’t mistakenly tell lies in order to carry on a relationship that you know would be painful to your spouse.

There are many choices leading up to an actual affair and you chose each and every one of them, so please, now that you’ve been caught do not insult my intelligence with your “it just happened” and “it was a mistake” nonsense. “A” mistake would be a single mistake. A single time you mixed up the Charmin Extra Strong with the Charmin Extra Soft. An affair is multiple “mistakes”- each and every lie, each and every choice to do the wrong thing, each and every act. It is deliberating gas lighting your spouse, manipulating them, deceiving them. And it didn’t “just happen.” It was well thought out and meticulously planned.

Again, I really doubt anyone would believe me if I was in court explaining, “I don’t know why I ran him over with my car. Repeatedly. It just happened! I had no control over it. One minute I’m on the sidewalk, talking to him and the next, BOOM, I’m behind the wheel of the car running his pathetic ass over. It was a huge mistake; I’m so sorry! Hey, no one’s perfect!”

I would take on the “people are so judgmental” blame shifting but unfortunately, every time I try all I can hear is, “Whaaaaa! Whaaaaa!” Poor little babies. Out there fucking other people and no one is willing to understand their pain and sympathize.

I know this doesn’t describe every cheater but it does describe mine and many others. He cheats on me, abandons his kids, quits his job, plays victim, tries to get out of paying a generous child and spousal support order, tries to skirt any and all of his financial obligations, and instead of giving me a very generous settlement agreement so that he can begin his new life with the whore he instead tries to fuck me over, and yet I’m the one who needs to work on my social skills! Don’t be so judgmental, Sam! Gosh, it’s not like you’re perfect!

Does it ever occur to these self-absorbed whining babies that maybe they should be judged? That maybe they are doing awful things? That maybe they are not making the best choices? Of course not! That would actually mean taking responsibility for their own shitty behavior instead of shifting it off onto the spouse they shit all over.

Hearing that having an affair makes you a better spouse (or parent) is another one of those senseless things that tend to come out of cheaters’ mouths. Yes, and as Chump Lady likes to say, breaking your knee caps improves your tennis game! My home catching on fire tends to help me with my cluttering issues! Abandoning your children makes you a better parent! Totaling your car makes you a better driver! I could do this all day. Ah, but the cheater did say that it makes them a better spouse because they’re happier. I guess that’s one of those: If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy kinda things.

The problem with this is that once again the cheater is only concerned with his or her own happiness. Let’s face it; they don’t really give a shit if the cheated on spouse is happy. Nor do they really care about their children’s happiness. They care about whether or not they are happy. If they bring someone into your life who ends up being a bunny boiling psychopath… hey, that bunny boiler was fantastic in bed and it made them happy… so why complain about the fact you now need a restraining order against her and can’t let your kids out of your sight for fear she’ll abduct or hurt them? If they end up giving you an incurable STD, hey, at least they were happy! If that STD causes you to lose your baby in your 5th month of pregnancy…. come on, can’t you focus on the fact that he was happy, dammit! Have you never made a mistake? Oh no; I’ll bet you’re perfect!

If they end up spending thousands, or hundreds of thousands on the affair partner, or plowing through all of the marital assets, leaving you and your children in poverty, you shouldn’t be upset about that. No, be happy for them because they’re happy. Your marriage is going to be so much better now!

Hmmm… I’ll have to ask my kids if their daddy being happy makes them happy. I’m not quite sure that the tradeoff was worth it. On one hand Dad’s getting his dick sucked regularly; on the other hand my kids have seen their entire lives as they knew it dissolve in an instant. It’s such a tough call.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and declare that all the spouses who have been killed by cheating spouses are not happy. I will further declare that their loved ones are also not happy. They don’t give a rat’s ass about the cheater’s happiness.

Finally, they love to declare that monogamy is not natural; therefore, cheating is natural and to be expected. Do you know what else isn’t natural? Shitting in an indoor toilet that you then flush. Electricity. Heart transplants. Vaccines. Penicillin. Not dying in childbirth when the baby can’t squeeze through the birth canal. Alarm clocks. Birth control. Living in spite of having diabetes. Vacuum cleaners. Microwaves. Keurigs. Surviving cancer. Washing your hands to prevent the spread of germs. Women voting.

Those are all modern inventions. How many cheaters wish to do without them?

As far as how animals work things out in the wild… well, let’s say you go leave to be with your new and improved lover. In the wild when a new alpha male takes over he tends to kill the offspring of the previous alpha. Are you good with your children being killed off? Because that’s what happens naturally. In nature.

Furthermore, it’s not like you don’t know what you’re signing up for. Very few people are actually forced to get married, or to marry someone not of their own choosing. Remaining single and fucking everything that moves is certainly an option. I know; if you choose that option who is going to take care of you? Who is going to help finance your 401k or your savings account? Who will watch the children, walk the dogs, do the laundry, and give you the appearance of wholesome family man or woman? Hey, those spouse appliances are extremely useful! I know it’s a trade-off- someone there to share the burdens of life with you versus living a single life with a variety of sexual partners, but it is a choice you can make if you find monogamy so “unnatural” and difficult to follow.

Or, here’s another crazy idea. I personally would never go for a marriage where my husband was free to fuck around, but some people have those arrangements. If you want a smorgasbord of pussy or dick let’s try something unique. It’s called honesty. Before you ask this person to marry you, and certainly before any vows are said, let the person know you need a variety of private parts to keep you happy.

Sadly, that ruins the thrill for many cheaters. No more lies. No more deception. No more sneaking around behind the betrayed spouse’s back. It’s just not fun if you have permission. Plus, if you agree that you both can screw around, well, that puts you on equal ground and we can’t have that. What happens if the spouse decides he or she likes one of the conquests better? What if screwing someone else makes your spouse realize everything you lack? What if they’re out screwing some random conquest and they’re not around to iron your shirts or make your dinner or work on your car or mow the yard or show up and smile at the company Christmas party?

Besides, even in open marriages there are rules. Cheaters don’t like rules. So if the rule is you can’t see someone more than 3 times, or you must use protection or no kissing or whatever the rule may be, the cheater is going to break it, because they like getting one over on others.

It’s too bad that the same old excuses keep making the rounds and that’s the dominant voice. My hope is that eventually the voice of Chump Lady and Chump Nation will be the dominant voice and we can put these sorry excuses to bed (pardon the pun) once and for all.

An Update To Reaching Out, Part 2

I wrote a month or so ago about a relative of CF’s who had reached out to me in September out of the blue. I ignored the message because I figured what was the point of replying. I was about 99.9% sure I had seen the whore’s picture on this relative’s friends list and I have no desire to let that cum guzzling cunt have a ringside seat to my life. This relative (or I suppose I should say former relative) has a habit of tagging herself in my pictures so that she, too, has a copy. That’s not usually a problem until I don’t want the whore to see pictures of me or my kids. CuntFace had a front row into my life for 2 years and that ended very badly for me so the less that evil bitch knows about me and my kids the better I feel.

Anyway, she sent me a message asking for my address so that she could send a Christmas card to me and the kids. I suppose the Christmas spirit took over me because I gave it to her. Eh. What’s the harm, right?

So, I get the card the other day and all was well. Until I began thinking… I bet she sent a Christmas card to Cousinfucker and Harley and her four kids. Probably addressed it to Cousinfucker, Harley and family, like they’re a legitimate family and everything.

For whatever reason that thought makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like the idea that someone can wish me a Merry Christmas and tell me they’re thinking of me and miss me all the while they’re ooh’ing and aah’ing over Cousinfucker and the whore. I find well wishes from people who have no problem with what Cousinfucker and the whore have done and are doing to be insincere. To be blunt I have no desire to associate with anyone who thinks that what those two nitwits are doing is okay. If you’re good with the two of them being together, with destroying me and my children, then you’re no friend of mine.

So much for reaching out. I have no time for this nonsense.

I Have Two Children, Right?

My sister-in-law was over at the house the other day wrapping gifts. While she was here we talked about whether or not we thought CF would send the kids anything for Christmas. I jokingly said I should start a pool and take bets.

The very next day a card arrives for Rock Star. It’s from her dad with a gift card enclosed. Naturally there is a gooey message in there about how proud he is of her, how much he misses her, how he thinks about her constantly and he hopes that one day she will want to see him. As my daughter put it, “It’s good to know that he can take my Christmas gift and turn it into something about him.”

Hey! Wait just one darn minute. Don’t we have TWO kids? Yes, yes we do. Perhaps in his sorrow over the fact that he chose a gold digging whore over his own flesh and blood he forgot he had a son as well because nothing came in the mail for Picasso. Nothing arrived today either.

Obviously this throws off all bets. I didn’t have a category for gifting one child and ignoring the other; I never foresaw this although I probably should have. But since I’m discussing it, what kind of a fuckwit sends one kid a card and a gift and doesn’t send anything to the second kid? I suppose there is a slight possibility that Picasso’s card hasn’t arrived yet. I’m not holding my breath but I do acknowledge it is slightly possible.

Here’s another fun fact. He listed his return address as an apartment in his mom’s city, which is about an hour away from the whore. Hmmmm….. I do so love playing detective, especially since he thinks I’m so stupid. I thought at first he was using one of the apartment addresses associated with Tammy Faye.

She and Pastor Fake live in a four unit apartment building. Her sister-in-law and her husband lived in the unit next door, although I hear they are getting a divorce so who knows what’s going on now. Her granddaughter lives above them with her boyfriend and their two kids, or at least she did a year and a half ago. Pastor Fake’s brother and his son live in the final apartment. Again, this was all before I found out I was married to a lying, cheating sonofabitch so things may have changed. Nonetheless, they’ve got most of the family living in the unit.

When I received an invitation for the granddaughter’s baby shower a few years ago I noticed the street address was different from Tammy Faye’s. I asked her about it and she verified that she did indeed live above Tammy Faye but for some reason, maybe the door faces another direction, the street address is different.

Anyway, I tell you all this story because I thought possibly he was using one of those addresses for his return address. It turns out though that the apartment listed is actually about 5 minutes away. Why it’s such a fucking secret where he’s living is beyond me. Furthermore, I love how he thinks he’s pulling a fast one because I know damn well he’s living with the ho bag. If you look on his Facebook page he lists the whore’s town as his place of residence. He listed her address on all of his tax forms, his bank account, MY fucking bank account, and his paycheck from his former job. Does he not realize I have access to all of that? Oh, Cousinfucker, please tell me again how your IQ is so high you could be a member of Mensa.

I’m not giving it much thought but I continue to be amazed at what a liar he is. He lies as easily as he breathes and for no purpose other than to try to con me. Why? Who knows? I don’t care.

Good news is I also have a pool going on whether or not he’ll post another sappy message to his kids on Christmas and what it might say. You’ve still got time to join this one; place your bets, everyone!

Not Letting the OW Take Up Head Space

August 2014

I’m finally back and ready to discuss not giving the OW anymore headspace. And healing.

Here’s the funny part. I usually feel like I’m pretty well healed. It was a short affair. Even the most dire of the so-called experts say it takes anywhere from the length of the affair to twice the length of the affair to heal. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe some say 3-5 years. But really? For a 3 1/2 month long emotional affair where they supposedly never met up in person? Twice as long would be 7 months. 3x as long would be 10 1/2 months. But I digress. As I said I usually feel healed. I read other affair blogs and I see the pain so many of them are going through and I don’t have that pain.

Shawn’s blog was started a year after her D-Day and she likes to talk about her road to happiness. She advocates, after a year of insanity on her own part, focusing on your relationship and putting the other woman out of your mind. I wonder sometimes what that would feel like. I don’t check up on the whore that often anymore. Nothing new and even if there were I couldn’t see it. I do still check to see if she has commented on my in-laws’ page. I can’t seem to let the pain die. I tell myself it’s because it’s good to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Don’t let yourself be ambushed.

I wonder what it would be like to just forgive and forget. To pretend that seeing my mother-in-law tell my husband’s whore that she was sooooo pretty, knowing she was the whore that tried to break up my marriage, wasn’t painful. To pretend that his sister encouraging him to leave me for the whore was forgotten and completely understandable. Honestly, I don’t see that happening.

I wonder what it would be like to trust him 100%, to still be stupid and naive and believe he would never cheat on me. I hate the fact that I get jealous now. I don’t feel it’s a sign of a healthy relationship. I hate wondering if one of his female colleagues is going to catch his eye, or more likely, that they’ll strike up a friendly relationship and it will turn into something more. And when I tell myself all I have to do is blow his mind I get mad at myself. Isn’t that just manipulating through sex?

I tell myself to observe how he treats me now- the adoring texts, how he says he thinks about me constantly, he always wants me, the way he’s willing to give me anything I want. He’s made more effort to be involved with the kids and he’s gone away on vacation with us *three* times now since April. He compliments me. He says he wants to marry me again. And yet, look at the second paragraph. I still preface everything with supposedly, or, so he says, or, if he’s being truthful.

I would like to believe it whole heartedly. If I think back to how things were before he confessed the first time I would say that he definitely treats me better and I don’t think he’s still messing with her. But if I look at the second half, the actual longer part of their great love affair, I can’t tell. Because I thought things were getting better and the reality was he was still hot and heavy with her.

I don’t know that I will ever be able to leave it completely behind. Just today as I was reading a blog I started to feel very melancholy. The writer was questioning why her husband chose her after spending more than 2 years fucking her best friend. Why is he so sad now, thinking he may lose her. I can identify with that. He says he called her and ended it after getting off the phone with me. I had made it clear I wanted him to end it via text so he could show me. Instead I have her text which makes it sound like she ended it. I don’t have the satisfaction of seeing in black and white the words: It’s over. I choose my wife. I love her. You were a mistake. You’re not worth losing my wife and family. No, instead I remember him replying, “I know I don’t want to lose my kids,” when asked if she was worth losing his wife and kids. And his lame text where he’s basically agreeing with her instead of taking a stand.

How could he tell her he loved her and wanted to marry her and then just suddenly change his mind? How can he tell his sister our marriage is dead and Harley makes him happy and he loves her, and then say, “Oops! My bad! Turns out I love my wife after all,”? Intellectually I know it’s all about the affair fog and affairs not being real relationships. But emotionally I can still tell myself it’s because he really did love her and he’s only here for his kids.

So, this is what I wrestle with a year later, almost 2000 miles from where it happened, in a new house and him in a new office, not the one where they texted and sexted for months. I’m soon going to be driving a new car, one that no longer holds memories of me raging against him or his family. Do these things matter? No, not really. I could have happily lived in the house where it happened, had him go into work every day in the office in which it happened, and not felt a thing. The cars don’t bother me either, although I do need a new one. I suppose I just keep trudging along, healing a little bit more each day. I know I’m not ready to forgive and forget. I know I’m not ready to trust 100%. I’m not ready to completely kick the whore out of my headspace. And that’s all ok. I’m getting closer every day, and if this is as close as I get then I’m fine with that.

Added later: I forgot to add I still have all her pictures on my phone. I still have her picture listed in my contacts for all of Zack’s family. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to part with that.

Added about a month later: Rereading this brought up the concept of pain shopping. When I first heard the term I thought it referred to shopping, perhaps recklessly, to dull the pain. No, it refers to going back to or searching out things that will hurt you. Like going to the OW’s FB page. Or your in-laws’ FB pages. To see how they’re interacting with one another. I suppose that’s true. I’m sure my relationship, at least with his mom and stepdad, would be better if I had never read them fawning all over my husband’s whore. But, me not seeing it doesn’t stop it from happening. Do I really want to be played for the fool again? I’m all- Oh, we’re one big happy family. So glad we got past that nasty affair business. And they’re saying- Oh we are, too. We love you! All the while they’re buddy buddy with the whore and I’m just an idiot who thinks I mean something to these people who obviously prefer his whore to his wife. I would prefer to know. I don’t wish to be ambushed anymore. I’ve had enough holidays and special events ruined thanks to being clueless. I don’t wish to have superficial relationships with people who remain in contact with the whore. That’s like saying I would have been better off not knowing about the affair. I’m better off not knowing about the affair and my husband’s betrayal, and I’m better off not knowing that every fucking person in my husband’s family thinks the world of his whore. Yes, because living a life where I’m constantly being lied to and humiliated sounds dreamy.

And a Merry Christmas To Me

I got a certified letter today letting me know they will be having a foreclosure sale on our house in January. Yep, the day I start my new job they will be selling my former home.

Thankfully I am not on the mortgage, only the deed; nonetheless, it’s like a punch in the gut to get news that what was once a beautiful home is now being sold off due to non-payment. God only knows what all is left in the house still. I’m sure Cousinfucker cleaned it out pretty well but more than likely he only took the bigger stuff. My son’s nutcracker collection is undoubtedly a casualty, as is my wedding dress, and numerous outdoor decorations.

I hate what it has become- a symbol of failure. I have to remind myself over and over that it’s not my problem. The pool is green and probably frozen over. I hope nothing else bursts. Again, not my problem. I can only do so much and since he wasn’t willing to do anything my “only so much” wasn’t very much.

Apparently he was too lazy to try to put it on the market or to call the two people I told him about that were interested in a short sale. Probably too busy having sex with his cousin the whore.

Oh well. Like I told my mom when I got the news, thank goodness I didn’t try to stick it out. I would have ended up having to find new accommodations during the middle of my daughter’s junior year of high school. I probably would have ended up having to move back here anyway so better this past summer as opposed to over Christmas break.

I guess the good news is with this foreclosure Cousinfucker can’t buy the whore a house like they planned. He used his VA loan and with this default he won’t ever be able to use one again. He’s never had to save up money before to put a down payment down which he will now have to do if he ever wants to buy again. Ha! Once again I feel I must point out that as much as he bitched and moaned about me spending all “his” money he never ended up defaulting on a goddamn mortgage when he was married to me.

Festivus Continues! (aka My Bitch List, Part 7)

What’s on the list today? How about Jean-Gate, Laundry-Gate, all the different little ways I took care of that big whiny man-child, the A-1 steak sauce faux pas, the time I *gasp* defied his wishes, and what my mother labeled, “the cruelest comment ever”. That’s actually the first thing on the list.

– I remember reading on an Internet forum about how couples discussed finances and when they needed to discuss purchases. At that point I rarely discussed anything of the sort with him, mainly because I never made large purchases. I was out frivolously spending his money on clothes for the kids, groceries, gifts for the family, household items and bills! Anyway, our dog needed expensive surgery. I called him at work to ask his opinion on what we should do. His response? “Why are you calling me at work about this? Isn’t this what I pay you for?”

– It was all about him! I was never “allowed” to be angry or upset, unhappy or discontent. He moved us 2000 miles across the country and then pouts because I’m not adjusting quickly enough.

– I hated our old house. Maybe hate is too strong of a word. It wasn’t my first choice. It was HIS choice. But he got very offended at the idea that I didn’t like the house. “I’m paying the fucking mortgage; I would think you would appreciate this house a little bit more!” Hey- I can appreciate the fact that I made the friends and the connections and got involved the way that I did because we bought that particular house. It still doesn’t mean it was the house I would have chosen. He has a fucking affair with his goddamn whore of a cousin and he’s crying because I haven’t forgiven him fast enough. Not to mention I haven’t completely forgotten about it.

– In a similar vein he bought me an under the counter can opener one year. Don’t mock him; I loved the one I had originally and I wanted another one. But this particular one was a dud. It didn’t open smoothly and it got to the point where you would stop and start a dozen times and the damn can still wouldn’t be opened! I never said a word though because I knew if I did it would devolve into a pity party and how he was the absolute worst husband in the world and obviously he couldn’t do anything right. I guess that would fall under the category of “Never Criticize Him. Ever.” Why? Because he can’t take it. I think he’d rather take a punch to the face than have anyone tell him he’s wrong.

– I remember one time a kid was having a meltdown. I don’t remember what it was about but I do remember I was fed up. I called him at work and got his voicemail. I proceeded to let the kid scream and cry on his voicemail. Boy, was he pissed! “Thanks for making me feel bad!” Hey, no problem! I’d like you to get the full experience of parenthood instead of the whitewashed version.

– I picked up his jeans to wash them while we were at his mom’s. He asked where they were and I told him they were in the washing machine. He made some snide comment about how he was going to wear them that day so I made an offhand remark about how he should be thanking me for doing his laundry instead of yelling at me. That did not go over well! He hissed at me that he thanked me for every little thing I did, blah blah blah. I don’t remember the rest of it but I do know his little rant brought me to tears. All for washing his fucking jeans!

– He would never tell me when he was getting low on socks or underwear or undershirts. Anything really. No, instead he would wait until he had been out of something for several days, up to a week before he would speak up. “I’ve been wearing the same pair of underwear for five days now.” Jesus Christ on crutches! Can you not tell me when you’re getting low on something or do you honestly expect me to inventory your fucking drawers to see what you have? As an aside I hate to do laundry so I would regularly buy him extra socks, underwear, undershirts, etc. It would definitely be possible to have a laundry basket overflowing with clothes and still have plenty of clothes to wear, so it’s not like a full hamper was a huge clue that he was running low. The sad part is I had convinced myself at one point that I *should* be checking his drawers so that he never ran out of anything. I was a bad, bad wife for not keeping on top of all of this!

– This is one a friend of mine remembers just because she thought it was such bullshit. I was never “allowed” to use his grill. That was his. He couldn’t believe it when we went to a cookout at her house and she was the one grilling! His little man mind was blown!

– This one isn’t so much a major gripe but again, this is my list of Festivus grievances so… whenever he would grill steaks he considered it a personal insult if anyone would use steak sauce on the steaks. Apparently, he was such a master griller that no one should ever need condiments when he was the chef. For the record, I LOVE A-1 sauce. Judge away!

– He didn’t like chicken so I rarely made any dishes with chicken. I certainly didn’t make a roasted chicken or fried chicken. But then it got tricky. Kinda like how he hated mayonnaise and it made him gag but he liked tartar sauce… some chicken was ok. Shredded chicken. Breaded chicken. Chicken in casseroles- but only sometimes.

– He didn’t like mushrooms so whenever I would make spaghetti sauce or beef stroganoff I would fix his plate first and then I would add the mushrooms to the rest of the dish and heat it up before serving the rest of us.

– We went over to a friend’s house one evening and we were supposed to bring something to share (read: I was supposed to make something to share). I don’t even remember what it was that he wanted me to bring but I do remember I chose to make two other things instead. Man-child actually pouted and was pissed that I made something other than what he had “asked” me to make. He didn’t like what I made instead and that made him very sad. He probably wanted me to make taco dip and I made spinach and artichoke dip and broccoli salad instead. Ha! You will never again taste my taco dip, you cousin fucking, soul sucking waste of skin! Or my biscuits and gravy.

I continue to be amazed by stupidity. I’ve heard it said that it’s okay to give your all to someone else but that in turn that person should be willing to give their all to you. I’m afraid that’s just never going to happen again. I’m too damn tired. I wasted my best years on a person who didn’t deserve it. I don’t have the energy to be nice to another man.

My Bitch List, Part 6

Will Festivus ever end? It’s doubtful. I’ve got 20 years of pent up rage going on here. Today’s Airing of Grievances: vacations, drama queen antics, holidays and funerals. Of course, it wouldn’t be complete without yet more stupid doormat behavior on my part.

    • He agreed to go on vacation with us and then ended up almost ruining the entire trip for us because of his so-called panic attack.  He blamed it on various things- pricking his finger on a cactus, being dehydrated, drinking too much water after he got dehydrated.  We went out for breakfast the next day and he was shaking.  Eating fucking breakfast was too much for him!  I find it amazing that now that he’s fucking his cousin he’s miraculously cured.  He can get in his damn car and drive hours to get in her pants every weekend.  He can hightail it up to his college class reunion and spend five days there.  I never hear of him panicking or having issues with the driving.  It’s a miracle!  Praise Jesus!
    • Looking back on it he seemed to revel in all his illnesses and disasters.  He would proudly tell that story of how he drank too much water and nearly ruined the vacation for us.  Of course, he didn’t phrase it that way.  it was more of, “I thought I was dehydrated so I drank a bunch of water, and wow, let me tell you about all the side effects I had from that!  I spent the entire vacation in our hotel room.”  My mom pointed out that he was rather proudly recounting his psychotic break in the psych ward when he responded very poorly to a medication.  It ended up causing hallucinations.  He entertained us with various stories of everything that happened when he was in this state of mind.  And strangely enough, I was the villain in the story.  I shit in his car, I snuck alcohol in his room and tried to “frame” him so he would have to stay longer, and I was just plain mean and nasty to him.  In reality I was visiting him every day for the entire length of the visitation time and running out and buying books, gum, etc. to keep him from being too bored.
    • More stupid from me. I fixed and brought him his plate every night.  I would make dinner, put it on a plate for him and take it to him.  I remember sitting around the table one time and he joked, “What are these for?” upon seeing a serving spoon.  Ha ha ha.  Oh, that’s so funny.  Seriously, folks; I would put his tacos together for him!
    • His job was the only thing that mattered.  Every time I would make noise about going back to school for a more marketable degree, or going back to work he would let me know that it had better not affect him.  He didn’t want to have to pay for my classes even though it would end up bringing in more family income.  He didn’t want me to take a job where I had to travel, or where I would have to work nights or weekends.  Basically, if I got a job that was awfully cute but I was still expected to do all of the housework, laundry, child care, grocery shopping, cooking, etc.  Oh yeah, and if the kids were sick or had the day off from school then I needed to arrange for child care or call off because his job was way too important to do any of that.  Plus, he had lots of television to watch in the evening so he couldn’t be expected to make dinner or schlep kids around to activities.
    • He was the biggest drama queen!  Every little thing that went wrong he blew up a million times.  If something was wrong with the A/C then by golly that was going to cost thousands of dollars to fix.  If the toilet ring was loose and needed repair it was going to cost thousands (or perhaps only hundreds in this case) to fix.  Our daughter brought her guinea pig into a restaurant in a lunchbox when she was five.  He FREAKED THE FUCK OUT!  Swore the health department was going to shut down the restaurant, we’d have to pay the fines, we’d have to buy everyone’s dinner.  There was never a simple solution.  He borrowed trouble.  Geez Louise, calm down, assess the problem, and then act.
    • He couldn’t be bothered to take his kids to see his family but he expected me to drive an additional 5-6 hours when I would go out to visit my family so that I could take the kids down to see his mom.  They *never* met us someplace or came up to where we were.  It was always me putting them in the car and driving the whole distance down to them.  To make it extra special then the return trip home would be extended by about 3 hours.  I once ended up on a 100 mile detour because he had insisted I take the kids to see his mom and the route I normally took to get back home was flooded.  About 5 miles from my exit I was sent on a detour around 10:00 at night and I ended up driving an additional hundred miles.
    • He wasn’t big on holidays.  He did a little better once the kids came along, but he was perfectly content for the most part to do very little.  When the kids were younger we would go out to dinner for our anniversary and then finish up the Christmas shopping but in the later years I did all of it.  He might go out and buy them one or two things while he was shopping for me.  He did decorate the outside.  But I was the one that regularly took the kids to be with family over the holidays while he was content to sit at home by himself.
    • My favorite holiday was Mother’s Day (that’s sarcasm, folks).  When I lived close to my family I would get the kids (or kid when there was only one) and take them down to my mom’s house.  I spent the entire day there, tending to my kids.  It never occurred to him to take the kids so I could have some free time (when my kids were young- preschool age and younger- I rarely had any time to myself so this would have been a treat).  For Father’s Day he was given the entire day to do whatever he wanted, usually without kids.  I would again take my kids down to my mom’s house, and if I didn’t go down there, then I would wrangle them up and take care of them.  He also usually got a child-free Easter when we lived close to my mom.
    • I spent many holidays with him at our house and me with my family because he chose not to take time off and be with me.  When we lived close to my mom I would take the kids down there for Easter; he would stay at home.  Mother’s Day, Father’s Day- already went over those.  We did spend pretty much every Thanksgiving with his family when distance wasn’t an issue.  We would celebrate Christmas with them at that time, too.  This was his choice because he always got more time off at Thanksgiving than at Christmas.  When we were close to my mom we would all go down for Christmas Eve.  Whenever we lived several hundred (or thousand) miles away I would usually end up going by myself.  When we lived down south he never came up with me.  When we lived out west he came with me twice (and we did visit with both of our families).  The rest of the time I would make the trip with both kids by myself, to both families. And I drove.
    • I drove 26 hours straight through the night after packing my suitcase and both kid’s suitcases plus boarding two dogs at two different places to be with him after his father died.  I also had the house relatively picked up for when he came home and had finished the laundry, thinking I had an extra day to get everything done.  I also notified the school so that the absences for both kids would be excused and they could get their homework and finish it while on the trip.  That’s pretty much what any loving spouse would do, right?  Yeah, when my grandfather died he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to make the trip with me.  He only went because I insisted after my mother had an absolute fit upon hearing that my husband wasn’t going to go with me (and this wasn’t even her father!).  He didn’t go with me to either of my grandmother’s funerals, or when my step-father died.  Come to think of it, when my former father-in-law’s father died my mother, my daughter, and I all went down to be with him while my dear husband stayed at home.  I went because I felt called to do so.  I guess he just didn’t give a damn.  Or maybe it was because of work.  It was always so important until he started fucking his cousin.  Now it’s amazing how much vacation time he can take.
    • In that same vein, although he couldn’t make it down for his step grandfather’s funeral (a man he had known since he was 15 and saw quite frequently when we would make our trips down to his home state) he was able to make it to his cousin’s funeral (a man he had seen maybe 3 or 4 times in the 20 years we were married).  I’m sure the fact that he was looking forward to fucking his other cousin played a huge role in his desire to go to that one.  Bonus points for the fact that he refused to take our daughter down with him so she could see her grandmother since it would interfere with his ability to fuck his cousin.  Double bonus points (or maybe triple!) for taking that opportunity to introduce his whore to his dad’s side of the family.  Klassy!

My Bitch List, Part 5

Wow! I didn’t realize I was going to have so many parts to this. I’m trying to break it up into smaller parts so that you can truly savor some of the shittier things he said or did. When you’re bombarded with a hundred of them at once you can’t fully embrace the sucktitude. Anyway, in today’s Airing of Grievances we will focus on his lack of parenting skills, his selfish behavior, some outlandish behavior I put up with, and his dysfunction. I just love Festivus!

    • Our relocation counselor completely screwed the pooch on our move so we ended up already living in another state before we found out what our house was appraised at and what our buyout offer would be.  It was $40,000 less than what we had just refinanced the house for less than a year prior.  Instead of taking charge he ended up catatonic on our bed all weekend long while *I* took charge and called his mentor to see if we could get some help.  I’m sure I also spent quite a bit of time patting his wittle head and telling him everything would be ok.
    • He kicked me out of our bed for approximately seven years because of my “snoring”.  Seven years!  And then wondered why our sex life had dwindled.  Funny thing- when you make your wife feel like a low-level street walker she doesn’t tend to get the crotch tingles.  Seriously.  He honestly expected me to come into the bedroom, service him, and then go back out to the living room and sleep on the couch so as to not disturb him.
    • I believe the first time he ever took both kids out with him was when they were 4 and 6; maybe 5 and 7.  I was puking and shitting (again, probably TMI) and he was going to the drugstore to get me some medication and clear liquids.  Shitbird actually looks at me and asks, “Do you want me to take them with me?”  I shot daggers at him with my eyes and replied, “Yes.”  He was very hurt and told me, “I was just asking!”
    • Of course, later on, when he was sick I had to find a last minute babysitter to watch our son. This was probably a year after we had moved so I wasn’t real tied in with a support network.  Incidentally, out of the two kids, our son was definitely the easier child to have when you were sick.  He would sit in bed with you and watch tv.  He wasn’t going to take that opportunity to tear up your house and create all sorts of messes.  But, the King couldn’t possibly be left with a 5 year old while I took our daughter to an ice skating show that we had bought tickets for 6 months prior and had been eagerly awaiting to see. No!  He was sick!  So I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to find someone to watch our son so I don’t have to disappoint our daughter and cancel this long awaited outing.  Thank God one of our friends had a kid who offered to come home for a few hours and watch him!
    • I was at my son’s class holiday party when I got a frantic call from my daughter.  She needed a $1 gift for the gift exchange for her own class party.  Obviously, I couldn’t leave at that moment.  I was actually in charge of my son’s party.  My dear husband was home for the day so I called him up and said, pretty much exactly this:  I need you to run to Target and get a dollar gift out of the dollar bin for a girl.  Then take it up to daughter’s school.  Go in the office and tell them it’s for her, in Mr. X’s class.  You would have thought I asked the man to perform open heart surgery on himself.  What?  What do I do?  How do I know what to get?  What do I say?  He ends his lovely tantrum with this:  Fine.  I’ll do it but this is NOT what I want to do!  Then he hangs up on me.  Father of the Year material right there. And yet… he can accompany the whore’s kid to school for show and tell.  Hmmmm…
    • He was not left alone with both of our kids until they were 10 and 12.  I had a wedding to attend.  Of course, he didn’t wish to go with me so he stayed behind and minded the kids for the long weekend.  First time ever!
    • In fact, when I went to my high school class reunion (also something he didn’t care to attend with me) my mother rode out with me (1500 miles) and then flew back home so that he wasn’t left in charge of them.  How pathetic is that?  Yes, I know.  I let him get away with this shit.
    • A year after the out of town wedding I went to Florida with my mom to help her spread my stepdad’s ashes.  That was the second time he was left alone with both kids.  And I did quite a bit of pre-planning for that.
    • Another “How Stupid Can I Be?” moment.  I always made sure he had food before we went on a trip or that he had dinner if I was leaving for the evening.  Hey, you can’t expect a grown man to actually get in his damn car and drive someplace to grab something!  And to expect him to cook?  Oh, the horrors!  There were times that I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off because on top of everything else I’m trying to do I have to run out and get food!  Or even better, if we were going somewhere as a couple and the kids needed food *I* would be the one grabbing it while he sat back at the house, lounging around and watching tv.  When I left to go to Florida for a week when my mom was spreading my stepdad’s ashes I made up several meals for him and the kids.  All he had to do was read the instructions and heat it up.  Any time he left to go on a business trip there was certainly no meal preparation for me!  God, I was an idiot.
    • That same week I arranged for my daughter to get to gymnastics instead of putting him in charge of that.  And I had to give him a detailed list of where each child was supposed to go and when.
    • Dropping off a child in the carpool lane caused major anxiety for him.  Or so he said. He actually snapped at Picasso because he desperately wanted his dad to take him to school and Shitbird was hyperventilating over it. I wonder if he was hyperventilating at the idea of being the whore’s kid’s show and tell for the day. Seems to me that would be more anxiety provoking simply dropping his own son off. Especially now that he has been officially diagnosed with PTSD.
    • Even once they were older he didn’t want to do any of the hard work.  I was in a bunko group.  We met once a month.  The day of the week happened to be on a day that my son was at hockey practice.  My daughter was already at gymnastics five days a week.  So, one day out of the month he would need to get our son to hockey practice (daughter would already be at gymnastics, thanks to ME) and then pick up both son and daughter.  I stupidly volunteered to quit my bunko group if that was too much for him.  Of course it was! You can fight a fucking war but you can’t figure out how to pick up two kids on the same night?  ONCE A MONTH!
    • Our daughter is a junior; our son is in eighth grade.  He has been to approximately four parent-teacher conferences. I wonder if he attends parent-teacher conferences with the whore for her kids. Probably.
    • I will give him kudos for making it to almost all of our son’s hockey games. He was even left alone with Picasso and had to get him to games while I was out of state with Rock Star; however, our daughter competed gymnastics from second grade through eighth grade, plus an additional year of Excel.  She then competed at the high school level.  He has been to probably six meets over the course of those 8 years.  That might be generous. He has never attended a single high school meet and has never seen her cheer either.  Not at games and not at competitions.

I Survived Day One

I did it. I survived my day from Hell. I got up at 1:20 this morning. Yes, 1:20 a.m. A time of night when most people are sleeping. But not me! Oh no! I am bright eyed and bushy tailed at that hour.

I got up, went in to work at 2 a.m., worked until a little after 10, came home, ate some breakfast, threw a load of clothes into the washer, went to my second job at noon and worked until a little after 8 pm. I was proud of myself for getting through it and then realized I get to do it all over again tomorrow. I go in at 3 a.m., work until God knows when and then work noon-8 once again. And then get up and go in to work at 3 a.m. one more time. So we’ll see how well I do when I’ve pulled 2 sixteen hour days in a row. Thankfully I only work one job on Sunday and I should be done no later than 11 am.

My feet hurt, my body aches, and I am in total bitch mode right now. Seriously, I am so cranky. I could bitch slap a nun and wouldn’t feel a bit of remorse. I probably would when I’m no longer feeling so exhausted but right now… stay out of my way.

Aside from that I can say I did it. I was dreading it but I survived. I always do. I’m the total opposite of the soon to be ex. While he’s off crying, fucking his cousin and whining about his supposed PTSD I just worked a sixteen hour day. And unlike him I didn’t spend it playing Candy Crush or Angry Birds. I really really hate him. See? I told you I wasn’t a very nice person right about now.

I need to go to bed. I have to be to work in 6 hours. Hooray!