Another Round Of Parental Alienation

Yet another OW’s blog. Yet another accusation of parental alienation. By now everyone knows if the kids don’t come around it’s not because the other parent is an insensitive, selfish asshole; it’s because the custodial parent is alienating them.

I don’t know. Maybe most of these cheaters think they are so wonderful they can’t conceive of a situation where someone would choose not to spend time with them. Their insipid little cohorts are sipping the same Kool-Aid. “My bae is so amazing that, of course, his kids can overlook all of the selfish, shitty things he has done in the name of love. If they aren’t talking to him it’s because the horrible, mentally abusive wife has manipulated them. No, alienated them!”

Perhaps I take these articles personally because I know Cousinfucker has told people I’ve turned the kids against him. I saw the Facebook post where he was lamenting the fact his children “probably wouldn’t see this” (his post) but wishing them a happy Thanksgiving nonetheless and telling them how much he loved them. I saw the responses to that.

Hang in there!

One day they’ll be old enough to make up their own minds!

Just keep telling them you love them!

They’ll know the truth one day.

It fries my fritters when I hear that crap! My kids already know the truth. They know that their dad cheated on me. They know that while he lived with us for the next six months he didn’t bother talking to them. They know he walked out the door without saying a word to either of them. He didn’t bother to tell them he was moving out of the house, much less out of the state. They know he could drive to see his cousin/mistress every single weekend before he moved, and that he couldn’t be bothered to visit them even one weekend in more than two years. They know all of this because they lived it. And those are just the big things.

They have experienced the joy of leaving behind lifelong friends where they grew up. My daughter had the pleasure of giving up her dream of being a Level 10 gymnast, and my son gave up playing the only sport he ever liked- hockey- because their dad was unhappy in Utah and wanted this “dream job”.

We promised them a better life. We sweetened the pot, so to speak, with promises of a pool, a hot tub, a game room, a theater room. My son looked forward to working side by side with his dad, helping him build it.

Instead, they got a father who once again shut himself off in his room. They got a father who ended up in the psych ward. A father who couldn’t go outside supposedly. A father who couldn’t celebrate their birthdays with them.

And then they got to watch as this helpless father who couldn’t go anywhere could suddenly play the devoted daddy to children that weren’t his. He could attend their birthday dinners. He could walk the mall with their whore of a mother on Christmas Eve, shopping for gifts. He could make pancakes for them, and buy them puppies and phones and expensive dresses. He could even go on family vacations.

It didn’t stop there, however! They got the pleasure of moving out of their home, watching all their furniture be sold off, saying goodbye to new friends, and moving yet again- this time more than 600 miles away.

My son had a fairly seamless transition, but my daughter was miserable the first six months or so. She lost her place in the Sports Hall of Fame. She lost future Homecomings (my alma mater does not have a Homecoming dance). She lost gymnastics for good. She had been counting down the days until she could get her license and now she was told nothing she did back in Virginia counted; she would have to start all over and wouldn’t be eligible to get her license for another 6 months. She was devastated. She lost any desire to gain a new set of friends. My beautiful, vivacious girl who was surrounded by friends and a social butterfly, became withdrawn, anxious, and depressed. As she told me once, she went from being everything to being nothing.

My son hasn’t seen or spoken to his father since February of 2016. Cousinfucker was creeping around in the shadows at her graduation and didn’t show himself until we had all left. My wonderful, talented, soft hearted son was with my mom on his way to the restaurant so CF never spent a single second with him. He didn’t bother to make it a priority to say a word to his son. This year he sent Rock Star a birthday and graduation gift, but sent nothing for Picasso- not even a card. I doubt very much that he will attempt to reach out to ask for a ticket to his graduation in 2 1/2 years.

THAT is my children’s reality. THAT is their truth. And that is why my son has no relationship with his father and my daughter has a very superficial one. It is nothing I did or said. He did a much better job at alienating them than I could have ever attempted.

 

Advertisements

The Highlight Reel

This is the second part in my five part series on the stupidity of pain shopping. You can read the first part here. Let me serve as a lesson to you! Don’t do it!

images-19

I embarked on some “research”. First up was a new picture of her kids on vacation. It might have been Tennessee but it could have easily been somewhere else as well.

They looked like they were having fun. I don’t know if CF came along or if good ol’ Harley is finally learning the joys of life with him. In my mind he came along, because this is Life 2.0. He’s new and improved. He’s the doting husband and the beloved daddy, always ready for adventures with this new version of his family. Naturally, in my narrative he’s telling Harley how much he loves going on vacation and how I would never let him accompany us, how he missed out on so many of these adventures with his own children because of me.

Of course, I also notice the missing fourth child. I guess he wouldn’t play happy family or accept CF as his brand new daddy so he needed to be eradicated. Not even a mention of missing him.

I go back and forth between hoping he has a damn anxiety attack on the way back (or while there) that she needs to deal with and wondering if there was some magic formula I didn’t know existed that would have made him enjoy vacationing with his kids and me. Why does he do this with her and her kids when he would never do it with his own kids?

I see the pictures once again of the happy couple on their wedding day and honeymoon, I suppose. Everyone congratulating them and telling them how happy they are for them. I roll my eyes at the stupidity. It’s laughable. Two cheaters promising to love, honor and forsake all others. Yes, they’ve both got a real good grasp on how marriage is supposed to work.

I so badly want to comment and ask those people if they’re aware of the price her husband, her one son, my kids, and I all had to pay for their happiness. Do you think she’s entitled to happiness at my expense? At my kids’ expense?

I sleep on a couch. My daughter has spent two years basically with her head down just doing her damnedest to graduate and get the hell out of here, to start all over in college. My son, instead of hanging out with friends, stays locked in his room playing video games. We live on a busy street, not a neighborhood. There are no kids around he could hang out with.

But they’re happy and they deserve it because apparently I was a horrible, evil, mean person who tried to shit all over their happiness. No one cares what their happiness did to anybody else’s life.

She wants everyone to know that lazy days spent on the couch in front of the fire with her beloved are her favorite kind of Sunday. He’s got the remote in his hand so he hasn’t changed that much.

I see her incessantly calling him out, mentioning him, tagging him. “I love my veteran!”, “Waiting to watch the fight!” (from their home, on the couch, with him), and letting everyone know how they’re “getting their Halloween on”. Wow- you managed to get him to watch something other than Ice Road Truckers or Mountain Men? Congratulations! You didn’t get him out from under the television altogether but at least you’re watching together.

Again I wonder: Why not with me? Why can he suddenly do all these family and couple oriented things with her that he never could with me? Their life seems to be like a cozy, warm sweater. They carve pumpkins, sip hot apple cider, and watch Halloween movies together. I’m sure Christmas is now magical as well for him.

I see all their happy couple pictures and people cooing all over them. “Beautiful!” “Such a happy couple!” “So nice to finally see you happy!” My former in-laws are the worst offenders. And so incredibly stupid.

My late former mother-in-law shouts out to all on Facebook that, “That’s my baby boy and he’s going to make them my family, too!” Really? Aren’t they already your family? I could have sworn you told me that day you sat in my kitchen that you couldn’t cut her off because she was family. She might be a whore, but gosh darn it, Sam, she’s family, too! I see my evil ex sister-in-law gush that she loves them.

Funny side note: Maybe it’s a woman thing but I definitely noticed how Harley was always commenting on their pages once CF broke things off with her. She didn’t comment much at all before her affair with him but she was all over it once she got dumped. Imagine my surprise when I saw that she’s not falling all over herself to comment on every insipid post and each picture. Curious.

Always there are the obligatory compliments: You are so beautiful. Pretty. Great picture of you, whore.

I freely admit it has always been a sore spot that my former in-laws never missed a chance to tell her how wonderful she looked, while ignoring me.

I posted a new profile picture (obviously this was back when we were still married). Keep in mind I am not the type of person who changes profile pictures every week. That would be Harley. I think this was the first change in two years. Two years! On top of that I had just got my hair cut. I had kept my hair styled basically the same way for years! This was a major change and the most I got from any of them was, “That hairstyle looks nice on you.”

Maybe the former in-laws always thought I was very ugly and wondered what on earth their beloved prince was doing with such an unsuitable specimen. Maybe they like the Hillbilly Whore look. Who knows?

I do my best to shake my head and continue on.

I see all of the pictures of her adorable animals. Most of them purchased by my then-husband. Couldn’t give me money for a homecoming dress for his daughter but he could buy them new animals.

To inject just a brief moment of sanity in this I will note that I don’t see the pets she used to pose with. I wonder if she discarded them like she discarded her son and husband. Much like her new husband discarded his family and pets. Oh well, everything is replaceable, right?

I see her update on moving into their new home. That’s nice, bitch. I live with my mom. My kids don’t have a home of their own. It’s nice that thanks to my husband’s money (and he was my husband at this point in time) your kids are able to move into the nicest home they’ve ever lived in. It’s fantastic that things are going so swell for your kids. Well, except the one you abandoned.

Guess what? She later reveals she loves their new home. There’s so much for her kids to do! I’m so happy for them.

There’s the post about her youngest banging his head in the pool and needing stitches. Don’t worry, though, because New Daddy was on the job keeping him calm, happy, and stuffed with candy!

Awww… that’s so sweet. I’m glad he can act like a father for your kids. Too bad he’s done nothing for his own. To be fair he did manage to make a few ER trips with us (hey- my kid was a gymnast; she got hurt a lot!) but that pales in comparison to what he’s done to them the last 2 years. Maybe we should start calling her youngest, “Mulligan” since he seems to be CF’s do-over.

There were the pictures of the family outing to the zoo- two whole hours away to boot! I guess that PTSD must be in remission, huh? I suppose since he’s no longer trying to con me out of sufficient child and spousal support he can fully enjoy life as the asshole he is.

Oh, there it is! Yet another new profile picture of the whore so that everyone can compliment her and tell her how pretty she is. There’s CF chiming in, “Gorgeous!”  Really? I was married to that sonofabitch for twenty fucking years. Granted, he was not on Facebook long while we were married and most of the time I imagine he spent trying to fuck other women, but not once did he bother to compliment me.

It bothered me when I was married to him. It bothered me when we were wreck-onciling. He knew it bothered me. I told him it bothered me. His excuse? “I see you everyday! Why would I bother to comment on Facebook when I can tell you in person?”

That’s a good question. Why is he bothering to comment on Facebook when he could just go home and tell her?  Better question: If he really wants to let everyone know how special she is why doesn’t he tell her that she’s worth the thousands of dollars he has to pay out every month? I would think that would be a huge compliment! “Your pussy is so fantastic I don’t mind paying out thousands of dollars a month for it!” or maybe, “You were worth abandoning my children!” Hmmm… perhaps that does not convey the message they want to convey…

I see more pictures of the happy couple posing in front of scenery that does not resemble Kentucky. Maybe they travel a lot now. How convenient. It’s nice to know he spent twenty years wasting my life and making me do everything solo because he got such anxiety anytime he ventured outside of his house. I think the mobster is right and Harley very much is his seeing eye dog. With her by his side as his faithful companion he can go places he once only dreamed of.

One last new snapshot- one of her daughter and her two smiling sons. They’re all going out to celebrate her birthday. I think it’s wonderful that he can finally go out for birthday dinners once again. The last year he lived in the house, the last birthday each of my kids had before finding out that their family was going to be shattered and their lives torn apart, he was simply too upset and anxious to go out and celebrate. He stayed behind, probably texting the whore, while I took the two of them out. Who cares if he fucked over his own kids, right? The important part is that he’s doing right by her kids.

Once again I see the picture of CF with Mulligan at Show and Tell. It was Veteran’s Day. This year she improved upon the picture with a cutesy frame that told everyone who cared to listen that she loved her veteran. The year before though it was simply about how pleased Mulligan was that New Daddy/Cousin Daddy (Caddy?) could be there.

You know what I thought about? I thought about the time he snapped at Picasso because he wanted his dad to drop him off at school. Good ol’ Daddy was anxious and didn’t know how to navigate the carpool lane. The man can fight a fucking war and blow shit up, but a line of cars whipping through the horseshoe drive in front of the school just wipes him out.

I thought about the time he got pissy with me because I needed him to run to Target and grab a gift out of the dollar bin and bring it back up to the school for Rock Star so she could participate in her classroom Christmas party. As always, shooting people and blowing shit up is easy; a quick trip to Target is life threatening. He will probably need psychological counseling for the rest of his life because of it.

Once again I see them posing the day of her daughter’s cheerleading competition- him posing in a t-shirt with her high school name and mascot on it. Both of them gushing about how important it was to be there for her. “He must love her so much to wear that t-shirt!” “Oh, it was painful to put that Cardinals t-shirt on but I wanted to support her.”

He never saw his daughter cheer or compete as a cheerleader one single time. He never went to a single high school gymnastics meet. At the time he was saying this he had moved out of the state without saying a word to either of his kids and he hadn’t seen them in over eighteen months. Yes, it was so important that he support the daughter of the whore he’s fucking.

And always there are the comments. Comments from people I used to call family. Comments from people who still try to act like they care about me and my kids while they support that fucking whore and her kids. Comments from people who used to be family shouting out how happy they are with the jolly new couple, how much they love them, how much they love Everything. About. Them. They are so proud and this is their family. Tammy Faye cooing over the newest grandchildren. She loves them so much! Doesn’t seem to give a shit about her actual grandchildren but the whore’s kids? She was on that shit quick!

As tempting as it may be, don’t do it! Don’t pain shop. Maintain no contact (and that includes social media). You may think you can handle it, that it will be no big deal, but feelings will come. I promise you this. Even if the majority of those feelings are rage and anger it is still a lot to deal with. It can still mess with your head. Even knowing they are masters at image management, even knowing that truly happy people don’t have to make a huge show of their relationship every day and every hour on social media, even knowing he is the problem and she is a whore, it can still make you doubt yourself.

Hurt

The mobster and I were talking one day about the topic of being hurt by infidelity. I responded that CF didn’t hurt me. He pissed me off. He then went on to ask, “You were never hurt by his behavior?”

I had to think about that and I had to go way back to when all this crap first started, back in 2013.

I was extremely naive in 2013. I still thought I was married to an upstanding, honorable guy. A guy who understood and believed in things like: honor, commitment, marriage, fidelity. I never in a million years thought he would cheat on me. How stupid is that? I know I’ve said before that I figured maybe he would one day leave me, but I never thought he’d cheat. STUPID!

So back to me finding out something hinky was up five years ago….

When I first discovered him there, shriveled up in our bathtub, rocking himself back and forth and giving a performance of a lifetime in his self-written, self-directed, self-starring (naturally) play, “Anxiety, Thy Name Is Cousinfucker” I couldn’t begin to imagine what the problem might be. When he tearfully told me, in a whispered voice, “I’ve been texting other women,” the bottom dropped out of my world. I was absolutely shell shocked. This was simply not something that he would do. He had just told me less than 6 weeks prior that he loved me and he had always loved me.

I was so stupid and so naive that I actually convinced myself that he was probably only confessing because he felt guilty that he had actually talked to other women about our marriage. Yes, that’s how far my head was stuck in the ground. I foolishly thought he felt guilty about merely talking to other women, maybe confiding in them about our marriage. At that moment it never occurred to me that he was sexting or saying, “I love you,” to his whore cousin, or making plans for a future with her.

No, it took another whole week or so and a little bit of mind fucking from the whore before I began to suspect that maybe his texting hadn’t been so innocent after all.

I don’t recall feeling hurt back then though. I was sad. I was sad about my marriage potentially ending. I was sad about disrupting my kids’ lives. I was sad about the implosion of a 17 year relationship. I was sad that I had let things get to that point (and yes, at that point I was willing to shoulder almost all of the blame). I remember crying. I remember wanting things to go back. I remember wanting our marriage to work out and to be restored. I remember wanting him to love me again. But I don’t remember being hurt, or feeling hurt. Sadness was my overwhelming emotion.

Yet I spent the next three months trying to show him what life could be like for us. I spent the next three months “pick me” dancing, trying to cautiously woo him back. I rejoiced when he tenderly fed me a piece of tenderloin he had grilled. I was thrilled with every seeming loving gesture from him. He never said, “I love you,” and I didn’t say it either as I didn’t want to push him and “scare him”.

I wasn’t completely sure the whore was gone at first. She was very good with the mind fuck- posting little inspirational quotes, liking his pictures. And then came the day I believed she was gone for good and we were back on track. Followed shortly by her husband contacting me and letting me know they were still at it.

Hurt? Oh, honey, I was pissed! There was no hurt. There was only fury. “What in the fuck are you doing and why are you doing it? Are you seriously willing to give up your wife and kids for your cousin? She’s a fantasy, not reality.”

I was not nice. I was not calm, although I wasn’t as out of control as one would think I might be. Hey, I had a party to throw; I would not disappoint Rock Star. I yelled. I told him outright that he needed to shit or get off the pot, that I deserved to be happy, too, and I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him to dump me when Picasso graduated from high school.

I felt certain that divorce was imminent. I didn’t think he would “pick” me. I was pretty certain after I issued my ultimatum (you end it now or we’re done) that he was going to pick her (and he did- it just took him two more years of wasting my life and completely destroying the lives we all had out in Utah before he could do it). But I remember being so happy when I got the text message that he was going to end it, that he didn’t want to lose any of us. Blech! I should have left his sorry ass back then and saved myself a whole lot of trouble.

I had sadness when I thought my marriage was over. I had fury/anger when I realized he had been duping me all summer long. But I can’t say that he ever hurt me. His behavior the first time stunned me but it didn’t hurt me. His behavior the second time pissed me off.

I think what actually hurt me more than anything was realizing what a bunch of complete assholes his family was. They never cut the whore off. I was disposable; she was not. It took me a very long time to wrap my mind around that. Naturally, just as I began to forgive them and gradually allow them back into my life he cheated once again and they, once again, were done with me and fawning all over and supporting his union with Harley.

Fast forward two years and once again I find out he’s cheating. Again I’m in disbelief. Not hurt. Frantic. Juggling twenty million things. Keeping all those plates spinning. Thinking about the situation financially and not with my penis.

Seriously- he had been a mess for more than six months. He had emotionally drained me. I was perpetually in fear that he was going to have a massive breakdown and we would end up bankrupt. He had moved us 2000 miles across the country because this job was supposed to make him happy and he was so miserable out in Utah, and yet here he was less than a year later, crying in bed and supposedly unable to function. I don’t know why but I had this feeling that he was once again involved with the whore. I was probably right.

I wasn’t sad; I was suicidal. I wasn’t suicidal because the great love of my life might be off and running with the whore. I was suicidal because I could not take anymore of his shit- the crying, the drinking, the unhappiness, shutting himself off from the rest of us, breaking down every time we turned around, unable to take him anywhere, never able to make him happy, watching all of our dreams collapse around our feet in this new place with no friends and no support. I was mentally exhausted. I had been sold some magic beans, but unlike those beans that led to the goose that laid the golden eggs, my beans were old and rancid and led to nothing except total destruction.

I had kept trudging on. I would put my head down and keep going. We would fix this. We would be happy once again, like we had been. All those dreams we talked about when we talked about moving would become a reality. I was convinced I could do it by sheer will power alone. Until I could no longer do it.

I remember getting that message from The Saint, and my heart sinking. It didn’t break; it sank. Now I had to figure out what the hell I was going to do. Keep those plates spinning!

He had no worries. He didn’t care about what would happen to the house. He didn’t care about the upheaval the kids would experience. He didn’t think about the pool we had just put in our backyard, or the money we had spent decorating and furnishing this new house. He didn’t think about the new car he had just bought for me, or the two new kittens we had, or the new cell phone company we had just switched to. He was fucking his cousin. The world was his oyster! No, I was left to worry about those things.

So no, once again, I was not hurt. I was in a panic. I had kids to worry about and protect. I was worried about the house. Our mortgage was less than a year old and I had no idea how I would ever be able to afford to maintain this house on my own. I didn’t know if I would get enough in support to pay the mortgage, much less be able to replace a furnace or air conditioning unit if necessary. How would I make repairs to the house and keep the yard and pool up? I worried about how we were going to pay off the pool and our other debts. I worried about whether or not the kids would be attending their current schools or I would have to uproot them once again and move in with my mom. While I was tasked with letting Rock Star and Picasso know that their parents were getting a divorce, he was off having another fuck-fest weekend with Harley the Whore.

I kept the house clean, went grocery shopping, made breakfast and dinner for my kids, chauffeured my daughter, and took care of the dogs and cats. I stayed involved in their schools and activities, and paid the bills and went on field trips with them, while I also worried about finding a job and what I was going to do, how I was going to find insurance once the divorce was final, and learning how to live on a whole lot less than we had been living on. There wasn’t time to be hurt. I was trying to survive.

Sure, there were moments when I wept. There were moments of sadness, like when I realized our house wouldn’t be decorated outside and hers would, because he had always done the outside decorations. He did nothing for us; everything was about her and her kids. Or when I felt sure I was going to be alone forever and he, a complete and total anti-social fuck up had someone new already. Or finding out how deep his betrayal had run- all the lies about the money being sent to his mom, phones being purchased for her, a joint bank account with the whore and the rest of his stock cashed in and given to her.

Him losing his job and forcing us to move was devastating, but I can’t say it was hurtful. It was yet another blow and another shit sundae I was forced to eat while he was off doing whatever the fuck he wanted. You know how that makes me feel? Angry!

Everything that has happened since June 10th, 2016 has enraged me. Forcing us out of our home, leaving me to be the one to tell our kids that we were going to have to move again, a mere two years later, having to sell off all of my belongings, moving in with my mom and sleeping on the couch, having to watch Rock Star cry as she realized she wouldn’t be getting her license on time, watching Rock Star struggle at school, working two jobs and still barely able to afford much of anything, stocking shelves at Target, getting up at 1:30, 2:30 and 3:30 in the morning to go to work, not being able to support myself, watching my kids suffer, wondering if he was going to get away with everything and not have to pay squat in support, hearing all the lies he and his family have spread about me, losing time with my kids, always being tired and feeling like a failure at this mom gig, learning about all the money those two nitwits spent while my kids and I lived like paupers. It was infuriating, but not hurtful.

The reality is, at least the second time around, I lost every bit of feeling I ever had for him the moment I discovered what he was up to. He didn’t hurt me; he disgusted me.

I have a visceral reaction to this idea that I write the things I do because I’m hurt. Nope. I write the things I do because I’m pissed off when I think about all the hell that asshole put me through. I write the things I do because I hope that someone who has just discovered a cheating spouse will come across my blog and read my story and not make the same stupid mistakes that I did. I hope they will see the futility in it and that they will do the sane thing and get the fuck out. I hope those that choose to stay will read my story and be able to discern the difference between being truly sorry and wanting to avoid any painful consequences. That when their spouse tries to blame them for the affair, or refuses to tell them the truth when asked for it, or when they want to avoid the topic of the affair, that they can say, “This is unacceptable. We’re doing it my way or you’re getting the fuck out because I’m not dealing with your shit.”

Hurt has never been a part of my story. I’ve been sad, I’ve been despondent and suicidal, and I’ve been angry, pissed, enraged… pick your adjective. This past year I’ve been hopeful and very, very happy. Yet I don’t think there will ever come a day when I just shrug at his antics. I don’t think I will ever get to the point where I am not pissed off about everything he put us through and everything he took from us. He changed the course of our lives; he changed our destinies and altered our futures. There is so much that he took, so much that he altered. I have hope for my kids that they will be able to forge a new future, despite what their father has chosen to do to them, and yet I still feel the very real pain of everything they’ve lost. This is not the life I would have chosen for them and I will always regret the things they missed out on, no matter how the future plays out. I do not hurt when I look at the ruins of our lives, but I do mourn.

Beyond the Grave & Other Exciting Tales

I had a weird thing happen to me last week. It was either the day of Tammy Faye’s funeral or the day after. I was going through my old voicemail messages. I had something like 40 of them I hadn’t listened to so I figured I should clear some of them out. I came across a number I didn’t recognize. Curious, I played the message.

It was Tammy Faye. It was from February 16th, less than a month before she died. It was a pretty brief message: Sam, your number popped up on my phone. I was calling to see if everything was okay.

She sounded sick and frail.

Here’s the weird thing. I don’t have Tammy Faye’s number in my phone. I deleted it. Months, if not years, ago. There is no way I could have accidentally air dialed her. Believe me- my phone has a mind of its own! That is a very distinct possibility. My kids couldn’t have used my phone to call her unless they had her actual number. I even checked the call log to see if perhaps one of them did plug in her number on my phone for some reason. Nothing.

Ultimately it doesn’t really matter why my number popped up. I’m more freaked out about the fact she still had my number in her phone. Why?

Bob messaged me to let me know CF saw his condolence message but didn’t reply. What a surprise. He told me he hoped that some good could come of this some day. I don’t believe in fairy tales and am getting a little tired of his excuses for CF so I was a bit feisty when I replied:

What good could come of it? I’ve been left in poverty, depending on his support payments which he makes when he wants and just bounced a check. I live with my mom and sleep on the couch. My kids have lost their dad. They’ve lost having a mom who is home and available for them. Rock Star is screwed when it comes to paying for college. She missed out on graduating with her class from her original high school She hates it here and suffers from anxiety. Picasso seems to be okay but who knows. The only people prospering are Harley and her kids.

#truth

His response was that the only good that could come of it is that one day CF and the kids would once again have a familial relationship.

Bob, I love ya; I appreciate the support you’ve given me since this shit storm began, and I realize you consider CF a friend (even if he no longer considers you one), but you’re stupid. In what world can a father abandon his children, play Daddy of the Decade to kids who aren’t his, and the great equalizer will be him reconciling with his kids so that they, too, can eat his special blend of shit sundae?

I don’t think it has ever occurred to him that maybe reconciling with their deadbeat dad is NOT in their best interest. He hasn’t done a single thing to try to make things right with them. He continues to ask Rock Star to pass along messages to her brother because he doesn’t have his number. Hmmmm…. if only there was a way he could get that number. If only he knew someone that might actually have that number. This is his genius at work, ladies and gentlemen. Stymied by not having his son’s phone number which has never changed, and forced to ask his daughter to pass along the message.

He continues to begin every message with: I know you hate me but… Can the man be any more of a victim?

Maybe she needs to begin replying to these messages with: I know you’ve already replaced me with your whore’s kids but… Or, maybe: I know your whore will always be more important than me but…

I’m kidding, folks. Don’t bombard me with messages about how no contact is the best tactic. I know that. She doesn’t generally respond.

A few days later Bob contacted me again to ask if the kids had heard from CF since the funeral. Nope. I did tell him, however, about my message from beyond the grave. He told me it was too bad I didn’t get the message earlier because maybe I could have reached out and we could have cleared the air. In turn, I told him that honestly, even if I had received the message the day I got it I wouldn’t have called her because I had nothing to say to her.

Death brings out the sap in most people and I’m trying hard not to get sucked in. She chose her son and his whore and her four kids over her own flesh and blood. The twenty years I spent as part of her family meant nothing. I was quickly tossed aside and discarded. She was happily skipping off to funerals with her precious baby boy and his cunt face cum dumpster. She couldn’t gush over her enough. So, she got exactly what she wanted. Her son and his whore were there at her funeral. I’m sure the whore’s kids made an appearance as well. Have to keep up the image.

Rock Star and I had an interesting conversation about this as we drove to her latest cheer competition. She pretty much admitted that if they had ever apologized or tried to make things right with her she probably would have reconciled with them. They never did. There was never an apology, never an acknowledgement that any wrongdoing had taken place. Tammy Faye could post comments to her on Facebook but she couldn’t take the time to text her or call her and have an honest, one-on-one conversation with her.

She never bothered to call her or text her when Rock Star first found out about her dad and I getting a divorce, finding out her dad was having an affair. Rock Star had called her dad and demanded her grandmother be put on the phone because she didn’t believe him when he told her he was with his mom. Once Tammy Faye got on the phone she said she didn’t want to do this anymore and threw the phone down, hanging up on them. Not a word.

That was her chance to tell Rock Star she was sorry about what had happened, sorry for her part in it. That was her chance to act like she actually gave a shit about what was happening to her and her brother.

Where was she when we were forced out of our home? Where was she when Rock Star and Picasso were forced to leave behind their school and their friends yet again, thanks to their father? Where was she when Rock Star found out she couldn’t get her license and would have to have yet another learner’s permit for 6 more months? Where was she all those months when Rock Star was hating life and feeling like a nobody thanks to the move forced upon her by her dad? Where was she when Rock Star was dealing with anxiety?

I’ll tell you where she was. She was up her son’s ass, gazing at him adoringly, and gushing over his whore, telling her how pretty she was.

My mother looked up her obituary. Curiosity meets the cat. It said she had four kids. Understandable, I suppose. They included her two stepsons whom she had helped raise. CF and Harley were listed together. Naturally. And then it listed her as having 18 grandchildren.

I have no idea where they came up with that number. Jezebel has two kids plus her two step kids. That makes 4. Her oldest stepson has 5 kids; the youngest has 2. That brings the total up to 11 and leaves only her son. He has 2 children which brings the number up to 13. Even counting Harley’s kids that only brings it up to 17. Maybe somebody has a kid that I’m not aware of. Nonetheless I find it appalling that those idiots could actually list Harley the Whore’s four kids as her grandkids. She’s been “granny” to them for a whole whopping two years and almost all of that time has been while he was married to me. At the very least take my two kids off the list. She chose Harley’s brood over my two.

I know. I can’t control what goes in her obituary. It’s also over and done with now. Plus, the very wise advice: No contact is the path to enlightenment. So very true.

It just goes to show you what a dog and pony show death and funerals are. Everyone is celebrating her as this wonderful person who loved everybody and was so sweet. The reality is she had no problem with her daughter cheating on her husband. Either of them. She had no problem with her son cheating on his wife of 20 years; in fact, she encouraged it. I guess she just didn’t correctly anticipate the reaction of my children. Unfortunately for her our memories are long and are not softened by death.

A Word About Being Bitter

Bitter is just one of those catch all words they use to make you shut up.

I read that one time by a commenter over on Chump Lady. I paraphrased a bit but the message is the same. I think it’s very true. I’ve also pointed out before that people are uncomfortable with people being angry. You can be sad. For an appointed amount of time. You can be upset or distraught. Also for a pre-determined length of time. But anger is a no-no. People don’t know how to react and they get uncomfortable. Then they try to shut you down.

I won’t be shut down. I’m righteously angry and I’ll get over it when I’m damn well ready to. I’m in the fight of my life right now. I don’t have time to pretend that everything is sunshine and rainbows and unicorns eating fairy dust mixed with golden nuggets.

With that out of the way I have to say I’m amused at how many of the “new” commenters on my blog the other day referred to me as “bitter”, “filled with rage”, and “angry”. Honestly, I felt kinda like I did that night when I read Cousinfucker’s texts to Jezebel, telling her that I wrote horrible things about him and said he was annoying me and wasting my time. I couldn’t believe I had written such vile things about him; when I looked back it turned out I hadn’t. It was a figment of his imagination. Completely. I had written nothing during this time he said I was maligning him. I did the same thing this time; I had to go back and re-read because I thought I had gone kind of easy on the original author. I thought, “Maybe I’m crazy and I really did do a hatchet job.” But no. It was pretty tame compared to some of what I write. I did concede to one commenter that I probably could have picked a better title. Perhaps, “Another Option” or “A Different Path” might have been a better title than “More Bad Advice”. It would have suited it better seeing as how I didn’t think his advice was totally off the wall insane and horrible.

I mean, I dared to tell people that might not have the fuzziest of feelings towards their ex that it wasn’t the end of the world. That it was normal and they shouldn’t beat themselves up. I even made a joke about it not being as if they actually had the power to do something by simply thinking about it and if they could then to please think about me buying the winning Powerball ticket. Funny stuff. Not angry. Not bitter. Not raging.

I did take issue with this idea that somehow I was to blame for picking an asshole to father my children. He wasn’t an asshole when I married him. Or at least he hid it well. I never in a million years would have pegged him as a guy who would cheat on me. I thought maybe he would leave me one day but I never thought he’d cheat. Jeez freakin’ Louise, I had one of his friends tell me CF would never cheat. He was supposedly too loyal. I also never thought he would abandon his children or flat out refuse to pay child and spousal support. Joke’s on me because he’s done all three of those things.

I dared to suggest that planning events on your own time, or finding a support system that doesn’t include your ex, or buying another whatever item is needed is a perfectly legitimate way to navigate this divorced parenting situation. How horrible! I didn’t say DON’T cooperate with one another. I said, “Hey, don’t feel guilty if that doesn’t work for you. Instead of kissing your ex’s ass, especially if the ex is an ass, think about these alternatives.” But apparently that is talking out of both sides of your mouth. You know, you agree that something can be good or at least not harmful and then suggest an alternative.

I also said I had no problem with parents sharing information and that I think it’s a shitty thing to do to your kid when you won’t let them contact their other parent. But apparently the fact that I no longer consider myself CF’s personal secretary is an affront to everyone who loves being buddy-buddy with their ex.

I will say again it’s not a side effect of treating your ex well that should insure you know about doctor’s appointments and school happenings and athletic events. In some cases, your ex should be telling you regardless. Kinda like what I did when I let CF know about Rock Star’s injuries over the summer. I told him despite the fact that he hasn’t seen her in over a year. Not because we’re best buds, not because he treats me well, but because he is her father and as the default custodial parent I have an obligation to share.

I also ventured forth with this radical idea of actually talking to your child to get information. That, apparently, is bitterness speaking because anyone with an ounce of common sense knows you can’t ask your own child what they are up to. <<< BTW, that was sarcasm in case you couldn’t catch it.

I said repeatedly that most of the things he views as a perk for treating your ex well could very easily be seen as treating your child well. It hurts your child when they are prevented from talking to the other parent. It hurts your child when they’d like to see their favorite cousin who is in town for the weekend but can’t because the parents won’t switch weekends or give extra time- just because.

I dared to speculate that some of those kids who aren’t healthy and happy aren’t healthy and happy because of the other parent’s behavior and not because their parents aren’t acting like they’re best friends despite the divorce. I’m sure any issues my friend’s daughters may have is not due to the fact that their mom doesn’t want to sit next to their father at a school or sporting event. More than likely it’s due to the fact that he is an out of control alcoholic who attempted to strangle one of them. But I could be wrong and maybe everything would be fine if only Mommy and Daddy would be best friends. <<< more sarcasm

I also suggested that maybe you need new friends if you have to continue to act like everything your ex does is wonderful, even when it’s not wonderful. I guess that’s the bitterness talking. Or maybe the rage. I tend to think it’s practical. They’re not really your friends if they’re fine with someone gutting you. I prefer my friends be loyal to me, not my spouse who left me. Your mileage might vary. But what do I know? I’m the person that has pretty much cut off everyone in CF’s circle if they support him and the whore. Self-preservation and sanity are such frowned upon commodities!

I stand by my suggestion that even if you can’t stand your ex that you can still show up at child related functions and support your kid. You don’t need to sit next to the ex. No one needs to be fooled into thinking the two of you are still married. Why is that so freaking important if you wanted a divorce anyway? You put on your big boy or big girl panties and you go and support your child. I’ll put forth an even more radical notion. If you simply cannot bear to be around the ex it’s fine to skip an event or two, or to even take turns going. Your kid is not going to die or suffer some sort of self-esteem issue if both Mommy and Daddy are not at every single function the kid has. My first choice, of course, would be to just go and deal. It’s usually a pretty big space so you shouldn’t have to see or interact with the ex anyway. But if it is that unbearable don’t go. It doesn’t mean you’re a horrible parent if you don’t go. It doesn’t mean you’re a horrible person if you don’t go and hang out with your ex.

I will vehemently oppose this idea I need to accept the fact that I loved, or still love him in some way in order to feel better about myself. And the idea that we now have a new kind of love along with a brand new family model.

No, I don’t love him. I don’t even like him. The fact that I loved him at one point in time is irrelevant. At one point in my life I wanted to be a veterinarian. That does not mean I am one now. At one point, not that long ago, CF was depositing his entire paycheck into our joint checking account. That’s not happening anymore either. The fact that it used to doesn’t mean shit; it certainly isn’t paying my bills.

I’m not rejecting any sort of reality by realizing that the marriage we once had is now over. I’m not rejecting any sort of reality by recognizing that the person I thought my husband was does not exist; in fact, he may never have existed. I’m sure as hell not rejecting reality by not wanting to be best of friends with the disordered, lying, cheating sonofabitch. He’s not a good person. I like to hang around good people.

We do not have a new kind of love and we do not have a brand new family model. Divorce ends families. It does not create a new, better kind of family. It reminds me of that crap he tried to pull shortly after I discovered his affair. He was all, “Let’s build a new relationship built on happiness for one another; let’s show our kids that happiness is vital for our well being.” Fuck you, Cousinfucker! That’s easy enough for you to say. You’ve got your new life all mapped out. You did it before you ever left. You’ve got a new whore, new kids; you’re looking for a new job and are planning on moving to a new state. And what do I have? I’m destitute, being left to raise two kids who have lived a life of privilege. I don’t have a new man. I don’t have a fucking job. And I’m the one being left to pick up all of the pieces of the family you’ve broken while you go along your merry little way without taking a second glance back. If that’s rage or bitterness talking, well, I’m okay with that.

Once again, I think it’s being practical. I think you end up being a hell of a lot better off not thinking that your ex owes you anything. I’ll go so far as saying you end up faring a hell of a lot better when you don’t rely upon them. You never know when the new family will take precedence, when the new girlfriend or current mistress will get upset with something you’ve tried to work out together, when it will simply no longer be convenient for your ex to assist you. Stepkids or new babies can easily become the priority. What happens if the ex moves with the new family and now he or she is no longer there to help out with your shared child? You’re kinda screwed; instead of cultivating a new support system, one that doesn’t include the person who made vows to you and then called, “Take back!” at best, who lied and cheated and has attempted to destroy you at worst, you’ve relied upon your ex. You relied upon the very person you shouldn’t have because they’ve already shown you that they don’t keep their word. Why?

Because the Internet is full of people who will tell you to stuff down shit sandwich after shit sandwich for the good of the children. It’s full of people who will tell you that if you’re not “friends” with your ex then obviously you are bitter and angry and can’t move on. And that makes the children sad.

I was also amazed at all the concern over my children finding my blog and being hurt by what they read, and this idea that there was no way I could keep my feelings from my kids.

First, as I already pointed out, the Internet is a very big place. I highly doubt they will stumble upon it. Second, if they did come across it I’m not writing about anything they haven’t already lived through. They are fully aware that their father deserted them. They are fully aware of the fact that he’s having an affair with his cousin. They are fully aware that everyone in his immediate family is perfectly fine with his affair and that they think it is wonderful. They are also fully aware of the fact that we had to move out of our home and out of the state because he lost his job and made absolutely no attempt to pay support. My daughter is fully aware of the fact that she had to switch high schools right before her junior year and that she didn’t get her license until she was almost 17 because she had to start all over with a learner’s permit a month before she was due to get her license.

I chose not to lie to my kids. They were 13 and 15 when this happened. When they asked where their dad was after yet another disappearing act on his behalf I answered honestly. He’s in his home state with his girlfriend. Remember, this is the same man who couldn’t go out to dinner with us. He couldn’t go out to dinner with his own kids for their birthdays because he was “afraid” of breaking down. He stayed secluded in the bedroom and couldn’t go out. Naturally they are curious as to how it is that he is suddenly taking off for the weekend every time they turn around. I was honest. I wasn’t going to try to gaslight them or fall on my sword for the lying jackass. When they asked me if everyone down there knew about the affair I replied simply, “Yes.” When her voice got higher and she asked, “And they’re okay with it?” My answer once again was a simple yes.

I’m also perfectly capable of not talking to my kids about everything I might talk to another adult about. There are so many awful things that he has done that my kids have no idea about because I didn’t share it with them. $30k blown on the whore and her kids on such important things as sporting equipment, eye care, Vera Bradley, and numerous restaurants? Didn’t tell them. Him accompanying her youngest to show and tell? Never said a word. Him donning a t-shirt with her daughter’s school mascot and going to her cheerleading competition? Didn’t mention it. Spending just as much, if not more, on her kids for Christmas? They have no idea because I never told them. The engagement ring he bought the whore? The puppies (yes, plural) he bought her kids? The promises of a car to her oldest? They know nothing about any of that. Talking about how much the whore misses having him in her bed when he returns home after a long weekend? Again, not me talking about it. Him moving into a new house that looks almost exactly like our old home? Have not clued them in. Would you like to take a guess as to who it is that posts all that kind of crap over Facebook? Harley and CF!

Harley loves Facebook. She loves tagging her brand new love in all of her posts. She loves letting everyone know how blissfully happy she is now that she has cheated on her husband and is fucking mine! Why wouldn’t she? She gets major kibbles from all the sycophants around her, telling her how happy she looks and how she deserves it. I think she deserves a quick roundhouse kick to the head but that’s neither here nor there and we’re getting off track. The main point is it’s pretty silly to clutch your pearls and moan in despair that one day the children might read your blog when dear old Dad and his whore of a cousin post about that crap on a public Facebook page! Um, CF has sent a friend request to his daughter numerous times; I think she’s actually accepted it. So… maybe if knowing that her dad couldn’t be bothered to attend many of her sporting events while he hightails it to the whore’s kid’s events proudly wearing her high school colors might cause his own daughter pain then might I suggest he and the whore not post about that shit where she can read it? I can goddamn guarantee she can find her dad’s Facebook page (especially considering they are friends) a hell of a lot easier than she can find my blog.

I think my favorite part though was when it was suggested that my kids could sniff out fake-ness, suggesting that there was no way I could rage against Cousinfucker and call him “unsavory names” on my blog and yet still remind them of the (few) good things he had done, or try to recall the (few) good memories we had. Because again it’s almost impossible to vent in an anonymous blog and not say the exact same words verbatim to your kids… I have to wonder though, how authentic is it to force yourself to be friendly with someone who has walked all over you, humiliated you, lied to you, broken your heart, and shattered your life? Isn’t pretending that everything is just awesome and you love this new life that has been forced upon you fake?

Choosing To Drink It All In

When you left us, I was so sad.  And after I was done being sad I got mad.  And when the anger left me, I decided to drink in everything you walked away from.  Everything you decided wasn’t worth hanging around for, I embraced it, loved it… I hung around for it.

I was looking through the archives over on Chump Lady, trying to find her scathing post on remarriage between affair partners when I came across this: This is What You Missed, You Idiot. If you really want to cry some tears head on over to HuffPo and read the actual article by the terrific Jennifer Ball who writes the fabulous blog, Happy Hausfrau.

I have a friend who is in much the same boat as I. We moved across the country at roughly the same time. She announced she and her husband were divorcing in June and two months later I discovered my husband was once again lying and cheating.

She has family in Utah so she ended up moving back with her four kids. The husband stayed behind with his mistress and her kids. In my case I moved back in with my mom after the husband moved to another state to work with his best friend and be closer to the mistress and her kids.

Folks, this woman is incredible. She’s raising four kids essentially on her own. Their father is over 2000 miles away, living a brand new life which doesn’t include his own children. She hired a nanny, she found kickass employment (she’s a programmer), she participates in community theater, she takes her kids to Disneyland, and she goes to Vegas on fun vacations. She’s doing it ALL and she does it alone.

She’s there for every tear and every laugh. She’s there for parent-teacher conferences and performances. She’s there for game night and ice cream and when everybody is melting down. She’s there to help her oldest daughter navigate this incredibly hard journey of discovering she’s been abandoned by her adored father. She is drinking it all in and doing a fabulous job, all while beating herself up because she can’t do the same things she used to be able to do when she was a stay-at-home mom. I told her one time that we weren’t the same moms we used to be. Our husbands made sure of that. Instead we are kickass survivors raising some great kids.

She is the friend who sent me a gift basket last year for Valentine’s Day because she knew I probably needed to be cheered up. For long time readers you might recall that last year, the day after Valentine’s Day was the day I learned that CF had quit his job of 15 years and moved out of state.

She’s stayed in touch and we check up on each other and compare stories. She told me that right after she took her own kids to Disney, their father took the new family to DisneyWorld. Schmuck! Putz! Tool! Evil sonofabitch! Piss poor excuse for a father!

I’m sure the knife in her heart was as sharp as the one that stabbed me when I realized that CF could sport a t-shirt with the fake kid’s high school on it and attend her cheer competition because “he wanted to support her”, despite the fact that he never once came to support his own damn daughter at any of her high school activities, much less wear a t-shirt to demonstrate his pride. EVER!

Strangely enough I had just attended a track meet for Rock Star the other night. My mom and I left after she finished competing and I sent her a text letting her know we were stopping for dinner if she wanted to join us.

I’ve always thought Picasso was the funny kid. He was always saying off the wall stuff, generally because he is so damn literal. But over the years I’ve discovered that Rock Star is a riot.

The other night was no exception. She had me in stitches. She does this thing where she gives names to everyone around her. People she doesn’t even know. And then she has this one-sided conversation with them. She’s so deadpan in her delivery. She apparently had taken over the restaurant as the manager and she was giving everyone tips on how to improve their service. The comments never ended and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t eat.

He’s missing that. He’s missing this incredible person she has become. He misses her attitude (okay, how much can anyone really miss that, right?) and her grit and determination. He is missing her as she transitions from this kid who lived and breathed for gymnastics into an athlete who is cheering and doing track. He completely missed her new life back in Virginia, where she was the star on the gymnastics and cheer teams. He never once saw her compete or cheered her on. She was incredible. Fantastic. He never attended Sectionals her freshman year, where she was the only kid in our area to advance to Regionals. And he wasn’t there her sophomore year when she not only advanced to Regionals, but was the first kid from our high school in years to advance to States. He chose to miss that because he was too busy living his new life with a whore and her kids.

But I was there. I watched our daughter compete against Level 9s and 10s, girls who practice every day, every day of the year, to earn her spot and advance. I was there for her final meet, cheering her on and taking pictures.

I was there at every cheerleading competition, screaming her name and cheering for her and her teammates. I’m going to be honest. I didn’t attend every home football game, but I was at most of them, watching her as opposed to the actual game most of the time. And I definitely was there to pick her up! I usually took her and her friends out to eat afterwards and then would take the kids home.

And I’m there now- watching her cheer. Watching her run hurdles for the first time. Watching her sprint. Watching her pole vault. I get to see all of that. He is missing out.

He missed out on meeting the three guys she dated. He missed out on seeing her dressed up for Homecoming last year. He missed out on teaching her to drive and to parallel park. He missed out on the tears that were shed when she realized she wasn’t getting her license on time. Wouldn’t want to see that, though, huh? Especially since it was his fault. He missed seeing the smile on her face when she got her permit the first time, and the huge smile on her face when she passed her driver’s test. He missed out on seeing her get her first car.

She has no desire to take him out for breakfast when it’s been a few days since she’s seen him. She doesn’t tell him, “You need to spend some quality time with me,” like she does me. She doesn’t tell him about her day, or her life. She hasn’t filled him in on everything that is going on with track. She doesn’t tell him she loves him every time she leaves him. I get all of those things.

He has no idea who her teachers are, who her friends are, or what she’s up to. None.

He wasn’t there when she got her first job and he has no idea she has excelled at it, or that her bosses love her. He has no idea she is part of the so-called “dream team”.

He has no idea that Picasso is planning on going out for football this fall. He missed seeing his band performances last year. He missed going on field trips with him. He missed taking him to the store so that he could get what he needed in order to make his costume last year and the year before. He has no idea the hard work he put into either of those costumes. As with Rock Star he has no idea who his friends are, who his teachers are, what kind of grades he’s getting or how he spends his days. He doesn’t know how his son always seems to have a huge group of female friends.

He’s missed the orchestra concerts and the choir concerts. He’s missed the new drawings. He’s missed his funny commentary. He has no idea that Picasso has been growing his hair out or that it’s long enough for me to mess with him (my kid) and put it up in a ponytail and a man bun. He hated that one, btw! He’ll never understand why I laugh when I think of picking out the wooded background for school pictures because ultimately, Picasso decided to wear a suit for picture day this year. He has no idea how tall his son has gotten in the last two years.

He’s not the one who drops Picasso off at the roller skating rink or a friend’s house so he can hang out.

Picasso doesn’t walk into a room and hug him. He doesn’t tell him that he loves him. Picasso doesn’t want Deadpool to be “their thing”; he wants it to be our thing. He didn’t get to take him to see the first Star Wars in the new trilogy, or Rogue One. I’m going to be the one taking him to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2. CF hasn’t taken him out for dinner or to a movie or spent any time with him in almost two years. He has missed all of his son’s incredibleness. He doesn’t get to hear his son tell him things like, “You’re the best dad ever!” or “Hug!” or “I love you.” No, his son says about him, “My dad is dead to me,” and “He’s a douche.” He mocks him and says in a tearful voice, imitating his father, “I was in a war! I fought in the soccer squadron.”

He’s missed all of the holidays with his kids since August of 2015. He hasn’t attended a single sporting event or school event since that time. He hasn’t had a single in person conversation with either of his kids since that time. He hasn’t seen either of his kids since he walked out the door on February 3rd, 2016 without saying a single word.

I had forgotten Rock Star was home when he left for the last time. Maybe Picasso was, too. I don’t know where I was. I just know I returned in the morning and my mom told me he had left. I have no idea what I was doing or where I had been. So when I asked Rock Star why she was taking this so hard when she hadn’t been all that close to her dad before she told me, “Mom, I was sitting there in the other room. He walked out the door without saying anything to me. Not, ‘I love you’, or ‘Goodbye,’ or anything. He just left.” That explains so much of why she’s had a hard time with this.

I’m going to take the advice in that article. I’m going to be there for them. I have been there for them. I will continue to embrace them, their lives, their quirks, the laughter and tears they create. I will drink it all in. While he’s cheering on the fake daughter that he’s “not that close” to, I’ll be cheering on our daughter. While he’s attending show and tell with one of his new fake sons I’ll be attending our son’s concerts and taking him to the movies. When our daughter graduates next year I’ll be there, watching her walk across that stage and planning her graduation party. He won’t be anywhere around. Same for Picasso a few years later. When it’s time to make decisions regarding colleges he will have no idea what they are considering, or where they end up attending. I will. When they get married and when grandchildren make their appearances (should any of that actually happen) I will be there. I’ll be the one that can reminisce with them throughout the years.  He’s missing out on all of this for a whore and her four kids. His loss.

He Makes Me Sick

I was all set to write about interrogatories and taxes on Monday. That day has come and gone. Interrogatories suck! It has been a test of patience to not just let loose with every nasty thought that plagues my mind.

Fast forward to today. I’m sending some more documentation to my lawyer’s assistant. I had found the message from The Saint where he stated that Cousinfucker was paying for their divorce. I decide I may as well send along the lovely pictures they’ve been plastering on Facebook. You know, pictures of the two of them posing together happily, despite his grueling battle with PTSD which rendered him unable to work. Pictures of him and her youngest child posing for Show and Tell, an activity in which he never indulged his actual children. What do I come across?

Oh yes! It’s the profile picture of the two of them which I had seen before. This time though I read the comments. Harley tells people to keep in mind that they had just been at her daughter’s cheer competition. People make comments about the t-shirt he’s wearing because it appears he is wearing a t-shirt in support of his favorite team’s arch rival. No, no, no! It’s her daughter’s school mascot. It was sooooo painful to put that shirt on but he wanted to support his “step-daughter”. The whore chimes in, “You know he must really love her to put that shirt on!”

You two are so adorable! Do I even need to point out that that cousin fucking piece of shit never once attended a single cheer competition for his own daughter?

Hey! Maybe that’s the reason his kids have nothing to do with him. He was a piss poor excuse of a father and now he’s strutting around like Daddy of the Year for four kids that have a father. An involved father at that. Nah, I’m sure it’s because I have poisoned their minds. As he’s whining to Rock Star that he hopes she will talk to him once again he forgets that actions speak louder than words. His words say his children are very important to him. His actions say, “You kids don’t mean shit to me. I couldn’t be bothered to go to your competitions or participate in your lives. Now excuse me while I show up at my ‘step-daughter’s’ competitions and take my fake son to show and tell. I love them and need to support them.”  Wouldn’t surprise me to find out he’s coaching one of their teams as well.

Even better are all the comments about how happy they look! Oh, and Jezebel loves them both! Someone told her she deserved to finally be happy.

Really? She’s just entitled to take whatever the hell she wants? Because it makes her happy? Fuck the two families they destroyed! Fuck the betrayed husband who has to watch as his whore of an ex and her mentally unstable lover/cousin play house with his kids! Fuck the betrayed wife who has lost her home, who moved her kids once again, who has lost everything, who works two jobs just trying to feed her kids. They are happy and that trumps everything! You don’t even want to know what would make me happy and I’m 100% sure none of her friends and relatives would tell me I was entitled to make myself happy at her expense.

Then again that seems to be the common refrain. As long as the two cheating lovebirds are happy then all is well. No one wants to look around and see the damage caused by the cheating and the lies. Being unhappy is a perfect justification for being a cheating asshole. Who can say it’s wrong when they’re so happy? Life is short! Too short to do the right thing apparently. I hope they all burn in hell.

Chump Lady is so correct when she says no contact is the only way to go. Having to dredge all this crap up in order to prove what an absolute asshole he is only makes my blood boil. I already know he’s an asshole! Why do I have to prove it to everybody else?