Always a Victim, Never the Perpetrator

December 2014

It looks like Christmas will be spent with my family and we’ll leave on the 27th to go down to his home state and then turn around and head back home on the 28th. I offered to stay through the 30th but he doesn’t want to. I find that strange since he’s always going on about how he doesn’t think his mom has much time left. You’d think he would want to spend more time with her. <shrug> Not my family, not my problem. I hope he’s bought Christmas gifts for them. And if his sister and her family show up I’m leaving. I can handle his mom and stepdad. I cannot deal with everyone. I especially cannot deal with her.

It’s strange to realize this will be the first time I’ve been there since April 2012. Almost 3 years. That’s a long time. It’s also the first time I will have been there since his affair- almost 2 years since he started his affair and a year and a half since he confessed to his mom and everyone else in his family undoubtedly learned the truth.

I know he’s said before no one has ever mentioned it and no one will. It’s still unsettling, wondering what everyone is thinking, wondering if they’re blaming me or thinking I’m an idiot for staying, wondering if they’re all wishing he would have divorced me and ended up with Harley. I suppose I will do my best to ignore those thoughts and try to be pleasant. It’s about 24 hours. I can do this.

Added later:  And a Christmas miracle has been granted! His sister will be in Florida when we get there.  Hooray!

Ke$ha Said It Best When She Sang, “Blah Blah Blah”

November 2014

My family is coming here for Thanksgiving. We’re going there for Christmas. Zack asked if we could drive to see his mom on our way back. He said we would only stay for a few hours and that he knew I didn’t want to go. I agreed to drive him. Again, I am a fucking saint.

November 2014

My MIL called today. I was in the bathroom when I heard the “Before He Cheats” ring tone. I knew it was someone I knew but couldn’t figure out who at first. Then I remembered. She wants to update me on Zack’s nephew’s condition. I figure she can just tell Zack. Better yet, she can update Harley.

November 2014

Isn’t this adorable? (Picture not shown because I don’t know how to block crap out. It was one of those: Leave a word that describes me and then repost bullshit posts.) Harley is first in line to comment with her insipid “I love you bunches!” Yes, she loves them so much she’s given them how much money over the years? Loves them so much she’s gotten her lazy ass in the car and driven to see them how many times over the last 20 years? Spent how many holidays with them? Done anything other than gushing on Facebook?

I still think my favorite part, though, is when she says, “You know how I’m no good with rules.” Tee hee hee. Yeah, we all know how you’re not good with rules, Harley. That’s why you’re called whore! You may have just as well said, “You of all people should know I’m no good with rules. After all I was screwing around with your son all summer long, betraying my husband and humiliating his wife. But the rules don’t apply to me. I wanted out of this life and when I saw my chance I just went for it. Fuck anybody that might have been hurt. I’m Harley; I take whatever I want and damn the consequences.”

November 2014

Look what I found in my house while going through pictures. It’s lovely when your husband fucks around with his whore of a cousin. She’s everywhere. In old pictures. Mentioned in our wedding book. Oh, don’t worry. I’ve added notes any time her name comes up. What a whore, whore, whore.

My Valentine

I’ve been mostly ignoring Valentine’s Day these past two years, and I’ve been struggling with lots of self defeating thoughts recently. I had a little pep talk with myself at lunch yesterday and in keeping with my theme of not letting the bastard keep me down I went out and bought my kids a little Valentine’s Day gift. Nothing elaborate- a Hershey cupid and a bag of Lindor chocolates which they love.

After Rock Star got home from work she gave me the Valentine she had made for me.


Isn’t that the sweetest thing? It pretty much made my night. I know I’m loved but I’m glad to see she thinks I’m strong and powerful. She’s wrong but I’m still glad she thinks it’s true.

I wonder if any of  Cousinfucker’s four fake kids made him anything for Valentine’s Day. He tossed his real children aside for those little fuckers and their whore mother’s nasty ass pussy so I hope it was worth it. I may hate my life. I may dread getting up every single day, but at least my kids love me. Cousinfucker threw that away.




Will 2017 Suck, Too?

Happy New Year, my fellow bloggers and loyal readers. Truthfully, I’m not much of a New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day kind of person. I think NYE is a forced holiday where people want you to believe they are having so much fun (like seriously, what is so fun about standing out in the freezing cold at Times Square, or hanging out in a bar drinking while strangers reject you?). And New Year’s Day with all its resolutions and hope for a shiny, improved fresh year? Obviously, I am a bit jaded. I don’t do New Year’s resolutions and I have pretty much given up any hope that a new year will bring any great changes and/or a wonderful new life.

I admire those who are always optimistic. I truly do. I wish I could be more like them. Unfortunately, I have learned the hard way that my life from here on out is not going to be pleasant. And experience has shown me that the last few years have been a clusterfuck of epic disasters.

You know how cheaters always excuse their cheating with the explanation that they “weren’t happy” or “their needs weren’t being met”? Well, after examining the last 4 years of my life I have come to the conclusion that if anyone should have been having an affair it should have been ME! Things have pretty much been shit since 2013 and yet somehow I managed to not go fuck or blow another guy. Wow! We all know that being unhappy entitles you, no, practically requires you, to go have an affair. How did I resist? Oh, that’s right. I have morals and character. I’m not an asshole or a whore.

Oh wait- this is supposed to be about the upcoming new year. My hopes, my dreams, and how everything is going to be so wonderful for me this year. Hmmm… if we examine the last four years I’m fairly certain I shouldn’t be optimistic.

2013 is where it all started. The year was going okay the first four months and then we hit Mother’s Day weekend and my dear husband dropped the bombshell that he had been texting other women. Put it exactly like that- texting other women. Not, “I’ve been sexting other women and telling them disgusting things.” Or, “I’m in love with my cousin and we’re planning a life together. We talk about the house we want to buy and how nice it will be to eat dinner together and whether or not our children will get along.” Or, “Harley the Whore sends me naked pictures.” Nope, it was a very brief, trickle-truth if you will, admission that he had been simply texting other women. And remember, at that time I still thought he was an honorable man and that he was so honest and loyal that it was possible he was distraught over simply texting other women about our marriage or talking to them about his life. What an absolute fool I was.

He followed up his admission with the statement that it was all over and he would never contact any of them again. That was a lie. I, of course, began stalking Harley on Facebook to see what the whore was up to. This led to the feeling that something wasn’t quite right based on her Facebook posts. A confrontation with the husband where he told me he didn’t know if he still loved me. Lots of crying and desperation. Not knowing what my life was going to hold in the future. Trying to win him back all summer long. Finding out in August that he was still messing around with the whore. Having his mom compliment CuntFace’s picture, which pissed me off, sent me into a depressive spiral, and ultimately ended with me using my second FB account as a personal blog which would eventually lead to my divorce. Discovering in October that he was going to take the whore with him to get his tattoo when he was in state for his sister’s wedding, and she was going to get one to declare her love as well, and that he was telling people he was going to marry that bitch.

Even though the outing of the emotional affair ended up leading to a fairly good time in our marriage there were still questions, feelings of inadequacy, tension over not wanting to have anything to do with his family. There were still days I felt awful about the fact I was married to a cheater and that he could profess his love to another person. Our anniversary was tough to get through and I wondered if I could continue to do this. And always there was this expectation that I never mention his cheating again. That I not be sad or feel second best. That I not ask questions because obviously he loved me and chose me, right?

2013 ended with us waiting for an offer for him to relocate to the plant he really wanted- the one that was set into motion when he began his affair with Harley. Because I am an incredible dumbass I agreed to move, thinking we were in a much better place. I agreed to move because I placed my husband’s happiness above my own and that of my children. Ultimately, I ripped my kids’ lives apart for him and he ended up repaying that by cheating on me and abandoning us.

2014 began with the news that he was offered the job towards the end of January. I got to face my kids crying because their world as they knew it was about to change. We were still doing well as a couple. He was more engaged with the family. We went to DisneyLand and the Grand Canyon and Four Corners. All good things. The kids and I made a bucket list of things we wanted to do before we moved. But he was freaking out over the move. Moving is already stressful enough but when you add on a man who breaks down over the slightest thing it becomes even more difficult. Lots more hand holding for him. Assuring him I’m going to move there with the kids and not desert him (like he did to us 18 months later).

Honestly, I had high hopes for the move. I was optimistic that once I got there I would get involved, make new friends, and have a great new life. It would be different, but it would still be good. Instead, I watched as my son dissolved into a fit of tears because he hated it at his new school and stood by while my daughter decided to hang up her competitive leo.

There were bright moments- buying new furniture, getting a new car, buying the new house, hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Rock Star thrived at her new school and in her new life. She eventually decided to do Excel gymnastics and competed on the high school team where she was a star.

But Picasso continued to struggle and I was lonely. I became a hermit. I spent my days watching TV, decorating my house, and playing Candy Crush. I rarely ventured out which was a total 180 for me. Ever since having kids I had kept busy doing something. Now here in this new small town I had nothing. I didn’t volunteer. I wasn’t doing PTA anymore. My daughter competed alone most of the time so there was no real bonding with other moms at the gym. I did meet some moms through high school gymnastics which was nice.

Overall, I was bored and lonely. I missed my old life. And Cousinfucker? Well, we had only been out there for about six weeks when he began whining about his job and how it wasn’t all that he thought it was going to be. I got about four good months out of him after the move and then around December he began sliding downward. I’m sure that was right around the time Blockhead so helpfully pointed out my FB page to him. I found out right after Christmas that he was telling his sister he was “heavily medicated” and that he should never have tried to be happy. He was apologizing for ruining her relationship with me and telling her that she was a wonderful sister. That was also the point at which I got to read her telling him that she was done reaching out to me. It was also the first time I saw his parents in over a year.

Optimist that I was I thought that surely 2015 would be better. It began with Cousinfucker melting down about the movie American Sniper and needing to go to the hospital in late January because of a stomach bug. He was hospitalized for about 36 hours which morphed into 2 1/2 days when he later told the story.

Okay, that wasn’t a good start but it will get better, right? Wrong! He is now drinking heavily. Crying all the time. Telling his sister awful things about me and things I have supposedly done. She encourages him to leave me. He ends up committed to a psych ward the beginning of February because of his supposed suicidal ideations. Nothing like having your husband committed when you’re in a new town and know very few people to help you out. Meanwhile, Tammy Faye is asking me if I have ever actually told him I’ve forgiven him, and telling me she is sorry for whatever it is that she has done. I can’t really explain it but it felt like a huge pile-on, like all of this was my fault and if only I would start acting like nothing had happened between him and Harley then none of this would be happening now.

March brings cluster headaches for him so again he’s down for the count. Meanwhile I have Blockhead breathing down my back, asking how he’s doing and keeping tabs on us. By this point I am seriously depressed and at times thinking about driving off a mountain. There were many entries where I wrote: I’m done. I give up. I can’t do this anymore. Plus, he’s still crying all the time. And after a month of no drinking starts up again.

April Blockhead comes around. I remember feeling like everyone was ganging up on me- Blockhead, Jezebel, Tammy Faye. I can’t tell you why I felt that way; I just did. I had this feeling that everyone was encouraging him to leave me and acting like I was the problem. He was still crying a lot, drinking a lot, sleeping a lot, and distancing himself from us. That Easter I was recording messages for my loved ones to find after they found my body. I still have those messages. There was a lot of crying and apologizing on my part. I was sure he was messing around with Harley again and in hindsight he probably was. I was so lost and felt like suicide was my only way out. I don’t know why. I’m not sure why divorce wasn’t on the table. Maybe I’ll review my old messages and find out. I do know I felt like that would be giving him everything he wanted- he wouldn’t have to divorce me, pay spousal or child support, divide any assets, or split custody of his kids. He could try to merge our kids with hers into one big happy blended family and our kids would never even have to know he was a lying cheater who had fucked around with their new step mommy before my death.

I believe he was planning on seeing her in May but for whatever reason he turned the car around and came home. He claims he had a panic attack and that driving was difficult for him. I don’t know if that’s true or not. Maybe he had an attack of his conscience. Doubtful.

I think May might have actually been one of the few good months I had that year. No illnesses. No suicidal thoughts on my part.

Of course, beginning in June he was sending the gold digging whore money, buying her a cell phone, paying her cell phone bill, lying and gas lighting me. Oh, and watching construction of our pool while he sexted with CuntFace. Good times, good times!

Ironically, the kids and I were actually having a pretty good time. We left in early June to attend Queen B’s graduation and to go visit friends in our former state. We had a great time. I actually missed Cousinfucker and was eager to get back home and to lay down roots in our new town. Again, I was filled with hope and optimism.

July he’s acting off and I’m getting a strange feeling. His therapist and I coached him on driving to what I thought was a job site, but what actually turned out to be a meetup with Harley. He also drove to his mom’s house (ha- I bet he stayed with the whore and not his mom) and officially did the deed with Harley. I’m pretty sure that was the date they consummated their great soulmate relationship. There is a slight chance she came to my house in June, though, and if she did, well then, he fucked her then- in my goddamn bed. He ended up quitting therapy completely.

August my world is turned upside down when I get a message from The Saint letting me know Cousinfucker has been spending his weekends in Whore Town with Harley. I find out he’s cashed in the rest of his stock, has a separate bank account, and is interviewing for a job in her state. I file for divorce.

September (well, technically, August 30th or thereabouts) he cuts me off financially. Flits off to WhoreTown every weekend. I find out he bought her an engagement ring and that he put a deposit down for a dog for her kids. I also find out he took out a $5000 loan on his 401k (hey, gotta buy the whore an engagement ring!).

October, November, December pretty much were all the same. More discoveries of what a shithead he is. More financial abuse. More money spent on kids that aren’t his while his own he leaves floundering. Our temporary support hearing was the day before our 21st anniversary.

Thankfully, I did have money during that period of time because I transferred everything we had in savings and checking into a separate account that was only in my name. I was actually doing pretty good during those last few months. I had a good Thanksgiving, a good Christmas, and a good New Year’s. I thought 2015 was my shit year and I was looking forward to good things happening in 2016. I looked forward to finally being divorced, albeit not until the second half of 2016.

2016 has sucked ass. It began in February when Cousinfucker quit his job of 15 years and moved out of the house and out of the state, all without saying a single word to any of us.

You can reread my blog entries around that time and see what a mess I was. I had no idea what was happening and whether or not he was going to continue to pay his ordered support. I didn’t know if he had received his bonus check. I didn’t know anything and he didn’t feel like he needed to tell me anything either.

I finally got my support check and things went back to normal- for a while. I suppose I enjoyed 4 months of normalcy, thinking that everything was on the right path, before he quit this next job and stopped paying support completely.

Since June my life has been one shit storm after another. I’ve lost my home, pretty much all of my belongings. I had to sell off all of my furniture. I had to take my kids out of their schools and transfer them. I had to leave the state and move 600 miles in with my mother. I have no home of my own. I don’t even have a bedroom. I sleep on a couch most nights. I spent December working two menial paying retail jobs, sometimes working 16 hour days and getting up anywhere between 1:20 and 3:20 to be in to work by 2, 3 or 4 am. Even with all of that I am not really ahead of the game. And I still cry pretty much every day, at least once. It doesn’t usually last long, but it almost always happens at least once a day. I might have missed a day here or there, but I’m pretty consistent.

Cousinfucker has paid nothing since May when CuntFace wrote out the check for me. He’s now claiming to have PTSD and believes his future earnings are only in the $30,000 range. I believe that’s a load of bullshit considering he was making that much when I met him almost 23 years ago.

I start work at the bank on the 9th of this month. I will be making a whopping $11 an hour. After taxes I figure I will make enough to pay my bills and probably cover food costs. My last day at Kohl’s was yesterday but I will continue to work at Target. I’m going to be working 4 am-7 and then heading into the bank. That $100+ dollars I make after taxes each week is all I will have to do anything with my kids, like movies, buying a pizza, or going out to eat, to buy dog food, to buy household essentials like toilet paper, saline solution, school supplies, etc., and to help my kids out with anything they need, such as new pants or something for cheer or football.

I would be depressed about the fact that I only get 4 days of vacation this year but let’s face it- with the money I make where the hell am I going to go?

I have a show-cause hearing on the 3rd of February. I’m fully expecting Cousinfucker to get away with everything. Hell, I’m half expecting to be told I need to pay him something.

Happy New Year? I doubt it. More like: Come on 2017; show me what you’ve got! I don’t dare say I’ve lost everything I can possibly lose because God knows the universe just fucks me harder. So what do you have in store for me, 2017? Am I going to lose a child this year? Maybe have a limb amputated? Get caught in a mass shooting? Sadly, I would welcome that.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to end up declaring bankruptcy in 2017. I will hopefully be divorced at some point although I’m not sure how that’s going to benefit me because I see myself getting totally screwed in the settlement. I’m telling you, evil always wins. My daughter will begin her senior year so I am going to have to pick up a third and possibly fourth job in order to pay for senior year expenses. I should probably just start doing drugs so I can stay up for 36 and 48 hours at a stretch.

Ah, you sweet optimists, I would so love to be you. Unfortunately I have resigned myself to the fact that this is my life. It sucks. I have no hope it will get better. I was supposed to be living on a somewhat comfortable amount of spousal support, not what I was used to, but definitely enough that I wouldn’t have had to work if I didn’t want to. Instead, I am going to live out the rest of my life in poverty because I doubt I will ever see another dime from Cousinfucker. No spousal support. No child support. It’s all on me from now on, after 20 years of indentured servitude. Oh, I’m sure that at some point, when I have put in enough years, working two jobs will mean that I will actually have a little extra instead of barely treading water. Little being the operative word. It might mean that now I can buy a pizza and take my kids to Chili’s in the same week! Of course, by the time that actually happens my kids will be out of the house and in college, so scratch that. As for love and new romance, I have no desire to ever date again or find another mate because I sincerely believe that most people out there are liars and cheaters. I refuse to go through that bullshit again. I’m so fucking tired from working all the time and going in at obscene hours that I don’t have time to meet new people or develop hobbies or to build a new fucking life. This is it. Go to work for shit pay, try to interact with my kids, have my daily crying jag, do some laundry, cook some dinner, write some blog entries, go to bed, repeat. I’m not going to get sucked into thinking that 2017 is going to be a great year for me. It’s more than likely going to be yet another shitty year with a few bits and pieces of, “Hey, that wasn’t so awfully terrible.” I’m sure there will be moments that I laugh. Many more moments where I cry. I’m sure I will find some happy things to celebrate and that it won’t all be a disaster. But primarily I’m not expecting anything, and I’m especially not expecting anything good.

For those of you who believe in the whole New Year nonsense: Happy New Year! May 2017 be prosperous and joyful. I hope it brings you amazing experiences, relationships, and fortunes. For those of you who don’t: Let’s just try to survive yet another year.

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!

All I Want For Christmas…

Oh, that title is such a misnomer this year. I don’t want anything for Christmas. I don’t want to celebrate Christmas. I have absolutely no Christmas spirit. Actually, if I were to fill in the blank I would say that all I want for Christmas is for it to be OVER! Working retail at Christmas time sucks! So it stands to reason that working two retail jobs at Christmas doubly sucks! I just checked my calendar and my last day off was December 5th. I will finally get another day off on Christmas Day. But hey- since I’ve adopted this new “attitude of gratitude” I can say thankfully that I don’t work two jobs every day.

Like yesterday. I went in at 3 am to stock shelves. I was supposed to get off at 8:30 and ended up staying until 11. But it was the only job I had to work yesterday. I had planned on coming home and taking a brief nap so that I could take Rock Star to work at 5 and pick her up at 10 but she informed me shortly after I got home that she was going in at 1 and staying until 10. Plus, she was hungry and willing to buy breakfast. So I pulled my weary body up out of the chair and took off with her. Since she was working 9 hours she got a one hour lunch break and since we moved before she got her license she’s dependent upon others to come get her. I got a text message that her lunch was at 5. I dozed off and on for about an hour while listening to TV and then went to go get her.

I got stuck in the driveway. Yes, it’s been snowing like the dickens around here. I told Picasso to go shovel out the driveway because I could barely get to my car. Apparently he ignored me or just did a piss poor job because as I was trying to get out to go pick her up I got stuck. I jumped out of the car and shoveled myself a pathway. Then I returned again to pick her up at 10 pm. I did put my foot down when she wanted me to run her down to her cousin’s house to spend the night. It was 10:30 or later and I was already in my jammies. Queen B drives. If she wants her to spend the night she can come out here and grab her, dammit! This morning she wanted me to run to Krispy Kreme and get a dozen donuts because “Queen B wanted them.” Again, tell Queen B to get in her own damn car and go get them! Oh, but she’s studying for finals. Yeah, well, I’m working two fucking jobs and I’m on my feet constantly. I’m still recovering from Saturday!

Today I only work my second job from 12-6. Then I shall come home, eat some dinner and go to bed because I have to go into work at 2 am. Again, only working one job tomorrow as well! Hooray!

I actually like what I’m doing at my second job. I fulfill orders so I go around the store, basically shopping for other people. I was thinking that after the holidays I might try to cross train and pick up more hours at the first job because it pays more but I do really like what I’m doing here. I guess we’ll see if they have any interest in keeping me if I can only work weekends.

Wednesday is going to be a killer. I’m supposed to work 4-8:30 and then go into my second job from 12-8. I’ve bought yet another pair of shoes so I hope these do the trick and I can manage to stay on my feet for 12 or more hours. I did it on Saturday and I was about to die towards the end of the night. And on top of that I tried to get some Christmas shopping in after working only 5 hours. I was seriously ready to cry by the time I got home. My feet were so sore, my back was killing me, and I was exhausted. Plus, I had to turn around and go in at 3 am after all that.

Friday is going to be my day from Hell. I go in at 2 am once again and am supposed to work until 8:30. We’ll see. Since I’m scheduled 6 days this week I can’t stay over a whole lot every day or I’ll be over 40 hours before my last scheduled day. Then after unloading two trucks and stocking shelves I get to go in and work from 12-8. And then I turn around and go back in to my first job on Saturday at 4 am. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers because I think I might die.

The best part? I’ve been doing all this while battling a stupid cold.

The sad and puzzling part is while I’ve been scheduled for 30 hours this week at my second job I’m only scheduled for 6 hours next week. Of course the one day I go in is the one day I have off from my first job, which is why I have no days off until Christmas Day. I dread the workload but will appreciate the money. I’m curious to see what the hours are like after Christmas. I know next week at my first job is not going to be kind. I go in at 3 am or 12:30 am every day except Monday. Going in at 4 am is bad enough; going in any earlier is just brutal and inhuman!

Oh, one final piece of information. I did end up being offered the job I interviewed for. I even got the position I wanted which paid more per hour. I’ll still have to work 2, possibly 3 jobs but at least I now have a full-time gig. I would say it sure would be nice to get some damn spousal and child support but the fact is I wouldn’t trust that piece of shit to pay. I’m pretty much at the point that even if he’s still ordered to pay thousands each month I would continue working just to cover my ass in case he conveniently has another breakdown. Cousinfucker!

Oh, Tammy Faye…

I found out this morning that Pastor Fake tagged my daughter in her father’s pathetic Thanksgiving message post. She in turn showed her brother. Neither were impressed. Neither replied. I have to admit sometimes I wish one of them would.

Then I find out that good ol’ Tammy Faye wrote her own Thanksgiving missive. She misses her and she wishes she could see them.

Oh, Tammy Faye, you chose your son and the whore and her kids months ago. Nay, over a year ago! You encouraged that dick sucking slut to call him in the hopes of rekindling their affair. You blew your grandchildren’s lives apart. And now you’re bemoaning the fact that you don’t see them? You are such a stupid bitch.

Did it never occur to you that you saw your grandchildren because I went the extra mile in making sure you saw them? Did you forget all the times I drove cross country to bring them to you while your son stayed at home? Or the times I would drive another 6 hours after driving to my own mother’s house because you couldn’t be bothered to meet halfway or come on up to see them? Your son chose the whore over you seeing your grandkids last summer when he refused to take either of them with him when he went to his cousin’s funeral. Your son can’t be bothered to come pick them up and take them to see you. Frankly, neither of them want anything to do with him or with you or anyone in your fucked up family. You are all liars. You are the reason people turn away from Christianity. You clutch your pearls at the thought of a woman having an abortion or someone saying, “Fuck!”, or people drinking but you have no problem with either of your kids cheating on their spouses. In fact, you welcome the interlopers with open arms. In my case you never stopped communicating with her even when he supposedly wanted his wife and kids. Pastor Fake liked the whore’s FB status where she bemoaned missing her married lover in her bed. Hey, what would Jesus do?

Do you honestly think I’m going to drive down and bring the kids to you? Look you crazy bitch, you used up every favor when you stuck your nose in my life and helped destroy it. If you want to see your grandkids your son needs to step up his game and come get them. Of course, in order for them to agree to get in the car they would have to talk to him and that would require effort on his part which won’t ever happen. It would also be very difficult for him to keep the whore and her kids away from them seeing as how he lives with the cunt. I’m not really sure how you think your holiday with them would go seeing as how they both refuse to be around Harley the Whore or her kids; I have a feeling you would be crying even harder if she and her kids weren’t sitting around your dinner table as well. And the reality is neither of those kids believe a single word that you, Pastor Fake, Jezebel, or their father has to say. You’ve all burned that bridge with your own actions. Stop playing the damn victim. Own your behavior. And for the love of God please stop publicly declaring your fake love all over Facebook! There’s going to come a day when Cousinfucker and I are divorced and I will no longer have to watch my Ps and Qs. When that day comes I’m going to unleash on your ass and tell you exactly what I think of you and your pathetic declarations. I know you prefer to carry your Bible as opposed to actually reading it but even Jesus finally got fed up and let his righteous anger fly.

My Own Facebook Post

OK, I’m not really going to make my own Facebook post to combat Asshat’s but I do want to reflect upon what I’m grateful for.

Unlike Cousinfucker I don’t have to reach out to my kids through Facebook (even though my daughter has him blocked and our son doesn’t even have a FB page). I see them every day. I tell them every day I love them and to have a good day. Unlike him I know that they hear me when I say those things because I get an, “I love you,” right back.

On Wednesday before Turkey Day my daughter took me out for breakfast. Her treat. And she was the one who asked me if I wanted to go. We ended up having the best time. She just talked and talked and told funny stories. She had me laughing constantly. I’ve missed that. I feel like I’m missing out on so much of their lives, especially with this crazy schedule I’ve had lately. Going in at 1:30 in the morning I’m going to bed around 6. I get 2 or 3 hours tops with my kids. But on Wednesday Rock Star and I ate breakfast, went shopping, and talked and laughed.

I took Picasso to get his hunter’s license on Thanksgiving so his uncle could take him out. We had a good conversation, too. He got a little frightened with my driving for some reason, apparently thinking I can’t judge distances too well, but I assured him that if anyone died in the crash it would be me. He told me he didn’t want me to die and when I told him he didn’t need to worry about having to go live with his dad he told me he didn’t want me to die because he loved me. Contrast that with his declaration that his dad is dead to him. While he thinks he’s too big to sit on my lap anymore (okay, he is about 5’10 and weighs a good 220 but he’s still my baby and my lap is always open) he is always leaning in to kiss me and tell me he loves me.

In other news as expected Cousinfucker is getting plenty of sympathy on his Thanksgiving Facebook post. Someone (I believe I refer to her as Daniella later on) that he used to work with told him not to give up on them, just to keep letting them know how much he loves them. Eventually they will come around and be able to make their own decisions.

That’s adorable. I’d love to throw caution to the wind and reply on his page: Your sympathy is admirable but save it for someone who really needs it, like his kids. This is the first time he’s mentioned his kids since June. He walked out the door in February and hasn’t set eyes on them since. To be clear, it isn’t because they’ve told him not to come see them. He hasn’t even bothered to ask. This FB post is as far as he’s going to go to reach out to his kids. He doesn’t call; he doesn’t text. Aside from their birthday cards they haven’t heard a peep out of him since June. He lived with his kids for six months after they got the news we were divorcing because of his affair and he didn’t bother with talking to them, reaching out to them, or offering to take them anyplace during that time either. He hasn’t sent child support since May. He forced them to move out of their home and transfer schools. He couldn’t pay for his own daughter’s $80 Homecoming dress but he could spend over $300 on a dress for his whore’s daughter. He didn’t have the money to pay his half of the household bills (or to pay for the damn dress for his daughter) but he had over $4k to spend on an engagement ring for his mistress. In that same month she was able to spend over $400 on sports equipment for her kids, another $167 at Vera Bradley, over $400 on utility bills, and hundreds on eye care- all out of the joint checking account they opened while he was still married (and before his wife even know he was having yet another affair with her) and taking from his own children to support her and hers. He couldn’t be bothered to be engaged with his own kids while he plays Daddy of the Year to four kids who already have a father. His kids have nothing to do with him not because of their evil mother’s influence but because he’s a selfish, entitled asshole who chose a whore and her four kids over his own. He’s never offered a heartfelt apology to either of them. He never bothered to reach out and check on them after finding out we were forced to move out of the state. Never asked a single question about how they were adjusting, how they liked their new schools, how it was living where they were living. Certainly never apologized for forcing his daughter to transfer schools right before her junior year.

Here- let me sum this up in a much more concise statement:  Outside of Facebook he never gives them another thought. Facebook is nice and public so everyone can see his grand declarations. It’s no fun texting or calling your kids; no one can see that! He posted that drivel so everyone could see his very public gesture and in turn would feel sorry for him. You all fell for it, suckers!

You know what, readers? In the end, no matter what kind of bullshit he pulls, no matter how bad off financially I am, I have won. My kids love me; they value me. He has no idea what kinds of things they like, who their friends are, what they want to do with their lives. He doesn’t get to talk to them, joke around with them, eat dinner with them, drive them around. He has no idea who they are as people. He will never watch our kids graduate from high school. Neither of them want him there. Hell, he doesn’t even know which schools they attend. He will never watch Picasso at an orchestra concert or watch Rock Star cheering. If our son ends up playing football he won’t be around to give him tips, coach him from home, or watch him play. He won’t know if or where our kids end up going to college or what they choose to do for a career. He will not be the one to walk our daughter down the aisle should she ever marry; he won’t even be invited to the wedding. He won’t be around for our son’s wedding either should he ever marry. If grandchildren are a part of the future he will never know them. He won’t even know they exist.

The sad part is I’m sure he would say the whore is worth it. She has to be now that he’s lost everything. I don’t really care whether he thinks she’s worth it or not. I know I’ve got the better deal. For that I’m grateful.

Our Last Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a bittersweet time for me this year. I feel like last year I did fine. Maybe I was on autopilot.

Thanksgiving was our last good holiday together as a family. Come to think of it, it was probably the last happy time we really had before his big downward spiral, courtesy of Blockhead and his helpful information to CF.

I thought we had a good Christmas but then I read his text message to Jezebel on the 26th and discovered he was deeply unhappy. Here I am posing for family pictures with all of us in matching pajamas, we’re all smiles and he’s thinking about how unhappy he is and how he never should have tried to be happy. Told his sister he was heavily medicated. I would later find out that Blockhead had already started feeding him information before our anniversary because he was the one to tell him that I didn’t like my anniversary gift. I suppose that even while we were opening gifts with just the four of us, him buying me my laptop and clothes and lingerie that he was plotting his revenge and wasn’t really happy.

Thanksgiving of 2014 though was a great time. We had just moved into our new house. I had bought new furniture, unpacked all the boxes, and had decorated for the holidays. I had actual Thanksgiving decorations up. My mom, brother, sister-in-law, nephew, and 2 nieces all came down to celebrate the holiday at our new house. My daughter’s best friend from out west had already flown out to spend the holiday with us. We had a full house. All beds were filled and we even had two blow up beds. I cooked. My mom and sister-in-law helped. I made extra mashed potatoes because they were Rock Star’s best friend’s favorite. CF decided to try grilling the turkey for a change of pace. There was tons of food. We ate, played Phase 10, indulged in yummy desserts- pumpkin pies, a chocolate dessert for my sister-in-law, Scotcheroos. CF was in great spirits. He was very sociable and outgoing; he woke the girls up with a turkey neck down his pants. He was in great spirits. I had everyone fill out slips of paper listing the three things that they would remember the most.

All the females forced me into going Black Friday shopping and that turned out to be a favorite memory for most of them. I got 2 great pairs of boots that night.

Yes, Thanksgiving 2014 was the last happy memory we have as a family. It might possibly be my last happy memory, period. Everything pretty much fell to shit after this day two years ago. I lost my house, my income, my husband. I had to move out of state. I had to pull my kids out of their schools. I disrupted their lives once again. They are slowly adjusting to this new life. They will be okay. They’re young and have their whole lives ahead of them. They have hope and can spread their wings and get out of this hell hole.

I hate it. I don’t think I’ll ever have another happy day. I’m old. I’ve wasted my life. I’m going to spend the rest of my life working menial jobs for sub par wages, struggling to make ends meet and knowing I can’t take care of my kids.

It is definitely a bittersweet holiday. I can stay stuck in the past and remember how great, or at least how comfortable, my life was, or I can “focus on the future” and try to make the best of this shitty, shitty hand I was dealt. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.