Am I Being Punk’d?

*Disclaimer: I’m writing this from my phone. My screen is cracked and extra punctuation is going to happen. This is not a typical post, it’s more of an explanation.*

It’s been a while, but I can explain..

I’m getting divorced.

Remember this post? Yeah, I’d just found out Hubby–who will be referred to as “The Ex” from this point on– had screwed my crazy crackhead neighbor. He didn’t “screw her over” or “screw together some furniture for her”. No, he straight up screwed her, baby makin’ style.

After almost 8 months of trying to work it out, other issues (with him) crept up. I realized I had never forgiven him for the affair, I was still bitter..resentful, and just not “in love”. Considering he called me a “cry baby” in February for not already being over it, we REALLY weren’t doing too well when I wasn’t over it 6 more months later. His new issues were too much and I was tired of trying to piece together something that had been FUBAR’d for months.

So, yeah, that’s where I’ve been. I didn’t quit writing for lack of material (he’s given me SO MUCH). I didn’t quit because I’ve been wallowing around in.self-pity. Trust me, I don’t need sympathy. I’m better than I’ve been in 10 years. No shit, my face is even clearing up. It’s just that– I’m still waiting on Ashton Kutcher to pop out and tell me that I’m being Punk’d. Not over the affair, but over the divorce filing aftermath. It’s been insane. I could legit be on Jerry.

In August, The Ex moved out. He begged me to hold off filing until he had more time to process what was happening. Somehow, even with my months of unhappiness, his numerous fuck-ups, and me admitting that I wasn’t in love with him, this was a huge surprise to him. HUGE. After he HACKED MY FACEBOOK and told everyone what he’d done, admitting to snooping through my things to see if I’d cheated (I’ve never in my life cheated and never will, not after having been through it myself), and begged me to take him back, I knew I was DONE-done. I know his intent was to apologize, but–you know–nothing says “I love you” like hacking a facebook, snooping, and humiliating your wife. Hellllo? I hadn’t told people what was going on FOR A REASON. Either way, out of pity, I decided to give him until the following Monday. Friday morning, I was served divorce papers. He was divorcing ME. Okay, that’s fine…on what grounds? Well, because I’m crazy. OF COURSE. Why else would I have stayed married so long?! I did see a psychiatrist for the ADHD and, after the affair, when my anxiety got bad again. Luckily, he was nice enough to write a letter stating that I was not insane.

All through September, I got calls and texts begging me to give him another chance. I didn’t respond. So, he took to harassing friends and family and spreading viscous rumors. More begging to take him back. Really?! Did you even READ the divorce papers you filed? Did you HEAR the things you were telling people as they came out of your mouth? Are you drunk? High? Probably. Probably both. Who knows, really.. Either way, NO! Just…no.

October comes and, suddenly, the calls stop. He isn’t calling the kids either. Toward the end of the month, I was in a wedding. I stayed at my grandmother’s so she could help babysit and so I would be closer to the chapel. While there, I brought all mine and kids’ clothing to do laundry. I had pretty much lived out of my car over the weekend out of fear that I would forget something for the wedding. After the wedding, I didn’t unload the car. I was too tired. While I was in bed, The Ex came and stole the car. Allllllll our stuff, including the carseats, were in there.

Early November, I got several calls that a female “friend” of his was driving my car around. Bitch was DRIVING. MY. CAR. Word was, they’d been seeing each other since early October..when the calls stopped. Let me make this crystal clear: I legit PRAYED that he would find a girlfriend. I had no issue with that. I wanted him to find someone else to obsess over, anyone but me. I was over it. Mid-November, we went to court. The car was to be returned back to me the following weekend.

Here it is, first week of December, and still no car. Supposedly, the girlfriend took my car and ran off with her ex. Fantastic. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

So, there is the drahmz. It doesn’t take up quite as much of my life as you would think. I struggled a lot in the beginning, but not so much anymore. I made a decision a few months ago:  I’m 26–a lot of life left, and I will keep nothing short of AMAZING people in my life from now on. I have some pretty amazing people in my life that make me far happier than he makes me miserable.

If we have a good relationship (friend, family, or otherwise) of some sort now or in the future, rest assured that I fucking love you and your presence. If you start sucking, you are out. GONE. Ain’t nobody got time fa dat! I’m not wasting anymore time on being miserable. 10 years was long enough.

If you, by chance, wonder if I will change the name of this..maybe. Maybe NEXT YEAR. This bitch is paid up until July!

Oh, The SHAME!

This photo is going around right now and, not surprisingly, many are calling it abuse. Mental abuse. Humiliating, yes, but..abuse? Ehh…

What say you good people out there? Is this mental abuse? What is your opinion on this type of discipline, in general?

Here is my comment on the post on Babble.com’s Facebook (plus a little more detail), summing up my opinion:

I can’t believe this is seriously being dubbed as abuse by some people. That’s laughable, at best. I got caught at a party when I was 15. My dad carried me and my best friend out over his shoulders. I was forever known as “the girl whose dad busted up the Hope Lake party”. It was humiliating! HOWEVER:

1.) Nothing my parents did led me to that party. I lied and left a football game to go. Peer pressure led me there.

2.) I didn’t lose respect for my parents. I still trusted them, though I was temporarily (very) angry. I understood even then WHY they did what they did.

3.) I learned a valuable lesson: don’t sneak off to parties, I will get caught. It wasn’t my last party, but it definitely slowed me down.

4.) To compare being humiliated for making a stupid choice to being abused HAS TO BE a serious slap in the face to anyone who has ever been mentally abused. My parents were not abusive and, in my opinion, neither is this mother.

5.) My parents are wonderful, amazing people. I love them and respect them. I have never feared them, but I did expect to be appropriately punished for things I did wrong. At 26, my mom is NOW my best friend. I thank God she didn’t try to be my BFF back then.

According to one reader, the mom said this in response:

“Some said the public humiliation would have long-term effects, that she would hate me forever for this. You have to know your child. I wouldn’t do this on my middle child because I don’t think she can emotionally handle it. But this one, she’ll be just fine. Yes, I got the ‘you’re ruining my life’ rant, but after a few hours, she was trying to figure out how she can start an organization at her school to raise awareness about social media responsibility.”

Your thoughts?

Cue Panic, Chaos, Confusion

Last I noticed, the kids were holding hands and dancing in the kitchen, directly in front of my open door. Unbeknownst to me, while I was Facebooking, the son acquired a screwdriver (Stop it. I know you are judging me. Stop.). Next thing I know, son runs toward something and stabs it. After a loud popping sound, Sugar screams, “You stabbed a hole in it!!” I see a cloud of something that looks like smoke…maybe aerosol something or other being sprayed. I jump up and run towards the cloud, screaming, “Get away from it! GET AWAAAYYY FROM ITTTT!!!! “…I don’t know what, exactly, I think is about to happen. Surely, it’s going to explode or something. The kids are inhaling toxic fumes of a substance not-yet identified!! It’s probably blinding them right now! Oh, GOD! It’s going to EXXXPPLLOOODDDEEE! RUN!!!!

So, as I approach the exploding aerosol can of toxic substance, I nearly bust my ass and get sprayed in the face by this stuff! I’m going to be blind, too! We’re all going to be BLIIINNNDD! I finally see the bottle of the deadly, blinding gas…

 

 

 

 

/areyoukiddingme

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s sprite.
/dead

Bless His Heart

If you are from the south, you know that “Bless your/his/her heart” is usually just a way for Southerners to say something negative about someone without feeling guilty. It’s like saying “no offense” when you say something offensive or a way of saying that you pity someone. For example:

“She is so naive, bless her heart.”

“She’s a homely looking child, bless her heart.”

“He’s a dumbshit, bless his heart.”

In this case, regarding my husband, it means, “It’s your birthday. I pity you because, if you don’t stop being a douchebag, it might be your LAST birthday.”

Because of the fact that I have no means of transportation right now, my plans to go get a cake and a sweet card–went out the window. Instead, I decided to deep clean the worst room in our house: The Bedroom. Listen, y’all, that room seriously gets neglected–I admit it. Whenever we are in the other rooms cleaning, one of us asks, “Hey, where does this go?”, and the other almost always responds, “Hell, I don’t know. Throw it in the bedroom and shut the door!!” It’s the catch-all. We also have a serious problem with coming home from vacation and, rather than unpacking, living out of our suitcase until..well..until we go on vacation again. Don’t judge me!

Anyway, so, I decide to deep clean it. Hubby is always bitching about not being able to find anything and we are always kicking suitcases in the middle of the night, so I thought it would be nice. I worked my ass off. I actually broke a sweat. I know, gross, right? Luckily, I found my super strong muscle relaxers while I was digging through things. I needed those after tackling that mess. My back was, no, is throbbing and I am exhausted. I phone Hubby to see if he wants me to order some Outback Steakhouse to-go. It’s one of his favorites, so I figured it was a win-win for all of us. He says that, no, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t feel like having to stop to pick it up on the way home on his birthday. I explain that I am about dead and, since he needs help with his resume tonight, it would benefit us all. In comes the bitching…”Well, I don’t feel like stopping. I guess I will just come home and cook by myself on MY BIRTHDAY!” I’m all, “Dude, STFU. I didn’t ask you to come home and cook.” He bitches some more about me “whining” about my back aching (I’ve mentioned my bulging discs and arthritis, right?). I didn’t tell him about the bedroom initially– because I wanted to surprise him. However, at this point..I wanted to go sling shit around everywhere, completely destroying it, then yell, “Surprise, mutha fucka! Happy Birthday!” when he walked in, but decided against it.

Hubby gets home and starts moping around. I run out the door to get cake and come back as quickly as possible. When I return, the kids are telling me about how Daddy said he doesn’t even want cake. The fuck? The kids were so excited about getting him a cake and seeing him be excited. Jerk. Since his mood hadn’t improved and the bedroom door was still shut, I assumed he hadn’t been in there. I walk in the bedroom to put my purse down (I used his car key, by the way..because mine is still missing) and he walks in behind me. Finally! Maybe he will see what I have been doing all day, realize that I wasn’t bullshitting about being exhausted and in pain, and cheer up. He walks through the bedroom and goes into the bathroom without saying a word. I just sat there until he came out, thinking he would be all, “Wow!” on his way out. Nope. Not a single word. He just walked out. Just WALKED OUT.

The rest of the evening didn’t go any better. He continued to mope and wouldn’t eat dinner with us. I had to force him to come sit and let us sing Happy Birthday to him. My eyes had daggers shooting out of them at him. I wanted to yell, “Ever heard the song It’s My Party And I Can Be A Big Bitchy Baby If I Want To?! No? ME EITHER!”

Bless his heart, he might not make it through the night.

Remind Me To Never Put Things Where I Can Easily Find Them

It happens Every. Single. Time. And, please, tell me it happens to you too… I came home, put my purse down, and walked around for a bit while holding onto my keys. Realizing that my keys were still in my hand, I decided I should put them up before I accidentally lost them. My purse was too far away for me to bother walking, so I just stuck them in the first easy-to-remember-but-out-of-children’s-reach place I saw. Bad idea.

I woke up early this morning for my appointment. I was proud of myself–I was going to be able to get myself and the kids ready, then have time to kill before having to leave to get there 10 minutes early. I get ready, feed the kids, then head to grab something from my car…it’s locked. I walk into my bedroom, open my drawer–where I’m certain I left the keys, but the keys aren’t there. That’s right, I put them on top of the fridge. Hmm, not there either. Oh! My bedside organizer thing! Duh! Nope. On the shelf in the living room, by the door? Nah-uh.

WRONG! THEY AREN'T THERE!!!!

On top of the microwave?

On the coffee table?

In the bathroom, where I’ll see them while getting ready?

In my make-up bag?

In the laundry room?

Under my bed?!

Down under the couch cushions?!

In the box my new camera came in?!?!

Dear God, WHERE ARE THEY?!

My car is push-to-start and, I swear, I even carried the trash bag out to my car and held it up to the door while pressing the button and praying the door unlocked (I was not about to dig through the trash without being sure they were in there..). An hour of searching, and I still have no clue where they are. I finally called and rescheduled my appointment. It’s also Hubby’s birthday and I was supposed to go get his cake before he gets home from work. Now, he will likely come home to a completely destroyed house and find me stuck upside down in the big trash can…desperately searching for the keys. /WIFEFAIL

It’s just like when I hide things from the kids. I hide the thing I do not want them to find and–go figure—I’ve hidden it from myself, too. Why does this happen?

Why, God, WHY?!

It’s not just me, right? …..RIGHT?!?

When The Broom Sweeps The Floor By Itself, I’ll Actually Be Impressed

Spo0o0o0oky...Right?? (ignore the towel in the floor..the little shits spilled water)

So, the latest Facebook craze is Magical Broom Standing. For the last 2 nights, I have seen countless posts about how this phenomenon will “only work TONIGHT!!!1!!1!eleventy!”–because of something regarding the perfect alignment of the planets. After last night’s craze, I got up this morning and I took the above picture of my broom standing and posted it in hopes of debunking the myth. Unfortunately, my newsfeed is still full of broom pictures from people who only heard of it today, encouraging everyone else to try it–again–because it will only work tonight. /facepalm

I admit it, this is pretty cool and a great way to freak people out. My husband thought I had some Juju magic going on when I casually let go of the broom, leaving it standing on its own, while we were chatting. It was funny, but not magic. I’m going to let you all in on a little secret: What Hubby didn’t know was that, while I was holding the broom, I was also carefully…

BALANCING IT!

That’s right, y’all. It’s a freaking balancing act! The thing is, the bristles are flexible enough to spread to distribute the weight evenly, yet firm enough to support the weight..allowing it to balance and stand up all by itself. Okay, okay.. that explanation is totally just my own theory, but it definitely isn’t planet alignment.

*****UPDATE*****
Well, y’all, it is morning of March 4th (originally posted this last night) and I have some shocking news…

MY BROOM CAN STILL STAND ON ITS OWN!!!1!1!!!

My eggs stand, too!

Go ahead, try it. You know you want to…

Leave me a comment and let me know if it works for you..