Tag Archives: voodoo dolls

My Darling Douche Bag…

Dear ex-for-a-reason-jackass,

Listen here douche bag my friend…  I left you ten years ago because you were an emotionally abusive, callous, self-consumed, cheating ass.  Although we have become friends over the years since that horrifying time, I’ve hardly forgotten who and what you once were both to me, and in general as well.

I recognize your control issues.  It doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to see them; hell, the sales clerks at your over-priced clothing stores probably have you tagged “the pompous ass”.  I’m sorry that you’re so insecure that you have to control every freakin element of your life and everyone else’s.  That must suck at a level of exhausting which makes me need a nap just thinking about it.  However, WE are not your employees.  WE are the mother of your children and your daughters.

We are not married.  In case you don’t recall correctly, that doesn’t bother me….in fact, I chose it.   TWICE.  I’m proud of you…really, I was am.  Your perfectionism in your career has led you to be as successful as you once dreamed so long ago in that college town where we met.  I’m delighted for you and I love that you’ve accomplished so much.  This has lead to a sense of financial security for our broken/dysfunctional divorced family that I’m ever so grateful to you for.  However, please remember that while you were living the wild single life, free to pursue your every career whim or goal, I was working 24/7/365 at raising our childrenalone.  Therefore, my success might seem meager and lacking in your corporate world of materialism, BUT it DOES make me above and beyond you the “expert” in parenting compared to your Disney Dad weekends and summer vacation parenting “experience”.

What I can’t understand is how such a monetarily generous human being can be so utterly and completely SELFISH and SELF CONSUMED?  Everything isn’t taken care of by money.  Yeah, thanks for leaving extra money on the table yesterday…the girls and I are going to a movie and out to dinner on you…and we appreciate that!  However, in as much as we appreciate it, money does not buy you an acceptable excuse for being a douche bag.  Money does not give you the right to eyeball me like a freaking steak you’ve just ordered –  mouth watering, and drool hanging off your lip…  I am not your peep-show anymore, nor your sex kitten, nor your emotional punching bag.  What I wear to clean the house is NONE of your BUSINESS. Hell, if I freakin want to clean my house NAKED, I will….maybe you need to just sit in the driveway and honk when you pick up the children.  In fact, would you? Please? 

I realize that you’ve not had to deal with physically seeing me so regularly (in sundresses, tank tops, bra-less, etc, etc, etc). since I left you so long ago, And I’m really trying to understand how challenging that might be for you.  Really, I am…  No.  You know what?  That’s a lie.  I’m not trying to understand how “hard” that it for you (no pun intended) because it’s just not MY problem.  It’s yours…same old problem as always.  And what skimpy get-up I wear to clean the house when it’s 115 freakin degrees outside is just NOT your BUSINESS, nor your CONCERN. No one even invited you IN the house…  And anyway, WHAT I WEAR has ZERO effect on the way our teenager dresses, you sexist ASS.  So, just shut your steak and mashed-potato hole…ok?  I don’t care how much money you leave on the table or deposit in my account or make a year.  I just don’t care.  You should know by now that material things don’t mean diddly squat to me.  You have no more rights than the bum sitting outside the liquor store (which I happen to frequent far more often now that we live in close proximity to YOU) to oogle me, criticize me, or comment on what I wear in PUBLIC, much less to clean my freakin house! 

I'm wearing this to clean next time...

Just shut it…just shut your too tiny for your face mouth already!  And don’t look at me with that tone of voice either. You lost that right to flap your lips or oogle your eyes in my direction years ago when I left our home with two children under the age of two.  Hear me?  LOST it….as in, NO LONGER have that right.

Our children are beautiful, well-adjusted, well mannered, intelligent, kind and compassionate souls.  They are most likely this way so much because YOU were so far away as I was raising them while you were busy making a success out of yourself in your career.  They stand up for themselves and don’t buckle to manipulation easily because they were raised by ME alone…and not in the home environment of our suppressing and spirit-murdering marriage.  They are individuals with their own fashion sense and a solid idea of right and wrong, as well as inherently beautiful hearts and morals, which DON’T include cheating, lying, controlling, or manipulation.  I left you, young, petrified, and with NOTHING so long ago because the choice between money, a husband, and marital status meant NOTHING to me when held up to the effect THAT kind of home life and poor example would have had on two little girls growing up watching the heinous and disrespectful way you treated their mother and women in general.  This was never a choice for me because I was not going to allow them to witness that debacle of a relationship and then grow up dating pompous, controlling, cheating, sexist assholes like you.  That was never going to happen and you really should have known my character well enough to know that it wasn’t going to.  And now… please understand that I did NOT raise two kids for ten years by myself, just to move here NOW so you could have a detrimental effect on their self-esteem during these critical and challenging years of their lives.  No.

If you choose to continue this manner of disrespect to me and continue to disrespect our daughters, their feelings, their struggles, their athletic abilities, what they wear, WHATEVER…I hope you will vividly recall just how it felt standing there watching us all walk out of your life and your world ten years ago… 

And remember those tears you had the day I agreed to move us here?  Well they weren’t nearly as painful or embarrassing as the one’s you’ll have when we leave if you don’t get your shit together and muster up a little respect and acceptance for all three of us.  Your wallet does NOT give you the right to criticize or hurt any one of us.

Don’t forget, I know exactly how to leave….I always know where the exits are and the emergency evacuation plan is folded up in my hand bag at all times.    I did it penniless, car-less, and devastated with two young children TEN years ago, so don’t you EVEN think for a moment that I can’t do it NOW…or that I wouldn’t. Oh, I will.  It will be inconvenient and difficult, yes…but that never stopped me before. And I’m not nearly the same pushover scaredy-cat spineless and innocent creature today that I was then…

How DID you snap this one???!

So pull your controlling, pompous head out of your ass and get over your sexual ideation of me that petrifies you that you might cheat on your girlfriend, whom I feel horribly sorry for by the way – I’m certain she has NO clue what exactly she’s in for with you yet, but that is thankfully, NOT my problem or concern any more either.  You won’t cheat on her or anyone with ME…I wouldn’t have it.  I don’t have any interest in you “that” way anymore.  NONE.  ZILCH.  ZERO.  Hell, at this point, I don’t even want to be your freakin friend anymore, much less your lover…secret or otherwise…ughh…  No. Ummm get over yourself.  Not every chick in a cute little skirt is wearing it merely because they want you, pal.  Trust me on that one.

You’ve been a surprisingly good father under the circumstances of the last ten years.  This is why I’ve given you my respect and ultimate consideration as a father and even as my ex-husband…and ultimately the only reason we agreed to move here at all.  You’ve earned that over the past ten years…so I suggest you be careful that you don’t lose it (again) now.  As you should know already from past experience, I won’t compromise what’s in the best interest of the life, health and livelihood of my daughters for ANY thing.  NOTHING is of value to me when it’s held up against that kind of damage to my children or their potential happiness in the future.  I’ve left and lost it ALL to preserve and protect that once, I WILL not hesitate to do it again, if I must.

I am shocked, disgusted, and disappointed in you to a level I’ve not reached in ten years.  YOUR adjustment to this is NOT all that matters….and certainly not what matters most here.  You gave up nothing for this and gained EVERY thing.  We gave up everything and so far have only gained the frustrating headache of dealing with a pompous, critical, controlling ass.

I will not hesitate to boil your noodle, throw my kids in the car, and haul our lives right back across the country if you don’t get a grip on this and SOON. 

get yourself a copy...

I really don’t want to have to slap you like a monkey…

 So, please and thank you already.

~K

Yes, I enjoy Whacking-the-Mole…

Wow..umm…M really surprised me last night..caught me off guard…rattled my cage….

I don't know this boy...but I envy him

I am smack-dab in the middle of a ton of suppressed dating worries…successfully keeping them just outta reach…  Those traditionally ridiculous thoughts and concerns that as a female, seem to be far too prominent and actually don’t mean anything at all, aside from excessive, ridiculous worries.  It starts with that strange feeling I get about M…those wonderings which have no real purpose or validity…those things which just annoy me that I’m even thinking about them, much less allowing any kind of worry to settle in…  It’s an absurd thought process and I’m annoyed with myself about them, so I refuse to allow them to get above the surface.  I play that Whack-A-Mole (Clobber- A-Hedgehog? Pound-the-Groundhog? ) carnival game with these.  The very moment they creep up even just a bit, I BASH them mercilessly over the head, knocking them back down into the “Ridiculous Thoughts I’m Not Even Going To Acknowledge” hole of oblivion…and I skip along my merry way onto the My Frog’s Gonna Kick Your Frog’s Ass (na-na-na-na-boo-boo)Water Races!

A few of these moles I’ve bashed since my lovely evening with M just this Friday past are: 

Why doesn’t he ask me on another date before the last one is over?  Why have I never gone out with him on a Saturday night (Saturday night has always been considered “date night” in my little part of the world)?  What in THE hell was he doing last Saturday night anyway?  Why am I thinking of these questions?   Why would they even matter?  Do I really care about the answers?  Or (and gawwwdd forbid!) do I just have to worry about something…all the time?

(I beg of you to bear with me through this, my ex husband has made my life a living hell recently and quite honestly, I’d rather think/worry about ANY thing except the nagging-like-a- dog-at-my-ankles sneaking suspicion that moving my family across the effin’ country was perhaps, NOT the right choice!?  UGH…boohoo…fear!…panic!…etc, etc. etc…)

So Saturday, I go on the dating site to look at M’s profile and see where I must have missed the “married and seeking” status, the former “serial killer” checkbox, or the “three-four-five-some’s are my favorite activity ever!” proclamation.  …or maybe it was just to peek through his photos again and get in tune with my inner psychic knowing?  …hell, I don’t know..whatever…I was on there to (double and triple) check him out, right?  And LO and BEHOLD:  

 
 

WTF?

His profile has been deleted! 

Yeah, that’s right.  DEEEEEEEEEE—LEEEEETEDDDDDDDD!

WTF?  Seriously?  Umm…what does that even mean?  Why did I come here to check this?  I don’t want this information right now.  I don’t want to think of these possibilities…umm…I can’t even imagine the possibilities…

Did his wife over in Paris/Russia/Indonesia discover his dating profile?  Did he meet his 5-girl harem quota? Am I considered #5?  Did he have a date tonight (it IS Saturday after all!) who qualified in every category he could hope for?  Did he find the perfect S&M dominatrix to kick his ass?  

What. The. Fuck.?? (yeah, I just typed the f-word out loud there…that’s what I LOVE about blogging best so far…didn’t you know…I can say the f-word without ever even having that word come out of my mouth!!  Yayyyy blogging!)

Hmm….no word from M Saturday or Sunday.  I’m okay with that.  I like my personal space…yeah, even on Saturday night. Yesterday around 5 PM I get this text from M:

M: Hi <Kay> if ur free Thursday maybe we can see a movie

Me(a few hours later): That sounds great!  What do u want 2c?

M:I’m open.  Whatever you want.

Me: Ur awesome.  I really wanna see Inception or The Other Guys… u can choose from those 2 if u want…

M: Inception

I don’t respond to this.  It’s already been decided at this point, right?  It’s perfect!  Embarrassing disclaimer insert: Not to mention, I’m dealing with ex-husband CRAP I haven’t had to deal with in 10 freakin’ years!  Know something I’ve prided my self on for years now? NO ex-husband drama…NONE.  So between you and me, I’m bawling here actually…and that’s  mixed up with just a bit of swearing under my breath in the shower to calm my sobbing- pissed- off-, frustrated-to-tears self down.  FYI: I’ll deny this to my death though, should you ever try to accuse me to my face.  Understood?  Good

Psh...NO..these aren't MINE!

M(a few hours later: thankfully after my “moment” and my soothing trying-to-get-back-to-my-happy-place-shower):  ok?

Me: Perfect

M: What ru up to?

Me: Just dealing w/stupid drama n kinda wishin I could just get drunk or run far away instead…oops is that tmi? What ru doing? Wanna sneak off n drink something stupid w/me later?(ohhh gawwwdd…did I really text that?  REALLY?)

M: I’m in bed.  What drama?

Me(back peddling/recovering/etc/etc): I’m kiddin.   The x is just actin stupid.  No big really. Just haven’t seen or dealt w/this n 10 years n I’m just outta practice.  Its all good.  How was ur day?

M:  tired.  Wish u were n bed w/me.   Night.

Me: me too. That would be so nice…but hoorayyyy 4 Thursday……night 🙂

M: Yes.  Miss you.

WHAT?  Re-check, re-read, rub eyes…….cough…cough…ponder my response in a mild state of panic…a nice panic w/ a bit of “awwww the little butterflies”….but also with some “WTF do I say to THAT?”  panic too.

Me: 🙂 🙂 🙂  (Ummm…was this response too obvious that I’m at a total loss here?)

Then, after a few minutes of thinking, gasping for air, and mind racing all over the damned place at the  speed of light and frantic disorientation…

Me (2nd recovery in one text-servation):  miss u2.  Sweet dreams.  

Looking forward to Thursday….  All discombobulated….  And  I just might make a voodoo doll out of whole wheat penne pasta of my ex-husband. 

Can you see the resemblance?

And then OVER boil it…I’m talking to mush here.  Yeah…..it’s floppy McFlopster all. the. way. for you pal…..yeah… I may not be crazy enough to boil your rabbit, but I’ll sure as HELL boil your noodle!