Heidi's Hell Hole

To say that I am mad, furious, angry, upset, or livid right now would be such a gross understatement. I am so engraged right now that my hands are shaking to the point where it's hard to even type.

Angel sent me an e-Mail saying that she had a proposition for me, that I should call her. Curious, I sent her a text message asking what was up. What followed makes me so fucking furious I can barely speak coherently.

She asked me to convince Bryan to give up ALL of his parental rights to the kids. She tried to tell me that it would be better since we could concentrate on us, devote all our time to Pook, and it would save us money, how the kids more or less hate me, and how he's a horrible father anyway, and he listens to me, so why don't I just put a bug in his ear?

I have several issues with her request. Number one, you do NOT drag my child into this unless you want to suffer a horrible death. You want to drag our innocent child into this mess? Sweety pie, you're going to open Pandoras box. You fuck with my child you fuck with me and trust me, when my temper flares up, Satan himself hides from me. Don't try to tell me how to parent MY DAUGHTER, and don't try to tell me how Bryan should parent OUR DAUGHTER. Don't try to tell me what she does and does not deserve. If you mention my child again, I swear to everything I hold dear you'll be eating from a straw for the rest of your miserable existence.

Secondly, my relationship with Bryan is none of her damn business. Have we hit a rough patch? Sure we have. Like all couples. But we're working through it, and I sincerely believe we will come out stronger for it. Unless and until our relationship starts damaging the kids in some way butt out of it.

Seriously? You're seriously trying to play the money angle with this? Let me tell you something, Twat Face, it wouldn't matter if he paid $6,000 a month in child support and we were eating ramen noodles every night. He will never, never, EVER give up his kids. Would it save us money? I'm sure it would. But those kids are worth every single fucking penny he/we spend on them, and more. Unlike you, Twat Face, we don't put a price on the love we have for them.

The kids DO NOT hate me. Oh, they say I'm mean do they? To be honest, in the beginning, I was overly harsh with them. I was 21 years old, had never dealt with kids before, and I was dealing with two kids who were CONVINCED (thanks to you) that I was here to replace their Mother. Over time, with just plain ole trial and error, guidance from Bryan, and listening & observing the kids, I've gotten MUCH better. I've learned that Bubs is a very sensitive little boy, and that he needs to be parented accordingly. I've learned that T is high spirited, and needs to be handled WORLDS differently than her brother. I've made mistakes but I've admitted to them and learned from them.

Twat Face, you seem to think that Bryan is the worlds worst father. Namely, because he missed a few of T's softball games. But let's examine the facts, shall we? He asked you repeatedly for a game schedule so we could be there. You only told him that she had games on Saturday. When, in reality, she actually played two games a week. But again, something you failed to mention. We still don't have a softball schedule. Oh, he doesn't stay home with them when they're sick? Well, golly, Twat Face, it'd be nice if you'd tell us WHEN THEY'RE SICK. The phone calls at 1800 hours of "Bubs was sick today and I stayed home with him, by the way." is crap. How the hell do you expect him to stay home with them if you don't tell him? I know, I know it's a novel concept.

Speaking of model parenting, let's examine you for a moment. No, no, Twat Face, despite what you think, you're not without blame here. Remember a few years ago? I know most of it is a drunken blur, and that is what I'm pointing out. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with YOUR KIDS unless it was a holiday when you could dress them up and show them off and Oh, aren't you just the perfect little (well, not anymore you're not little) Super Single Mom?! All you did was drink and party. Now, to your credit, you don't do that as much anymore. But again for the first part of their lives all you did was drink and left Bryan to deal with and raise your kids. Great parenting. I mean, honestly, you should write a book. I know!! You could call it, "What To Do If You Want To Scar Your Kids For Life...By Twat Face" Has a nice ring to it, don't it?

Furthermore, you bitch, if you have an issue with Bryans parenting, you need to bring it up with him. Not me. Texting me and sending me e-Mails behind his back is beyond chickenshit. Trying to recruit me into your bullshit plan is beyond stupid. Did you honestly think I'd go along with this? Did you really think I'd not tell Bryan?! How stupid are you? You're either A) incredibly stupid, B) incredibly drunk, C) incredibly high, or D) all of the above.

Lastly, Twat Face, don't ever try to tell me you love your kids again. If you truly loved them, you would not take them away from the father they absolutely ADORE and love. There's a damn good reason every time they see him they run up to him as fast as they can and give him bear hugs. Because they LOVE him. He is NOT a bad parent. He's not the perfect parent, but then again neither am I, and you're the furthest from perfect I've ever seen. You're right up there with my mother, which is scary to say the least. If you loved your kids even one iota, you'd never even think to take those kids away from him. And frankly, taking away those kids would kill Bryan. Literally. He loves all three of his kids with everything he has, and so do I.

If it weren't for the fact that it's illegal, and it would crush the kids, I swear to God I'd have no problems bitch slapping your pockmarked face until you finally got it. If you were laying in the gutter on fire, I wouldn't piss on you to save your life. I'd probably take a nice, healthy dump in your mouth. I hate you that much. You've enraged me to a point I've never been at before. You screwed with my kid. You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Twat Face.

I know, I know, like Jackie I haven’t posted a lot in the past few weeks. I’m not dead, I promise. It’s just been crazazy over here in Hell.

 

For starters, Pook got her first tooth last week! I didn’t even know the little stinker was teething. My Mom said H1 would teeth and the whole world knew about it, whereas me…I just teethed. So I guess she’s taking after her Mama!

 

And she also crawled for the first time last week, too! And now that she knows she can scoot her little butt around, she wants to be down on the ground all the time. Time to get that baby gate. And time for Mama to start picking up her shoes instead of just kicking them off and calling it a day. Oh, and she claps now too! She’s turning into the little baby I always envisioned: chubby little pink cheeks, crawling, smiling, and clapping with one little tooth a-pokin’ out. She’s growing up so fast.

 

And sorry but my week didn’t start off too great, either. Monday was like any other day, until we went to Les Schwab to change a tire and I watched the news. Apparently, our fearless leader Obama decided that even though both candidates promised to get our asses out of the Middle East, it would be a wonderful idea to send 17,000 more troops into Afghanistan. So, naturally, I fire off a text to Gaki, “Um, so there’s 17k going into Afghanistan, is your unit with them?” He waffled. I angrily sent a text “Are you going, yes or no?!” And he said to call him; he didn’t want to discuss this over text. Well shit, that can’t be good news.  And it wasn’t.

 

Gaki’s platoon is indeed among the 17,000 being deployed. But surely you’re not among them, right, I mean, you’re out in July, right?! Well, do you want hard facts or sugar coating? Fighting to keep my cool and not go off I said through gritted teeth, “Just tell me the facts before I hop a plane to wring your neck.” And, as it turns out there’s a 60/40 chance he’ll get a forced extension and be in Afghanistan. Son. Of. A. Bitch. I totally lost my cool, ranting over our stupid President, and his stupid ideas, and his stupid campaign promises, and this stupid war. Thankfully, Gaki just let me vent, he knew I wasn’t mad at him. But I’m still pretty pissed. And to be honest, I’m scared, too. I don’t want Gaki or my other friends to come home in boxes. Or come home with limbs missed. I’m so effing terrified right now.

 

And my friend John is finally filing for divorce. After three weeks of going between “No, I love her, I want this to work.” And “Screw this, I’m just going to file!” he finally decided to file. So, beingthe good friend I am, I talked to his wife to see if she even wanted to give it another shot. While she said she “kinda” did, her actions said otherwise. She wanted to be shown he cared, so he gave her flowers, left sweet voicemails, sent flirty little texts. And what did he get for all that? Nothing. Not even a thank you. Oh, and the small, teeny tiny little fact she’s still seeing the guy she cheated on him with…And she is utterly convinced that he has found another girl. Namely me. Even though I love John like a brother, I’d never date the guy. Besides, though we get along famously, he needs a low maintenance gal, and I’m the furthest thing from that.

 

Speaking of John…Tuesday was my birthday so I cajoled him into going with me to Irv’s, a local bar. A local gay bar. John is straight, (as you may haveguessed) and a firefighter. He’s about as straight as they come. The bar had a drag show in honor of Fat Tuesday. Everything was going along fine, though John was uncomfortable. I even had three drag queens compliment my chest. (I know, they’re just fabulous, aren’t they? And real, too.) But when one of the drag queens started rubbing John’s shoulders and hitting on him…Well, I’ll spare you the details but in the end we left.

 

So, now you know why I’ve been incommunicado recently. Hopefully I’ll have more to share later. Love you all.

 

 

 

Okay, I know it’s late. My bad, dawg. Wait! I have a good reason! The Sunday I got back I had a massive seizure, and as usual, I bit my tongue and it got pretty swollen. Then I got a nasty cold so I was pretty much out of commission. So, anyway…San Diego…

 

It was amazing.

 

As I got dressed in tank tops and sandals every morning, I had to remind myself that it was actually February. It was in the high 70’s, low 80’s. Except for the two days Gaki and I spent in Los Angeles, when it was 60 and rained. And people were in parkas. Wimps. People were freaking out, like they’d never seen precipitation in their lives. I wanted to yell, “Y’all would never make it where I come from!”

 

Sea World was amazing, if not expensive. Lunch was over $40. For a little pizza, a salad, two bottled waters, and breadsticks. I wanted to march right back into the deli and say, “Do you have any idea what I could do with forty clams?! It would surely taste better than this kibble!” But we got a behind-the-scenes animal tour which included feeding the dolphins, moray eels, and sea turtles. And we got to pet the dolphins, and they felt like wet marble. I also petted manta rays, and they felt like wet rubber. The rays would actually try to jump out of the water to get to your hand, thinking you had food.

 

Of course we saw the Shamu show, though Shamu wasn’t on that day. We watched Ulysses, a 25-foot long, 9,500 pound Orca whale. This is one big mofo. And of course, the trainers are going under water, swimming with this beast. I was awed, but also thinking, “Um, what if he’s having a bad day? And you tick him off? What then?” But I also figured they’d probably trained for that.

 

We also spent a day in La Jolla. It’s a beautiful community, but man is that place expensive. Gaki and I drove past a house that was $3.5 million dollars. A house that, in Washington, would’ve been $150,000 tops. It was pupping season, meaning the seals were having their pups. I shot an awesome video of a six-week-old seal pup. While I was attempting to swim in the ocean, I had to remind myself that it was February. And yet there I was on the beach in a bikini, frolicking in the waves. I felt so wealthy, since I’ve only seen pictures of celebrities doing that. We stopped into a shop and I picked up a pair of shoes, and asked Gaki, “Where’s the price…Wait a minute. Okay. I get it. Never mind.” He laughed, he’s used to this lifestyle. I’ve never felt so small town in my whole life.

 

We also spent two days touring LA, Hollywood, and Beverly Hills. Great shopping, but the traffic. Oh, the horror! You can keep it. Note: That little stick on the left hand side of your steering column? That’s a turn signal, use it. That’s right, it’s not just for decoration. I saw Mann’s Chinese Theater, and I have the same sized hands as Marilyn Monroe, and the same sized feet as Adam Sandler! But, um, LA, it seems was dirty. Maybe it was all the foot traffic up and down Hollywood Boulevard, but it just seemed…Dirty.

 

My first full day in sunny SoCal was spent in Balboa Park. What a beautiful place. I think it used to be a Spanish Mission, at least that’s what the architecture suggests. We went into all the museums. It was amazing to see the mummies, and know that I was literally inches away from history. I was inches away from a (pregnant) mummy that lived, breathed, and had a life thousands of years ago. I was humbled. What was her life like? Was she happy about the pregnancy? What happened that caused her death? Did her embalmers know she was pregnant at the time? Would she have called me a wimp for screaming for an epidural?

 

It was also very, very nice to have a break from everything. From work, the daily rat race, and I hate to say it…From Pooker Butt. I could just pack up and leave when I wanted! I could eat first without feeding her first, or giving her little bits off my plate. My clothes didn’t have dried puréed peas on them!Although, ironically, I was up at 7:30 every morning, just like Pooker Butt is. I guess once you’ve got into some habits, you don’t break them. But I also missed her terribly. I cried when I saw her Sunday afternoon.

 

And Gaki…God it was good to see him. We have a very long history together, him and I. We dated for a bit back in high school and it ended disastrously. But, we’ve stayed in touch over the years. And yes, two years ago, he fucked up. Big time. He knows it, and he’s sorry. I forgave him. It was still good to see him. We’ve always had an easy rapport with each other, and a million little names for one another, though most of the names I’ve given him are in Japanese. But the name I use the most for him is Gaki, which is punk inJapanese. Sometimes he acts like a punk, but mostly it’s playful. Mostly, when we talk, it’s witty banter exchanging little jabs to each other. The Old Wolf says I’ve always loved him, and I guess that’s true. A part of me always will. After all, he’s scarily similar to my Father. And we all know how much I love that old bear.

 

But, as with most things in life, it was bittersweet. Gaki is leaving on deployment to Afghanistan in July. I am not happy with this. At all. I don’t want him to come back disfigured, or worse yet, in a box. If he does, I guess I’ll deal with it then. But, if he gets predeployment leave in July….I’ll probably be going back. It’ll probably be one week long party. And considering it might very well be the last time I see him alive, yeah- I’m going. (Gaki said I have a flair for the dramatic. Now why would he say that?)

 

That’s all for now, kiddos. I have a new Stupid Bitch of the Week this week! It’s a good one, too. Makes me ashamed to be a girl and everything!

 

I know this really shouldn’t bug me, but damn if it doesn’t. We went to the mall today to pick up my phone from Verizon, (they screwed that up-no phone yet) and we ran into Devil Woman. I didn’t recognize her, she’s lost weight and really changed her hair.

 

I didn’t smile at her soon enough, I guess, because HOLY HELL she was pissed. She muttered a little insult under her breath as she was walking away. But she did one better! As in sent Bryan text messages about it and felt the need to post on her Myspace: Angel is ready to put her foot up heidi hoe ass, bitch needs to buy a personality.

 

Ouch. That was below the belt.

 

I was all set to fire off one hell of an e-Mail telling her which side of her bread was buttered, and that she should exchange her personality for a better one, blah blah blah. I was hurt, actually crying, and incensed.

 

But, alas, the spirit of Mother Andrea entered me and filled me with Zen.

 

I sent her an e-Mail apologizing if I was rude, I didn’t mean to be. And is that a new haircut? You know, it really looks good on you. I think your comments are uncalled for, but maybe you’re trying to be lighthearted and playful? I know how hard that can be to convey with just texton a screen. Anyway, gosh, Devil Woman, I’m sure sorry if I was rude and your new do really is just fabulous.

 

I was so drippy sweet, I wanted to gag. But, as Andrea said, kill ‘em with kindness. Be the bigger, classier, nicer, more mature person. Devil Woman read it, but so far, hasn’t responded. Which, believe me, is just fine with me.

 

It’s also interesting that this happened when it did. Just today I had my review with my GM and my boss, who both told me to BE NICER! People think you’re, ah, what’s the word? Abrasive! Yes! That’s it!Abrasive! Be nicer! It’s a sign, I swear.

 

Devil Woman reared her ugly head again. Once again, she’s fighting Bryan on taxes this year. But now she’s added a new twist, and changed her story.

 

Now she’s claiming that she didn’t have any taxes taken out this year, and she owes the IRS money. She wants half of Bryans tax return. Because, y’know, “You had Pook this year so you should befine.” She’s also claiming that T had to have a couple grand worth of dental work done, and the bill is past due, and she might need braces, and she needs money for that, too.

 

Every company in the US, if you don’t tell them to make changes to your deductions, they take the same deductions as they did the previous year. With that in mind, Devil Woman would’ve had to tell them to not take out any taxes last year. She shouldn’t be surprised that Uncle Sam wants his slice of the pie, but she is. Secondly, even if it was a payroll error and she didn’t tell them to make changes I have a hard time swallowing that she didn’t look at her pay stubs for a full year, or notice her paycheck was larger than usual. My paycheck is the same every time, and I still look at it. Even if it was $50 larger, I’d wonder why. But that’s just me.

 

Earlier on my blog I said that the tax return money was to be used to emergencies for the kids. I was wrong, it can be used however they see fit. Devil Woman, however, told Bryan, “Well that money is supposed to be for the kids, what have you been doing with yours?!” Bryan fired back with, “Read the divorce decree again, Devil Woman. We can use the money however we want. And besides, if that was the case, what happened to yours?!” To say that little comment made her irritated is like saying Hell is just one big sauna. (BTW, we’re using our tax returns on a new place, so we really need that cash.)

 

Pook is none of her business, and if she brings her up again, I’m gonna personally shove her attitude up her mammoth-sized arse.

 

T had dental work done? This is news to us. How odd, since T herself never mentioned it and that kid will give you a running commentary on her life if you let her. Secondly, why wasn’t Bryan informed of the bill, oh I don’t know, when it came two months ago?! And T needs braces now, eh? Gosh, that’s weird…That kid has perfect teeth. Bryan told Devil Woman he’d want to talk to the dentist first, to confirm what she’s saying, and Devil Woman came unglued. “Do you think I’m making this up?” Well, um, yeah, we kinda do. Sorry, toots, but you’re kinda known for making stuff up to get money, so yeah…

 

Needless to say, Bryan was fuming over all of this. She’s in debt and she can’t get herself out, and wants him to bail her out. Newsflash, Devil Woman, we’re notcongress, and we’re not approving a bail out plan for you. Every time the kids need something, he hands you money. He never asks what you’ve spent your child support on, he already knows the answer: you spent it on yourself.

Like you always did, and continue to do. You’ve got the perfect setup, don’t you? You get your child support payment every month, which never goes for the kids anyway, and whenever the kids need something, you know you can call him up and he’ll pony up the cash. Because what are his options? If he says no, you’ll let the kids go without. If he says yes, he’s just enabling you but the kids have what they need. He’s tried to tell you that for unexpected major expenses, he doesn’t have a problem paying half. But everyday stuff, like school supplies, new shoes, things like that you need to use the five hundred in child support. Besides, Devil Woman, you make more money a month that the both of us do combined, and yet you still need money. I guess sleeping with the boss has its advantages. How’shis wife, by the way? Still married to him? How ‘bout that.

 

The sad part about all this is I know many women who do the exact same thing. They spend the child support on themselves and then call their exes for money. Now, I’m not saying that Bryan shouldn’t pay child support, nor does he have problems paying it. And if she truly needed more money a month in support, why hasn’t she gone through the courts? Isn’t that what they’re there for? Now granted, I’ve never had to file for child support, so I don’t know the inner workings. And I personally feel that parents who fail to pay child support should be tarred & feathered.

 

However, in this case, verily I say unto thee, Devil Woman: go to Hades.

 

Okay, so now that I'm calmed down from Angel. Whew that woman makes me mad. Here's a little bit more, because why the hell shouldn't everyone be interested in my damn drama?!

"My kids are never dirty!"

1) They're not just yours, moron. In case you don't remember high school health class, let's review how a baby is made. Man has penis. Woman has vagina. After some grunting, thrusting, and faking orgasms, the mans penis releases sperm. If you happen to be ovulating, it meets up with your egg. Nine months later, a baby is born. Bottom line: it takes two to produce an offspring. 2) Whose kids are you talking about? What kid do you know doesn't like to get dirty? Obviously your mother never let you make mud pies as a child. I know that I'm not their biological mother, and theoretically, I shouldn't know as much about them as you. But I have a newsflash for you: your kids like to get dirty.

"What do you think you're doing, shooing them outside? And how dare you have them watch TV just so you can get shit done?!"

Look, they're never outside alone. The house we're in doesn't have a fenced backyard and its right up against an alley. People drive down the alley. Fast. If the kids are outside, one of us is out there with them. Typically, Joe or I will go outside to smoke and the kids come with us. We make it a point to smoke a few more or just chill outside so the kids can play. Especially if the weather has been crap all weekend and we have a rare moment of sunshine. Yes, we shoo them outside to get some sun, run, and yell. And please, please, please don't play the Holier Than Thou card with me. Like you've never popped in a DVD or plopped the kids in front of Miley Cyrus so you can start dinner or complete some other chore. Every parent does it, and you're no different. It's not as if the kids sit and rot their brains the entire time they're with us, so step off.

"You know, the kids hate coming over because of Heidi."

Is that why every time they see me they give me big bear hugs and they're favorite game with me is Tickle Attack? Or how about the special time we have when I give them each a "Fun Bath"? You've even got Bryan confused on that one. Sure, I'm not their favorite person when I have to punish them but I'm doing a damn sight better than you did. You've apparently forgot the time you showed up at our house at 3 AM roaring drunk, to the point where you couldn't stand up. You woke the kids up and they sleepily, sadly said "Mommys sick again." And when I asked, this was something normal!! They were used to seeing you this way! Or how about telling Bubs he was a fag for wearing my cherry-flavored Chapstick? That was a sterling parenting example. Or how about the dark times when no matter what they did, Bubs got blamed for everything and T got away scot free? I remember Bubs crying because he had to go home. With you. So, again, Angel, don't play the Holier Than Thou card, woman. You will loose every time.

"She's practically calling my kids heathens!"

Again, see above as to why they're not just your kids.  And if you had read my blog, you might notice I was basically calling the kids...Kids.  I don't know if you've noticed, but your kids aren't perfectly behaved all the time. No kid is. And what siblings do you know don't bicker? Like you and your siblings never argued? Whatever. I wasn't calling your kids ill-behaved. If I wanted to call them the ill-behaved Spawn of Satan, I would have. But I didn't because it wouldn't have been the truth.

"Kiddos? How insulting!"

Huh? I'm confused. You're drunk again, aren't you? Thought so. Go gamble. It's what you seem to do best.

"She can too talk to the kids about the presidential nominees!"

You're kids are smart, but they're not that smart. I know every parent thinks they have produced the next Einstein. 99.99% of the time, they're wrong. (IN my case, I did. I'm special.) But rest assured, your kids cannot discuss various political topics. The only thing they know is that John McCain is good and Barrack Obama is evil. Because you told them so. (So much for encouraging individual thinking, eh?)

 

I won't repeat all the names she called me, all the things she called Bryan, and all the insults she tried to hurl. Bryan did stand up marvelously for me, and countered every point she tried to validate. It just pisses me off that she operates under the mistaken assumption that everything I do is to either A) piss her off, or B) somehow hurt the kids. For one, she very rarely enters into my thoughts. And two, every interaction or action with the kids is for their benefit. They might not see it, and clearly you don't. But trust me...Just like you, I would die before I saw harm befall those kids.

Angel somehow got into my Myspace account and read my blog, entitled "June Cleaver I Am Not" and got pissed. Instead of reading like it was meant to be read- in a humorous, self-depreciated kind of way, she took personal offense to it. She called Bryan yelling at him. I mean, I was half way across the kitchen and I could hear her through the phone.  She claimed I called the kids dirty, ill-behaved, insulted her, and that by calling them "the kiddos" I was insulting them. Oh, and by saying we "shooed them outside while Pook played happily in her swing" that we were essentially shutting the kids out in the cold so our daughter could play in the warm house.

 

Now, Angel and I have for the most part tolerated each other. We both love the kids. We both want what's best for them. She has bad mouthed me to anyone who will listen, simply because I am with Bryan, and we had a child together whereas she cannot. And I for the most part, stay silent. By doing so, it keeps Bryan out of the middle, and simply, it's taking the high road.  But saying,

"That little bitch whore you've shacked up with better shut the fuck up about the kids or I'll fuck her ass up"

crosses the line. (BTW, Angel...Classy. Way to make sure your thoughts and feelings were intelligently articulated. Really showing your IQ, aren't you?)

First of all..I can be a total, raving bitch when I want to be, so that I will give you.

A whore? Eh, maybe a bit when I was younger, sure. But um, weren't you the one who thought Bryan could be T's father but you weren't sure? Didn't you have the number narrowed down to three? Oh yeah, that's right, you had to have a paternity test done to make sure he was...

As for being little. Honey bunch, next to you, a sperm whale looks little. So let's not go there.

Oh, and don't tell me to shut my mouth. It'll never happen. Besides, at least when I speak, for the most part,  my thoughts are well articulated, something you seem to have issues with. To quote Abraham Lincoln, "Tis better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and confirm everyone's suspicions." 

One last little thing, dear, before I sign off to have nasty, sweaty, dirty, filthy, knee-weakening, bed-sheet-changing, back-arching, can't-walk-right-for- three-days sex with your exhusband....

The next time you threaten me you will have Spokane Police at your door so fast you won't be able to blink. I will tie you up in court for so long you'll regret the day you ever uttered your first word. Your freedom ends where my nose begins.

 

But, by all means....Fuck me up. I dare you to try it.

This past 3 days have somewhat sucked thus far. I had a baby shower to go to back home on Saturday, which meant that Friday night I needed to get a gift. Thing is, the couple have no idea what they're having and this is their second child. They're reusing a lot of the stuff from when their DD was a baby. So...What do you get them? I ended up getting them a hooded towel with a frog on it and a bath set for the Mama. And my favorite comfy, stylish heels finally kicked the bucket on Friday.  While I was at work, my left heel broke off. Not just broke, broke OFF. O-F-F off. Since it's against company safety policy to walk around barefoot, (besides, it's been eons since I got a pedi. Shudder.), I walked around with this funky limp thing for 3 hours until it was 1700 hours. While at Targét, as we call it, I found a killer pair of red patent-leather Isaac Mizrahi pumps that were only $20 and I bought them. And bawled the whole way home. I felt sooo guilty for buying myself something that it overwhelmed me. Catholics guilt has nothing on Mommy guilt.

 

So, Saturday I made the 3 hour trek to go home for this shower. Pook was fussy. The. Whole. Freaking. Time. Fun times! Although, I did win 2 of the prize raffles and scored some very pretty, vampish, sexy red O.P.I. burgundy shimmery nail polish. Anyhoo, I'm staying with my Dad and stepmom. My stepsister, her BF, and her two kids are also staying there. It's like Bedlam on uppers. Her kids are 5 & 7, and (sorry Stacey), freaking orangutans! Every little thing constitutes endless whining and water works. It took her 3 times over the course of 12 minutes to tell her oldest to brush her teeth, wash her face, and get into PJ's. It's not that her oldest didn't hear her, she just flat ignored her. By that I mean she'd look right at her and say "Whatever, Mom." Grrr. You're the Mom. Take control, and don't take that kind of crap! So once they were safely in bed, Dad blew up an air matress in the living room for Pook and I to sleep on. It was nice and firm but not too firm, and I'm dying to know where my stepmom got that fleece, down-filled comfortor. Yummy! But, alas, it didn't last. I woke up to the mattress being totally flat, evidence that it had a leak.

 

Later on that day, I had to go meet up with my Mother. This is always a trial. My mother is convinced we're all out to kill her, and that we (meaning me, Bryan, my Father, and stepmom) sit around cackling evilly concocting ways to off her. She's also convinced my Father has thousands hidden somewhere that she'll get once their divorce is finally finalized. (If he did, I doubt he'd be living like a pauper.) Oh, and did I mention she's convinced that my Father broke into her apartment and laced her powdered creamer with arsenic? I shit thee not, this is my Mother. She also hates Bryan, thinks I lied when I told her my exhusband physically abused me, and looks at my life as more or less one big disappointment and revenge on her. Her plan for me: graduate college, get married, have babies, and stay at home. That's it. Now, I was married and I did have a baby. Just not with the same guy.

 

When I met her for lunch, it was more or less one big bitch fest. About my Father. About my Stepmom. (She's actually his girlfriend, but seriously, they might as well be married. Besides, she really is more of a Mom than my Mom ever has been or will be.) About my Mother skills and desicions. (God knows I'm horrible for not giving Pook an ounce of Jim Beam with her bottle to help her teething. Yep, turn me into the CPS right now.) About my sister. About EVERYTHING!! Fun times.  About my nickname for my DD, Pooker Butt. (Okay, Mom, and saddling me with Crabbyoodles wasn't embarassing as all get out?!)

 

After the 3 hour drive back home, I was up until midnight washing, folding, sorting, and putting away the copious amounts of laundry Bryan conveniently forgot about while I was gone. Did I mention that he had to spend $200 to fix the truck? Good to know money grows on trees. And obviously, changing a battery and a starter takes all freaking weekend with not a moment to spare! (Unless, of course, they're playing a reruns of the A-Team. That he had time for.)

 

Then today, Bryans boss flew into town from Wisconsin. I hate this douche. When Pook was born, he told Bryan he could have the week off, just give him a call when the little munchkin made her appearance. But when it came down to it, he would'nt do it. Couldn't spare him even one day. So, Bryan is ever so slightly stressed.

 

And Angel had to rear her ugly, pockmarked face again. She brought up the whole tax claiming thing again. She says Bryan 'owes it' to her to let her do this, and even though it's in the court paperwork who claims who, she'll take him to court. Says she'll stop at nothing to get what she wants. Including telling the court that 'you let your epileptic girlfriend drive MY kids around!" (Newsflash, Satan: It's under control and has been for years now. And I know the triggers and signs of a seizure, and if I thought I was going to have one I would either A: not drive or B: pull over and tell the kids to call 911.) All that makes Bryan all doom and gloom and it pissed me off. Why? Because this is what he IM'ed me;

 I truely hate life, everyone pisses me off, and nothing makes me happy.

Thanks, hon. I appreciate that. Glad to know that everyone, (including me, I assume) makes you mad, and that nothing makes you happy. Not the three kids who love you unabashedly and unconditionaly, the gorgeous girlfriend who adores you, or the best friend who worships the ground you walk on, or the dog who would kill for you. Nope! Guess you have nothing to live for. I know, I know, he's just having a craptastic day. But it irked me that he can't find one good thing in his life.

 

Oh, and I unintentionally insulted my boss; Carol, today. In our meeting today, my sales manager, Gerald, looked at me and said, "Carol, I mean, Heidi, do you have anything to add? Sorry, you just look so much like her." Thanks, G. I'm only 23 and she's in her late forties, but thanks. Is it the hair? Clothes? Bags under my eyes? So, when I retold this to Carol, she said, "Why would he say that?" and I said, "Well, I haven't gotten much sleep so I look like crap." Open mouth, insert foot. She just looked at me like, "Do you even think before you open your mouth?!" Talk about an awkward water cooler moment.

 

And it's only 1430. Sorry for the long rant, but it's been a crappy coupla days. What about y'all? Was your weekend super-dee-duper?

Following fellow blogger Katies lead, here's my version of WTF Thursdays....Hey, Angel, WTF?! Angel is Bryans' [bitchy] exwife. Here's just a few of the reasons I hate her:

1) She's a greedy thing. (More on that in a bit.)

2) She doesn't use the child support money for the kids. Trust me, any time the kids need something, guess who pays for it?! Us! And WTF are we supposed to tell her, "Angel, I know the kids need new coats, but that is what your child support is for. I don't care if you blew it at the casino, tough. We're not paying"

3) She makes a concerted effort to make our lives H-E-L-L. From bad mouthing us in front of the kids, to trying to make us feel like crap because we don't use/follow her parenting advice.

4) Everything to her constitutes a knock down drag out fight between her and Bryan, and I get the brunt of it. You didn't have time to give the kids a bath before you sent them home? YOU WORTHLESS BUM! YOU HATE YOUR KIDS! (No joke.)

5) She spoils the kids because of her well-off boyfriend, rubs our nose in it, and tries to make us feel guilty. I mean, clearly because we don't take the kids out to eat every freaking night and take them to the amusement park when it's warm or on vacation every flippin' weekend we don't love them or care about them. Noooo....

6) She was PISSED when I got pregnant. When her and Bryan were married, she wanted a 3rd child. Bryan said no, lets wait awhile since we can barely afford to feed the 4 of us right now. (She wasn't working.) So, she made an appointment and got her tubes tied. Bryan didn't know until she came home. (BTW, she blames Bryan for that. Because he didn't want another child right then, it's obviously HIS fault.) Anyway her BF wants to have a child with her but lo and behold! They can't. And she's mad. at me. Uh huh.

 

Anyway, every year Bryan claims his son and Angel claims their daughter. Well this year she wants to claim them both because as it turns out, she can't really afford the new car she just financed and Ethan (her BF) won't pay the car note for her, and gee, she could really use the extra money. And besides, since we had Chloe this year, we should be fine, right? And besides, since she has them 95% of the time now anyway, it's only fair.

Angel, you have them 95% of the time because of the schedules YOU imposed on us. We didn't know you'd signed Bubby up for football until you told us. Then you decided that since his football games are on Saturdays, you'd simply keep the kids the WHOLE WEEKEND because it was easier for you.  You didn't like sending them over to our house on Wednesdays because 'it's just too far'. Excuse me?! It's a 10 minute drive! Jesus, woman, how much gas can you possibly be using?!

Secondly, the kids are not a paycheck. The money gained from taxes is supposed to be set aside for emergencies. What the heck were you doing with your share???

Thirdly, tough luck on the car. You didn't need a new car but you had to keep up with the Joneses. Your old Taurus was perfectly fine but noooo. Didn't like that it was a "mommy" car, it wasn't hip enough, wasn't new enough...So even though you still owed about $8,000 on it, you traded it in for your Kia. Now your car note is $400 a month. Tough shit. You should've thought about that before you signed the paperwork.

Fourthly, give me a damn break. Chloe is NONE of your damn business. And to be honest with ya, that money from me claiming her was to pay off my hospital stay bills and a down payment on a new house! Stuff we NEED. I need to pay that crap off. We need a new house, since this one is too small. You didn't need a new car, you wanted one.

 

So, Angel..............WTF?!?