Ugh. It�s �that day�.
Ugh. It�s �that day�. The one day a month where I could just literally rip the head off of anyone for just looking at me the wrong way. The day where my next trip to the bathroom will mean the appearance of Aunt Flo. It�s not a good day to act like ass around me, or you may get hit with whatever I�m holding in my hands.
As far as Hub goes, I chose to leave the area he was in until he left this morning. The marriage is on a downward spiral. And it�s not just hormones bringing this out. I literally cannot stand him half the time. I don�t want to talk to him or anything. I�m so sick of having to take care of him. Sick of it. Sick of having to spell shit for him, sick of having to handle everything that he can�t, sick of being the brains of the operation.
He thinks he�s all fucking fancy with the computer, that he spoke with some guy about materials yesterday and told the guy he�d send him an email. See, but the thing is, I have to send the fucking email, because Hub can�t do that. He doesn�t fucking know how. See, and why it�s even more annoying is because he could not fucking communicate to me what the fucking email�s purpose was. So, I get that he needs to send an email to someone who I don�t fucking know, and I don�t know why this needs to be sent.
So, I made him tell me what to write, and he couldn�t fucking do that either. He had the email address, which was the guy�s name and some #s, but the spelling of the last name didn�t look right to me, so I questioned it. The last name is �Gilmor� as he spelled it, but isn�t that spelled either �Gilmore� or �Gilmour�? And I was getting more an more frustrated with every second that went by. It was a whole fucking production about what turned out to be just a reminder that they�d spoken earlier, made an appointment for today, and that he needed some booklets regarding his product line. Why couldn�t he just say that?
Anyway, no sooner did I hit �send� than the email bounced back. BECAUSE HE DIDN�T GET THE LAST NAME SPELLED RIGHT. What a waste of 10 minutes of my life.
And I told him, honestly, not abusively, that I am really, really getting sick of this kind of shit. That he needs to stick with the methods of communication that he�s familiar with. Don�t volunteer to do things that you need help with, ie; emails and written shit. Honestly, he couldn�t have called this guy to remind him? But no, he wants to be Mr. High Tech 3000 or some shit. Give it the fuck up. Stick to what you know, and if you don�t know it, don�t assume that I�ll do it, and don�t fucking volunteer me to do shit unless you check with me first.
You stick to digging in the dirt and mowing lawns. Do what you know. Fuck.
I�m just sick of it. And don�t feel bad. I�m just bitching. I�m not on my pity pot. There�s no one here that I can really off to about his retardedness, so I just spew it out in the diary. I knew full well what I was getting into when I married him. It just seems to be getting worse as time goes on. It gets worse, and my patience is wearing thinner and thinner.
Like, let�s take his daily fuck ups. He makes stupid fucking mistakes on a daily basis, and it�s making me insane. We all make mistakes, but his are pure carelessness, and some are dangerous. Let�s take yesterday for example. He finally fixed the stupid keyboard shelf on the computer desk. This is the same keyboard shelf he told me couldn�t be fixed. Until yesterday, when it made problems for him. Suddenly, it could be fixed. So he had his tools out and shit and fixed it right up. This morning, I pulled out the chair to the desk and what�s there, right there on the floor? A KNIFE. He used a knife yesterday in his fixing frenzy, and left it right there on the floor. You know, where any random kid could get a hold of it.
He thought he�d get away with, �I�m sorry, I fucked up� which he says like 90 fucking times a day. I just said, �That was stupid�. He looked at me and was all, �WHAT?!?� like he was offended. I said, �I�m not going to lie. That was fucking stupid. Stupid and careless and you�re lucky I�m only saying this to you because had one of the kids found that knife I would be giving you a lot worse�.
I�m sick of being the one around here handling everything. I�m sick of that and I�m sick of these fucking assholes not listening to me.
OMG! And lately his thing has been telling me �I told you that, remember?� or, �I gave you that, remember?� , and I have no recollection whatsoever of what he�s told me or given me. Admittedly, I smoke pot and space shit out. However, even if I�m high, if someone tells me something that I forget and then I�m reminded later, I can remember it. He just brings shit up that isn�t even vaguely familiar to me, and insist that he told me. He�s even been turning it around on me, saying how he keeps telling me stuff and I keep forgetting it. Which is bullshit. He�s not fucking telling me.
Like, the dip on Easter. His sister Tina hooked me up with a rockin� recipe for Mexican bean dip. Yum. I make it for special occasions now. Anyway, we were doing the whole Easter thing at Lily�s and I was told to bring the ham and I volunteered veggies and dip because I always bring that (guarantees I�ll have veggies to munch on). I told Hub this was what I was bringing.
So, Easter day, I collected the veggies and dip and the ham. Never once did I make the dip, or have the corn chips for it. Hub was in the fucking kitchen the whole time. We got in the van and headed to Lily�s. We walked in and Lily said, �Where�s the bean dip?� to me. I said, �I didn�t know I was bringing it�. Lily looked at Hub and Hub fucking knew about it! He said, �I thought you were making it, so I told them we�d bring it�. You told them, but never fucking once mentioned it to me. I looked at him and said, �I think you should have told ME about that�. Asshat. He knew he didn�t either, because I would have been more than happy to bring the dip. Look what happens when you ASSUME, you make an ASS out of U and ME. This was all I needed to confirm that I am not forgetting anything, he is just not telling me.
My diary has truly gotten lame. I�m not funny anymore. Fuck it. I know this. Whatever. It�s my diary. I try not to censor myself, but sometimes I find myself doing so. Why? I don�t know. I�m not today, not censoring myself, purposely. Fuck it. You don�t like it? See that red X up there in the corner? Feel free to click on it. Because I�m not done yet.
Yeah, then that Moocher is pissing me off too. They came early with the kid this morning. This is irritating, the inconsistency thing. And he just bugs me. They came early, right after Andrea dropped her kids off. I had Andrea�s son in the high chair so I could finish cleaning the downstairs bathroom. So, they both come in which is irritating because he wants to chat. Dude, don�t you have to go to work? Anyway, I said how I was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom and wanted to get done so I could get the kid out of the high chair. No, he keeps fucking yakking, then he asks to use the bathroom! WTF? Do you ever piss at your fucking house, and did you not hear that part about how I�m in the middle of cleaning it? He says, �well it�s not like I�m going to spray the walls or anything� YAH RIGHT. I just got done cleaning the fucking piss off the walls from skankass guys like you. Anyway, he�s fucking spraying on my walls and his wife asks for some creamer for her coffee.
WTF? Is this Dukkha�s Babysitting and Free Shit Store or something? I mean, it�s not enough that they haven�t brought a lunch for their kid who wastes enough food to make my Depression era grandmother turn right over in her grave, and they still haven�t paid me for last week. April 29 will be here in less than 30 days, and that is my comfort.
Oh yeah, and then there�s Shelly. She�s fucking annoying as all hell. Thinks I can just chat away on the phone all fucking day because SHE wants to, and gets all pissed when I have to let her go because I have five fucking little kids to take care of. So anyway, she called me last night around 7:30/8:00 and she sounded drunk. She�s one of those drunks who likes to talk on the phone about her problems, her husband who won�t fuck her and her her her her her. And now she�s got a fucking cell phone and can talk more often! YEY! Guess what! I�m not giving her my cell number!!! Then she�ll be calling me when I�m not home! NO! And when she wants to talk to you, she�ll call and call and call repeatedly, literally every five minutes or so, and leave messages and still call right back! I have gotten like 9-10 messages from her in a single morning, no word of a lie.
Anyway, the credit union evidently had their annual meeting last night and she saw Andrea and the girls there and invited them over to her house. Which no one wanted to go because she was already drunk and nobody wants to be near her when she�s drunk. So she called me to ask me to call Andrea�s cell phone (because Andrea won�t give her the number for the same reason I won�t give her mine) to see if she�s going over. Do I really fucking need to be in the middle of this? Then I remembered Andrea telling me earlier that she can�t find the charger to her cell and it�s not working. So, then Shelly�s like, �Oh yeah. Well do you want to come over?�. No, I didn�t. I couldn�t just say, �Actually, I�m tired, I�m in sweats and I was planning on just staying home and going to bed soon� because while most folks would take that as an acceptable reason and end it, Shelly would not. SHELLY wanted to have a bonfire, so that means everybody should go! So I told her Hub was out and that wasn�t enough, where was Butthead? I told her he had homework and oh by the fucking way, I just don�t want to go out. Deal with it.
Seriously, her heart is in the right place, but she is toxic and I need to get her out of my life. She calls me first thing in the morning when she�s drunk. She drinks a lot, did I mention that? She�ll sit there on her high horse, about how she�s so careful about what she does around her son, what a great mom she is, very judgmental about how other�s treat their kids, all high and mighty and shit. And then, yesterday, she was drunk, put her kid in the car with her, and drove with him to pick up a sack of opium. But, you know, I must be bad for saying the �f� word around my kids or for letting them play out back without being right up their asses. I don�t drink and drive with them in the car or make drug runs with them either but I guess that doesn�t count for much. Whatever. How does one go about getting someone like this out of their lives? Because, really, I�ve had it.
I�m sick of fucking adults who act like kids. And I don�t mean in the fun way like the way I have the mentality of a 12 year old. I mean, like they�re little kids who need to be taken care of. This would include my husband, The Moocher and Shelly. Just to start.
Anyway, today is Wednesday and I do believe that my Wednesday night out is going to include a trip to Old Navy for some clothes. I�m going to treat myself good tonight. Some pants (Capris, maybe???), a spring jacket and some nice springy tops. What is it about Spring that just demands new, brightly colored clothes? This is the one season of the year that I feel compelled to buy new clothes for.
Anyway. If you read the whole thing, thank you. You are my biggest fan. I love you.
I�m out. Peace and shit.