Warning: Misery Ahead

�I'm gonna get fuckin' divorced. No marriage counselling, no trial separation, I'm gonna get fuckin' divorced�

I really haven�t watched �Pulp Fiction� lately, I just found a really cool website with all kinds of movie quotes (not �Useless Movie Quotes�, either, that one sucks), and Jimmie�s words pretty much describe my life now.

I should change my fucking diary name to �Nails in the coffin� or something, because it seems like whenever I turn around, Hub is banging another one in. Seriously, I don�t know how much more I can take. I�m sick of everything always being fucked up, I�m sick of his being a walking disaster and I am way beyond sick of �I�m sorry� and �I do apologize�. One of these days, those words are going to earn him an ice pick to the back of his neck. Or a knife in the face, whatever.

Yesterday, we were to receive our tax refund checks. Butthead�s came, but not our�s. No, we got a letter saying that our�s was taken to pay off his �tax debt� from 1999 BEFORE I WAS EVEN FUCKING WITH HIM, never mind even married to him. It�s a long story about that, he really doesn�t owe it but the IRS (�Incompetent Retard Service�) is dragging their feet about fixing it. But it doesn�t take them long to yank our $3600, no problems in the collection department!

Half of that, maybe more, is MINE. Me, who has nothing to do with that �debt� at all. And they fucking took it. Of course, if Hub wasn�t a fucking complete and total fucking idiot, he�d have caught the problem in 199-fucking-9 when the mistake happened and dealt with it then. No, the problem was just hanging out for four or five years until the IRS decided to audit him and found that he owed a six fucking figure (no fucking shit!!! No decimals!!! WTF!!!) debt to them.

Which makes me ask, who�s the fucking bigger retard, Hub or the IRS? Whatever, they both suck.

Anyway, the accountant that�s been dealing with all this shit for the past year (bless his heart, the man has the patience of a saint), is acting on it right now. (He got a real giggle when he asked me who wrote the letter, as I was looking at the letter I said, �I can�t find a name, but they were nice enough to send us a stub to send in the remaining $97,856.42�). As far as I�m concerned, the money is gone. Fucking IRS. Motherfuckers.

I want a government job. It�s the only place I know of where you can fuck up your job royally and not be held accountable for it. And get a raise. And a promotion. And fucking killer bennies.

Anyway. I�d taken some Ben@dryl because my sinuses and head were acting up, so I got really drowsy yesterday. I dropped Andrea�s kids off to her, came home, gave my kids a crappy ass supper (ramen noodles for Minnie and Beavis and Ska-bettios for Mickey), took Beavis to Boy Scout�s and came home and fell asleep in front of Reno 911 (yey! It�s back! Clem got married, kind of, too funny).

I had nary a thing to say to Hub. I�m just�done. Almost done. Pretty fucking close, anyway. If I had a bunch of money (say, $3600), I�d fucking leave in a heartbeat. My child support is enough to pay almost all the rent on a 3 bedroom apartment, and I�d have to get a job and shit, but at least if I had something to start with, I�d go. I can live so much cheaper on my own. None of his ridiculous bills. No lawyers, no fucking truck repairs, no insurance that costs way too much, no child support arrearages�etc, etc, etc.

So, this morning we had to go over some shit. One simple thing, he wants a list for his 6 step fertilizer program. In order to make the list, I wanted the order that he does the steps in. Because I�m anal like that, I like to have things in order. Some shit about making it easier, you know? You think he can just give me 1,2,3,4,5,6? NO. THAT�S FAR TOO FUCKING EASY. It has to be a fucking drawn out project.

So we get through that, and I ask him about a woman who I worked with at the credit union, who�d asked him a few weeks ago to do some work for her. Yada yada yada, he took forever to get back to her, and she found someone else. I was pissed, because it was a job I�d gotten for him, and he fucked off about it.

So he said, �Why don�t you try being me out there for one day?�

To which I replied, �Why don�t you try being married to you for one day?�

And he said, �If it�s that bad, why don�t you leave?�

I said, (okay, so I yelled it) �YOU DON�T KNOW HOW MUCH I�D LIKE TO!!!�

Well, that pissed him off. But, WTF? Maybe if he�d stop being the center of his universe, he�d stop for a minute and listen to me and know how I feel. But, he can�t do that, so that�s how he finds out. So, I went upstairs into our room to cry and then collect myself, and of course he fucking follows me, banging on the door cuz I locked it. All of a sudden, he needs something in there, even though he was already on his way out the door before that. So I let him in and went into the bathroom.

Well, I don�t know what the fuck he did in there, but when I went back a little while ago, there were DVDs all over the floor and the bag of change I had, the huge Ziploc that was full of change? Fucking everywhere. Asshole. I left it. I don�t care. Fuck him. Asshole.

A little while later, he chirped me. �Where can I use a fax machine?� Like he doesn�t know. Dumbass. Where the fuck do I always go? The fucking credit union.

Then he chirps back. �I sent it�. I didn�t answer.

Then, �Shelly wants to know if you still like her kid�. Again, I chose not to answer.

WTF? Stop bothering me with dumb shit. I talked to her yesterday.

Then he chirps back. �I just talked to Roger (the accountant), he�s going to call them�. No fucking shit! WTF! Like I�m not busy enough here with my kids and three others and all the fucking business work, I need to be bothered with his dumb shit. I didn�t even answer. He said, �I�m just trying to keep you informed�.

Pretty much, the only thing I want to here regarding the IRS situation is, �The check is in the mail�, anything else, I don�t want to fucking hear.

At this point, I think Aruba is out of the question. I don�t have the money to pay it off, I don�t have the money to bring (remember, we�re booked non-inclusive). Nor do I think I want to spend a week in paradise with him. I�d take off and go find Dexter, swinging his dick.

Well, my friend Smokey is coming over to help my head out with some smoke and some pins. I�ve got to deal with the kids too.

Anyway. Later.

Listening to: The Backyardigans. Another reason to plan my suicide.

Currently reading: Nothing yet.

Thinking about: Guess! Just guess! It starts with a "d" and ends with me much, much more content.