Leave It To Db...
...to do his damnedest to ruin a perfectly great weekend by rearing his ugly head on Sunday evening.
Yesterday we slept in, then got up and hit the Indian buffet for an early lunch. Heaven on a plate, my friends, heaven on a plate. And we left sufficiently stuffed. Let everything settle for a bit, then Ben went to work and I went to Target. Ah, Target. Priced sofa slipcovers and tried to figure out how the hell I'm going to "de-winterize" our living room, then got groceries. Got home, unloaded and put away said groceries, then Ben came home and we hit the gym. Hard, considering we'd consumed about a week's worth of calories at lunch in the form of kormas and masalas and samosas, oh my. Came home, cleaned up, and went to the scary casino movie theatre to see "Number 23" (not bad, but not nearly as scary as the previews make it appear to be). Ordered a pizza from Godfather's on the way home and dove into that mother on our couch. Fell asleep watching "Night at the Roxbury." I didn't even take a Rozerem last night and I slept like the dead. It was nice.
Slept in again this morning. Went to Big Lots. Found a rug like what I've been looking for to put in our dining area and more of the curtains I bought there last fall--I only bought two panels at the time, thinking if I liked them, I'd get more, and in typical Big Lots fashion, they were all gone when I went back, and I couldn't find them ANYWHERE, not even on ebay, so I've had one panel per window in my living room since November--so now my windows look normal. Cleaned the dining area and the kitchen. Ben made chicken noodle soup. Went to the gym, came home, lounged on the couch watching "Little Miss Sunshine."
Then I decided to check my fucking email.
According to his email, he's having "urgent transportant problem," which I imagine is dumbass-ese for "car trouble, most likely false." See, the last time he had "car trouble" was a Friday morning, so he couldn't take Bob to school. Tomorrow, as you well know, is Monday. So, according to his email, he can't take Bob to school, but he should have everything under control in time to pick him up if I want to pick him up and take him.
Let's see...db's house is a good half hour away from mine. Then I get to spend 40 minutes driving back up north to drop off Bob and then go to work. Fuck that. BUT, if I don't, Bob doesn't get his medication AND he spends an entire third full day with db. Fuck that, too.
So I email him back that I'll pick up Bob at 7:45 and he needs to have him ready by then.
Next email--"that is too early he will not be ready then."
My response: I'm doing your pathetic ass a fucking favor. Either have him fucking ready or make other arrangements because I'm not your bitch, bitch. Okay, not in so many words, but that was the gist of it.
And I'm guessing now he won't be able to pay child support this month because he's spent all his money on "car trouble."
Oh, well. Just more evidence for the judge to review. "Gee, he can't even manage to get his kid to school every day--two times in a month he's had 'car trouble'--so there's another reason why he shouldn't be allowed overnight visits during the school week." Put that in your pipe and smoke it, dickhead.
Yesterday we slept in, then got up and hit the Indian buffet for an early lunch. Heaven on a plate, my friends, heaven on a plate. And we left sufficiently stuffed. Let everything settle for a bit, then Ben went to work and I went to Target. Ah, Target. Priced sofa slipcovers and tried to figure out how the hell I'm going to "de-winterize" our living room, then got groceries. Got home, unloaded and put away said groceries, then Ben came home and we hit the gym. Hard, considering we'd consumed about a week's worth of calories at lunch in the form of kormas and masalas and samosas, oh my. Came home, cleaned up, and went to the scary casino movie theatre to see "Number 23" (not bad, but not nearly as scary as the previews make it appear to be). Ordered a pizza from Godfather's on the way home and dove into that mother on our couch. Fell asleep watching "Night at the Roxbury." I didn't even take a Rozerem last night and I slept like the dead. It was nice.
Slept in again this morning. Went to Big Lots. Found a rug like what I've been looking for to put in our dining area and more of the curtains I bought there last fall--I only bought two panels at the time, thinking if I liked them, I'd get more, and in typical Big Lots fashion, they were all gone when I went back, and I couldn't find them ANYWHERE, not even on ebay, so I've had one panel per window in my living room since November--so now my windows look normal. Cleaned the dining area and the kitchen. Ben made chicken noodle soup. Went to the gym, came home, lounged on the couch watching "Little Miss Sunshine."
Then I decided to check my fucking email.
According to his email, he's having "urgent transportant problem," which I imagine is dumbass-ese for "car trouble, most likely false." See, the last time he had "car trouble" was a Friday morning, so he couldn't take Bob to school. Tomorrow, as you well know, is Monday. So, according to his email, he can't take Bob to school, but he should have everything under control in time to pick him up if I want to pick him up and take him.
Let's see...db's house is a good half hour away from mine. Then I get to spend 40 minutes driving back up north to drop off Bob and then go to work. Fuck that. BUT, if I don't, Bob doesn't get his medication AND he spends an entire third full day with db. Fuck that, too.
So I email him back that I'll pick up Bob at 7:45 and he needs to have him ready by then.
Next email--"that is too early he will not be ready then."
My response: I'm doing your pathetic ass a fucking favor. Either have him fucking ready or make other arrangements because I'm not your bitch, bitch. Okay, not in so many words, but that was the gist of it.
And I'm guessing now he won't be able to pay child support this month because he's spent all his money on "car trouble."
Oh, well. Just more evidence for the judge to review. "Gee, he can't even manage to get his kid to school every day--two times in a month he's had 'car trouble'--so there's another reason why he shouldn't be allowed overnight visits during the school week." Put that in your pipe and smoke it, dickhead.
posted by Mitzi Green at 6:46 PM
2 Comments:
Oh hell.
I guess I'll be dealing with this sort of shit soon...especially since PITA doesn't have a car. Or a place of his own. Or a full time job. Or a brain.
Why can't there be a delete button for men?
a delete button would be nice. i'd prefer a "spontaneous combustion" button, but delete would suffice.
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