Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Divorced and Still Cleaning up His Mess

It's been a while since I could post. Self Help Guru Pretender is buried under a ton of molten slag, Inner Psychotherapist doesn't dare to make an appearance, but I have to admit maybe strapping on a good mad was what I needed to wake up and smell the coffee.

WARNING: This post is a rant. I'm going to be totally upfront about that, and I'm not going to apologize for it - It's my blog, and I'll rant if I want to.

DISCLAIMER: VERY sad stuff about animals in this post - so animal lovers who can't handle such things should beware - I inadvertently upset a good friend with this post!

I believe people, that's my problem. So I believed him when he swore he had the old house nearly packed up.

I believed him when he said he was going over and spending a few hours every couple of days cleaning it up, and for me not to worry because I had to work - he had time to do it, and I figured that was fair.

I believed him when he told me he was in contact with the landlord and I didn't have to worry about my books - the only thing left there I really cared about, and which were still there because he had packed them one day when I was gone and the resulting boxes were to heavy for me to lift.

I believed him when he called me one night and told me he had been to feed the dogs, and they were gone - run away.

So the weeks went by, and I walked around like a zombie from Christmas Day to New Year's unable to see or think due to a massive migraine. Then I was staying up till 2-4 am days on end trying to catch up. Then yesterday I got a nice good morning phone call from our old landlady.

She didn't know X had moved out. She couldn't reach him since his phone was disconnected. She wanted to know if we were cleaning the place up, or what. She said she was filing eviction papers on X and she knew I was divorcing him and had been gone since November, but could I put her in contact with him?

So. He didn't talk to the landlady. He didn't clean it up. I call and yell at him. He professes total ignorance to what I am talking about. Oh, but that was just the beginning.

Phone rings again, and hullo Mr Officer sir, NO I didn't know the dogs were there (WTF??!!) no sir PLEASE don't write a warrant for animal abandonment sir (GODDAMN you, X) No, I DIDN'T know, I SWEAR, he told me they ran away, sir, what can I do to make this right, sir. (OH EFFING BLOODY HELL.)

So I get to go up there, face the officer and landlady -- landlady felt so sorry for me, I could tell, and officer took two good steps back when he saw my face and swiveled his hips to ensure his gun was out of reach - they both told me later I looked like I was ready to kill somebody and I was.

I get to take our dogs to the shelter, they will almost assuredly put them down. Lovely, just effing lovely, I effing HATE you X, and poor things, poor things, I cried all the way there and back.

(NOTE: My options as presented by Mr Officer Sir were (A) take dogs to shelter in my car with him following me to ensure that is where I took them or (B) get arrested, and have X arrested and social services called to take Baby D. Just clarification, since I realize I was being misconstrued as having had any choice in the matter.)

I get back home in my effed up black Caddy and sit there a minute, then manage to get it started again and drive to X's - he had baby D for the morning playing with him after dropping kids off at school.

I walk in, toss the keys to the Caddy at him, scoop up baby D and head for the Suburban.

"Get a job," I spit back over my shoulder.

He's following me out to the SUV, asking what's wrong, and I let him have all the barrels in my Gatling.

"You liar, liar, liar. Get a job, don't call me till you do. I'm so effing done. The kids are mine, the Suburban is mine, your tools are mine and I'm selling them on effing Ebay."

(him) -- But, but, I have been looking for work-

(me) -- Where?

(him) -- Uhhh the tile shops..?

(me) -- It's been four bloody years and they don't have work for you no matter how many thousands of dollars I spend on tools and equipment. I'm selling the tools. GO FIND A JOB.

(him) -- I can still pick the kids up from school, right?

(me) -- Nope, if it's working hours you need to be working or looking for work. I'm not leaving the door open for you to say you couldn't find work because you were watching the kids for me. GO FIND A JOB.

(him) -- Can they come spend the night?

(me) -- When you FIND A JOB and can afford to feed them dinner, sure.

Yep, I'm being a total witch, folks, the whole debacle yesterday was the last straw. I told him the Caddy was paid for, had four wheels and an engine, no heat, but he could wear thermal underwear. "It has insurance and 6 gallons of gas. Good luck with the job hunt, bucko." Then I drove off.

Whew. See, I do have cojones, I just misplaced them for a while. I'm strapped on and ready to rumble, so don't mess with me.

I went and loaded up my books - like to killed me but I got them and the tools into storage - a unit in my name, and I have the only key.

What a mess. I feel marginally better, though. Ugh.


On the upside, David Tennant as the Tenth 'Doctor' on BBC's Doctor Who has saved me from the dark pit of depression. Positively YUM. :) As the Brits say, we lurrrrves him.


  1. I'm proud of you kiddo. That took guts/cojones and the determination to succeed despite that boil you had to lance go girl!!!

  2. You are stronger than him and will come out a winner very shortly and so will your kids.

  3. Hi, Grace. I'm so sorry to intrude here. I'm one of your fellow Elance Providers. Could you please contact me via AOL?

    Not sure if you're still maintaining this blog, as the date of this most recent post is from almost a year ago. But I didn't know how else to contact you.

    This is in regard to my post at the Elance Water Cooler, titled, "To my fellow Providers, please be safe -- research clients before deciding whether to work for them"