2008-11-24 - 12:10 a.m.

THICK AS A BRICK

I left my ex because he was a drunk. I decided I wasn't going to let my kids watch him do that to himself, so when he wouldn't stop, or regulate, or moderate, or even try, I picked up my babies and left...and haven't looked back.

The first four years after the split, we barely saw him. His new love (mealticket) The Sea Hag, didn't like us, and forbade him to mix with us. Being as he was dependent on her, and already very accustomed to putting himself before his children, and being as he was also getting into activities I can only label "much-worse-than-when-we-were-together", he didn't try to see the kids much at all, and I didn't try to make him. Last year he and The Sea Hag called it off and like magic, he reappeared. Like an old, lost dog returned to the farm, we petted him and fed him and made him feel welcome, letting him pop in to play Daddy when he didn't have somemthing better to do. You can eat here, you can even stay overnight (on the couch, thank you very much, as IF) the only rule is, You Cannot Drink Here.

My ex husband is famous for ignoring the rules. This is, of course, why he is such an epic success. Almost every time he comes to my home, I find him drinking. He hides liquor in his truck, in bottles not marked as liquor, and when I am not paying close attention, he sneaks out and he gets himself intoxicated, sip by sip. He comes here to see the kids, see, not me. Further, I have ZERO interest in listening to him pontificate on the issues of the day. I cannot stand to hear him yammer and so fade into my own activities, emerging to prepare and distribute food, to prepare his sleeping place, and to check for ...imbalances. Each and every time, to my chagrin, I find he has, regardless of my many, many, many, very plain requests, been at his liquor. He goes out to smoke, or whatever, and takes a sip of the rotgut he has hidden outside, and he comes the hell back in, thinking I cannot recognize the change from relatively quiet redneck to wildly gesturing, yammering assclown. He is, apparently, completely unable to recall my words, my rules, my anything. He just cannot remember that I have repeatedly and emphatically told him that he is not to, under any circumstances, drink his stupid, rotgut liquor at my house, inside or outside, *everrrrrrr*, and that if he feels he MUST, he is to leave. *Sigh*...he leaves me no choice. I suppose, next weekend when he shows up, I will be forced to either refuse him on sight, or lock him out when he goes out to smoke, refusing reentry. Stupid fucking asshat.

So tonight, I'm thinking he has done rather well. He has gone the day plainly sober (he showed up last night, and has stayed through, as he has no home and bounces from house to house, again, epic success...) and seems to be faring well, adhering. I am pleased. Our son has gone hunting with a neighbor who knows of, and laments, our boy's lack of "real dad", and lo! Our young buck has scored his very first deer, and his Dad, upon welcoming boy home, has been outside skinning the animal and bonding with his kid. Alcohol free, right?

EEENNNKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

Not so much. The boy has passed out due to hunting-induced sleep deprivation when the ex wanders into my room uttering the bone chilling "Hey girl". I see him sit on the end of my bed and he gestures to me, holding up his fingers in the "just a little bit" formation, and saying "How about a little nip?".

Throughout my husband's marriage-wrecking drinking career, the enemy has always been referred to as "just alittle nip". He has no idea that those words are like a blast of pepper spray to me...there is no way he could phrase his addiction that could possibly rankle me more, but in his fashion, he is absolutely unaware of that and so, like a big dumb stupid thick idiot redneck dumbass, he gestures to me and says "How about a little nip?"

I am sure he is insane as I slowly turn to face him, incredulous, and bristle, seeing him holding his stupid fucking fingers up, and squinching his stupid fucking eye like stupid fucking redneck, hopeless-ass Popeye from motherfuckin hell, and saying in his slurred, "I've been drinking already, SURPRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISE" way, "How about a lil nip?" I want to grab his throat and squeeze. I want to stop his breathing. I want to kick his head OFF.

I say no. See, I think he's asking me to join him for a taste of his rotgut "KD", which by the way, stands for Kentucky Deluxe, bullshit weak-ass rotgut *dollar* whiskey that he slugs by the bottle day in and day out 'cause he sucks big, fat, failure-filled hobo balls.

I tell him NO amidst his protests of "Come on now, jusha lil nip, the kidsh're asleep, cmonnnnnnnn" and, unable to move me, he finally goes away. I'm amazed. Not only has he ignored me and my very plain houserules, YET AGAIN, but he is trying to get me to *join* him. Holy crap.

Then he comes in with a glass. A juice glass, and he sets it down and says, with a weird, retarded, asshat gesture, "Jusha lil nip, now, come on..." and he skulks away...and it is then that I realize he actually expects me to pour his plainly intoxicated ass a glass of my own, expensive, high-grade whiskey, which I keep for myself as I am NORMAL and can have a few shots and put it the fuck away for a week. He must have seen my bottle, which by the way, was in my bedroom, tucked away in a place in my CLOSET, and just couldnt resist trying to siphon a bit of it once his sorry KD was sucked dry. I'm lucky he didn't fill himself with it behind my back.

I was appalled. Knowing he was actually expecting me to CONTRIBUTE to his shitting on my expectations was almost more than I could stand. I told him, "I've given you enough. Plainly you are never going to comply with the basic rules of being in my house, and now you actually expect me to give you booze. Unreal. No. I give you food, shelter, and the opportunity to see kids you haven't done jack shit for. That's all you get, clown. Go to sleep."

He went to sleep.

I should have told him to go away, but he was drunk...but SO WHAT. Next time, I'm sending him away. I hate him for being such a useless waste, such a desperate douchebag. I feel guilty for feeling that way.

Gah.

previous - next