I’m holding my breath… 

I’ve not been on for awhile and surely that’s an excellent thing as I’m only supposed to write when I’m furiously angry at life, the world, my partner… and I haven’t been. 

I mean it’s not perfect, this morning he lied about there being bacon in the fridge as he was ‘tired’ and didn’t want to make me a bacon sandwich… wanker… but then he had been up since 6.30am with the 7 month old and let me sleep in… so not a wanker?!? 

It’s things like this that have me very confused, in one breath he does something wonderful, and a lie in till 8.30am is a wonderful thing (I know, if 21 year old me could see me now, she’d kill me), and then lie about bacon, the swine (Not going to aplogise for that lil’joke).

And I’ve thought about it a lot and while it may sound like I’m generalising, I am not. I’m talking specifically about the men in my life, be it partner, brothers, friends and friend’s partners, we ALL have very similar complaints. So therefore, I have come to the conclusion that my man and the men I know are very much like dogs and should be treated and trained as such. 

Oh christ… I do apologise to everyone as looking at it in black and white it looks horrendous and horribly offensive… BUT my realisation led to a strategy and my startegy is working!!! 

I have a dog, see Silver Linings and we have had him in dog training, which I experienced first hand as the partner was off making big bucks on rigs. So my strategy revolves around this:

1. Positive reinforcement

No shouting, no moaning, no anger. 

Treats are awarded for a job well done. Treats include a ‘well done’, a ‘thank you,’ a blow job, sex depending on the level of work, thoughtfullness and care given to the task. 

Keep thanking them, it doesn’t matter that in your four year relationship you have put a wash load on 2,450 times, if he does it once of his own filition, he is praised, you treat that shit like he just saved a fucking child from a burning building. Just do it. 

2. Repetition is key

There is a fine line here, not repeating the task over and over, this may be construed as nagging and they rebel immediately against that. 

I have found repeating the instruction twice and then getting them to repeat it back to me works well. 

But the real secret is getting them to self correct. This line is golden baby. ‘Babe, what should you be doing right now?’ They get all sheepish and tell me and then do it!!! Amazing!!!

3. Be upfront and honest. 

Our command for Silver when he’s licked, whined, barked gone crazy too much is ‘enough’ and I’ve learnt to communicate this with Life partner. Enough playing on your game, enough buying crap, enough picking your nose, enough. 

Enough laziness, it will break us. I’m back to work soon and working and doing the level of housework and child rearing I’m doing, now if continued will break us. My honesty has been rewarded and I can see my partner actively trying. Hell today it’s like I didn’t have a 7 month old, I lay in, I went to the cinema, did lunch, napped!!! It was glorious and it was because adult number 2 did some actual adulting. And I haven’t stopped praising him since.

So really, number 3, it’s about communication, these men don’t get subtle hints, stoney silence and death stares. They only understand when you explicitly tell them, and only then can they do something about it. And if they love you they will, and if they don’t… well then he truly is a dog and needs to be rehomed. 

I’m really sorry for the offensive nature of my blog today, it’s all in good fun and I know men who bring domestic bliss to their relationship as they are a domestic god… my dad for one… but these are my thoughts on my own situation and my own male counter part so whateves man. Go fetch! 

From Brilliant to Shit. 

I’ve had a brilliant day. I’ve taken the boy bear out to a friend’s house, had my favourite meal cooked for me – paella, followed by cheesecake, yum, and had a good old natter. 

I got home, fed the bear, had some fun with my partner, laughing, joking, flirting in the kitchen. 

Fun. Happy. Relaxed. Calm. 

Bear goes to bed, bear is learning to cry it out. Bear is just standing, silently, glancing at the camera, which, with night vision makes him look like something from a horror film. Partner and I watch this, we laugh, we enjoy. 

Context is set – we’ve been having fun all evening, laughing, joking teasing. 

So this is where it turns, and why I hear you ask? Because he turns on his game. 

I go in to tell him something and I clock he’s taken one of my Coke Zeros. I DO NOT BEGRUDGE HIM A COKE ZERO. However  it has been standard for me to mock rage and threaten death, so I lean to get it, take it and mock rage ensues… but my leaning over causes him to die on his game so fuck me… it’s like he literally died in real life. 
I put the can down and he kicks it off the couch saying I can have it, I explain the joke, he doesn’t want to get it. 

So I lose it.

I smack the wall with my hand. 

The baby begins to cry. 

Fuck you life partner. 

Why does this game change your whole personality? How am I supposed to know when to stop joking? Stop having fun with my best friend? 

Fuck you. You’re a dick when that game is on. Fuck you and now I’ll daydream that that fucking game console somehow trips and falls right out of the god damn window. 

Now my hand hurts, my heart hurts and we’re not speaking. From brilliant to shit in 2 seconds flat. I should write a fucking book. 

Angry mum out. 

Night-time Terrors

I used to love co-sleeping with my son, we do it very safely and not often. 

As a result I barely EVER sleep when it happens. 

Why? 

  1. I’m scared I’ll suffocate him.
  2. My partner has a history of sleep elbowing me in the face – so I have to protect the child from the sleep elbow.
  3. The child is 7 months old now and he kicks like a fucking mule. I might have known; he was kicking very early in the womb. Hard. 
  4. My place in the bed is on the verge, the edge and I’m always scared I’ll fall off into the abyss i.e. the floor. 

These reasons alone ensure I more often than not, want some ‘me’ sleep time and push for the bear to be in his cot. 

When this feeling is strong, my partner seems to hone in on it and becomes the most neediest father that ever lived. 

I need to cuddle my son.”

“I barely spend time with him.”

And co-sleeping happens.

For an hour. And then the bear kicks like a mule/the partner wants to move/is too hot/is too cold/has baby sweat on him/I’m taking up too much room/wants to go to sleep, a deep sleep and then I’m left with the responsibility of the baby. 

Thank you. You fucker. 

I put him back in his cot, he cries blue murder as he’s already been disturbed three times, he loves sleeping with us or he takes after his dad and is just a douche. Not really he’s awesome. Fact. 

So my partner gets the lovely falling asleep, look at his face, oh he’s snoring moment and I get the rest. This is my life, well, my nightimes. 

I feel if you want to co-sleep then you have the responsibility ALL night long because I need my fucking sleep because I’m fucking knackered from all this co-sleeping, hacking cough and feeling ill shit while you’re also pestering me for a blowjob in the middle of the night! So let me sleep, goddamn it!!!

Sooooo… we had a chat. And last night I only had responsibility for the bear from about 5am. And that dear people is a win, in my life anyway. 

Big and Strong huh?! 

This post touches upon a previous post about back seat drivers, in particular my partner. 

Suprise suprise, we’re back on him. 

Sooooo… He’s finally had his ‘morally in the right’ crash… and the kicker: I and my 6 month old child were there to witness it. 

Oh and the 93 year old woman he hit. 

On a roundabout she pulled out, it happened very slowly, in the sense if it had been a younger driver they’d have nipped out and beat us, partner would have beeped, sworn and moaned about the incident but we would have been safe, home and NOT dealing with the ambulance, police and miles of traffic we created. 

Upon reflection he couldn’t have avioded it, if he’d broken sharply someone would have gone into the back of us, if he’d swerved he would have hit a car and then it would have definitely been our fault. He had to take the hit, he had to plow into the 93 year old’s driver’s seat door, also the side my son was in… he was asleep and stayed asleep and thankfully was none the wiser. 

This is ‘upon reflection’. In my head though straight after, all I could think, and bring to mind was his idea of a ‘moral accident.’ 

And my anger kicked in, but because of the situation I had to control it, had to, and I did. I swore once, very quietly to him… but as I said, very quietly, he may not have heard it. Then I removed myself from the situation and therefore the anger, I had to look after the little man and get picked up by my dad, away from my partner. 

And my anger subsided, my rationality was restored and I was able to accept he had to take the hit, even though his world was in the car because any other alternative would have been a lot worse…. he was shook up he said because of the little bear in the car and for him to even admit that is, for want of better words, fucking crazy.

So, what an I taking from this? 

Walk away. Think. Come back… 

Calm.

Brothers… who’d have them? 

Hooray!!! It is not my partner that has made me angry… well definitely not angry enough to have to write my anger out. Well done him!! 

Unfortunately it’s the other men in my life, my brothers… I have three, all younger, all God’s gift, all cocky, loud and lovely (sometimes.) And really it’s only one that’s made me angry. 

We have a family whatsapp group… which, to be quite frank, is the worst thing you can do as a family – it started off as my pregnancy group so we could get the message out quickly that I was in labour – it evolved. Evolved way beyond anyone’s control. People have left the group, come back to the group, started arguments, been rude, been mean… you get the picture. Generally though, we have gotten used to it and know how to use it sensibly without creating another family feud like the great one of ’99. 

Except Michelle, I’ll call him this to protect his identity… he is in no way called Michael and my chosen name for him is in no way an old pet name from childhood when he paraded around in a matching knicker set of our mother’s with socks instead of boobs. IN NO WAY. 

Today he shared an image that I’m not going to share, but it was clealry a jewish woman who was suffering in a concentration camp with a sash stating she was Miss Auschwitz 1943. Hilarious. Well my brothers’ seem to think so anyway. 

I do not. 

Therefore I am ‘overly sensitive’ and that is what is ‘wrong with the world’. I should see that a picture is just a picture, it’s not going to start World War 3. 

I begged to differ:

I’m sure this image started as a joke too… 

No one has responded to this yet but I have my response ready for whatever they throw at me. I’m tired of letting what my siblings say fly over my head, I’m tired of them thinking they dominate discussion because they are taller, louder and reduce themselves to name calling. I’m also tired of being to aggressive, too loud and babbling when I argue. That is what the blog is for, all of these symptons are a result of my ridiculous anger!

So I will say this… but probably not, it’s a bit too raw for my family, who, while are close in many ways, sharing feelings, thoughts and hardships is not one of those ways. 

Here it is:

Do you know what? I’m sick of this rubbish. Do you know why I’m ‘overly sensitive’ as you put it? Because unlike you, I didn’t grow up as a privileged white male with no issues in her life. I may be a white woman who hasn’t really suffered any sexism, excepted Mr Crocket, who wouldn’t let me play football but what I did grow up with was psoriasis and I’m constantly discriminated and persecuted by ignorant people, lacking in any sensitivity at all.

I grew up being called scabby every day by my own family, I grew up getting odd looks for wearing big black jumpers in the middle of summer, do you know how many friendships I didn’t make because of it, how many complaints I’ve had, how many jobs I’ve lost? Why I had no relationships until I was 28?

Because people treat me differently because of something I cannot control, and only truly good people, overly sensitive people see past it. So when I see people laughing at something a person is, looks like, believes in, then yes I get overly sensitive about it and I will make my opinions known about it because I know what it feels like and how absolutely devastaing it can be. 

So there it is, another reason I’m so angry. Probably. I was gifted with psorasis and I’ve never really recovered from it, especially being free of it for so many years, it going while I was pregnant and yet I see it creeping slowly and surely back to weigh me down yet again. 

FYI I really was called scabby my every single one of my family and it is only with meeting my partner that actually the aesthetics of psorasis doesn’t mean a flying fuck to him. It’s also cazy how someone’s aprroval can do wonders for your own self worth. God damn it… I wish I had my own inherent, string of steel self-worth!

Stupid brothers, making me think about stuff!

The Mandela Effect

This is an interesting idea, effect, theory… The Mandela Effect. In extreme layman terms, and I mean extreme – people remember things that never happened, never were, never have been. The name is coined after Nelson Mandela, as many people would swear on their lives’ he died in prison in the 80s and not in his home in 2013… I definitely remember when he died… the glorious ‘signlanguageinterpretergate will be forever locked in my memory… probably wrongly, I have a deep admiration for that ‘interpreter’. 
If you think it sounds remotely interesting this link takes you to a layman’s blog which will then jumpstart your indepth, detailed and interesting research into the human brain and more specifically memory.

http://www.strangerdimensions.com

It even talks of alternative dimensions and as a new, hardcore fan of The OA I am so there, so interested, so deeply fascinated that choice could possibly fracture time into different dimensions, alternative dimensions, astounds and amazes me… and that items, thoughts,  memories can leak into my reality… holy shit. (Holy should be clapped out with at least five syllables when reading.) 

I’m a geek/nerd/whatever… it’s cool now don’t ya know. 

And I do have a point. 

The Mandela Effect happens in our house almost daily… daily dude! We must be at an alternative dimension hotstop/tear, as shit keeps leaking in all the time!! Our fights, conversations are always totally and utterly remembered differently EVERY SINGLY FUCKING TIME. 

And this makes me angry. Obviously, as this is what my blog is about. My anger. I was viciously angry today, so much so that I lashed out at the poor defenceless glove box with my foot, feet… okay feet, I gave it extra welly, or Converse in my case. I couldn’t use my hand as that’s already pretty bruised from my hammering of the stairs. (Never going into that one I’m afraid.) Therefore showing some sort of restraint, self-preservation on my part. Evidence of rational thought? Perhaps. 
Well done me though, I left that situation immediately… I mean my partner was dropping me off to tutor a Yr11 pupil, so I kind of was forced out and forced to calm down. However it really helped, and when my partner picked me up we got on with our happy lives as I didn’t blow up over the stupidest thing:

A misremembered conversation. 

We are both strong personalities. This is a fact and I am pretty sure we will go to our graves never admitted either is wrong unless proven by google, a third party witness, or a recording – visual or audio… I’m not picky. 

I mean obviously I was right and you’ll have to believe me because I’m writing the blog and he’s not, so screw him. I was right. And that’s why I get so angry. 

The question I ask myself though is when did I lose the ability to argue my rightness with a quiet calmness, dignity or even articulate and present well-reasoned points!? 

Was I ever able to? Or am I remembering my childhood, my life before my partner (Mandela Effect – hello!!) all wrong!? 

A misremembered conversation. In the grand scheme of things, looking back it does seem pretty petty. So if my partner had decided sooner he was going to drop me off and go shopping, rather than deciding 5 minutes before I had to leave (yes we were arguing about the timing of his verbal, outloud decision to go shopping… Pause for my embarrassment.) 

Would I have made my little boy’s milk and actually brought it with us? Would he have been happier, more content? Fall asleep later than he actually did, having a knock on effect that he went to bed an hour later as he didn’t fall asleep exhausted at 7.30pm… well only the alternative timeline that we have created will know if he grows up to be a totally different adult as a result. 

There have been bigger arguments and I’m sure there will be more, my solution is to start taping everything then how can he argue against taped evidence. Suck it bitch!! 

Dogs, Dirt and Partners

I’m here to moan, to vent, to be so fucking angry the words will burn holes into the computer/mobile screen. 

So I will sound whiney, bitchy and negative and my partner will be recreated here as a villain, a tool, a jerk, a douche, a moron, a sociopath… all the things I see him as when I lose my shit… when the veil of angry denies me any rational behaviour, any space to step away and see sense. 

This is what my writing, my entries, will be, because if they’re not then my anger is not controlled, it seeps into my real life, my real relationship and it will fester deep within our relationship and it will spoil our relationship. So better off being a whiney bitch here than elsewhere. 

Men are stupid… okay massive generalisation but it seems less hurtful than say my partner is fucking stupid. So I’ll be using the pronoun ‘they’ but really it’s just ‘he’. Sorry men. 

They operate on a totally different level, it’s pouring with rain, our garden is basically a mud bath. Let the dog out… let him in. They see this as their good deed for the day, ‘usually she does it but I’m saving her a job’, glowing sense of achievement, warm feeling of helping. Check. 

Fuck you. I see it as Let the dog out, dog runs around madly, playing in the mud, digging his favourite hole… let him in, let him run through the kitchen, into the hallway and to his food bowl… leaving a clear trail of mud on the floor and carpet that even the most inept dective could follow! I then have to clean said mess as they eat their breakfast, staring at their phone… oblivious to my quiet rage and hints in the form of my polite request that they never ever ever ever ever let the dog out again. That’s my job, not theirs… as so many things are in our house. 

I know deep down in my soul he does things like this, not on purpose, but because he is a lesser person than me, he needs me to survive basically… which is a lie as he survived 28yrs without me… so he did do it on purpose!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!!