Get it while it's hot

I am looking into a p/t second job on the evenings I don't have the kids. Having made the decision, I actually feel rather good about it, although I don't know whether I'll get the position. The nice thing is that it doesn't really matter at this point--if I do, yay, if I don't, yay.

I like cats. No, really. Cats are great. Thank heavens for cats. But they are hairy.

I also like men. A lot. No, really. Men are great. I miss them. Again, hairy, but at this point I'm pretty much willing to overlook that. Honestly. Are you a man? Do you play one on TV? Do you freaking know one within a 50-mile radius of me? THEN TELL HIM TO CALL ME. NOW.

I got something of a load off my chest with the Ex, which was nice. I generally cut him a lot of slack (and I'm sure he would say that he does the same for me, and probably rightfully so), but sometimes the whole Irrational Thinking Of Those Who Think They Are Highly Aware But Are Really Just Overly Friggin' Sensitive And Making Their Ex-Wives Crazy thing happens, and then, I want to stab a fork into my left eye while chewing on my tongue. But rather than cannibalize my organs, today I asked him to please quit taking everything I say or don't say the very second he thinks I should be saying or not saying it so personally and understand that I'm not friggin psychic (ok, I am, but not like that) and don't actually put his needs at the center of my universe anymore already sheesh! I hope I said it nicer than that, and it certainly wasn't as big a drama as it sounds or anything, but oy. He's a good guy, and half the time he's very cognizant and all so this isn't an issue, but when it is, it seems to have bad timing, like the summer when I have no air conditioning, dammit.

Okay, for once, you know what? I am going to avoid obfuscation. I am going to vent. Be warned that unnecessary bitching lies ahead. Observe the scene:

[Pre-scene: The Ex stops by briefly between trips the other night. It is 85 degrees in my house. I am hot. I am cooking. My house is a wreck. The Girl is not listening and insists on running out the front door and trying to escape to the neighbor's house. The Boy wants his father to watch a scene from a movie he has rented. I am trying to get dinner finished and clean up the kitchen and herd the children. The Ex is sitting on the floor with the Boy. He says he's got to get going. I ask him if he'd like to take some food with him. No, he says. I say, Of course, you're welcome to stay here and eat with us or take some, either way, if you like. Are you sure you won't have some? I'm sure, he says. Fine.]

[Scene this afternoon: I'm working. I'm looking for something I Can. Not. Locate. I'm annoyed. I'm also pissed at myself because I haven't exercised yet. And I, the Not Very Good Mother When Not Given Recuperation Time On A Regular Basis, have had the kids full time for the past week because of Ex having some pre-arranged travel. And I'm hot. And I'm feeling fat. And I haven't had sex in FOUR EFFING YEARS. You see where I'm going with this: I'm a little eensy bit testy. And pre-occupied. And such.]

Phone rings. It's Ex. Thursdays are one of his nights, but he is preparing for a sporting event for which he has been preparing for a long time and which will occur in a month, and there are practices on Thursday nights. Up until a few weeks ago, he had a babysitter watch the kids, but she's unavailable over the summer and so I agreed to watch them until about 8. Yes, I felt somewhat forced into this. Yes, that's my own problem.]

Ex: So, my practice is tonight, and I have to go meet the builder over at the new house, so I'll pick the kids up from your place around 8, 8:10. [I usually take them over and put them to bed at his house; he gets home a bit after their bedtimes] Is that ok?

Me: Sure.

Ex: Will you feed them?

Me: Of course. No, I'll let them sit around hungry until 8:30.

Ex [in friendly, favor-asking tone]: Will you make me a sandwich?

Me [somewhat confused]: What, when you pick them up? Sure, you can have a sandwich. Or you can have some of what I make them for dinner.

Ex [now sounding put out]: No. Never mind. I told you I have to go by the house. Never mind.

Me: What? I'm not understanding what you're asking for. Are you wanting to come by and pick up a sandwich before you go to class?

Ex: It's like pulling teeth to get you to offer me anything. The other night, it took you 20 minutes, and then you only offered me something I could take home.

Me: KABLOOOOOOOOOIE!!!!!!!! [That's the sound of my head. Exploding. And then I had some Strong Words To Say.]

The End.