Monday, May 31, 2004
Such a roller-coaster of a day... tornadoes, Shitfoot, date with Rusty.
The first line of storms rolled through in mid-afternoon, and thoroughly freaked the kids out. The weatherman breaking into their shows informing them to take cover scared the crap out of them, so I had to sit in front of the TV with them and explain everything they were seeing to help calm them down. I would have preferred to just turn the TV off, but the tornadoes were close enough to be seriously concerned. The first one hit about 5 miles away, and was headed in this direction, so I brought the kids to the basement. Of course it wasn't until we came back up about 10 minutes later that I realized we didn't wake Shitfoot to join us. Well that's not entirely true: DD had told him we'd be going down there about 30 minutes prior, and he chose to stay in bed. I figured he could take his chances. Shame on me for hoping that if something had to happen to the house it'd happen to his corner.
After the storms passed, Shitfoot finally rolled out of bed to grace us with his presence. He fed the dogs and forgot to let them out, so of course Woody peed all over the floor. This sent him off on a rage-bender unlike any I'd seen in several weeks. He lurched at the dog as if he was going to kick him, and I just froze--jumping into the situation (especially knowing how pissed he already was at ME) might make it worse. He stopped himself, picked up the dog (all the while cursing like an R-rated Yosemite Sam)and threw him into his crate. "I hate you, you sonufabitch, I hate ALL you motherfuckers! I wish you'd all just fucking drop dead!" He turned and almost tripped over Max, the 2nd dog. "You stupid bastard watch where the fuck you're going you stupid sonufabitch!" Max was about to walk into the puddle of urine, so Shitfoot grabbed him by the chest and pushed him backward, away from the puddle. Max didn't appreciate being manhandled like that, of course, so he growled and turned to a defensive position. "Watch out daddy, Max 'gonna bite you!" said N, who'd had front row seats for the whole show. "That'd be the last thing he ever did, too, because I'd kill his ass right here where he stands. Stupid useless piece of shit. [to dog] Get the FUCK away from me you stupid bastard!"
"Daddy, when can we get a new pet?"
"Never. I hate pets. Filthy pieces of shit. I'm sick to death of all this bullshit. I will NEVER have another pet."
By that time I'd picked N up and brought him into the next room and tried to distract him with a different conversation. It wasn't long after that that the kids were finally tucked into bed, and Rusty was on his way to pick me up. He took me to dinner... sublime, of course. Nothing like looking at that gorgeous face across the table from me. Being with him is like being in a completely different world than the constant agitation of home. I want so badly to get Shitfoot out of my house. I'm so damned close to freedom...
We got a hotel room (this relationship is getting expensive!), just in time for another line of storms to blow through town. The news reported trees down in my neighborhood and I was consumed with guilt because I wasn't with my kids. Rusty offered to drive me there, but it really wasn't safe to drive anywhere. I called home instead, to check on them. Shitfoot put DD on the phone, who seemed more tired than upset. I assured her I was fine and that Daddy would take care of her, and to crawl into daddy's bed and get some sleep. Shitfoot got back on the phone, "Is that it?" "Yeah." CLICK. Idiot.
I've been withholding the X-rated details of our visits, but this particular one I have to share... This morning, we got up and got dressed, almost ready to leave when a song on TV lead to dancing, which, as the Baptists have always feared, lead to him on the edge of the bed and me undoing his belt... I heard some beeping, but couldn't discern where it was coming from. He stopped me and fumbled through a pocket, pulled out his cell phone, glanced at it a moment, turned it off and tossed it aside. "Yeah, that'd be inconvenient, wouldn't it? Wouldn't want to call anyone while you were otherwise engaged." He laughed, "Yeah, like the ExWife..." Our attention turned elsewhere once again for a few seconds before the phone started ringing. I couldn't help laughing, but stifled it as he grabbed the phone, motioned for me to stay quiet, and answered. "Hi... No... No, I'm just getting up... Yeah. I watched the storms on TV last night. We're all fine... Yeah... OK... mmBye." He looked at me, chagrinned: "You called my ExWife."
The first line of storms rolled through in mid-afternoon, and thoroughly freaked the kids out. The weatherman breaking into their shows informing them to take cover scared the crap out of them, so I had to sit in front of the TV with them and explain everything they were seeing to help calm them down. I would have preferred to just turn the TV off, but the tornadoes were close enough to be seriously concerned. The first one hit about 5 miles away, and was headed in this direction, so I brought the kids to the basement. Of course it wasn't until we came back up about 10 minutes later that I realized we didn't wake Shitfoot to join us. Well that's not entirely true: DD had told him we'd be going down there about 30 minutes prior, and he chose to stay in bed. I figured he could take his chances. Shame on me for hoping that if something had to happen to the house it'd happen to his corner.
After the storms passed, Shitfoot finally rolled out of bed to grace us with his presence. He fed the dogs and forgot to let them out, so of course Woody peed all over the floor. This sent him off on a rage-bender unlike any I'd seen in several weeks. He lurched at the dog as if he was going to kick him, and I just froze--jumping into the situation (especially knowing how pissed he already was at ME) might make it worse. He stopped himself, picked up the dog (all the while cursing like an R-rated Yosemite Sam)and threw him into his crate. "I hate you, you sonufabitch, I hate ALL you motherfuckers! I wish you'd all just fucking drop dead!" He turned and almost tripped over Max, the 2nd dog. "You stupid bastard watch where the fuck you're going you stupid sonufabitch!" Max was about to walk into the puddle of urine, so Shitfoot grabbed him by the chest and pushed him backward, away from the puddle. Max didn't appreciate being manhandled like that, of course, so he growled and turned to a defensive position. "Watch out daddy, Max 'gonna bite you!" said N, who'd had front row seats for the whole show. "That'd be the last thing he ever did, too, because I'd kill his ass right here where he stands. Stupid useless piece of shit. [to dog] Get the FUCK away from me you stupid bastard!"
"Daddy, when can we get a new pet?"
"Never. I hate pets. Filthy pieces of shit. I'm sick to death of all this bullshit. I will NEVER have another pet."
By that time I'd picked N up and brought him into the next room and tried to distract him with a different conversation. It wasn't long after that that the kids were finally tucked into bed, and Rusty was on his way to pick me up. He took me to dinner... sublime, of course. Nothing like looking at that gorgeous face across the table from me. Being with him is like being in a completely different world than the constant agitation of home. I want so badly to get Shitfoot out of my house. I'm so damned close to freedom...
We got a hotel room (this relationship is getting expensive!), just in time for another line of storms to blow through town. The news reported trees down in my neighborhood and I was consumed with guilt because I wasn't with my kids. Rusty offered to drive me there, but it really wasn't safe to drive anywhere. I called home instead, to check on them. Shitfoot put DD on the phone, who seemed more tired than upset. I assured her I was fine and that Daddy would take care of her, and to crawl into daddy's bed and get some sleep. Shitfoot got back on the phone, "Is that it?" "Yeah." CLICK. Idiot.
I've been withholding the X-rated details of our visits, but this particular one I have to share... This morning, we got up and got dressed, almost ready to leave when a song on TV lead to dancing, which, as the Baptists have always feared, lead to him on the edge of the bed and me undoing his belt... I heard some beeping, but couldn't discern where it was coming from. He stopped me and fumbled through a pocket, pulled out his cell phone, glanced at it a moment, turned it off and tossed it aside. "Yeah, that'd be inconvenient, wouldn't it? Wouldn't want to call anyone while you were otherwise engaged." He laughed, "Yeah, like the ExWife..." Our attention turned elsewhere once again for a few seconds before the phone started ringing. I couldn't help laughing, but stifled it as he grabbed the phone, motioned for me to stay quiet, and answered. "Hi... No... No, I'm just getting up... Yeah. I watched the storms on TV last night. We're all fine... Yeah... OK... mmBye." He looked at me, chagrinned: "You called my ExWife."
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