Mental Poo: divorce
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts

Friday, February 22, 2013

The Cheese and Cracker Incident

Just in case you were wondering why I was divorced I present you THIS text conversation between my ex-wife and I.

I posted it on my Facebook page and women were completely siding with my ex on this one but, just in case you missed it, ENJOY:


I sent my son with the store-brand crackers because I didn't feel like asking if that was okay.

Plus I saved some money that I spent on the pre-sliced cheese.

WIN.

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

The Best and Worst of Splitsville


So..thinking about getting that divorce are you?

Today I bring you a list of:

The Best and Worst Things about being Divorced and Living Alone

Best:
You get to watch Internet porn with the sound on!

Worst:
Excitement over being FINALLY able to watch porn and not have to wait for your wife to go to bed ("Oh..I'm gonna stay up a little longer and watch..um..Sportcenter.") AND watch it with the sound on makes you crank it way the Hell up and now all the neighbors in your apartment think you’re nailing both men AND women three times a day to the WORST. MIX TAPE. EVER.


*****************

Best:
You get to poop with the bathroom door open.

Worst:
Your apartment smells like shit.


*****************

Best:
You get to re-enter the dating world and meet new people!

Worst:
There’s a damn good reason why most of the people you’re meeting aren’t married, either.


*****************

Best:
You can eat cereal for supper!

Worst:
You eat cereal for supper.

*****************

Best:
When your kids come to visit, you can relive your college days by sleeping on the pullout sofa.

Worst:
Discovering that pullout sofas are way more comfortable when you’re 19 and passed out from drinking a fifth of vodka and have no idea people are drawing penises on you with markers ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! THIS IS PERMANENT INK!!!

Friends can be ASSHOLES.


*****************

Best:
You don’t have to pay for hot water because it’s included in your rent.

Worst:
Everyone else in your building realizes that they don’t have to pay for hot water either so your shower becomes an episode of Survivor as you try to win immunity from either freezing to death or having your skin scalded off.


*****************

Best:
You meet many new people who live in your building of varying ethnicities and social status

Worst:
Realizing you’re actually one of these people.

Worst Runner Up:
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SMELL IN THE HALLWAY? Is that...is that HAGGIS?!? It's 7 in the morning for chrissakes!!



*****************

Best:

Your money is yours and you can do with it what you wish!

Worst:
Your ex-wife can also do what she wishes with your money, too.

I'm gonna get shit for that last one, I just know it.

No worries.

I'll just crank up this porn.

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

We Don't Match.com AT ALL


A while after my divorce I gave Match.com the old 'college try' and by 'college try' I mean 'scoped out chicks most likely to bang' because, well, THAT'S WHAT I TRIED IN COLLEGE.

Duh.

On a related note: I miss college.

But going through all these profiles while obviously skipping right the Hell over the ugly ones and reading about 'interests' and 'what I'm looking for' and blah blah blah I found that the problem with half the chicks on this site is that they're doing it wrong.

(the following are actual excerpts from real Match.com profiles that showed up in my search criteria which was basically just a requirement that the person be female)

Example #1: Cue the Banjo



First off, I have no clue what 'laughably predictable' is other than to think 'oh, great...missionary position AGAIN' but then you say you like this:

"I enjoy playing darts, pool, camping.."

So apparently you're my Uncle Lou and you may or may not have a methamphetamine addiction. Also, I'm sorry, but no one should enjoy camping. Ever.

Also - sledding?

Who puts down 'sledding' as something they like to do as fun? No shit sledding is fun, lady. So is 'running through sprinklers' but I wouldn't put it in my goddamn profile.

Example #2: Why Tell Me This?

Great.

In a nutshell, you reek of death and Vick's VapoRub and won't give me the time of day if your kid's around.

You're doing a great job selling yourself here.

Also, nice punctuation and sentence structure there, Nurse Ratched. No wonder you're changing bedpans for a living.

Oh, wait..there's even more to your profile!


"My favorite meat is steak."

I have no words.

Example #3: Lazy Redhead Looking for Male Concubine


Newflash, here, Red:

Not everyone likes a ginger.

Don't get me wrong, the idea of having sex with someone who can't go out in the sun without bursting into flames certainly is intriguing, but just not for everyone.

So there's that, and also I'm not a big fan of freckles.


Ah. You've discovered a male's true weakness!

Because if there's ONE thing a guy on Match.com is looking for, it's a woman who can't cook and is co-dependent and then needs help scrubbing your shit off the sides of the toilet.

WIN.

Good luck finding your 'forever mate.' You might want to clean up all those old take-out containers before he shows up, though.

Example #4: Date Me or I Will Kick Your Sorry Ass


So, let me get this straight:

You're studying for a career in "Human Services" which means that most of our holidays will be spent volunteering at homeless shelters and shit delving out food that you're too picky to eat and if I refuse to go there's a pretty good chance you'll beat the shit out of me.

I don't think so.

That trailer trash camping chick is starting to look better and better.

Monday, November 08, 2010

I'd LIKE to Read All About It but There's NOTHING TO READ


When I moved out of the house and into my swank 720 square foot one-bedroom bachelor pad with my daughter's hamster and pink bathroom and a nextdoor neighbor with an unintelligable last name (what is that..Portuguese? Spanish? How do you string 8 consonants together?) who would bang on my wall at 8:00 pm because I was making too much noise vacumming and I'M SO SORRY that I like my shitty apartment free of ANTS, you asshole...

...my first order of business after crying in the fetal position for hours and hours was to get a newspaper subscription.

It's all about priorities.

But I noticed every other morning that when I opened my door after triple checking that there weren't gang members out there fo-shizzle that my..

newspaper..

was..

GONE.

No newspaper.


And I would wait and wait and wait for it but it would never show and eventually my phone would ring and my boss would be, "Are you gracing us with your presence today, Rodney? It's NOON," and then I'd have to explain to him "I have a newspaper CRISIS going on, Mike, so I'm going to have to work from home today," and he's like, "..but your laptop is in the office here..how are you working from home..?" and I'm all, "I don't have time for this idle chitchat, Mike, with a newspaper thief on the loose."

Eventually the phone goes dead.

I think they have to keep me on because firing me would be against Equal Opportunity laws or some shit.

Takin' it to the man.


So now I'm thinking of ways to catch this thief because there's NO WAY I'm spending $32 for 13 weeks of every-other day newspaper. There's a TIMELINE to Beetle Bailey, people..eventually I won't be able to catch up to the plot.

How to catch this thief?

Some ideas:







All of these are obviously brilliant ideas with the exception that I know very little about building things let alone a pulley system that will actually function or, honestly, where people buy pulleys in the first place.

Also, I'm pretty sure the 'Claymore Mine' one would most likely scratch my apartment door and God knows that I'll need my security deposit back at some point.

That's when..one day...I noticed..

THIS:



Um..


Yeah.

I forgot that I have a second door to the apartment for some reason.

The newspapers had probably just been sitting there at the OTHER door the whole time.

Huh.

But because physically turning my head to look down the hall is just way too exhausting at 5:30 in the morning, I would apparently rather bitch about it and dream up a complex machine involving pulleys and anvils and rifles and explosive devices and shit that would kill random people walking down the hallway.

Which you could then read about in the newspaper.

Assuming it's not stolen.

Monday, September 27, 2010

What I Did in Child Impact Class


What's the answer to the title of this post?

Hint: It had nothing to do with paying attention to Child Impact Class.

Let me explain.

As part of the divorce decree, my ex-wife and I had to attend a MANDATORY seminar called the "Child Impact Program" which had more to do about how to treat your kids during and after a divorce and much less to do with how hard you can hit them before they cry.

I was thinking, like, a medium speed closed-fist punch and/or a 5 mph bump with a subcompact sedan but then the teacher was all "Are you serious?" and I'm all, "Ha. Um. No." and then he turned all red and was pretty adamant about being serious here because this was, after all, about the mental health of the children during this very difficult time.

Oh.

THAT kind of "impact."


So..noting the seriousness of this class, here is how I spent my 3-1/2 hours when the ex-wife (OOPS..my "Co-Parent") and I weren't making fun of other people or getting yelled at for "disrupting the class."

Teacher = ASSHOLE.

Anyway...here's what my 3-1/2 hours of fucking around consisted of:

(click to enlarge images)



Right.

So, basically I started doodling as I'm wont to do when I'm bored or at work (redundant).

Next!


Once again, my fascination with fangs comes out and I'm not sure where that comes from because I'm totally Team Jacob but I have to tell you the picture of the teacher is pretty much spot-on except in this sketch he's not expressing his disappointment in me.

Next!



My ex-wife didn't think the "raising kids" thing was funny so I took the time to write next to it, "not funny" with an arrow just so I could apparently remind myself that - sometimes - she still doesn't get me.

Next!



So it was during the above doodle (SUCK IT, PICASSO) that my ex-wife and I were laughing at something and I wasn't even looking up because HAVE YOU SEEN HOW AWESOME THIS DOODLE IS?! and the teacher yelled at us for not paying attention.

Again..

Teacher = ASSHOLE.



So, by the time I was putting the finishing touches on my tornado/muppet scene on the back cover the teacher was wrapping up and we left class learning one valuable lesson:

Getting divorced is a PAIN IN THE ASS.

Next time, I'm bringing a sketch pad.

Monday, August 02, 2010

Hamster Pink is the New Hamster Black



When my wife and I decided to divorce, the first thing on my agenda after purchasing condoms was to find another place to live.

After being reminded several times about the restraining order (MARK MY WORDS...one day I WILL HAVE YOU, Jessica Alba!) I settled on an apartment complex in my town about 4 minutes away from the house.

I was happy about '4 minutes' because I could sell that to the kids as, "See kids? It only takes FOUR MINUTES to get to daddy's which is HALF THE TIME IT TAKES PAYTON TO SHOWER" which is the truth since it takes my daughter 8 minutes (she has a TIMER) to shower even though she's only 9 years old SERIOUSLY WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE FOR EIGHT MINUTES?! but you know what?...you know what?

I DON'T CARE. I get heat and hot water included in my rent.

HAHAHAHA.

Suckers.


The problem was that there was only a one-bedroom available...and I couldn't look at it until THE DAY BEFORE I WAS TO MOVE IN so I only had the model apartment to go by which was being shown to me by a very lovely woman and by 'very lovely' I mean 'looks like deep facial crevaces are taking their time with this one to make sure they get it right' with the accompanying 'Twelve Packs of Marlboro's a day takes it's toll on the larynx' sexy chemotherapy voice.

Me: "Well..does it look like this one?"

Lady: (coughs up lung)

Me: "I'LL TAKE IT!"

So the day I see the apartment I meet up with Hacky McHackerson who - bless her emphysema - now has to sit through a half hour of bitching from a man moving from a 3500 s.f. 4-bedroom house with a pool and a dog and OH THE LUXURY his own washer and dryer into this:


Ooh.

Fancy.

The king size bed and queen sleeper sofa and fourteen other pieces of furniture I just bought should fit just fine in here if I can just knock these other three walls down and build a house instead.

Awesome.


So Karl Malden is showing me around and I'm starting to feel bad for that poor poor bitch because she's like, "OOH! And here is..A CLOSET!" like I'm just back from my POW stint in Vietnam and I'd love ANYTHING if it wasn't made out of mud and bamboo but instead I'm all, like, "Well this sucks. This won't fit. Is this beam sturdy enough to hold a noose carrying 150 pounds?"

Just when I think it can't possibly be any worse...

I get to the bathroom.


Does anyone know if there is still a waiting period for firearms?

So, armed with my undersize apartment and bathroom that has allowed me to get completely in touch with my feminine side (YAY VAGINAS!) I furnished the place the best I could which included going through TWO sofas because the first sofa I had delivered would not fit in the hallway.

Not the DOOR of the apartment, mind you.

THE HALLWAY OF THE BUILDING.

It's then that my ex-wife drops this bombshell on me:

Ex: "You're taking Izzy."

Izzy.

Who's Izzy?

Meet Izzy, people:


Yes. I got my daughter's hamster because my ex-wife has no idea how to clean said hamster cage.

OH.

Speaking of the hamster cage...

GUESS WHAT FUCKING COLOR IT IS.


Yes.

It's pink.

Because nothing says, "Bachelor Pad" better than a decked-out living room capped off by a two-inch rodent living in a hot pink condominium.


Yeah.

I'm a little jealous of her.

Her sofa fit in the hallway without any problems at all.

**********************

Also:

DON'T FORGET TO ENTER MY HARD ROCK CAFE giveaway contest that features pictures of Kathy Griffin in a bikini!

Two winners will be picked Friday and all you have to do is comment.

You're welcome.

Tuesday, July 06, 2010

The Band-Aid Comes off Quick


I’m going to do this quick.

Please note, ladies, that this will be the first time I ever actually warn you of this.

Every other time is really just a complete shock and doubt on your part on whether or not the two Tequila shots were really worth the effort.

I’ve digressed.

Here goes:

Recently, I moved out of my house and into a one-bedroom apartment.

Yep.

My wife and I are divorcing.


It is amicable.

We are still friendly and, honestly, haven’t gotten along this well in YEARS. It’s amazing the freedom you get when you realize that you don’t have to actually try to make someone happy. It’s so much work.

I hate work.

We will share custody of the children.

She is taking care of the dog.

I am taking care of the..um…

I’m taking care of the FUCKING HAMSTER ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?


Gah.

Because nothing screams “bachelor” like a guy living alone except for a hamster in a bright pink cage.

I can’t wait to grow a scraggly beard and fashion a hat out of newspaper and then go get the mail down the hallway with the hamster following me in her little ball while I scream “TODAY IS THE DAY, IZZY, WHERE PUBLISHER’S CLEARING HOUSE MAKES ME RICH!” or something like “Maybe your pirate outfit has arrived!”

Trust me.

In this apartment building, this will only make me fit in MORE.


I’m not looking for sympathy. Or apathy. Or anything else that ends in ‘thy’ unless it’s ‘porn that is filthy’ at which point you can email me at the address in the ‘contact me’ section.

I have a lot of time to watch porn now.

I just wish the hamster would stop staring at me. Makes me feel icky.

So in the future you will hear about me filling out the paperwork and about my neighbors who all have a desire to wear cut-off tank tops and our divorce procedure which includes a mandatory ‘child impact seminar’ that required us to fill out a questionnaire about custody in which we needed to sign a section agreeing that the kids wouldn’t be exposed to druggies or alcoholics or alcoholic druggies which means now my dad can’t come to visit and also pretty much guarantees that I just lost $200 on this crack-whore next door because there is no provision in this section that says ‘..unless you lock the children in another room whilst you get toothless blowjobs..’

So. Yeah.

Band-Aid torn off.

A new adventure begins.

With a hamster in tow.

Isn't that just fucking great.

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