My bitch is affectionately referred to as "Brenda". That's not her real name, but it's the name we use around the house, such as, "Did Brenda email you back?" so that the kids, if ever they overhear, aren't immediately clued-in that we're referring to the bitch who uses them to try to piss us off. Note that, despite the fact that I swear and get pretty irate over her irrationality, we make every possible effort to be sure they don't hear us say anything about her, let alone negative stuff. We don't ask them questions, because, quite frankly, I don't give a shit what her life entails. It's not about her, it's about two amazing, sweet, loving, super affectionate, perfect children who deserve a fairytale childhood full of bike riding, swimming, video games, arts and crafts, and time with friends and family instead of being yoinked (I realize this isn't a word, thank you) out of school early because mommy is taking daddy to court (again) and since she can't maintain stable relationships, has no one to pick them up for her. I know, right? Kids first, she says, kids first.
The bitch's ex is my man. She lost out, and I am the luckiest woman in the world. We'll call him Andy, because he's an innocent bystander with a really cool job and people who actually like him, and he'd keel over if he thought people knew about this stuff and subsequently felt bad for him. Why? Because he's amazing. It's not that he "does things" for me and for our family - I hear people say that about their better halves - it's that he LOVES to do things for us. It gives him pride, happiness, and all of those mushy feelings that guys claim they don't have. Andy has endured so much mental and emotional abuse from the bitch that we literally have to sit down and talk about why he shouldn't feel guilty about something the bitch did, because she trained him to think it was all his fault - everything! Oh man, the irrationality makes me shiver just thinking about it. So, we've spent the past three years working on productive arguing and rational thinking. Let me be clear that productive arguing is something I completely made up, but it's me starting arguments (we argue, it's healthy, and don't let anyone ever tell you it's not) in order to show him that, a) he does know how to state his case and when he does, it's not going to result in being belittled because that relationship is over and he's no longer with an unstable woman who uses him to feel better about herself, and b) SOMETIMES I AM WRONG! It's not always you, babe, sometimes it's me! Actually, let's be honest, a lot of the times it's me being emotional or maybe it's just early and I'm hungry or haven't had my coffee. Regardless, and I can't say this too many times, it's not always someone's fault, and it's definitely not always one person's fault.
Before I go any further, I have say something. I am not of the belief that mental and emotional problems are a joke, or that someone is less of a person as a result. I have friends and relatives who have dealt with issues of this nature, but that's the difference here. If someone is professionally evaluated and informed of his or her personal issues, especially in the way they negatively affect that person's children, I believe that person has an obligation to deal with those issues in a responsible manner. Andy had severe confidence and stress issues relating to the way he was treated in his marriage. It made him easy to frustrate, and we both noticed it. We dealt with it, and we still do. It's not something that makes him inferior, it just is something he needed to address, and so he did. On the other hand, Brenda has been told that her issues could potentially result in the loss of custody of the children, she agreed to seek counseling, and she skirted the issue went straight for the false accusations against Andy. This, I believe is a crime. To be made aware of your problems and to continue to wreak havoc on those around you, is irresponsible, irrational, unjustifiable, and makes for a poor mother.
And then there's me...the new bitch. It makes me uncomfortable to talk about myself a whole lot, but in fairness to the fact that I'm talking about others, I'll push through. I've been with Andy for a little over three years. Contrary to what Brenda and her second priest tell God, we did not commit adultery. Side note - she kicked him out after he slept on the basement couch for three months, and she did it via his work email. Now, she claims he walked out on their family and that I'm a whore for being with "her husband" whom she kicked out. Her priest wasn't having any of the belittling she was doing, so she switched churches. She did this with three attorneys as well, until she found one who would participate in the antics, then ran up $5000 in attorney fees and filed for bankruptcy and didn't pay them. Karma is a big ol' bitch, and so was that attorney. We actually replied to one of her crazy ass emails with, "How do you and your husband put your kids to bed at night knowing that you're trying to rob someone else's kids of their father?"I don't think we heard from her for a while but I'm sure it didn't make a lasting impact or anything like that. You have to be a reasonable person for that to happen.
Okay, enough side note...I didn't even get my damn name out. Because I generally don't care to sway anyone's opinion of me, and because one day, when I get around to it, I'll host this site under my own domain and therefore pen names would be useless, I'll use my real name. It's Brittany. A lot of people call me Brit. The closest ones know to call me Brittany in front of my mom in order to avoid a scolding because she "did not put 'Brit' on my birth certificate!" She loves me. I realized when I was in first grade that boys [men] who are older are cooler, smarter, and more appreciative. In first grade I had a crazy crush on Robby who was a fifth-grader and who rode my bus. He was one of the ones who, during a fire drill, would jump out the back door and help the smaller kids down after him. I loved fire drills and I threw a massive hissy fit when I missed the bus. Most of my relationships since then (okay, we weren't in a relationship but by first grade standards, we talked enough - once per school day - to be in love) have featured directly proportional age differences. So let's just put this out there that Andy may, or may not, have been starting high school when I was born. For those of you in similar situations, you understand that sometimes this just works. For those of you with teenagers of your own, I see why you think this is appalling, but keep in mind that, when we began to look at each other differently, we both had salaries, benefits, and retirement funds. My retirement fund had more in it than his did, which may tell you a little bit about the wrath of the bitch, and maybe for those of you who are thinking my attraction to older guys involves things such as bank accounts, rest assured, he was broke as a joke and giving the bitch 85% of his monthly income when we started going on dates to Chili's, during happy hour pricing only.
I want to be sure to occasionally revisit the fact that you probably aren't reading this if you're not in some way involved in a similar situation, and that not all of this is hatred and condescending jokes. Our livelihood has been put before a judge under false pretenses numerous times. If you've been there, you know you can't always come out on top. Brenda is going through a serious mental and emotional conflict that has caused her to put an enormous amount of stress and anxiety on not only Andy and I, but the children and herself as well. If you're reading this as someone who has or has thought about making a false accusation of any form, I beg you, not for the other person, but for your own sake, to bury that thought and move forward with your life. There is no part of this situation that is healthy for our children, for us, or for her. You will spend money that could have sent your children to college, time and energy which could have taken your kids on an adventure, and it leaves this series of ugly wrinkles on your forehead that some may call 'bitch lines'.
bk
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