There are times when I fleetingly, briefly, feel sorry for Crow.  Ever watch a low-budget movie with horrible actors, a laughable script, and inwardly cringe and feel embarrassed for everyone involved in making it?  That’s how I feel about Crow sometimes.

It’s hard not to feel embarrassed for her.  She lacks the integrity, pride, or ambition to be ashamed of her own actions and choices, and that just adds to it: does she honestly not know how pathetic she appears to everyone else, including her own children?

She is holed up in a town best known for incest and a raging drug problem; mooching off her father, who is in abject denial of her blatant psychiatric issues; working a meaningless, nothing job where she lies about her job title to feel more important than she is; and married to a blob-man with no spine (or neck) who only stays with her because he was ordered to, and because, let’s get real, no one else would want either of them.

Her life revolves around grilling the kids, peppering them with questions about their father and me: what did he say about this, did they talk about me, any tiny scrap of information she can cling to in order to feel closer to Gary.

No one is this obsessed with her ex-husband, eleven years later, unless there are still feelings there.  Period.

That is when I feel this*close to feeling sorry for Crow.  It’s pathetic and sad.  Her life will always revolve around her ex-husband, who just doesn’t care about her anymore.  She refuses to accept that.  Her existence alternates between desperately trying to get her ex-husband’s attention, and lashing out when he doesn’t respond, punishing him for not wanting her anymore…then trying yet again to make him look at her, talk to her, be near her, whether he wants to or not.

Maybe sometimes she has a moment of sanity, of clarity, when it comes into painful focus how pathetic she is.  Those are the moments she has the choice to do better, be better, move on with whatever meager scraps of life she has.  But she doesn’t. She chooses to stay trapped in the past, clinging to her ex-husband, pretending she hates me instead of being unbearably jealous of me.

She chooses to force the kids to listen to her rant about us, then ask questions about us, text them endlessly when they are with us, demanding to know what we have said, what we are doing, like she is trying to force herself into our lives, a place even she must know she will never be welcomed.  She shoves her insanity, pettiness, and jealousy onto them to bear the brunt and the weight and the scars.

And that is why I ultimately can’t bring myself to feel sorry for her.  Knowing she is hurting the kids, and choosing to continue to do so, doesn’t make her a victim, someone to pity.  It makes her a horrifyingly atrocious parent.  Refusing to admit she desperately needs a therapist, at the very least, and forcing the kids to pay the price for her endless shortcomings and failures, is nothing short of hateful.  Abhorrent.  Contemptible.

In the end, the only ones I find myself feeling sorry for are the kids.  They deserve a hell of a lot better than this…than her.

Posted in anger, bad mother, can't make the bitch be a good parent, crazy ex-wife, kids deserve better, kids pay the price, my kids, pathetic, questioning the kids about us AGAIN, selfish assholes, spying on us | Leave a comment


Gary and I check the kids’ school grades online every day, and it’s become impossible not to see a glaring trend. Their grades, particularly Dove’s, soar and plummet, spike and fall, based on the last time they were with us.

We believe education and an active mind are important, and we’d rather see the kids playing outside with us than drooling mindlessly in front of a TV.  They are required to read for at least 20 minutes a day, and I am very strict about that.

Right after the kids have been here, Dove’s grades hover happily around A’s and B’s.  It doesn’t take long for her to lapse back into bad habits, though, since it’s become nauseatingly clear the kids are not monitored, supervised, or even paid attention to when they are with Crow.  Homework not done?  Whatever.  Read?  Nah.  Get organized for school the next day?  Pffffttt.  Who can be bothered with such menial chores?  Not Crow, that’s for sure.

After a few days, Dove’s grades get shaky.  Give it a week of being back with Crow, and her grades slip.  Give it two weeks, and she is scraping by with C’s and D’s, dipping into the occasional F, like she is now.  The kids haven’t been with us for two weeks, and it shows plainly in their grades.

When they are taught that school isn’t important, that grades don’t matter, that the girls in particular don’t need to be smart because some boy is supposed to do everything for them anyway, well, it’s nearly impossible to scrape out that garbage in less than a weekend.  It’s cemented in there by years of poisoning and poor example by Crow.

In a battle to help the kids get the best education and future that they can, we are constantly fighting the children’s own birth mother, who clearly doesn’t give a damn.  If it doesn’t directly benefit her, then she’s not interested.  If the kids aren’t serving an immediate purpose for her, she doesn’t want anything to do with them, like a spoiled brat heaping unwanted dolls in the corner until she wants them for something.

To make it worse, the kids are trapped in an ass-backward, inbred, hick town, with a school district hell bent on taking days off and doing as little as possible that is remotely related to teaching.  The entire town has a raging attitude that education doesn’t matter.  Who needs any special learnin’ to marry their cousin and stay right there, rotting away in that piece-of-shit town, wallowing in their own ignorance and worthlessness, just like Crow?

Posted in bad mother, better than her, can't make the bitch be a good parent, disgusting, frustration, grades, hick town, Hickville, kids deserve better, my kids, rotten mothers, school | 4 Comments


It’s no secret that hockey is an aggressive, physical sport.  Delicate little flowers need not apply.  As rough as the game is, it’s truly surprising that serious injuries don’t happen more frequently than they do.

As long as I’ve been watching hockey, I’ve yet to see one of my Lightning players take a frightening injury.  Of course I’ve seen pulled muscles, hits with sticks, even a player out for several games (or most of a season, like after Stamkos’ surgery), but nothing scary, nothing that silenced the crowd or gave me a sick feeling in my stomach.

Until the other night.

Dan Girardi, a defenseman, was blocking a shot against the Detroit Red Wings, when the puck bounced and shot straight into the back of his head, or the back of his neck.  It was hard to tell, it happened so fast.  He immediately collapsed onto the ice, face first, and wasn’t moving.


I don’t even like to see players that I can’t stand get injured.  So seeing a beloved Lightning player fall to the ice was scary, especially when he still wasn’t moving.  Players and refs quickly gathered around him, and Red Wing players dragged trainers from both teams over to him in a panic.

When Girardi finally sat up and was able to skate off the ice, with assistance, but on his own two feet, the arena broke into relieved applause.

After a series of concussion test, Girardi amazingly joined the team for practice yesterday, saying his neck is a “little sore”.  I bet!

Coach Jon Cooper said, “It was a scary moment for all of us.  But what else can you say about him?  He’s a warrior.”  Indeed.

According to Girardi, he’s just “happy to be back at practice with the boys.”  He also joked, in typical hockey fashion, “It was tough to probably see that,” then added, “Being a part of it wasn’t fun either.”

Posted in hockey, injury, scare, Tampa Bay Lightning | Leave a comment


Remember when I said I didn’t want to get too excited about my hockey team, the maddening and the frustrating Tampa Bay Lightning, making it to the play-offs this year, and even possibly bringing the Stanley Cup back home to Tampa?  (I said that barely a month ago, so I will operate on the assumption that you do indeed remember).

My team, by some miracle, is still #1 in the NHL.  But you would never have guessed that by how they played against the Ottawa Senators this past weekend.

Picture a herd of sleepy, clumsy kittens with mini hockey sticks taped to their paws, turned loose on an ice rink.  That’s a rough equivalent to how my Lightning looked during this game (though not nearly as adorable).  It was like they all suffered traumatic, blunt-force head injuries before the game and lost all recollection of the game of hockey.

They were slow.  They were sloppy.  They were careless.  Even Vasilevskiy, our super-star goalie, played like crap, letting in six goals.  Yes, six!


The Senators making one of SIX goals during this pathetic game

I couldn’t even finish watching the game.  My team can do better than this.  If they were playing that bad, it’s because they chose to, for whatever stupid reason.  This season is nowhere near over, and the Lightning have not clinched a spot in the play-offs yet.  They better start playing like they give a damn again.

Posted in Andrei Vasilevskiy, frustrated, hockey, NHL, Tampa Bay Lightning | Leave a comment

The More Things Change…

When I first met Gary, Crow had dragged the kids to live with her parents in what was supposed to be a temporary arrangement.  Briefly living with someone to get back on your feet is one thing.  Reverting back to a spoiled child and expecting your parents to pay all your bills and take care of your kids for you is quite another.  Instead of working for a better life for herself and the kids, Crow stayed right there for the next seven years.  Living with her parents in her 40’s somehow, astoundingly, did not embarrass her in the least.  The ambition to stand on her own two feet is not strong in this one.

In fact, she would still be there if Hitler (my pet name for her father) hadn’t finally arranged a forced marriage between Crow and Uncle Fester, the only monosyllabic Cro-Magnon desperate enough to get hitched to a homely, dead-weight lunatic still living with the folks.  But two losers came together and found love, and lived happily ever, the end, right?

Well, not so much.  Turns out that just maybe, Gary is not the only man who would rather leap off a cliff into molten lava than stay married to Crow.

I’m not certain exactly what is happening, and to be honest I don’t care much except how it impacts the kids, but last night, we were asked to drop the kids off at Crow’s daddy’s house.  Again.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.  It’s been just a few years since we dropped the kids off there.  The kids are, of course, a good bit bigger now.  Hell, Wolverine is 19 and I suppose not even a kid anymore.

But the stage, the setting, the plot, are all pretty much the same.  Standing in that cluttered driveway again, I almost wanted to laugh.  We’re back to this?

I personally couldn’t stand it.  When I got divorced, I was still pretty young, barely 25.   I got my own small apartment, hunted down a new job, and moved on to better things.  You know…like an adult.

I cringe at the example being set for the kids by Crow, the girls especially.  What is the message here? That females can’t take care of themselves? They have seen their mother living with her parents for most of their young lives.  They have seen their mother let her parents pay her bills for her.  They see her go to the church that her father tells her to go to, wear what her parents tell her to, follow orders like a well-trained dog.  How are they supposed to respect someone who can’t take care of her own crap or make her own decisions?

I have never had any respect for Crow.  I’m sure that is evident and goes without saying.  Her behavior and her choices have defined her as selfish, immature, absolutely worthless.  Forcing the kids back into this situation to please herself, to hold out her mooching hands for pay-outs from her daddy, is low even for her.

So much has changed since the last time we all stood in that driveway.  Gary and I are married now, and we bought a home.  Wolverine has graduated and is working.  The other three kids are at least several feet taller, taking on new sports and different activities, learning new skills and talents, developing into their own unique identities.

All of that makes what hasn’t changed stand out even more, in stark contrast, glaring in its sadness, its stagnancy, its rot.  All of us have changed, grown, moved on, advanced in some way, with one pitiable exception.  One of us hasn’t advanced at all.  One of hasn’t learned anything, developed anything new, moved forward even one shuffling step.

Crow has not, sadly, over ten years, gone anywhere at all.


Live with Parents

Posted in bad mother, crazy bitch, crazy ex-wife, divorce, kids deserve better, losers, moochers, pathetic | 2 Comments

Bomb Threat

downloadWhen I visited my mom recently, she had a small pile of colorfully-wrapped Christmas presents for me, Gary, and the kids.  I hate traveling, and packing or unpacking, or waiting at baggage claim forever for a suitcase, so I had crammed everything into one carry-on suitcase and a tote bag, figuring if it didn’t fit, I didn’t need it.  I had shipped her presents to her before my trip so I didn’t need to worry about stuffing them into my luggage.

A lot of good that did, when my mother insisted I could fit these presents into my sparse carry-on luggage for my journey home.  I jammed a few small packages into the already-cramped suitcase, which was now threatening to burst at the seams, and one remaining box had to go into the tote bag.   Good to go, right?

I researched TSA’s website to make sure I could take wrapped presents in my carry-ons.  On my trip home, I confidently marched up to airport security, ready to zip through security like a pro and be on my merry way.

Not so fast.  As soon as my tote bag rolled through their fancy x-ray machine, the TSA agent frowned, seized my bag, and called another agent over to “verify”.  Uh-oh.  I mentally jogged through everything in that bag, but I couldn’t think of anything that would raise red flags.  I had already asked my mom if the wrapped presents had any liquids or anything sharp, and she wouldn’t lead her own innocent daughter astray, would she?

Two agents asked me to step aside while they yanked everything out of my neatly and precisely packed bag.  I bit my tongue and watched them tug my items out, willy-nilly, not keeping anything in any order, swabbing everything, before pouncing hungrily on the happily-wrapped present and demanding, “What is this?”

What the hell does it look like?  My nightie?

“A Christmas present from my mom,” I said, wisely ignoring the sarcastic and irritated voices in my head.

The agent eyed me suspiciously.  “From your mom?”

She sounded like she believed “my mom” was code for “my internationally-feared terrorist”.  I confirmed that “my mom” meant “my mom” and nothing more.  She didn’t look convinced.

With gloved hands, she attempted to unwrap the present.  I say “attempted” because my mother is fond of tape. A lot of tape.  Every possible loose edge was cemented down with a thick strip of clear adhesive.  I managed not to laugh as the agent grunted and muttered, “Mom likes tape.”

When a tiny corner was finally freed, she removed the wrapping paper, all intact in one sheet, making me wonder if she is one of those people who can peel an orange in one continuous piece.  I quickly looked away, since after all, it was a Christmas present, and I was trying to preserve the surprise.

No such luck.  When the offending box was opened and thoroughly swabbed, the agent bellowed at the top of her lungs to another agent, “It’s a clock.

Just to be sure, they turned it over several times, ascertaining that it indeed was clock-like, hunting for dripping black powder or a sputtering fuse or a timer counting down to imminent doom, I’m not sure exactly. I was too busy being horrified that my own mother sent me through airport security with the one item in the whole wide world that most closely and alarmingly resembles a bomb, for the love of all that is holy.  Moving parts, ticking, sealed box, what could possibly go wrong?

When the TSA agents were relatively certain I was not, in fact, deviously scheming to blow up the entire airport, they packed the clock back into the box, (seemingly disappointed at the missed opportunity to wrestle me forcibly to the floor while beating me into submission), unceremoniously dumped my personal belongings back into my tote bag in a decidedly random fashion, and graciously handed me the now-useless, crumpled wrapping paper.

I was already trying to organize my things in my bag in something at least resembling an organized manner.  “Can you please throw that away?” I asked.

Well, no, actually this particular TSA agent would not throw away the wrapping paper.  She claimed she would get into trouble if she threw it away.  Okay, okay.   I stuffed the paper into my tote bag so I could personally deliver it to a trash can.

Good thing I had left early for the airport.  As I sat at my gate, I wasted no time pulling out my phone (which was not mistaken for a bomb during my security check) and sent my mother an e-mail, thanking her for making my trip that much more eventful.  I’m sure she got a good laugh out of it.

As for me, I got a story to tell Gary and a public service announcement for my blog readers: if the brilliant notion occurs to you to gift-wrap a ticking clock and bestow it upon someone who will soon be passing through airport security…well, go ahead, so we can compare stories later!

Posted in Christmas, flight, funny, my mother, travel | Leave a comment

32 Saves

Are you here today for yet another hockey post?  I hope so, because that is what I am serving up this morning.

Over the weekend, my Tampa Bay Lightning (still miraculously ranked #1) played the Winnipeg Jets, who used to be ranked #2.  I was worried my Lightning couldn’t pull off a win against such a strong team, and it was a tense game (i.e., there was a lot of yelling and cussing from my general direction), but in the end, Tampa won in overtime, 4-3.

Yesterday, the Lightning played the St. Louis Blues, who had moved up to the #2 spot when the Jets dropped.  My team rose to the occasion, and then some, with a hard-fought win of 3-0.  Don’t let the score fool you: it was not an easy win.  But we had good ol’ Vasilevskiy (our goalie) in our arsenal.  I mean, check this guy out:

He made 32 saves during that game, including a breakaway.  Did you know he leads the NHL in wins, with 20?  Or that he is only the sixth goalie in NHL history to reach a 20-win mark in his first 25 appearances in a season?  Aren’t you glad you read my blog to learn these things?

I’m trying not to get too excited here.  It’s not unheard of for my team to suddenly develop amnesia and start playing like they have never heard of hockey.  Inconsistency is their middle name.  But maybe that’s changing.  Maybe this is their year.  If they keep playing like they played last night (and that’s a big “if”), then they sure as hell have a shot.

Posted in Andrei Vasilevskiy, hockey, I love hockey, Tampa Bay Lightning | Leave a comment