<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:53:31.315-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Me Myself Eye...</title><subtitle type='html'>This is only the Past. The Future is yet to be written.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-3670526910285611826</id><published>2008-03-13T16:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-13T16:32:11.158-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blog Transplant...</title><content type='html'>Sometimes drastic events call for drastic measures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me paranoid. I don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm transplanting my blog to a secret location. The whole lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then deleting them from this site. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only regret is I've lost all Your wonderful comments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty soon this blog won't exist anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To anyone I know and trust in Blogland I open up the invitation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leave a comment here if you wish to know the new website details.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It currently has got 65 posts transplanted from Me Myself Eye. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope You All find Me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except for the One's who I wish to escape.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-3670526910285611826?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/3670526910285611826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=3670526910285611826' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/3670526910285611826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/3670526910285611826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/03/blog-transplant.html' title='Blog Transplant...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-9034625461275649671</id><published>2008-02-20T01:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T01:49:41.995-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Special Two..</title><content type='html'>"The Special Two"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've hardly been outside my room in days,&lt;br /&gt;'cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays.&lt;br /&gt;The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,&lt;br /&gt;And it was then I realize the conscience never fades.&lt;br /&gt;When you're young you have this image of your life:&lt;br /&gt;That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.&lt;br /&gt;And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,&lt;br /&gt;And if you happen to you wake completely lost.&lt;br /&gt;But I will fight for you, be sure that&lt;br /&gt;I will fight until we're the special two once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together,&lt;br /&gt;Our hands will not be taught to hold another's,&lt;br /&gt;When we're the special two.&lt;br /&gt;And we could only see each other, we'll bleed together,&lt;br /&gt;These arms will not be taught to need another,&lt;br /&gt;'Cause we were the special two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember someone old once said to me:&lt;br /&gt;"That lies will lock you up with truth the only key."&lt;br /&gt;But I was comfortable and warm inside my shell,&lt;br /&gt;And couldn't see this place would soon become my hell.&lt;br /&gt;So is it better to tell and hurt or lie to save their face?&lt;br /&gt;Well I guess the answer is don't do it in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;I know I'm not deserving of your trust from you right now,&lt;br /&gt;But if by chance you change your mind you know I will not let you down&lt;br /&gt;'cause we were the special two, and we'll be again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together,&lt;br /&gt;Our hands will not be taught to hold another's,&lt;br /&gt;When we're the special two.&lt;br /&gt;And we can only see each other we'll breathe together,&lt;br /&gt;These arms will not be taught to need another...&lt;br /&gt;'cause we're the special two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I step outside my mind's eye's for a minute.&lt;br /&gt;And I look over me like a doctor looking for disease,&lt;br /&gt;Or something that could ease the pain.&lt;br /&gt;But nothing cures the hurt you, you bring on by yourself,&lt;br /&gt;Just remembering, just remembering how we were...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we would only need each other, we'd bleed together,&lt;br /&gt;Our hands would not be taught to hold another's,&lt;br /&gt;We were the special two.&lt;br /&gt;And we could only see each other, we'd bleed together,&lt;br /&gt;These arms would not be taught to need another,&lt;br /&gt;'Cause we're the special two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics by Missy Higgins&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-9034625461275649671?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/9034625461275649671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=9034625461275649671' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/9034625461275649671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/9034625461275649671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/02/special-two.html' title='The Special Two..'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-5505607874322366380</id><published>2008-02-20T01:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T01:16:21.309-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Years Ago...</title><content type='html'>I wrote This...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fifteen Years Down The Fucking Drain...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I've done it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I left my Hubby a few hours ago. I suppose I have. I've told him I'm done with our relationship and I'm sitting on my Mother's back verandah. It's almost one thirty am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I been crying all evening since I've been here but that's hardly surprising; fifteen years down the fucking drain by the look of things. I feel sick thinking about a life without him. How am I gonna explain this to the kids- or to his Mother- or to myself? I've sat here for hours listening to my Brother-in-law and Sister and Mother give me sound words of advice- like who to call in the morning- everyone from Centrelink to a counsellor to my Mother-in-law to see if she really meant good when she told me that if my Hubby and I ever broke up then the house was 'mine' for me and the kids. I don't want it to be mine. I want it to be ours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won't sleep tonight- I'm too upset to sleep; especially in my Father's bed (he's gone camping at the beach)- how fucked would that be? I should be at home where I belong. I know in my heart I need to do this; we can't keep going round and round in circles fighting every second minute. The stupidest part is what we fight over- inane things like cordial flavours or Playdoh on the carpet in my Son's room- or which songs I played on the jukebox with my friend M the other night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says the issue is me not wanting to come home when he is ready to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My issue is that he called me an unfit Mother to be raising our kids while threatening to sign their custody over to my Mother as punishment for my continued drunkeness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mum says there's no way he'd do it- and besides, she would have to contest their custody as well or else how stupid will he look giving them away after he had just won custody for himself? Not that it's going to happen. It's just another idle threat to see if I'll change my wicked ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which are? I'm not sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting some friends at last perhaps? Writing two books about being mental? Not sleeping all day on the couch like I used to? Keeping the house and yard so much nicer than ever before? Why didn't he call me an alchoholic when I was drinking three litres of wine on the lounge every night?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does he have to be so cruel to get his point across? Why does he deny what he says in the morning? How can he accuse me of making rude comments to Macca or make out that M hadn't even called me when my Sister was right there next to me and Remembers her calling me and asking me to go down to the pub? When I defend myself he asks me why- but how can I not defend myself when I am accused of lies?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Psychologist Guy was right- he said I'd eventually pay for my fun. But then we both drink and take drugs- not so many bongs for him these days but he loves getting on the E's as much as the next person. We're all designer drug addicts...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point I wanted to make went unheard- he didn't want to hear what my issues were with him- they weren't interesting enough to keep him listening to me and so instead he yells and talks over and down at me. I can't do it anymore no matter how much I love him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love? Do I still?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or is it perhaps changing that I'm scared about?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way I'm getting a job this year. If we get back together he'll only continue to bring to my attention that it's him who earns all the money. He can keep it. I never wanted it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wanted him to like me- even from the very start when he gave me a fake name so he wouldn't have to see me again. He won't listen to a word that comes out of my mouth without treating it as lies or bullshit. He took my bankcards and all the money(actually I gave them to him but only as he insisted upon it) because he thought that if I left I would only go to the pub tonight and spend all HIS money. I thought that's what alcoholic wives did for a living?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How stupid can I be? Fifteen years? No one said it lad to last forever but I can't imagine it not. It hurts and upsets me to think of a life without him in it. Now I've got friends and I haven't got my Hubby. I don't want to go back to my life on the couch, don't you see? Why is it so hard to listen to me or speak nicely without all the 'Fuck off you're mental' speeches thrown in?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll be fucked if I'm going to live at my Mother's; me and the kids shouldn't have to live in a spare room and he's being a fuckwit if that's what he actually expects when he's the one who could quite comfortably live in a spare room at his mate's. And then there's the schools- if I have to move to some cheap-arsed suburb like Wingate then that's where our little Son is going to end up going to school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't even want to break up- I just want him to stop and listen and stop calling me horrible names and just let me be myself- that Chick in the photo on the fridge with the springy-Santa hat who is smiling and happy. I want him to go to a counsellor with me so that he will listen to me long enough to hear what I am saying are MY issues with the relationship- instead of only getting to listen to what's fucked about me and why I'M ruining our relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I the one saying things that can't be taken back? I probably did when I broke up with him. Maybe he won't even remember -he was drunk afterall. He probably thinks I'm at the pub now- squandering his money calling his mate a derro to his face. As if I would. I know in my heart I didn't do any of these things- from kissing Alistair on the couch(a ten-year oldy but one that still comes out from time to time) to supposedly making up that my Sister's were at my house last Saturday night even though he was THERE and he SAW them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stole my penis rock and clear marble and hid them in the car that night they went missing- there's no other way he would have 'known' they were down the side of the driver's chair because if they'd just fallen out of my pocket then he never would have noticed. Also they went missing the same night we fought and I knew they were gone Before I went bed. It's only a small thing- but he knows how much I love that rock and he hates it when I ring it out at parties or at the pub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrote him a letter and showed him my 'mental cartoons'- I stayed up late making a new one that had UNFIT written on my t'shirt underneath a banner saying Happy Mother's Day. It isn't finished yet though there's not much point really. I posted the letter on my blog- it's alright nobody really reads it except for me- mostly only other bloogers who want to spam my site with their own crap in the hope I'll look up their site(No-not Gemnastics or Jenny Wynter or Riva- the only people who've actually left actual comments). Fat chance. I couldn't be bothered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looks like I'm going to kill this pen- the nib is fucked already. Pity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-5505607874322366380?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/5505607874322366380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=5505607874322366380' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/5505607874322366380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/5505607874322366380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/02/two-years-ago.html' title='Two Years Ago...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-6999147468781771458</id><published>2008-02-19T11:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T18:27:01.258-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tails Of A Bramaged Drain...</title><content type='html'>Pun's on words...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just realised that my deliberately mispelling of words occasionally is at least one of the things that led hubby to conclude last night that I am suffering from acute alcoholic brain damage disorder and am in desperate need of a cat scan to determine the extent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And That right there, People, is a sentence I just thought of in my brain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is an example of an Exact thought process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something I'm sure a person suffering from such an extreme and debilatating disease couldn't coherently, um, what's the word? Decipher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So; it's Official!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm officially Crazy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby knows about my trips to the Psychologist Guy. All about them. Just don't ask him to tell You what he knows because he'll suddenly go all secretive and refuse to answer your questions. Even after he told me he would answer Any and All questions I had for him because he wanted to come back to this house and live here with Me and the kids. I told him (and he agreed at the time) that it was my right to be suspicious of him for a while; especially after what he had divulged to me that week. All along I was right. He did fuck Angie. Even after denying it last week. Even after  stating categorically No He Did Not Fuck Angie. He wouldn't have told me unless I'd found out. Apparently even my Sister knew before I did. He told Wemmaly before he told me. He told them I knew before they did. But the Truth is I Didn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I asked him questions. Very specific questions. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So you Did fuck her?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were standing in the kitchen; last Saturday night. In case he can't remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did you growl her out?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did she give you head?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I needed to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He Said...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then took it back. And said Yes. Smiling like an Idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She'd taken advantage of him; he thought. He said he was asleep drunk on her couch and she'd come over to Comfort him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't You remember your Exact words, hubby? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I sure the Fuck Do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently I can't do a simple task when I am under duress...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To prove This point hubby threw an egg-ring at me last night. It was a bad throw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But even so I caught it. Left handed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently I Used to be intelligent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's my contention that I still am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I'll try to get my alcohol bramaged drain to remember to ask my Boss J to write me a note of Competence. I'll limp straight into her office and demand it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I forget to tell You All I have four stitches in my big toe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I tripped over a computer cord last Friday morning and split the mother in fucking two?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm putting my shoe on Every day and going into work like a Fucking Trooper?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny; it was probably my bramaged drain that caused me to fall over. Sober. At seven in the morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No shit. It fucking hurts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My toe didn't break.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my heart Has...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So; he told Me that he's had Another opportunity since Then. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked Specific questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Was it Angie?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. Wemmaly. He Said "She had told Twink she thought she might take her revenge on Me by sleeping with my husband." For ruining her life that is what I should get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I wrote her a note and stuck it under her door the next time I was at Twink's. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(And No; Wemmaly. In answer to your last text message to hubby I did Not go through your room. It's ironic though; that I found the question whilst looking through his phone, don't you think?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I guess we're even now. I rang Willy. You tried to fuck hubby. I did it because I loved you. I have no clue of your motivation. I thought better of you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit I didn't know the full details at the time. But when we got home I asked him for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell me about Wemmaly".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he did the talking and I listened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He Said she'd flashed her gash at him on more then one occasion...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He Said that he can tell the difference between a friendly hug and one that's willing to Give More.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He Said she had a disgusting arse and that he would never fuck someone who had a heroin addiction and made their living as a prostitute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Those words my Friends; are about as Verbatim as I can get on a page.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty good for Someone with Drain Bramage...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dontcha Fink?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-6999147468781771458?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/6999147468781771458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=6999147468781771458' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6999147468781771458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6999147468781771458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/02/tails-of-bramaged-drain.html' title='Tails Of A Bramaged Drain...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-562304443758855718</id><published>2008-02-12T21:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T23:19:32.982-08:00</updated><title type='text'>TMI Tuesday (On A Wednesday)...</title><content type='html'>1. What's the sexiest gesture a person you are sexually interested in can make?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brain contact. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. What are 3 inevitable things about you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will die. I will never be religious. I am unisexual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. How many types of orgasms have you experienced?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clitoral. Vaginal. Anal. Simultaneous. Multiple. Lone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. What asset do you have besides the physical and the material?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Mental.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. What do you want . . . . now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More alcohol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bonus (as in optional):describe a sexy mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-562304443758855718?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/562304443758855718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=562304443758855718' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/562304443758855718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/562304443758855718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/02/tmi-tuesday-on-wednesday.html' title='TMI Tuesday (On A Wednesday)...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-6006336059638011848</id><published>2008-02-11T20:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T20:57:19.469-08:00</updated><title type='text'>(Could You Leave Me With A) Scar...</title><content type='html'>He left a card, a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush next to a note&lt;br /&gt;That said "use these down to your bones"&lt;br /&gt;And before I knew I had shiny skin and it felt easy being clean like him&lt;br /&gt;I thought "this one knows better than I do"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A triangle trying to squeeze through a circle&lt;br /&gt;He tried to cut me so I'd fit&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And doesn't that sound familiar? Doesn't that hit too close to home?&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't that make you shiver; the way things could've gone?&lt;br /&gt;And doesn't it feel peculiar when everyone wants a little more?&lt;br /&gt;And so that I do remember to never go that far,&lt;br /&gt;Could you leave me with a scar?&lt;br /&gt;Scar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics by Missy Higgins&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-6006336059638011848?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/6006336059638011848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=6006336059638011848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6006336059638011848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6006336059638011848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/02/could-you-leave-me-with-scar.html' title='(Could You Leave Me With A) Scar...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-4479537334749222491</id><published>2008-02-11T14:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T16:15:14.056-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More Like Last Week...</title><content type='html'>So where was I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah. That's right...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But before I begin I might clarify something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I had hubby crying a few weeks ago about rooting Angie I assumed his inability to discuss the situation with Me was a sure sign of his guilt. For not only could he not look me in the eye and admit to me What he had done, when I asked him directly if he had fucked her too, or at least worn a condom, he walked away without answering; shaking his head with what seemed like remorse. Or regret. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently it was neither.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because Now the story is that he didn't fuck her at all. Which is what he Should have said when I asked him; especially if he didn't want me to assume that he had. Especially if he ever expected Me to believe any differently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyway; hubby had the shits at me all week. Mainly for discussing the sordid details of my Life with all and sundry. Even You; the Blogging Public. Well; it's my fucking life; ain't it? Aren't I allowed to vent my emotions to my friends? I can't help if the gossip includes him too. He's the fucking cause of the shit most of the time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'd told Jen Jen. And M. And C. And Bar Chick. I even told my boss J. When he found out he cracked it. Told me off for Villifying Angie to all 'our' friends when none of  It (whatever the fuck It was) had been her fault. Because she had been under the impression we were broken up (which could only have come from him, right; I hadn't seen or talked to her in months). Oh; and by the way he hadn't even fucked her. And neither had Golden Shower Boy. And neither had Twink. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told him I couldn't wait to see CC. And that I'd tell her, too. And that I'd seen Mac's niece K at the pub that day and that apparently Ange had now shacked up with the father of K's kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby, who thinks K is crazy, disputed this as rubbish. And went off about me talking to K about this at all. I told him I didn't go to her with Any of this. She had seen my car at the pub and ran in to see me and tell me Angie was up to it again; except this time with the fella she's been trying to work it out with. K already knew about hubby being with Angie; because her ex, S, had told her Angie had said it had happened 'weeks ago'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More like Last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fucking Semantics...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I honestly thought I was doing my utmost to sort things out with hubby; if nothing else aren't I proving to him that I'll stick by him through Everything. Even though almost everyone who knows the extent of the shit I've put up with off him tell me he's had enough second chances. Maybe the trouble is he's never had to ask for a second chance. I've always given them. Freely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So; Wednesday came around...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby was down at the Pub and I joined him after I had finished work. It was too late for a counter lunch so we decided to buy hamburgers and have an early tea with the kids. At three o'clock I left to collect little Son from school; leaving hubby and Fido there for a few more beers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home I noticed hubby's phone was sitting on the bench. Presuming that hubby had called Fido on it before leaving for the Pub I picked it up and hit the Recently Used button. My name popped up as the last call made. And beneath my name was her's. Angie's. And he had called her two days previously. On Monday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I went through his messages. And up she popped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Angie: Hi hubby! :) I am going down the Pub tonight can you give me the heads up if Buffoon is planning on being there. Thanks :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Me being Me, I messaged her back. Off hubby's phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Heads up slut. Buffoon knows everything. Lose this number bitch. I better not see you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Press Send.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I rang Fido's phone. Asked to speak to hubby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: You're calling off my phone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah. Funny what you find in a phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: I'll explain it to you when I get home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: It's too late. I already sent her a message. I just...Reacted. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went out for a while with little Son. When I got back (with dinner) he was there but told me he wasn't staying. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I'd done what he'd told Me 'Not To Do'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hid his keys when he was in the shower; when he told me he'd only hate me more for keeping them from him I gave them back. And packed a bag for little Son and Myself. And left. I figured the only way to keep him at home by this point is to leave myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he would stay. With Me. Us. Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rang my Mother and told her just to drive eldest Son back to her house; because that's where we'd be. I rang my Mother-in-law and asked if the three of us could stay there for a few days. Then, realising eldest Son's girlfriend's mother was picking up g/f from My house I messaged hubby. To get him to tell g/f's mother that she was at my Mother's house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He rang. Said he wasn't at home. Said he had no hope left for Us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I messaged him to say that seeing as he was staying at Twink's I would sleep back at the house with the kid's. I presumed he'd get rat-faced drunk and sleep on the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kid's and I returned home at eight o'clock. We had a peaceful night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then; at 12.30 his car pulls up. He comes into the kitchen where I was sitting on the  bench smoking. He told me he didn't think I was going to be here or else he wouldn't have come home. I told him I'd sent him a message saying the kids and I would be staying at the house if he wasn't going to. He told me he'd turned his phone off to avoid my messages. I told him the only reason he was here (and had drunk-drove home) was because there was no room on the lounge next to Pak. And he couldn't fit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were screaming at each other by this stage; I can only hope the kid's were still asleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told me Repeatedly that It was all over. Over. For some reason I found myself justifying Myself. For going through his phone (to tell him I would bring hamburgers home for tea; if I really Had been checking up on him via his messages surely I would have found it on Monday when it happened, not on Wednesday when we were buying hamburgers). For causing him to seek affection from other people; look at he state our relationship is in (Just what Was your sob story to her; that you needed a shoulder to cry on; don't tell me you were crying to her about Me; that makes me feel ill) For that I got called a bitch. For villifying Angie when she was the innocent party in all this; (hang on what did I do that made you go there, why wasn't the affection I gave you All Last Week and the week before fucking enough). That if I had questions about what had happened with Angie I should have asked him and he would've told me anything I wanted to know (no; he didn't. I asked. And He had walked away without a word of denial). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he went to sleep. On the lounge. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to bed, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I slept like shit...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-4479537334749222491?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/4479537334749222491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=4479537334749222491' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/4479537334749222491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/4479537334749222491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/02/more-like-last-week.html' title='More Like Last Week...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-7857418780206229062</id><published>2008-02-06T03:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T03:27:29.775-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Smut Meme...</title><content type='html'>This is Martin's fault;apparently. And also Gempire's fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been tagged. I'm supposed to answer things and link things and while I'm up for a little disclosure tonight I have no web sense and will struggle to set the links up. However; feel free to play along from home if you like. If I must tag two other people to do the Smut Meme I choose Miss Understood and Enchantress. And if they wish to play along I'd like to see Suze (or Alex's) answers. Or Grump's. Anyone really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're welcome to post it on your blogs. You must call it the Smut Meme, you must link to me in the beginning paragraph, and you must tag 2 people, and link to them as well. Oh, and you must post this little blurb of instructions at the beginning, as has been done here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are we ready? Here comes the Facts. I'm in a shit of a mood; just in case you can't tell. There are reasons which I won't go into right now; except to say that he's gone.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except this time I don't think he'll be back...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhoo...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Chocolate or Whipped Cream:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On what? Eclairs? I love eclairs. With chocolate and whipped cream. Can't I have both?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Leather or PVC:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can't beat the small of leather; preferably as a saddle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Outdoor Sex or Indoor Sex:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indoor. Unless it's your first time. Then you might go for a treehouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. In the Jacuzzi or In Bed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bed. But please don't wake me up unless you absolutely have to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Bad Sex or No Sex:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No sex. For days. Am I missing out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Dominate or Be Dominated:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dominated. Always. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Thigh highs or Bodystocking:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would it make a difference?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Fast or Slow:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast. Then back to sleep I go Yoda-Son.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Rough or Gentle:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently I like being choked whilst fucking slow. It's a quirk I must have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Bite or Suck:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Depends how much I like You.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Role play or Reality:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reality. Literally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Dirty Talking or Dirty Talking To:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just swear at people. I  think I have Tourettes's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Edible panties or No Panties:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a nudist. Next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Spanking paddle or Bare-handed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of the above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Landing Strip or Kojak:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Multiple Sessions or One Good Fuck: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OGF&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Moaning or Screaming:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to be pretty good to illicit any response at all from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. Older (Wo)men or Young (Wo)men:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone who can put up with an embarrassment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. Threeway or No Way:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Swing or No Swinging:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had when I had the Chances.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-7857418780206229062?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/7857418780206229062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=7857418780206229062' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7857418780206229062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7857418780206229062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/02/smut-meme.html' title='Smut Meme...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-5174201021207571173</id><published>2008-01-29T04:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-29T04:15:12.798-08:00</updated><title type='text'>(Everythings Just Fucking ) Peachy...</title><content type='html'>It's not my fault, it can't be my fault that you speak to me the way you do.&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm split in two, I'm half me half you but I hate us both, don't you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No of course you don't, of course you don't&lt;br /&gt;You said life is peachy without me&lt;br /&gt;Of course you don't, of course you don't&lt;br /&gt;You said life is peachy without me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not your fault, it can't be your fault that I let you crawl inside my head&lt;br /&gt;Cause you know my places, and know that face but I hate this taste, don't you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No of course you don't, of course you don't&lt;br /&gt;You said life is peachy without me&lt;br /&gt;Of course you don't, of course you don't&lt;br /&gt;You said life is peachy without me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peachy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics by Missy Higgins&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-5174201021207571173?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/5174201021207571173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=5174201021207571173' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/5174201021207571173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/5174201021207571173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/everythings-fucking-peachy.html' title='(Everythings Just Fucking ) Peachy...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-8701610037961285362</id><published>2008-01-28T20:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T21:51:48.432-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Steak Versus Hamburger...</title><content type='html'>So...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a text message from hubby last Wednesday afternoon. Simply stating that he wouldn't be home tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I messaged him back...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: So where will you be then?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No answer. About ten minutes later I messaged again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Never mind about it. I'll feed your steak to Chopper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: I'll come home for steak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was at about six o'clock...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nine o'clock came and went. The phone rang. It was him. Telling me he was too drunk to come home for steak. I told him I hadn't cooked it anyway. Because what had been the point? He stayed the night at Twink's. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to work the next day. When I finished I drove home. His car was out the front but he wasn't here. I called him. He was at the Pub. He'd missed work and was on the piss. He got a taxi here about five. I was sitting on the veranda; plucking my legs and drinking beer. He patted me on the shoulder and told me he was Sorry. For not coming home. I presumed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mentioned that Fido had called to see if I was going to Trivia. He told me that he was too pissed to watch little Son right now and needed to have a lay down. I called pizza and went to collect it. When I got back he was fast asleep on the lounge. A little while later; with little Son happily playing his Nintendo and eldest Son using the computer I told him I was going out to play Trivia for a while. When I got back,  a little after ten, they were all fast asleep in bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday morning I went to work. After work I picked up little Son from hubby's sister's house and drove him over to Grandma's for the night. I was at home waiting for hubby to get back when my phone rang. He was already at Twink's and wanted me to bring him a change of clothes. A few minutes later he rang back and told Me not to worry about it. He was going to borrow a shirt off Twink. I drove down the Pub and planted Myself next to Mac; I asked him his opinion of what I had 'done' to Wemmaly by busting her out to her Ex. He told me (along with almost everybody who knows except for Twink and hubby) that I had done the only thing I could have done. Hubby and Twink; Well. They disagree with what I did and said I should have just waited for her to pop up whenever she was good and ready. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway; pretty soon I was off my head. Then Twink got a phone call from C (my old mate from work). She had asked Twink, hubby and Myself up to her house for the night. Hubby asked me if I wanted to come up for Chinese and beer. I said okay and we left. Twink drove. When he filled up with fuel he forgot to put the petrol cap back on. Now he owes me a new one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway; the night up there went fine. Hubby and I were getting on okay. Maybe something to do with being away from the Pub and the Wemmaly crisis. About two in the morning C got out a few mattresses and chucked them on the floor for us. We kissed for a bit and then he fucked me. It had been a few weeks; and it was nice. Afterwards we fell asleep holding onto each other. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday morning we reheated the leftover Chinese for breakfast and then Twink drove us back in time for him to play cricket. Hubby and I stayed for the match and then went up to the Pub. Jen Jen and Daz joined us and so did Angie. She made a beeline straight for my table. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few at the Pub we decided to go back to Twink's. Wemmaly was in her bedroom with the door shut. I left her alone; I know she wasn't ready for any sort of confrontation with me just yet. I sat downstairs with Jen Jen and Angie and the others, still drinking together and having a laugh. Anyway; about midnight I noticed hubby going upstairs. And when he wasn't back in under five minutes I went looking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw him through the crack of the open door. Talking to Wemmaly. I admit it pissed me off; him in there having a private conversation that I wasn't privvy to. I pushed the door open and saw the surprised look on his face. I grabbed him by the scruff of the shirt and half-pulled half-dragged him out of the room; telling him to get the fuck downstairs and tell me what was going on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wemmaly skipped out past us; down the stairs ignoring me. Then she got into hubby's car (he had lent it to her for the long weekend so she didn't have to get taxi's to and from work) and drove away. I haven't seen her since. But that's the way she wants it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby and I were still into it. I was yelling and screaming out the front of Twink's; I smashed a bottle of beer on the road. I was hitting him in the head and face asking him to explain himself and what he'd been up to. Because I KNEW something was up. I just didn't know then Who or What it was. He was just being really evasive about what his conversation was about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called a Taxi and told him to stay there the night. Again. But he got in the taxi when it pulled up and we left. The poor driver didn't know what had hopped in. When we pulled up at the lights I jumped out and ran through the park; leaving him to pay the fare. I half-ran the two kilometres home. When I got home I turned my cigarette lighter upside down; heated it up to burning and then stuck it on my forearm. I haven't done that since I was seventeen. I'd forgotten how it takes the shit away; however briefly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He got home about ten minutes after I did. I cornered him. He wanted to go to sleep. I wasn't going to let him without knowing the Truth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked him Who. I asked him When. He didn't want to tell me. I screamed at him to look me in the eye. He told me he couldn't. I made him fucking cry, People. But I got it out of him eventually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told me. Angie. Wednesday night. That they had just 'fooled around' on the bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just wait until I see that Bitch...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway; it got Better. If you can believe that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a night of tears and fighting I got up and went to work Sunday morning. My work friend Suey saw the burn on my arm and I told her I'd done it on the iron. She said it was weird how it had burned into the shape of an A. Not that funny; I'd say it was ironic. In the extreme sense of the word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home hubby and I went down to the Fishing Club barbecue. I apologised to Mac for breaking the beer out the front of his house and he said he hadn't heard a thing. Except for Twink throwing Angie around the bedroom next to his while he was fucking her. My mind started to boggle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got home hubby and I sat out on the veranda. I asked him if Twink had fucked Angie. He said yes. Then he told me that Golden Shower Boy was with her last week too. I asked him if he had fucked her too. He looked away and didn't say a word. It told me Everything. A few minutes later he got a text from GSB. I asked hubby what GSB wanted. He told me I could read it if I wanted. I did. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GSB: I fucked her first. I don't care about her; just want to say it goes to show what sort of mate you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lost my appetite and didn't want dinner. I sat out on the veranda drinking beer. Then I went and got my phone. And texted Angie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I hear you've had a busy week. Thanks for fucking my husband. I hope you wore a condom after fucking GSB. I thought you were better than that Angela.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She didn't respond. Lucky for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I should be more angry and upset with hubby right now. But right now all I can think about is the Town Bike who claimed to be my friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-8701610037961285362?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/8701610037961285362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=8701610037961285362' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/8701610037961285362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/8701610037961285362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/steak-versus-hamburger.html' title='Steak Versus Hamburger...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-7663233463660882693</id><published>2008-01-24T20:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T20:54:41.397-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Goof's Good Intentions...</title><content type='html'>Below are actual text messages from Wemmaly; my good and beautiful friend who has a  seventeen year on/off relationship with heroin. My friend of twenty three years. She was staying with me and my kids for a month and then moved into with my good friend Twink and Mac. Last Thursday I dropped her off at a house. To get Naltrexone. She had no shoes or money. She didn't go home for seven days. I was frantic. Especially knowing she is working as a prostitute.  I went back to the house twice trying to find her. I even left a note with my mobile number on it. I also rang her work; looking for her. Trying to see if she was okay. They said they hadn't seen her since Tuesday either. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I did the Unforgiveable. At my wits end with worry I rang her Ex; Willy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And spilled the beans. The whole shit and shebang.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What have I done?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W: Fuck you. Fuck you. You are no friend of mine. You are the evilest bitch I have ever come across. The one thing I asked you never to do. What the fuck do you think he could do? Why tell him anything? You are a fucking cow.The one thing in life that keeps me going. The one person in my life that I care for and love. You have destroyed it. I have nothing left to live for. Nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W:Well fuck off and fuck you bitch. There was no reason to do that. No reason at all. I don't want you in my life at all. So fuck off and watch someone else's car crash. Mine is over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W:You have destroyed it with one phone call. I have nothing left. His love was all I had. Do you understand what you have done? I have nothing. It's all over. Whay would you do that? I have nothing left. I have nothing. This is it; I don't think you understand what you have done to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W: It's over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W: I do love you, Goof. But you have broken my heart and trust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W: I text Willy. I am going to deny working. He won't handle it. He is so upset. He told his brother's and our friends. Now everyone knows. I have nothing left Goof. Nothing. I don't understand why. He couldn't have helped. You knew more than him. I can't believe you did it. You need to learn confidentiality between friends. This has detroyed anything that was good in my life. It's ruined me and Willy. His family and my friendships. I knew I should never have told you. I don't know if I can come back from this. I was going to end my life last night. I still feel like it now. It hurts so much. I have nothing left Goof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W: There were people that loved me. But not now. It's all over for me. He was my world and now it's all gone. I have nothing left to live for. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to feel this hurt. It's too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;W: There was nothing to worry about. I am an adult and have been taking care of myself for 33 years. You have managed to ruin it all in one phone call. I know you wouldn't do it intentionally, but it's all gone. I don't know what to do now. I just don't know what to do. Please don't interfere anymore. Good intentions or not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-7663233463660882693?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/7663233463660882693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=7663233463660882693' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7663233463660882693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7663233463660882693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/goofs-good-intentions.html' title='Goof&apos;s Good Intentions...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-7451726668614314151</id><published>2008-01-24T00:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T00:04:20.574-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Story...</title><content type='html'>I wrote the Story in my head...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But right now I can't bring Myself to write it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-7451726668614314151?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/7451726668614314151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=7451726668614314151' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7451726668614314151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7451726668614314151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/story.html' title='The Story...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-7772550409159125158</id><published>2008-01-23T01:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T01:41:18.102-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sucker...</title><content type='html'>I'll just throw the chips and salad away then; shall I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bet you only wanted to hear Me tell you to come home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I doubt you ever intended doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a sucker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talk to You later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-7772550409159125158?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/7772550409159125158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=7772550409159125158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7772550409159125158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/7772550409159125158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/sucker.html' title='Sucker...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-8077950097873769047</id><published>2008-01-23T01:12:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T01:12:52.240-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Not Over...</title><content type='html'>I try to see the good in life.&lt;br /&gt;But good things in life are hard to find.&lt;br /&gt;I'll blow it away, blow it away&lt;br /&gt;Can we make this something good?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Well I'll try to do to right this time around)&lt;br /&gt;It's not over,&lt;br /&gt;I'll try to do it right this time around&lt;br /&gt;It's not over&lt;br /&gt;There's a part of me that's dead and in the ground.&lt;br /&gt;This love is killing me&lt;br /&gt;But you're the only one&lt;br /&gt;It's not over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've taken all I can take&lt;br /&gt;And I cannot wait&lt;br /&gt;We've wasted too much time&lt;br /&gt;Being strong, holding on&lt;br /&gt;Can't let it bring us down&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life with you means everything&lt;br /&gt;So I won't give up that easily&lt;br /&gt;I'll blow it away, blow it away&lt;br /&gt;Can we make this something good?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause it's all misunderstood&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics by Chris Daughtry&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-8077950097873769047?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/8077950097873769047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=8077950097873769047' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/8077950097873769047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/8077950097873769047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/its-not-over.html' title='It&apos;s Not Over...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-373501265889115816</id><published>2008-01-22T02:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T02:30:04.251-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yesterday...</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I felt like a bitch for not buying enough presents for Little Son's birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was six; for those of you playing along at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got him a torch. And a Scooby Doo DVD. And a box of Lego. A cake. And KFC for tea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not enough; by Anyone's standard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to tell You All what's been going on since I last wrote; unfortunately hubby is here at the moment and I can't stand to think about everything that's been going on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not a permanent thing; him being home. Just for the moment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-373501265889115816?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/373501265889115816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=373501265889115816' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/373501265889115816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/373501265889115816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/yesterday.html' title='Yesterday...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-6940614018560490040</id><published>2008-01-14T04:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T04:57:30.761-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Traits...</title><content type='html'>SEPTEMBER: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suave and compromising. Careful, cautious and organized. Likes to point out people’s mistakes. Likes to criticize. Stubborn. Quiet but able to talk well. Calm and cool. Kind and sympathetic. Concerned and detailed. Loyal but not always honest. Does work well. Very confident. Sensitive. Good memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look for information. Must control oneself when criticizing. Able to motivate oneself. Understanding. Fun to be around. Secretive. Loves leisure and traveling. Hardly shows emotions. Tends to bottle up feelings. Very choosy, especially in relationships. Systematic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-6940614018560490040?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/6940614018560490040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=6940614018560490040' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6940614018560490040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6940614018560490040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/traits.html' title='Traits...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-772882492816473101</id><published>2008-01-14T04:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T04:26:26.661-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mika's Words Of Wisdom...</title><content type='html'>This is the hardest story that I've ever told&lt;br /&gt;No hope, or love, or glory&lt;br /&gt;Happy endings gone forever more&lt;br /&gt;I feel as if I feel as if I'm wasted&lt;br /&gt;And I'm wastin' everyday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the way you left me,&lt;br /&gt;I'm not pretending.&lt;br /&gt;No hope, no love, no glory,&lt;br /&gt;No Happy Ending.&lt;br /&gt;This is the way that we love,&lt;br /&gt;Like it's forever.&lt;br /&gt;Then live the rest of our life,&lt;br /&gt;But not together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Ending&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics by Mika&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-772882492816473101?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/772882492816473101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=772882492816473101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/772882492816473101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/772882492816473101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/mikas-words-of-wisdom.html' title='Mika&apos;s Words Of Wisdom...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-4135913262669850484</id><published>2008-01-10T03:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T05:00:43.197-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hand That Rocks The Cradle...</title><content type='html'>So I went back to work the day after New Year...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rang hubby when I was done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: What you up to? I'll pick us up some lunch on the way home if you like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: We're just about to go down to the Park. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Who is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: Me. And Wemmaly. And (as an after thought) little Son and Chopper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I'll just wait then and get something on the way then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met up with them down the Park. With kebabs. And chicken nuggets. The whole shit and she-bang. You have no idea what I was feeling when I turned up. They were still on their way down there but I was already feeling like the Outsider. Okay; so hubby takes the dog and Our child to the park every now and then; but This was different...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not according to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So; Wemmaly walked up the shops after lunch to get some cigarettes. And we went home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Thursday. Trivia night. Wemmaly told me that she would mind the kids for me. We got stuff to cook for hotdogs and hubby and I left for the Pub. We found out that trivia was off for the night but decided to stay for dinner at the bistro. At least I think that's what happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A short time later hubby had put some money through the Pokies. He was sitting with Golden Shower Boy at the table; trying to start an argument about Wemmaly and why I'm jealous of her and hubby going to the Park with my kid and my dog. But by this time I'm so fucking over it. Well and fucking Truly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I'm going to get another beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I came back they had gone. Kasper told me that I'd only just gone to the bar and they had walked off. So much for dinner. I stayed for another beer and then caught a taxi home. On the way home I got a phone call. It was hubby. Wanting to know what my problem was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Nothing; no problem. I'm in a taxi. On the way home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: Good. ( The Inferred message was About Fucking Time)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got home. Hubby wasn't here. I later found out he was at Twink's. Wemmaly was doing a basket of laundry; folding up my hubby's socks and undies into neat balls. I told her to quit it. Because it was freaking the Fuck out of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NB I haven't told You All that they also went on an 'Outing' to the shops either; when I was asleep after work one day last week Wemmaly wanted some DVD's and took it upon herself to take hubby and little Son in my car for the drive. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me a Retard. I don't care. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Don't shit in someone else's nest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Especially when I'm trying my fucking hardest to put this Shit back together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No More.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm just a jealous fucker. How dare I sully everything good and pure and innocent about hubby's 'friendship' with Wemmaly? Who do I think I am anyway?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except his fuckhead Wife?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat up with Wemmaly for a few hours. Nutting it out. Telling her that it was hubby who had come up with the euphemism for her that had pissed me off so well and good. Do you want to know what it was that he called her? My childhood friend since I was ten? My heroin-addicted-prostituting Buddy who I have all the time in the World for? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ready for it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Hand That Rocks The Cradle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told Wemmaly this. She was horrified that he would think that way. I told her to get used to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She left the next morning. She's staying at Twink's. In his spare room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I've lost her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-4135913262669850484?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/4135913262669850484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=4135913262669850484' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/4135913262669850484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/4135913262669850484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/hand-that-rocks-cradle.html' title='The Hand That Rocks The Cradle...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-3828271098009905902</id><published>2008-01-04T17:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T18:58:07.308-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's All About Me...</title><content type='html'>So where was I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby moved over and I jumped into little Son's bed beside him. It felt good knowing that at least if we broke up again then the last time he touched me wasn't with his hands around my throat banging my head into a wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Readers! What am I doing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stayed the next night too. When we spoke about what was happening he said that he would like to move back in but that it was uncomfortable with Wemmaly still sleeping on the lounge. He doesn't like tip-toeing around the house in the morning. So we decided to keep it casual; him staying at his mother's through the week and coming home here on the weekends to my place. Problem is that since his accident at work he hasn't been Back to work. His holidays started early and he's not due back until the seventh of January. He hasn't slept at his mother's house at all except for Christmas Eve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas was shit by the way. We had it at my Sister's house. She rang hubby and told him he was still invited regardless of what was going on between us. His mother didn't give me the same consideration. Apparently you stop being a part of someone's family when you break up. (It was only after I cried to hubby that she bothered to invite me over for their Boxing Day ritual at all; and it serves her right- she deserved the guilt trip). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So hubby arrived Christmas afternoon. He'd had Christmas lunch at his mother's friends house. He played with little Son and made comment on the lack of presents I'd bought for both the kids. I told him Santa was broke this year. Still; we didn't fight. Not once. And we went to sleep with our arms around each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boxing Day morning we left early for his Mother's. We had lunch and the kids opened their presents. I felt stupid being there; like an Outsider. My sister-in-law (she's not even that; how can she be when I never married hubby?) was grilling me over what's been going on with hubby. I felt uncomfortable and left out and so about two I decided to leave. Mother-in-law was happy to keep the kids for the night. So hubby and I left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went down the Pub. That was probably the first mistake. Then hubby put most of the money his Mother had just given him for Christmas through the Pokies and then got the shits about it. We were only on our second or third beer when he decided he'd had enough and was going to the hamburger shop and then getting a taxi home. I told him I'd get my own way home and stayed with Mac. A little while later his ex-girlfriend showed up. They were going up to Magic's for a post-Christmas drink. I happily went with them knowing that Magic's house was half-way home to my house. I stayed for two drinks and a bowl of fried rice and then walked the rest of the way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got home just on eleven o'clock. Wemmaly was having a smoke on the back veranda. She said that hubby had only just gone to bed and they'd been sitting up talking. 'How nice'; I thought. He never does that when it's just me and him. I never get a conversation out of him. She told me that he'd told her he was sick of seeing me drink all the time; that's all I ever wanted to do. Funny. He'd neglected to tell her that he'd put all his money through the Pokies after only a few beers and that's why I had stayed behind when he had left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seems like he can only talk when he has an audience that appreciates him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to work the next day; on the way I sent him a text saying how nice it was of him to sit up slandering me with my friend and that he was the fucktard who had put all his Christmas money through a machine and yet ironically it was Me who a problem. He ignored it.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I spewed twice at work from my hangover. When I finally got home I went straight to sleep. About six o'clock I got up hungry. I texted hubby to see if he wanted a kebab for dinner. He rang. Asked me what I was being nice for Now after yesterday and the txt this morning. I told him it was a simple question I'd asked. About a kebab. He told me he was having dinner with Twink. I told him Good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few hours later he rocked up. Acted like nothing had happened. Then he said he was going to sleep in eldest Son's room later and went to lay down on the couch. Wemmaly was sitting on the floor watching television. I told him I wanted a word. In private.&lt;br /&gt;That if was going to stay at the house then he was going to sleep in our bed. With me. Because nothing will work out if we don't be with each other. He came to bed but only after saying that if I didn't get a grip mentally and stop doing all the things he hates about me then it is finished.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day was New Year's eve. I worked until two and dashed home to get showered and changed. Little Son got picked up to go and watch the fireworks with Grandma and we met up with Twink and Mac down the Pub. Then we left for Jase's house where the party was to be held. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We swam all afternoon; drinking and playing water polo. About six Wemmaly rang to see what we were up to. I gave her the address and she said she'd be up within an hour or so. Two hours later it was dark. Hubby was bored of swimming and suggested we walk down to Sandsey's party where Mac and the rest of the Pub were. We got dressed out near the pool and came in to say our goodbyes. And then Wemmaly turned up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well; the mood changed. Suddenly hubby wanted to go back in for a swim. I was standing there in my jeans and joggers and ready to go. It shit me off. I told him to go back in, then. He said he wanted to do what I wanted to do. I told him we'd already decided what that was. I went back up to the esky to pack up our grog. When I came back I stood by the pool gate listening to what he was saying to Twink and Wemmaly, who were in the pool. Basically; he was telling them I had the shits and wanted to leave and that he was only going because I was upset. I piped up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I'm over here listening you know. Why make out it's me who wants to go? It was your idea. Now you've changed your mind and you're making me out to be a fuckwit just to cover your arse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd let out his secret. If looks could kill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could see Wemmaly getting upset; thinking this was all over her turning up. Maybe it was. He only showed an interest in staying after she had showed up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway; we left for Sandsey's party. He has a beautiful big house with three decks overlooking the City. We had a great view of the fireworks at midnight and then we talked (or rather hubby did) about making our relationship work out in the new year. I have to cut out the drugs and alcohol. I guess he will have to oversee this; because he officially has no problems. Just ask him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's all about Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just after one we left; Mac and Shazza walked with us through the park. Then old Lloyd joined us. We were walking down a steep rocky path when old Lloyd suddenly started going faster and faster until the poor old bugger fell down, splitting his head open and falling on his pewter beer mug, crushing it flat. He'd knocked himself out, poor thing. When I got to him he had bark off everywhere and was bleeding from the head. At least that would explain why I had blood on my shoes the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby told me to leave him there; it was his own drunken fault if he'd had to much piss to drink. I told him I wasn't going to leave a 66 year old in the park with a head wound. Old Lloyd solved the problem for us; he told me he was okay but that he'd shit himself and to just leave him with Mac and Shazza. Hubby couldn't get away quick enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at Twink's we put some music on.(Twink and Wemmaly had tried to find Sandsey's but had gone to the wrong place so Wemmaly had taken a taxi back to my house. Twink said she had seemed upset because she thought that we had dumped her at Jase's. That's not true. We just wanted to go to a different party where there weren't any kids to see us getting off our faces.) About two hubby went to bed in Twink's spare room. About three he came down and turned the music off. He grabbed me by the arm and told me it was time to go to sleep. I felt like a child. Twink told him to pull his head out of his arse and turned the music back on. Louder. I went to bed so as not to cause a fuss. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't try to fuck me. He put his back to me and went to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all I wanted was a cuddle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-3828271098009905902?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/3828271098009905902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=3828271098009905902' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/3828271098009905902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/3828271098009905902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2008/01/its-all-about-me.html' title='It&apos;s All About Me...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-6261788049313279518</id><published>2007-12-17T18:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T18:12:24.137-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Songbird...</title><content type='html'>I wish I knew which button to push&lt;br /&gt;Then I'd know how to please you&lt;br /&gt;It's sad but true&lt;br /&gt;So I'll just listen in down the line&lt;br /&gt;While you're busy mixing grape with grain&lt;br /&gt;To sedate your pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Songbird, you got tales to tell&lt;br /&gt;How many times can you describe your living hell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sweeping gesture creates a fuss&lt;br /&gt;It's only useful when receiving praise&lt;br /&gt;Relieving no-ones pain&lt;br /&gt;If you'd let somebody love you just enough&lt;br /&gt;You's have everything you need to break&lt;br /&gt;free from all your pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Songbird, you got tales to tell&lt;br /&gt;How many times can you describe your living hell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you'd let somebody love you just enough&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Songbird&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics by Bernard Fanning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Oh! Bernard! How you speak to Me!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-6261788049313279518?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/6261788049313279518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=6261788049313279518' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6261788049313279518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/6261788049313279518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2007/12/songbird.html' title='Songbird...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-8619406438200340417</id><published>2007-12-17T16:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T17:47:54.715-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To Be Continued...</title><content type='html'>So it was Saturday morning...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drove home to have a quick shower but Wemmaly was in there. I didn't say hello; the door was wide open and she'd let the dog inside even though I'd told her he's an Outside dog only. I grabbed his collar and lead and put him in the car. Then we went and got little Son from Grandma's and went over to see hubby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His sister had picked him up from the hospital. He was still in his same work clothes two days after his accident. I was sitting out on the back veranda. He told me how he had been trying to open a window when it had happened; he said the piece of glass had gone in about fifteen millimetres and that the wound was the same size as a marble. I felt sick when he told me he could see the veins and muscles and how the tendons had snapped when he was wiggling his fingers for the nurse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked if he wanted to come and watch the Boy's play cricket down at the oval. He said he did. We sat together at the park; I had two beers but he was on antibiotics. When the game was finished he walked up to the Pub. I drove Kasper and Filthy Phil up there. Hubby bought me a beer and we stayed about an hour. Then I drove him back to his Mother's. When I dropped him off he said he'd call me tomorrow and that we could have lunch or dinner together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home I stopped in to see CC and Norty. They ended up feeding me a plate of pork and crackle oozing with gravy and then I went home to bed. I hadn't slept for thirty six hours. I slept like the dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up Chopper was asleep with Wemmaly. On my couch. My beautiful suede couch. He saw me coming and got outside in just the nick of time. I don't care what other people let their dogs do; but mine Knows he's not allowed inside let alone on my fucking lounge. When she woke up Wemmaly said she had a 'dead leg'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: That would be from the dog. You left the front door open all night. He's not allowed in. He's got fleas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wemmaly: I know. I spent two hours de-fleaing him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(WTF? On my lounge?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday; hubby rang After lunch. He asked me what I was making for tea. I told him lasagna. His mother dropped him in about five thirty with little Son. We ate just after six. Then we watched television for a while. Around eight thirty his Mother came back to collect him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday I had a talk to Wemmaly; it's just not going to work out, us living together. She wants her space and I want mine back. It's not just the half hour showers or leaving the lights and television on all night; even though I would dread the electricity/phone/water bill every quarter if we did. Or even letting the dog in on my couch. We realised that she's out to move on with her life and I'm hell-bent on getting the life I had back. She's not cut out for the Burbs. She wants a bigger city than this. New experiences and places. And I want my local Pubs. And the mates I already have. And hubby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He called past Monday afternoon. I asked him what was going on with 'Us'. He said he would consider moving back in but not right away. I asked him if I should go ahead with putting in the seperation papers at Centrelink. He told me that I had better if I wanted any money to live on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Tuesday I dropped in all of the paperwork. And we Seperated. Officially.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home I got a cask of wine and cried for the next four hours. Somewhere in the middle of this Twink sent me a message.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twink: Have you been getting any love letters from Fido?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rang him up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Three so far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(NB The texts he sent were in regard to Miss Fancy Pants bringing her new boyfriend to Twink's house on the weekend. Fido thinks we were disrespecting him by welcoming in her new man to our circle of mates. Like we told him; MFP is our friend too and we won't disrepect her by discluding anyone she brings around, regardless of how that makes Fido feel. He'd sent messages to me, Twink and Daz telling us we were untrustworthy and disrespectful. I'd made the mistake of acknowledging them; hence why I'd received three 'love letters').&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twink: What's up with you? Have you got a cold? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: No. I'm sooking. On the piss. By myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told me that things would work out with hubby in the end and not to worry so much about it. Good old Twinkle Toes. For someone who's so adamant that he doesn't give a shit about anything he's actually a bit of a softie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wednesday I went to work hungover. I worked Thursday, too. Wemmaly told me she'd mind the kids for me while I went to trivia. Hubby had a doctor's appointment in the morning which I drove him to. Afterwards we met up at the Pub. Twink and C were there too. Hubby won seventeen hundred dollars on the pokies and decided to stay for trivia. There was only one problem. Where was he going to stay for the night?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I suppose you could crash in little Son's bed if you wanted to...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By now Fido had forgiven us for treating MFP's boyfriend with respect. I sat at his table with Golden Shower Boy and a few others. At one point we were sitting there together while the other's were out having a ciggy. There was an uncomfortable silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: So. (Pause) What about this Baffler question?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GSB: (Unintelligable mumble)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave up trying to converse with him. He makes no sense at the best of times. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby and I caught a cab back to my house. He went into little Son's bed and fell asleep. Wemmaly and I sat up drinking and talking for another hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was drunk. I opened the door to little Son's room and saw him laying there; his bandaged wrist behind his head. Then I did what any other person might have done, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And told him to move over and make some room for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he did...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-8619406438200340417?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/8619406438200340417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=8619406438200340417' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/8619406438200340417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/8619406438200340417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2007/12/to-be-continued.html' title='To Be Continued...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17993710.post-5297775115405072018</id><published>2007-12-12T22:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T17:51:42.047-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So Much To Say...</title><content type='html'>So much to say...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So little time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I start at Thursday night. Trivia. Grandma had hubby and the kids. Fido picked me up so I wouldn't drink drive. I felt obligated to be on his team even when Golden Shower Boy joined the table. We came fourth. A disgrace. I was sitting outside having a cigarette when suddenly I saw a dart of a dog come flying up the stairs. It was hubby's dog, Chopper. He's a Staffy cross who is blind in one eye after coming off second best in a car accident. He must have sniffed me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: What's my fucking dog doing at the Pub?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Wemmaly came up the stairs; to pick me up. I told her she shouldn't have bought the dog with her when she came to get me. She told me that the dog had wanted to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I need to go back to Monday afternoon...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a massive storm brewing; I was picking up little Son from school and Wemmaly was in the car waiting. Little Son and I raced back through the thick drops of rain to the car and discovered a stray dog in the back seat. A smelly wet dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wemmmaly: I couldn't leave the poor thing out in the rain. I've rung it's owners. They're on the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile; little Son was freaking out at the impending storm. I guess the Long Weekend flood in June was still playing on his mind. I guess that's what happens after your Mother almost drives your car into a storm water drain and you have to get rescued and your car is written off. To this day he still won't get out of the car if I've parked across a drain in the gutter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wemmaly (to little Son): Oh; come on! You're not afraid of storms!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LS: Mummy! Please; lets go home!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told her she'd have to wait for the guy to come. She got the smelly dog out and we drove home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday afternoon came around. I was at the Pub. I'd organised a Little Something to make the night more interesting. When I told Wemmaly she tried to make me promise to wait for her to take it; so that we could both be high at the same time. Problem is I don't like doing Guilt-Trips. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't wait. I got on it with Mac and Jen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back up a minute. I've forgotten something important. Hubby's accident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday; before trivia. I was sitting with Twink when his phone rang. It was hubby; letting Twink know he was waiting in the ER. He'd gone through a plate glass window at work and severed two tendons in his wrist. I messaged him. He didn't reply. I called his parents; they'd just gotten home from work and hadn't heard anything about it, but they promised to keep me informed when they heard anything. Half hour later Mother-in-law called; she told me hubby was still waiting to be seen and didn't want to see me. This upset me somewhat. So I deleted his name from my phone. Twink told me I was over reacting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day I had to go to work. A lady from the insurance company rang about work cover and I had to tell her that we were separated and maybe she should be speaking to his mother. A few minutes later Mother-in-law called. I cried to her on the phone because I was upset that hubby hadn't returned any of my messages or calls. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got to work I told my boss J that I had my phone with me up on the floor in case I heard word about hubby's surgery. I was relieved a little while later when I got a message from him saying that he would have to stay another night in hospital as his operation wasn't scheduled until six that night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called him. We hadn't spoken in six days. I asked if he wanted any clothes or magazines brought up to him. He said that he was alright and didn't need anything. I told him that the kids wanted to see him when he got out and that I'd take them around the following day when he got released from hospital. He said okay and we hung up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I was at the Pub Friday night; with all the crew minus hubby. Miss Fancy Pants called and said she would turn up in a while. I was having great fun smoking pipes with Franky out in the beer garden. Someone gave me a tablet and a Yeiger-bomb to chase it down with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then MFP's new boyfriend showed up. He's balding, near fifty and she's taken by him. Good luck to her I say. Fido (her Ex) showed up at Twink's later on and spotted him on the lounge. He caused a scene; MFP and friend left for the Central Coast; and I made her promise to stop into my house for a coffee on the way if she was hell-bent on driving. She did; and then they left. I haven't spoken to her since...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile; back at Twink's....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Golden Shower Boy had gotten in on the act. He and Fido were arguing with the rest of Us that MFP's boyfriend should not have been invited around to Twink's. Daz,                    Twink and I stood our ground. After all they have been broken up for almost four months and she (MFP) is our friend now regardless of their broken relationship. Besides; it would've been rude to just tell him to fuck off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next thing you know, GSB is running around after Daz, chasing him in circles around Twink's car; trying to get Daz to fight him. Daz told him he was crazy if he thought he was going to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jen Jen and I sat up drinking until almost dawn with Jeffro and his wife A (though admittedly I cut myself off knowing I was going to have to drive before ten am). I spent my last twenty bucks on smokes and then went to collect little Son from Grandma's. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I drove over to see hubby...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's where we'll leave it for Today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17993710-5297775115405072018?l=rnbuffoon.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/feeds/5297775115405072018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17993710&amp;postID=5297775115405072018' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/5297775115405072018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17993710/posts/default/5297775115405072018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rnbuffoon.blogspot.com/2007/12/so-much-to-say.html' title='So Much To Say...'/><author><name>Miss Construed...</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04769739542200357809</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
