A Monkey, a Jackass, and a D-Bag, Oh My!
I’m back to hating people. And by people I mean my monkey of an ex-husband and father to my children. As in a monkey could do a better job of being a father to my kids. I haven’t blogged about this jackass in a long time, and the animal references are just going to keep coming. First of all, if you use a text signature, you’re possibly a d-bag. I understand when my kids do it with their friends, because they think it’s cool, but I know who you are based on the number it’s coming from and my contact list. I don’t need you to notify me every single time you text me who you are, I’ve obviously texted you for a reason and again, there’s a cool thing called a contact list that gives me your name right there. Oooooo, fancy.
Sunshine and the monkey’s gal had a falling out last year based on some things Sunshine said to her dad about his gal and he went back and told her everything. I’ve never seen Sunshine that hurt by someone and it’s not something I ever want to see again. She has limited her access to her dad because she refuses to go over there and he refuses to do anything without his gal. A line was drawn and he chose sides and although I encourage her to call him and have a relationship with him, it’s really out of my hands when he continues to be an arse. This happened like last September and even though Sunshine went over there for Thanksgiving, his gal (she’s not worth a name) didn’t even acknowledge her. However, on Christmas morning she sent her a text that said this:
Proud to be Matthew’s Wife
Passive aggressive much. That’s actually the only time I’ve seen where a signature comes in handy because Sunshine would have had no idea who was sending it without that signature. Now, he has publicly stated that they’re not married, but they refer to each other as husband and wife, which is really confusing for the kids, among a million other reasons it’s confusing for the kids, which you can read about HERE.
Something else he does that’s annoying is he changes his outgoing message every day to make a message to his “wife”. So you call him, which I don’t anymore, and three rings in you get, ding-ding, Hello, it’s Monday and it’s going to be a beautiful day and I just want to tell my wife how much I love her. Next day, ding-ding, Hello, it’s Tuesday and it’s a little snowy today but I just want to let my wife know how much I love her. This is his outgoing message every day. Who does that? There’s no “wait for the beep” or any of the million normal outgoing messages it could be. And you might think I’m bitter about their undying love, but really, it’s just ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous. Imagine calling your dad and hearing, It’s Monday and the weather’s beautiful and I want to let my wife know she’s the most important thing in my life. Beep. How about we keep some of that stuff private. It’s just weird.
And he calls me almost every day. I don’t know why. He calls to see how I’m doing or to tell me something about his life. Most of the time I don’t answer because I don’t need to talk to him every day, but then I get a text to make sure everything’s all right. So I try to communicate with him as little as possible and mostly it’s over text, which is where this d-bag started with the signatures. It’s the line under the text message and his says, “Love my wife”, or “March ❤ July” (their birth months, get it? GAG!), or something else in Spanish that’s equally as nauseating because he’s seriously the whitest Hispanic I’ve ever met. So this is the exchange we had one day about who was picking up the kids. I was at the mall with my cousin and I showed her his signature and we got a good laugh over how ridiculous it was and she said I should make my own signature. Mine is on the right.
Look at me, I have a signature too! Now stop being a 12-year-old, grow up, and have an actual relationship with your kids, or just go away. Moonshine is finally recognizing his BS and doesn’t want to go over there as much so they’ve moved on to wooing Tenderheart. She’s his last chance to have any kind of relationship if he doesn’t stop shooting himself in the foot, or putting said foot in his mouth, or a million other analogies I can come up with, but I’ll stop.