Thursday, September 9, 2010

Another Buster Rant

For about a minute and a half, Buster had a job in Florida. Then, apparently, there was a pesky problem about a license, and the job disappeared. The next thing I was told was that he was (again) looking for work in Colorado, but wouldn’t say what or where. Since his earlier attempt a few months ago to find teaching work had been unsuccessful, I was surprised to be told recently that he found a job in a town I’d never heard of, somewhere around Durango. (Six hours away)

As an aside, I’d like to know what part of being SIX HOURS AWAY is “helping” me. Because the whole point of being in Colorado was to be a participant in his daughter’s life, and now it will take him longer to drive here than it would to fly from Massachusetts. I am sorely tempted to go all “Sergeant Hartman” on him… you know, rip off his head, and – well, you get the idea. And he has a piece of shit vehicle and he can’t drive in the snow. And winter is coming. He can’t help with homework, he can’t take her for a night, and I’d sure as hell would like to know where he thinks he’s going to stay if he does come up for a weekend, because it sure as HELL isn’t here.

He called the other night to ask if she had insurance. Because he finally, after 5 years, has a job that offers insurance, and he had a form in front of him that required him to check a box. Let’s be clear – he hasn’t asked me one time in the last five years whether she had insurance or not. It’s not like we EVER have a “let’s coordinate our efforts” chat. The last time and only time he ever had her on his insurance was for a few months when she was an infant. Since then, he’s not only assumed I had everything covered, he’s never asked. He’s never dropped me an email and wanted to know anything: whether she’d been sick or not, whether she had all the clothes she needed or anything else.

But he has no problem causing trouble at her school and asking for direct access to things he should be going through me for. Last February was a nightmare. And now he’s down in bumfuck nowhere, feeling like he’s some kind of prince because he’s made some kind of pyrrhic sacrifice.

Fuck him.


  1. Fuck him, indeed. UGHGHGHGHGH!!!

    I want to smack Buster in the head with a shovel. Is that wrong?

    Love *you* though.

  2. Bev, he's in MA. That whole 'smack (him) in the head with a shovel' thing is totally do-able. And I happen to have a shovel....

    What a dipshit.

    And add me to the list that loves you!

  3. Oh, fuck him, to say the least. I've road tripped to Colorado once this year, I'll do it again. Say the word, sister. Say it.

  4. Jackass. I may be nowhere near Colorado or Massachusetts, but I "know" people, if you get my drift. I've got an "Uncle Nub" on speed dial (that's what he prefers to be called). Plus, I watch a LOT of crime shows. I can make a body disappear in about 29 different ways. Just itching to test my skills . . .

  5. Ass.Hat. I wanna help hit him with a shovel!

  6. I'm with everyone who's already commented: fuck him and the horse he limped in on.
    Samsmama has already been to colorado, and I once drove there with 4 kids in a mini van in about 16 hours...I'm betting without all their potty breaks I can be there in half that time. Adn I'm thinking she and I may have a few unresolved issues of our own that could be expressed nicely on Buster. Just sayin'- we're there for ya.
    Fuck that fucking fucker- you know I know what you're going thru and I just want to stomp his head for you- and even that wouldn't be enough.
    NEED to see you in October...
    love you, hate him...smooches to you, death wishes to him...etc...