His Warped Interpretation of Family Tradition

Someone recently had a tantrum in the kitchen, and it wasn't one of the children.

The kids are very proud of their Armenian heritage on D's side of the family. Since D has also loved to cook since he was a child, he learned all his grandmother's traditional recipes when he was young. One of the kids loves cooking, and she wants D to pass these traditional recipes on to her.

(There are no other Armenian relatives to teach the kids these traditions. D chooses not to communicate with his family and despite my trying to stay in touch with his side of the family for the kids' sake, we are not included in any family events at all. Ever.) 

So the other afternoon, D was sitting around playing solitaire on the computer when the cooking kid asked him to show her how to make a particular kid of bread that Nana used to make. He said, "Sure kiddo. Get the stuff out and we'll do it together."

 She immediately got the recipe out, gathered the ingredients, bowl, baking pan, and was waiting in the kitchen when I walked in.

"Where's Dad?" I wanted to know.
"I don't know," she replied.
"How long have you been waiting for him?"
"I don't know, maybe 10 minutes?"

I poked my head in the garage.
"D, she's ready for you."
"Ok, be right there."

I knew what was coming, so suggested the kiddo hang out while we wait for him to eventually meander into the kitchen.

She sat at the kitchen table with a magazine and waited.

Ten minutes later, I heard her call out to him.
"Daaaaaad... I'm waiting."
"Just a sec."

Ten more minutes pass.
"Daaaaad, what's taking so long?"
"Hang on..."
I hear her walk across the kitchen and open the door to the garage.
"Come ON, Dad. What are you doing out there?"

(I'm always worried he's going to be surfing porn or jacking off or something when the kids poke their heads in the garage. No, I'm serious. I've never said anything, but the kids are sometimes nervous about opening the door because even they are not sure what they're going to find. Way to create a nurturing and safe home environment, D.)

"Ok, I'm on my way. God, you are so impatient!" he snapped at her.

Sigh. Really? Poor kid. Extra hugs for her from me, and more determination than ever to move us the hell out of the house.

She waited at the table as he finally walked into the kitchen, but he ignored her and started farting around doing God knows what. She leaned back in her chair with headphones on, listening to something loud and angry while she waited.

Before I knew it, he had started making the bread. 

"Hey," I asked, "Aren't you supposed to be teaching her how to do that?"
"I waited for her. This needs to get started if it's going to be ready in time for supper."
Biting my tongue, I asked, "Did you let her know you're ready to start?"
"She's busy."
"She's waiting for you. Did you let her know you're ready to start?"
"Well she's sitting down. I need to get this going right away."
"DID YOU LET HER KNOW?"
He glared at me. "No..."

I paused and stared at him.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see she's got her headphones off and she's paying attention to what's going on.

"You know," I calmly advised him, "She is not a mind reader. You have to actually take the effort to communicate with your daughter. She asked you to teach her something that only you can teach. This is important to her. She has been waiting for you for almost an hour."
"You don't have to get snippy with me. I know she's not a mind reader."
"Then how did you expect her to know when you were ready to start?"
"Well she was busy."
"But you didn't tell her you were ready. So how did you expect her to know?"
I'm surprised to hear myself stay calm and polite as I asked.

He threw the dough back in the bowl as it clattered to the floor and he stomped out of the kitchen.

What she wanted

What she got

Her jaw dropped as she looked at me.
"Well great, Mom. Now what am I supposed to do?"
"Come on, sweetie, we've seen him do it lots of times. Let's see if we can figure it out."

She and I muddled our way through making the bread and were pretty happy with it by the time it was ready to bake. D arrived on the scene just as the bread was coming out of the oven.

Later that evening, after D went back to hide in the garage, she pulled me aside.
"Mom, why is Dad such an ass sometimes?"
"Honey, I'm sorry but that's just the way he is."
"Mom, we need to get out of here."
"I know. I'm trying."

"Try harder."

PA Trait: Sabotage & Punishment (Hot peppers)

PA Trait:  Sabotaging the action to show anger that they cannot express in words, hidden but conscious revenge. Doing things to punish others when they feel wronged.
In the past, I knew he was doing cruel things to me for a specific reason, but only thought he was being an ass. Sometimes I knew his reasoning for being cruel, other times I never figured out what I've done wrong anymore, but the punishment is basically the same. Cook an inedible family dinner (he has a culinary arts degree and a long career in the field,) withhold affection or intimacy or acknowledgement, sabotage something I'm doing, make me late for important appointments. He often uses sabotage or inefficient task completion as a form of punishment.

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3/25 - Tuesday: I'm really sensitive to spicy food. It hurts from the time I swallow it until a few days later when it finally leaves my system. Over the past 20+ years, I have asked that if anyone wants spicy food, to make two versions (one spicy, the other mild) or season their own serving. For years, he has been adding hot spices to whatever he makes for dinner. For years, I have taken one bite, asked about the ingredients, and made myself a peanut butter sandwich instead of eating what he made for dinner.
I'm so tired of it.
On Tuesday, he did it again.
The conversation is always the same:

"What's in this?" I asked.
"Beans and tomatoes."
"And what else?"
"Onions."
"Hot peppers?"
"No."
"Then why is it spicy?"
"Oh...  Well, I added some chili powder. But it was just a little bit."
"You know I can't eat that. Why did you add it?"
"I only added a little bit."
"How about adding NONE?"
"But I only added a little bit."
"How long have I been telling you it causes me pain when I eat that stuff?"
"But I only added a little bit."
"I keep asking you to stop adding hot stuff but you keep cooking with it anyway."
"I only added a little bit. Just a tiny little bit."

Etc.

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January 2014: He did something with hot peppers and oil in a teflon frying pan, and it permanently altered the pan. I discovered this when he made me a grilled cheese sandwich and my mouth started to burn. I was questioning him about what was in the sandwich and then what was in the pan when my throat started to close up. I panicked until I located a Benadryl. I don't directly blame him for the sandwich, but got really upset trying to figure out why my sandwich was so spicy - while wheezing - and he rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, it's not that bad. You're overreacting."

Even through I've scrubbed and scrubbed the pan since then, when it heats up the oils embedded in the pores of the pan release more of the chili oil. (With his background, he is aware that this can happen.) Everyone in the household knows that no matter what you cook in the pan, it comes out spicy. Nobody will use that pan any more, and even the kids complain when he tries to use it for family meals. Guess what pan he uses on the rare occasions he offers to cook me breakfast? Guess what pan he likes to use for French Toast?

I am not taking that pan with me when I leave.

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The Jobs Report

The Jobs Report was on the news recently. Apparently unemployment is down, job creation is up, the stock market is up, everybody happy happy happy.

The employment happy happy joy joy hasn't trickled its way down to me yet.

Here's a summary of the last month:

1. ABCD
I had been working for Company A, doing contract work for Company B, who leases office space in Company C's building. D never asked about any of it and assumed I worked for Company C.

The job ended abruptly. I had been the assistant for an exec at Company B. She got in trouble for hiring me (she didn't follow company protocols and hire through the proper channels.) To save her own ass, she got rid of me by blaming me for an error she made. Of course I was upset. After an investigation, my employer, Company A, reassured me I did nothing wrong, Company B was happy with my work, and in the discussion I learned that Boss B has done this to other assistants before me. How lovely. (In retrospect, I see that B stands for Bitch.)

In the end karma prevailed. Boss B got in trouble for hiring me, got in trouble for throwing me under the bus, and is no longer allowed to have an assistant.

Let me edit that last point. Karma prevailed for Boss B.
Did karma prevail for me?
I don't know.
I certainly don't see any change on my end.

2. The Federal Job
Had a great interview, was told a week later that they had chosen someone else for the job.
Being optimistic, I stopped job hunting and put all my eggs in the federal job basket. Now I have to start the job hunt all over agaon.

3. Temping
Finished a 3 week part-time temp job at minimal pay yesterday, and now nothing is on the horizon.

Can we say "I am depressed?" Let's all say it again, only louder.

I AM DEPRESSED.

I ate a package of Oreos (generic because they're cheaper) and am starting on a bag of M&Ms. Somebody please stop me.

Has D said anything about any of this? He knows nothing about the federal job. has no idea why I'm not going to company C's office any more, and knows I had been temping at one location only because he dropped me off at work one afternoon. Otherwise he has not asked or commented on any of this.

This is why I'm so damn depressed. It would be easier if someone actually gave a shit about me. A hug would be nice, too, but no. Empathy is a luxury I am just not going to have while I struggle through this.


Oh, except when I came home late one evening after a job fair down in the big city. It was past my usual bedtime and I wanted to get to bed straight away. D stopped me as I hurried into the house. "You need to help me write this letter," he demanded.
What? Why? To whom?
Apparently he is now job hunting, too, and wanted me to help him with his resume and cover letters. And they had to be done at midnight on a Wednesday. No particular job posting, he just wanted to have it ready. In case. And I had to stay up late to help him with it, instead of going to bed so I could get to work the next morning.
"Can we please work on this tomorrow?" I asked. "I'm tired and need to get to bed."
"No. I have to do it now because I'm sending it off in the morning."
"To who? What job?"
"Well I don't know! I'll find someone."
So I stayed up an extra hour, helping him with his resume and cover letter (generally both should be written/modified specifically for each job posting you apply to, not generically done, but he insisted and I'm still trying to play nice so he'll let me sleep after I go to bed.)

The next day he slept in, then spent all day watching tv.
I see where his priorities are, and it smacks of sabotage.

This umbrella is perfect.
So I can walk in the rain in front of D.

I am so so so ready to move on, but feel I can't until I get a job. I don't know any other way around it. I have to get a job before I can do anything else.
Once I get a job, I can sign a lease on an apartment (found our apartment - in my budget and in the right location for me and the kids to easily get around town.) Once I move, then I can work on rebuilding a social life. I have already found the community sports league I want to join, another branch of a fraternal organization I've been wanting to join, and am ready to sign up for yoga and the local dragonboat team. I'm so ready to get out there and have fun and make friends again. (Can't start that before the job - no money.)  I'm so fuckin' lonely.

I'm ready. Just... when am I going to get that job I so desperately need?

Passive Aggressive traits: sabotage

One of the traits of a Passive Aggressive person is sabotage.

Back in my post about Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder traits, I pointed out that one characteristic is sabotage, and D most certainly has it. In fact, this is one of his favorite tactics to use against me, or anyone for that matter.

☑  Sabotaging the action to show anger that they cannot express in words, hidden but conscious revenge, doing things to punish others when they feel wronged.

Now that I finally (finally!) am recognizing what the hell is going on around here, I'm starting to realize that I live in a bilingual household. Our two languages are Normal English (NE) and Passive Aggressive English (PAE.)

Here is a translation guide.
The words and phrases in bold are what comes out of D's mouth and gestures he makes.
The words and phrases in italics are what the words and/or gestures really mean.

Me - Where are all the extra large bath towels? I finished all the laundry and can't find any of them.
D -I don't know.
I know, but I'm not telling you.

Me - No, seriously. I saw you in the laundry room when I was waiting for the machines to finish, and they were in the next pile to wash, but that pile is gone. What happened to the towels?
D - I don't know. I didn't see them.
Tee hee, this is fun.

Me -You had to step over the basket of towels to get over to where I saw you. Did you move them somewhere so you could do whatever you were doing in there?
D - I don't know.
I'm running out of clever answers, but I can keep a straight face if I continue playing dumb.

Me -Where are the towels? There are 5 of them, and they're huge. They don't just disappear or get lost with other laundry like a sock.
D - I don't know.
This is getting boring. 

Me -Where are the towels?
D - Maybe one of the kids took them.
 Let's get the attention off of me. This is getting uncomfortable.

Me -They're dirty. The kids wouldn't touch them with gloves on. You were the only person in there. Where are the towels?
D - You were in there. Maybe you took them.
Or we can blame the wife. She's a bitch, anyway.

Me -(Trying really hard to stay calm,) I was in there because I'm washing laundry. I did not move the towels because they were to be washed next. Where are they?
D - Are you accusing me of taking them?
How dare she!

Me - At this point, you are the only person who would have seen where they went. They were there when I left the room and gone when you left the room.
D - Are you saying I touched them?
The bitch thinks I did something with her precious towels!

Me -Where are the towels?
D - You always leave them right in front of the washer and I have to move them to get my stuff out of the cabinet over the machine.
She's always trying to keep me from getting my stuff. Always blocking me. Never lets me do what I want.

Me - So where are they?
D - (Laughing) The towels? Or my stuff?
She's on to me but it's fun to see her get pissed off. I wonder how long I can drag this out?

Me -Where are the towels?
D - They were in my way.
YOU put them in MY way on purpose, you bitch.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - (Laughing again) I didn't take them.
I didn't take them. I put them somewhere. There's a difference. Besides, it's your fault they're missing.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - I hate those towels. They're big and you can only wash a few at a time.
I hate your towels and I hate that you wash them when you could be getting my clothes done instead.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - And they take forever to dry. That's a waste of electricity.
I hate that I have to pay the electric bill out of my own money. You should pay the bills around here.


Me -Last year when we were broke, and we had an electricity disconnect notice, you decided to buy them for $60 instead of paying the electric bill. Where are the towels?
D - They're gone.
See? This is what you get for making me pay the bills. I have more important things to spend my money on, like pay per view sports and useless iPhone apps.

Me -What do you mean they're gone?
D - I got rid of them.
...to punish you for making me unhappy.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - They're in the trash.
It was the easiest and fastest way I could punish you.

Me -Which trash?
D - On the curb.
And today is trash day. If I had been able to stall you another 5 minutes, they'd be gone forever.

Fuuuuuck, are you kidding me?! I hear the rumble of the garbage truck as I bolt out the door and rescue the towels from the trash man. He gives me a weird look as I haul them back into the house.