Whiskey Jac

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:-D May 11, 2014

Filed under: assholes,Bitter,family,NOT MARTHA — whiskeyjac @ 3:59 pm

I find myself wearing the same grim lipped rictus grin my mother so frequently wore when I was growing up. 

It’s funny, coz you can’t always say “I should never have done X” because if you hadn’t done it you wouldn’t know that you SHOULDN”T have, and in some cases you’d actually regret that you hadn’t because you wouldn’t know better. 

So regret is fucking bullshit. 

So is Mother’s Day! 

I’ve been up sine 4, the washing machine doesn’t work, I just got my period, the breakfast I made didn’t keep because I made it too early – in an effort to have everything cleaned up before anyone would wake up to see the mess or the space I was taking up while cooking – and… oh yeah! I look like my mother did at my age, only not as thin. 

I’m going to put on the t.v. for the kids, read my book, and then take them out into the garden to pick up dog shit and rinse out the litter box  listen to the birds and try to stop feeling so disgustingly sorry for myself. 



September 6, 2011

Filed under: assholes,depression — whiskeyjac @ 3:07 am

So today… was good. In the morning. Afternoon sucked. The high point was talking to my dad and trying to be calm and reasonable and crying! Crying in front of my dad which is the surest fucking way to freak him out and oh my fucking god, am I serious with this bullshit.

Man, sometimes I just… suck. You know? I know it. I wish I could erase outbursts like that the way I can erase blog posts. Life would be a lot less embarrassing for me and stressful for my family if I could erase and re-write.

I got to snuggle with kiddo a lot today. I try to do that. I feel like I am ignoring her, but I’m not sure if that’s because my mind is elsewhere so often, or if it even matters to her if I am. She seems ok. I don’t know. It’s been very nice with my father here, and Stephen home for the weekend – at least if I am ignoring her, someone else is with her. Not Sesame Street or Dora.


29 August 30, 2011

Filed under: assholes,Help,My Child Is Terrifying — whiskeyjac @ 3:35 am

29 of August and I’m 39 weeks. Thisi s the most pregnant I’ve ever been, and I don’t want to be.

But that is nothing new. So.

My father is here, it’s been really great. He’s such a help, Éowyn loves him to pieces and oh my gosh she gets to go out for walks at night. I simply fucking can’t with the walking anymore. Making breakfast breaks me. It’s fucking ridiculous and it was boring her to tears and tantrums. Now she has a buddy to play with and talk to. She’s doing well.

My father thinks he’s got a truck ready for him to buy, he got out with the realtor today – didn’t have time to show me the houses that he looked at because I had to go upstairs and clean the results of a fucking poop painting session that my THREE YEAR OLD daughter had in her room – and now he’s sleeping beside me while I post this in the guest room. He sounded pretty happy and tired – though as he put it, he’s not tired but hyper. Not that there is much of a difference. I think he’s able to buy himself a new (to him) truck which is great, his damn 22 year old Chevy is at the end of the line and I’ll be glad to know he is going back up northi n a reliable vehicle. One that isn’t held together by duct tape, spray paint, and dirt.

As for the whole pooping thing, hhh. I am pretty disappointed that she also ripped up some library books – and got massive amounts of fecal matter and urine on them to boot – not because I have to pay for them but because WHY ÉOWYN. WHY. When you know better, when you’ve been told, when I was right next door and heard you singing softly and happily and would have come right in to get you had you but asked me – WHY DID YOU SHIT. ON THE LIBRARY BOOKS.

I spent some time freaking out a bit, thinking that I was awful not paying enough attn to her, that she was scared to tell me she was awake because she’d get in trouble (SHE WOULD but thing is, she also knows that if she TELLS me that she needs to go to the bathroom she is FINE. I KNOW she knows this because she uses it to get up at night without getting in trouble. She LIES because she knows she can get a free pee pass) if she was messing around instead of napping. Is my kid scared of me? Is she developing delinquent behaviours because I don’t give her enough time and attention and love and play?

I dunno. I think she might just be an asshole. Which. You know. She comes by honestly.

I wasn’t mad at her until I saw the books. I had taken her into the bath, gotten her scrubbed off and she was sitting in a big thing full of bubbles and toys… and then I went back into the room to strip her bed. And saw. Holy fuck. I yelled. I made her cry. I don’t feel a bit guilty about that either – if I DON”T jesus, she just… it’s nothing to her. So yeah I made her cry. And then I stopped. Gave her a hug and a kiss after she got out, tried to talk to her about it… hhh. Tomorrow I’m going to take her to the library with Meo and return all the books – pay for the ones she ruined, and I just hope they don’t cost way over the retail price like say… rental dvd’s do – and if the librarian is amenable to it, I’m going to ask them to tell her she is not allowed to take any more out for awhile. I don’t know how much of an impact it’ll make, but she will have to tell them what she did – and I’ll talk to whoever it is at the desk first to make sure they don’t just coddle her. That’s pretty much all I can think to do. And. *shrug* No more library books for awhile. That will take a few days to sink in, but she won’t be happy about it when it does.

Mmph. I should go.


Gifted August 9, 2011

Filed under: assholes,gone mental,Help,My Child Is Terrifying — whiskeyjac @ 3:30 am

A few days ago Stephen had kiddo on his lap while I had a bath – they like to watch random youtube videos together. THIS ONE came up, and apparently this is all that she took away from it.


You know all those books and shows about kids having tantrums and the consequences of them? Yeah she watches and reads those, too. And then she quotes them when she flips her shit in the store the next time we’re out.

Quick study.


WTF Face June 30, 2011

Filed under: assholes,Bitter,Fuckers,swearing — whiskeyjac @ 4:41 am

I used to have convos w my ex about her religious views.

We are tolerant! She used to tell me – It’s in our creed! The prophets heard it straight from God!

Tolerant, see, because they didn’t think that folks who didn’t believe as they did were going to hell for it, no. Only those who had been raised in the truth and who walked away from it were.


Tolerance! It doesn’t mean what you think it means.

I am still angry and ashamed that I stayed with someone like that for as long as I did. It doesn’t speak well of my judgement. And yes, to be perfectly frank I believe that it is a sign of weakness to give up good judgement to pay lipservice to the dishonest and condescending – and in my personal case, cowardly – version of tolerance that I see these sorts of people practicing.


April 11, 2011

Filed under: assholes,Illin' — whiskeyjac @ 3:46 pm

She says she’s a “Poor Baby Éowyn”

And she is. Hhh. I wish I could make it better she’s pretty goddamn miserable and you all know I’m not the nicest mother, or a very patient person at all.
Poor Baby Éowyn.


Retrospect April 5, 2011

Filed under: assholes,family,WORRYWARTSAREVERYUNSIGHTLY — whiskeyjac @ 11:52 pm

Looking back at the relationships I had when I was younger, I always gravitated towards people who were older than me. I thought they were smart, interesting, capable, and worthy of admiration most of the time. I thought I was on their wave length because I was so mature, well read, smart – whatever.

Turns out now that I’m the age they were then – that no. I wasn’t anything special, not at 14 nor at 17. I was immature and young and stupid – I was a kid – and THEY were on MY wavelength.

It’s like watching a show you used to find hilarious and deep – and realizing that it’s completely lame now that you’re not drunk.


Douchebag in Support Hose March 8, 2011

Filed under: assholes,Fuckers,swearing — whiskeyjac @ 12:36 am

So, I had a nasty experience at the Rec Centre today. THERE ARE BIGGER PROBLEMS IN THE WORLD but I’m going to write about it because I’m still angry and because… I dunno. This is just how I process shit.

So – my kid tantrums. She’s 2.5 and it started when she was 18 months. It peaked around age 2 – for a few weeks in the summer I just didn’t go out with her. Anywhere. Not even into the fucking YARD. I was afraid that people would come knocking on my door asking to inspect her for bruises, I was afraid the neighbors would call ByLaw and lodge a complaint like you’d do with a dog. Ha. Man. Coz all kids tantrum right? Some do it LOUDER and BIGGER and LONGER than others – and Éowyn, sweetheart though she is, is one of those.

Today at playgroup she just couldn’t deal with sharing. Again with other kids, some are better at it, some just as bad. I’ve seen kiddos go through phases and come out of them. She’s just got a temper and I deal with it as best I can by watching her, making sure she gives toys back, removing her from the situation, redirecting (as best as I can, which isn’t very best, she’s also stubborn). I talk to her and tell her that she doesn’t always have to SHARE, but she CAN”T steal toys and make people sad. When she tantrums, I give her a few chances to calm down – and if she doesn’t or keeps offending then we leave.

WHICH AS YOU CAN IMAGINE. Does not go over well.

So today all that happened, I gave her warnings, I talked to her, and at 11 o’clock I took her out of the room into the hallway to try and walk it off. I walked past the carpet bowling room and down the stairs to the arena, she was fine but got angry when I told her no to going in. We went back up the stairs and then further off to the library where I had to pick her up and back track because there were two kids with bikes and I could tell she wanted to play with them and was going to get mad again. I brought her back to the top of the stairs in the hall and tried to sit with her and calm her down. That didn’t work so I went to get her clothes and boots out of the playroom and brought them to the carriage while she cried and alternated whining with wailing. She was asking to go out and play on the slide but – since I am TRYING to discipline her and teach her that actions have consequences – I kept telling her that “You aren’t acting nicely right now, and you don’t get to do nice things when you do this” “You are not listening to me and when you don’t listen to me you have to go in the carriage.” I was being calm, I wasn’t raising my voice – though I WANTED to, and that is my first instinct – because I was trying to get her to match my tone and and stop crying to hear me.

After I got her boots, her shirt, and her coat on, I put her in the carriage which started her off SCREAMING again. Now, I KNOW that that isn’t fun to hear. I KNOW that it’s disruptive. I am not ignorant of that, I am not ok with that. It’s embarrassing, it’s stressful, and it’s exhausting for me. And that’s when people are are being NICE about it.

While I can getting MY coat on a 50 or 60 year old woman came out of the carpet bowling room, saying “muttermuttermutter nice if she would SHUT! UP!” in the most… in the MEANEST fucking voice I have ever heard directed at me and my child. Ever. It took me a second to respond because I was so stunned – “EXCUSE ME?!?” I said, as she ignored me and tried to get the door stop to work. No response, no indication that I’d been heard despite the fact that even my raging child had finally stopped crying at the sound of my voice – so I stepped in front of the carriage and asked, “DID YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT YOU WANTED TO SAY TO ME?” Enunciating every word. Still nothing. She wouldn’t look at me, she wouldn’t answer – but she was having issues with the door and I wasn’t leaving so she finally said “No, I was TALKING to the people in THERE”. She wouldn’t even glance in my direction, never mind meet my eyes.
“OHHH, well, I guess that’s just how you roll, huh?” And then she hurried into the room, the door slowly closing behind her as she went back to her Very Important Bowling Session and what I hope was a nasty taste in her mouth. Bitch.

I wish I’d had time to say more. I wish I had walked into the room after her and asked her if she wanted to come out and tell my 2 year old daughter to “SHUT! UP!” to her face. I wish I’d had time to tell her that I wasn’t at all sorry that I’d inconvenienced her while she was busy curing cancer. I wish I’d had time to simply tell her that she was acting without ANY compassion whatsoever and that I was disgusted and stunned that ANYONE would think I deserved to be spoken to in that manner. Ever. That doesn’t sound very snappy does it? She couldn’t even look at me when she said it. She couldn’t look at me when I confronted her. She couldn’t ADMIT that she had said that, and that she had meant me to hear it, and that she had meant it to hurt.

I wanted to ask her why, if she didn’t even have the balls to own it, she was acting like a fucking douchebag to a mother with a young child.

But I didn’t my kid was crying again, and she needed kleenex. I got some, went to the front counter at the end of the hallway and apologized to them for the noise and left. She cried all the way down the block until she realized she wasn’t getting anything – then she calmed down, I told her I loved her, gave her her homeward snack, and did our normal going home thing. She was peachy for the rest of the afternoon.

I’m not one of those mothers who doesn’t care. I don’t think the world needs to conform to me and my kid. I don’t ignore her bad behaviour. I don’t encourage it or reward it. I’m not one of those parents who lets their kid run rampant with a tiny shopping cart at the store, I don’t take her to quiet restaurants or theatres and act oblivious to annoying behaviour. I try to be considerate, because I would want people to be considerate of me – and to teach their kids to do the same.
Fact: sometimes you can’t help it. Sometimes you HAVE to go shopping – you do the best you can, even if that means bribes AND DON”T YOU *DARE* LOOK AT ME ASKANCE FOR BRIBING MY BABY TO STAY QUIET *FOR YOU*. Sometimes you CAN’T pick up and leave immediately. I don’t have a car. It’s a 1.7 mile walk back home and it’s cold outside and she needs to get dressed – come and try to wrestle an angry flailing 3’3” tall 30lb toddler into her clothes. When you’re 5’5” and pregnant. It takes a while, especially when you’re not willing to yell at or beat the child in question. And yes – sometimes I give her a second chance. Yes, I was out in the hall with her for 10 minutes. My daughter is isolated and needs the socializing. 9 out of 10 times this happens a walk outside the room will calm her down and she gets another hour of play, which happens to be important right now because – well. You don’t know. And you don’t care. I don’t feel guilty or shitty about it at all either – Lady, we are at a Rec Centre. There is a preschool next door to you. We’re not in an office building, or lab or a hospital – you’re not working, you’re not dying of heart failure, you’re carpet bowling. Or grocery shopping. Or eating at A&W.

Get over yourself. I’m gonna eat some chocolate and take my awful offspring to the park and try to get over you.


Bad Dreams and Angry Mama February 5, 2011

Filed under: assholes,depression,gone mental,swearing — whiskeyjac @ 12:16 am

I have vivid dreams. I feel things, I smell things, I taste them. I know backstory. I remember what I dream in minute detail. I have night terrors and I have trouble waking up sometimes – sleep paralysis I think it’s called. I have nightmares – Stephen knows about that shit and he’s really. fucking amazing about being woken up in the night by a semi coherent clingy and freaked out hedgehog. Thanks, buddy.

When I was pregnant the dreams were not dialed down, no. They weren’t any worse but of course they were about baby. Any new parent is going to have questions about competence and shit like that, I think. I had never ever had a kid around me before, never mind a baby. I didn’t know *anything* about them, not even how to hold one. And I had a history of alcoholism – HAVE a history, I have a history and I always WILL have that history and predisposition towards alcohol addiction – of S.I. – or S.H. or S.M. or whatever the fuck you call it. Personally, I call it cutting and so that’s what I’ll say from now on. Self Injury/Harm sounds to tame and poofty and and Self Mutilation still makes me give you the evil eye – I never thought of it as mutilation and I never look at my arms and think they’re ugly or mutilated. They’re scarred, and they’re scarred because I cut. So.
I just basically had a history of being fucked up, taking frequent breaks from reality, of living in squalor with my girlfriend – who I loved but who did nothing good for my mental well being, of being broke and scared and fat and dirty and ugly. Of being depressed and angry and going in and out of the hospital and talking to mental health fuckers who either sucked at what they did, or who couldn’t help me because I wouldn’t let them and didn’t know HOW to, of 2 suicide attempts that landed me in the hospital. That was, and that is, and that always will be my history. That was what my teens were like.

I have to remind myself of that sometimes. I broke up with my GF when I was 19, moved out of our shared apartment and into my own place when I was 20, got a clean job that got me talking to people and learning new things and brought me out of my comforting schlub zone, and yeah – I kept drinking. Sometimes I was bare broke because I drank so much. Sometimes I missed work because I was hungover or just having a day of panic attacks brought on by the drinking. I wasn’t cured, but I was getting better. It took time. There were still panic attacks. Still nightmares and psychotic breaks. Still fuck ups and fights with my parents and fear and loathing. But I was getting better.
When I was 21 I met my husband. We’d been talking online for a long time, and knew each other from when I was younger – 15 or so, and lemme tell you if he initially thought I was an asshole with mental problems, he was right, I was peaking right about then – but we’d both changed. Lots. He didn’t fix me and he didn’t try – he’s not like that, he let me be who I was and deal with my shit. But knowing him, and living with him, and seeing that he saw worth in me – that helped me along, too. We got together December 2006, he moved back to Whitehorse in June 2007, and in December of that year we found out I was pregnant.

I started drinking when I was what – 14? Stealing my parent’s booze. By the time I was 15 I had older friends and money and I was drinking nearly everyday. I’d say the bg problem started then. So it was like, BOOM. After 6 years of heavy drinking and more or less functional alcoholism I was pregnant, I was so happy, and I never even craved the booze for one second of the whole 9 months. Sure, sometimes I wanted a beer. Or I’d have a drag of my friend’s cigarette – I stopped smoking almost immediately but took a drag here and there for the first 3 months – and think “Man, a rum and coke…” but no cravings, no mental itching until it hurt for some booze. HA! The cure for the addiction: pregnancy. I’m a lucky one, I know it isn’t easy for many women.

But the dreams. I had all this behind me. And then the dreams came. The nurses at the hospital – who knew me from my past hospitalizations – wouldn’t let me have the baby. In many dreams, I’d have the baby and it would be whisked away and hidden and I’d get a doll to look after. I remember desperately trying to nurse the doll and failing and being told my baby was being put up for adoption because of my failure. I used to wake up crying and aching and scared. I would dream that the doctors would tell me I wasn’t really pregnant, that I’d dreamed it or forgotten what “real” was again. I’d dream that I’d accidentally leave the baby in the house, that it would start crying and a neighbor would call CPS – so many many times I arrived back home to see my crying baby being loaded into the back of a van REACHING for me, crying until they were sick for me, but not being allowed to touch her or even ride in the back with her. I dreamt of the baby being born with FAS – I saw her being handed to me by very solemn and dark eyed nurses and looking down to see that she had no philtrum. I remember the look on my husband’s face when HE saw. I dreamt that I’d forget about her somewhere – in the car, under the bed, in a closet – and that I’d find her days later, dead, cold, stiff. My fault.

I still have those dreams. Not as often. And they don’t scare me as much. Remembering them and how scared and guilty I was at times really upsets me – I haven’t really thought about those dreams I guess. I’ve joked about them to my husband, I know that. But that was surface – I don’t actually feel flippant about them in the slightest.

So knowing all that now – assuming you’ve read this far – how the fuck do you think it made me feel when I was wheeling around my newborn daughter and someone who “knew” me from back then stopped me in amazement and proclaimed themselves shocked SHOCKED that I was a mother. That I had a baby. One asshole actually asked me if I had custody of her and baby, that fucking broke my heart and made me feel like a cockroach. This bitch who I’d seen messy drunk and high on cocaine while caring for her two young daughters asking me if she was Mine or if I was just allowed to take her for a walk today. Bank tellers who would pat me on the hand patronizingly and tell me how glad they were that I wasn’t “off in my own little world” anymore and that I was taking *such* good care of my daughter.
How the fuck do you think that makes me feel NOW when I’m 25 and have had this happy, sweet, smart, and sassy kid for 2 and a half years and some asshole finds me on facebook and tells me they are AMAZED that I settled down and found someone who fixed me and had a little girl to save me. You fucking patronizing asshole. You didn’t KNOW me then. No one did. You saw the cuts, you saw the drunk, you saw the shaved head and filthy clothes but you did not see the REASON for any of it. You didn’t know what was going on in my head, or what went through it when I fucking fixed myself and made choice after choice that led me HERE to where I am today and not into cirrhosis and destitute kitchen servitude. You don’t know dick shit and you have no fucking right to act like you do – you who came from stable family and money and self-worth. You think people can be fixed because you’ve never had to fix yourself and I’ll be fucked if I’m going to try to explain it to you.

I don’t worry about my kid being taken away from me anymore. I worry about cleaning my house before dinner guests come tomorrow, about how much tv my kid watches, about whether or not the meat will thaw for the lasagne I want to make. Coz I was a fucking kid when that shit was my life. And I’m not a kid anymore. If there are people who judge me based on what I was when I was 15, honestly I have no use for them. I can’t help you. And no. I’m not your friend.


Ostritch December 29, 2010

Filed under: assholes,family,gone mental — whiskeyjac @ 4:34 pm

When I was little I walked in on my parents watching a show together. It was a period drama so it was kind of weird that my dad was watching it, too. I can’t remember if it was in French or English (my mother was watching so I think English, but it might have had subtitles) but Meo told me that the movie was called La Reine D’Autruche.

I spent the whole fucking movie waiting for the Queen of the Ostriches to show up.

It was awful and campy and that old timey brand of over acted and boring but I was holding out for the moment when that prissy simp at the prince’s feet gazing at him in bovine adoration FINALLY TURNED INTO A GIANT BIRD.

I felt so goddamn cheated.

My parents laughed and laughed when I told them.