The Green Fairy Ladies Lounge

A faff all you like forum for the discussion of bad, bad men. Come on in, all ladies who’ve been done wrong – or the lucky few unscathed who’d like to learn from our mistakes.

There’s plenty of absinthe on the bar. I’ll just pop some Billie Holiday on and fetch the sugar cubes.

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24 Responses

  1. I’ve brought my Patsy Cline collection for when it’s time for a nice maudlin singalong.

    • Perfect, Quokka. Can we put “Crazy” on repeat until everyone’s sobbing?

  2. Works for me.
    Once the sobbing (and the gin) kicks in I’ll switch tracks to ‘I fall to pieces’.

  3. Oh God, not “Pieces”. That catch in her voice as she wails “each time that someone speaks your name”.

    How do you feel about a bit of Miss Tammy Wynette? And here, have another shot of absinthe. Try one of these tempura Moreton Bay Bug tails. It’ll make a change from Malteasers.

  4. Nooooo! Stop the music! No Patsy! She reminds me of my childhood…..

    Oh, arse. Now I’M falling to pieces. Pass the bubbles, I’m going to need lots and lots of bubbles.

    In case you’re wondering, I had a really really crap childhood. Only the music was good – Merle Haggard is a LEGEND! He signed my boob once. I haven’t washed it since.

  5. I’m still waiting for Hughesy to turn up to this party seeing as it was largely her idea.

    Catty, idiot parents are my specialty subject. My mother took me to see the child psychiatrist when I was three and a half to complain about my invisible friend and the fact that I’d brewed a potion from everything in the garden that she’d told me not to touch because it was poisonous, and I got the interesting idea that if she drank an infusion of it all, it would kill her.

    A great idea, but it lacked subtlety and she figured it out.
    By the time I was four I’d figured out my mistake – I should have mixed it in her scotch bottle and she’d have downed it no worries.

    Ever seen Drop Dead Fred?
    I swear to Dog that’s my mother.

  6. Hold the phone! I thought this lounge was supposed to be about a*hole men? When did it morph into a childhood horrors blog? Sorry, can’t contribute to this, my childhood, while certainly not perfect wasn’t all that bad, and I’m still on excellent terms with my parents, and all but one of my siblings. (A sister).

    Now if we were to be bitching about MEN, I would have a few words to say about my missing fireman.

    ****20 minutes later – Fireman just rang, a*hole has a perfectly reasonable explanation for his disappearing act. Not buying it completely, but going to let it slide to a degree until we get a chance to talk face-to-face. This long distance, communicating by phone shit is doing my head in! Need to see his face while we talk. And we should probably talk before we do anything else, but I’m not promising that! I did give him a serve about letting me find out where he was, what he was doing from his sisters, but he even had an explanation for that! I’ve never known him to be a liar, but I know enough that he doesn’t know that I know, to be suspicious that there is a little bit of creativity in his explanations. We’ll see. The stupid part of me thinks it’s kind of sweet that he can be bothered trying to keep me sweet, even if it means bending the truth a little. I mean it shows that he’s not ready to just walk away from us, which is the impression I have been getting over the last couple of weeks. Right?! Yeah never mind, I did say the stupid part.

    Still having heard/read about some of your horror stories with men, I haven’t even got that much to bitch about. He’s not an addict, or an alcoholic, or a thief, but basically a decent man with no idea how to have a relationship with a woman. The Brats father wasn’t any of those things either, just a selfish a*hole. He has mellowed with age, and we have been getting along okay for a number of years now. At the tender age of 56 he has met the love of his life, and has learnt how to treat women with respect. There MAY be hope for my Fireman yet, but please note that I’m not holding my breath. This won’t be resolved quickly I fear, so you will all have to just PUT UP with my crap a while longer.

    Thanks for that by the way! It’s good to be able to vent, and I won’t even be offended if you all tell me I’m a DH.

  7. Nah, Mayhem, you’re not a DH. Love is a fickle bitch. But I think Fireman Sam is, if he doesn’t know a good thing when he’s got it.
    You deserve so much better.

    The boss is a treasure beyond all imagining. I have no idea how I ever lived without him. He’s a great judge of character, too. He likes you, Mayhem. He doesn’t like my mother.

    We have Drop Dead Fred on DVD, Quokka. I wish my mother had been that nice. The teen’s deceased father was a lot like Fred. Except Fred was a little more socially and fiscally responsible, much more considerate of others, and eminently more mature. Fred had better dress sense, too.

    When the ex died, we found out that he had hooked up with a woman who was as big an arsehole shithead waste of oxygen as he was. She did not tell his family he had died, they found out from a cousin who had discovered the information by accident. When his sister rang to ask about a funeral, the girlfriend screamed filth at her. We never did find out where or when the funeral was.
    Then a proliferation of creditors started chasing money. They went straight to his family, who had to finalise his affairs, because any attempt to ask the girlfriend to execute her executor duties was met with more filth. She had a mouth even a wharfie would wash out with soap.
    His sister spent weeks finding out where he died, (interstate truckie and all) then applied for a death certificate so she could do final tax returns etcetera. She didn’t get it. The bitch girlfriend had listed on the form that he had no parents, siblings or children. His poor mother was getting constant phone calls demanding money, and she couldn’t prove he was dead!
    As for me, I can’t get a passport for the teen without that death certificate. She is supposed to be going to Spain this year, and after 3 years of failed legal wrangling, it looks like she’s stuck in Aus until she’s 18.
    I bet that miserable turd is laughing at me from his grave. Not that any of us know where it is. Don’t care, either, although sometimes I think it would be nice to visit – solely for the purpose of dancing on it, of course.

  8. Catty,

    Trouble is, I think he does know that he’s got a good thing. That’s what scares the sh!t out of him. Last time he had a proper relationship he got very badly kicked in the nads for his trouble. I know I’m a bit muddle-headed about this guy, but I ACTUALLY believe that if we were living in the same town (or state even), we would have a MUCH better chance of making this work. Or not! But at least we’d know one way or the other. If things don’t work out now, the distance factor will always be to blame.

    The guy loves and looks after his kids. That alone makes this worth working for.

  9. I wonder if she/he faked his death to get the creditors off their tail.

    It happens.
    I’ve been doing family history research for a few years now and have just discovered that while one long lost cousin seems to have a funeral notice, there’s no body in the graveyard to match.

    Oddly enough he was wanted by the cops.

    Investigation by the relevant authorities is currently underway.

    Are you sure he’s really dead, Catty?

  10. Question: Why did the man cross the road?

    Answer: Why do men do anything that they do?

  11. What a day to pick to be away from the computer!

    Eerie, Catty. My ex (sperm donor to Magic Man and Elf Boy) was/is a long distance truckie. Not sure of his whereabouts these days, what with the domestic violence protection order and all. Let’s just say that every time there’s a fatal interstate pile-up I keep my fingers crossed.

    Despite the amphetamine abuse and mental and physical violence, he wasn’t quite as bad as the Jekyl/Hyde who proceeded him. I won’t go into the details – have to get dinner on – but the salient point here is that karma caught up with him. His girlfriend after me stabbed him to death when she became incensed at the amount of money he was spending on telephone sex lines.

    Mayhem, if you feel for him there’s not much you can do. While your love/lust whatever the hell it is outweighs your need for scrupulous honesty/integrity, you’re stuck! Bloody hormones. Damn orgasms.

  12. Mmmmmm Orgasms!

  13. Oh, yes Quokka, I’m sure he’s dead. He was a totally self absorbed, greedy, megalomaniac who doesn’t know the meaning of the words self-control. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself gloating to everyone about how he got away with faking his own death. He really, really was not capable of pulling such a scam off.

    Mayhem, I reckon we could find you a guy who would walk over hot coals just to kiss your feet. Anything less and you’re selling yourself short.
    I know, I know, “you want THIS one”. Well, then, we’ll have to brainstorm – how are we going to make him realise he can’t live without you BEFORE you tell him to get stuffed?
    Any ideas, girls?

    Madam Morgana, hold onto those amphetamines. I have known two people to take them. The ex, and a relative with chronic car accident injuries. Both of them were dead of heart attacks within 10 years. Anecdotal evidence indicates heart attacks are very common with long term amphetamine use. So you might just get lucky. I’ll cross my fingers for you. Or is that my legs?

    Now I’m off to the Burger’s Blue Ladies Lounge to bitch about my mother.

  14. Best man advice: Treat him mean and keep him keen. Don’t take his calls. Return calls/texts no sooner than 24 hrs after he tries to make contact. If you know his friends, date one. Be less available. It’s like precious metals and gems… rare things are more valuable.

    Thanks, Catty. The thought of the Dark Prince dropping any minute from a heart attack is more cheering to my soul than a family size block of Bubbly chocolate.

    Noe, tell me about your Mum – you can bitch about anyone you want, here.

  15. I’m 2 fucking thousand k’s away. How much rarer can I get. And so are his friends, of whom I know many. He also wouldn’t buy me dating one of his mates, we all grew up together and he knows me too well. And as a call centre employee in a previous life, I cannot ignore a ringing phone. And to be fair, if I call him, and he doesn’t answer, he always calls back within an hour.

  16. Really, Mayhem? You were a call centre employee? Me too! Gee, we have so much in common it’s scary.

    It’s interesting to note that EVERYBODY I knew told me to stay the hell away from the Boss. I think they just didn’t want me to have a good man in my life, because they didn’t think I deserved to be happy. Yet another of the cacophany of reasons I hope never to see my mother again. Sartre was wrong. Hell isn’t other people, it’s just one person. My mother.

    Any clues on your mum yet, Mayhem?

    Oh, and Madam Morgana, is that the plain or the peppermint Bubbly?

  17. OK ladies, lead me to a good table and I shall take up my usual position. And please, no ping pong, OK?

  18. Here, up on this podium, Hughesy. The velvet chair with the gilded gothic scroll-work. Make yourself at comfy. Absinthe, or some of Mayhem’s gin?

    There are no ping pong balls here – if you can do that trick of yours with billiard balls, this time our home videos are going viral!

    Now, you were going to fill us in on your ex, the Spawn of Satan…

  19. Catty – the peppermint at the moment; it cleans your palate between rows. Not that there’s anything wrong with the plain one.

    Mayhem – What sort of call centre? A “How can I direct your call, your business is important to us?” normal old one, or “Hey, I’m Candy. I just stepped out of the shower and was about to wriggle into my cheerleading uniform when you rang” ?

  20. Errr, Morgana…. I think Hughesy would be more comfortable under that nice coffee table, than the chair. She looks a little squished. And that way, when we bang our glasses on the table to make a point, she can catch any stray drops of gin, absinthe or whatever happens her way.

    It was more like…. “I’m wearing my cheerleader outfit, where did you say you were broken down? What colour is your car? My outfit? Purple and Gold. May I have you registration please?

  21. My call centre job was more like “I’m dreadfully sorry, sir, but because you are earning $5 800 cash in hand a week from your interstate truck driving job, you are not eligible for Newstart Allowance. No, neither of your de factos can claim the Single Parenting Payment, because you have listed both of them as spouse deductions on your tax return. Please, sir, there’s no need to use that kind of language. I don’t make the rules. Yes, that’s right, you have to actually be searching for a job to receive Jobsearch Allowance. No, that was grammatically incorrect, sir. You have to use the verb BEFORE the profanity. Shall I sign you up for our literacy program? Hello? Hello?”

    We used to have competitions to see who got the most bizarre phone call whenever there was a full moon. Every fourth Monday, the centre would be inundated with calls from weirdos, loonies and psychos. (and that was just the staff calling in sick!). We also had a list of incredibly stupid names (like Cecil Pitt. I mean, come on! Who names their kid Cec Pitt?), and an honour roll for the most outlandish and creative excuses. There were some doozies, but I won’t share because I still use some of them myself.

    The only thing I hated about the job were people who used the phrase “Proof of Identification”. Dog, that one had me foaming at the mouth! It’s “Proof of Identity”, or just “identification”. Not both together! And no, it doesn’t make you sound more intelligent!!! To a lesser extent, I also disliked people saying PIN number, or ATM machine, but allowed the error if it was contextually erroneous.

    That’s ERRoneous. Not erogenous. Nothing sexy about call centres. Except the cute guy in glasses at the desk next to the smoko room. He was the reason I started drinking so much coffee. Pity he was gay.

  22. Re: Cec Pitt – My Dad went to school with a boy, surname Tapp. His parents gave him the gift of the names Lee and King. Yes, welcome to the world, Lee King Tapp. He was an awesome bare knuckle boxer from age 3, I’m told.

    Oh yeah, good old full moon. Try working night shift in a major tertiary referral hospital when the moon is in flux. Lunatics are a given, as are self or “best mate” inflicted physical traumas – it goes without saying that alcohol if not a confused cocktail of illicit substances AS WELL are a given in the glassings and punch ups. But La Luna also seems to provoke a lot of “Well, I was up a scaffold painting my house, nude, you know, as you do, when I fell on this coke bottle I was using for turpentine. Wedged it clean up my arse.”

    My heart bleeds for your semantic distress. I find the misuse of inverted commas terribly upsetting: “Fresh” Fish; “Local” produce ; “Special” price.

    Don’t worry about Hughesy, Mayhem. Looks like she’s slid under the coffee table spontaneously. It must be an instinctive thing, or maybe she’s secretly made of liquid metal, like Terminator 2.

  23. Oh, Catty, you too funny..having not lived a life full of risk, kinky sex or taken the opportunity to delve into the underbelly of society when presented with it, I do believe you haven’t lived until you’ve worked in a call centre.
    As a techo, living it up in insurance land, we were somewhat insulated from the GP..General public…having done our penance on the frontline at some point. Ah, those fun times of waving a cut out of Keanu Reeves in his sexy black Matrix longcoat, stuck on a ruler over the 5ft wall that surrounded each cubicle. No chatting ladies, not face and face at least. Keanu garnered applause each time he popped his head up, and a few wolf-whistles too.
    The Optus faults line was even better, helping out those stressed mother’s fix their electronic baby sitters. One screaming abusive poor dear demanded to have a technician sent out as her channels were changing by themselves. “Is your child’s head turning a full 360?” I wanted to ask as I dutifully typed up as much as I could understand between the pill popping hysteria…
    “Please have a look at your remote Mrs Early Onset Dementia”
    “What about it?” she yells over screaming children denied their pixelated nanny.
    “Is the channel button wedged?”
    …And when God opened the seventh seal…silence covered the sky…
    “Oh. Yeah.”
    “Is there anything-”
    Beep, beep, beep, beep…
    Sorry, I know this a man bash but my man only deserves it pretty rarely. I have had some stupid boyfriends though, but I was only using them for sex so it didn’t matter…did it?
    Madam M, I have heard of the dilemma’s some people (nut jobs) present in the ER round the full moon. You must have some doozies…There is something to be said about the Darwin awards…if only more idiots would die…

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